#i am so tired of fake science and personal claims being used as evidence

[plague-of-insomnia]

You’re free to believe whatever you want, but your information is completely unfounded.

As to your first point:

1° the human mind in most cases cannot differentiate fiction from reality, this is not something that applies to everyone, but people with tendencies can aggravate certain unhealthy fetishes.

The information about the mind not being able to interpret fiction from reality is based on the incorrect interpretation of MRI brain flow studies that showed the areas of the brain connected to smell or movement can be triggered by reading alone. This does not mean that the brain sees them as the exact same thing or that participants couldn’t distinguish reality from fiction. Distinguishing the two is something children learn at a young age (usually by age 4), and adults should definitely be able to do under most circumstances. (War of the Worlds scenarios and certain mental illness conditions aside.)

In fact, a recent study even evaluated how the brain might tell the two apart by something they call a “reality threshold” — in other words, the brain evaluates how vivid or real something is and decides if it’s reality or not.

Some various quotes from diff sources on the topic:

One of those alternative hypotheses says that the brain uses the same networks for reality and imagination, but that functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) brain scans don’t have high enough resolution for neuroscientists to discern the differences in how the networks are used

We still don’t understand fully how the brain distinguishes the two but it absolutely does:

What is clear is that the brain must be able to accurately regulate how strong a mental image is to avoid confusion between fantasy and reality.

Yet even when we are completely immersed and emotionally engaged within these worlds, we have little difficulty in leaving the fictional landscapes and getting back to the day-to-day of our own world.

There HAVE been studies that show people who are incredibly lonely and obsessed with fictional worlds can see the line between fiction and reality blur (this would represent quite a few people active in fandom), and perhaps this is also what you may be thinking of in your completely unsourced statements above.

“When we analyzed brain patterns in the MPFC [region of the brain], real people were represented very distinctly from fictional people in the non-lonely participants,” Wagner said.

“But among the lonelier people, the boundary starts breaking down. You don’t see the stark lines between the two groups.”

The findings suggest that lonely people may turn to fictional characters for a sense of belonging that is lacking in their real life, and that the results can be seen in brain, Wagner said.

While this study might explain why so many people in fandom seem to conflate reality and fiction, or why they defend fictional characters as if they were real, this still does not mean that brain cannot distinguish reality and fiction. Especially when the resolution of MRI imaging is so poor and all we’re looking at is nerve activity/blood flow and trying to interpret what it might mean.

I’m also pretty sure most of the “articles” claiming the brain cannot distinguish reality from fiction are not scientific but rather inflammatory, but you’re welcome to forward legitimate sources to the contrary.

I could continue on this but I’ve gone on long enough and haven’t even addressed the second part of your statement, that “people with certain tendencies can aggravate them through fiction” or your second point.

Some studies (though I couldn’t find any primary sources for this) found that some people with paraphilias could be led to offend if they consumed too much related material. But other studies have shown people can actually avoid offending by turning to fiction. This is probably just like how many survivors find fiction therapeutic and a safe way to work out their trauma, but for some people it can actually be more harmful for them to do this than it is for others.

Still, you would essentially argue that because some people might have a worsening of their … let’s say, shopping addiction by reading about shopping, others may be able to avoid the compulsion by focusing instead on fiction instead. And banning online shopping isn’t going to magically cure or stop anyone with a shopping addiction, who already make up a very tiny part of the population. Nor is it the stores’ responsibility to make sure that this very niche group isn’t harmed by their content that is fine for most people to be exposed to.

[ x • x • x • x • x ]

Now for your second point:

2° Many real pedophiles introduce themselves into fandoms that involve this precisely because they feel comfortable, which makes everything worse and unfortunately it happens because I saw it.

I doubt there have been any scientific studies on this, and it feels like a very personal and hyperbolic conclusion. I have seen far more antis being charged with sexual crimes in my time in fandom than I have non antis (I think I’ve only seen one, CielStar, in fact). And I would argue that anti communities create an environment ripe for grooming and abuse by predators than most non anti ones.

Antis often have “safe” adults and openly invite minors to participate; most non-anti communities are 18+ and strictly avoid interaction with minors. I’m not trying to belittle your own experience, but your statement is inflammatory and without any real basis.

(For example, I have heard multiple cases of antis sharing actual CSEM with one another, and have never once heard of this happening in non-anti spaces.)

I’ve had dealt with some abusive assholes in my time in fandom, including ones who tried to push me out by spreading false rumors about me and my motivations, but I wouldn’t say fandom is made up of, or exclusively attracts assholes looking to abuse people.

In the end, censoring fiction is not going to protect or save anyone. Abusers and predators can always find ways to target and groom their prey.

Trigger warning: mention of CP (child porn)

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[dramarising-replacement]

About the Crow drama...

...I am really getting annoyed by the people clamoring that it's racist and so on. I am throwing my hat in the ring and trying to see it from both sides but I truly find the whole thing one big problem of co-opting r*cism to harass people. But that is my opinion, everyone is allowed their own but I find it highly problematic that this whole thing has led to people actually faking screenshots to claim they are at fault. This is not ok. Neither is harassing. Please stop. 

Either way, onwards. Keep in mind, this is my view on the whole thing and I just want to give a perspective of someone who is fairly removed from the whole thing and decided to use critical thinking. I will state that I have had not much interaction with any person involved, I shared spaces in discord in the past and of course also on FR but not to say that any side is my friend. 

Do you know what my biggest problem with the aforementioned statement is? That it's mostly made by the non-Asian people that are stuck on Orientalism. You are projecting your racist stereotypes on a subspecies that was created by actual Asian people. What is the problem with people having fun with their own cultures? I can understand if some Asian people (and I am using Asian because I do not know enough about the subspecies to say which ethnic/culture it is mostly based on) do not like it. That is normal, everyone has different likes and dislikes. Using slurs is not ok but honestly, I haven't seen any proof of these alleged slurs so I can't say anything about it. Show me actual slurs thrown around and it would be different but for now the only thing I could find was the rat thing and honestly? Looking at those screenshots given showed rat used in the context of a beloved character. Who here has never talked about their bastard character being some kind of trashy raccoon or rat before? 

Back to the fact that some people of the same nationality say they don't like it. Like I said, that happens, god, there are many times I don't like what people are doing with my culture. But guess what? I don't say that they are forbidden from playing with it. What gives one person of a culture the right to demand from others to stop how they interact with it? If you start doing that, we have to apply that to everything and imagine how uniform everything would be. For example Christianity: there are so many different branches and they have often problems with their different interpretations of the bible and their practices. Would you say we have to stop all Christian beliefs now? Sounds kind off dumb, right? 

If you do not like how these people interact with their culture then stop interacting with them and the subspecies. It is that easy. FR is not here to take you by the hand and make everything go away that you don't like. It doesn't work like that, we are a pluralistic world with many many different views on things. And that is great. But it also means in spaces like FR we have to moderate ourselves. See something that doesn't confirm your view? Block it or, in case of truly problematic things like outright r*cism/r*pe/m*rder/p*dophilia or whatever else, report. Saying that you don't like how some people interact with your culture while they are of the same culture does not give you the right to call these people racist. Turn it around and these people could call you also racist because you interact differently with your culture. This does not help anyone. 

Now, to my biggest problem with this mud throwing (I would love to call it a discourse but let's be honest here: the people starting to falsify information made this into some kind of contest to harass some people): 

the fact that most people involved are espousing their own racist views under the veneer of "calling out" racism. 

Like I said, I have not specially much knowledge about the subspecies but I did take a look at it, so here we go. But what I read is quite away from that "fetishing" you guys are accusing the people playing around with the dragons. For me it seems like they mixed bird facts, plague aesthetics and cultural aspects together. If you start interpreting r*cism into everything you read, congrats, then you should really think about what that says about yourself. 

For me this seems much more a problem of co-opting anti-racist movements to harass specific people. You use the "right" language to make the "right" accusations and take advantage of white/western ignorance. I am specifically harsh here because this is all that I am currently seeing from all these people: they call members of the subspecies out, in the recent cases C specifically, C actually answered and showed proof that there were actual lies used and so someone decided they needed to remove authenticy from C so they created fake screenshots that say they are from Korea. This whole interaction screams of someone calling r*cism only to realize that, oh no, C actually is Chinese, so they did their best to make it seem like C lied. This is insidious and bullying. I do not know the people involved, I have only written a few times with C and shared discord spaces so I found the Korea screenshot very weird, it's just not how C normally writes. 

I think this isn't about r*cism anymore, this is all about power. This is manipulation at its finest. Really, take the claims of r*cism away and then look at the subspecies again. What is your first thought? Man, that subspecies screams of Plague. 

Here is a thought for all of you: there is unfortunately much r*cism to be found since we are living in a world that is flooded with r*cistic undertones. This means we have to educate ourselves on these issues and to think critically about them. This does not mean "to criticize" but to actually analyze, evaluate and examine so we can reconstruct our perspectives on these issues. And I beg of the people just going after these "call-out" posts, think about this again. Did the subspecies really scream r*cism to you or did you maybe rather think Plague aesthetic before you read these posts? If so, you really have to examine why your view changed. 

One more thing, we have here two groups in the recent posts, one side is "calling" out C and C answers, making sure to openly discuss their culture and background as much as they did. So we have one side seemingly manipulating "evidence" to further their story and one side giving as much information as they can about their background without revealing their whole identity. Yeah, sorry, but I think I know who is more genuine here. Instead of making FR a more informed space it seems it was easier to use progressive language to further their own ideas of what r*cism is. (I am still more sure that this is all about power than anything else.)

This whole thing makes me very salty because it seems like everyone in the notes threw out their critical thinking just so they would not appear as r*cist. 

As an older person that had to take more than one class on colonization and Orientalism this whole thing just makes me wish more people would use critical thinking. Please stop blindly following pretty "progressive" words without seeing the actual problem here. This is actually my biggest problem here, I do not claim to be knowledgable enough to know where the subspecies furthers stereotypical views but for me all the posts I was shown and then read myself speak of different problem.

If you read until now, congratulations, feel free to discuss my points but I am honestly so tired about seeing people just ignoring the bigger issues. I won't answer to anything because I do not want to spend my time here arguing about these things but seeing that my major during my studies involved big chunks of literature and cultural sciences this whole thing just rubbed me wrong when someone told me about it. 

[raisingsupergirl]

I Didn't Vote

Yep, you heard it right. On 11/3/20, I didn't go anywhere near the polls. I woke up, went to work, went home, and went to bed. Sure, I'd had a long day, but I certainly had a chance to swing by and punch my ticket. I thought about doing it. From the time I woke up I thought about it. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it, and I didn't really know why. Even the next day I couldn't figure it out. And I've been mulling it over since then. I still don't have a satisfying reason, but at least I have a reason. Actually, I have several.

Okay, let's get this out of the way. My first reason for not voting is ignorance. No, not on the part of the political candidates, or social media, or you. I didn't vote because I'm ignorant. I know so little about the two old guys (and there was a woman, too, right? That third-party so-and-so?) fighting to "rule" our country. Here's what I do know… First, Trump: He's filthy rich. He owns some companies (honestly couldn't tell you which ones). He had a TV show (can't remember the name) and a tower. He has been our president for the past four years, and he did some things that veterans and conservatives like (I can't tell you with certainty even one thing that he's responsible for changing). He's a republican, but I think he used to be a democrat. I also think his wife's name is Ivanka, he has a daughter, and his VP is Mike Pence. Lastly, people either love him or hate him, which has only further divided our nation. He comes off at different times as a megalomaniac, a bully, and an idiot (though he may not be any of those things. Who knows?). He has no filter, he has Twitter, and he claims that everyone else is out to lie, steal, and cheat to make him look bad, which is ironic, because his ridiculous hair does that all on its own. And now on to the other guy.

I actually forget Joe Biden's name a lot. I want to call him Pence or Kerry or even McCain. Seriously, though that's not saying much. I'm horrible with names. But I also forget what he looks like. When I think about him, all I see is Jim Carrey. Oh! That must be why I tend to call him Kerry in my head. Silly me. Now… what about him? He's a lifetime politician, he's democrat, and he's really old. I know that much. And his running mate is a woman, I think. Seems like he's probably going to be our next president based on the Electoral College, but I couldn't tell you with confidence what that means. And that's about it. Honestly, I don't know anymore than that.

But why don't I know more? Am I dumb? Well… I don't think so. I received a master's degree over a decade ago (with honors, no less), and I like to think I've only grown smarter and wiser since then. I love learning new things—ideas, talents, how things work. But one of those things just isn't politics. So, the second reason I didn't vote is disinterest (I'm racking up quite a compelling argument, I know). I've written about how I don't have a passion for BLM even though I think it's a worthy cause. And I think the main reason is because it falls under the "politics" umbrella in my mind. Too many people with too many emotions and not enough listening. I just don't have the stomach for it. I would rather spend my one life changing the world one person at a time. I'd rather show love to my neighbor (as a Christian), fix someone's knee pain (as a physical therapist), and help other people get their ideas across clearer (as an editor). And, if I'm being honest, all of the doom saying just doesn't scare me. I'm a country boy at heart, and I have simple needs. My family is small, and I have a cabin in the woods. I was sad when Y2K didn't happen. I love individual people, but I'm not a big fan of society. In large groups, people are mean and naïve. And so, fear just doesn't enter into the equation for me. Life is so much bigger than what the marketing campaigns claim.

If you haven't caught on yet, I'm a bit of a skeptic. I don't know if I was born that way, but I became aware of it in college. I didn't particularly like my research classes, but I loved learning how to read scientific articles. Specifically, I love learning how to recognize BS (Biased Science, that is…). I have a knack for seeing through it in any situation. I can generally tell when people are lying, and even though I don't know everything, I do understand concepts, theories, and ideas better than the average person. And like Aristotle (and Plato), I'm keenly aware of my own ignorance as well as that of others. I see how people embrace sensationalized "fake news" and assume causality just because of correlation. Everyone does it. I do it. But I'm aware of it. I'm aware of social media algorithms, of herd mentality, of confirmation bias. And so, the third reason I didn't vote is because I assume everyone is either lying or buying into lies (lying and bullying are my two biggest pet peeves, by the way). And we've already established that I don't have the time or the energy (or the mental capacity) to learn the truth of every political topic and use those truths to set everyone straight. But hey, at least I'm honest…

Remember when I said earlier that fear didn't factor into the equation for me? Yeah, obviously that’s not true. I mean, sure, I'm not afraid of societal collapse or the end of the world. But I'm obviously afraid of being wrong. We've established that I don't know much about Trump or Kerr—er… Biden. That I'm ignorant about politics, in general. And we know that I'm a skeptic—that I have to come to my own conclusions. And most of the time that looks like stubbornness. I hate being told what to do. I hate being micromanaged. I hate the virus on my computer that sets Bing as my default search engine instead of Google. I hate the alarm on my wife's van that makes me wear my seat belt. And I hate the Facebook banners that keep telling me it's my duty to vote. I'm a grown boy. I can make those decisions all on my own. And I will not blindly trust a random source with dubious intentions to make those decisions for me. And, as much as I love my friends, I don't buy their claims that it's my duty to vote, either. Countless brave men and women did not die for my DUTY to vote. They died for my freedom to do so. Same as my freedom to be a Christian. Which means I'm also free to NOT vote.

But why wouldn't I WANT to vote? Because I'm afraid of whom I would have voted for. I'm aware of where I live and what my local culture thinks. In short, I voted for Trump last time, and I probably would have voted for him this time. And I couldn't stomach that thought (side note: I do have one regret, and that’s not voting local. I do know people personally who were running for office--as well as local bills--but I missed the opportunity to vote on things that I DO know about because of my fear of voting for the “wrong” president). It’s not that I doubted that Trump would do positive things while in office (even though, as I said, I'm not sure what he actually did the past four years…), but I'm just so tired of everybody acting insane. There's a reason I don't have cable. There's a reason I only get on social media to post pictures and check my notifications. And while I don't buy into all the sensationalism claiming the president has ultimate power, I do believe that he has a microphone. And a Twitter account. And even though our government is based on checks and balances, our media definitely isn't. If Biden is, in fact, our president for the next four years, my only hope is that he'll keep his mouth shut.

Okay, everyone's mad at me now. And that's okay. I put myself out there. I was honest about my ignorance, my bias, and my fear, which is more than I can say about most other people (presidents included). And maybe my honesty will compel others (you?) to reevaluate the "truths" they (you?) assume are self-evident. It's taken me four years, but I finally understand what "Make America Great Again" means. What would it take for our country to be great? Accountability. That's it. If every man, woman, and child did everything possible to give back to our country, we WOULD be great. If we worked hard to repair crumbling buildings, if we painted breathtaking murals, if we learned classical philosophy and used it shape our thoughts, if we refused to blame someone else for our unhappiness, if we did everything in our INDIVIDUAL power to contribute to the greater whole, if we truly loved our neighbors and gave them the shirt off of our back regardless of their political leanings… THAT would make us great. Right now, we're all so divided. We're all so afraid and easily manipulated. I've chosen to put my time and energy into things "smaller" than politics, but that doesn't mean I don't care about the future of my country. Quite the opposite, in fact. And hopefully, when I'm dead and gone, my tombstone won't read, "The guy who didn't vote in the 2020 presidential election."

[1989dreamer]

In Your Little Werewolf Oven

On AO3

Summary: Danny moves to New York City and ends up opening a bakery called Little Werewolf Oven and most of his clientele ends up being supernatural.

As his reputation grows, Danny finds himself overwhelmed, so he advertises a position and gets not one, but two blasts from the past in the form of Derek Hale and his boyfriend, Stiles Stilinski.

Things work out great for Danny because now, not only does he have more time to do the things he wants, but he also meets his future husband through Derek and Stiles.

Life couldn’t be greater, Danny thinks.

Note: Andrew Erickson would be played by Aldis Hodge if on screen.

Main relationship: Danny/Andrew

Background relationship: Derek/Stiles

                                                                                                                     ~ * ~

Danny makes his break with Beacon Hills when he chooses colleges. He graduates high school a semester early and then heads out.

No one even notices that he’s gone.

Well, no one except cousin Miguel who asks if he feels safe, if he thinks he needs help with the supernatural, and if he wants to keep in touch.

Yes, no, and not really.

Derek Hale is simultaneously the kindest and most fearsome person Danny knows. Mostly because there was a rumor floating around school before he left that Derek had killed both his uncle and a junior at the high school, Vernon Boyd, the third. Well, the uncle was still alive, but Boyd wasn’t, so Danny kindly turns down Derek’s offer of protection and then promptly fucks off to the other side of the country, hoping the distance will be enough.

And it is. For seven years. Long enough to get two bachelor’s in science, physiology and computer science, and to accidentally walk into a cooking class and end up in culinary school just so he can open his own bakery.

He is a bona fide business owner now.

He has no one working for him, so he is only open five hours a day and the rest of his time is spent baking.

It is, in a word, exhausting, but it is his work and it makes him happy.

Business is good for about three months, and then some big name celebrity comes through, orders some of his haupia—which he only made because it was easy and he could set it aside once it was done and not worry about it—and raves about it online.

After that, there is no peace.

Danny can’t get anything done aside from baking and making haupia, and he becomes despondent, trudging from one minute to the next, not even enough time or energy to swipe right on his dating app.

Yes. While Danny was in college, he had also taken time to create a new dating app for LGBTQ+ people. He has gone on a few dates using the app, and the experience is far superior to Grindr or just meeting someone at a bar. But now he doesn’t even have time for that.

He is horny and tired and he really needs help.

Well. Online applications are a thing. So, all he has to do is find three minutes to post something. He finds the time the next morning during breakfast, so he types up a job requirement and application and posts it.

By that afternoon, he has sixty-some applicants.

Okay. So it will take more than three minutes this time.

Great.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Three weeks later, Danny still hasn’t sifted through all the applications. He is desperate, yes, but also too busy. It would be nice if he can just point at someone and assign them to work with him.

He has, however, managed to make an update to his app, and has received favorable feedback. So, while he is still unable to take a moment to breathe, at least he has money to hire someone to go through the applications for the bakery.

It’s a selkie named Ryliegh, visiting her cousin who lives in the apartment across the hall from him, and she is fantastic at everything except baking.

Danny feels a little more at ease with her watching his back. His store, while crowded with humans of every shape, size, and color, is also filled to the brim with supernatural beings who like to take pictures with the bakery’s sign, get something to go, and then hang out on the minimal furniture Danny had grudgingly added a few months back to compete with the Starbucks two blocks away from him.

Why he is a supernatural draw, Danny doesn’t know. Could be the sign.

There are very few things Danny has kept from his life in Beacon Hills, but a stage-whispered conversation between Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall made the list, and his bakery is named Little Werewolf Oven.

Anyway. Danny views the supernatural as closeted. They don’t want the world to know they exist because the world would respond negatively. Hell, the first week he’d been open, a hunter had stopped by to ask him about the sign, and Danny had pretended to be obsessed with Jacob from Twilight—not that Taylor Lautner isn’t a hotty-mchotty who Danny had actually crushed on for a quick minute.

After the hunter left, it had taken everything in him to 1) not call Derek Hale to come make sure he was okay (not having Derek’s number helped) and 2) to remain open. What if the hunters came into his bakery all the time? They seemed set in their ways, and he knew it wouldn’t just be the supernatural population that was in danger. He himself might be targeted for “being different.”

Anyway. That hunter hasn’t come back nor has he told his friends about Danny, and so the supernatural and LGBTQ+ populations have claimed him.

And then Danny made haupia and never has peace anyway.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Ryleigh corners him a month after he hired her and slaps a stack of papers into his chest.

“What’s this?” he asks, amused if a little sad that they had reverted to this non-technological way of doing things. It’s so much easier to look at his phone than to read physical texts.

“Reviews,” Ryleigh says. “And an application. I suggest you hire him. He’s perfect.”

“Reviews of what?” Danny flips through the stack quickly. Ah, the bakery. It is now officially on some site that directs tourists around. Great. He is going to be swamped.

Then suddenly, in the middle of the stack is a job application, generic, hand-filled. Pretty script. Neat words. Derek Hale.

Danny drops the papers.

“What?” Ryleigh demands. “What’s wrong?”

“I know this guy.” Danny picks up Derek’s resume. On paper, Derek does sound perfect. And he even has work experience in a bakery. Who knew?

“Is he bad?” Ryleigh asks.

“Not exactly,” Danny replies, still studying Derek’s skills. “In fact, why don’t you give him a call, see if he can make it in for a test run soon.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Ryleigh wanders away, phone already on her ear. Danny picks up the rest of the reviews and sticks them in his office for when he, maybe, will have time to read them. Some of them look so sweet.

For now, though, someone’s gotta make more haupia because someone announced, on their social media no less, with about 10,000 followers, that tomorrow is the official day of the week that they will have it.

Well. At least it’s just one day a week. Danny can deal with one day.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek Hale returns Ryleigh’s call by the following afternoon, and she patches in Danny so they can talk.

“How soon can you start?” Danny asks, prepared for anything from a week to a month.

“Is tomorrow too soon?” Derek asks instead, and Danny can’t believe his good fortune.

“Sure, yeah,” he says, and then realizes he sounds desperate. Well he is, so fuck it. “Okay, Derek, you’re hired. Just bring in your social security card, driver’s license, and a bank account number with routing information so that I can direct deposit your paycheck.”

“Wonderful,” Derek deadpans. “See you tomorrow.”

Ryleigh gives him a thumbs up before she heads out for her night class. She’s taking computer science because she likes designing mobile games. Danny supports her wholeheartedly except he never downloads her apps. He doesn’t need the distraction. He still doesn’t have any time for dates, much less wasting time on his phone.

Derek will be such a relief. Too bad it isn’t tomorrow yet.

Whatever. Sleeves up. Maybe if he gets done before 9:00 pm, he can treat himself to that new Italian fine dining restaurant that opened around the corner from his apartment building.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek is already at the bakery by the time Danny rolls in at 6:00 am. The Italian was delicious last night, and Danny’s in a good mood which only gets better when he starts showing Derek the ropes. Derek is easy to train and easy-going. He has a bit of sharp wit that comes out when he’s not guarding it, and Danny feels honored that he gets to see it.

Derek’s smile is quick and easy. Danny doesn’t ever remember seeing it in Beacon Hills.

“So why’d you leave Beacon Hills?” he asks once he’s made up an employee file for Derek, noting that although it’s good, his license is fake. “And how old are you anyway?”

Derek rolls his shoulders. “Beacon Hills got too small,” he says, tightly. “The Argents no longer have jurisdiction over hunters there, so another hunting regime moved in. And I’m 28.”

“Yeah? Why does your I.D. say you’re thirty then?”

Derek refuses to make eye contact when he says, “Since my birth certificate was destroyed in the fire, Laura added two years to my age so that she could leave me on my own while she worked. I haven’t changed the I.D. yet because I don’t want to lose that part of her.”

“Understood,” Danny says. “Well, do you have a new I.D.? ‘Cause this one’s about to expire.”

Derek smiles, relief evident in his eyes. “Yeah. I’ll get that done in a couple of days when Stiles gets here.”

“Stiles is coming here too?” For some reason, Danny thought that if Derek left Beacon Hills, he’d leave everything behind. To bring Stiles is to bring the essence of Beacon Hills.

“Yeah, well, it’s kind of rude to leave your boyfriend behind.”

“Boyfriend?!” Danny can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him. Derek glares at him. “Sorry. I just. I didn’t ever think Stilinski would get a boyfriend. Or laid, for that matter.”

“Yeah, well, he’s excellent in bed.” Derek stiffly turns back to the breads, kneading just a little too hard to be human.

“Easy on that,” Danny warns him. “I don’t need to replace these counters.”

“I don’t need you to hassle my boyfriend,” Derek returns, but he does lighten his touch.

“So, Stiles is coming here. Cool. What’s he going to do?”

Derek shrugs. “Beats me. He got his degree in anthropology and zoology. He’s trying to prove that certain supernaturals evolved as a missing link between humans and some older species. It’s really fascinating, but he loves talking about it, so you’ll probably get a rundown on it if you see him.”

“That sounds cool actually,” Danny says. “Now. Have you ever heard of haupia?”

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles does indeed arrive within a couple of days and Derek takes an hour to run to the DMV to update his license.

Then, when they get back, Stiles asks Danny if he still needs help.

Danny looks at the sea of people and then back at Derek and Stiles. “Yes,” he says, and Stiles hands him the same documents he’d asked Derek for.

“All right, you’re hired.”

Stiles grins, tying on an apron and jumping on the register. The line moves quickly, and suddenly the bakery is empty, for the first time in what feels like years.

“Cool,” Danny says. And then heads into his office to read the reviews from Ryleigh.

By the time he surfaces, the bakery is closed, Derek and Stiles have cleaned up, and Derek is prepping for tomorrow while Stiles sits on a stool and chats at him.

“Hey, thanks for coming out here,” Danny tells them. “It’s really awesome that you’re here.”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles says, “Beacon Hills kind of imploded on us. Did Derek tell you about the new hunter family that moved in? Right bastards, the lot of them.”

“He’s mad because they saw my eyes and decided that I needed to die.”

“Aren’t you mad about that too?”

Derek shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, that’s where I grew up. But Beacon Hills itself hasn’t been kind to me in a long time. I’ve got friends out here from before I followed my sister back. We’re actually going to meet one of them today.” Derek shares a look with Stiles. “Do you want to come with us?”

“You realize that I’m gay, right?” Danny says. He can’t help giving Derek a knowing look.

Derek snorts. “So is he. Do you want to come with us?”

Danny thinks of his lack of love life and lets it influence his answer. “Yes. I’d like to meet him.”

“Settled then,” Stiles says. “We’re meeting him at that deli on 23rd. His name is Andrew.”

“Are you going to tell me anything else about him?”

“He’s six feet tall, likes to dress well,” Stiles says. “He works as an analyst for a company close by. And he loves your baked goods.”

“So I have already met him?”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “And he thinks you’re cute. He hopes you think he’s cute too.” Then, Derek dusts off his hands, puts away everything, and washes up. “We have about an hour before we’re supposed to meet Andrew.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Danny says, waving them away. They leave, exchanging knowing smirks. Whatever. It’s cool.

It’s a stretch to think he’ll get laid today, but the potential of meeting someone makes Danny a little giddy. He needs a quick shower, a touch up of his cologne, and then maybe he’ll have some time to clean out his inbox.

Oh wow, he has time tonight! Who knew that having employees would make his life so much more manageable.

Anyway. He doesn’t want to be late to meet—or rather, re-meet—Andrew.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek and Stiles are standing outside on the sidewalk when Danny comes running up. He’d gotten wrapped up in his emails, unused to having even five minutes to do something like that instead of being too tired to function when he got off work.

“Andrew is already inside,” Derek says, pulling Danny close so he can run a hand over his back, something Danny used to watch him do with his pack before they were forcibly disbanded. Danny shivers under the touch. No lie, if Derek wasn’t with Stiles, Danny would be climbing him like a tree. As it is, he still has to will away a boner.

Derek smiles like he knows what just happened, and Danny shrugs him off.

Then, they walk into the deli. Derek leads the way, heading for a booth tucked near the back, a tall, suited man already sitting there, phone in one hand, the other resting on his head, fingers tangled in his curls. Danny stutters to a stop. He recognizes this man. He was one of the first people to visit the bakery. He’d made some mention of the name, something like, “Reminds of my best friend,” before winking and buying a dozen cookies.

Yeah, he was definitely cute.

“Andrew,” Derek is saying, “this is Danny. Mahealani. I think you’ve met before.”

Andrew looks up, taking in Danny standing there and nods. “Yeah. He’s an awesome baker.”

“And he’s gay,” Stiles remarks, sliding into the booth across from Andrew. Derek waves Danny to the table, and Danny sinks down next to Stiles. Andrew stands up and lets Derek sit so that he’s across from Stiles.

“Danny,” Andrew says, extending a hand, “Andrew Erickson.”

“Pleasure,” Danny says.

“Yes,” Andrew remarks, eyes sparkling. “It is.”

“Shall we order?” Stiles asks. “I’m starving.”

Danny doesn’t know if he’s hungry for food or for affection, but he knows either way, he’ll get what he needs tonight.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

The sort of date goes so well that Danny and Andrew walk back to Danny’s apartment together and then spend most of the night talking.

They don’t have sex, but it’s a near thing. Instead, Andrew spends the night on Danny’s couch and they exchange numbers and kisses.

Then, they both drag themselves to their respective jobs the next morning.

Stiles cracks a joke about the walk of shame, and Derek smacks him.

“Go well?” he says, as if he can’t tell. He’s a werewolf. He’d be able to smell if Danny had done anything.

“Yeah, it went really well. I think we could really work out.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Derek hauls Stiles into the kitchen.

Danny is thankful, but Derek and Stiles must have gotten in early because there in nothing for him to do.

Wow. This is going to give him so much time.

“Hey, you realize that you don’t have to do everything, right?” he calls out as he walks into the kitchen. Derek shoots him a blank look accompanied by a thumbs up. “Seriously, you can leave stuff for me to do.”

“Hey, werewolf here,” Stiles says. “He moves at two speeds: fast and faster.”

“Yeah well, you’re making me feel lazy here.”

“When’s the last time you had time to yourself?” Derek asks. When Danny doesn’t answer, Derek points at him. “Exactly.”

Danny looks to Stiles for help, but Stiles just shakes his head.

“Hey, you hired him,” he says. “Which reminds me: do you want me to do anything other than run register?”

Derek shakes his head, so Danny says, “Uh, no? That’s okay, Stiles. You did awesome yesterday. It’s probably going to be that busy again today.”

“That’s good, right?” Stiles asks. “I mean, it means that people like your business.”

“It also means that I can pay you.”

“And go on dates with Andrew,” Derek adds. “By the way, he really enjoyed last night. I think he’s definitely going to ask you out again.”

“Are you going to be okay with me dating your best friend?”

“Yeah. I mean, you and Andrew deserve to be happy. What kind of friend would I be if I got in the way of that? Maybe you’ll break each other’s hearts, but you won’t know unless you follow your path.”

“He’s gotten really Zen lately,” Stiles says. “Sometimes it’s really helpful.”

“Unless your name is Stiles and you don’t like to listen to your boyfriend.”

“I listened, honey. That’s why we’re in New York City.”

“Okay,” Danny interrupts before Derek can respond. “I’m going to go open now. Stiles, you wanna come with?”

“Yeah, sure. See ya, honey-baby-love-of-my-life.” Stiles throws an exaggerated kiss at Derek, who mimes catching it and tucking it into his pocket. It’s cute. Far cuter than Danny would have given either of them credit for seven years ago.

Maybe one day, he and Andrew can be like that.

It’s a goal. But first. Get through today. He needs to do an update for his app, reinforce some firewalls that keep out the bigots. If Derek and Stiles can handle the bakery, then he can get a head start on it. And meet with Ryleigh about financials.

It’s so nice to have employees.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Andrew calls him two days later, on a Sunday, and asks to see him again.

“Been thinking about you a lot.”

“Me too.”

“Can’t wait. Can we meet now?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Cool, let me in.”

“You’re here already?” Danny looks around his apartment, but it’s neat. He’s clean—showered after a run with Derek this afternoon. He even changed the sheets on his bed.

And he remembered to buy condoms when he was at the store earlier.

“Um, sure. Let me just.” Danny throws on a light jacket and jogs down to the street. Andrew grins at him when he pushes the door open for him. They walk back up to Danny’s apartment in silence.

“So, I know this is kind of out of the blue, but do you want to have sex with me?” Danny asks once they’re inside again. Andrew pauses mid-step, shooting a puzzled look at Danny.

“Sex, on the second date?” he asks.

Danny shrugs. “We’re both adults. As long as it’s consensual, why shouldn’t we?”

“Do you think we’re even compatible?” Andrew asks.

“If you’re asking, you’re already thinking about it. Now, I’m vers. How about you?”

“Vers too. I prefer to top with partners on the first time. Is that okay?”

Danny nods. “I was going to play later,” he admits. “So, I’m ready to go. I’ve got lube and condoms in the bedroom. Will you join me?”

Andrew nods, reaching out for Danny’s hand.

He’s reminded sharply of Derek grabbing Stiles’ kiss. “Are we going to be cutesy and couple-y?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Andrew says. “I mean, some partners like it, some don’t. I know I like pet names, but I’m not much for showing affection in public.”

Danny understands. As a gay black man, it has to be harder for Andrew to show his feelings or who he is without being attacked. “We won’t hold hands in public if it bothers you,” he says, “but I do like to call partners sweetheart and love. But not out in public.”

Danny isn’t under any illusions that Beacon Hills was an anomaly and that homophobia is still the norm in many places. He doesn’t like endangering either his partners or himself unnecessarily.

They sit on the bed, and Andrew studies Danny with kind eyes. “So, we’ll be cutesy and couple-y but only in private. Is it okay to walk with you, to stand near you?”

“To be caught looking at me, you mean?” Andrew nods. “Yeah, as long as it’s okay for me to do the same to you.”

“Definitely. So, this lube?”

Danny laughs, pushing at his chest. “Get undressed and I’ll give you a show.”

It certainly is a show when he gets down to it, and the sex is fun, messy, and only sort of good because they need to learn each other, but he doesn’t hate it, and he actually likes the way Andrew curls around him after they’ve cleaned up, and they sleep.

Danny wakes up in the middle of the night, sees Andrew still in his bed, and smiles before going back to sleep.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek obviously smells when their relationship changes, but he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, and he doesn’t let Stiles do it either.

In fact, they go on a lot of double dates, and Stiles tells horror stories of the first time he bottomed for Derek.

“Never again,” Stiles sing-songs. “Derek doesn’t mind, do you, honey-bunches?”

“I mind you discussing our sex life,” Derek retorts, “sugar-sweet-on-top.”

They jibe each other often and throughout the day. The customers love it. They also seem to love it when Andrew manages to come in for lunch and he and Danny usually hide in the office.

The bakery does so well with the extra help that Danny hires an additional four people and extends the hours. He also starts making more traditional Hawaiian goods, which go over just as well as the haupia.

Then, suddenly, he looks up to find that he’s been dating Andrew for a year and he knows that he absolutely wants to marry this man. Andrew has already moved in, and his suits don’t look out of place in Danny’s closet.

Everything fits.

There’s some small fights. And once Andrew spent the night at Stiles and Derek’s apartment while they cooled off and reconciled.

But, still, 365 days. Danny definitely knows he wants to plan a proposal, plan a wedding, and spend the rest of his life with the beautiful creature that sleeps in his bed.

To celebrate their anniversary, Danny enlists Derek and Stiles’ help.

Derek whips up more than baked goods, and Danny is thoroughly impressed by the spread he prepares. Everything is on the table, literally. Way too much food for just two people.

Derek sees him eyeing the table. “You know how you’re thinking about implementing a donation of unused foods to the homeless shelters nearby? Yeah, this is the test run.”

“That’s wonderful,” Danny says. “Thanks, Derek.”

“Hey, I helped,” Stiles says, jabbing himself in the chest. “I made some of the dishes.”

Derek nods. “He did. They’re good too. Traditional Polish dishes, like pierogi, pączki, żurek, and naleśniki.”

“Andrew’s had them before,” Stiles points out. “I’ve never cooked for you, so I don’t know if you like them.”

“I’m sure I will.” Danny gives them both grateful hugs. “Thanks so much for doing this for me.”

“It’s not a problem,” Derek says, grabbing Stiles and tugging him along as he heads for the door. “Let us know how it goes, yeah?”

He nods and then they’re gone.

Danny swallows hard when he’s all alone. He’s suddenly nervous even though he and Andrew have been together for a year now.

An anniversary dinner is nice, but is it what Andrew wants? Should Danny have purchased a ring? Should he be proposing tonight?

Before he can do much more than worry that he’s not doing this correctly, Andrew steps into the room.

He takes in the table and whistles lowly. “They really know how to cook, eh?” he remarks. “They really support us, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” Danny agrees. He hugs Andrew and then pulls out his chair for him. “I haven’t tried Stiles’ cooking, but Derek says it’s good.”

“It is,” Andrew confirms, “although, I can’t pronounce half of what he makes, so he makes fun of me. We can’t all be secret linguistics, like Derek.”

“I’m going to come right out and say this,” Danny says, “I don’t have a ring. I meant to get one, and then I lost track of time.”

“You’ve been really busy,” Andrew agrees. “So I guess it’s a good thing I did get a ring.” He pushes back from the table and drops to his knee, holding a ring box in front of him. “Daniel Mahealani, I love you. I don’t want to spend another day without you, so will you accept this token of my affection and marry me when the time is right?”

Danny slides out of his chair so that he can kneel with Andrew. He picks up the ring and slides it on his finger. “Andrew Erickson, I do accept your ring and give you my promise to marry you when the time is right.”

They stand and sit back at the table.

“Twelve months,” Andrew says. “One whole year. It’s been a great year. And I can’t wait for the rest of the years too.”

“Yeah. That’s.” Danny blows out a breath. “That’s what I want too. I can’t wait for tonight, tomorrow, next week, the rest of our lives.”

“But right now, we have to do something about this spread. Certainly we can’t eat it all.”

“No, the plan apparently was to donate what we don’t eat down at the shelter.”

“Oh,” Andrew says, his smile slow and steady. Danny’s stomach flips a little, anticipating the celebration already even though they have dinner, donating the leftovers, and heading back to the apartment before they can even entertain the notion of sex. “That sounds wonderful.” He studies Danny with a knowing look. “How about we pack something up for later, drop the rest off at the shelter, and head home?”

Danny has to go around the table to kiss him because there’s too much food to lean over the table. But, hey, that’s good. So much food that won’t go to waste.

“I’ll grab some containers. Why don’t you pick out the things you think I should try from Stiles and then we’ll take care of the rest?”

“Divide and conquer,” Andrew says. “That’s why I love you.”

“That and I swallow,” Danny shoots back over his shoulder with a wink.

Andrew lets out a startled laugh. “Just go before you kill me with your quips.”

“I live to please,” Danny returns. “Just you wait.”

It’s hard to wait the two hours it takes to box everything up and deliver it. But somehow, they both survive right until they get into the apartment and the door is locked. Then they crash together, locked at the lips as they put away the food they kept, trying to undress as they move like some awkward, two-bodied creature.

They fall into bed without any injuries, and then proceed to make love at the slowest pace they have ever done so. It’s nice, but Danny is glad that the second round sometime around midnight is faster and more their pace.

Danny falls asleep afterward, sated and beyond happy. He’s got a wedding to plan with his fiancé.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles and Derek get married around Thanksgiving. Danny and Andrew both attend as best men.

It’s the first time in eight years that Danny has seen anyone from back in Beacon Hills, and he is surprised that it isn’t as awkward as he’d thought it would be. For one, Scott doesn’t come. Stiles makes some bullshit excuse, but Danny can see how hurt he is. And another thing, everyone has grown up and matured. Sure they all have a few more scars than he remembers, but for the most part they seem happy.

After, once the vows are exchanged, the grooms kiss, the toasts are done, the food is eaten, the bouquet lovingly handed to Danny by Derek, and the guests gone with the couple departed to their honeymoon, Danny sits with Andrew on their balcony, watching the moon rise over the rooftops.

“That was a beautiful ceremony,” he says. Andrew nods in agreement. “If you don’t mind, none of those people aside from Derek and Stiles will be at our wedding.”

“Obviously,” Andrew says. “Do you want something similar?”

“Small, intimate?” Andrew nods. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”

“How about New Year’s? All we need are a few suits, witnesses, rings, and some of your haupia.”

Danny laughs. “I knew you were only marrying me for my prowess in cooking Hawaiian desserts.”

“Oh sure, yeah, that’s what attracted me to you in the first place.”

“Yeah? And what attracts you now?”

“Hmm,” Andrew pretends to think about the question, before sobering quickly. “Everything,” he answers honestly. “I love everything about you. I love the way you are so smart, the way you cook, I love how you treat your friends, and how you’re not afraid to let someone know when they’ve hurt you. I love the way your face lights up when you laugh, and most of all, I love the fact that you’ve let me share your life with you.”

“Aw, babe, you’re going to make me cry.” Danny rests his head on Andrew’s shoulder. “I love you too. I love the way you always know what to say in any situation and how you know to give me space when I’m mad. I love the way you always hang up your clothes. I love the way you hog the covers at night. But most of all, I love that I get to share your life with you.”

They share a few sweet kisses.

“Shit, we should have recorded those,” Andrew says suddenly. “They would have made the perfect vows.”

Danny laughs again, sure his face is a bright beacon in the cold November air. “Yeah. We should have. How about we go write them down instead?”

“That works too.” Andrew stands up, offers a hand to pull Danny up. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too. Now move, I’m freezing.”

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

New Year’s day dawns bright and cold. The perfect day for a quick wedding.

Danny stands in front of the courthouse, Stiles to his right, fluttering about like a nervous moth. Ryleigh would have been here too, but she’s off visiting some of her others cousins, back in Ireland. She sent her love and congratulations in a confetti- and glitter-filled envelope that Danny had the foresight to open in his kitchen on the linoleum instead of his fully-carpeted living room. He’s still finding bits of glitter even after a deep clean.

“Why are you nervous?” Danny asks. “You weren’t this nervous when you and Derek got married.”

Stiles shrugs. “You realize this is the longest I’ve been apart from my husband since we first got together, minus the time he flew out here to get the job at your bakery. I’m just.” Stiles sighs. “Sometimes I think I’m going to turn around and he’ll be gone. Do you ever feel that way about Andrew?”

“No,” Danny shakes his head, “never. I trust him to come back to me, even when he leaves mad. Do you not trust Derek the same way?”

Stiles nods, but it’s clear he doesn’t.

“Why don’t you talk to your husband about it? I’m sure he’ll explain things better than I can.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Danny. You’re a great friend. Andrew is so lucky to be marrying you.”

“And I’m lucky to be marrying him,” Danny says. “Thanks to you and Derek for introducing us.”

“Oh hey, I think I see them.”

Indeed, it is Derek and his fiancé walking toward them. Andrew has the bouquet from Stiles and Derek’s wedding.

“Something old,” he murmurs as he comes astride of Danny.

Danny pokes his tie. “Something blue.”

“All right,” Stiles directs, “let’s get you inside and married before I lose any more feeling in my toes.”

Derek holds the door for them, and Danny swears he hears him hum “The Wedding March” under his breath.

Well, he and Andrew did pick out a playlist for the reception at the bakery after this, and they’ll dance to their song then, but it is nice to have some form of acknowledgment for what this day is.

Well, that is aside from the fact that this building is only open for the purpose of filing marriage certificates today and only for about two hours.

Six other couples have already been here. And now it’s Danny and Andrew’s turn.

“Got the rings?” he asks Stiles as they line up before the justice. Stiles nods, tossing one to Derek while Derek hands Stiles a folded piece of paper.

And then it’s off to the races. Vows exchanged, rings exchanged, kiss exchanged, paper signed, objections null and void, and it’s over.

Danny stands on the steps again, Andrew next to him, matching rings on matching fingers.

Derek and Stiles wave streamers of crepe paper in both his and Andrew’s favorite colors, clapping, and in the case of Stiles, whistling loudly.

As Danny surveys the mostly empty sidewalk in front of him, standing next to the love of his life, two good friends sharing this moment with them, he thinks life can’t get any better than this.

~ The End ~

[ecotone99]

I bought my daughter an iDog... and I think it's hunting me

My name is Guy Mullen, I’m a robotic science professor working at the Boston Institute of Technology in Massachusetts. I was once a proud father of a six year old girl named Hope, who, sadly, was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Despite fighting like the total champion she was, Hope died not too long after her 6th birthday. Before she died, she asked me to buy her a weird little toy that was currently popular on the market called an I-Dog, a simplistic robotic toy dog that did tricks. My daughter was 6 years old, so it intrigued me that she wanted a tech-toy rather than the usual doll or teddy bear girls of her age would want.

At the time, I thought nothing of it, because me, a professor of robotics, thought it was like a chip off the old block kind of thing. It made me proud. I went into the store today and happened to pass the toy department. I noticed that the same toy dogs were still on the market and selling like hotcakes, so I bought one. The stores around my area for some reason sell old toys. Guess people still like the classics.

And if you’re wondering why I got her this toy now rather than she was alive, let me explain. My daughter, being 6 years old, I didn’t want her to follow along in my footsteps. I wanted her to have a normal childhood. Like I said, teddy bears and dolls. As I got home, I opened it up and started holding the toy in my hands. It was just a cheap toy. But I guess the guilt of not getting it for her while she was alive was eating at me too much. I had no idea why my daughter would be so interested in this toy. I wish I knew then what I was in for, I never would have bought this toy. But as a father, you always want to get your child what he or she wants. It’s one of the joys of being a parent. It’s one of the joys I wish now was never part of being a good parent.

Today is the 8th anniversary of Hope’s passing. I’m going to the cemetery to visit her grave, like I do every year on the anniversary of her passing. But instead of the usual flowers I bring, I’m going to bring this toy dog, to show her that I never forgot. The I-Dog I got for her at the store supposedly played various songs from an mp3 player. Which was a good thing, because she had an extended list for a girl of her age. I would often let her use my mp3 player to play all her favorites. I’m glad, because I still had my mp3 player with all her favorite songs on it. It brought back memories of her and I singing together to her favorite songs on the car radio. Each new one she heard in the car, I would put it in my mp3 player and let her listen to them while she did what little homework she had in the 1st grade. Such a smart little girl. She should have gotten her chance to finish school. It would have been nice to see what her life would have turned out to be.

I took the small toy, the batteries, and the mp3 player from my handbag. I unscrewed its belly, set the batteries inside, then it made that robotic barking that it would make. I set the mp3 player by it, and it played the last song we ever listened to, “What is Love” By Haddaway, while doing that silly robotic dance it does. I watched as it danced a while longer, then left for home to drown my sorrows in tears and liquor. She deserved better. She deserved to be alive.

The next morning, I woke up with such a hangover, I made myself a cup of black coffee so strong that the spoon had a caffeine rush, in hope to kill the now massive headache I had. I remember leaving the music channel on tv. It just made the headache worse, so I shut it off. Minutes later, I nearly choked on my coffee after hearing an oh too familiar song. Her song. It was coming from outside my front door, but seemed to stop once I took notice of it. “What on earth?” I asked myself. I opened the door and looked outside. I didn’t see much, other than the usual. Houses, cars, birds, sunlight, even the local paper boy delivering newspaper. I noticed he stopped at my house when I stepped on the paper. I might as well pick it up. See what’s new in Boston. I picked it up, then turned around, then turned a pale white even whiter than snow. In the doorway of my house sat that toy. That music playing childs toy. The very same blue one with the fake purple jewels around it’s head, the one that I had bought not even a day before left at Hope’s grave.

“What in the hell…?” I looked around to see who would play such a cruel joke, then quickly picked up the toy, went inside the house and got dressed, and immediately went back to the cemetery. When I got there, the toy I had left there was gone. Engulfed with rage, I asked myself why someone would do something like this and proceeded to call the police. The police arrived and asked the usual, “do you have any enemies?” or, “why would anyone want to do this to you?” questions. I had no answer, for I had no enemies. All my friends knew Hope, and loved her as much as I did. It was a mystery.

By the time I got back home, my brain was tired from trying to figure out who would do this to me. Did someone see me do this? Did they watch me put this on my daughters grave? Did a bunch of teenage hoodlums desecrate my daughters grave, and add insult to injury by bringing this toy back to my doorstep? I couldn’t make sense of that though, because no one was around me when I was in the cemetery. And if they were, they were damn good at hiding. Exhausted and furious from the day’s events, I decided to give it no more thought and go to sleep. Or so that was my intention.

In the middle of the night, I was awoken by the sound of music. Not loud music, but loud enough to wake me out of my sleep. I looked at the clock. 3:30 AM. The music that I

heard sounded muffled, yet close. I pulled my blankets off to get out of bed, and as I did the music got louder. It was then that I noticed the toy was next to me, under my sheets. Which was impossible, considering the police had taken it as evidence. Not only that, but the toy had my mp3 player connected to it. Which was playing her 2nd favorite song, called Butterfly Kisses by Bob Carlisle.

Now I’m afraid, because the only person who knew that was her second favorite song was me. It was our song. We sang it only to each other. Not even her mother knew. How is this possible? I immediately called the police to ask how something they took from me as evidence is now in my bed. I also asked if I was being investigated for something, considering how the only way anybody could have known that was our song was if they bugged our house. Immediately I was hit with ridiculous notions of some kind of technology war scenario were maybe a disturbed colleague might be playing some kind of deranged joke. All these questions and not a single answer. What the hell is going on here?

Confused and disoriented, I grabbed the toy, disconnected the mp3 player, and proceeded to take the toy out to the trash. The special meaning that it once held, now desecrated by someone’s twisted mind. I have to get some rest. The morning will be here quickly and I have to work in the morning.

That morning had an eerie chill about it. I couldn’t place it, but I attributed it to my recent episodes of neurotic paranoia. I got to work. The environment felt suspicious. Like I was being watched. I said nothing to no one, and made a straight line for my office. I opened my office door, walked in, shut the door quickly, and took a deep breath of relief. I had made it to my office without being asked a single question, as I was in no mood to talk to anyone.

I went to set my briefcase on my desk, and to my horror, the toy was on my desk. Not only was it on my desk, but my mp3 player that I placed in my briefcase the night before was connected to it.

Surprisingly enough, and for reasons I don’t yet understand, my first thought was one of morbid curiosity. I was anxious to know what song was selected to play this time around, because at this point, I was starting to think maybe this isn’t someone trying to play a joke. But what if it’s her. What if it’s Hope in some miraculous way trying to visit me. to let me know she hasn’t forgotten me either. But I’m a man of science. And in my world, things like this don’t happen. I’ve always been a skeptic, and found myself judging those who’ve claimed to have these experiences as kooks.

Is that what’s going on here? Is this a punishment? Am I going crazy as punishment for judging those people? Was I having a midlife crisis?

After work, I rushed home, locked myself in my home office, and found myself doing something I thought I, never in a million years, would find myself doing. I started talking to the dog. Reluctantly, I asked, “Hope, are you there? It’s Daddy, sweetheart. Are you trying to show me something?” Then for a moment, I snapped back to reality, laughed at myself, and asked myself, “What the hell am I doing?” At this point, I started to question my sanity and wondered if I should check myself into a mental hospital for evaluation. That was the only logical explanation left. I was losing my mind, and no one could see it but me. On top of everything else that ever happened to me, me going crazy was the icing on the cake.

I really didn't want to, but I was sure that this was the only way I can get some closure. I'm going to check myself into a mental hospital to ensure that this isn't making me crazy before anything gets worse. But first, this toy. This god damn toy. It has to go. I'm gonna make sure of that. I picked up a hammer, and smashed the thing into bits. I put the pieces into a plastic bag, and watched the garbage men take it away the next morning.

A week later, I checked into the mental hospital. I’m much better now. I was just having a mental breakdown and needed a vacation. It’s finally over. No more stress, no more heartbreak, no more I-Dog. Because the nurses were so nice, they all pitched in and bought me a plane ticket to Florida to relax. I just checked into my hotel room. And as I set my luggage down, and getting ready to plop onto the bed and let out a huge sigh of relief, I noticed in the room, there was that thing. The I-Dog. And the song it chose was “Nowhere to run.” By Arnold Mcculler.

submitted by /u/pro-gamer-move1 [link] [comments] source https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscarystories/comments/cg7lnk/i_bought_my_daughter_an_idog_and_i_think_its/ via Blogger https://ift.tt/2Y1j2gw

[omnigon]

TBH 90% of this website is juat the blind leading the blind. There’s a critical all time low in actual external source and fact checking for most everyone here, and most of the users are so gullible and non-self-aware that they don’t even fucking know it. So I have to fucking deal with delusional people telling ME (a highly self-aware, mostly grounded individual who hates being wrong so I correct myself continually until I’m right) that I just don’t understand what I’m experiencing. Of course, not after comparing what I experience to their fake experiences (like, explicitly fake, as in, the point is it’s not real) which seems ironic in some way. Like, if you regularly experience incorrect things, why the hell are you telling me my own internal (unknowable to you) experiences are incorrect, just because you compared the two? Even though they’re not comparable. Believing things that are fake, and what I experienced, which YOU think is fake, so it’s comparable in that, in your mind, we both believe things that aren’t real. But that doesn’t make sense. I’m not fucking delusional. I know what my internal states are at all times, and I know how my dissociative disorder works very intricately. You don’t. No one else does. If you’re prone to staunchly believing untrue things, how the hell can YOU trust YOUR internal states? It’s like the pot calling the kettle black. If I’m so incorrect for believing something I experienced is true, and you’re so correct for not modifying your worldview to accompany new information one bit because “science” (that you conveniently never linked to), how the fuck do I know you’re right? I don’t. you don’t, either.

See, people who regurgitate SJ info from their friends are dumb. They need to do some critical thinking and figure out if it ACTUALLY makes sense given the facts. But no one here even knows what the facts fucking are. But if you are going to STRONGLY SAY that XYZ CAN NEVER happen, you need some facts, ASAP. Because if you cannot defend your very, very unstable point of view with OBJECTIVE. FUCKING. FACTS. You do not deserve to hold that point of view. You certainly don’t deserve to tell others that their lived experiences are fucking incorrect. See, I have a habit of being clear-minded, and fact driven. I love the truth, and objectivity. I love it so much, it runs my life to be as REALISTIC and OBJECTIVE as possible. So I think things through, unlike most people on this site. And if I think that something you’re doing seems wrong or sketchy, there’s a reason for it.

So forgive me for being “ableist” here, but I feel like people who are not only delusional, but chronically averse to linking sources are bad places to get info from. Most people on this site are one or the other (usually the latter). Why, after linking me to a supposed “gotcha” post about how since YOU��RE delusional, I shouldn’t trust my own perceptions because sometimes “they’re wrong”. Hm. You know what seems wrong, here? A few things: You’re literally susceptable to strongly and firmly believing untrue things. Red flag for lack of objectivity, even if you can’t help it. You think that I (someone who doesn’t experience that one bit) am misperceiving reality. Fine, if you can prove that my version of reality is impossible through third party sources. But I don’t trust you once you say that you chronically believe untrue things. Another thing is, if I’m “misperceiving” reality, how do I know you aren’t? How do I know your dumb fuckbuddies aren’t? If we’re ALL CRAZY (and we are, they have dissociative disorders just like I do) Why are we talking “science” without checking with the big boys, the REAL authorities? Could it be, perhaps, science doesn’t care what dumb perople on tumblr are fighting about this week? Or, at the very least, the claim you’re making is almost untestable? Hm.

If I’m so unable to perceive what’s going on in my own mind, how come I don’t believe in other fake things? If I believe XYZ can happen in my system and it CAN’T, what else am I believing that’s ‘fake’? The answer is “It doesn’t matter because what I percieve as real is generally just as real as the average person’s perception, if not moreso.” Just because some dumb jackoff on tumblr has made it his retarded hobby to say what’s “real” and what’s “fake” in systems and to fucking circlejerk endlessly in the echo chamber of tumblr’s reblogging system doesn’t mean that I’m misperceiving reality. It means HE is. I’m not the one who circlejerks, I’m not the one stuck in a ‘fake tumblr systems’ echo chamber. I’m not the one who uses the vague authority of the term “science” to hide behind because I can’t actually defend my point of view.

It’s stupid. It’s stupid how offended over this idiot I still am. But I was never able to articulate myself and point out why that person is wrong. But thinking about it, well, he kinda damned himself by telling me he’s delusional. Makes you a lot less credible, and I won’t even trust a normal person’s scierntific claims without evidence. I know what I experience. Yeah, I can combine alters to make a “new” entity who is the sum of their parts, and I can make said entity decombine as well. Yeah, this happens willingly. And I know that’s what it is because they draw themselves. In fact, when we do this, it’s usually to get the entity to draw a picture of themselves. I’ve tried it many times, and one time it turned out horribly. One time it created a monster named “Rape God” who I will not give details about but I will say he lived up to his name. According to retard.tunglr.hell, however, it’s not possible to do this at all, and I must have mistaken it for something else. So when Rape God abused one of my other alters, I guess that must have been something else, too. Hm. 

See how stupid people on this site are, though? They’ll believe they’re right sun up, ‘til sun down, to the point where even when presented with information that contests their claim, instead of being like, “Maybe I was wrong, can you tell me more so we can understand this?” they’re just like “Uhm well, I’m delusional and sometiimes strongly believe things that are wrong so that doesn’t mean that every thing you think is right, duhhhhh” Even though they literally do not know me (I’m not delusional, so) and it’s not an argument. What you think and feel has nothing to do with what I think and feel. If you often misperceive reality, don’t tell ME not to trust MY experiences and senses, based on zero information.

Just... I wish the whole “this is fake, this means a person is faking” thing would stop. Because no one is using real scientific research or thought. Side note: Scientific reasoning does not lead someone to say “that’s fake” just because they’ve been told that. In fact, if you were going to be using REAL scientific reasoning and logic, you would first try to understand what it is. Then you would make DAMN WELL SURE that there’s evidence supporting your claim. Real science doesn’t just say “That can’t happen, it’s impossible.” It tries to figure out whether or not it REALLY IS impossible, and if so, WHY and HOW. You can’t just say “It’s impossible because science says it is” Because that’s not scientific at all. AT ALL. And it’s rude to real science to use it the way you do, as a way to control others behavior and make them out to be fakes.

I’m tired of the whole “XYZ means ur fake!!” BS this website goes on and on about. Just because someone experiences something that’s outside your worldview, doesn’t make it not real. Yes, some people fake. Yes, some people don’t know what they’re actually experiencing and think it’s something it’s not. But not nearly as many as these retards want us to think. MOST people are not fucking lying or mistaken about what their system can and cannot do. Most people’s systems are also wildly different from each other’s. It’s all about your unique brain’s unique reaction to what you had to suffer through. In my system, I get tons of variants. I have Bill Cipher, but also Big Bill Cipher, Magnemite Bill Cipher, Bill Cipher but blue, and probably a billion more. I have 2 or more of several alters, with many permutations. This probably would sound fake to a lot of people. Someone could say it’s “impossible” if they wanted to. But it’s real. I know it is, and no one on fucking tunglr can change the OBJECTIVE TRUTH, no matter how much ideological shilling they try to do.

I know what my system is, what it’s for, and how it works. I also know it’s unique, just like everyone else who’s a system. I also know that there are many systems who experience things I don’t, just like I experience things they don’t. So maybe, instead of pointing to certain things, plugging your ears and screaming “FAKE”, we should all just collectively shut up and deal with REAL fakers when they pop up. Instead of getting some bizarre system IDPOL variant, we should just stop focusing on who’s fake and who’s real. It’s so petty. Who gives a shit? This is literally not something that matters outside tumblr.

Of course, though, I wonder if any of these people are interested in fixing the environmet that leads poeople to fake disorders? Like, maybe if we stopped glorifying mental illnesses and acting like sane, mentally healthy people are the Devil, there wouldn’t BE people pretending to be mentally ill, because there would be no incentive for it. Then the stupid crusade on fakeness would be POINTLESS and you all can get back to your pointless lives. What am I saying, though? IDPOL demands we all be sliced and diced according to minority/majority on so many axes, and this website is stuffed to the gills with IDPOL BS anyway. I’m just saying, if anyone wants my help in stopping the fakers, I’ve given my advice. Stop making it seem desirable to be mentally ill. I know how tempting it would be for “that kind” of person to want to fake dissociative dirorders like this, so if we don’t give them an optimal envirinment, the stupid rules and witchhunts wouldn’t be needed.

I wonder, though, whether these people want it to be that way. It gives them purpose on tumblr to make up rules about who is and isn’t fake and what can and cannot be experienced by a human brain. Now that I think about it, that seems likely. Or, they just don’t understand that their worship of the mentally ill under IDPOL is what’s inadvertantly making this situation the way it is. Or maybe it’s a mix of all those things. This website is a mess, after all, filled with worthless idiots and I bet half of them aren’t even aware that the solution to their problems is “maybe stop focusing on ‘identity’ so much and just take each person as an idividual, on a case-by-case basis”. Because I know how much humans like to collectivise each other (all men, all whites, all NTs, etc etc etc ad nauseum), but IDPOL makes an ideology out of it. IDPOL takes it and canonises it, when we should be doing the opposite, healthy thing: treating people not as a part of a mass, but as individuals.

I don’t think most people here are even capable of breaking of of their echo-chamber-enforced little ideological bubbles. I can. I did it a while ago, and now I’m free. I’m not always right, but I know when I am. I know every human has a unique structure and experience, the ability to adapt as such granted to them by millions of years of natural selection. I know that people like to form groups and distrust those outside the group. I know that 90% of people on tumblr don’t understand any of this. They never get to the next level, the end of the thought-chain. That humans are biased towards themselves and those most like them, so even if they know, logically, on one level their ability to accurately perceive reality is lacking (delusions), they’re going to force it on others no matter what anyway. Even if their claims are unsourced (no links to studies or fucking anything), they’re going to spew it as FACT, because those inside their in-group did the same thing, and the bias in this case is against the out-group (me) so it becomes their “facts” from their friends who are RIGH(tm), against me and my unfacts and my no-group who are WRONG(tm) because it’s IMPOSSIBLE(tm) to be that way, because ooh ooh ah ah my tribe SAYS SO.

People, though we are the most intelligent species on planet Earth, are fucking stupid. I’m stupid. Most people reading this are stupid. But I’m less stupid than people who refuse to engage in actual critical thinking, than people who just listen to their equally stupid Internet buddies as a sole source of scientific fact, than people who choose to remain in their echo-chamber, never daring to see if they’re wrong. I’m not the kind of person who, after making a claim and being presented with evidence that the claim may be less than correct or absolute, will move the goalposts to dismissing the evidence presented. I’m not that fucking stupid.