#thanks for completely fucking up the quality as always tumblr ly

[leirsulien-archive]

they are so chaotic @grapecaseschoices [template]

#sh: alexis x kendis #oc: alexis kingston #pearl.edits #thanks for completely fucking up the quality as always tumblr ly

[jack-kellys]

please please talk about hunted!!! i’m obsessed with the concept

ME TOO hence why it's been gone an entire year because i don't want to risk fucking it up !!!

for those of you who (understandably unless you're a true fizz believer) don't know, hunted is a concept i started talking about last year in which jack is a P.I. and david..... is a pretty bad guy! i posted an intro chapter w/ a cute little board for it on tumblr and it's also on ao3.

the main premise is jack having to clear his name, since david is using it as an alias for his murders, while still working with--and obviously not knowing he's the serial killer--david. it's hard because they're both extremely smart in different ways-

jack has good instincts, intuition, and he's extremely observant. he's got a resilience when it comes to proving himself right, but especially when proving others wrong. his history with the NYPD has jaded him in a way that's made him stronger- he looks at crime with his own justice, his own regulations, and certainly his own empathy. crime scenes are like analyzing a piece of art to him: deducing new pieces of knowledge from what he's already familiar with.

whereas david is methodical, and calculated, and patient. with those qualities comes abilities such as perfected researching skills, quick learning and mimicking, he has a wealth of knowledge about criminal science from his time as a student and in the NYPD. he knows methods to lower his heart rate so he appears less like he's lying, he actively plans out what his crime scenes will look like, etc. killing his a logic puzzle, and each one he cracks is another case file for the police labeled JACK KELLY.

so jack isn't dense, david is simply a genius--a terrifying one--in what he does. and david is taking a risk, because jack is certainly a professional as well. and, of course, their flaws drive them together: david's boundless curiosity and hubris is what makes him offer his "help" to the real jack kelly, while jack's inherent need to understand and crack other people's codes makes him want to keep the other at his side. he doesn't want david out of his life until he knows exactly who he is, until he truly understands this mysterious and puzzling man.

i've always held this au of mine in particular close to my heart because it's like. my only other completely original au (not tv/movie/existing world-based) besides thank u, next!! i really do want to write this for real eventually, and i hope yall will. stick around n find out lmao

#THANK YOU FOR ASKING ILYYYYYY LMAO #as if i needed proof ur a real one but here we are🤝 #mutuals #fizz wants to write #hunted au #newsies aus #fizz answers #fizz freaks #jack kelly #davey jacobs #newsies #fizz writes #bc this was long #also damn where y’all at. look at this

[spellcasterlight]

Any WIP fanfiction requests that will be going live soon? 😚😚

Hi there Masterful Manta Ray Anon! 😊

I have so many Tumblr request WIPs sitting half-finished I'm so ashamed 😭

I've literally set aside August to do a bunch.

And when I say half-finished I do mean half-finished I have ideas, dialogue, or even whole parts of the story written down for most of them.

But the three that are the closest to being completely done I'll put snippits of under the cut!

Thanks for the ask! ✨

Warnings: Mentions of attempted suicide. Swearing. Sexual scene. Graphic Sexual Language.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. - [Shino x Reader]

You looked up at the Aburame compound gates and you felt your lungs restrict.

No. Calm. Breathe.

The pad of your thumb tapped against the tip of your forefinger, then the tip of your middle finger, your ring finger and then your baby finger, before working your way in reverse sequence before starting all over again. The movements grounded you, comforted you, helped you clear your mind.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Shino took a light but firm hold of your wrist, not your hand, he would never interrupt your stimming.

"We do not; need; to go in," the Aburame heir said

"Yes, we do," you replied honestly, always honestly. You thought it was one of your best qualities, no playing around you just said what you thought, unfortunately, others didn't share that opinion. "We said we would."

"We only need to stay for a few hours," your boyfriend's thumb ran over your pulse in a relaxing manner. "Then; we may leave."

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Okay."

Who's Truly Lost? - [Shino x Tenten]

"Tenten," Shino held up her captured hand and his worry only grew when she looked downright ashamed. "What; is this mark?"

"It's nothing!" Her tone and the fact she tried to pull her wrist out of his grasp to hide the scar told him it was in fact not nothing. "Let go Shino."

"You; are lying," his grip tightened like the vice-like grip on his ribs she was hiding something. Tell me.

"What does it matter?! It's just an old scar! Let go!"

She pulled harder with frantic desperation behind it.

"You; never; keep secrets from me Tenten please just," she stopped pulling at his prayed words and his free hand came up to cover her captured wrist too. "Just tell me."

With another single yank, she removed her wrist from his hold and held it to her chest like she was cradling an injury before letting her arm uncurl and she ran her other hand's thumb over the healed skin.

When she looked back up at him he knew he wasn't going to be okay with whatever she revealed.

"After those first chunnin preliminaries I was in a bad place okay?" She started her voice already starting to crack. "Temari destroyed me without even trying, Lee was at death's door, Gai was inconsolable, Neji wouldn't talk to me felt really low and I-"

Her free hand clamped down on the scar as if trying to stem blood flow and when his mind connected the dots it was like someone had set him alight, his hands shook and his hive were suddenly screaming at him wondering if they were in danger from the freezing fear pulsing through him.

No. No. No no no no no-

She nodded with a pained expression as if she could hear his thoughts.

"-I did something dumb."

Knock Knock On The Door - [Shino x Tenten]

Wait; Shino and Tenten were dating?! Since when?! He was Shino's best friend he should have known! He should have told him!

Kiba gripped the bathroom door handle and immediately froze.

That was dddddefinitely Tenten letting out a-

"Shino."

Yeap, that was a moan of his best friends name, were they-right now?!

"Shino come on we ca-" she whimpered that time and it shot a solid bolt right through the Inuzuka, had her voice always been that pretty?

"I have had to watch every man in this town run their eyes over you; and it has; unhinged; something in me."

Kiba pressed his ear to the door at Tenten's light laugh sound.

"Oh, Shino what do I care about anyone else when I have you? I love you."

"I love you; as well."

Kiba, despite the situation, found himself smiling, they did sound so in love and happily devoted to each other he was happy for them it's what they both deserved.

Tenten suddenly gasped again taking the tone of the conversation full circle right back to sexual.

"Do you; feel; how much I love you? Any time anyone's gaze drifted up your legs; or over your chest; I just; imagined; bringing you against the nearest wall and having you moan my name. Let them see that you chose; me; that; I; am the one for you. "

The dog owners jaw dropped and his eyebrows shot up to his eye-line. Holy Kami above he never knew Shino could talk like that!

"Oh, yea?" It was Shino's turn to moan. "You wanna do that? Right now? I bet you would even cum before Kiba finished his shower. With-" Shino's deep groan was hard to ignore. "With how much you love me right now that is."

Oh, fuck who would have guessed they were both so good at dirty talk?

"I could just push my trousers over my hips, free your dick the same way and you could just fuck me against the wall, is that what you want? Is that what my Shino wants?"

"Yes," the Aburame's hiss of a reply was hard to deny. "Yes it is; I want to feel you."

"Then do it," Kiba heard Tenten instruct in the most sultry dominate voice he had ever heard the weapons mistress speak with, "Can't you feel how wet I am already?"

The Inuzuka's fists balled and his forehead rested on the door because fuck fuck fuck what the hell was he supposed to do now?

#naruto smut #shinoten #shino aburame x reader #shino aburame #tenten #WIP #thanks for the ask! #love to the anons! #story requests are closed #asks are open #✨✨✨

[hentaimommi]

ʀᴏᴏᴍᴍᴀᴛᴇꜱ | ꜱᴜɴᴀ ʀɪɴᴛᴀʀᴏᴜ [x fem! reader]

Warnings: NSFW, all characters 18+, drug abuse

(A/N) I've never written on tumblr-- I've only ever written on wattpad (@/hentaimommi), let's hope this goes well! sorry for any mistakes/misunderstandings, I'm trying to improve my writing and take it seriously.

[R O O M A T E S]

It all began on a Friday night. Rintarou had gone out with his regular crowd, pot heads and easy chicks, and I was stuck at home. No one here to buy me a drink or hold my hand. I didn't mind though, I wasn't envious. He had his life, I had mine.

That was, until he got home. Usually in the midst of his cross-faded fits, he'd somehow sneak into my room. The first time it happened I was taken off guard, he never had shown an interest in me. No once could I recall any moment where he even asked how my day was. Yet, when he came home on Friday nights, that was all I could hear.

Tonight was no different, of course. I sat on the sofa, up late watching whatever k-drama Netflix had to offer that would stimulate my romantic ability. I'd never been romantically perused; men seemed to tiptoe around me, too intimidated by whatever quality seems to be so offputting to them. Anyone but Rin.

I could hear when he arrived home. The lock was being messily fiddled with, his drunken state rendered his ability to think cognitively or with any real consideration. Soon the door would finally open, swinging all the way to the wall.

A large waft of alcohol and weed forced it's way into my nasal cavity; reminding me of the man himself. Looking over to him, he stood facing backwards to the door, which puzzled me for a moment. Then, as if to answer my question by some hand at fate, another woman walked in behind him.

She was skinny, slender if you will. Tall, too. Her hair was long, skin coated in a thick layer of body glitter for whatever low-life party they were coming from. I wanted to pretend like this wouldn't phase me, but in the depths of my heart, it pulled. It hurt badly, so bad my face noticeably dropped.

""What's 'sur problem?" He asks, sloppily throwing his arm over the womans shoulder. She was so out of it her responses were only incoherent grunts. Classy. I rolled my eyes, standing up and gathering the things I had settled on the sofa.

It didn't hurt so much that, in a drunken state, he picked up some random woman. It hurt because then I realized how much I actually wanted it to happen. I had shaved, done my hair, and even put on a cute set of lingerie that had been collecting dust in my drawer since my first year at University.

The low glow of his bedroom light flickered on, causing both parties to squint. He then shut the door, no- slammed it. I sighed, letting a wonton groan escape before I secluded into my room for the night; sure to wear headphones.

By the time morning light seemed through the edge of my black out curtains, the woman was gone. The only sounds emitting from his room were low-groan like growls in his sleep. I stood, warm feet padding on the cold wooden floors in a hushed tone.

To the kitchen I went, turning on some light lo-fi on the Alexa that sat next to the stove, and beginning to cook a small breakfast. Eggs, bacon, and biscuits. Nothing too crazy, afterall, we're in Uni.

Apparently the smell awoke the sleeping bear, seeing how he groggily stumbled from his room. I didn't know how to feel. Usually he saved sex for me, which always made me feel like we had something exclusive. I was in for one rude awaking, now feeling nearly embarrassed at my ignorance.

"Mornin' beautiful. Whatcha makin'?" He asked, opening the refrigerator and grabbing a water. "Eggs, bacon, and biscuits. The pain medication is in the cabinet to the left, for your hangover." He smiled, nodding and grabbing the bottle from the cabinet.

I reached up into the one above my head, grabbing two plates and organizing a hearty breakfast for the both of us; especially him. He thanked me silently, taking the plate from my hands and making his way to the sofa. He turned the TV on, getting lost in whatever was playing at this hour.

I sighed, opting to eat at the counter instead of with him like we usually do on Saturday mornings. "Oh, I'm goin' out with Kita tonight, would you wanna come? Unless yer' totally wrecked from last night." He broke the silence, making me look up. Last night?

"What do you mean 'wrecked from last night'?" I asked, sipping on the OJ I had in a pink cup set aside from before I started cooking. Rin turned around, almost to question my sanity. "Don't you remember? I totally wrecked you last night, pretty thing." His words were quite literally laced with certainty, nearly making me laugh.

"Uh- no, you didn't. You did however completely destroy some bar hopper, though. At least that's the sound of it." I began to chuckle, opening my phone. Kita's Snapchat was full of videos of last night, so I turned to show him one of him and the woman he had brought home grinding on the dance floor.

"Oh shit. 'm sorry (F/N), I really thought it was you-! I swear I didn't-" He sat the plate down, only to be held up by a wavering sway of my index finger. "We're not exclusive, don't worry Rin."

He, however, didn't seem to 'not worry', as I had asked him not to. "No, no-" He started, walking over to me. He took my plate into his own, sitting them in the sink. Once done, he turned to me. "You don't get it, darlin'. I told that woman somthin' that was meant for you."

I arched a brow to his disposition, leading him to groan and roll his eyes. "I told 'er that I loved 'er!" He spouted, visibly frustrated and embarrassed. My eyes shot open, darting to find his own, but to my disappointment he had been glued to the floor.

"L-Love? Like- love love, or-" He stopped me, putting his large, calloused hand over my mouth. Once clasped, he spoke. "Love love. Don't feel special or nothin'. It's embarrassin'." I smiled, pulling his hand softy away from my face. The silence spoke waves as he stared down at me. Then, as it happens, I kissed him. He kissed back with a passion, or rather fury. His right hand snaked around my back, left finding its way to my neck, comfortably.

"R-Rin," Breathlessly I spoke agaisnt the skin of his cheek, his kisses finding a path to my neck. He chuckled darkly in amusement, gripping his large hands around the base of my thighs, then my ass. Quickly, by some form of magic, he picked me up and held my around his waist; like I was paper.

His kisses desperately continued lower, legs taking us back into his room as if it were some sort of automatic response to my hands running in his hair, tugging on the locks. Groans could be heard wide from both of us.

Sitting me down on the bed, he lowered himself onto his knees, looking up at me devilishly. Almost ominous, you could say. "R-Rin what are you doing?" I asked, panting from the loss of breath. He smiled, pushing the palms of his hands around the balls of my knees, wedging my thighs perfectly apart.

"Givin' you what you deserve." He spoke, hot and sloppy kisses making their way down my thigh and onto the lewdly clothed part of my cunt. Without hesitation, Rin reached under me, pulling at the waistline of my pants. Scooting just enough for them to release and relapse off my legs and into the floor.

"'s good for me. Aren't ya, darlin'?" His words dragged, sleepy, groggy. I nodded, releasing a pent up breath when he gently thumbed my swollen clit. "Yer so fuckin' gorgeous, god, I'm such an idiot." He spoke against my clit, tongue now delved into my slick folds.

My hips arched forward, begging for more. He reluctantly denied, teasing me of my furthered pleasure. He then backed away, pushing his boxers away from his hips and into the floor with my panties.

His cock was pulsing; leaking precum, a perfect pink. It begged to be touched, I could see it's long length twitch. "Take a picture, it'll last longer." I rolled my eyes, looking to the ceiling. "Sorry, you're just so hard." Honestly, he always had been- but this time looked desperate, like he was ready before he even sat me onto the bed.

"'cus you get me so hard, baby. Don't you know? Shoulda figured it wasn't you last night, my cock wasn't nearly as sensitive." His hands ran into my hair, cock lining up with my wet entrance.

I moaned as he put it in, filling me up full of his thick cock. I knew he should have put on a condom, but fuck it, I needed him now. His heavy breathe rolled across my chest like a blunt on a trey, hands cascading my body like a clay mold.

"'s pretty for me.." His praises worked harder on me, cock pushing in and out at a perfect pace. Our moans fell together, his pelvis softly rubbing against my clit with each thrust; stimulating it further. His mouth found way to my own, engulfing me into a shameless-sloppy kiss. "I love you.."

My face began to heat up, lower body matching in a needy state. "I-I love you too, Rin." As the words carelessly fell from my lips, I could feel myself begin to convulse. Shaking, my hips turned up, meeting my peak with Rin right after; cumming deep inside me, filling me full as he always did.

His hand rested on my stomach as he pulled out, leaving me empty. His thin lips met my forehead, giving me a small kiss before lying beside of me. Wordlessly, we cuddled against each other, naked- without care.

His hands were on my body politely, never tracing a single inappropriate spot. "'m sorry, love. I didn't mean to." He spoke into my hair, big spoon feeling much smaller now. I chuckled, holding his hand fondly into mine. "Don't worry 'bout it. Just get ready for Kita and I to rank on you about it."

#suna rintarou #x fem reader #suna x y/n #anime #haikyuu!! #university #haikyuu smut #college au

[chyrstis]

Character Study

@faithchel​  and @scarlettkat86  were kind enough to tag me waaaaay back for this one (thank you both! <3), and after nearly losing this twice to Tumblr eating the draft, I can finally post it. *phew*

Tagging: @sharky-broshaw @amistrio @foofygoldfish @shallow-gravy @ma-sulevin @teamhawkeye @guileandgall @painterofhorizons @fadedjacket @redroci @lxmbert @princess-underthemountain​ @mackie-hattwie @words-and-seeds @geronimo-11 @stvnningstrike @raisinghellinotherworlds @shelliechen @hawkfurze  and anyone else that’s interested! And if you’ve already completed this, don’t mind me at all, unless you’ve got another OC you’d love to share. :D

Deputy Hana Vao

LAYER 01: THE OUTSIDE  

NAME: Hana Vao

EYE COLOUR: Dark brown, almost black.

HAIR STYLE / COLOUR: Auburn hair tied back in a low messy bun. She doesn’t have the patience to put in any bobby pins and try to smooth it out, especially when her hair’s wavy enough to try to escape on its own. So, it’s quick, it gets it out of the way, and it’s easy enough to fix if it ever falls out.

HEIGHT: 5′6″!

CLOTHING STYLE: Jeans, t-shirts, boots/sneakers, and her red motorcycle jacket are outfit staples. She likes to dress in a combo of comfortable and functional, but with a bit of the punk/rocker vibe going on. Also, at least one of the articles of clothing’ll have red, because she can’t go a day without having her favorite color on her or with her.

BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE: She’d guess her eyes (all while batting her lashes exaggeratedly), but others would say her smile. It’s something that she’ll do easily without thinking or holding it back, and it’s hard to find her without one. Over time they start to become a little more infrequent, but if anyone’s able to get a smile out of her, it’s never a small thing. It’ll be bright and paired with a laugh, as she lights up completely.

LAYER 02: THE INSIDE

FEAR:  That she’s the one to break and ruin things by getting involved. That people are worse off for knowing her.

GUILTY PLEASURE: Period dramas/romance flicks. They’ll have her on the edge of her seat, and if she reaches for your hand during a critical moment, she’ll have a death-grip on it too. It’s all in the high drama, man. It gets her, bad.

BIGGEST PET PEEVE: Anyone talking over her or down to her, and ignoring her input. Being told she doesn’t care.

AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE: Finding stability. Finding home, and a place she wouldn’t mind waking up in every day. Knowing she has a job where she’s able to be useful, and knowing that she has people she can depend on for help if needed, and that she trusts enough to want to reach out to.

In the short term? To not royally fuck up any of this any further. To get to tomorrow, and have it be a safer, happier one.

LAYER 03: THOUGHTS

FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP: *slaps at the alarm clock* Oh Jesus, no. Just five more minutes...

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST: Where to head to next, what’s the news looking like up north, east, west? More than a few of her ridiculous movies to help illustrate the plans she’d like to pull off next. How ridiculous Sharky is, and how much she loves him for it. How much of an asshole John is and how she needs to start charging him rent if he’s going to stick around in her thoughts like this

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED: What to do tomorrow. How she really hopes a spider won’t crawl into her bag. How Grace’s is doing, if she’s resting enough. *once in bed* How Sharky’s able to snore so damn loud, and put off so much heat. Just a rambling stream of things that tend to cover all bases, as her brain slowly shuts itself off.

WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS: Being able to put a smile on someone’s face. To take their mind off of what’s concerning them even for a little while, and she’ll make an absolute fool of herself if she has to. And if they don’t feel like sharing or saying anything at all? She’ll be there to offer a shoulder if they need it.

LAYER 04: EITHER OR

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES: Both she’s great with, but one-on-one movie dates she’s the most fond of. She has to be able to watch at least one bad movie with them, and it’s the only way to be sure.  

TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED: She wants both, but if she’s not respected, there isn’t enough love in the world to substitute for it. 

BEAUTY OR BRAINS:  She’s got a weakness for a pretty face, but intelligence can be equally hot to her too. Just as long as the person in question doesn’t use it as an excuse to be an insufferable dick.

DOGS OR CATS: Dogs are adorable to her, but she’s weak for cats. There’s a good chance that if you have a cat, she’ll at one point be on the floor, reaching out them cautiously, hoping they’ll approach her only to have someone walk in on her.

LAYER 05: DO THEY

LIE: Yes, and when she does it’s mostly lying by omission.

BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES: She’s working on it. Her friends and family believe in her, though, and that’ll have to do for now.

BELIEVE IN LOVE: Yes. She’ll crack jokes and downplay her feelings, but she’s a romantic at heart, and believes in it enough to give her heart a proper beating in the process.

WANT SOMEONE: Yes. Much as it hurts for a while going in either direction, and much as she didn’t plan on any of it, period. 

LAYER 06: HAVE THEY

BEEN ON STAGE: Oh yeah, and if it’s a karaoke stage, it’s not a question of if, it’s a question of when.

DONE DRUGS: Only a handful. She sticks to cigarettes and alcohol as her main vices.

CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN: When Hana was younger, she’d often try new things in the hopes of catching the eye of anyone she admired, but never was able to change the core of what she was like or about. That led to more rejections than she would’ve liked, and in some cases, taking more risks in the hopes of impressing them.

LAYER 07: WHAT’S THEIR

FAVORITE COLOR: Red. Whenever she wears it she feels like she can take on the world.

FAVORITE ANIMAL: She loves cats, and red animals in general – cardinals and foxes, plus goldfish and koi, because orange is cool too, darn it.

FAVORITE BOOK: If pressed (and a little inebriated) she’ll admit it’s Pride and Prejudice, though she’s only seen adaptations of it. She always meant to start it someday, but doesn’t get a chance to until years down the line.

(John somehow unearths a copy in the bunker and gives it to her. Which she starts, but then persuades him to switch off on chapters as he reads to her, and it’s a hell of a lot easier to get him to do it than she anticipates)

FAVORITE GAME: To limit it to a few: Truth or Dare, a million card games (including Strip Poker), Pictionary, and Charades.

LAYER 08: AGE

DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE: Oct 6th.

HOW OLD THEY WILL BE: (at the start of FC5) 32!

LAYER 09: I…

I LOVE: “Cheesy 80′s flicks, a night in with some pizza and friends or a date, riding on my bike, just...” *sighs happily* “All of the above.”

I FEEL: “Tired. So damn tired. ...But that’s the lack of coffee talking, so if you could point me towards the nearest source I’d really appreciate it.”

I HIDE: *someone points out a huge mottled bruise poking up past the collar of her shirt and Hana tugs at her shirt to cover more*

“Hmm? Oh, that? It’s nothing. Yeah, I know it looks bad, but you should see the other guy.”

I MISS: “…My mom. I don’t think that’ll ever change.”

I WISH: “I hadn’t been such a stupid kid at times. I wasn’t thinking, just...” *she pauses, and chews on her lip as she stares at the ground* “I don’t know. I should’ve been better. Done more. Been more.”

#deputy hana #/finally/ #I feel like I've been wanting to complete this for a month now and that's probably not too far off base #and if this gets eaten again I'm going to be so upset

[notalittlebutalottie]

Writing Reflection: Against the Cards {Klaroline}

Thinking about Against the Cards + Against the World and I can’t believe I even finished it... I know some people really like it, but I have so many negative associations with that story and I thought since it’s been two years since I finished the original AtC and a few months since AtW was wrapped up, I would discuss it.

How did I come to write it?

The first time I wrote it, I was in my first semester of university, lying in bed. I’m not sure how I came up with it, but I remember writing that first line ‘She could not help it. She just could not fucking help it. That bitch’ and going from there. I just wanted to write a story where Caroline had had enough of people telling her how she should feel and dealt with her resentment towards Elena. It was originally intended as a one-shot, but it spiralled and ended up a full story. I think my biggest goal with it was to just actually finish a WIP for once!

Which do I prefer? Against the Cards or Against the World?

Against the World will always win for me. Though I’m happy with certain aspects of Against the Cards, the sequel is something I can view more positively. Here’s why: the quality of writing is better in both narration and dialogue; the tone of the story is a lot more mature; it addresses Klaus’ faults as well as Caroline’s; and I think the ‘smut’ scene is both better quality-wise and in terms of its attributions to the story as a whole.

Why do I have negative associations with the story?

Back when I first published it, I liked it! However, as time has passed, I’ve felt a lot of negative emotions towards it. I don’t think the writing was as polished in AtC regarding grammar, dialogue, and certain areas of narration. AtC is the first story I completed for this fandom, so I felt a lot of pressure from the reviews that expected things to happen in the way that they wanted. AtC is home to my first ever smut scene but it is my least favourite piece of writing I have done thus far. After I finished it, I received a very mean review that called the fic ‘fucking stupid’ and likened Caroline to a doormat. I can joke about it now and I literally memed it last month(?) but it was so shit at the time. Personally, I think they were pissed because they got to the end of AtC and KC didn’t end up together, but the fic wasn’t about their romance, it was about Caroline’s personal growth. Yes, Caroline was insecure and bent to the will’s of others but...welcome to the conflict of the ENTIRE freaking story.

The largest negative association with AtW that I have is that I began it following a terribly long hiatus, I was on the brink of deleting all of my work and my tumblr, and I was getting a couple reviews at most. Some of the reviews left me feeling shit because on one hand, people were telling me ‘Caroline should get over it! They weren’t together because of her therefore she has no right to be angry that he slept with Hayley’ but then other reviews were saying ‘Klaus sucks. I don’t want them to be together’. And none of these reviews acknowledged my writing and the work I had done. Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t try to change things for those reviews because it was an adult conflict; no single party was right or wrong and that’s how it works in real life. I was at an impasse with this story and finishing it was such a difficult mountain to climb. I’m proud of myself for finishing it, but it wasn’t an easy task.

The issue of smut

I thought this deserved it’s own little section because there are two smut scenes in the whole of this story and they are my least favourite and most interesting respectively. When I began AtC, KC’s first sexual encounter is not fully described, it’s just alluded to so it’s not really ‘smut’. And not to fault said reviewer (as this was a minor part of their larger comment), but someone commented their disappointment in not getting smut. This left me feeling a little pressured, that for people to really love the story, I had to write smut, which I had never done before, and so the smut scene I wrote for chapter 7 was incredibly forced and is uncomfortable for me to look back on. Objectively, it’s not terrible, but I was 20 years old and I didn’t really know myself sexually so how was I supposed to write something like that?

In contrast, AtW has a rather short smut scene in chapter 2 (chapter 16 on AO3) and I find it MUCH better. It was my third time writing smut, second being taken by Sing Me Sweet Nothings, but I just felt like it was much more realistic and just mature. The context of the scene is that KC are arguing over Klaus sleeping with Hayley until they reach this very high point of tension and they have sex. The reason why I like it so much is that it’s raw, emotional, and honest. It’s not meant to be arousing and overtly sexual, it’s meant to represent their conflicted feelings. They’ve been through so much and it feels like there’s always an obstacle, and they’re angry with each other and themselves so they know this isn’t the best circumstance to have sex under, but they want each other so badly.

What do I like about the story?

I love the ending of AtC! It was exactly what needed to happen and no one can convince me otherwise. I love Caroline’s personal growth from the beginning to the end! I like Elena’s characterisation for the most part and how she is referenced in AtW (because at the end of the day, it was never really about her). I like Hayley’s characterisation because she’s not just some mega-bitch out to cause havoc in KC land, she’s just living her life and she’s not suddenly being like “heeeeey bestie” to Caroline after the conflict ends. I adore the kitchen scene in chapter 1 of AtC; I think the tension is wonderful! There’s a substantial amount of dialogue I do love in AtC! And lastly, I love that I finished it! 😂 I see it as a personal triumph.

So there you have it! I hope you enjoyed this rambling of mine. I know I might come off as harsh, but I wanted to be honest in my reflection. I thank you for reading this if you have made it to the bottom and I thank you for reading the story. - Lottie

Never read Against the Cards + Against the World? Read it [here]!

#klaroline #klaus and caroline #the originals #the vampire diaries #klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #writing reflection #against the cards #against the world #fanfiction

[bredsticon-blog]

title: the alternative

part: one (saint or sinner)

desc: you have died. you weren't an extraordinary person when you were alive--you made a few little sins and a few little good deeds, but it's not enough to land you in heaven nor hell. so the reaper gives you two choices: be in limbo forever, or serve equal years in heaven and hell. well, you choose the latter...

tags: angel!nick & demon!zion love triangle (or not? wink), heaven and hell au (yes ik purgatory exists but it has different purposes for this series), ooc (on purpose, i swear), sfw (as in, no smut), gore, violence (i mean, you're in hell...), cussing, murder, mentions of: rape, abuse, addiction (alcohol, LSD, heroin, uhh everything else), mental issues (depression, suicide), and death in general. gender/sex neutral reader (as always) and humor to lighten the mood

word count: 2k

notes: it isn't nearly as scary as the tags make it seem, i promise. i spent a l o n g time on the promo art for this (which imma post LATER) so uhh please read :'( haha yes i WILL finish writing the fma!austin fic and make the part 2 for ¡quake! & ~the wave~ but my ass is still collecting gifs and cleaning up plot holes sksksk and on the 2.76% chance the boys read this: hi follow me im @/bredsticon on ig, i make quality content and be more active on tumblr please we love you

You don't remember dying.

You're dead, and you don't remember dying.

Perhaps, in another life, you once thought that death accompanied a special feeling: life flashing before your eyes, lights out, everything over before your last breath escapes your lungs. But this is... this is slow. So slow. You're still on earth. Floating.. somewhere. Nowhere else. You see the world, all of it. Stars twinkle in the mist. The world around you is gray and dark. You watch your home fall apart. Every crack and shake is in full detail, and, dimly, you watch the sprouting of vines and weeds in its place. The weeds brush heads as they cluster your old house, your old neighborhood, your old country, your old everything.

You're old.

Breathless doesn't begin to describe it. You don't have lungs. You don't have... you don't. You just don't. You are nowhere. You are nothing. You don't exist.

Someone waves inside of you.

What the—

"Hello, Soul One-Hundred Thirty-Three Billion, Seventy-Five Million and Sixty-Five. You're late."

An NYC accent? You're from—

"Now that's a mouthful. I'll just call you Rosebud. See, you were supposed to cross over..." A watch ticks inside your... your form? You? "...millennia ago. Five millennia, in fact."

The voice throws a powder on you. Something blooms inside you, and you fall to the ground.

You gasp—holy shit, you can gasp. You move your head around. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, you have muscles, you have form, you can move. You exist.

The voice has a form, too. He looks like you: human. Flaming blue hair, khaki-colored skin with reddish-pink polka dots and marks. He wears modern clothes: a bright yellow vest and green pants. And glowing. He's like a painting. Human, kinda.

You gape at him. This doesn't exist. This can't exist. You thought you'd be nothing forever. But now you're something and that's something and the world around you is still murky but it's something and oh my God. Oh my fucking God. What happened to you? What happened to your home? Why aren't you dead?

The form smiles at you. "Be careful with mentioning the Master Creator so much. They're listening, y'know. They can tell when you're talking about Them."

He offers you a hand. Shaking, you take it. You wobble so hard you grab his shoulder, and he pats your wrist.

"Relax, Rosebud, we're gonna go up now. Take my hands." Gently, he takes your hand off his shoulder and interlocks your fingers together. You close your eyes as he pulls you close.

Once you open them, you're no longer on Earth.

You're in an office.

Vaguely relaxing piano music plays in the background. The walls gleam "eggshell white" (whatever that means), and copy-and-paste potted plants commiserate in corners, on shelves, and on top of desks. Rows and rows of cubicles line up in front of you, complete with ancient computers, loud clicking, and early morning groans of "I need more coffee, for fu- fun's sake!" A vending machine and a water cooler stand behind you, with banged-up tables interspersed between those.

Someone rises out of a cubicle. His skin is pale, but his hair is dark. "Reaper Honoret Jr.! Is that—oh my goodness, is that the stray? You did it! It took a few millennia, but you did it!"

Honoret Jr. grimaces. "My bad, Dad. The soul blended in so well, it took me a while... my readings showed complete neutrality. It's like there's no one there." The reaper looked back at you. "I only caught a flicker. Right now, I can't—"

His dad chuckles. "Not Dad. It's Reaper Honoret Sr. to you." He winks. "I'm kidding, y'know how they get around here."

He comes forward and wraps his arms around the boy, then unlatches. Without Honoret Jr's support, you fall to the ground, so you watch as he holds his son's shoulders. "Your bad? What do you mean? I'm proud of you. So, so proud. You're the only one who could even—actually, wait."

He turns to face the cubicles. "Reapers of Thanatos & Co., guess who just caught the stray!"

The clicking stops.

Someone coughs. "You're joking, right?"

"Absolutely not. In fact, it's behind me, right now."

Chairs scoot on scratchy carpet as the reapers of Thanatos & Co. nearly jump out of their cubicles to see you. Forty reapers dressed in some manner of business attire speed walk in your direction. One pushes Honoret Jr. out of the way—his dad has to catch him before he falls on his face.

When they see you, they stop. They start staring at the air around you. They sniff like blood hounds.

After a pause, a reaper with large eyebrows turns to another, eyes wide. "I think... I can't... I literally..."

The other nods. "Same here. Reaper Honoret Sr. isn't lying."

The crowd murmurs in agreement.

A reaper with short pink hair raises his hand. When no one calls on him, he puts it down and mutters something about being new. "Wait, if Reaper Honoret Sr. found the stray, shouldn't we tell the Grand Reaper about it first?"

Once more, the crowd murmurs in agreement.

The eyebrow reaper stares at you—no, not at you. Into you. Like you're not even there. "Before that, we need to know who found it. Reaper Honoret Sr., did you find it? We need someone to congratulate."

He grins. "Nope! My son did." He shook his boy's shoulders.

The reaper raises a brow, then gives the blue-haired reaper a look. "Oh. Well, uhm, congratulations."

The crowd weakly claps. Good job... mhm... congratulations, Junior... and then they disperse back into their leather spin chairs.

Honoret Jr. turns to you and makes a face. "Sorry about that. Office drama. Can't escape it, even in this world."

He doesn't look like a reaper to you. No black cloak, no creepy aura, no skeleton fingers. Kind, colorful, couldn't be a reaper. Nope. Impossible. None of this is.

"You're not believing a lot of things, I know. The first few days are the hardest." He gifts you with another smile. "You'll get there, I promise. I'm here to help.

"Name's Edwin, by the way. You've been calling me Honoret Jr. and that just gives me middle school flashbacks. No thanks."

You can't even make a proper facial expression to react to that. You can't formulate words—or even walk without Edwin holding your hand. He's reading your thoughts, at least. You're basically a vegetable.

He shrugs. "Give it a few hours, Rosebud. The vegetable'll wear off. Your body's just adjusting to this plane. No shame."

You can't speak, so you just think of the word: thanks. My name is—

"Oh, I know what your name is. I've been searching for you for five millennia. I'd be a horrible reaper if I didn't know."

He extends a hand. "Speaking of vegetable and horrible reaper, I bet you're hungry. You're also naked. Let's fix that."

-

Reapers need to eat, surprisingly. Edwin leads you through a myriad of hallways with the exact same paintings and potted plants (this is disgustingly easy to get lost in, you think. Edwin agrees) until you reach the break room. It takes you an hour.

No one's in there except you two. Edwin gave you some of his clothes (kept in another room), so you're wearing a red fit with a black vest and a lime green beanie. He tried to offer his matching ski mask, but you managed to mentally shout "No!" before he put it away. You don't mind wearing his stuff, but you wonder what that could imply. Do reapers...? Actually, you don't wanna think about that.

The break room curves up into a sparkling, plastic chandelier. The rest of the room accommodates a fridge plastered in posters, a microwave, and a dirty coffee maker paired with beige countertops. A pile of paper plates and utensils decorates the left countertop, while a sink occupies the right end. Island tables take up the rest of the center, leaving room for vending machines in the back.

Edwin scrunches his nose. "Who's bummy ass forgot to wash the coffee pot? Ew." He examines it, then starts washing the dishes.

He looks back at you. "You can go raid the fridge. Just don't touch the lunch boxes or uh—bento boxes, I think. Those are Reaper Porter's, and he will get very mad if you touch his bento. I did that once, so he threw a fork at me then said I messed with his feng shui."

Edwin mutters something about unseasoned chicken as he continues scrubbing coffee stains.

You stand up. Your walk is wobbly at best, and you feel like a pile of jello—you're weak in the knees, like jello. But you're getting there. Its better than before. At some point in your hour-long journey to the break room, poor Edwin had to carry you. You felt bad, but at least he's strong. Maybe it's a reaper thing.

You stumble to the fridge. Posters and dates and schedules cover the surface, but you brush past them to find what truly matters: the food.

Reaper office food tastes just as bland as human office food. How sad.

You find that your body works just like it used to. You're hungry, you can feel pain, and you're starting to move. It's like you never died. And now you're in a huge office full of slightly-glowy people who call themselves Reapers and also can't sense you, which is a concept you still don't understand. Or maybe you didn't die? Maybe someone stirred some LSD in your drink? And this is all... a major... acid... trip...

You blink, then pinch yourself. Nope. You're 'swell.

Edwin pulls out a chair. "Now that we're done with the basics, Rosebud, we need to get you registered. You're a bit of a weird case, but you're not too too special. Just uncommon."

He pauses. "Well, actually, you might be a little more special than that. Just a tad."

You give him a look. Something builds in your throat.

"What the fuck?"

He giggles. "Those are your first words on this plane? I—"

"No, seriously. What. The. Fuck." You sound like a cheese grater but you don't care. "I literally have no idea what's going on. I died, I think, then I watched mankind die too as the Earth turned into dandelions, then you went inside of me and threw some pixie dust to make me come back again, suddenly I'm in a 90s sitcom office and I'm naked which literally no one told me about until everyone else saw me as bare as the day I was born and—"

Edwin pats your hand. "All right, all right, let it out, let it out. I'll explain everything. It's just really long." He rubs the back of his neck. "And we're kinda on a time crunch here."

"A time crunch. When it took us an hour just to get a snack."

"Yes, a time crunch. We have about two more hours to get you registered before you become tied to this plane. Then you'll have to become a reaper, like me, and you don't wanna become a reaper." He bites deeply into his peanut butter and banana sandwich. "Shit's hard."

"I can't even—"

"Mhm." He says through a mouthful of peanut butter. "I'm rellay sorreh you're goineh frough thif. I geh how you feel. Eferyone dehs."

He swallows. "We all started out alive. No one's been here since the beginning. Except for some of the seraphim, I guess. But the rest of us? We just humans the Master Creator decided to gift. You're not alone in this. I went through the same bullshit as you. I get it."

You bow your head down. Your thoughts are too jumbled to feel actual anger. "Thanks, Edwin."

"You honestly deserve better, but no problem." He stands up and wipes his hands on a napkin. "Imma clean up after myself, so you can get a head start. We do only have two hours." He yanks you out of the chair. Still chewing, you watch as Edwin shoves you out the break room.

"Wait—hold up—wh—I don't know where I'm supposed to—"

He grins. "You will! Your senses will guide you."

"What— more vague shi—" and the door slams.

#HI SORRY FOR MY FUCKING HIATUS #kinda its been like 3 days 💀💀💀💀 #im writing more now! i have shit queued UP for yall #prettymuch #edwin honoret #nick mara #zion kuwonu #nick carter 🌚 #daddy long legs #fics #prettymuch imagines #prettymuch imagine #pretttymuch fics #prettymuch fanfic #prettymuch fanfics #yes im including the versions w and w/o an s #im tryna get NOTES. #nick mara x reader #zion kuwonu x reader #nick mara x reader x zion kuwonu #zion kuwonu x reader x nick mara #zick love triangle #nion love triangle #this first chap might look fun and fresh but WHEW golly it gets bad #i mean mentally #angel!nick mara #demon!zion kuwonu #yall will meet zion and nick soon #i just like having long intros 🌞🌞

[wildfangz]

@liliithvatore tagged me in that simself thing thats been goin around DAYS ago but here it finally is! also thank you for the tag this was fun :-]

I tag @slythersim @thelurgoyf @seoulchii @weicyn @solitasims @daisydezem @raha-plays-the-sims if they want to do it & anyone that just wants to do it in general! message me and I’ll even @ u directly if u want. 

anyway lets DO THIS shitload of questions under the cut u’ve been warned!!!

1. what is your name?

julian

2. what is your nickname?

jewel, jules

3. birthday?

oct 26th

4. what is your favorite book series?

percy jackson and the olympians will probably always own my heart & soul

5. do you believe in aliens or ghosts?

yes & yes. tho i do think a lot of alien sightings and conspiracy theories and what not are bullshit

6. who is your favorite author?

maggie stiefvater probably? also cornelia funke but its been years since ive read anything by her so i cant be sure BUT i loved inkheart & the thief lord so much

7. what is your favorite radio station?

ummm when i listen to the radio at all i kinda just switch between two rock stations and our popular music station.

8. what is your favorite flavor of anything?

blue raspberry !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! tasty and i love a blue tongue

9. what word would you use often to describe something great or wonderful?

cool. or bitchin’.  i play it simple

10. what is your current favorite song?

hands like houses - revive

11. what is your favorite word?

roulette and inhibition which i never get to use either as much as i want !

12. what was the last song you listened to?

emarosa - givin’ up ! its a bop!

13. what tv show would you recommend for everybody to watch?

the new she-ra on netflix its so good. and gay

14. what is your favorite movie to watch when you’re feeling down?

moana. its also like the only movie i dont have trouble getting thru despite how many times ive already seen it

15. do you play video games?

16. what is your biggest fear?

idk... being inherently unlovable i guess n ending up alone? also spiders !

17. what is your best quality, in your opinion?

im fairly open-minded and laid back. Unless someones being like, purposely nasty or something I generally don’t get defensive or aggressive. also a lot of little quirks that piss others off dont bother me im very u do u as long as its not actually harming anyone and ive had people tell me this makes it easier to open up to me so thats probably my best quality....

18. what is your worst quality, in your opinion?

....at the same time though i do get very sensitive when faced w/ criticism even if its of the fair variety when its not phrased really gently for various reasons and i dont like that. especially since I have a tendency to not even talk to people about it. I’ll just immediately start distancing myself. also other than that i think overall I have a really high tolerance lvl but if you cross that line I hold a grudge like a motherfucker

9. do you like cats or dogs better?

cats! dogs are good too but cats are a lot easier for me to handle...and quieter generally but even when they’re loud cat sounds dont get to me quite as much as barks do

20. what is your favorite season?

autumn but im starting to really like summer for some reason? wack :/

21. are you in a relationship?

nope

22. what is something you miss from your childhood?

the lack of responsibility, probably. that sounds real bad lmao but for me its like...I know I’ve grown in various ways over the years but I also feel like so many of my experiences, my trauma, my mental health has held me back and I don’t think I’m mentally where I should be for my age. so all the responsibility of adulthood is just..really overwhelming for me sometimes, even though ive been given a pass from certain aspects of it and the rest is pretty simple its the idea!!!!

23. who is your best friend?

my ex

24. what is your eye color?

25. what is your hair color?

26. who is someone you love?

my mom

27. who is someone you trust?

not really anyone rn unfortunately...would like 2 work on that

28. who is someone you think about often?

are my OCs a fair answer because i am always thinking about my babies.....

29. are you currently excited about/for something?

my favorite webcomic (that also has two of my all time favorite characters in it) just came back!! the artist disappeared back in 2015 like the day after I binge-read the whole fucking thing & i was so disappointed but its BACK and 2018 has been redeemed

30. what is your biggest obsession?

sims probably! i could talk about anything relating to it for hours

31. what was your favorite tv show as a child?

there were so damn many its hard to even think and figure out the most notable ones...i really, really liked teen titans though?

32. who of the opposite gender can you tell anything to, if anyone?

my ex, again

33. are you superstitious?

not terribly so but somewhat. I take certain things as signs and I mean I do believe in astrology & such to a degree

34. do you have any unusual phobias?

i used to be afraid of mirrors but thats all i can think of and its not even a thing anymore...the only other thing is tornadoes but i dont think its unusual. but it definitely sucks for me ‘cause i live in tornado alley!

35. do you prefer to be in front of the camera or behind it?

behind it....like taking pretty pictures and dont like ppl capturing my image 2 film

36. what is your favorite hobby?

sims.....also singing!!! and drawing!!!! video editing!!!!!!!!! the works

37. what was the last book you read?

The Dream Thieves....havent finished it though because last time i went to read it a spider was lying in wait and im traumatized

38. what was the last movie you watched?

coco i think???

39. what musical instruments do you play, if any?

drums, various other percussion instruments, and violin mainly

40. what is your favorite animal?

ferrets!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

41. what are your top 5 favorite tumblr blogs that you follow?

uhhhhh @bratsims @liliithvatore @cabsim @wildlyminiaturesandwich @keysims pls dont feel bad if i didnt include u these were just the first to pop into my head and ive been following some of them since I first made my blog!! and have kept up with their stories completely and enjoy them etc check them OUT !

42. what superpower do you wish you had?

shapeshifting!!! dysphoria? gone. ugliness? gone. want to morph into a fucked up clown and scare people when they realize all the classic clown features are a real actual part of my face? possible!

43. when and where do you feel most at peace?

chillin’ at the pool in summer during the part of the day when no ones there.... swimming is always relaxing 2 me then i love just resting under the sun and drying off afterwards especially since we have a little pond nearby and i can hear the water! its nice

44. what makes you smile?

always and without fail? interacting with anyone i have a crush on. i’ll look like a dope the whole time

45. what sports do you play, if any?

i used 2 play basketball a lot. Like not seriously but it was a thing

46. what is your favorite drink?

dr pepper and monster energy (original flavor) pumps through my veins at this point. we love a carbonated beverage

47. when was the last time you wrote a hand-written letter or note to somebody?

two years ago for my ex and I’s first year anniversary... I never got it mailed but I did at least take a picture of it (with included caption because my handwriting is atrocious). i was very up front about being a romantic and see heres the PROOF

48. are you afraid of heights?

nope! very excited by them actually

49. what is your biggest pet peeve?

i cant stand passive aggressive behavior. my stance is either get over it or quit acting like a bitch because otherwise im just going to ignore you thats the scorpio way (in all seriousness I really, really do recommend not putting up with it and ignoring it until they decide to be up front with you. it can be exhausting constantly reading into conversations and its not healthy for you or them. if they have something to say they need to learn to talk about it properly, and that lack of social skills is not ever on you)

50. have you ever been to a concert?

yep! i think about....six or so? i love them...which is really funny im autistic and EVERYTHING about them should freak me out and they do in other circumstances but at a show i just live for it

51. are you vegan/vegetarian?

nope! ive thought before id like to go vegetarian...but i couldnt do it with my health problems. also i love shrimp too much

52. when you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?

ive always wanted to do something creative! when i was rlly young I thought a lot about singing and acting and writing in particular...all things im still interested in.... also i wanted to be a dictator ages 4-7 because i told my mom i wanted to be president of the world and make people do what i say and she said “honey thats a dictator not a president”. i then made that known at school and that turned into a situation!

53. what fictional world would you like to live in?

pokemon universe or bust. 

54. what is something you worry about?

never being able to do things i want to do or catching up with others because of my disabilities

55. are you scared of the dark?

yes but a reasonable amount i think

56. do you like to sing?

yes :]

57. have you ever skipped school?

yes i used to play sick a LOT and as my parents caught onto it id even go all out to convince them. i was good at school but i hated it so much

58. what is your favorite place on the planet?

dunno! malls maybe i love shopping and looking at material objects i wish to own

59. where would you like to live?

oregon! portland in particular thats been my dream for a few years now

60. do you have any pets?

a cat! he lives with my dad & grandma though...hes grown up there and likes going outside so I felt bad about taking him with me when i moved out but anyway this is him hes fat and stupid and i love him his name is coffee

61. are you more of an early bird or a night owl?

night owl because my rhythm is all fucked up but in my heart....an early bird...if i get a good nights sleep i’ll be up early yacking your ear off and so excited for the day

62. do you like sunrises or sunsets better?

sunsets are prettier...but sunrises feel more refreshing

63. do you know how to drive?

nope ! im gay !

64. do you prefer earbuds or headphones?

headphones. better sound quality also discourages people from talking to me slightly more

65. have you ever had braces?

nope! but i need them

66. what is your favorite genre of music?

post-hardcore maybe?

67. who is your hero?

every trans person living their truth and being open and loud about who they are past present & future. the worlds not particularly kind to us and our existence alone is considered a radical act, so its always given me hope to see others refusing to pretend to be someone they’re not in this environment and I’ll always have mad respect for that

68. do you read comic books?

i read manga and webcomics...ive always wanted to get into superhero comics but the amount of issues and different versions is ridiculous and makes it inaccessible 2 me 

69. what makes you the most angry?

i mean its hard to pinpoint what makes me angry the MOST...but a contender is definitely how some people feel free to treat others with cruelty and think its their god given right to deny or attack someones existence in some way, & how acts of kindness, even the most basic are branded as liberal bullshit or whatever....it goes against everything i was taught growing up

70. do you prefer to read on an electronic device or with a real book?

real book! electronic device can be easier but....rough on the eyes after a while and nothing beats the real thing for me

71. what was your favorite subject in school?

language arts...at least when we did creative writing stuff

72. do you have any siblings?

two older sisters & an older brother that passed away years ago but. still my brother u kno

73. what was the last thing you bought?

mocha frappe baby!!!!!

74. how tall are you?

5′4″

75. can you cook?

a little bit....not as much as id like to though but im learning

76. what are three things that you love?

storms, cheesy breadsticks, and cat purrs

77. what are three things that you hate?

unnecessary rudeness, being talked down to or generally treated like im stupid, grapefruit which is the worst thing on this list

78. do you have more female friends or more male friends?

female i think?

79. what is your sexual orientation?

im the big bad promiscuous bisexual your parents warned you about

80. where do you currently live?

oklahoma. gofundme campaign to get me out

81. who was the last person you texted?

my friend jojo! just Now!

82. when was the last time you cried?

yesterday afternoon but im a changed man now thats behind me. i will cry about different things soon

83. who is your favorite youtuber?

the mcelroy brothers. also super best friends play. matt, pat & woolie are all great tbh

84. do you like to take selfies?

depends on whether i feel ugly or terribly dysphoric that day or not

85. what is your favorite app?

ummmm....love live school idol festival ive been playin for years its an addiction

86. what is your relationship with your parent(s) like?

dad = bad mom = okay. theres some issues that strain it but its not too bad

87. what is your favorite foreign accent?

i have no idea what the fuck australians are talking about half the time but i dig it anyway 

88. what is a place that you’ve never been to, but you want to visit?

Italy, Greece, Germany, Japan, Mexico, various other states (ive only been out of state three times. twice to texas and then once to kansas. for five minutes)

89. what is your favorite number?

6!! 26 also

90. can you juggle?

ive always wanted to but alas.... :-[

91. are you religious?

i suppose...but im rlly not into organized religion

92. do you find outer space of the deep ocean to be more interesting?

space probably theres so fucking much of it man!

93. do you consider yourself to be a daredevil?

not to brag but sometimes i eat my mcdonalds hamburgers cold from the fridge so you can figure that one out yourself B)

94. are you allergic to anything?

pecans. not deathly allergic though so catch me eating turtle pie anyway! 

95. can you curl your tongue?

nope :[

96. can you wiggle your ears?

nope :[

97. how often do you admit that you were wrong about something?

usually as soon as i realize....unless someones being real smug and annoying then i might be stubborn about it

98. do you prefer the forest or the beach?

ive never been to the beach but i love her!!!

99. what is your favorite piece of advice that anyone has ever given you?

probably that you have to look at your accomplishments differently when you’re disabled or just struggling, to not be so down on yourself because its a fact that what might be a mole hill to someone else is a mountain to you and you have to judge yourself accordingly. Like maybe you weren’t able to clean the whole house, but washing the dishes and tidying your desk doesn’t usually get done but you did it. That that should be celebrated because while it would also feel good if you did more, you still did something and thats great all things considered.

100. are you a good liar?

sometimes, really depends what im lying about and if im like....into it at all. If my guts against it for whatever reason I’ll have trouble

101. what is your hogwarts house?

i always get slytherin or hufflepuff! usually with like 1 point difference

102. do you talk to yourself?

i am talking to myself right now as i fill this out

103. are you an introvert or an extrovert?

extrovert mainly! i used to think i was more introverted but now i think a lot of exhaustion when theres any comes from me just going the extra mile and actively trying to read people and pick up on social ques.... if I just chill im fine

104. do you keep a journal/diary?

nope...ive tried but i just cant keep up with it so i do the next best thing. shouting into the void on the internet to a bunch of strangers

105. do you believe in second chances?

depends on what you did the first time. Some people just don’t deserve taking that risk imo...but i can be a little guarded so maybe thats a bit too harsh

106. if you found a wallet full of money on the ground, what would you do?

turn it in, unless there was no identifying things in it & it was found somewhere kinda random. Then I’d maybe hold onto it unless my gut challenged that

107. do you believe that people are capable of change?

absolutely. i mean thats all we do throughout our lives is change and evolve...that being said I think extremely drastic changes are maybe not entirely impossible, but extremely rare, and the residue of the former self usually sticks around in some form

108. are you ticklish?

yes, dangerously so

109. have you ever been on a plane?

nope

110. do you have any piercings?

one day hopefully!

111. what fictional character do you wish was real?

asra from the arcana.....even if he wasn’t my boyfriend thats just a dude u could chill and eat some pomegranates with u know. Before I downloaded the app my friends kept telling me he was made for me and he really was he ticks like everything on my Favorite Characters Feature List except villain but he has that particular allure & attitude i like so much in villains so thats not a single point off hes perfect

112. do you have any tattoos?

nope...one day! hopefully!

113. what is the best decision that you’ve made in your life so far?

accepting my genderqueerness and bisexuality definitely. Self Love hasn’t been perfected just yet but that was such a huge step in the right direction

114. do you believe in karma?

yes! she doesn’t get shit done as much as id like however

115. do you wear glasses or contacts?

glasses. not contacts yet because my eye doctor is a bitch

116. do you want children?

I do....just not sure if id be a good parent. Its really important to me if I had a child itd be for the right reason and I could raise them well in a healthy environment & be able to take care of all their needs yknow

117. who is the smartest person you know?

probably my friend jojo

118. what is your most embarrassing memory?

one time i looked outside and the sunset was really pretty and i wanted to get a photo of it so i walked out.....and stood like right by the street so there weren’t trees in my way...and then i realized mid-pic 1) i am not wearing pants & my shirt is full of holes 2) id been depressed for days so my hair was a tangled mess. I tailed it back inside so i didnt even get a nice pic it was blurry!

119. have you ever pulled an all-nighter?

120. what colour are most of you clothes?

black i didnt even have to think about that one

121. do you like adventures?

they are pretty swell

122. have you ever been on tv?

a few times when i was little. always photobombing the news reporters 4 what i thought would eventually lead 2 fame & fortune

123. how old are you?

21

124. what is your favorite movie quote?

this is technically lyrics to that lil song in moana at the end but

“ They have stolen the heart from inside you. But this does not define you.”

hits me hard every time! emotional impact? i know her

125. sweet or savory?

sweet!!!!!!!! gotta balance out my bitter somehow

#tag meme #about #srry if theres any weird grammar or spelling going on half of this was written when i had a monster headache #and was doing everything but laying down!!!!

[ifourmindbeso]

A very, very Merry Christmas

Anonymous asked: Dear Bering and Wellser, I am your secret Santa. What is your dearest wish for this lovely season? I can provide fic of a fluffy or angsty flavour, and will endeavour to write to any prompt you might like to give. Ho, ho, and additionally, ho. Santa ;)

Hey there, Santa — Every year I keep hoping I won’t need to say “please, no angst; the world’s angsty enough as it is”… but every year, here we are again, surrounded by upheaval and uncertainty. As for a prompt, then, what I’ll tell you is that the brilliant poet Mary Ruefle once titled an essay “Someone Reading a Book Is a Sign of Order in the World.” Interpret that idea, or whatever constellation of ideas it represents, as you prefer… or ignore it completely and go with mistletoe! Menorahs! Mangers! It doesn’t matter to me, as long as it’s Bering and Wells. And anyway, I’m already grateful to you, whichever nerdsbian you are, for being a part of this tenacious little fandom. This little fandom that is so big-hearted: it’s a gift in itself.

Merry Christmas, Bering and Wellsers, and to you, the lovely @apparitionism​. This piece starts with the prompt above, but quickly goes off in a direction of hopelessly ridiculous. I don’t know where the inspiration for this came from, but part of it was definitely an illustration from the lovely @foxfire141​ on tumblr. I asked if she would consider drawing something for this piece, and she provided the delightful illustration that, if I have done this right, should appear in the appropriate spot in the story. I have to thank her for her incredible work on this, and for her incredible talent. It has added to this piece in a way that I couldn't have imagined.

This is a sort-of sequel to my previous fic, ‘Aye, Zombie’. If you haven’t read it, you probably need to know that the Myka in this fic (and Claudia, Pete and Artie) grew up in Belfast, Northern Ireland. Myka is somewhat foul-mouthed but has a good heart, despite her somewhat questionable past. Helena is the HG Wells, who came forward in time because Mrs Frederic told her that Christina would die if she didn’t. Christina consequently lived to old age. I think that’s all you need to know, but you could always go back and read Aye,Zombie, if you fancy some unintelligible Irish-isms and questionable humour.

Every time I see an adult on a bicycle, I no longer despair for the future of the human race. HG Wells

“Now, you see, love. That’s what I don’t get. You wrote that thing about the bicycles, not Charlie, right?”

“Yes,” she said, patiently.

“So your great words to the world are that when you see someone on a bicycle, that gives you hope for the future of the human race? What about seeing someone with a book? Surely that is the thing that makes you think that, all right, maybe we aren’t going to explode in a nuclear apocalypse or die from extreme weather caused by global warming. Because people read, and they learn.”

“Well, I suppose I see what you mean,” she said, thoughtfully, looking far too fucking adorable in my opinion, “but a bicycle is a statement all of its own. It means that the person riding it prefers to travel under their own steam. Whether it’s for personal fitness, for the feel of the wind in their face, for the sake of the planet – it’s usually a good reason. A book – well, it can mean a multitude of things. If the book is the bible, well, I’m sorry to say it, but the person reading it could be wonderful, or they could be terrible. Christians come in all sorts of flavours. Evil being the one we’ve seen the most of throughout history. The book could be Mein Kampf. And again, the person reading it could be studying it, to learn about history so as not to repeat it, or they could be reading it to repeat history. Do you see what I mean?”

I looked at her, and I think my jaw fell open a little. After years of marriage – an idea I would have laughed about only a few years back – she still managed to surprise me.

“Do close your mouth dear, you look like a frog that someone’s trodden on,” she said, fondly.

I rolled my eyes. We might be in the 21st century, but my Helena was one of a kind. Victorian to the core. I expected her to say ‘spit spot’ and ‘chop chop’ at times, and then remembered that was just one of my fantasies. (I mean, Julie Andrews is hot, whether she’s in her twenties or her seventies.)

“Are you ready?” Helena asked, as we got onto the plane.

“I’m fine,” I said, scowling slightly. I hated travelling at the best of times, but flights like this – commercial flights – were the worst. You had no control, you were corralled like animals, you were shot if you moved an inch out of place… okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it certainly felt that way. I could feel the watchful eyes of the air marshal on me and the other passengers. Thank Christ we were in First Class. At least that gave me enough room to stretch out and the attendants tended to be a bit more polite. Mrs Frederic had agreed to ship me first class after the first flight when things had gone a bit… haywire because of PTSD. But sure I’m fine now. Honest.

I drained a glass of Bushmills before we even took off our coats.

The retrieval we were going on was a simple one. People in Flippin, Arkansas were turning into their favourite foods. Like walking, talking muppet puppets in the shape of fries or a bowl of their favourite soup or a walking burger. Pete and I had arm-wrestled for this retrieval. I won, but I promised I’d take lots of pictures.

Sometimes life in the Warehouse made sense. Sometimes it really didn’t, and you had to take advantage of those times, I thought, because otherwise you would take it all too seriously and go batshit crazy.

I drank a few more shots of Bushmills, studiously ignoring Helena dropping a sleeping pill into one of them. She seemed to think that the ‘B A Baracus’ approach was the best way to get me from A to B safely. She might have been right. I had dreams about dancing ice cream cones and that time we all burst into song because of an artefact. It was not pleasant, I can assure you. Helena Wells, despite her many fine qualities, is entirely tone deaf, and Pete sounds like a bullfrog when he tries to sing. Thankfully the rest of us managed to drown them out in the ensemble pieces, but their solo pieces were… ugh.

I woke to Helena gently shaking me awake, touching my left shoulder. We had come up with a code after a few too many attempted punches of her poor face. She had great reflexes, though, and I’d never actually landed a punch on her. Left shoulder meant everything’s fine. Right shoulder meant there was trouble and to grab weapons. Anywhere else on my body – that meant it wasn’t her, or anyone else I trusted.

I wiped my face with a wet wipe before retrieving my bag from the locker and I filed out dutifully with the rest of the cattle. Our Secret Service badges got us past the security on the other end quickly, a fact for which I was grateful. Who wants to be stuck in an airport a few days before Christmas with the entire human race crowded around you? Nobody, that’s who. The entire place smelled like feet.

“Shall we check in first before we go to find our walking foodstuffs, darling?” she asked, and I was once again struck by her other-ness. She was a part of this century now, but a walking anachronism at the same time. When I met her she did a great impersonation of a human from this century, but since we became a partnership, she didn’t seem to want to hide her true self as much. I liked that, a lot.

“We should check in,” I said, wearily. “I hate travelling love, why can’t you invent a transporter? You said you made a shrink ray, didn’t you?”

“I did, but making a teleportation device is somewhat of a challenge, even for someone with my intellect. If you do as they do in your Star Wars, you disperse someone’s molecules and send them somewhere else with the aid of some unknown force. But are those people still themselves when they come out the other end? One misplaced atom could turn you into a yeti, darling, and I really don’t think our wedding vows would cover that sort of mishap. I can handle a certain amount of body hair, but that’s just a little too much for my tastes.”

I made a harrumphing noise at her, and we made our way by cab to the hotel, which was the usual Warehouse style – small but clean, close to town but not in the centre. The check-in took approximately a week and a half, or so it seemed to my somewhat grumpy self, but as soon as we had keys, we dumped our bags off, showered quickly and changed, and went to find our victims. I brought my digital camera - for purely professional reasons.

“Agent Bering, Agent Wells. It’s a pleasure to have you here in our little corner of the world.” It was the Sheriff, the fella who’d called for help with this bizarre phenomenon. He got us, ‘Secret Service’ agents.

“I didn’t like that Flippin airport much,” I said, in my best vaguely-American accent. He laughed loudly.

“You got a great sense of humour, Agent,” he said, thumbs tucked into his belt-loops, his impressive belly jiggling as he laughed. He looked a bit like Santa Claus, but without the beard.

“So, this is the weirdest thing we’ve ever seen, even in a town with a name like Flippin,” he said, scratching his head under his Sheriff hat thingie. “The weirdest thing that’s happened here is when Jerry Dorsey married his future mother-in-law instead of his bride-to-be, and that was like, thirty years ago.

“When did it start, Sheriff?” Helena asked smoothly, not bothering to try to disguise her accent. Her American accent was terrible, so I was relieved.

“You aren’t from the States?” he asked, frowning. “I thought Secret Service had to be ‘Murican.”

“I’m a special liaison from Scotland Yard,” Helena said, lying through her teeth. “Emily Lake, at your service.”

He smiled at that, tipping his hat.

“A pleasure, Ma’am. We don’t get many of the President’s people down here, so I’ll admit to a little scepticism when I saw you were coming. As to when it started, well, Billy McIntyre turned into a doughnut about… 3 days ago. Every day since, we’ve had three or four people try to come into the station. As if we can help them. I mean, how am I supposed to turn a doughnut into a human?”

“They tried to get into the station?” I asked, intrigued.

“You ever seen a six-foot wide doughnut try to walk through an ordinary doorway? Funniest damn thing I ever saw,” he said, letting out a high-pitched giggle that startled me so much I almost shot him. As it was, I stared at him, trying to work out what the fuck the noise was.

“It does sound very amusing,” Helena said, in her rich voice, touching his arm to distract him from my confused, startled face. “Now, Sheriff… Adams, was it? Could you take us to the victims, please? And then we’ll visit the local eateries to see what each person ate in the days before their… um, metamorphosis.”

“Of course,” he said, smiling at her. She was always a charmer, my Helena. I don’t know how she did it, but she charmed the knickers off anyone who looked at her for more than a few minutes. The only person I’d ever met who was even a little bit immune was Mrs Frederic, and even she had a soft spot for Helena, though she wouldn’t admit it.

I had to seriously get a hold of myself when we stepped into the sheriff’s station. We stepped into a back room, where I assumed they did their morning briefings. There were a variety of people there, all looking like they were wearing costumes of their favourite foods. Unfortunately, those people were the costumes. There was a man in the corner who was the 6ft-wide doughnut, and a woman in front of me (I assumed, because the muppet was wearing lipstick) who was a box of fries from a burger restaurant. And a dude who was a large bowl of phō, which I found even more hilarious than the others, because every time he moved, he spilled the contents of the ‘bowl’ everywhere.

We had chicken and waffles, an egg salad sandwich (and Jesus, that fucker must have been the dullest) and a tall man who looked like chunks of tofu with sesame seeds on it. It seemed even the vegans weren’t immune to the effects.

I kept what I thought was an admirably straight face as we questioned the food-people. No-one had been to the same place – that would have been too easy – but they had all eaten at various restaurants and fast-food haunts during the past week, so we made a list and split up, checking each one with artefact spray to see if anything reacted. I got strange looks from people at the diner and the Vietnamese place, and I’m sure Helena did at the burger restaurant and the large dining section at the mall. But when we met later that afternoon, we had nothing. Nada. Niente. Bubkiss. Or as we say in Belfast, fuck all.

“For the love of Christ,” I sighed. “How long are we going to be doing this? I’m fucking starving, and I don’t want to eat anything in case I turn into a giant Chicken parm sub.”

Believe me, I have no desire to become a walking kale salad,” Helena said, sighing in that long-suffering way of hers. “But we have to get to the bottom of this. It hasn’t had any negative effects as such, or at least not yet, but it could. What if one of them gets too hungry and tries to eat another? What if they really taste of the food they’re… sporting?”

“That could get a bit… unfortunate,” I said, my mind drifting back to when Helena and I met, against the background of a civil war and a zombie invasion. Sure it sounds romantic now, but when you watch your neighbours eating each other’s children, it’s… not so much.

“To say the very least,” Helena said.

We went back to the sheriff’s station and talked to the people some more, jotting down dozens of different locations, places they’d visited, people they’d seen. It was a small place, Flippin, with less than 2000 residents, so those places overlapped. A lot.

“We should go to each location and rule them out one by one,” Helena said, studiously arranging them in geographical order.

“Should we split up, or go together?” I asked.

“Together is safer, but apart means we cover more ground. My thought is that we do it apart, because things aren’t exactly dangerous. Or at least not yet.”

I nodded. We took each other’s hands for a moment, squeezing, just for comfort, and then we split up.

I went to visit the local DMV office, the postal office, a home depot-type store, and a general store. There was no dice. Nothing unusual, other than that the town was still called Flippin. Oh, and they reckoned they were a city. There were 17 thousand people in the tiny section of Belfast that I lived in when I was younger. That was a real city, and not even a big one. Flippin was not a city. Americans, am I right?

I got back to the sheriff’s station and was informed that two more people had shown up. One was a man who had turned into a roast chicken. His face was on the breast side, startled eyes with giant muppet eyelashes fluttering in confusion. He must have been balding in his human guise, because there was a ratty crown of hair that went slightly more than halfway around the body of the chicken. I took down the details of where he’d been, doing my best not to laugh, and then interviewed the other person, a woman who had become a hamburger. It was hard as fuck not to laugh at that poor girl, because her top lip was a slice of cheese, and her bottom lip was a burger. Both of which had lipstick on them, in case we should accidentally mistake the walking burger for a male walking burger. She was trying not to panic, and every little breath made her cheese lip flutter in the wind, and made me have to fake a coughing fit because I was dying.

I took some photographs, for want of something better to do, and married up each food-person with their human photographs, sending it all back to Claudia. For professional reasons only, I assure you. And then I started to worry, because Helena had less ground to cover than I did, and she was nowhere to be seen.

I called her phone, but there was no answer. I did start to get a bit worried, then, so I called Claudia on my Farnsworth.

“Hey, Sir Mykes-a-lot. How’s it going there in crazytown?” It was nice to hear another Irish accent, I will admit. The Warehouse has four of us, but it’s rare to meet the Irish while out and about in the field. I mean, I’ve met those who claim to be Irish, but 23 generations back doesn’t count. Especially not if you can’t pronounce your own name. (I’m talking to you, Ni-am.)

“I’m grand, darling,” I said, rubbing the spot between my eyebrows. “My fair lady has disappeared though, and you know it’s not like her to not answer when I call.”

Claudia’s eyes narrowed. She did indeed know that Helena wouldn’t make me worry unnecessarily.

“Let me track her,” she said, already typing away furiously.

There was a silence, and I got a little alarmed, I will admit. But then she spoke, her forehead all crinkled up.

“She’s in town. Heading your way, actually. But the signal… it’s like it’s there, but it’s not? It’s almost transparent. There’s no setting in my system for something to show up transparent. I call magical hijinks, Mykster. She’s heading up main street now; should be with you in a minute.”

I nodded.

“Thanks, kiddo. See you soon,” I said. I made a mental note to buy her something tasteless before I left town. I was pretty sure somewhere like Flippin would have some really tasteless tourist shite. My favourite thing Claudka had bought me was a Hillary Clinton lighter, where Hill’s head flipped back and flames came out of her neck. I had managed to get her a Pope Pez dispenser in a little Catholic shop in a town near the border, and was still trying to top it.

I went to the door of the station, peering out into the dark. There was a figure approaching, but it didn’t look like Helena. It didn’t look human. I took a deep breath, my heart thundering in my ears. It stepped closer, and then into the light of a streetlamp. It was… a hot dog. A walking, presumably talking, hot dog. Another unfortunate victim, I assumed, looking around behind it for Helena.

As it put its weird muppet feet on the first step up to the station, I noticed that it was a girl. Due to the ketchup in the shape of a mouth. And the long hair that covered about a third of the length of the dog. The poor girl had huge brown eyes, and dark eyebrows drawn into a scowl, and then she stepped closer.

“I swear to all that’s holy, if you laugh at me, we are getting a divorce,” my wife said, muppet eyelashes fluttering in annoyance.

I am not proud to say that I immediately laughed.

I had to be lifted from the floor by two burly sheriff’s deputies, who kindly carried me to the bathroom. I was laughing so hard that I was close to losing control of my bladder. Even as I was sitting on the loo, I was still laughing so hard that I pulled two muscles, one on my back and the other on my abdomen. Tears streamed down my face and I howled with pain, but still I laughed. It took me forty-five minutes to stop myself from laughing, and even then, I started again each time I saw my own face in the mirror. Eventually I was calm enough to send a message to Claudia.

“SOS. Helena is hot-dog. Helena pretended her favourite food was kale salad. I may need an artefact to be sent that takes away my ability to laugh. Divorce proceedings imminent.”

I made my way out of the bathroom a little while later, finding the muppet version of my wife talking to Sheriff Adams. She was trying to coax him into doing something, I thought, because her stubby little muppet hand was on his arm and her giant muppet eyelashes were all a-flutter.

I beat a hasty retreat into a nearby office until I calmed my hysterics.

The second attempt was no more successful. I thought of the saddest things I’d ever seen, tried to turn myself into a PTSD-haunted robot by thinking about things I’d done in my past, but still… muppet Helena took me down effortlessly.

Eventually I was able to speak to her without laughing (much) and we determined that there were two places where she might have been caught up in the artefact’s effects. I continued to say ‘artefact’s effects’ after that because each time I said the words ‘food muppets’ she glared, and she looked even funnier than she already did.

Hot-dog Helena had onions and mustard down one side of the sausage. I don’t know why that made me laugh harder, but it did.

I fled the station, delighted beyond measure to be able to leave my wife’s side. I could not control myself, and I knew that I was skating close to the edge of divorce and/or death by muppet smothering. I kept breaking out in hysterical little bouts of giggling, and I knew I must have looked a sight, the tall Secret Service agent who occasionally starting cry-laughing over her muppet wife.

I visited the seedy side of Flippin, finding a small illegal casino-type operation that Helena had visited, and used the artefact spray to douse everything that didn’t move. And some that did. Nothing sparked. The next stop was the town hall, where a number of people on the list seemed to have been. I visited the mayor, a young attractive redhead, who urged me to leave a Christmas wish in the jar on her desk. Something tugged at me, then, because one thing I have learned as a Warehouse agent is that wishes have power. I sprayed the jar with the goo-spray, and it sparked. It sparked a lot. I grabbed the thing, relieved, and thanked the Mayor, who looked at me in confusion when I told her I needed to take it away, for National Security reasons. I swear, you could poke someone in the eye in this country and say it was for National Security, and they’d ask you to do it again.

I brought the jar back to the station, walking along absently, giggling occasionally to myself, when I suddenly realised that I was… different. My arms seemed shorter, and… yes. There was something dripping from behind me.

Now before you get all gross, there was a trail of marinara sauce behind me, mixed with cheese. Mozzarella, a little cheddar, and parmesan. When I tried to look down, I couldn’t. My eyes were widely spaced, I’d realised, and my mouth was way further from my eyes than it used to be.

So, I was a walking chicken parmigiana sub. Because unlike some alleged kale-lovers, I told the truth about my favourite food.

I sighed, trying to take my phone from my pocket, but my pocket was gone, under a pile of bread, I had to assume. I had an urge to try and pull some of the bread off and eat it, because I smelled really nice. But then I thought… there’s always a downside. And how do you explain that you’re missing a limb or a rib because you ate part of yourself when you were a sandwich?

I knocked on the door of the station, and a startled deputy let me in. He managed to keep his face straight, to his credit.

“Can you grab me my kit from the other room, son?” I asked him, vaguely aware that I had a bouncing crown of curls that had just drifted into my eyeline as I moved. I wondered exactly how ridiculous I looked, and stood there, waiting. The young man came back, his face purple, and I asked if he would take out the goo cannister.

Before I dunked the jar, I asked him to take a picture of me. I’d taken approximately 43 thousand of Helena, already, and turnabout was fair play. He did so, still managing not to laugh in my face, and then I dunked the thing. It hissed and it sparked, and still… marinara sauce dripped onto the floor.

“Shite.”

The fella ran off, howling, as the giant chicken sub swore. I didn’t blame him.

I went into the room where the rest of the food-afflicted were, finding Helena reading a book, holding the pages down with her muppet-fingers. I waved at her with my muppet fingers, and she laughed, and she laughed.

And she laughed.

It was possibly the stupidest thing that had ever happened in my life, and that included fighting with a group of inter-dimensional crime lords who started a zombie outbreak. It was hard to be professional about it, I had to be honest. I knew that, because there’s always a downside, it was potentially much more serious than it appeared – which was, of course, not remotely serious. I challenge you, however, to do any better, when faced with a roomful of muppet foodstuffs.

Having tried the obvious solution, to neutralise the artefact, I knew I had to contact the team. But my cellphone was somewhere in the in-between, I supposed, along with my Farnsworth. I grabbed Helena, and we made our way ponderously into the other part of the station, searching out the Sheriff. Sauce and cheese sloshed behind me as I walked.

Once Sheriff Adams stopped laughing, he set up a video conference with the Warehouse. I would have done it myself, but my arms were too short to go around my giant chicken sub body, and I couldn’t reach the keyboard.

Helena laughed about that until she wept ketchup.

We got no sense out of Claudia, none at all, and the poor girl’s mascara was everywhere, so I yelled for Arthur, and he, thankfully, just scowled at us.

“You both got whammied?”

I tried to shrug. It did not work, given that I appeared not to have shoulders.

“I found the artefact and neutralised it. I was wearing gloves, Arthur. But you know how these wishing artefacts are.”

He scowled harder, his eyebrows scrunching up like scary caterpillars, and he said nothing for a moment.

“Go sleep. Get some food. It can’t get much worse, I wouldn’t think. So eat something and sleep, and we’ll research tonight, and we’ll come back to it tomorrow.”

“All right then,” I said, rolling my eyes. Or trying to. I dread to think how it actually looked. Could my eyes even move? I wasn’t really sure; the perspective made everything look weird.

We went back to the room where the other foods were hiding out, and the Sheriff agreed that he’d get us some food, since we had neutralised the problem but were still stuck. It couldn’t hurt, right? We had pizza, all of us, and it was amusing to watch an eight-foot-wide pizza eating a pizza. The sheriff got us a load of yoga mats and big blankets, and we all settled down to sleep in our various food guises. When I lay down, my sauce stopped dripping everywhere, but the poor dude who turned into phō had to sit upright so he didn’t drown us all.

When I woke the next morning, I tried to jump up, and ended up just flailing like a turtle on its back. I had no idea where I was, I was trapped and I was ready for murder. Thankfully, I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw was Helena’s muppet-self. That brought me from murderous to hysterical in seconds, and I lay there, helpless, legs and arms flapping as I tried to flip my sandwich-self up off the yoga mat.

“I’m normal again!” someone shouted, and I redoubled my efforts. One of the burgers helped me to my feet, and then I helped Helena, who was not exactly talking to me, to her feet. We turned and found that Steve, the giant pizza, was now just Steve again.

“We have to eat the food we’re craving!” Helena and I said in unison, and then we tried to high-five, missing spectacularly and ending up on the floor in a mess of mustard, onion and marinara sauce. It took the phō guy, Mr Egg Salad, and Doug the Cheeto to get us up off the floor, by which stage we were covered in various sauces, but triumphant.

The sheriff sent out a bunch of his deputies to fetch the requisite foodstuffs, and we took a sly picture of ourselves and the other victims to hang up at the Warehouse. One delicious sandwich (or hot dog, or potato snack, or burger) later, we all sat against the walls of the huge rooms, waiting for the magic to happen.

It took a few hours, and we were all terribly bored, but keeping ourselves going by chatting about Christmas and going home for the holidays, when there was a popping noise from Doug’s corner, and he turned from Cheeto to human. A few seconds later Phō turned to Phil, and I turned back into me. Helena, who’d eaten her hot dog slowly while pretending to hate it, was one of the last to turn back. Finally, there were a roomful of sheepish people staring at each other and wondering what to do next.

Helena, thankfully, got her human brain back quicker than I did. I was thinking about going to find another chicken parm sub, to be honest, because it had been delicious. But she stood, waved her badge around, told them all we’d been exposed to toxic gas that caused hallucinations, and one by one, our former foodstuffs made their way back to their families.

“All’s well that ends well, I suppose,” she said, sniffing, pointedly not looking at me.

“I suppose. It’s a terrible shame we have to get divorced, though. I was just getting used to being married to a Brit.”

“Hmmph,” was all she said, her arms folded, but I could see from the set of her shoulders that she was relaxing. I realised I might get out of this flippin’ town with my marriage intact, and I grinned.

We gave the Sheriff and his staff a non-disclosure agreement to sign, and gave them the usual rubbish about hallucinations and toxic gas, and they all nodded, shaking their heads. We went back to our hotel and tossed a coin for who got the shower first. Helena won, and I sat on the edge of the bed on top of a towel, so as to not get marinara sauce all over the bedding.

I sat there, glad to be human, flipping idly through channels on the television until she came out of the bathroom, naked in all her glory. I grinned at the sight, and she glared at me.

I wasn’t entirely forgiven, it appeared. I took myself into the bathroom, washed up, called the concierge to have our clothes cleaned, and then sat at the small desk to write my report on the incident. I studiously added all the pictures I’d taken, except the ones of Helena. I finished it up, scanning and sending it to the Warehouse, and then I packed up the wish jar - still inside the containment cannister – and the rest of my clothes. Then I gathered up my courage and asked my taciturn wife if she was hungry.

She glared at me as if I was taking the mickey, but I wasn’t, for a change, so she told me stiffly that she would like a salad. I am human, so I was tempted, but I ordered only a salad and did not at any point mention the words ‘hot dog’. I ordered myself a burger and fries and all the fixings, and when it arrived I scarfed it down. When dinner (which was technically lunch, given the time) was done I changed into my usual sleepwear, loose cotton tshirt and shorts, and got into bed. I pulled down the sheets on the other side in clear invitation, and Helena huffed at me, going to the bathroom again, where I heard her brush her teeth. She switched off the light and got into bed with me, and I could feel her begrudging it as she did so.

“There’s another bed, darling. If you’re really that mad,” I said, quietly.

“It’s fine,” she said, back stiff.

I ran my finger down her spine, just once. She made a huffing noise and then turned, putting her head under my chin, her arm around my waist. She was lying on my left arm, so I curled it a little, wrapping it around her body, and she sighed.

“You’re a complete arse, you know,” she said.

“I am,” I agreed. “But I’m your complete arse.”

“Hmm. What a catch.”

“Indeed I am. Catch of the century.”

“You’re a fucking pain, Myka Bering.”

“That’s Myka Bering-Wells, darling,” I said, lazily. “And I love you too.”

It was all right again after that, though she became somewhat frosty when she called the Warehouse the following morning and was greeted only by Claudia’s feet, Claudia herself having tipped her chair back so far that she’d fallen over. (I might have just sent our food-group selfie to her.)

On the flight back to South Dakota, she took my hand, both of us comforting each other as the plane took off.

“I love you, you complete arse,” she said, after a glass or two of red wine.

“I love you too, you gorgeous creature,” I said grandly, after three generous measures of Bushmills.

She sighed, took my hand, and fell asleep.

When we eventually got to the B&B after dropping off the artefact at the Warehouse, we were greeted at the door by Leena, dressed in her usual Mrs Santa costume. She looked spectacular, and Helena looked at me, amused, as I tried not to gawk. I mean, I’m married, not a nun.

Leena gestured at us both to leave our bags, handing us hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles.

“You are a sight for sore eyes, sweet lady,” I said, with a sweeping bow.

“And you are a flirt, Mrs Bering-Wells,” Leena said, winking at Helena. We made our way to the living room, finding Claudia spread out on the sofa, her head in Steve’s lap, and Pete scarfing down a plate of Leena’s chocolate Christmas logs.

“Mykes!” Pete bellowed, jumping up and throwing himself at me. I hastily divested myself of my hot chocolate and accepted his sweaty embrace.

“Bout ye, Pete,” I said, grinning as he lifted me off my feet. He put me down, none too gently, and went to give Helena the same treatment. The look she gave him would have scoured the hide off a pig.

“Hello, Pete. If you put your sweaty hands on me, I will not be held responsible for my actions, do you understand?”

Pete backed away, mumbling about crazy Brits, and I hid my smile behind my hand.

“Hey, girls! We have some lovely pictures of you,” Claudia said, grinning up at us.

“Iks-nay on the ictures-pay,” I said, behind my hand.

“Don’t worry about it, darling. I did in fact grow a sense of humour about all this, eventually. As it turns out, this century has indeed influenced my Victorian sensibilities somewhat. I am somewhat ashamed to admit that, yes, hot dogs are my favourite food, much as I wish they weren’t. That does not mean I will be indulging in them, however. I will continue to eat a healthy balanced diet, unlike my unfairly slim wife, who seems to subsist on all manner of appalling foods,” Helena said, looking at me disapprovingly.

“They’re only appalling to you, darling. I enjoy them, and so does everyone else here. And you know that Leena makes sure we get a balanced diet. It’s just when we’re out in the field that I indulge.”

She shook her head, rolled her eyes – all the usual. I just ignored her and sat down with my hot chocolate. Leena appeared again a few minutes later with some churros which I happily dipped in my hot chocolate. I noticed that my lovely wife did the same, surreptitiously of course.

Claudia, Steve and Pete were talking quietly while a horrifically bad Christmas movie played on the television. I watched Helena quietly. She was beautiful, sitting there with the light of the fire flickering in her eyes. She took the occasional sip of hot chocolate but mostly she was sitting there, looking at the fire, her eyes far away. She was exceptionally beautiful, like a marble statue of a greek goddess.

I heard the piano start up from the other room. Arthur, despite his Jewish roots, has always loved Christmas music. Claudia jumped up. She has always had a passion for music, and this was part of Christmas for her. She wandered off to find him, Steve following close behind.

“Mykissimo,” Pete said, jumping to his feet. “You can’t miss out on the yearly sing-song.”

“I suppose not,” I said, polishing off my hot chocolate. “You coming, love?”

She looked up at me.

“Just a minute, darling. I’ll be right there.”

I smiled at her and left her to it. Christmas was a difficult time for her, I knew. Her little girl had always loved Christmas time. Sometimes she needed a minute, to think about her daughter and how she’d lived to be a grand old age. How she wouldn’t have done, if Helena had stayed in her own time.

Arthur was playing “Have yourself a merry little Christmas,” and Steve was singing along in a pleasant baritone. He had a nice voice, and I loved listening to him. Claudia came to stand in front of me, pulling my arms around her neck, and I smiled down at her. She was like my wee sister.

When we were done with that song, Arthur started playing “O Holy Night.” It was my favourite Christmas song of all time, and I knew that he knew that. He turned and winked at me, and I smiled back. When I was at a Catholic school in Northern Ireland, there was a lot of emphasis on music, and the harmonies in this song and the way it all blended together had enthralled me then. It still does now.

Claudia started to sing, her sweet, light little voice singing the melody. When the chorus came along, we all started to sing our parts, Steve, Claudia, Artie and me – Pete can’t sing for toffee. The chorus swelled and then it pulled back before the next verse. Claudia’s sweet voice made me smile. We reached the second chorus and I realised that I had goosebumps. I turned, finding Helena leaning against the doorjamb, watching us all fondly. The thought of her in her Muppet body did cross my mind, and I smiled to myself. That image wouldn’t be leaving me anytime soon. But the way she looked standing there in her blue shirt and jeans and bare feet, her hair loose around her shoulders, it just made something in me still for a moment. The combination of the perfect music and the perfect woman in front of me made me feel calm and relaxed for once, and if I’d been the praying type, I might have said a thank you to the baby Jesus or whatever right then. As it was, I just thanked anyone who was listening for giving me these people and this place, and letting me live in endless wonder.

Merry Christmas, everyone !

#Helena HG Wells #Myka Bering #Bering and Wells #Christmas fic #Warehouse 13

[panticwritten]

Tag Game - 10 Questions x 3

I was tagged by @kclenhartnovels, @luminahart, and @yourbitchystudentwriter for this one, and I’ll answer all 30 questions in this one post! That way I don’t spam anyone’s dash and I also only have to think of 10 questions instead of 30 when I’m done haha.

Thank you so much, you three, for tagging me! I love these questions!

Rules: The Rules: answer these ten questions, create ten of you own, then tag ten people.

I’ll answer the questions under the break!

Round One!

1. What is your OC’s biggest pet peeve?

I’ll just answer for the three OCs of mine that have shown up in Breaking Furnace so far!

Sawyer hates unexpected changes in plan and unnecessarily repetitive noises. Like. Stop knocking after a couple seconds, they promise they heard you. Please condense those hundreds of tiny short messages into one longer one the pings are gonna drive them crazy.

Connor has a problem with people bad mouthing Sawyer, if you didn’t get that from Chapter 5 of Breaking Furnace lmao.

Dominic is touchy about topics dealing with family (”family is so important!” “you can always turn to your family!”). Basically, keep your perfect family narrative away from him or he’ll be forced to remind you that his father was the leader of a human trafficking cartel, which certainly won’t ruin your day as much as you’ve ruined his.

2. What book that you’ve read did you wish you had written, or think you could have written better?

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh man this is a hard one. When it comes to wishing I had written a book like “Dammit, I wish I’d had that idea!” I would probably say Rot & Ruin by Jonathan Maberry. I still haven’t finished that series, but DAMN that was a good zombie book.

If it’s like “Wow, that’s a good concept but bad execution” hand me the rights to Twilight and Fifty Shades. Please let someone make these relationships healthy and not completely terrifying. Please.

With both, I think I would say Hunger Games. Like, the execution wasn’t BAD, but I read those books and see places where like. It could have been better. Better plot decisions could have been made.

You took Rue from us, Collins, why did you have to take Prim, too?

3. Which OC is smarter than you? What research did you have to do because of it?

Oh boy.

Notably, Jay is smarter than me. I haven’t written a ton with them in it so I haven’t had to do much research at all. They were created through a cloning process in which the Cube was manipulated to make them smarter and able to synthesize information faster than should be possible imo. They don’t have much formal education because of their unusual upbringing (see: Dominic’s father’s trafficking cartel), but they have sizable knowledge in biology, biochemistry, engineering, bio-engineering, nuclear sciences, psychology, pharmacology, computer sciences, geology, topography, and have been doing a lot of research into the way the Cube works (specifically the memory sectors). They’re also continuing looking into cloning. There’s a ton I’m missing but like?? I don’t really think I’m welcome in their labs these days haha.

Also, J (not Jay, easy mistake) is a lot better at thinking on their feet than I am haha. They’re like a prodigy with a sword, grew up learning how to fight and lie. I would die in a fight, whether with fists, swords, or any other weapons. And I’m only a good liar when I take too long to respond to a text/email.

4. If you were doing immersive research for your book, where/when would you have to travel?

I’ll do this one for Savior/Destroy, 100 Shades, and TS because those are the ones that doesn’t take place in a concept of a place. BF and SORH both take place in concepts because of the nature of those daydreams. 

For Savior/Destroy, I would really just need to be a fly on the wall of business happenings (same for 100 Shades, ugh), to get a feel for how that field actually works. There’s a lot you can’t research online effectively.

For 100 Shades, I would really need to spend some time in Seattle and Denver. I know little to nothing about either area, and I’ve been putting off research since I’m not writing it yet.

Trollhunters: Subverted would suck because I would have to go on a nice timeline trip starting around 500 BCE in what is now Bulgaria. There’s a lot of running around in that general area for a time. Starting around 1400 CE, I would want to be in Britain. Also, it would be nice to know exactly what happened at Roanoke. And knowing exactly how the woods were in southern Oregon and northern California in the 1600-1800 would be rad.

5. Which character is most like you?

I’ll say. Other than the characters that are me.

Humphrey. He’s nice and sweet and kind of bad at lying except for that one thing that he’s been lying about for so long that it doesn’t even feel like a lie before. My daydreaming is just a much more innocuous secret than his. And he had to switch schools in the middle of a school year, he struggles with mental illness, he’s really not good at talking to people.

The thing is, he doesn’t write and he likes math so who the hell does he think he is?

6. What is your favorite scented candle and why?

There’s like a blood orange Glade candle that I smelled at Target the other day?? It was really nice, but i haven’t really let myself think about scented candles since I’m not allowed to have candles at all in my dorm (doesn’t stop me from having some tealights for my altar but eh).

I like incense, though, and I love voodoo (because it smells like chocolate and death. like, in a good way) and fizzee pop (because it’s like the scent version of carbonation). Coconut is my favorite for writing because it’s the one my sister and I burn when we have writing parties, so it’s just one that I like.

7. Do you have a bookshelf or library? What’s your ideal library look like?

I have a bookshelf over my bed with all of the books I brought to university with me. If I could have my ideal library, like, think Beauty and the Beast scale library full of informational texts, classics that I’ll probably never even read, ongoing series. It should have a faint scent of dust and paper fresh off a printer. There would be a full section for all the books published by the folks in the writeblr community.

It should have an air of being similar to how the Gryffindor common room is described as feeling.

Everyone would be invited to come and complain about writing whenever they want to. It would be warm, with tea and coffee provided in the very back where the books I don’t remember buying are shelved.

8. Who is your biggest tumblr fan of your writing?

Oh man. I would be stuck between maybe?? @breakeven2007 or @jade-island-lives. You two have responded to so much of my writing, and it’s so cool. I know there are others, and I’m gonna take this opportunity to thank all of y’all so much for everything. It means a lot to get these tags and to get responses to things that I’ve written.

9. What tv show/movie has influenced your writing the most? Or, which series do you wish you could help write?

Honestly. Probably. Pokemon. I grew up watching that show and it probably has a lot of influence on how I form stories and how I view different kinds of conflicts.

I want there to be a Harry Potter TV series and I would 100% want to help write it.

10. How do you feel about fanfiction of your work?

Fuck me up.

Round Two!

1. Describe your WIP in such a lamest way possible.

An idiot gets themself thrown in prison because they regret not killing someone.

2. Describe your WIP in the most epic way possible.

A group of friends return to a nightmare of their past to face it head on, but nothing is what it seems. Most of the group has ulterior motives and the monsters lurking in the shadows have plans of their own.

3. What do you usually wear when you write?

Gay clothes. Because I’m gay.

In all seriousness, I have a hard time getting into the mindset of writing if I’m not wearing my ring (which I got from a candle, it has a connection with the Trollhunters daydream), my nostalgia necklace (has my pentacle, a charm from a friend when I graduated, and a vial of my cat’s ashes), and my string of keys (my daydreams tie heavily in with keys and it feels wrong to write about them without the keys on my person). Loose, comfy clothes are also a plus but not a requirement.

4. What part of your story do you enjoy writing the most (action, dialouge, description etc.)? Why?

I like writing tender moments and dialogue. Like, I love writing scenes between me and Connor. I love finding the balance between what needs to be said and what should be left unsaid.

5. Do you prefer to write female or male protagonists? Why?

I prefer to write nonbinary protagonists, but that’s just because I’m nonbinary haha. I don’t really write women, men, or nonbinary folk any differently. 

6. What are your plans for your WIP after you have finished writing it?

I kind of want to get it bound so I can have physical copies of it, even if I’ll never be able to publish it.

7. Have you, or would you participate in NaNoWriMo?

I have, sort of. I never got more than a couple thousand words in, but eh. It was fun. My projects just weren’t viable for a quick-write. I want to try again in the future, but November is just such an inconvenient month. It’s the worst month of the year for me, and I don’t see myself being able to work through that enough to write a 50,000 word novel in a month.

8. What do you enjoy the most about your genre?

Haha, that would make it sound like I stick to one genre. I think a lot of it has mystery, thriller, supernatural, and urban fantasy qualities, though, so?? I love the flexibility. “They separated their consciousness from their body?” sure, it’s my universe so that can happen.

9. What was your favourite read of 2017?

I didn’t really read a lot in 2017, which is tragic. My favorite book of the year was The Square Root of Summer by Herriet Reuter Hapgood. I had to race the clock to read this one because I started reading it really close to the end of my senior year. It was so good, and it surprised me in a million different ways. The protagonist had to admit to herself her own shortcomings in the process of facing an uncertain future, an old childhood friend, and crazy physics.

It was a great book, and if you like YA novels without all of the unacknowledged unhealthy relationships I would really recommend it.

10. What are your hopes for your writing in 2018?

I want to finish Breaking Furnace, goddamn it.

Round Three!

1. What inspired your current WIP?

Breaking Furnace is inspired by Escape From Furnace and the daydreams I’ve had in that universe. I have no idea?? Why this universe is the one I got fascinated enough with to live through the events of the original series in different ways 8 times, though, so that’s whatever.

2. what would you describe your writing style?

According to my roommate, “Almost cynical. It’s like the dark parts of your brain mixed with your humor and have this big fucked up baby. But in a good way. Like, a really good way. Like, you wouldn’t actually stab someone, but you would.”

And I think that’s beautiful.

3. What is an Au that you would love to see written about your OCs?

Literally anything where they are happy. Just let them have peace.

4. tell us a funny writing story.

Okay, so. I have a couple.

I’m sure we all remember the ‘eghit’ debacle, when I was trying to type ‘height’ and realized I needed to go to SLEEP.

And also that drunk writing party. Where I drank a single Mike’s Harder Lemonade (not to be confused with the much wimpier Mike’s Hard Lemonade). And really underestimated how much alcohol was in it.

So, here’s the whole story.

My mom doesn’t like cranberry juice, and I poked fun that she had cranberry Mike’s Harder Lemonade. And out of that conversation I obtained permission to have it. So, my brilliant self decided that since sober me, exhausted me, and depressed me can’t get any writing done, maybe tipsy me could.

And I ended up practically chugging it because I drink everything way too fast. And so I was writing, doing some outlining, and after I started to fuck up way more than I wanted to I actually went and checked how much drinking that in less than an hour would raise my BAC and it p much drove me over .04 so I laughed at myself for a solid ten minutes then went to sleep.

When I looked the next day, I wrote a paragraph, outlined ~4 pages of content, and a lot of it was good. If you can discount the typos.

5. do you listen to music while you write? if so what kind typically?

I do! When I’m writing new content, I listen to playlists I’ve made for each of my projects. When I’m editing, I listen to a classical Pandora station because I can not have words in my ears counteracting the words in my eyes.

6. when did you start writing?

A year or so after my sister started writing (or, when she started letting me read her writing), so maybe fourth grade?

7.who’s you favourite OC?

HHHHHH probably Connor. Definitely Connor.

8. who’s your least favourite OC?

Dominiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiic

9. do you prefer 1st 2nd or 3rd person perspective?

First person. I haven’t written in third person in awhile, and I’m assuming I would still not hate it, but I like being in a character’s head.

I write in second person if I’m writing creepypastas, which I haven’t done in a couple years.

10. uhhh….IDk just talk about anything wip or writing related, you decide!

I! Am really excited about getting to the point in Breaking Furnace where it completely breaks from the plot of the original series. I grew so much throughout this daydream, and it’s gonna be really cool to share that with everyone. 

I really don’t want to spoil anything, but I also really want to talk about everything to do with Breaking Furnace.

Alright!

I’ll tag @panismightier, @breakeven2007, @jade-island-lives, @perringcentral, @angrymagicgirlmarsette, @vwritesfiction, @christinawritesfiction, @cadewrites, @happyk44, @lux-scriptum, but definitely don’t feel obligated to do it!

My questions for you!

1. How much research do you put into your projects, usually?

2. What do you draw the most inspiration from?

3. Favorite candy? How about your OC’s?

4. What are your OC’s star signs, and do their personalities fit their sign?

5. Which OC(s) secretly still have stuffed animals? Which one(s) have them, not so secretly?

6. Does your space have to be clean for you to write/draw?

7. What kind of view would you like to have from your desk?

8. Do you have an OC that doesn’t like to talk about their past? What do they have to hide?

9. Daytime writer or nighttime writer?

10. What trait do you least like in your favorite OC?

#tag game #this was hardcore #i loved it #i love answering questions!! #thank you so much for tagging me!

[crzcorgi]

One of a Kind

For Negan Smut Week!

Sentence Prompt: “You like to hold it”

I wrote something a bit different. This is not with Number 6

Negan x Reader

Y/N=your name

Warnings - Negan smutty goodness. Language. NSFW. Sexy aesthetic

1950 words- using the Keep reading feature

Want on or off my taglist? Just let me know!

@mypapawinchester @kijilinn @may85  @mamapeterson @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @negandarylsatisfaction @rapsity @strangersangel9 @wickednerdery @hannibalssweaters @ladylorelitany @angelak72081 @scarygoodfanfics @superpinkkcat @gageef @ericas-negan77 @miss-nori85 @ali-pennell @smuttwd @purplejellybean @concertxjunkie @magical-spit  @jotilpip @thedeadwalks @negantrashlucille23 @johnthackerys @pandainfinitely @xdaddy-neganx @almostinwonderland @myheart4ever47-blog @lauryphelps1d @texasgal2222  @rizflo-blog @catleesi-xo @negans-network @negansmutweek

I apologize if I forgot to tag you, Just let me know with a slap aside the head! And @#% Tumblr won’t tag everyone, I’m sorry!

    Shit! It was raining hard and I had the unfortunate luck to be heading out on a run. Rain in itself isn't bad, washes away any walker blood and guts your clothing might accumulate. But heavy rain made scavenging hard.

 I was heading out with Simon, Frank, Jake and one other dude, can't remember his fucking name. I was once again the lucky one, the only female in the group. They usually were somewhat respectful, and if they weren't, well, I wasn't afraid to use brute force. And they knew it.

 It always made me laugh when I think of how things are now, compared to what they were, before the end. I was a dancer, no, not a stripper, which is what most fuckers thought when I told them. Fuck, mind in the gutter. I was a ballerina, well, more like a ballet teacher. You know what they say, those that can’t, teach.

 Anyway, my point being that I am small, and even smaller with the lack of 3 balanced meals. But I'm squirrelly, as Simon calls it. And I know how use most any object as a weapon. Simon's Negan’s right hand man. Simon is also my boss, I guess you could say, and probably the only friend I have in the Sanctuary.

  And Negan. Negan is the man, the one who runs the whole show. The one who most are scared shitless of. But not me. Don't get me wrong, I do respect him for what he's done, is doing. It's not a job I would want. But he doesn't scare me. And I know that pisses him off.

 I try to steer clear of him, never take runs with him, follow his rules, anything so he won't notice me. I met him when I first came to the Sanctuary. Got the whole Negan treatment. Work for points or be my wife and live like a queen. He says wife, I say sex doll, potato, potato. Either way, no.thank.you.

 So that's why I'm on a run. It's either that or scrubbing toilets, hmm easy choice for me. Going on runs can be fun. You never know what you might come across. I've gotten some great stuff before. We aren't supposed to keep it for ourselves, it goes back to the Sanctuary to be sorted out. But I've pocketed a few items. What Negan doesn't know won't hurt him, right?

 So I'm standing in the Sanctuary lot, in the rain, waiting for everyone. I'm always on time, they're always late. Nice.

 “We don't need a fucking army for this run, it's just a fucking milk run, Simon!”

  Shit! It's Negan! What the hell Simon, he knows not to put me on runs with him. Goddamn!

  “Well, well, well! Dollface! Fancy meeting you and your fucking fine ass here!”

 “Negan.”

 “Is that all you've got to say? No, good morning sir? No, you are looking mighty fine sir, let’s fuck?”

 Jesus! I just glare at him, hoping the heat in my cheeks doesn't show. “And why do we have the pleasure of your company on this run, sir?”

 “Sir, I like your respect darling.” He moved closer to me, so close I could smell just how good he smelled. Ugh. He then proceeded to put his arm around me. “Take a page from this little lady men, re-fucking-spect, remember that!’

 I turned to stare at Simon, hoping he could feel my anger. He looked at me and shrugged. Bastard!

 I started for the van that Simon was driving, I always rode with him, when someone grabbed my arm. “You're riding with me doll.”

 I gasped, “uh, sir, I always ride with Simon.”

 “Well, change is fucking good, get in the truck doll.”

 I climbed into the truck, already a sense of dread in my bones. This is going to fucking suck.

 Negan opened the driver’s side door, swinging his beloved bat, Lucille into the truck first. “Help Lucille in doll?”

  I took the bat, careful not to touch her barbed wire covering. She was cleaned up from her last outing, but I could still see bits and pieces of a job well done.

 “Admiring my lady, doll? She is a fucking thing of beauty, no?”

 “She's something alright.” I smiled, looking out the window and dreading this run already.

 He started the truck up, radioing Simon to ask which way we were heading then stating we would follow.

 Thank the gods the place we were heading to was a short drive. We got in, got some great things, not a lot in quantity, but quality. We were soon back on the road, no walkers or other survivors to be found. A successful run.

 Well, I spoke too soon. Right after we started back to the Sanctuary, the truck sputtered to a stop. And unfortunately, we were the last to leave, the others had headed back before us.

 “Fuckity fucking fuck! Jesus!” Negan picked up the radio, yelling at Simon. No answer. “What the fuck?!” He started banging the radio.

 “They're too far out, sir, no reception. Once they realize we aren't coming, they'll come look for us. Until then, we’re stuck.” I sighed, picking at the wire on Lucille.

 “Well, well, this is certainly a fucking predicament we are in. Most cer-tain-ly!” Negan turned in his seat, staring over at me.

 “Soooo what do you suggest we do with our fucking time alone, darling?

 The way he said alone, my body started rebelling against what I knew was right.

 “I don't know, sir, sing some round robin songs? Maybe thumb wrestle?”

 I vaguely heard something that sounded like a groan come from him. “Ohh, ba-by, you are so fucking adorable!” He reached over to touch my cheek, but I caught his wrist before he made it.

 “Sir, please keep to your own side of the vehicle.” I looked back down at Lucille.

 “You like my Lucille, sweetheart? She seems to have taken a liking to you also. You like to hold it, doll?” I could just hear the smirk he was wearing.

 “I like weapons of all kinds, and yes, I do like Lucille. She has a nice feel to her, nice hold.”

 He started laughing a deep gruff laugh. “I see what you did there. You thought I meant, do you like holding Lucille. But doll, that wasn't,” He leaned over, taking a hold of my chin and forcing me to look at him. “what I meant. Are you being coy with me?”

 “Negan, sir, this isn't a good idea. You have your wives, I have my pride.” I'm not sure if I was trying to convince him, or me.

 “Oh baby girl, I'm not asking for a fucking commitment, just a little bit of fuckity fun! You are too cute! And making me fucking hard as steel” He reached down, palming himself through his pants.

 I glanced over, noticing just how large that bulge was. And then I threw all caution, and my self worth, to the wind.

 Crawling over the truck bench seat, I situated myself right next to him, my knees against his thigh.  I slowly removed my jacket, throwing it behind me. I then lifted my tee up and over my head, leaving me in just my purple lace bra.

 “Well, darling, this is a most pleasant outcome!” He reached out, grabbing a breast in each hand and squeezing. I let my head roll back, enjoying being touched in this way, it had been so long. A moan escaping from me.

 Negan moved his hand down, unbuttoning my jeans, slipping his long fingers down into my pants. He then leaned over whispering in my ear. “No panties doll? You ARE a dirty girl!”  His voice causing me to shiver.

 “Didn't have enough points to do my laundry.” I was able to rasp out.

 I rose up on my knees, shimmying out of my pants, almost falling over onto Negan in the process.

 “Woohoo, little bit anxious there doll!” He was unzipping his fly, pulling out his now totally erect, and quite thick, cock. “Don't worry baby girl, I'll make it fucking fit.” He sniggered. “Crawl on over sweetheart, show Daddy some fucking lovin’!”

 I went to straddle him, slamming my back into the steering wheel. “Motherfucking shit!!!”

 “Oh my my, such a nasty mouth on this one!” He laughed, but then repositioned the seat. “Better baby?”

 “Much, thank you.” I rubbed my back.

 I put my hands on his shoulders, steadying myself as I began to grind myself over his dick, lubing him up with my wetness.

 “By the sounds you're making, I'm guessing it's fucking been awhile for you, hmmm?”

 “Uh…yes… god yes.”

 “I gave you other options y/n, didn't I?”

 “Yes… but I…dont share sir.”

 Suddenly, he lifted me up, then slammed me back down, impaling me on his more than adequate cock. I couldn't help but scream, the fact that it had been forever, and the oh so pleasant/painful stretch and burn.

 “Ride me baby, ride me hard and fast like I fucking know you can.” Negan growled in my ear, sending his tongue in to explore.

 The cab soon became full of obscene sounds, smells and sights. Windows completely steamed over, causing it to feel like we were in a sauna. The sweat running off our overheated bodies, tickling on the way down.

 Our mouths were all over, biting, licking, little kisses, starting on our lips, moving onto cheeks, ears, necks, chests.

 Negan was sucking on one nipple, fingering the other. I was pumping myself, up and down, making figure eight movements with my hips. I knew I was nearing my release, so I reached down between our heated bodies, quickly circling my hardened nub.

 “Negan...oh…god…im gonna…” He grabbed my hand, replacing it with his own.

 “Ok baby, come.”

 As if on command, I came, screaming his name, among other barely intelligible curses. Negan withdrew, coming all-over my stomach.  I collapsed into his chest, shaking.

 “Feeling good doll?” He laughed. Placing his arms around me, he seemed to be hugging me closer.

 “That was nice.” Sighing, I took in his smell.

 Suddenly, the radio crackled to life.

 “Boss? Everything OK?”

 Negan sat up, letting his arms fall from around me. Grabbing the radio, he answered Simon. “Yeah, we’re OK, fucking truck, not so much.”

 “Okay, we’re heading back for ya.”

 “Shit doll, guess cuddling is out. Got to get fucking dressed”

 I crawled off of him, scooching back to my side. “Uh, Negan, do you have something I can use to clean up?”

 He laughed. “Use these.” He threw his boxers at me. “Now we can be fucking commando twins.”

 I wiped my stomach off, trying hard not to laugh. “Well, that was an interesting afternoon.”

 “Yes, it fucking was doll.”

 After we were both dressed, we just sat there waiting for the guys to come back.

 “I hope you don't think this was a one time thing doll.”

 “Negan, I'm not going to be one of many. It's not what I do, what I am. I have my pride.”

 Laughing, he said, “I wasn't asking you to be one of many, baby. You are definitely one of a kind, my kind.”

 What the fuck did that mean?

 I wanted to respond when Simon arrived. “Boss, you and y/n go get in the van, we’ll take care of this.”

 I climbed out of the truck, grabbing Lucille. Handing her to Negan, I glanced up into his face, to see if I could see something. “I'm not done with you yet.” He rubbed his fingers on my cheek.

Oh god, my life just got a whole lot more complicated.

#negan #negansmutweek #negansmutweek17 #negans-network #negan's thirst squad #negan x reader #negan x you #negan fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #jeffrey dean morgan #crzcorgi crz 4 negan

[ramblingsandruminations]

When Suicidal Ideation is the norm

All the help in the world becomes a muddy puddle of shitty affirmations, thorned gaslighting, and useless guilt. If one more person tells me "have you tried yoga/deepbreaths/vitamin B..." Ugh. Who am i kidding? This is tumblr, where you can always find somone who says exactly what you are thinking ( #omgmetho #datme #meirl ). Weve all heard the "stop giving advice and atart taking it " speech, we're all likely to have read some post about the "evils" and " abuses" of therapy and inpatient treatment, and I'll bet a paper hat, some vending machine doodad, or some shitty-yet-adorably-hipsterly prize that within 100 reblogs someone links to some news article about "Queer Youth Completes Suicide And We Think You Will Pay Us to Feel Bad About It, Don't Forget To Like, Share, and Subscribe to Trevor Project, Your Reblog Will Save A Life (And Keep Us Relevant For Our Advertisers)." Tomorrow(well, next daylight hours) my 26-year-old depressed college freshman self is going to walk into my schools coubseling office and tell them i never recieved the location for the therapist they reffered me to (true story--Honestly not avoiding treatmwnt, even if it is useless) and request a second referral. Ill sit through some lecture about self-advocacy veiled in "concerned questions" and once again be misgendered, deadnamed, and criticized for giving a fuck (note: commenters looking to describe me with the word "cuck," i see you there, good for you, let me know how that white kkknight holier than thou red pill rage fest dopamine addiction is filling the gaping void of existential dread within you). After that, there is always a small chance they'll see just how depressed i am, and faster than you can say "looney is a word based in misogynistic beliefs of womens mental health and menstrual cycles being unhealthily and unscientifically connected to the moon," ill be fielding questions which boil down to "do you want to kill yourself" and "do you have a plan." By this time in my life, i've gotten pretty used to BSing my way around psychology. All it really takes is knowing that all they can take you on is your word, and nothing else. "Do you want to kill yourself?" they ask, and i reply "*short pause, heavy, short exhale denoting weight and truth* Well, yeah. But quite frankly, suicidal ideation is a part of my everyday life- nothing i do isn't plagued with some form of "i should wrap this mouse cord aroubd my neck and die" or " i wonder if that branch is strong enough to support my weight" or "man, my head hurts, but i bet a bottle or two of ibuprofen could make it stop." For me, its not a question of wanting to die, its a matter of what do i have to live for, and ive been through enough inpatient DBT and group therapy to help me cope, using breathing techniques and self-care tips to push me through the worst of it." This is usually if not always all they need to hear. Sure, im depressed, but anything they could tell me is something i know and am already doing-i sound to them more like a patient leaving inpatient than one entering it. Our hospitals are overfilled, understaffed, prqctucally unfunded; if im "stable" im staying out of their ledger book. Occasionally, they still worry, having one of those "consciences" their peers claim to have lost when a schizophrenic patient tried to bite their ear off, and ask a follow up "but are you sure? You seem distressed, and if you need some help, we are here for you," to which all i have to do is look at them through sad, but strong eyes and say "Thank you, but i have a great support network of friends and of course, my boyfriend. He's fantastic, and one of the most important things to have happened to me. He keeps me on this side of the dirt." A small tired chuckle, and their focus diverts towards affirmations of how good it is to have support, their therapy brains running on autopilot. Then all it needs is some "active" listening, uh-huhs, and compliant assurance that ill keep working on myself to assuage them of any guilt or corncern. Maybe, though, ill tell them the truth, and let them take me in. Three hots and a cot, after all. I'll fight through my dysphoria as they ogle every nook and cranny of my malformed body trying to see if im hiding a weapon or some drugs; I'll continue to insist on a private room and remind them calmly yet firmly that no, i will *not* room with a male, and their lack of knowledge on how to treat a transgender non-binary patient is well behind on proper treatment according to WPATH, the APA, and our state govt. When i get a room, theyll say that i should take as much time as i need to get acclimated, and not worry about what the rwat of group is qorking on, and then contradict themselves within 5 minutes and say i need to go to group, theyre waiting on me. In my fresh new scrubs, ill walk in and within seconds, ill identify how th staff monitors who came in when (usually different colored scrubs based on different halves of the week, and of course, anyone likely to leave within 48 hours wearing "normal" clothes), and see the therapist or doctor talking about emotional management techniques. When i sit down, eeyes will be on me, some with looks of angey jusgemwnt, some with awe and wonder: what could THEY be in for? The group leader will ask me my name, ill state it and my pronouns (to several uncomfortable shifts in the room), and theyll let me know what they were talking about. Ill make a good effort to participate, play along, etc. Someone in the group will be desperate to control the conversation, talking more and more as if this entire experience is just for them- another person will be too dissociated to say anyrhing, despite the doctors attebpts to get them to open up. Already, the cliques will become apparent; humans are aocial creatures, after all. When we leave for the next scheduled activity (either rec or lunch, depending on the time) the docs will be watching me- im on suicide watch, and they expe t me to jump out a window or try and slit my wrists with a paperclip or something. Im not a danger in this regard; ive been threatened with solitary and ECT if i dont comply before- i am their prisoner and i must comply. Within an hour or two of being there, ill be able to notice how well funded they are (or more likely, arent.) The quality of their reading materials; the availability of puzzles abd how well taken care of they appear. Recreation will be the most bare of kindergarden activities; coloring books, maybe a tv with basic cable. A daycare for adults, abd not the cool buzzfeed articles. Someone, probably an addict, will be trying to fanangle their attendee into giving them special treatement- a snack, or an extra smoke break. I'll be sitting in a corner, smirking- the staff arent even an eigth as dumb as this person thinks, and they've seen this type before. They might get something, but itll cost them sour looks from staff and less accommodating treatment with the doctors. After the second hour, we'll have another activity (second group, rec, or maybe "outside time" if its a particularly fancy facility; while the sun will certainly be shining, our feelings of freedom will be dampened by the high fances and walls keeping us from getting away). This is usually wheb the realization sets in that im stuck here for 72 hours plus, and ill be counting them down to stave off boredom. 15-30 minutes in to this third hour, ill be called in to meet tye psychiatrist, fisrt meeting with an attendee to fill out the generic details, then 30-45 minutes of diagnosis before im told ill be put on ab antidepressant, an anxiolytic, and tramodol, a sedative marketed as "something to help me sleep" and "another antidepressant" which makes me laugh every time. Tramodol is the auppressant, the "slow down" drug which helps keep everyobe on a nice, calm level thats safer for the orderlies. Were i violent, id concur; instead, i begin to wonder how long it will take before i no longer feel persistently asleep once i leave. A couple weeks, likely. Hopefully, the food will be good, but not likely 5 star- one place ive stayed had been cooking for us in the break room, sometimes PB&J, sometimes microwaved quesadillas. Maybe theyll have more drink options than coffee, water, and sugar-free koolaid- maybe not. Likely not. Some of us will complain; most of us will know it is a fruitless endeavor. After another group or two, it will be dinner, then wrap up group. We will discuss what progress we think we made today, and be sent to bed after meds are distributed in little paper ketchup cups. Most places wont do the "cuckoos nest" tongue check, but some will, particularly the ones with kleptos and pill ODers. Lights oyt will be around 10 pm, the beds will be plasticky and the blankets thin, and sleep will only cone rhanks to our sedatives. Day two, we'll be woken early, around 6-7, by an orderly checking our blood pressure and body temp. Well all gather in the hallway, rubbing sleep out of our eyes and head to the eating area for breakfast- which loooking back will likely be the best meal of the day, not the least be ause we have access to augar and caffiene. By now, i will likely have made a friend, probably with an older woman or two, and we will enjoy surreptitiously smirking at each other when the teoublemaker patwnt tries to get an omlette or something silly. Someone will start telling fanciful stories dreamed up in the night; talk will eventually turn to who is leaving today. The orderlies will be trying to not look too interested in what we reveal to each other instead of them. They will not succeed in this. Ths first morning they will use as a test of how i deal with frustration. An older nurse will act exasperated, as though taking care of me is a curse she was tasked with. She will try to cut theough any response i give her, and rudely discount anything i try to say, as if accuaing me of lying. Knowing it is coming doesnt help it hurt less. If it overwhelms me, ill be labeled as dramatic- if not, as detached. Sluggish from the new medications, i will be treated as though i ahould not be here, and will be led aroubd more quickly than i am rady to be. I will notice that part of it is that i am beginning to realize how broken down i feel i am. Reaching out will result in canned answers and "the doctor is busy's". After all, this iant about me, and theyve seen my type before. At lunch, i will be upset by the bland meal, abd ask if they have any hot sauce, or maybethey will be out of a preferred tea, or the food will not be enough to feed me. The newcomer who arrived at morning group will share a look with the quiet patient. I will try not to notice the parallels. A therapist will ask to talk to me today. It may be a nice session, but will essebtially boil down to "let me give you ideas for solving your problems, so that your depression seems more managed." By the end of the day, they will already begin my release plan. Theyve fixed me, they are sure. I will also get my clothes back. The aurvey will be slightly different today; instead of asking on a scale of 1-10 with 1 being best abd 10 being worst how was my day, it will be the opposite: scale of 1-10 with 1 being worst and 10 being best. This way, they can track how much is me being honest, and how much is me remembering numbers to fake it. (Once, a nurse messed up so often that it was a sentence by sentence change). Later, if there is any improvement, it will be used by the hospital as signs that treatment is helping; if it gets worse, that i had a rough day and shouldnt think much of it. Bedtime will come, and i will relish it- being sedated takes a lot out of a person. When morning comes, the eggs will feel soggy and cereal with be a much better choice. A bagel will be carried into morning group and more DBT will be discussed. I will mostly be checked out; they are pulling most of their material from a 12 step program, and the leader is a student of psychology learning how to help people, but ive heard it all before, and that sense of guilt just pushes me towards suicide harder. At this point, ill feel just how desperate they are to get me out; nurses eill hint at things being the "wrong" answer with " you dont REALLY mean that, do you sweetie?" and " well, you cant keep thinking THAT way, or we'll have to keep you here longer." Boredom and longing for home will encourage me to pretend to be better, and not tell them how last night before falling asleep i stared at the vedfrane wondering if i could take it apart and form a springwire noose, or tear the blankets to make a rope. When they ask if im feeling better, it will actually mean "are you done with your timeout from reality? Have you learned how to fit in properly yet?" The meds wont really begin having a noticable effect for months- they know im lying. What they hope for is a glimmer of hope and a mountain of guilt for wanting to hurt others by hurting myself. Ill fake those, too. Still, ill be misgendered. Still, theyll blame hormones and buzzfeed rather than neurology and chemistry. After all, im well-adjusted, not at all like the Caitlyn Jenners and Wachowskis they read about on their facebooks. Its just a phase, and im just confused. I didnt try to hurt myself- nothing is *really* wrong with me. What can i do? Try and strangle myaelf, or others? That just means im lashing out, and ill get a new med regime and another 3 days, this time strapped down. Being strapped to a bed and left alone is mind-numbingly boring. If i tell them i still want to kill myaelf, theyll just nod their head and tell me it will go away soon; if i say i have a plan, rheyll keep me playing chess and reading AA papers until i apologize. Their job is not to fix me, their job is to stabilize me and make sure i dont break myself more. The fixing is my responsibility. Day four is release day. They will claim i have made improvements and have me fill out an action plan for when i feel depressed again. It will include people i can call, and ways i can push through bad feelings. It is my exit exam.when i pass, ill be set up with a therapist outside the hospital later in the week, and told how to connect with various resources. They will think i didnt know there were trans support groups. I will think that if it was just a support group i needed, i wouldnt dream of death. Neither of us will admit these things. And so, ill come back to school. Late on homework, i will have to prostrate myaelf with dictors note beggibg for forgiveness. I will get it, more due to policy than empathy, and at the end of the day, i will lay in bed, stare up at the ceiling, and contemplate which of my top three anchor spots would be the best ending to my story. Other than medical bills, nothing will have changed. Life drones on. I think i understand why death seems,so much better. In death, i can pretend there is a solution. In death, i can imagine a cure. In death, i can envision a caretaker and easier existence. It doesnt matter that death is the end of it all- i can pretend it willl be more, and my imagination can create many comforts in that void. But even death is a lie, and nothing will ever stop hurting.

#psychology #depression #inpatient #suicidal ideation #existentialism

[sinesalvatorem]

I just read EA Has A Lying Problem and realised that it was similar to some things I’ve said in private conversation before. So I decided I might as well paste my thoughts from chat into Tumblr for interested parties to see. This is just a copy/paste I added some links to, so don’t expect a quality post. But, like, if you want to know what I think about this, here you go:

This also doesn't handle the 'what if EA is wrong (or being done) wrong' problem very well.

Like, you don’t have perfect information about the world. No one does. We each know what our map of the world looks like, so what we have to do is phrase things as “I am someone who thinks they are X” rather than “I am X”, and go from there.

The correct perspective for EAs to take isn’t “I am part of a movement that is going to save the world” but “I am someone who thinks they are part of a movement that is going to save the world”.

Then you step back and take the outside view. What is the track record of people who thought they were part of a movement that was going to save the world?

Spoiler alert: It doesn’t look good.

As far as I can tell from history, most ideologies that think they're saving the world are wrong.

So EA needs to be done in such a way that even if it's wrong (which is a hugely important possibility based on priors), it fails gracefully.

You need to act such that, if your ideas are right, you’ll have made the world a better place; but, if they’re wrong, you’ll just be embarrassed.

The world would be a much better place today if Lenin had simply embarrassed himself.

If EA is wrong, we want to have done less harm in the time we thought it was right than, say, Christianity did during its period of thinking it would save the world if it just crusaded a little harder.

If you cry “Deus Vult!” or your belt buckle says “Gott mit uns”, you can still be the baddies.

And if you have an idea that you can only implement using lies, theft, abuse, and murder - don’t try. You’re probably wrong, because your predecessors were.

I don’t care if it’s the most amazing, logical, obviously-right idea ever-

Don’t. Fucking. Try.

When I visited [EA group redacted], a lot of people said it was obviously correct to kill five people in the trolley problem if the one person is an EA, because then they’ll donate money and save even more people to offset that.

And I said this was hella suspicious because pretty much every ideology will come up with reasons why its own members are more valuable to the world, so it completely fails the "what if EA is wrong" test.

Like, pretty dramatically, really.

Especially given how much of a known mind-virus this is. It isn’t some new plague we haven’t developed immunities to. If you haven’t been inoculated against it, this means something is wrong with you.

(And maybe if we stop thinking about things in terms of “Treating my friends as special is actually a plot to help them save the world! Yay, morality!”, we’ll do less of the less-bad-but-super-annoying thing of always justifying aid to friends as “This is actually indirectly EA!” instead of “I want to be nice to my friend”.)

(Like, maybe this is good for some people, but when I wrote a post complaining about people doing it to me I got flooded with private messages of the form “THANK YOU FOR SAYING THIS! I didn’t know how to talk about what was making me so uncomfortable so thank you for putting it in words.” So, like, a ton of people are also upset by this.)

(Also,  the fact that they felt the need to confide in me, a virtual stranger, instead of telling the people doing this to them to stop, is kind of problematic. It means something has gone seriously wrong here if people feel like they can’t talk about it.)

Anyway, back to the point: Don’t kill normies in favour of EAs in the trolley problem, dude. Don’t do things that would be deeply immoral if your ideology was wrong.

If your ideology is hanging out in the parking lot behind the school whispering to you “Hey, kid, wanna try some seductively plausible moral justifications for why Your People deserve more protection than The Outgroup?”, then you have to stand firm and say “My mommy epistemology says drugs justifications for things which have been wrong every other time they were justified are bad.”

It doesn’t matter how convincing the argument is, either. It could be pure, perfect, and flawless logic. You might have no counter argument. It might be so brilliant that it’s completely convincing. You still have to stand your ground and say “You’re lying”. No exceptions.

I mean, sure, maybe some day a time will come when it would be correct to think the people close to you need life more than the people you don’t know. But, if ever you think that day is today, you will be wrong. Don’t try.

But, hey, maybe you’re special. Maybe you’re unique in human history. Maybe you’re the one person who can assess the arguments perfectly such that you would never ever be misled by a bad one that flattered your biases. In fact, presumably, you don’t have biases! Your cognition is perfect and flawless and you’ll never be misled by a convincing argument. Sounds like you, right? Right?

In shocking, breaking news: Overconfidence is also a bias.

Biased! Biased biased biased! None of you are free from bias!

(And, if you’re astonished at my doctrine, go read the sequences again.)

#effective altruism #rationality #the craft and the community #niceness community and civilisation #morality #copy pasted from a conversation #long post cw #mother visible

[phantroyleryaknowgay-blog]

Phil’s Merch

Tw: I guess an almost panic attack? Not really but better safe than sorry

Phil's thumb hovered over the button. Dan was watching him with caring eyes as his breathing steadily increased the longer he put off actually pressing his thumb down that half a millimeter. "Hey." Phil looked up into those eyes. "They're going to love it. They've been waiting for it, yes, and you won't disappoint them, because you're you and you could never do that. Everything's going to love it."

Phil softly smiled as Dan talked him through it, inching closer as he did so, until his arm was around his shoulder and his head rested in the crook of his neck. Phil laid his head on top of Dan's. "I know logically you're right. Everything's going to be fine. But... but..."

"But that doesn't stop it from being terrified you'll disappoint someone. I'm telling you now that that's impossible. Now come one, do it with me." Dan placed his hand over Phil's gently and slowly pushed down. "Three... two... one."

And there it went. Phil's merch was now live and anyone could see it, buy it, see the pictures of him posing in it, and oh no that smirk on his face was too stupid, his ears stuck out far too far, everyone would notice, he couldn't do this, he just couldn't, I mean it was all too much too fast. Without his knowledge his breathing picked up again and blood was pounding through his head.

Dan noticed and hugged him a bit tighter, whispering and kissing softly into his neck that everything would be fine. Slowly Phil came back. He suddenly realized he was exhausted after worrying about this for so long.

"I... I think I'm going to rest my eyes for a bit." Dan smiled. "I think that sounds wonderful and will do you some good." Phil laid down and Dan helped him pull up the covers. "Do you want me to stay or go?"

Phil was still anxious and probably would have appreciated Dan staying until he fell asleep, but he didn't want to be the reason Dan put off working. And so, he faked a small smile and shook his head. "No, you can go. You probably should work on some things. I'll be fine." Dan frowned a little. "You're sure?" He asked. Phil gave a slightly wider more real smile at his worry. "Yes. I'm sure. Go run the world."

Dan leaned over and kissed him for a moment, softly and sweetly. When he pulled away, Phil felt a little better, for real. "Ok, if you're sure. Get some sleep Philip." Phil chuckled slightly at the name. "Yes mum. I promise I will. You go get some work done you." Dan stood up. "Alright then, I'll see you in a while after I've actually been productive. Ugh." And he left the room. Phil's eyes sparkled as he watched Dan's retreating back, and closed as Dan shut the door behind him, leaving him in partial darkness besides the slightest glow coming from behind his drawn drapes.

Dan actually was productive. He was incredibly proud of what Phil had achieved, but also felt slightly guilty of his own contributions these days. He knew quite a few people were getting impatient for him to DO something, and since they didn't see progress with their own eyes, or how much he does a day, that obviously means he does nothing all day, right? Wrong, but still, he wanted to do his absolute best to appease everyone.

After actually doing things for about two hours, Dan inevitably found himself on Tumblr. He smiled to himself as he scrolled through the millions of people losing their shit over what Phil had accomplished, and became almost teary-eyed at the people explaining how proud they were of him-although Dan knew for a fact he held the lead for that.

Once he was done trolling through Tumblr and having what he saw threaten to break his depressing blackness and death typicalness, he decided to check on his boyfriend. He really had him worried earlier, and Dan hoped he had gotten some sleep and that it had helped him. He opened the door as quietly as he could... and froze at what he saw on the other side.

Phil was lying on his side with tears streaming down his face, staring at his phone. He hadn't even unlocked it, but he had Twitter notifications on, and was just scrolling through the multitudes of them, not even seeing what they said, both from how fast they were moving down his screen and from the water flooding his eyes. For a split second Dan had hope the tears were happy ones from seeing how happy everyone was with his creations, but one look at his face told him otherwise. Phil's eyes were slightly squinting in pain at staring at a screen in the darkness, his mouth was tightly closed into a line, and all in all his entire body was tensed, as if against a physical attack.

In a moment Dan rushed to his side, deftly taking the phone with one hand and squeezing Phil to him with the other. He set the phone down on the bedside table quickly and adjusted to hold Phil tightly to him. After a few seconds Dan could hear him whispering almost silently. He bent down slightly to listen. "It's too much, there's so many of them, I can't do this, I can't do it, I can't..."

Dan's face turned stricken. Phil didn't deserve to feel this way about what he had done. "Hey... you don't have to do anything. They're loving it. Everything's positive. Nothing's wrong and you don't have to say anything, in the very least, not yet." Dan hesitated for a second before asking. "Would you like me to take over everything for you for a bit?

Almost imperceptibly Phil nodded into his chest. He shifted until he was completely curled into Dan, took a deep breath, and gave a sigh of relief. Dan hated seeing him so small, his 6'2.9 boyfriend was anything but small, but right now he was emotionally 2 inches tall. "Ok. I can do that."

With Phil's head still resting right below his breastbone, Dan stretched his arm to grab the phone off the small table. Going into Phil's phone, he put on some of their favourite music to calm Phil down a smidge and began to sort through the social media mess. Dan showed him the glow ups people had done, the memes of how they were giving Phil all their money, the millions of tweets saying how much they loved him, all of the people who had changed their names to a series of Wingdings no one could read as a tribute. Dan replied to many comments on the original post about the merch, always making sure in some way they had Phil's approval first. After about twenty minutes Phil's body had lost the tense quality keeping it captive, and had begun chuckle at some of the funnier posts. He still wasn't 100%, but he was much better.

After a while Dan realized they needed to address the fact that the socks were out of stock. He looked down at Phil who was staring at him with puppy dog eyes as if he was his one true savior. "D'you think I could tweet from your account about the sock thing?" Phil nodded, still watching him with attentive eyes, watching his every move as if each one could fix the world.

Dan leaned over to quickly press his lips to the top of Phil's head before swiftly typing up a tweet about the out of stock socks.

"Oh wow the socks are already sold out! So happy you like them they'll be restocked soon🌵🧦"

Dan glanced down at Phil's sleepy eyes watching him. As he looked, Phil smiled softly at him, leaned up, and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you Bear."

Dan's eyes crinkled up as he smiled back. "No problem Lion." He clicked the tweet button.

It took only a few minutes before Dan realized he had slightly fucked up. It was the comments that told him that. The indistinguishable series of shapes quickly flooded the replies with variations of the words "PHIL! Smh, missed the perfect opportunity for a pun, come on man." Dan scrolled quickly to see what exactly had slipped by until he saw one that expressly said what play on words could have been achieved here.

"Missed opportunity to say reSOCKed." And a really below saying "PHIL HOW".

Dan burst out "Oh for fuck's sake!" In a flash Phil sat bolt upright, blinking blearily down at Dan and the phone, Dan realizing belatedly how that might have scared him. "What? What's happened? Did something break? What-" He was cut off by Dan tugging him back down. "It's nothing."

"It's obviously something or you wouldn't have said anything!" Dan sat up at this, leaned his back against the wall, pulled Phil into his lap, and tucked his head into his neck, holding him close. "I only meant it was nothing terribly important. In response to the tweet people were pointing out we missed the opportunity for a pun, and I felt a bit like a twat for missing the mark on your brand. Relax. Everything's fine, I promise."

Everything was quiet for a few moments. And then Phil burst out laughing. Dan looked at him questioningly and Phil got out. "I- I was so scared haha, but you were just annoyed at our subscribers for besting you!" Dan looked down at him, and started laughing too. They went on like this for several moments, before collecting themselves. Phil relaxed in Dan's arms, turning back around and taking his phone back, ready to face it all. Dan wrapped his arms around his waist as Phil looked through everything, taking a deep inhalation into Phil's hair. Soon enough he hear Phil start giggling.

"What?" Dan questioned, a half smile appearing on his face at just the sound of Phil being happy. "Read this one."

"'Dan didn't promote his bo- his friend's merch smh' oh my god." Dan joined his fri- boyfriend's laughing. "I suppose they don't know I spent the entire day promoting your merch from the inside."

Phil smirked up at him. "Yep, just like a spy you were, while also being my entire support system at the time."

"Well I guess I am pretty awesome," Dan said sarcastically. Phil suddenly got a lot more serious, smiling softly up at his boyfriend. "You really, really are." Dan grinned at him, and Phil poked his dimple with his thumb, while also pulling his face closer.

They kissed softly, but for a long time. Together the duo got up and went to brush their teeth, still holding contact even if it was just their arms brushing or holding hands in between. And together they went back to the bed, laid down, and pulled the covers up, ready to sleep after their long day.

"Thank you. I was just so overwhelmed, and you... you fixed everything." Phil whispered.

"I'll always be here when you need me Phil. I'm proud of what you did today, it was big. Good night. I love you Phil. Always."

"I love you too Dan. Always."

And... there we go I guess. I wasn’t really planning on doing my first phan fic today but it kinda happened so yay.

#phanfiction #phan #phan oneshot #phil’s merch #phil lester #dan and phil #dan howell