#anyway worlds smallest vent (as in a little vent on the floor to make a joke out of) my bad 😔😔

[codecicle]

been using this to fight most of my anxiety recently. "oh my god the room is spinning my heart is pounding I can't breath" your honor after reviewing the evidence, who gives a fuck lowkey. pop those shock mints and your dick and get on with your day soldier

[nocluewhatsupg]

Slashers’ reactions to you living in their vents

one of the mods got a very rare disease don’t google it you won’t get answers but if he doesn’t see some fresh slasher tiddie in the upcoming collector film he’s gonna fucking die

Michael Myers

Crouched near the cold vent opening, you peer up at the tall man. Michael paused the violent daydreaming he was doing to tilt his head slightly down, and stare right back at you. This continues for a good while, as the sunlit common room bustled with life around the two of you.

He’s chill about it. Probably because he simply believed Loomis got his medication confused and he was tripping balls or something. Had quietly entertained the idea of escaping through your impressive vents, but he’d never fit. It was much funner to smash heads into doors than stealthing around anyway.

Pins a blanket over the vent opening in his cell just in case. Hypocrite.

Since he couldn’t get to you, and snap you in half, he begrudgingly allowed you to exist in his presence. You found him such a curious inmate, and since he hadn’t tried to tear your spine from your body, you hung around. Any conversation you had was one sided, and he didn’t play along with your suggestion of “blink twice for yes, three times for no”. He accepted any gifts you’d give him, especially candy your nimble hands took from the cafeteria. They were gifts, even if he’d violently kick your vent until you handed them over.

Michael would simply wait until your excitement died down and you realize he wasn’t anything more interesting than a cardboard box. Nothing you said got a reaction out of him, no matter how hard you tried. Even when you dramatically proclaimed your love to him through his cell’s vent, on a beautiful night, he did nothing but pin a blanket over the opening and returned to sleeping with gentle moonlight pouring over him.

When he stages his escape, you stayed in your vents, and you were forced to retreat deep inside the building as he tore open the cover and stuck his arm inside. Looks like all the time you’d spent together never mattered to him, and he didn’t even bother to ensure your death. You’d be waiting for him when he came back, and you finally remembered how cold the damn vents really were.

Jason Voorhees

He is baffled you found a vent in the middle of the woods in the first place.

It was discarded, fallen from a construction van that had driven through the area, and wasn’t missed. From there, nature took its course, short brown mushrooms and elegant green moss covering the artificial silver. Insects burrowed underneath, and lizards enjoyed both the heat and the shade it provided.

Jason doesn’t break a sweat dislodging the vent (and you) from the ground and hoisting it high above his head. The sharp scent of fresh dirt was the last thing you smelled before he violently chucked you directly into the lake <3.

Brahms Heelshire

He got a new nanny, stared at their attractive appearance for one glorious day, then watched them vanish overnight.

With panic, he tore the house upside down searching for them, calling with every voice he could produce, but he found no one but rats.

Dust had clawed at your throat when you stepped into the hollow walls. It became apparent fast someone lived in them, newspaper clippings and disturbing little notes scattered throughout the passages. Through the carved out eyes of paintings hung on the wall, you followed a tall, masked man around the mansion. World’s most bizzare tour.

The longer you watched, the more your terrified expression melted to a mild understanding. The child’s calls drew for you a perfect picture; he was lonely. He must’ve stared from these very walls at other folks for years, dreaming of being out there with them, laughing and dancing. He was outcasted, and what could’ve been an extravagant, luxurious life became one of solitary and strain. Something unjustly tore that life from him, and he was forced to stomach the repercussions alone.

On the other hand, his brown hair was long and greasy. His clothes had holes. He was a visibly grown man making a child’s voice. What the fuck are you doing get out of there he’s going to fucking kill you and if he gains popularity he’s going to be turned into an even shittier bootleg Annabell movie.

Out of sheer luck, you managed to live along side him. He too walks in the walls as you do, but you were careful to keep yourself away from him. The way you got away with what you did was probably because he wasn’t actively looking for you, as even the smallest effort would lead him to spot you. You ate as he did, slept as he did, went through all sorts of noise producing actions as he did. You noticed how he lived, and mimicked it.

Of course, you didn’t really want to live like this. It was bizzare, but you felt as if you’d dug yourself into a hole too deep. If you showed yourself, you feared the worst. Or maybe you enjoyed this strange lifestyle, to each their own.

When Malcom came with supplies, he didn’t seem to mind the empty house. He lingered in the mansion occasionally, until the burn of both your gaze and Brahms’ gaze made him leave with the hairs on his neck standing up. You knew Brahms watched from the opposite wall that you were in, as you knew where the holes were, and you could occasionally see a flash of his white mask.

Brahms left the walls occasionally, and you eventually realised he followed a schedule, each step posted on the insides of the walls. His excursions were very brief, only when he had to make something happen outside, like eating or setting music. Then he retreated to the walls.

The more you watched, the more hesitant you became to outing yourself to him. You learned a lot about him, and the top thing that you noticed was that he was a grade A nutcase. Everything he did, even the simple things, were alien to a normal person’s train of thought. So you watched, and waited, gathering information to produce the best possible answer. Embrace the odd life, confront him, or quietly run?

As he often did, Brahms ate the last of the food during breakfast. He had no reason to spare, but you knew he ate more that usual on these days. It would take him a while to exit the kitchen, as you knew he liked to loiter and watch the rain splatter on the kitchen windows. This, along with the fact that Malcom would be arrving around noon, made today the best possible day to put your plan into action. You knew the kitchen door was unlocked, and the garden had a thick maze you could hide in. Not even once did it cross your mind how odd it was that you knew so much from watching a man, and if you had thought of that, you’d worry for your sanity.

Instead of the trap door Brahms took, which was settled on the ceiling of the kitchen, you took a slightly longer route. Your route, through a lose piece of wall in the living room, allowed for good stealth. As you reached your exit, you anxiously wondered how he’d react. You wondered if it would be odd that you’d stayed for so long. The lavish living room had the lingering smell of a put out fire, and the tap of raindrops masked your footsteps as you tiptoed to the kitchen.

Old habits died hard, and you paused at the arched opening leading to the kitchen, peeking your head out to watch him. It was then, as Brahms dug through a cabnet, that you realised that one thing slipped by your infinite wisdom. You hadn’t thought of the best way to confront him. What to say, where to be, what to do. You fought to settle your nervous breath from growing in volume, gripped the wooden pillar you hid behind, and gave a quick prayer.

He didn’t notice you step out into the opening, as your hands twisted your shirt anxiously. It was only when you set your foot on a loose floorboard, and the creak echoed loud, did he snap his head up. It was difficult to tell if he recognized you through the dust that settled on your face, and you had no idea what emotion was painted on his. Brahms stood quiet as you decided the best thing to do was introduce yourself, and shakily, you did.

After the shock of learning of your existance settled, he did something all your watching could never have prepared you for. He skipped right over why, or how you were living here all these months. What brought you to the Heelshire mansion bored him. No, he instead scolded you. He snapped at how irresponsible you were, hiding from him, neglecting your duty.

Then he did something you predicted. He grew angry. Brahms slammed his fist on the table, and shouted for your explanation. He mocked you as you stumbled for an answer. When what you did say didn’t satisfy him, he pulled a knife from the fat block sitting on the counter. Nothing you could’ve said would’ve worked for him, and even if something did, he would pretend that it didn’t.

It was a little past mid day, a frightened glance to the clock told you. He slept in, and so did you. The clock wasn’t your priority at the moment, as Brahms didn’t care for the fear in your eyes and decided to advance. With adrenaline making your heart go twice as fast, and the thought of your blood gushing on the tiled floor making your mind go blank, the first words that came from your mouth you didn’t even think through.

Giving him a taste of his own medicine, you scolded him right back. It was past noon, and the schedule stated that he had things to do that he neglected. To your amazement, he froze, and you drew more strength into your words. There were things that still had to be done, how dare he neglect that too. You kept your head as high as you could, turning your terrified expression into a disappointed glare, and he stopped. To your command, he dropped the knife, and it clattered to the floor. When you told him to, he shuffled back around and continued eating, occasionally glancing over his shoulder. If he had a tail, it’d be curled weakly between his legs.

You felt like you were going to pass out. You thanked whatever higher being you believed in for that stroke of intelligence. Of course, Brahms didn’t offer you any of his meal, but you didn’t care. You had him under control, at least for now. Patiently, you waited for him to finish, keeping your guard and your confidence way high. The schedule would be followed, and you’d see just what you could get away with. This bizzare predicament could actually work out in your favor.

Billy Lenz

Hey, he thought of doing it first! Dirty copycat. What are you going to do now, get a buddy and start calling people and playing jeopardy with them before you murder them?? Turn this serious and deep genre of film into meta satire???

He’s as surprised as you to see you crawling around in the attic. You might even get a chance to explain yourself before he murders you.

You better start explaining, especially since he’d seen you downstairs, chatting with the other members of the house naturally.

With the charm that got you into that house in the first place, you carefully explain how you didn’t really technically live in the house. How you never technically joined the college, and never technically applied to be part of the house.

Okay, neat. So basically what he’s doing, minus the socialization. Wow. Aren’t you so creative. When he began to give you a strange look, you gave him a quirky little salute, and evacuated the attic as fast as you could.

He lingered in your mind as you ate dinner that didn’t belong to you, visible fear in your expression. You stared at the cracks in the ceiling, and swore you could see the whites of his eyes gleaming in the black darkness. It horrified you, how he was you, but incredibly mentally unstable.

To prove how upset he was at your existence, he strangled your roommate that night, as they slept only feet away from you. You awoke to a cold, clammy corpse, that you stared at in horror.

With guilt fresh on your expression, you abandoned the body quietly. You pried the window in the room open, then threw the pillows and blankets from your bed to mimic a fight. When another housemate discovered the corpse, their alarmed shouts warned you to seek refuge in the attic. It was there that you mulled over the pickle you’d found yourself in, an irrational, impulsive decision leaving your future grim.

Billy wasn’t content with finding you in the attic again. Between fighting his clawing hands, you desperately tried to convey how your lives are now entwined, whether he likes it or not. If you were caught, you explained through gritted teeth, you’d bring him down with you. Of course, he could simply kill you and dodge the more difficult option, so you’d better keep talking sweet if you wanted to live. He had nothing to gain from befriending you, but you had everything to lose.

In the end, you had to give up more than you were comfortable giving a psychotic, attic dwelling stranger. You promised yourself you’d get worse in jail. Maybe he didn’t care about what you feverishly promised. Maybe he just wanted you out of his face, and you probably guessed right, as the second you stopped talking he slid down the opening of the wall and desended to watch the house’s residents flutter with panic.

To your bewildered surprise, it worked. You were classified as a missing victim, and no one ever came to the dusty attic. The payment for this shakey freedom was anything but nice. Often he’d push you from the attic, forcing you to scale down the exterior brick wall with cold wind blowing on your back. There was little warning, and you never knew how long you had to wait in the snow while he did whatever he did. Sometimes he’d scream at you until you left to procure an item for him; usually food. How you got it, he didn’t care, you wouldn’t be allowed back in without it. He saw quickly he could make you do whatever he wanted, and he shamelessly took advantage of that. It almost seemed like your life was his game, which at this point, it might as well be.

Billy rarely slept soundly for long, awakening after two or three hours of rest with a panicked scream. Then, like nothing ever happened, he’d casually go to do something else. He slid noisily down the wall to observe everyone else sleeping. He tore into one of the boxes that surrounded the both of you and explored its contents. On the worst occasions, he’d come bother you, shaking you awake for no good reason. You never snapped at him, because this was better than jail...Right?

Then he began to kill the other residents, returning in the morning with blood splattered on his clothes. He went put of his way to touch you, mumbling the late resident’s name as he painted you red. The first few times made you gag. By the time careful surveillance was set on the house, you didn’t care anymore. You slept during the day, to stay wide awake at night incase he got caught and you needed to bolt. Billy returned from his excursions in the morning as well, and would crawl in your already warm mattress and mumble until he passed out.

When there was no one left in the house, you thought fast. You coaxed him from the attic. Hand in hand, you led him through the shadowy forest, and to the attic of a new, unexpecting house. He smiled at you that day, a real, genuine smile not clouded by madness. The cycle began again, as he slid down the walls and carved new peeping holes. You were so numb. Your blood was black with guilt. You watched the new residents going about their business through the attic’s window, and you found your stomach so twisted you couldn’t eat. The only breath of fresh air you got was daydreaming, of what your life could’ve been if you’d just chosen any other house so long ago.

The oddest thing occured in the new house. He, for once, comforted you. You felt as if you looked into a mirror, as he even said the same things that you’d say to him. But he couldn’t shake the coldness in your core, and with a frostbitten body you were forced to assure him you were fine. Billy shrugged, ate the food you didn’t, and slid back down the walls. Through the dark window, where a small candle allowed you to see your distraught appearance, you knew this would be your life. You’d drag him from house to house, untill he’d killed everyone in the world, and the last person for him to kill was the only one that really deserved it.

Asa Emory

He notices you missing from the collection fast. Escapes weren’t uncommon, but he wasn’t too bothered by it.

He expected to see your mangled, shredded corpse cooling on one of his highly advanced traps. There was nothing to worry about.

When you didn’t show up gutted and gored within a few days, he began to worry. The though of your bewildered face appearing before the police, a wide, fearful expression before reporters made him nervous. If you’d ran out of hell, you’d know how to run back in.

The news interview that would shock the generation never came, and the ouchie he got on his ego healed. That left the obvious final option that you had, or eventually would, expire and waste away alone in a dark corner. That filled him with a good feeling, that you’d suffer a cold death for running from him.

So when he was met with your wild, smirking face in a vent, he felt some sort of way. Mostly anger. You’d not only killed his ego, but spat on it too.

You’d scrambled away before he could grab your boney ankle and strangle you, leaving him to smash his bathroom mirror in rage.

Unfortunately, Asa worked as an exterminator, and you were nothing more than another pest. He wondered if you too would still scramble if he cut your head off. Murder was off the menu that night, and he let you gloat your near death experience for only one final time.

The next day, he patiently set bait. An empty, blood splattered room would do. In the middle sat an empty trunk, and an unsupervised meal. It seemed as if someone lived there, and had been pulled away from a mouth watering dish. Or, a very obvious trap.

If your hunger got the best of you, you slid through the rather snug vent along the floor, quietly moving the grate from its place. A click echoed, just barely loud enough to be heard over the dogs howling.

He watched your heart drop. He watched it shatter as you turned to your sneakly little vent, and find that it was locked shut. A thick metal plate had slid from the wall and trapped you. Not too far after the realization settled frigid in your stomach, did a soft hiss of escaping wind begin to grow.

The exterminator’s poison was clear, but it was not painless. Whether you cried and begged, or you silently glared in defeat, he wouldn’t let you out. You accept the hotel’s damp, rotten air, or you choke on it.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Hexbolt

Inspired by my own prompts? Maybe a little bit.

Summary: The former villain Hex makes a desperate choice to escape captivity-- only to realize just what they have gotten into.

CW//Solitary confinement, extreme isolation, attempted self harm, screaming, sensory deprivation, desperation, captivity, crying, syringes, trackers

The cell had been designed for them.

Hex had realized that the moment they’d been thrown in, though the implications hadn’t struck them all at once. The cage was six foot by six foot-- at least, that was how they’d approximated it, considering that when they stretched out, their head touched one wall and their feet brushed the other. It was the same in the vertical direction, giving them enough room to stand, but nothing else.

They weren’t claustrophobic. At the very least, they had been trying to convince themself that they weren’t for the last...

The last...

How long had they been in here?

There was no indication of night or day-- the walls, floor, and ceiling alike were all coated in a thick black rubber, devoid of windows of any sort. Even the single vent had been covered with a thin layer of black, allowing in only the smallest breaths of stale air. The door was the same. They knew there was a door, but it was only visible when open.

Hex had no idea how long their world had been consumed by black. Long enough that whenever the slot on the cell door was opened, it hurt their eyes, making them flinch back.

There were scared of the light, even as it sounded stupid to think about. Well, they weren’t scared of the light. Not exactly. Moreso, they were frightened by its implication.

Light meant attention. It meant that someone had remembered them, here in this hole.

Usually, it only meant this in a minor way: One of the guards had remembered to bring them food, or water. That might have happened on a regular basis, or it might have not. Without light, without human contact, they had no way of knowing. Sometimes, food came. That was all.

Sometimes they would catch a glimpse of a hand, or, even better, a face. Something, anything, to remind them that other humans existed.

They cried, those days. Even as they tried not to think about life before, about life before this little black box, they could not. They only knew the cage.

In a way, they hated just how simple it had been to contain them. With the ability to take hold of technology, escape should have been simple-- a matter of tripping a fire alarm, or, if their captors had been particularly careless, simply opening their own cell door remotely.

But they could not grasp anything beyond a rubber wall, blocking their signals. Their powers had a range, at the moment, of six feet by six feet. There was not so much as a light they could play with.

Only silence and black.

They screamed sometimes. No one heard. Slamming against the walls of their cell did equally little-- the rubber was too flexible to provide any sort of sound or injury.

A stupid little box. That was all it took to contain Hex. They had always thought the League of Heroes to be far too stupid to come up with something restrictive enough, strong enough to keep them contained. But they had. And it was a box.

Did their former foes even remember them? Timeline? Mantas? The Sentinel? Anyone?

Maybe they were dead. Maybe everyone they had known was, passed of old age while they were in this six by six by six foot cube. Perhaps, something in this cell was simply keeping them alive. Prolonging their loneliness.

And no one would ever remember them, ever again.

Hex shifted to a sitting position, back pressed against one of the rubber walls. Which one was lost to them-- they could not see in the dark, and there was no difference between the walls anyways.

They hugged their legs to their chest. When had they become so... thin? Was that it? Or had they simply forgotten what they used to look like? They knew they were getting lost in their own thoughts again, but they couldn’t help it. There was nothing else in here, nothing else to engage with.

If their foes had forgotten them, had their friends? All the other villains? Had their inside jokes turned into wistful memories? Their face a fixture in the background of ancient photographs?

They were crying. Maybe if they shed enough tears, dehydration would take them.

The very thought of it brought a warmth of hope to their chest. It was for the sake of that warmth that they allowed their tears to consume them, running down their face, their neck, their dusty grey prison uniform, until, at long last, their own sobs lulled them to a deeper, unconscious darkness.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━   

Hex awoke to light. Hex never awoke to light.

So much light, it burned them, even as they scrambled to cover their eyes. They sputtered, trying to speak, but their attempts were of no use. Instead, they could only wait as their eyes adjusted to the new, blazing inferno before them.

It took far too long, but when they could at last see, their field of vision was filled by a figure, taking up the doorway.

“I asked, are you alive in there?” The idea of a human voice was so horribly unfamiliar, it took Hex a moment to remember what exactly speech was.

“I- I” Their throat was so dry, their words came out as a croak. “What’s going on?”

It was the figure’s next words that made Hex recognize them.

“Guess that’s as good of an answer as any. Long time no see, V-23.”

Why was the Chief here? They were always so busy, so secretive, so...

Why would they care about a forgotten, caged animal?

Their next words were stupid, they knew that, but they needed to know.

“A- Are there any others? Is anyone else still around?”

Uproarious laughter.

“You thought that your friends are anywhere near strong enough to take us out?”

No. They thought age would have taken them.

“I don’t know.” Hex whimpered. Even with the insulting, mocking tone with which they were addressed, they could feel tears beading at the corners of their eyes. Tears of joy, accompanied by a blazing warmth in their chest. “I don’t know.”

“Well, 23, have you enjoyed your stay?”

They were still in the box. They were still- and the door was open. The door was open! They could leave, go, and-

Hex could hardly believe that their legs could still carry their weight. They scrambled to their feet, surging forth, only to be struck.

A hand about their neck, a hand large enough to practically wrap all the way around. It pushed them back, making them fall to their back.

“What?” More laughter. “You thought your sentence was over? You thought you were leaving? Give me a break.”

The tears spilling down their face turned cold. Was their any purpose to this visit besides gloating?

“But, I suppose it’s good to see that you can still walk. Now, you know I’m busy, and I know that I couldn’t care less about you. Trust me, I wouldn’t be looking at your face if I had a choice in the matter. You see, I have an offer for you.”

“An offer?”

“Not that I enjoy dealing with villains, but yes. A deal.”

“A deal.” They repeated.

“Great job, you remember English. Crazy how that works.”

“Shut up.” No. Keep talking, please keep talking.

“Well, you do have that option, believe it or not. Let’s make this very, very simple. You have two choices. First option, I leave you alone. I close this door, and you go back to your little dog crate.”

No. Please no.

“Second option.” There was a horrid, wicked grin to the Chief’s face. “Second option, you switch sides. To put it simply for your little brain, we need a spy. A mole. And you’re just harmless enough to fit that role. You will return to your little friends, and report back.”

Hex felt their heart skip a beat, before beginning to race.

Back home. Back to their friends. More importantly, out of this box. Eating food that could be described as edible, instead of moist blocks of something grey. They could go home, again.

But...

It would mean going against everything. Everyone.

But if they were out of this box, they could do anything. They were sure of that. They could fly, breathe fire, pick up a car, anything, just as soon as they were out of this box. They could escape. Then everything could be like it was before!

And they would never again be placed in a box.

“Yes.” They gasped, exasperated.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’ll work for you.”

“Good.” The Chief smiled. “Come on, then. We will discuss this further somewhere else. But first, doctor?”

The first figure moved aside, making way for a second, less imposing one, draped in a lab coat. Hex skittered backwards, noting the item in the doctor’s hand-- a sort of broad- tipped syringe. They reached the back of the cell far too quickly.

The doctor stepped forth, and Hex felt their heart lurch to their throat. What did they want? In a moment of unprecedented agility, they darted around them, aiming for the door-- only to be caught in a strangling headlock.

Hex struggled, straining against the Chief’s arm with their hands, but their strength was minuscule compared to that of their captor.

“Where does it go?” The Chief asked gruffly.

“In the neck.” The doctor replied.

They nodded, and Hex felt a second arm wrap about their midsection, holding them still. They could not see the needle being inserted, but they could feel its pinch.

When the Chief finally allowed them to move, they skittered backwards, scratching at the skin that had been pierced. The pinch was only evidenced, now, by the tiniest puncture.

“W-What did you-?” Hex stammered, scratching more forcibly, as though it would remove whatever had been forced beneath their skin. “What did you do?”

The Chief smirked, letting loose a small chuckle.

“Well, we wouldn’t want our little doggy running away, would we? It’s only a tracker. Now, come on. We have a lot to discuss.”

[acrobaticcatfeline]

Unstable (A Fe Sides Fic)

Word Count: 2171

TW: It’s another vent fic babyyy swearing, yelling, insults, threats (sort of), an excess of anxiety, there’s an intrusive thought from one of them about jumping off of a building but its one line that she gets scolded for. I think that’s it but if there’s more let me know!

Notes: I had a really rough week last week and now that I’m done with school I have time to write fun things again and I needed a vent. It also is part of rebuilding my personal mind palace! I plan on making more with these guys, they are really easy to write honestly, it was like an out of body experience.

Pairings: Lol nope, not even a little bit no.

Summary: The mind palace was usually quiet. The facets did not all get along, and everyone is high strung during Quaranfinals. Someone needs to step in and get this train moving again.

The mind palace was usually rather quiet. All facets left each other alone for the most part, hoping to stay functional and avoid unnecessary fusions but the last few weeks had been out of the norm. Inge was high strung as ever and was snapping at the smallest inconveniences and that wasn’t even addressing the others.

“Listen here you unstable mother fucker! We don't have time for your whiny depressed bullshit right now! She has two huge finals and your fucking cahoots with Barbie is the opposite of helpful! She needs to WORK and you guys are actively working against that! Don't either of you care about her future?!”

“How about you shut your trap for 5 seconds and drop your high and mighty act? The only reason me and Izzy have been working against you is because you have been failing at your job ever since this quarantine started. If you actually did your fucking job maybe me and Iz wouldn’t be falling down a hole ourselves. For someone who needs to have so much control all the time it's surprising how little you’re ever able to keep. You act like you're the ringleader around here when it's obviously Izzy and Lia. I may not like Lia but at least she can work with me. You on the other hand-”

Lia and Isadora were nervous. They were onlookers in the argument and couldn't get a word in edgewise to stop them. Izzy was trying to hide in her Roman Sanders sweater and Lia was hidden in her hoodie that was too big on her, biting her thumb as her eyes darted everywhere but the fight. In the real world Fe was closing her laptop with a sigh, desperate to go and take a nap. She looked quickly to Izzy with all she had to say, communicated in the glance. Suddenly the palace shook and Inge snapped her head at Lia who was very interested at her chewed up Crocs and not the anger filled gazes directed at her.

“LIA WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

“She's too stressed. If you keep at this you're gonna wake up T and that wont help you in getting her to do her work. If T gets up right now she's gonna fail and we all know it. Let Izzy calm her down for a bit. See, she's only taking a half an hour long nap, like her dad told her to. We all just need to chill for a bit.”

Lia was scratching at her face and Inge finally let the anger and annoyance leave her. She gently swatted at Lia’s hand, placing a quickly conjured sheet of bubble wrap in it. Lia smiled at the floor, still not meeting her eyes, vaguely worried at the signs of T waking up, hoping beyond hope that she was just still channeling the hyperactivity that Fe was plagued with. Izzy was meanwhile glassy eyed, placing herself on the floor blindly, waving her hands about in a way that all three recognized as her weaving a dream. It was wonderful to watch, extremely relaxing to see her go off on an adventure of her own design. It was almost meditative to watch her methodical movements, the simple twists of her wrists as she moved the story along. Lia busied herself with popping the bubbles, as Carli and Inge both left to busy themselves in their own wings of the palace. Lia sat across from Isadora, glancing up at her every once in a while. She muttered quietly to herself and maybe Izzy as well.

“She's waking up. I don't know what we’re gonna do, we really gotta get Fe through this last week, but Isa will stop us, I know she will, but how are we supposed to still get things done”

“We’ll figure it out”

Lia’s head snapped up at Izzy whose eyes were still unseeing as she spoke.

“Talisa works with us. We just need to convince her to use her strengths to support us in this. I know she can. Besides, dreams are so much more fun with her around. Who knows, maybe daydream mode will help her write her essay”

Lia smiled softly as she felt comfortable enough to look Izzy in the eyes that couldn't see her. She nodded and went back to her bubble wrap, far more content with the slow draining of anxiety from her body. At least until the palace shook again.

“AAAAAH!!! Well what a wonderful time to be alive eh? Heh, that's a joke, gods, she's asleep and she's still exuding panic like no one's business!”

Out of a darkened corridor walks Talisa in all her glory and self deprecation. There was yet another shake as Fe awoke. Isadora’s eyes cleared in an instant as she rose to her feet.

“Oh boy, Pops woke her up? Ooooh that's not great. I'm sure she's gonna be off all day huh Iz? Oh that's just fuel for this, gosh what have I missed?”

“Quarantine you lucky bitch”

Izzy walks to her with a cocky grin and does a simple handshake with the crazy eyed side. Talisa’s eyes glance around the room. She grins wider, scratching at her scalp.

“All this panic and mania and I wasn't invited? I feel like I should be insulted!”

Lia rose as well, abandoning the bubble wrap as the need to stim left her, and walked over. She smiled small and avoided her face.

“She's got homework. Its, it's all homework now, everything's homework. I haven't been helpful much, but I knew you would probably make it all harder for her, I've been enough of a hindrance for her, I imagined she probably wouldn't do well being overly mentally compromised AND lazy as all get out”

“Oh Lia! I'm wounded! I'm not all bad! Plus-”

There was a sudden shift of the palace again as Fe sat down and started furiously writing her essay, anxiety as her fuel, aided by a giant cup of soda from the gas station.

“A little blood pumping’s good for the brain, ain't it? She just needs a little push! Maybe off of a building eh? Sounds like a ball!”

“Yo, you've been up for less than 5 minutes, stop with that shit, give her a week maybe? So we can properly talk her down?”

“Oh fine, I guess my premium service can wait to activate!”

Her hands moved from her scalp to her arms, scratching without conviction. Isadora softly took her hand off, stopping the scratching and handing her a fidget cube to replace the destructive stim.

“Ohhhh! This is neato mojito Dora!!! Where'd you think this un up? It's pretty! It's my colors too! Ain't that sweeter than molasses! Why I've been so rude, how've you been doing Dora? And you Lia?”

The two smiled. They genuinely liked her, she was nice to be around, while she had her problems, she didn't get mean and angry like Inge and Carli do. She was just… manic. A little odd, maybe crazy, but she wasn’t mean. She didn't yell, and it calmed the two. And they got along well anyways, Lia because she often was a placeholder for her when Fe wasn’t extra out of it and knew how to deal with her quirks, and Dora because divergence fed her like nothing else, made her imagination run wild.

“Whoo! Well ladies, looks like I've got my work cut out for me eh? She invited that boy over last week and that was the first time she saw him in weeks? Oh and her other school friend left her group chat? Yikes, she's a right mess!”

“Yup. she… hasn't been adjusting well to all of this well”

“I’ll say!”

Talisa fidgeted absently with the cube in her hand as she walked around the palace commons, looking around at the scenery. The walls, usually a light lavender were dark violet and the paint was peeling in spots, revealing a gooey black underside. The TV was stuck on a looping image of the most recent Sanders Sides episode. She grinned wide enough to look uncanny, bending her back to crack her spine, almost splitting in half and did a spin as she rose again. She interlocked her fingers and cracked the lot of them and twisted her neck to pop that as well. 

“What are you about to do?”

“Why, what I do best dear Lia!”

She jumped in the air snapping her fingers twice. Her appearance changed, her extraordinarily unruly hair was tied back in a ponytail, tucked through the hole in the back of her baseball cap with the Slytherin logo across the front of it. Her shirt that had been well worn from being worried between her fingers as well as used as pajamas, changed to a tangent hoodie, her shorts with frayed strings switched to a flower patterned pair of leggings, and a skateboard appeared under her feet. She spun around on the board with her wild smile never leaving her face.

“WE’RE ON THE HIGHWAY TO HYPERFOCUS BABES!!! And a little smidge of depression but hey it’ll add to its effectiveness”

It was then that Inge and Carli came running and screamed simultaneously.

“LIA YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO KEEP HER ASLEEP!!!”

“Couldn't you for once just do something that was helpful for Fe?”

Talisa stopped in mid spin, turning slowly to look at Carli and Inge. She was no longer smiling. She was glaring and she stepped off of her board and took slow methodical steps towards the two.

“Now now girls, there's no need to scream!”

She was completely in Inge’s face when she said her next words.

“Isn't that right brainiac?”

Inge nodded instantly, fear filling her instantly. Talisa then turned to Carli and grabbed her by the collar of her dress. She glared hard into her eyes and began to grin as Carli’s eyes filled with panic and she avoided her gaze.

“And just for your information, Lia is more helpful than you could ever hope to be, you coward. For someone whose supposed to be confidence you’d think you might be able to share some of that with our host instead of sitting in your room at 3 in the morning and crying into Ramen over the fact that she still isn't in a relationship”

She released Carli, who fell to the ground and scrambled as far away from her as possible and sobbed quietly in the corner she curled up in. and then a moment later, her entire demeanor changed and she smiled happily.

“Oh hi there gals! I was just starting to get Fe to get working!”

Inge blinked owlishly. Her head tilted, as if the whole interaction before held no merit over what Talisa had just said.

“What? But I thought?”

She walked to the TV screen, changing the screen to be a first person view of Fe working away on her essay. Inge made a noise of confusion as she looked back at Talisa yet again.

“But, but you’re a hindrance! You, you make her life a living hell, how is she still doing her work?”

“You know what I do right? Like, you know what my job is? Come on pinky and the pain, I do ADHD yeah, but I also do anxiety and depression. If she doesn't get this stuff done she’ll fail, doncha think that'd drive her to be anxious enough to get it done? If she doesn't she’ll be depressed as all hell, there's no chance she can do law school if she can't even pass an English course. And the bonus of ADHD is that sticky hyperfocus! She’ll be done with that essay before Thursday, and that test for math?”

The palace shook again as the TV showed her turning in her math test. Talisa grinned.

“I’d say it was a walk in the park, wouldn't you? But you know, on an unrelated note, we should really fix that shaking affect, makes me dizzy”

Inge stared in shock and Carli did the same. Talisa stuffed her hands into her front pocket on her jacket and went over to the beanbag across from the TV and plopped down onto it. She pulled her right hand out and chewed on her thumb as she watched the screen. Her job was done for the moment so she let herself relax as she felt the others do the same. Inge rushed back to her room to help aid Fe with the memories needed for writing her essay, but the others placed themselves somewhere in the common room. Carli sat on her love seat and watched the screen intently. Izzy fell asleep quickly, not being needed for the moment, same for Lia, the both of them curling up with Talisa. She let her left hand leave her pocket to pat Lia's head. The only noise was coming from the soft snoring of the sleeping sides and the TV projecting the real world. Finally, finally, the mind palace was quiet again.

Taglist: @fivebyfive-finebyfive @tacohippy56900 @analogical-mess @crookedlyoptimisticdestiny @angels-and-dreams @fandomloverangel

Let me know if you want to be tagged in my writing or taken off my list!

Thank you for reading I will see you later ladies lords and nonbinary royalty!

[a-treatise-on-velociraptors]

Venting about existential anxiety under the cut

I used to get existential panic really terribly, to the point I couldn't function because I was so anxious my brain (at the ripe old age of like 17) would either default to "cry almost to the point of pain at the smallest concrete stressor" or "just. curl up on the floor and do nothing because it's all meaningless anyway".

And that's sort of coming back now, but the difference is that I can work through the abject existential horror. Like...I can still get creative/artistic output. It sometimes feels like I'm just sitting here turning mushed up pigment and flattened out tree pulp into funney pictures that make our brain meat make electrical sparks, and in the background of my own brain meat is just a constant screaming.

It feels like I'm just constantly gaslighting myself further and further into dissecting the world until I've couched every part of existence in a language that justified my fears. It's gotten to the point that whenever I think about consciousness in any way that *isn't* "an illusion of persistent awareness conjured up by millions of little electrical jolts that will end when those jolts cease" my brain then turns around and says "well sweaty :) :) :) :) you're just telling yourself that because you're in denial about the harsh truth :) :) :) think critically about what reality is :) :) :) :)"

[araliyaintheskywithdiamonds]

And I Will Find You in the Sunshine - A CrissColfer Fic

Today’s episode of Araliya really doesn’t have enough time to write fic but she does anyway.  A kids!CC au that follows their journey through childhood through a series of vignettes. 

Inspired by To Build A Home by The Cinematic Orchestra, whose lyrics are used in this fic. 

Word Count: 1737 AO3

The Fifth Summer

***

out in the garden where we planted the seeds there is a tree as old as me

***

Two little boys play in a garden. One is loud, laughing, teeth little flashes of white as his voice chatters. The other is quieter yet no less happy, a shy smile pulling two rosy cheeks up his on his face, eyes stormy and sparkling.

They make mud cakes in the grass, dirt collecting under their fingernails and soil stains smearing across their knees. Their mothers will cluck at them, will make them wash their hands and spread them out later for inspection, and the boys will share giddy smiles over their chiding voices.

The Eighth Summer

***

branches were sewn by the color of green ground had arose and passed it's knee

***

Chris can’t remember exactly when he met Darren. All he remembers is always seeing his infectious smile, his riotous curls, his dinosaur t-shirts and grubby sneakers.

Those same grubby sneakers are swinging in the air above the shiny linoleum floor, and Chris would laugh that Darren’s feet can’t reach the ground except neither can his- they’re both the smallest in their class.

He would also laugh if it weren’t for the fact that the linoleum floors belong to the hospital.

Chris doesn’t really like hospitals. They smell funny and they’re too white and clean, and he’s not allowed to touch anything. The adults try to assure him that everything’s fine whenever they come over here, but Chris isn’t stupid, he knows it’s not.

Everything isn’t okay when his little sister gets so sick that she can’t stay at home, and instead has to lie in a bed with lots of tubes and wires and other things Chris is a too afraid to ask about. When this happens, he usually ends up in the playroom, which he likes because there are lots of books and crayons and toys.

Most times, Chris likes to sit with Hannah and tell her stories with his action figures. She’s too little to understand most of them, but she giggles when he makes enough sound effects.

Darren’s here with him today. For ‘moral support’, Chris’ Dad had said, ruffling Darren’s hair, eyes strange and tired. Chris isn’t sure what that means but he likes having his best friend there. It makes everything seem a little bit more okay. Not completely okay, like the adults tell them, but a little.

The ladies at the reception had cooed over them, and Chris thinks they wouldn’t be half as excited if Darren weren’t there with him. He tells Darren about as much, who laughs and pulls at Chris’ cheeks and tells him he’s ‘adowable’ in a gooey baby voice.

Chris gets revenge by beating him during a fight with their Power Rangers.

The Twelfth Summer

***

tables and chairs worn by all of the dust this is a place where I don't feel alone

***

One day, Darren is gone.

It’s only for a couple of years, Darren tells him, but Chris still feels like his departure is as jarring and final as the word itself.

They can pen-pals except with emails, Darren says as he bounces on the balls of his feet, eyes brimming with excitement. Chris is angry that Darren is actually happy when Chris is the one being left behind.

(He doesn’t want to tell Darren that he has to stay because otherwise, Chris will have no one. He doesn’t want to tell him that the other boys like to push and shove and call him names. He doesn’t want to tell him that the only reason Chris doesn’t come home from school and cry is because of Darren.)

So instead he gives Darren a present to remember him by (a Mickey Mouse watch whose twin lies wrapped around Chris’ own wrist), and scribbles down Darren’s utterly ridiculous email address.

He doesn’t see Darren again for twenty-five months.

The Fourteenth Summer

***

by the cracks of the skin I climbed to the top I climbed the tree to see the world

***

Having Darren back is a little bit of a shock.

At first, it’s Chris freaking out a lot more than he should and stuttering and stumbling his way over his words, and then it’s Darren smiling so widely all his teeth show, and then it’s like they’ve never been apart.

They find themselves in the midst of it. Chris hasn’t been much of anything lately, sticking to visiting his Grandma after school and filling notebook after notebook with tidy writing. Within weeks, Darren is the theatre kid who everyone knows the name of, and Chris is the theatre kid who has to make his own productions because he never gets cast in the school’s ones.

It’s okay, mostly, because Darren reads his stories over and over and even quotes them back to him, and refuses to participate in anything if Chris isn’t in it. So all in all, having Darren back might be a shock, but it’s a good one.

He is, of course, more beautiful than ever, but Chris isn’t going to let himself think about that.

The Fifteenth Summer

***

When the gusts came around to blow me down I held on as tightly as you held onto me

***

The kiss, the kiss is something special. It knocks all the breath out of him yet brings him to life all at once, feels like his skin is flaring and glowing with light, feels like he might just drown if Darren pulls away.

And then it all comes rushing back to him and it’s Chris who’s pulling away, touching his fingers to his lips and blushing when they come back damp.

Words are said that leave Chris without the weight of a thousand bricks on his shoulders, and walls are knocked down that, around Darren, probably weren’t even up in the first place.

When Chris goes home, he takes Hannah’s watercolours and tries to recreate the exact color of Darren’s eyes- shining in the darkness of the nook under the stairs.

The Seventeenth Summer

***

I held on as tightly as you held onto me

***

It’s overwhelming in a way that’s not scary like you’re a step away from a cliff’s edge overlooking swirling water, but all-encompassing like you’re falling but you know that nothing will break.

Darren’s touch is feather light against his skin, tracing a never-ending path down his neck, across his chest, along the line of his waist. Sunlight ripples across their bodies as it filters through the leaves outside. It paints Darren’s body with mottled gold and brown, and Chris can’t imagine what he himself looks like, flushed and breathless, back pressed against the floorboards.

They’re in the treehouse at the end of the garden, and Chris wishes he could say that they built it themselves but they didn't, not really. They built the memories inside it, though, and as Darren would say, unapologetically cheesily, memories are what make a house a home.

Laying like this, Chris doesn’t know where he ends and Darren begins, and Chris is loath to say the cliche, but he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so at home.

Darren moves like he dances, passionate and without restraint, and Chris gives back as much as he receives without even trying.

He’s falling apart under a beautiful boy who would put him back together if he only asked so.

The Eighteenth Summer

***

'cause, I built a home for you

***

They break up a week before graduation.

Two thousand a half thousand miles doesn’t seem a lot until it suddenly really does, and Chris decides that a clean break is better than the slow, desperate gurgle to the inevitable finish line.

Darren cries.

It is the first and only time Chris has ever seen Darren cry- he doesn’t even remember him doing it when they were little. The tears trace tracks down Darren’s cheeks as he listens wordlessly, a dull red flush blooming across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes.

What Darren doesn’t know is that with every word, Chris is taking a hammer to another part of his heart. He doesn’t know that Chris’ fingernails are bitten down to the quick, doesn’t know that Chris hasn’t slept for the past week, doesn’t know that after Darren leaves, Chris falls to his knees and clutches at his chest like his lungs refuse take in any air.

He doesn’t know that Chris curses him for being the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, even when his eyes are bloodshot with tears.

Chris barely remembers graduation. It is a blur of faces he still doesn’t know the names of and well-wishes fueled by sentimentality and the knowledge that, in a week, they’ll be all but strangers. Chris can’t tell if the feeling slowly broiling in his stomach is relief or sudden and inescapable fear.

He’s alone.

Chris has spent so long pushing everyone away, clutching at the opportunity to leave the cowtown that he’d been straddled with like a child closing its cubby fist around soap bubbles. And now he’s gone and pushed Darren away, and it’s just Chris against the world.

It’s less satisfying than he thought it would be, not when it’s always been ChrisandDarren against the world.

The Twentieth Summer

***

and, I built a home for you

for me

***

A suitcase lies open, spilling its contents across the carpeted floor. The vent puffs air into the room, dispersing the chill and leaving warmth in its wake.

In the bed are two young men, limbs tangled, fingers interlocked.

It had been inevitable, Chris thinks. Inevitable since the day they met, inevitable since the hospital beds and Power Rangers and Mickey Mouse watches, inevitable since the tree house.

Inevitable since the text message that vibrated from Chris’ back pocket that read, I never got to fight for you. Please let me fight for you.

Darren brushes a kiss against Chris’ forehead, and the dampness from his lips evaporates slowly, leaving prickling coolness in its wake. Chris turns in a little, lets his nose brush against the soft skin at the base of Darren’s neck, lets the warmth of his arms bleed through his own skin.

Two and a half thousand miles won’t get to keep them apart.

Home is where the heart is, they say, and Chris’ heart is carefully cradled in the calloused, musical hands of a boy whose smile could light up the world.

[lukerhill]

My top 10 DIY hacks that make projects much easier

These ten DIY hacks will make your next painting or wood build project easier!

I've gathered my favorite little hacks and tips for home DIY projects to share with you! They are tricks that save money and make projects go much smoother. 

I use ALL of them consistently and they help a ton, whether you're staining, painting or building. 

My summer of slothdom is about to end my friends! If you've been reading for awhile you know how I do. Heat makes me...tired. And grumpy. But mostly really lazy tired. 

I'm already dreaming up a bunch of DIY projects I want to tackle now that a normal schedule will be upon us again soon. 

That had me thinking about these DIY tricks. Some of them are pretty basic, but I wish I would have known about them in my early do-it-myself days. 

Never forget a paint color

We've all been there -- you need to touch up a spot, or you love a color so much you want to use it again. But did you use eggshell or satin? Was the color Storm Cloud or Stormy Clouds? 

I started using this easy way to keep track of our paint colors at the old house.

Use a sharpie and label the back of your switch cover with the name, sheen and brand of your paint: 

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See my policies and disclosure page for more information.  

This is super helpful, especially if you're used similar colors throughout your house, or even a different sheen. 

If you need more for touch ups, knowing what type of paint you used will be especially helpful. Different formulas may look noticeably different even though they're the same paint color and sheen. 

Insulation tubing to fill holes

This skinny insulation tubing can be used for way more than just filling gaps in doors and windows:

It's the perfect way to fill large gaps in trim or along the floor. 

Since it's so easy to manipulate, you can cut it to the size you need and squish it into the smallest spots: 

It's especially helpful when you have a big gap you want to caulk over -- you'd have to use a TON of caulk. With caulk you have to fill, then and wait over and over again as it dries, fill more, let it dry, etc. 

With this it fills that in, you'll save all that caulk and you can fill in with a bead of caulk right over it. 

This would also be another great way to fill large holes in the wall! I have a method I've used for years, but a tiny cut of this may work even better. 

Paper bag instead of sandpaper 

I LOVE this little hack and use it often. Tear off a piece of paper bag to do your final sanding on wood staining and polyurethane projects: 

I really love this for after the final coat of polyurethane or protective finish on wood -- when you don't want to ruin the finish by sanding (even with a fine grit), but you do want to knock down the little bits that keep your finished product from being completely smooth. 

Just "sand" all over the surface with the paper bag and it will knock all of that down and leave you with a perfectly smooth surface and no marks. 

You can use this paper bag trick over a DRY painted surface as well!

Make cheap wood look much better

I use expensive pine for almost all of my DIY builds. I used it on my office built in bookcases and my giant entertainment center wall in the basement. 

You can use "common" pine or select pine -- I use select pine for the areas you'll really see...like the trim on the front of bookcases. 

Common pine is the most inexpensive and will have more knots and imperfections:

A lot of the time I will just roll on my paint heavily in those areas and let it go at that. You can see here that the paint didn't fill in that rough spot enough. 

If that doesn't cover it well enough or I want a really professional look and feel (aka I'm trying to be patient), I use a putty knife and wood filler to fill in those spots: 

I use spackle that I use when I fill holes these holes and it holds up just as well. 

Use the putty knife to push the filler in and then lightly sand before painting again. You won't even notice the imperfection when you're done!

Shims are your friend 

Wood shims are small strips of wood that are thicker on one end and really thin on the other. 

I shared how I use shims to install cabinets -- they are a must to help get the cabinets level and even as you install: 

You can use them underneath, behind and in between to get everything perfectly flush. 

But they're also super helpful for built in projects and getting the front trim looking super professional:

See how seamless those front frames are on the bookcases? That front trim is the most important part in my opinion -- it's what you see more than anything else! 

If your trim doesn't match up perfectly, you can use shims to bring the trim forward and flush with the rest. 

I didn't take the time to do this on my office built ins. To fix it and bring the front of the shelves forward just a bit, you'll want to tap the thin end of the shims behind that trim until it brings it forward enough: 

By the way, it's not the end of the world...most of the time only you will notice these small imperfections. (And anyone else who does gets a cookie...)

You may have to do it from both the top and the bottom, but it will work! When you have the shim where you want it, score it with a razor and snap off the end with the thin part still behind the trim. 

Use caulk to fill in any gaps the shims created on the top of the shelf. (On bookcases most will be above your head anyway.)

Picking the perfect piece of wood

The more you spend on wood, the less you'll have to watch for imperfections. It's worth it to me to spend (a lot) less on pine and spend a little more time digging to find "cleaner" boards. 

Watch for large knots (they may pop up or out of the wood over time), sticky sap (that is impossible to get off) and missing chunks of wood. 

If you find a board that checks all of those off the list, you'll also want to check the wood for bowing. A piece will look great on the shelf, and then you'll get it home and realize it's so horribly uneven you can't get it to lay flat. 

You can avoid this by holding the board in front of you on the floor and eyeing it right down the middle: 

You'll immediately be able to tell if it's straight and flat. 

If you look closely, you'll see that my board is slightly bowing at the end -- just a bit of a bow that goes to the right. This doesn't bother me at all if I'm using the wood for front trim, as I know I'll be able to secure it well enough. 

I always check my skinnier molding pieces for bowing as well. If it's thin enough you'll be able to straighten it out during install, but some pieces should be avoided all together. 

Check wood boards from all sides, as the wood can bow all kinds of ways. 

Get uniform spacing 

If you're adding a vertical or horizontal shiplap wall, you really want to make sure your spacing between each board is exactly the same throughout the project. 

If the spacing isn't consistent you will notice that small imperfection more than you think. 

I have found a coin is an easy way to get that perfectly thin, consistent gap between each shiplap: 

You'll want to move it down the plank as you nail it in. Sometimes I use a penny for a smaller break, sometimes a nickel.

Scrap wood cut to the length you need is also GREAT way to easily keep measurements consistent when you're installing a trim project: 

I find it especially helpful when installing wainscoting. I keep my "jigs" nearby and hold them up on the wall as I nail in the trim.

They make it MUCH easier to keep continuous distances throughout your project: 

Cutting a hole in the middle of wood 

Sometimes you'll need to cut a hole for an outlet, switch plate or vent on the wall. A jigsaw is the best way to cut those smaller, detailed spots:

It's easy to do when your cuts are on the side of the board -- just start cutting with your jigsaw from the side. 

But if you need to cut a hole in the middle of the board, this trick is helpful. Do NOT try to start a cut with a jigsaw directly on the wood. It will rattle all over and potentially snap the blade. 

Instead, use a drill and drill bit to drill holes into your wood as a "starter" for the jigsaw: 

That way you can slip your jigsaw blade into the hole and start a straight cut. I like to use four holes so I don't have to do any curved cuts. 

Use scrap to protect your projects

I tend to keep way too much scrap wood...I've learned to let go over the years but it hurts my soul a little bit every time. 

I do keep some scrap because I've learned it's hard to finish a lot of DIY projects without it! 

When you have a board that is going to fit just a tad too tight into a spot (and you really don't want to go cut millimeters off of it for the THIRD TIME), use scrap pieces to pound your trim into place: 

Here I'm holding the scrap underneath the trim and hammering it into place till it is level. If you tried to do this directly to the nice trim part, you'd dent the sides or front with your hammer or mallet. 

You don't ever want to force your wood where it won't fit, so if it's way too long cut it down. 

A piece that is thisclose to fitting, you can easily maneuver it into place by pounding it with your scrap wood. And your good wood will still look great! 

If you look closely, you'll see that I also use scrap to write down my measurements. Especially helpful if you're going up or down steps to cut your wood and you tend to forget the exact measurement by the time you get to the saw. :) 

I also use scrap wood pieces to remove trim -- if you put too much pressure on a crowbar it will dent or break the drywall: 

If there's much resistance as you push the crowbar back to pull the base away, it will dent your walls. Place a thin piece of scrap wood behind the crowbar and the wood will disperse the pressure. 

You can see how to remove baseboards without damage here. 

Easily clean paint brushes

And finally, the little paint brush cleaning tool I couldn't live without! (Now they are made to clean rollers as well!)

I use this brush cleaning comb every time I clean my paint brushes: 

You use it to comb the paint and dried up bits out of your paint brush. I use it when I wash the brushes, and then sometimes later after they dry to get any little additional bits out of there before painting again. 

If you use it consistently, your brushes will last a very long time. It has saved me hundreds of dollars over the years! 

I share a bunch more painting tips and hacks in this post. 

Do you use any of these simple DIY hacks? I use them on ALL of my projects, big to small. I'm sure I've forgotten a few, but these are my favorites. 

Any others you use consistently? Feel free to share in the comments. :) 

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[thecoroutfitters]

Travel Trailer vacationing has become a huge alternative for those who don’t like the restrictions of renting a room at a resort motel or hotel or traveling out of the country.

It gives them more of a variety of choices and travel freedom to literally camp out in style almost anywhere you decide to stop along the way. Due to the popularity and growth of the RV industry these things ‘have come a long way, baby!’

But how good would they be for the serious prepper to use as a useful bug out hideout, temporarily, or even for possible, long term or even permanent off grid survival living?

Here are some things to consider…

The Good, the Bad, the Ugly

Travel Trailers, also called RVs because they fall Into the ‘Recreational Vehicle’s licensing category in most states, have been around for a long time and come in a variety of sizes and configurations.

If money is no big deal when it comes to your comfort, style, and amenities, you can go hog wild and slob crazy feasting your eyes, and wallet, on one of the top of the line Motor Homes. Which are appropriately nomenclated as such because they are, literally, a very nice ‘home’ with a motor in it that allows you to drive it around like a bus instead of hauling it behind you.

These come in three styles. Wow, Awesome, and OMG-UnFreakingbelievable! The last category being more adapted for the rich and famous, and is what you usually see the big music stars driving across country in when they’re on concert tours.

These beauties can sometimes run upwards of seven figures depending upon luxuries. But even the ‘Wow’ models are not cheap and go for anywhere between seventy thousand to a quarter million for a nice one that comfortably sleeps 4-6 persons.

And technically, guess what? These are pretty much already completely self-sustained and off grid right out of the showroom door. Especially if it’s a diesel. You don’t even have to plug it in somewhere for electricity every time you stop if you keep the rather large fuel tanks filled.

And you don’t even need to keep the vehicle’s motor running. They have deep cycle batteries and a small compact onboard diesel generator already hooked into the power system and connected to the main diesel fuel tanks just for continuous charging of the batteries or direct off grid electricity in the newer models!

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A Tough Choice

But would I choose one of these behemoth motor homes for off grid living? Not unless it was FREE!

Because of the comparison that for the same cost of a higher end newer motor home one could have a nice custom off grid concrete house somewhere relatively private that’s a little more weather and intrusion resistant.

Also, there are some inherent maintenance disadvantages in large motor homes as they age like not being able to work on them that much yourself unless you’re a skilled mechanic. And you can’t just bring them to your local car mechanic in town.

Plus, when you think about it, how much actual motor-homing are you going to do to justify the enormous cost of fuel? There’s no such thing as a fuel efficient motor home and if you get stuck in the mud on a dirt road to your BOL, you are not going to push it out by hand.

And unlike pulling an RV Travel Trailer, you can’t just unhook your car or truck from it, and still have mobility. Depending upon the area of the country you want to go you would require a pricey power winch installed to help get you out of trouble on a steep or rough back road.

So all things considered, what’s the cost justification differential with a motorhome compared to a Travel Trailer pulled behind your personal vehicle? What’s the critical difference in towing your living quarters or driving a self propelled one?

Not much, until they come out with the robotic self-driving ones in a couple of years. Then this will bring a whole new meaning to “over the road vacations!” But these still would only be a sunny afternoon pipe dream for most of us anyway.

However, if you are not hauling your Country Western Band from coast to coast so you don’t need a replica of an Amtrak Train but still are enamored of a motorhome, there are many smaller models and versions that are built on a larger Chevy, Ford, or other such chassis.

They’re much cheaper, especially used, and easier to maneuver into smaller parking areas.

I know a woman who lives on the TX coast in a condo and has a small 20’ Ford motor camper with all the conveniences. It’s well stocked with supplies and water and extra fuel.

When a hurricane is forecasted she just hits the road with it and when she reaches an out of danger distance, she simply parks in the nearest Walmart or Truck Stop, steps up between the front seats into the back, relaxes on the couch, and waits out the event in comfort and safety!

She even named her motor home ‘APIAS’ for Any Port in a Storm. Not a bad idea, using your RV as a BOV so you don’t really need a dedicated BOL!

Different Strokes…

But the best ‘bang for the buck’ alternative would be one of the intermediate travel trailers, 20’ to 35’ long you are now seeing a lot of these days on the road.

In the past the larger heavier ones had a front hitch set up known as the ‘fifth wheel’. This was a heavy, bulky device based on the way the big semi-tractor trailer trucks hooked up and could only be installed in the back bed of a pick-up truck. Not on a regular back bumper area ball hitch.

Since older pick up trucks were not the ‘cat’s Meow’ of comfortable road cruising, pulling a 5th wheel trailer long distances was often tiring.

Today most of the newer larger travel trailers are made with lighter materials and advertised as ‘light weight’ RVs and the 5th wheel is becoming obsolete for RV camping. Which means you can pick one up used for a really good deal if you already have a truck and don’t mind installing a 5th wheel hitch in your truck bed.

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But the light weight Travel Trailers (TT) changes the ball game and some really nice midsized ultra lite Travel Trailers can even be pulled by regular family cars.

The designs have changed a lot as well. They’re just as comfortable and user friendly than a modern apartment with a lot of nice amenities.

Making the Best Choice

The old saying, ‘Everything’s Nice, Until You See the Price!’ tells it all here.

Since some of us who are interested in using TTs for off the grid living already can’t afford a house and then serious additional expense of converting the house to permanent off grid solar power, the only way we’ll even get close to off grid living is by opting for a Travel Trailer instead.

So it all boils down to costs. And here’s where it gets interesting. The reality is that not only is it fairly easy to live completely off grid in a trailer, and do it for a cost that almost anybody with any income can afford.

It can also be done comfortably and relatively cheaply if you think carefully about your needs and do some diligence in planning and searching for the best deal on the right trailer for your anticipated lifestyle.

Bigger is Not Always Better

When we think of living space most of us are already thinking incorrectly for practical application. Everybody, especially Americans, always likes bigger space, and more closets, and more appliances, and so on. We’re all conditioned by society to live like that.

But is it really necessary? Not for the most part.

Designers of living quarters always knew that when it comes down to it, there are only three basic areas people spend their inside time in: the Bedroom, the Bathroom, and the Kitchen.

Unless you’re a teenager who thinks their bedroom is a separate apartment or you are homebound a lot, you don’t even really spend that much time in these rooms if you’re working or active. People in other countries (like Japan) live their entire lives in one room city apartments!

Even some expensive luxury condos in New York are only 400 square feet of living space which is less than a 35’ by 12’ TT with slide outs. So even if you came from a large house style of living, it wouldn’t take you long to get acclimated to a comfortable smaller size domicile.

You might even like it better?

A Well Kept Secret

There are a lot more people living in travel trailers than you would think.

In fact there is a dedicated industry that caters specifically to people who want to live full time in their travel trailer. For a monthly fee much less than an average apartment rental, they provide a spot to park with an electric service plug in and a septic system to connect your waste tank hose into.

Your TT usually has a mini-version of a regular forced air home heating system, complete with in floor heat registers/vents powered by a couple 30 or 20 pound propane tanks, also usually filled at one of these ‘”community living” Travel Trailer RV camping spots, or available exchange refills at every Walmart in the country.

So pull into one of these camper places, set up in a couple hours, plop down on your couch in front of your HD flat screen, crack open a brewski and enjoy the playoffs!

There is an entire sub-industry lifestyle revolving around the TT phenomenon. There are guides and publications like ‘Trailer Life’ and others. Outlets and dealers and resources for RVs are everywhere.

And if you’re looking to escape from the mind numbing grind, an ex spouse, or family that makes you pop Alleve tablets like a kid chunking M&Ms every time you see them, it’s pretty hard to track or find you in your TT camper if you don’t leave a huge paper trail by paying cash for most expenses.

How Hard is to Make Your Trailer Completely Off Grid

Because most of them are already wired with built in 12 volt electrical lighting and DC to AC power inverters off a back-up battery, there’s almost nothing to it.

You would simply upgrade your battery bank with a few additional batteries, and a basic solar panel charging system or small portable wind turbine or build your own system along the lines of the(name the power unit book you are selling here?).

With enough watts to cover your electric needs and you’ve now got the power grid monkey off your back!

If you want to set up to include total disconnection from municipal systems somewhere more remote on your own land you’ll need a well and a septic system.

These are not cheap but depending upon water table depths and septic system requirements in your area sometimes you can get away with a relatively inexpensive sand point shallow well.

There are several Youtube tutorials on how to dig and set up your own well pump, and temporarily you can just use an outhouse type latrine if you have to. There’s even things like electric disintegrating toilets or composting toilets now that allow you to avoid digging a complex septic system.

There are all kinds of DIY information out there about hacking easy septic systems also on Youtube about this subject if you are not in an area with strict codes.

Buying a Travel Trailer

This is the best news about off grid living in a Trailer. If you explore the market, even on Ebay or Amazon… is that you might be surprised how inexpensive a decent used Travel Trailer can be.

Many were purchased just for occasional yearly vacations that owners evolved out of and just sit around so the people sell them and they have very little wear and tear other than needing to be cleaned up a little.

Pros and Cons of Off Grid Travel Trailer Living

PROs

…some considerable advantages for the frugal prepper.

Freedom!

I know people who say that once you escape the ‘stick built’ jungle, there’s no going back to being locked into a boring ‘hood’ where all you do is try to ‘keep up with the Joneses’.

Or worry about going underwater in mortgage debt and not being able to sell if the area economy or the environment goes bad and raises your property taxes (like in Kalifreaknia, or Illinois) so high you almost need a six figure income just to own a relatively small home!

And there’s a bit of nomad in a lot of us. After all, it was the nature of early civilization to constantly move around in caravans for improved conditions.

Cost of Living

There’s no disputing the total package efficiency of living off grid in a travel trailer. Dollar for dollar including the cost of the trailer and your expenses are far less for the same services and style of living compared to a standard house construction or usurious apartment rentals.

And your cost of your off grid electrical set up equipment is usually paid for after the first year in power costs and the continued ‘free electricity’ can be huge savings in the long run.

Travel trailers are less maintenance than a conventional house and cheaper when you do have to do some.

CONs

…really not that many.

High Winds

Although you can ‘permanently’, as they say, attach or secure your Travel Trailer to the ground with posts to stabilize against high winds, I don’t know if I’d set up my TT Permanently in a neighborhood area out west known as Tornado Alley?

But not much stands up to a powerful tornado or a Cat 5 hurricane anyway so you just have to think ahead about it.

Heating

Most TTs have adequate heaters but the nature of the need of saving weight in something you haul on the road means that the walls and insulation in these units are not nearly as thick as a regular house. So this might be an issue up North and I don’t know for sure how warm a TT would be in the ‘badlands’ of North Dakota or Alaska although I’m sure you’ll find a few—even with wood burning stoves—no doubt. But there are a never ending supply of suitable living areas in this country where the climate is not yet ‘geoengineered’ enough for the standard unit heating to work just fine, So it’s really a non-issue unless your personal situation requires you to reside in a very cold part of the country.

  So take your time and do your diligence. There are so many choices out there that it will pay off for you to search around. Make your choice to fit your plans. And you’ll be ‘good to go’!

Okay then, see you later on the road, and Off the Grid Monster. Don’t forget to wave!

This article has been written by Mahatma Muhjesbude for Survivopedia.

from Survivopedia Don't forget to visit the store and pick up some gear at The COR Outfitters. How prepared are you for emergencies? #SurvivalFirestarter #SurvivalBugOutBackpack #PrepperSurvivalPack #SHTFGear #SHTFBag

[rovlemhage]

WBJ2017: Day Two, Geography

To sum the world up in two words, Water World.  Mostly because of the earlier mentioned water to land ration of this world which is roughly 92.3% to 7.7% The land that does exist, is mostly in island chains. Most of the islands are typically on the small side though there are several larger ones as well. As well as the one major landmass.  Most of the islands are tropical due to the free flowing warm water currents.

The one major landmass—known as Cradlal by those who live above the water, and the dry shallows as those live under the water—is in the northern hemisphere and far enough north that while it’s southern shore is solidly in the temperate temperatures, while the northern shore is closer to alpine or tundra.

The largest island chain is known as the Belt Buckle in the native language and is a large cluster of islands that sits on the equator. If viewed in a time lapse you’d see the island chain move along the equator like Hawaii has moved through the pacific ocean.

The sunken continent is name for the shallow waters connected to Cradlal, it is the most heavily populated of the shallow waters owing to it’s unique combination of being the shallowest of the shallows, and also the largest being about the size of Europe along with a part of Asia and the Middle East, this causes two things. One fairly stable and predictable water currents and also lower water pressures allowing for easier construction. It is home to many nations for those reasons. The most powerful of them have as their home the Iron Island, a massive city fortress that was built in the shallowest area and is so large it rises above the waves. The second strongest is the nation that controls Cradlal.

The ocean depths are generally split into three lose categories based on, how much sunlight reaches the ocean floor. The shallows are areas where the light easily reaches the ocean floor, Mid depths are depths at which the light can reach the bottom, but it is darker and it’s not uncommon for their to be a few external lights in base and sub designs. The Dark depths or deep depths, are the aptly named areas where little to no sunlight manages to reach the ocean floor.

The ocean floor as a few other shallows but none as large or as shallow as the sunken continent. Shallows are commonly home to sprawling kelp forests full of life and plenty of larger plant eaters, and other fish and creatures that eat the ones that eat the plants. It’s also not uncommon for them to be hosts to small coral reefs or butt up against grand reefs.

Grand reefs are large sprawling coral reefs growing up from the mid depths or in one special case from the dark depths. These coral reefs have been growing for ages and have built up so much some coral colonies are as large as the smallest islands. They are home to great bio diversity, full of color, life and danger.

The mid depths are commonly home to little sea floor that isn’t drastically slanted or vertical cliff walls that commonly see floating bases also sometimes called buoyant bases, or several times cave cities dug into the side or built into natural caves. They also have some smaller kelp forests and other plants growing and it’s not uncommon for them to posses bio-luminescence due to the lowered sunlight

The dark depths where little to no light reaches, the few plants that do grow are either carnivorous or use other chemical methods and almost all have either no color or produce their own bio-luminescence. Most life at these depths either thrive alone or cluster around the underwater volcanic vents, chimney vents, large clusters of them are commonly referred to as a boiling depth or something similar. The floor also tends to be more rocky than the shallows and have less sand but more than the mid depths.

Most of the life either tends to be large or gigantic or on the smaller side. Opting for either survival through being the biggest and the baddest, or having the most area to hide in. it’s also not un common for their to be several large spikes of rock. They’re called Spines if they are sticking up in near random orientation to each other, and ribs if they are generally in long rows and most have similar orientation to their neighbors. These rocky formations are present at the other depths, but are either rare, or buried in the sand.

The dark depths also tend to be covered in old volcanic tunnels or tubes and cannons and other caves. The largest and deepest of the cannon is known as The Wound for the magma bubbling along it’s bottom, it’s named for it’s resemblance to a long slash along the planets depth, with the magma as blood. It’s also full plant diversity several of which don’t actually grow likely because of the light produced by the magma as well as the heat. There is a lack of fish and other animals in the area again likely because of the heat.

Another interesting geographical feature that can be found is known as sores which are underwater volcanoes where the magma is readily exposed. Sometimes called rolling depths or shallows depending on how deep they are encountered.

And finally there is the pillar reef, a coral reef growing in massive columns or pillars from where the dark depths where it began around volcanic depths. In terms of shear area it is the smallest of the grand reefs but it more than makes up for that for having rare creatures off shoots of those commonly found in the deeper depths but adapted more for the sunlight. Beware of the large crab like creatures that crawl amongst the pillars, while they are generally uninterested in subs they can still be provoked and are strong enough to tear some of the smaller subs apart and can still do a decent amount of damage to the largest. They are the reason that the bases of the pillar reef are small and hidden deep in the cracks.

Phew. So that's what I’ve got so far, it’s a more general overview and I’m sure I’ll think of more things. I’ll want to add in so look out for the WaterHex GeoTidbits tag which I’ll use to add little bits as I think of them. I don’t know how many I’ll think of or add, and most of them will be specific places rather than the more general looks I’ve provided mostly here. Anyway I hope you enjoyed this, And I’ll see ya’ll for prompt three tomorrow.

[klaraholic]

phone calls

“It’s just---” She doesn’t know why she’s talking to him about this. Or telling him, of all people. This is the kind of shit that Elena and Bonnie are created for. The best friends. Not the...almost something that resides half a world away and hasn’t seen her in over a year. He’s silent though, to an extent that she wonders if maybe he hung up on her. But she can hear him breathing, and somehow she knows that he does it just for her. Breathes. So she knows he’s there, silently waiting to hear whatever teenage drama she’s about to vent out to him. “I’m tired of being second choice.”

There. She says it. Rips it off like a bandaid and lays it all out there on the table for him to see and boom. Done. Can’t take it back now. But she sucks in a breath anyway, curls her fingers into the fabric of her bedspread, curls further into her bed, closes her eyes tightly. She waits for the sigh, the sigh that always follows those simple sounds of ‘oh Caroline.’ And then he’ll give her the speech, the speech Elena and Bonnie have practiced so much for so many years that it doesn’t mean anything anymore. Ironic, isn’t it? She lives an entirely new life now. She’s a vampire. An orphan. Graduated from high school, no longer living in Mystic Falls. ( Just outside of it but, she considers that a slight victory. ) And nothing has changed. She’s still every bit the insecure little girl from the bar all those years ago.

Still though, he’s silent. Maybe he’s asleep but no, no she can hear him moving. Shuffling papers, boots hitting the floor with a dull thud, the smallest of sighs coming from him. He’s waiting for her to continue and...no one waits for her to continue. “I’m...I’m Elena’s Bonnie backup. And Bonnie’s Elena back up. Stefan only wanted me because Elena was taken, Bonnie’s best friend is Damon now. Enzo was my friend, I guess, but then he found Bonnie. Matt has been brainwashed by some psycho vampire-hating douchebag and I just...I’m second choice. Second rate. You know?”

Does he know? It’s only when she asks it that she realizes that he must. Because everything he said to her, everything they’ve shared --- they’re so freaking similar it makes her head spin. “You’re not.” She’s so deep in her own thoughts that she almost jumps at the sound of his voice, starting just slightly, eyes opening. The crease in her forehead smooths out as she thinks over his words.

“I’m not?” He’s a man of so few words. Pity, really, because she’s a woman of many. And most of them don’t mean anything. Not really. She talks to fill space, to be noticed, because maybe talking will make people look her way. Women aren’t meant to be silent, her mom taught her that. Women are meant to raise hell and tame it when need be. Women are meant to lead and direct and be stronger than men --- not meek. Not silent. So she never was. Only, most of the time she fills silence with things that don’t matter. Ramblings. Confessions. Admissions. She hears what might be a hint of a smile on the other end and yeah, yeah she can hear it in the differences of his breathing. That’s how much they do this little...phone chat thing now.

“No.” This time its her turn to be silent, her eyes tracing along the lines of her dresser in the moonlight, hand slipping beneath the pillow under her head. Its her turn to listen, to wait for him to elaborate. Because if she waits long enough, he will. That’s their thing, you know. Waiting? He jokes about it being champagne. She thinks it’s him saving her life and her pretending that everything else is just gratitude or fear. But really, it’s waiting. He waits for her to be ready for someone like him, fully knowing it could be a year. Or a century. She waits for him to give her a reason. He waits for her to make the next move, she waits for him to escalate it. It's an intricate game of chess. And she’s terrible at chess. “Not to me.”

She should have known. And yeah okay, she did know that those would be the next words from his mouth. Three little words that slice through her like a hot knife through butter. Or is it a knife through hot butter? She doesn’t know. And she’s not going to bother worrying over the semantics of it. Three words that hit harder than they should. Not to him. He’s no pretending that everyone else doesn’t treat her like shit. He’s just admitting that he won’t. Maybe the whole world, at some point, decides that Caroline Forbes is the side-girl, but he doesn’t. To quote a very wise semi sub-par movie --- she’s not the exception, she’s the rule. But he’s her exception. And she’s his. And they’ve waited so long to find one another that it’s nearly laughable, how much they’re screwing it up.

“Yeah well…” She’s not sure what her line is now. Does she say something heartfelt? Witty? Bitchy? Whatever she does, it’s bound to get the same reaction. The look. She hates that look. That look terrifies her, in the worst way. Funny, right? Klaus Mikaelson has torn into her flesh and drank her blood, he’s left her for dead feet away from him. Stabbed her, manipulated her, nearly sacrificed her --- he’s done a thousand things but the thing that scares her most is that god damned look. The one where he tilts his head just so, and his lips turn up in that smirk, just so. When his eyes shine and he looks at her and she feels warm. Not hot, not like that time in the forest, no. But warm. The kind of warm that makes her dip her head and hide a blush and push a curl behind her ear.

Like they’re kids.

And not vampires, one of which who has lived to see an entire millennium. “Mind telling my friends that?” She doesn’t know how long the gap is between her statements, but she know he probably doesn’t care. He doesn’t count the seconds, doesn’t count down to the moment she hangs up the phone. He doesn’t pretend like he’s paying attention when really he’s doing something else. He just listens, and she pretends not to know that he stops everything when she calls. Even if it’s just to remind him that technically, she’s underage. So the bottle of champagne for her birthday? It’s not appropriate.

“I’m sure I could find some way to get the point across.” For some reason, she smiles, because it’s that voice. The kind of boyish, ‘to what are you referring, sweetheart?’ voice that implies torture and death and mayhem --- but it makes her smile anyway.

She calls him mostly when she can’t stand it anymore. This small town life. The constant loss and gain only to lose again. When she’s sick of being the same girl she used to be, when she’s tired of not being the one that gets chosen. She calls him when they all turn their backs on her and walk away like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like they’re doing her a favor, not loving her like she loves them. She calls him to pretend that it doesn’t hurt, rants and raves and gives him every ounce of hatred she has while pretending there aren’t tears burning in her eyes, like she’s not crumpled on the floor of her bathroom trying not to cry because someone left. Again. And they always leave. She gets close, she loves --- she loves --- and they walk.

Which begs the question that she refuses to ask herself --- would he? If she gave herself to him, if she shows up in that day or that century and drops a suitcase on his porch and grins. Will he get tired of her? Tired of the chase. “Do you think you’d get sick of me?” Caroline Forbes. Always lacked a filter. Always voicing her thoughts. Foot? Meet mouth.

It’s her turn to wait, again. Holding her breath, hearing the small rustle on the other line as he shifts, probably preparing his answer. “Honest answer?” They do that sometimes too. It gives them both a little leeway. He knows she’s not ready, and she knows that he isn’t either. But there are moments, moments like this, when she thinks she might be ready for those answers, where she might not need him to lie to her or sugar coat. Or make some kind of joke about a question that bubbles up from the deepest roots of her insecurities.

“Honest answer.” It’s hardly a breath, a whisper against her pillow as her eyes close again. The blanket climbs further over her shoulders, tucked to her chin now, her body curled beneath it like she’s preparing herself for the rejection that will come when his honesty hits her. Another thing they’re good at? Hurting one another. They both know it, neither try to deny it. They just have to trust that the other won’t do it. And honestly? She does. Trust him. With that.

“No.” One syllable, two letters, and it hits like a swift kick to the chest. No. She opens her mouth to ask why, but before she can --- he’s already speaking. “Caroline,” Not love. Not sweetheart. Not a thousand other pet names he uses when he’s trying to get under her skin or tease her or when he needs to soften something. Her name. Which means he means business. And means that her entire body is freezing there under that blanket a million and one miles away from him. “Maybe in the beginning,” He finally admits, and she swallows, fingers curling tighter into the blanket. “You were a challenge. And we both know how I feel about challenges,” Pause. Smirk. She rolls her eyes, and he continues on. “But it changed. I almost lost you. On numerous occasions, and I realized…” She can’t breathe anymore, can’t move a muscle. “I realized I don’t quite want to live in a world that you’re not in.”

Literally though, what is air anymore?

“So even when my hair clogs the shower drain and I burn food and annoy you you won’t...stick me in a coffin for a few years? Or...compel me away?” When. She says when. And it doesn’t escape either of their notices. Caroline swallows, feeling her heart hit so wildly against the inside of her ribcage that she wonders if it’s possible to injure oneself from that.

“I happen to know a thing or two about plumbing,” She loves when his voice sounds like this. Soft. Barely containing the snicker lying beneath the words. “No bloke in their right mind would let you near a kitchen, and I don’t think you could ever possibly annoy me. But on the off chance that you did---” He amends, knowing she’s about to pipe in with an argument ( she does so love to argue with him. ) “I think you’ll find there are far more...enjoyable,” And there’s the shiver. The one that comes when his voice drops to a specific octave, when his words slow and his accent thickens and she just kinda...melts. “Ways to occupy you for a few hours.” She swallows, he’s grinning ( always grinning. ) “Besides love, I would never lock you in a coffin. I was thinking more along the lines of...a tower? Dungeon maybe. It depends on the limit of the offense.”

She laughs at that, which is weird, because he’s literally made a joke out of a legitimate fear and she hates when people do that. Her eyes close again and her body relaxes against the bed. She hears him moving around again, there’s a small clink of a glass and the sound of liquid pouring into it. She wonders if he sleeps, because he never seems to. Caroline licks her lips, letting the comfortable silence just kind of settle over her in the darkness. “I should probably go to sleep.” She finally voices, small sigh following the words. He pauses, she hears a swallow as he sips at some of what she assumes must be some high class whiskey.

“Goodnight, love.” They never say goodbye. That’s the one constant. And it's nice really, because no goodbye means that she’ll have another hello. That maybe in a few days or weeks she’ll get a phone call from him and this whole thing will start all over again. Caroline smiles, waiting a few moments until she replies, waits until she’s good and ready to depart from him for the night. One day, one day she thinks maybe they won’t have to. And that time will come, she knows it will, just...not now. When things are right. When they’re right. It’ll happen.

“Goodnight, Klaus.”

She hangs up. Always does. Sets the phone on her bedside table, stares at it for a few seconds before tucking her head back against the pillow, nose turned in towards the sheets so she can hide her smile. She feels lighter now, somehow. Warmer. The world feels brighter and she thinks maybe, maybe tomorrow will be the day she buys that ticket to New Orleans. But then again, she always thinks that after their little phone calls. One day though, one day she’ll actually do it.

[raceandspeculation]

These SciFi Writers Ain’t Loyal (to Science)

Taylor McCauley

22 February 2017

Gender, Race, and Science Fiction

These SciFi Writers Ain't Loyal (to Science)

“The important thing about the ‘science’ part of ‘science fiction’ is that it is a discourse built on certain logical principles that avoids self-contradiction; that it is rational rather than emotional or instinctual. Scientists sometimes like to assert that they deal in ‘facts’ and ‘truth,’ where fiction deals in ‘imagination’ and is a form of lying …” (Roberts, 9). Science Fiction writers often take advantage of the fact that they are writing about another world, and skip out on other important details that allow for explanation or constancy for the audience. Going without these key details confuses the audience, and leaves plot holes where there shouldn’t be any. In James Cameron’s Aliens and in Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s Alien Resurrection, there are a surplus of inconsistencies in science: things that should have happened that didn’t, situations that should have had more explanation or more depth added, and information that is never given to the audience making certain situations seem too fantastical, even for a Science-Fiction film. Sandra Jackson and Julie E. Moody-Freeman define Science Fiction as follows: “Broadly defined, Science Fiction…as a genre is subsumed under the umbrella of speculative fiction, that which includes science fiction, fantastic fiction, horror, supernatural fiction, magical realism, alternative history, apocalyptic and postapocalyptic fiction, utopian and dystopian. According to Shade (2009), in speculative fiction the ‘action of the story can take place in a [society or] culture that never existed, on a world we know nothing of, or an earth that might have been or might be’” (Jackson, 2). However, even in a world we know nothing of, in a society that hasn’t existed yet, on an Earth that might be, we should see some roots of reality, some semblance of a foundation in science that matches with what the audience knows and understands. Through an analysis of Aliens and Alien Resurrection, it will be demonstrated that there are many things missing that must be filled in in order for the Alien quadrilogy to call itself science fiction.

The directors of the Alien movies focused too much on what they wanted to represent, and not enough on giving the audience much needed information. In her piece “You’ve been in my life so long I can’t remember anything else,” Pamela Gibson quotes Amy Taubin: “If Ripley is the prototypical upper-middle class WASP, the alien queen bears a suspicious resemblance to a favourite scapegoat of the Reagan era – the black welfare mother, that parasite on the economy whose uncurbed productive drive reduced hard-working taxpayers to bankruptcy” (Gibson, 40). One of the major examples of this relationship is in the fourth film, Alien Resurrection, when the Queen is giving birth to the new hybrid (Alien Resurrection, 1:34:45). Gediman knows that the Queen has human DNA and says that the Queen is giving birth for Ripley: “That is Ripley’s gift to her: a human reproductive system. She is giving birth for you, Ripley…” However, while the audience can understand and interpret that the only way they were able to perfectly clone Ripley was to include Xenomorph DNA (given the scene in the lab with all of the previous experiments), the film never once explains how it is that the Queen was able to survive, or possibly be cloned. The audience is left to guess at that, but they shouldn’t have to, unless 20th Century Fox is planning on making an Alien V, more than twenty years after Alien Resurrection came out, to explain clones more in depth. We can also clearly see how the Xenomorph DNA has impacted Ripley: she’s more erratic, more agile, and she is in-tune with the other Xenomorphs, able to smell them, sense where they are, and know what they’re feeling (all to an extent). The only resemblance of humanity that we see in the Queen is the birth of the hybrid creature. All other behavior (such as learning in Gediman’s seemingly Pavlovian experiment with the cold air at 32:10) seems to be innate.

In the first three movies, the Xenomorphs are more than just parasites: they have feelings, reasoning, they are calculating, and much more. For example, in Aliens, the Queen has been sitting attached to her nest for a period of time of which the audience is unaware. Then, once Newt and Ripley shoot, bomb, and set fire to the eggs, the Queen seeks revenge. Before that, though, Ripley is able to silently negotiate with the Queen and the other Xenomorphs: she looks at them, points her flamethrower at the eggs, and they back up. She lifts the gun, she and Newt back up a few steps, and they do not follow (Aliens, 1:59:45). Then when Ripley decides to set fire to the eggs anyway, the contract is broken. This is a very human reaction: it is not uncommon to hear of humans doing things they otherwise aren’t capable of doing to save their loved ones due to adrenaline, but the Queen here is not human. Despite her lack of humanity, she is able to rip herself off of her egg tube and chase after Ripley and Newt. That said, she is walking too easily for a creature who has been sitting for that long. We do not know enough about Xenomorph anatomy to make sense of this, as any human legs would have atrophied a bit, or at least would need a nice stretch before running. However, the Queen jumps up and races after the mother-daughter-esque pair immediately, her encumbrance seemingly only due to her size, rather than to her lack of movement. This could be due to something we are unaware of in the Xenomorph anatomy, but it is more likely laziness on behalf of the writing crew when it came to making sense of things: having the Queen chase them right away was made for a more convenient plot, and opened up for not only another fight scene, but also the possibility of Ripley’s “pregnancy” in Alien 3.

One of the Alien quadrilogy’s major faults is its lack of imagination with air locks and suction from space. It is rather convenient that the Xenomorphs stop bleeding acid before they hit the bottom of the ship. In the first film they reference that the acid eventually stops, and in Aliens, they even show the holes becoming uneven and eventually tapering off (Aliens, 40:30). However, at 41:00 in Alien Resurrection, they do not show where the acid ends. They simply show the many floors with seemingly equal sized holes. There should have been more damage to not only the clearly non-acid-proof room from the Xenomorphs’ fight, but also to the floor, and we should be able to see that. Instead the camera gives a view that makes it seem like the damage goes on forever, but that’s not so, as there is no large space vacuum at the bottom of the ship. That would have made for an excellent plot twist, but they ignore it altogether and never explain what happened to the rest of the acid or to the Xenomorph’s body. This is not the only example of them neglecting the ability of Xenomorph blood. In Aliens, dissecting the Facehugger does no damage to Bishop or to the dissection utensils, with Bishop’s short and insufficient explanation of “The molecular acid oxidizes after the creature’s death, completely neutralizing it” (Aliens, 1:20:00). While the science checks out for the most part (Chemistry LibreTexts, Figure #3), it doesn’t explain how they were able to dissect living Facehuggers and put them into glass tubes with water without doing damage. Later, Vasquez is shooting at the Xenomorphs in the vents without the vents being damaged much. Either she was missing every single shot (unlikely, and there was no visible damage from the gun, either), or James Cameron decided it wasn’t all that important to cause damage to the vents from the Xenomorph blood (Aliens, 1:42:20).

When it comes to air-locks and vacuums, one could easily write a thesis paper solely on the Alien movies and the illogical ability to breathe or do anything when there is a broken window or open door within the Earth’s atmosphere, let alone in space. To cite one specific example, at 1:45:15 in Alien Resurrection, when Ripley throws the blood from her hand at the window, even a hole that small should have created a vacuum strong enough to rip out the entire window. Instead, it only enlarges slightly once the Xenomorph-Human hybrid has hit the window and is being sucked out through it. Ripley is forced to watch this painful moment for what is a painfully long time for the audience. After the hybrid monster is shredded into pieces and is little more than Space Waste, there should be significantly more turbulence from the back of the plane than there is. Then, upon entering Earth’s atmosphere, there should have been many more problems than there were, as a result of the hole in the plane. When entering any atmosphere, there is so much turbulence and speed and so many issues adjusting to gravity that spaceships catch fire (Alien Resurrection, 1:47:15). There should have been some exchange of air upon entering the atmosphere, and much more issues breathing for Ripley the Clone than there were. Not only that, but upon steadying within the Earth’s atmosphere, all of the wind in the back of the ship from the window stops completely. This is not what happens. Broken windows and open doors are what causes planes to crash- even the smallest bit of turbulence from within a plane causes the plane major issues with balance, and the same would happen with the spaceship. Going fast through the air would cause at least a little bit of wind to enter in through the window, but nevertheless, none does.

While there are many more examples of inconsistencies and holes from these two movies alone (such as timing of travel, Newt being called “Newt” by Timmy at the beginning of Aliens even though she claims he’s the only one that calls her “Rebecca,” the transition (or lack thereof) of the Xenomorphs from looking for hosts for their parasitic offspring to mindless killers, the non-explanation of acid-blood in water, how fast Ripley learned to speak and comprehend sentences, how cryo-freezing works, etc.), it simply cannot all be gone through. The directors and writers of the Alien quadrilogy left out major pieces of information and missed some pretty important things that would allow for these films to be considered science fiction. Instead, they seem to have skipped over the science almost entirely, and focused on the fiction. Adam Roberts says of Kafka’s Metamorphosis, “Kafka never explains how his hero turns in to a bug: the metamorphosis is literally inexplicable, a physical impossibility. Indeed, Kafka isn’t interested in the change as such, which is why he does not feel any need to explain how it has come about. He is interested in the alienation his characters subsequently suffers, the reactions of his family to his new monstrosity” (Roberts, 4). Similarly, in Aliens and Alien Resurrection, Cameron and Jeunet seem to care more about the plot than about the “how” and “why.” As Roberts quoted Lance Parkin, “[Science Fiction] is a notoriously difficult term to define, but when it comes down to it, a book appears on the SF shelves if the publisher thinks that they will maximize their sales by labeling it as such” (Roberts, 2). The Alien movies made a lot of money as a Science Fiction series, and opening up the universe of Alien has more than likely resulted in much Box Office revenue for 20th Century Fox. However, had this been any genre other than Science Fiction and this little attention was paid to the details, these movies would have been a flop. Pamela Gibson says that “Alien Resurrection was almost ignored within filmic scholarship. There seems to have been some unexpected rupture between Aliens and Alien 3” (Gibson, 38). It is likely that this is because there was so little care with the science of the last three movies. Because of this lack of attention to detail and scientific/realistic possibility, it is difficult to justify calling the Alien series Science Fiction, but rather something along the lines of a “Fiction set in Space.”

Word Count: 2036

Works Cited

Aliens. Dir. James Cameron. Perf. Sigourney Weaver. 20th Century Fox, 1986. Film.

Alien: Resurrection. Dir. Jean-Pierre Jeunet. Perf. Sigourney Weaver and Winona Ryder. 20th Century Fox, 1997. Film.

Gibson, Pamela. “You’ve been in my life so long I can’t remember anything else.” Ed. Matthew Tinkcom and Amy Villarejo. Keyframes: Popular Cinema and Cultural Studies (2001): 35-50. Web.

Jackson, Sandra, and Julie E. Moody-Freeman. The Black Imagination and the Genres: Science Fiction, Futurism, and the Speculative. Ed. Sandra Jackson and Julie E. Moody-Freeman. Peter Lang (2011): 2-6. Web.

Reusch, William. “Reduction & Oxidation Reactions of Carboxylic Acids.” Chemistry LibreTexts. Libretexts, 21 July 2016. Web.

Roberts, Adam. “Defining Science Fiction.” Science Fiction. Routledge, 2002. 2-9. Print.