#i prefer to avoid using slurs in my writing but I think at least one is literally entirely unavoidable with the narrator meeting himself

[jacksprostate]

It happens in Paper Street. Tyler is still gone. The building is oozing with monkeys, but on the upper floors where Tyler and I sleep, I am alone.

I am not alone.

There is two of me. I don't have a twin.

If there's two of me, then there might be two of Tyler.

Tyler would probably think killing myself to monopolize him and his clone is a step closer to bottom.

If there's not two Tylers, I have to kill him anyway.

All of this becomes clear to me in the time it takes for my clone to stare at me and shake his head and get his shit together.

I play it cool. I am so ZEN, he will not realize when I reach over to crush his windpipe.

I say, hey. This is weird.

"Yeah," he says, and my voice is way too loud coming from him. I don't like it. He needs to shut the fuck up. "Is Tyler here?"

I ask him, do you think Tyler would know why the universe broke? I ask him like he's asked me if Tyler would like to take a nice little shopping trip through the local designer stores and pay off the companies' tax breaks by giving hundreds to their check out charity.

I think Tyler would know why the universe broke, of course. He'd be the one to break it. Maybe this is another one of Tyler's little tests. This new version of me seems less certain of that fact, more like he's looking for his daddy's coattails, and now I really can't wait to punch his teeth out of his skull. He doesn't have the hole in his cheek, and I can see him watching it wink when I talk. He looks like a jealous rat.

We must both be Joe's Clenching Bowels.

I ask him, do you think we're different? Maybe there's a butterfly effect. Parallel universes. There has to be a reason he's so pathetic.

"I'm sure we are," he says, like he's telling his boss about sawing cross tips into bullets. Touching.

How'd you meet Tyler?

"On the plane. He gave me his number. Called him after my condo blew up."

I smile. I met him on a nude beach. He gave me his number. I called him after my condo blew up. Every word after nude turns my copy's face a bit ruddy, little tectonic nudges to the ring of fire.

"What were you doing on a nude beach?" he spits. "Gargling your boss's balls?"

Watching Tyler. Naked and sweaty, muscles flexing as he pulled around driftwood and pilings to sit in his own hand of perfection. I know I sound like a priest that wants to keep God for himself. I am.

"You're a fag," he says.

I think of my birthmark on my foot. I think of Tyler. I think of Marla. I think of how stupid this version of me is, to pretend he wouldn't get on his knees just for the chance of a taste of Tyler. Is that not how he got the kiss I can see on his hand? His Tyler must have had to lower his standards.

Best not to accuse others of things you're guilty of, I say. I'm willing to face any number of uncomfortable truths if it will get rid of him, I realize.

He's flustered. "No, no, it's not —" he waves his hands. "It's not like that with me and him. No."

Yes it is. It's not love as in caring, sure.

I step closer.

It's property as in ownership.

This must be why Tyler likes it. I see myself wither like a guy kicked in the balls on the first night he attends fight club.

I could be over that table every night for Tyler, I say. You would just be jealous. Just like you're jealous of Marla. Of that one pretty kid you probably pummeled into the ground too. Or did you not even have the balls for that?

Eliminate the competition. Face the truth only to drive it deeper into this jammed copy of myself. Win Tyler's affections. I have already seen the bones in my yard, I can tell, he has not.

One of us is committed. I pull my human sacrifices out of my pocket, throw them at him. One of us wants this. I get in his stupid face.

It's not you.

He swings at me, I'm fighting to the death.

"Tyler isn't here, is he?" he taunts me.

"Tyler left you."

"He doesn't want you anymore."

All things true, but maybe not once I kill you.

I am the abandoned dog, performing tricks so its owner will come home. I am myself, calling my father and telling him about graduating college, like it means fuck all to him. I am myself, pushing onto that next step on his list, anyway. Tyler's my new list, and he wants murder. I've known it. I'll face it.

He gets me in a headlock, hits me over and over, opening up that hole in my cheek. I go limp, drag him down, flip him over myself and grab his throat. I slam his head into the ground. It's soft, moldy wood, not concrete, so I have to start squeezing, instead.

Death will commence in five.

Five, four.

He's gasping, slamming his palm into my nose, breaking it over and over.

Four, three.

Three, two.

His body is shaking under mine. Seizing. He has the primordial strength of a man about to die, and I have the primordial strength of a man about to live.

Death will commence in two.

His eyes are rolling back. I can feel his throat giving in.

No more chance for breaths. It crumbles beneath my hands like the ribcage of a hummingbird.

No chances for evacuation.

Death commences.

Now.

On the upper floors of Paper Street, I am alone.

[newsmutproject]

I was in the process of writing a piece and I wanted to ask about what sorts of language and profanity were allowed. obviously, I don't want anything that could be seen as a slur, or something offensive, but I want to know where the line is to avoid making something that seems either too crude, or undeveloped.

Good morning! Co-editor T.C. Mill here.

So initially I admit I was surprised by this question. We are the New Smut Project, after all. Our target audience is not those busybodies who rate books 1 star on Goodreads because a character says "Jesus fucking Christ!" at some point.

But as I woke up more and considered it, I see where you're coming from, Anon. There is such a thing, for our purposes (not everyone's! Sexy is subjective. But we're cultivating particular kinds of sexiness here), as "too crude." It's a matter of more than word choice, though.

In previous guidelines we noted a preference for "tasteful" word choice and specified liking "come" over "cum". That last bit's still our preference - and our house style - but we can always change "cum" to "come" in copyedits, along with adding serial commas (and in all honesty, we can be argued out of either change in individual cases to fit an author's artistic vision. Maybe the characters are sexting and there's no way they're typing four letters when they can type three. Etc.)

"Tasteful," I realize now, is too vague. I love the word "cunt" much more than "pussy." Other people feel the exact opposite and to them, that's tasteful. Mood matters too. What's tasteful in the heat of the moment can feel crude on the first page of the story (not always, though! A first page that opens with something really raw and passionate will get my attention!). If the story's a piece of IKEA erotica with flat(-pack) characters going through the motions, just about any word choice will sound cringe.

Also for a combination of reasons "fuck" doesn't even parse as profanity to me anymore, so there's that.

If you look at our tag for Terms and Language you'll see a range of people's ideas, opinions, and favorite vocabulary - everything from discussions of identity labels to synonyms for "cock."

In our author interviews for Cunning Linguists (to some people, that title is probably too crude), we asked about people's favorite and least favorite words in sex writing, and received some fascinating, funny, and steamy answers!

Finding the right word to fit the moment is always one of the writer's challenges and privileges, whether writing sex or anything else. That said, some advice that I think could be helpful here: NSP Co-Editor Alex Freeman's article "Sex Writing 101."

It breaks down a sex scene into different 'ingredients' - action, reaction, dialogue, sensory details, and so on. If that sounds a bit technical, I'd encourage you to look at it as descriptive rather than prescriptive -- it's possible to write a great sex scene without any dialogue, for instance! But looking at where dialogue appears in the example sex scene and what it adds can spark some ideas that help any story to feel more vivid and interesting. That help to build an erotic mood.

The same word might feel "too crude" if it appears in an underdeveloped scene and, in a piece where intimacy and erotic tension have been built, it might feel absolutely fucking perfect.

It's not tastefulness we're looking for so much as the right combination of juicy flavors.

As a closing thought: the deeper you get into your character's POV throughout the story, the more freedom you have to use whatever language they would use.

Wait, I lied, one more closing thought: If your story has a title like "I Had Sex With My 18-Year-Old Babysitter Last Night," we are going to be turned off by it before we read the first page, even if none of those words are individually crude. Though the fact is the people sending us those stories probably haven't bothered to read any part of our site except the email address to send their stories in to. If you're making an effort, you'll come in ahead of them. (Note: this is not a reference to any one submission we've received, but rather a whole number of them - pieces that are very artless, cliche, and often make use of power dynamics in a way we really aren't about.)

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

No tws

How do I stop having hope in my parents? I'm genderqueer and my parents have differing views on that. I think my dad tries. He (Christian since forever) has gone out it his way to try and watch some queer TV shows and movies with me. He's stopped saying homophobic and transphobic things for the most part (at least in front of me), though he still holds some bigoted views. He's not great at using my pronouns but he helped me buy some pride pins. My mom on the other hand hasn't stopped saying homophobic and transphobic things at all. She knows it fucks with my mental health but doesn't give a shit. While my dad is usually fine, he still believes some messed up shit and I probably won't be able to convince him otherwise. The hope I have in my mom to change isn't a lot but it's still something and I repeatedly get shown that it's misplaced. The other day my mom had said she'd donated to an gay organization. At first I got really excited about this, she rarely gives money to organizations because she is distrustful of them, preferring to just give the money to family who might need it. But she gave money to this organization, a gay organization! I thought she might be coming around. Nope. Organization was Gays Against Groomers. A group of cisgender gays who make it their fucking mission to make the lives of trans and nonbinary people worse. I just. I'm tired. It's been like this for years. Having hope in either of them, especially my mom, is of no use. I haven't been kicked out I haven't been called any slurs I and I haven't been put through DIY conversion therapy. All in all I have it good. I'd rather focus on the things my dad is trying to do right than continue having any faith that either of my parents are going to change.

-🎵

Hi 🎵,

I'm so sorry about what you've been going through. You don't deserve to be treated like that.

It can be difficult to let go of hope in someone, especially when it comes to family members. It's understandable that you want your parents to accept and support you for who you are. However, it's important to remember that change is ultimately up to them, and it's not your responsibility to change their beliefs or behavior.

One way to cope with this situation is to focus on building a support system of people who do accept and support you. This could include friends, other family members, or members of the LGBT community. Having a support system can help you feel less alone and provide you with the validation and acceptance you deserve.

You might also consider setting boundaries with your parents. This could involve limiting the amount of time you spend with them or trying to avoid certain topics of conversation that are likely to lead to conflict or hurtful comments. It's okay to prioritize your own mental health and well-being, and sometimes that means setting boundaries with people in our lives. Here are some steps to help you set boundaries with your parents:

Determine your boundaries: Think about what behaviors or actions from your parents are unacceptable to you, and what you need from them to feel respected and safe. Write these down so you can refer to them later.

Communicate your boundaries: In a calm and assertive manner, let your parents know what your boundaries are and how important they are to you. Be specific and clear about what you need from them and what behaviors you cannot tolerate. Use "I" statements instead of blaming or accusatory language.

Be firm: If your parents try to push your boundaries, it's important to stand your ground and be clear that those behaviors are not acceptable to you. You may need to repeat yourself several times or restate your boundaries in a different way.

Enforce consequences: If your parents continue to violate your boundaries, it's important to follow through with consequences. This could mean leaving the conversation, taking a break from spending time with them, or even cutting off contact if necessary.

Take care of yourself: Setting boundaries can be difficult and emotional, so it's important to prioritize your own self-care. Reach out to supportive friends or family members, practice self-care activities, and seek professional help if needed.

Remember, setting boundaries is about taking care of yourself and creating a safe and healthy environment. It's okay to set boundaries and enforce consequences if your parents continue to violate them. You deserve to be treated with respect and dignity.

Ultimately, it's important to remember that you deserve to be accepted and loved for who you are, regardless of your gender identity or sexual orientation. Don't give up hope that your parents might one day come around, but also don't let their beliefs and behavior hold you back from living your life authentically and finding support and acceptance elsewhere.

I hope I could help. Please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

[elliewiltarwyn]

FFXIV Write 2023 | Prompt #5: Barbarous

(no, I haven't done #4 yet. still struggling with that one. and with this too tbh @.@;)

5. Barbarous (829 words, emetophobia warning)

Savages, she had been told growing up about the many races that make up the population of Eorzea.

Uncultured swine and violent, primitive creatures, like the barbarians that their ancestors had been forced to fend off—barely even civilized. If you meet one, the best thing to do is to either avoid eye contact or kill them outright. His Radiance is doing them a favor, really, look at the Mad King we deposed in Ala Mhigo. ‘Tis the Empire of Garlemald’s sworn right to go forth and bring all these savages to heel under its banner and properly raise them to acceptable levels of civilization.

Those words have always repelled Mia. The mantras disgust her. She had sworn to never give them another thought, to live her life on the opposite end of that spectrum, expose the infuriatingly hollow pit that laid at the foundation for those kinds of beliefs.

She has never believed those to be true, but Thal’s balls, as she bodily drags Aldis by the scruff of his shirt through the late night avenues of the Steps of Nald, she feels herself beginning to slip and wonder if Solus zos Galvus had a point. Very bad path to start heading down, Mia! Don’t do that! That’s a big reason you ran away!

“I sssee you like it… rough, Mia,” Aldis slurs as he hits a bump on the path.

Then again… She grits her teeth. “My preferences are none of your business.”

“See, you ssay that,” he murmurs, and Mia knows he has that slimy grin that irritates her and Mylla so much, “but why would you spend so much time with me if you didn’t want me to pick up on what you like and don’ like?”

“Then you should have picked up that I hate your guts and am not remotely in your presence of my own volition.”

“Ah, a fair maiden of prrrrinciple and integrity!” He rolls the ‘r’ far too long. “What are you doing sullen…sullying yourself down here, among us rough and tumble gladiators of Ul’dah, then?”

What indeed, she grumbles to herself. “Also none of your business.”

She’s certainly not going to tell Aldis, of all people, that she came to Ul’dah to escape the sins of her heritage, her nation, her homeland. That she had looked her father unblinkingly in the eye as he held up a letter from an Ala Mhigan boy addressed to her and demanded she get out before he turned her in for sympathizing with Eorzean savages. That she had severed contact with everyone she had ever known so she wouldn’t implicate anyone else or leave any trace that could be used to indict her new identity, in a new home far from everything she ever knew.

And here she is babysitting this massive trainwreck of a man who had just decided he couldn’t keep the contents of his stomach at bay any longer. She heaves a great sigh and turns Aldis to the side so he at least aims it away from the middle of the street. This is for Mylla’s sake, she keeps telling herself, Mylla’s sanity. Mylla is always profoundly grateful and apologetic whenever she sends her out to “handle” Aldis, and Mia knows she’s not at fault, but her patience is running thin, and she doesn’t understand how Mylla’s hasn’t with him.

…But then, that’s sort of the beauty of it, isn’t it, she ponders, wincing and pinching her nose as Aldis heaves, gasping for breath. The obsession with purity back home…would have had him before a firing squad long ago. And as disgusting and debauched a man as he is… ‘tis no fate that he deserves. That sort of punishment is unconscionable.

One might even say… barbaric.

She can’t believe she’s talked herself into thinking she prefers this flavor of savage than the one back home, particularly as Aldis falls flat on his back and grins lecherously up at her. She groans, bends over, and grabs his collar again and hauls him up to his feet. “You truly are a blight upon the guild and Mylla.”

“I am, I am… and aye, she deserves far better than what I can give her,” Aldis declares, slinging his arm over her shoulders and staggering as Mia gets a firm grip on him and begins to drag him down the street once more. “‘Tis truly a blessing that you’re around to be the role model, the flagship gladiator, she ‘n the guild need.” He pats her shoulder roughly. “And you too deserve better from me.”

“It’ll be wonderful if you still feel that way in the morning and act upon it.”

“We’ll see,” he chuckles, “we’ll see. I’m grateful you put up with me as is.”

Somehow, Mia sighs to herself, ‘tis the lesser of two evils. Life as a gladiator in Ul’dah isn’t easy, but somehow… she still finds the atmosphere vastly preferable to Garlemald’s. We’ll see how long that lasts, I suppose.

[hexentanzenigma]

Oh no, don't worry!

You're not rude at all, and I apologize because I misread part of your post on a side and not being a native English speaker, I think I wasn't able to convey in a proper way that my reply was most about others failing in seeing his three-dimensionality, not about what you said :)

I didn't mean to dismiss your frustration in any way or your knowledge about D&D lore. I'm not really this kind of person and I wouldn't dare to be so rude :)

Unfortunately I'm used to find people who are shallow and fail to see Cazador's three-dimensionality as a villain -big he is indeed three-dimensional considering how little screentime he has!- and I thought that beyond Cazador's Asian features, you were abnnoyed also by this. I did a 1+1 that wasn't really there, I'm sorry for that :/

My first thought when I read it was about how not only we are constantly judged and ostracized for liking him even if he's one of the many other well-written villains, but also Asian appreciators explaining how they related to the characters and questline have the same fate, unless they're explicitly hating on him. Like they weren't entitled to share their personal experiences about their cultures, especially with other Asian fellows and fans in a more open and constructive way.

However, not being Asian myself, I usually don't consider my place to talk too much about this, especially when risking to give the idea of speaking somehow on behalf of Asian people and telling how they should feel about him. I think this is also the reason why I instinctively avoided tha matter. Moreover being all the day, everyday, among people who like him as a character, Asian (from East Asia and South-East Asia too) and not Asian alike, his Asian features are for us just another side which we want to find headcanons to. Luckily I haven't stumbled into people insulting him for his Asian features for months (it did happen in the beginning tho, by a few feral Astarion fans/twt harassers, using IRL slurs used towards Asian people) and I hope it didn't happen again since. I wouldn't be surprised tho. Some corners of the fandom are terrible towards real people.).

Anyway, from my corner, I've never seen often people hating on him as a consequence of him not being white. Hope so, at least. I surely might be wrong or not seeing other parts of the fandoms, so my point of view is limited. Most of the hate we receive as fans is because of he's Astarion's abuser and because he's considered a rapist of his own spawns. Due to this, many tell us that this is the point where they drag the line: you can be a crazy murderer, a necrophiliac, a slaver, the cruelest creature out there or anything else, but not a rapist (and as I said, for Raphael there are explicit hints, for Cazador there aren't).

And here, usually, there is a list of horrible, harmful stereotypes towards SA survivors especially if they explore Cazador and Astarion past dynamics: I've seen people telling survivors that they're lying because if it was true they wouldn't dare to write about Astarion's trauma; that they wished it happened to them again because once it wasn't enough if they cope in that way/if they "shipped" a rapist with his victim; that SAd people would have preferred to die instead of being raped and if they weren't drawning into depression or having thoughts about ending their life they weren't really traumatized; etc.

However, this doesn't take anything away from the frustration of seeing the only standing-out Asian character being a villain and one of the worst kind: I knew people loving to see a villain they considered beautiful to be Asian, others have seen in him the "Yellow Peril" stereotypes especially when paired with Wyll considered a neglected character, others that doesn't care. That's why I'm not in the position to speak about it too much, not sharing the same ethnicity. Larian could have added more, if they wanted, that's for sure, as many other similar things. The game is beautiful but far from perfection.

I know there is Zarys, the Zentharim leader, being Asian too, but she's not "a good one" as well. I mean..we know that canon Zentharim are evil-aligned. She's very cool, tho. Beyond them, yes, I can't recall Asian of any character that isn't very minor/random :/ This said, unfortunately there is no real hint or info about why they did such a choice. If it was based on something that was then cut, like Amanita/Lady Incognita's story and the presence of the others 3 Szarrs (Fistula, Dralia and Blovark), all bloodkin. Maybe they had all Asian features and Amanita was the positive young girl, rebelling against his own family trying to force her to become what they wanted her to be. Sort of. But then everything was cut and Cazador was left as a final boss fight of a disconnected quest, with giant plotholes and missing characters. We were curious too, but Larian doesn't talk about him, doesn't share any meme about him like for others villains, there have been no Q&A in general and it's unlikely there will be any. It's something I'd have liked to ask them since the beginning.

I feel that rushing against Starfield release left Act3 in general very badly chopped, with terrible and weird side-quests, even more plotholes (like, Gortash's palace should have been the Grand Duke's one in the Upper City; Raphael never talks about him and vice versa, nothing is really connected between them two, there's just Nubaldin at the House of Hope and so on).

Sorry again for the misunderstanding :)

i love bg3, and i love being in the fandom but also. i have never felt more alone as someone who also happens to be chinese like.

i don’t like cazador. i don’t think the majority of bg3 fans do. but the fact that i’ve never seen the same amount of grace given to cazador that is given to gortash or even raphael, by fans or in the game, just fucking hurts.

consider gortash and cazador: both gortash and cazador have been hurt, and choose to perpetuate this cycle of hurt. gortash is widely crushed on and shipped with durge. in game, karlach (gortash’s victim, no less) expresses sympathy when she realises what was done to gortash. nothing remotely resembling this sympathy is given to cazador, regardless of in game or in fandom.

i’ve always gotten upset seeing people hate on cazador without allowing space for nuance, and haven’t been able to explain why until now—

characters like raphael and gortash can be loved, regardless of / including all the atrocities they commit. they’re pined after, and shipped, and loved. anytime someone likes cazador, on the other hand, fingers are pointed and everyone goes ‘but he’s an abuser!!’

and that’s just it: cazador is just ‘the abuser’. hatred towards the only memorable asian character never goes challenged or questioned, because he was quite literally written to be the most evil, most abusive character of all.

yes, he’s a terrible person, yes, he’s an abuser, yes, asian people can be abusive just like every other person on earth. it’s understandable why one would hate him, because he’s literally written to be, but the fact that he’s the only asian character i can name in bg3 just really fucking hurts.

fans who love raphael (me included) or gortash (me not included) are much more likely to be ‘excused’ or accepted, whereas any fans who even express an ounce of love for cazador immediately get shut down. why do you think this is. think about the implications of the only memorable asian in the game being the most abusive and most evil. (no, asian side characters and npcs with two lines of dialogue don’t count. no, the one asian face option for tav also doesn’t count)

again, i love bg3, and its changed my fucking life, but its just deeply upsetting to me that this character was written specifically to be hateable with no room for grace or remorse or empathy. nobody questions the blind, pure hatred for him. nobody questions why this hatred isn’t expressed quite as strongly for literally any other evil white character in the game.

i’m not asking for people who sympathize with / relate to astarion’s storyline to like cazador at all— that’s not the point of all this. i’m not telling you which characters to like or dislike. but racist beliefs / predispositions / inclinations do not magically become less racist when the character of color in question is written to be abusive, not to mention the fact that he’s the only asian character in bg3 that i can even name or remember.

growing up, i’ve always wanted to see myself in the fantasy stories that i loved. i’ve given up hoping that i will, but i’m really sad and disappointed that the one character who remotely looks like me in this game that i love with my whole heart is just evil. not nuanced, not tragic, not even a fucking person to most fans or even the creators, regardless of his canon backstory and his morally wrong similarities to other characters that are loved like gortash and raphael.

i love this game and this community so much, but i just feel so . i don’t know, stupid? LMAO maybe i’m just reading too much into it, but i just feel terribly alone in feeling this way

[charleswaterloo]

AGREED DO THE ULTIMATE FIC REC

Thank you so much for asking!! Okay, here we go!

DC fics that I got a few paragraphs into and already KNEW were going to be AMAZING:

1. The Jason Project by loosingletters

Warnings: Major Character Death

Jason had just wanted to see his autopsy report, he had only wanted to know what information Bruce had about his death. And when Bruce hadn't given it to him, he had stolen it. He hadn’t meant to stumble upon the bucket list of a dead child and the footage of a grieving father crossing one item after another off the list.

My thoughts: I don't often cry (which isn't healthy lmao) but this fic made me cry (happy tears!). It is absolutely wonderful and while angsty it has such a beautiful ending. I can't recommend it enough!

2. Little bird by Ididloveyou_once

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Tim knew he was fucked if only for the way that his brain was chanting Jason, like a litany. So he definitely didn’t need to hear the cold, mechanical chuckle or the chillingly delighted 'lucky me' to know that this was not good.

He took a second to look down at his coffee mournfully.

Then, he threw it at Hood’s helmet and bolted down the Tower corridor.

Or: Tim is supposed to be at Gotham Academy for a parent-teacher conference. Hood has other plans (Titans Tower AU).

My thoughts: One of the best Titans Tower AU fics I have ever had the pleasure of reading. The ending is to die for and so fluffy - it never fails to warm my heart <3

3. Straight to Voicemail by cabbagetop

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

“Red Hood. I need you to incapacitate Timothy Drake-Wayne.” “Aw, man,” Jason sighs, shouldering through the old wooden doors and out into the street with his books under his arm. “You and half the northern hemisphere. What’d he do this time?”

Jason's phone is blowing up about one Timothy Drake-Wayne (who is Jason's responsibility since when, exactly?). Jason comfort-eats. Jason suffers long. Jason reluctantly tries to keep this Raphus cucullatus of a human being alive, and maybe finds himself sidling back into the family while he's at it.

My thoughts: I was crying with laughter by the third sentence. If you want free serotonin, you will find it here folks, I guarantee it. Brilliantly written and hilarious and such a fantastic interpretation of Jason's character. Please read this lmao <3

4. miss me? by envysparkler

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Jason’s plan to observe his family’s reactions to his resurrection…does not go as intended.

My thoughts: I think I've recommended this one at least once before, but I will do so again because it is one of the best stories I have ever had the honour of reading on AO3. It has a happy ending, but was another fic which actually made me tear up. It is just beautiful and I'm sure some of you have read it before. Read it again even if you have - it's that good.

5. No Pain, All Gain by @sohotthateveryonedied

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Bruce checks Tim’s IV. “Are you in any pain? Do you need more morphine?”

Tim’s pupils are so wide that only the faintest ring of blue can be seen. He watches Bruce the way a five-year-old watches cartoons. “I’m all good, B-dog. All Gucci, like we cool teens say." His words are slurred almost beyond recognition, but Tim doesn’t seem to notice or care. "I could fight Superman right now.”

My thoughts: I know of only about 3 or 4 fics featuring Tim absolutely high out of his mind on some drug or another and this has got to be one of the absolute best of them. Whenever I feel the Depression(TM) crawling in and I need to laugh INSTANTLY I read this. It has not failed me yet. I can't recommend it enough it's so funny and a great read <3 The line below from the fic makes me scream laugh EVERY TIME:

“He’s not in his right mind.” “So? Neither are you half the time but you’re still in charge of everything.”

6. The Ouija Boy by SunnyBlue

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Timothy Drake was a stillborn baby. He was born dead, stayed that way for a solid five minutes, and was then resuscitated in the delivery room. He was a child who grew up alone, but for his imaginary friends. He had so many imaginary friends, in fact, that his parents sent him to get evaluated several times over the course of his childhood, which was spent with Tim as the only heartbeat in that house.

But that didn’t mean he was alone.

---

Tim sees dead people. When a Batboys murder investigation is going nowhere, he realizes his only chance at solving the case is to speak to the ghost of one of the victims. He has to reveal his secret to his brothers -- or risk the killer getting away.

My thoughts: STAND BACK FOR POSSIBLY ONE OF MY TOP TEN FAVOURITE FICS OF ALL TIME. I'm pretty sure I've recommended this one before but I will do so again. The story is impeccable, the mystery is ELITE and everything about it is literally perfect. I re-read this at least once a month so I can bask in its greatness and become a better person for having read it.

7. there but for the grace of god by TheResurrectionist

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

From a tumblr prompt.

AKA, "A Justice League fic where everyone argues about who's the most beautiful and intimidating sexy from the Big Three and everyone has valid points."

My thoughts: I'm going to let the note I added to the bookmark I made of this fic speak for itself. Here's what I wrote: "This was so funny - shoutout Jason for undeniable lad vibes plus the fact he felt he needed to neatly organise and write down the big three's sexiest traits."

8. American Ninja Worrier by DangerBeckett

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

It's just like Tim to give a poor college student a start in the business world. Kid's a bleeding heart, and usually, that's the sort of thing Jason avoids at all costs. He prefers his bleeding hearts on the literal side, and despite Bruce's best efforts, he's never had a head for business.

Unfortunately, though, this time the business is ninjas, and that's the sort of thing that makes Jason take notice. Because Bruce is useless, and someone's gotta make sure Tim's new internship program doesn't take down all of Gotham.

That's Jason's job, after all.

My thoughts: Please GOD just read the first few paragraphs. You'll know exactly what I mean when I say that this fic is it. Hilarious, badass and adorable. I mean, see the title of this fic rec. I just knew this fic was going to be amazing from the first line.

I have many, many more of course, but I'll leave this here for now as it's getting to be a pretty long post. Anyway, these are all fics - short and long! - that I knew were going to be absolutely perfect within the first few moments of reading. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did!

[swearyshera]

not really sure how to ask this but im considering setting up a sweary owl house blog, do you have any tips for starting out?

I have learnt one or two things I can pass on!

Technical Stuff: At a minimum, you'll want a decent quality video of the show and an image editor (preferably one that can handle multiple layers and outline text - I use paint.net). It helps also to have a video player that you can advance frame by frame, because sometimes you are only gonna have one or two frames that work for what you want to do.

If you're on Windows and signed into OneDrive, enable saving screenshots to OneDrive in the settings - this saves every screenshot you take so that you don't have to take a screenshot, go back to your image editor and paste it in, then go back to the video to get the next one.

Characters: You'll want many of your characters to stand out from the original. I have two main ways of doing that - the first, and probably the one I use most, is to take an aspect of them and dial it up to 11 (e.g. Glimmer's love for violence, Swift Wind's political leanings).

The other one I use is to completely flip a character, such as Mermista being totally and unashamedly in love with Sea Hawk. Use that one wisely though! It's also worth playing one or two characters completely straight just to keep the "it's the original show but not the original show" vibe.

And, of course, you can give them extra character traits that help them to stand out, such as Entrapta's fourth wall breaking.

Be Funny: Sounds quite obvious, but just swearing alone doesn't really stay funny for long (seriously, go read my first dozen posts where I just kept the original script and see how long before you get bored of it). People often say I take the subtext of the show and make it into just text, and I do. I think knowing the show reasonably well also helps you to make good jokes that land with people who also know the show.

The other tip on being funny, at least in my experience, is not to try too hard. You'll get a feel for when to ease up on the laughs and when to go for it.

Have standards: This one might vary depending on who is doing it, but I always have self-imposed guidelines as to what's on the table for jokes. For example, I try to avoid any religious curses (e.g. Jesus Christ) or mental health slurs (e.g. psycho) without a strong contextual argument.

Also, don't punch down, and know what jokes you can safely make. I would never, for example, make Catra's abuse the butt of a joke. When it comes to "jokes you can safely make", I'm not saying don't push limits, but be aware of how they might sound, coming from you and whether you're the right person to make those jokes.

Have fun: This is honestly the most important thing. Write stuff that you enjoy, write jokes that you find funny, and trust that other people will enjoy it too. This blog is genuinely one of the most fun things I've ever done, and I highly recommend doing them!

It is a lot of work, and if you want to do something like this blog and see it through to the end, you're gonna need to put a lot in to it. But it's worth it!

Hope that all helps 😊

[steveyockey]

i decided to read queer: a question of being or doing? and i still don’t really see what you took from it that would mean that you don’t use the word queer because it critiques queer theory well, but ends up putting forward an argument in favour of it as a state of being and doing overall?

oh wow I’m really glad someone at this bar reads my tags and actually follows through, major kudos, the thing is that it’s not that that piece is not the ONLY reason I prefer to not use queer but to me at least cuts through a lot of the dumb shit I see online about queer having an inherent revolutionary power over gay, lesbian, bisexual, etc by showing that thirty years ago people were having the same hangups about the word that some people do now, particularly in moments like these

I don’t mean to suggest that I NEVER use the word queer, but seeing as this discussion started from natalie fisher’s tweet, let’s look back at what SHE seems to think queer conveys

aside from the blatant lack of historical evidence for the idea that the “queer as a slur controversy is actually a TERF led movement” (?), here natalie suggests that is is improper to call cas gay because his “sitch encapsulates a lot more,” which figures into, again, MY issue with usages of the word queer, echoed in “queer: a question of being or of doing?” that you can’t simply displace one word for another and bank on the fact that it has an inherent non-assimilatory power, especially when that same word HAS BEEN successfully assimilated into capitalism, ivory tower academia, the military industrial complex, etc. which is not to say we can’t still attempt to use queer, as nikki sullivan writes, as a deconstructive tool that might lead us to more liberatory and revolutionary lines of thought, we just can’t assume that merely using the word gets us there. it’s not more regressive to call cas gay than it is to call him queer and it’s not more regressive for me to call myself a lesbian than it is for me to call myself queer. and THAT’S why I limit my own usage so I respect the identities of those around me and the specific terms they seek to be called (and if queer is that term, I’ll use it), but also so that I don’t use queer in attempt to bolster my politics as somehow inherently more radical — let the actions speak for themselves.

for further reading if I haven’t absolutely lost you, I would highly suggest cathy j cohen’s punks, bulldaggers, and welfare queens, which traces the contours of what she sees as the failure of the queer liberation movement to follow through on its promise to avoid the same assimilationist hangups the gay lib movement got stuck on,

[aethersea]

May I request 41 - First Kiss and 94 - Hair Brushing/Braiding for the Leverage OT3, please? (Also extra bonus points if you give Eliot beads in his hair like in The Ice Man Job, because we didn't get NEARLY enough of that in the show) Thank you!

I cannot believe I wrote this whole thing out and then never published it. I’m so sorry, it’s been at least twenty-four years since you sent in this ask, please accept my humble apologies and also this ficlet.

However, this prompt is just pure fluff, and I hate to tell you this but I am not a fluff writer. I just can’t pull off that unadulterated sweetness. I am in this fandom for the shenanigans, first, last and foremost! So this fic is now a 5+1 of Eliot and Parker trying to seduce Hardison.

1. Parker thinks they need to give him gifts, so she goes through her stash and picks out the largest, fanciest jewel she’s ever stolen. Then she realizes: Hardison likes stories. He spends hours giving their aliases histories and pets and allergies and favorite foods, he can get a whole sordid history of jealousy and betrayal from a single corporate email chain, and Parker knows for a cold fact that he writes little stories with his online friends about being wizards together.

She goes through her stash again and picks out the most cursed thing she’s ever stolen.

It’s a jeweled statuette, almost as tall as her forearm, made of gold and studded with precious and semi-precious stones. Mysterious deaths have befallen five separate owners of this thing. Its base is dented from the time it was used to bludgeon Owner Number Three to death. The tiny rubies it has for eyes follow you across the room.

Parker puts a bow on it and leaves it in Hardison’s room while he’s sleeping. He wakes up to this horrible little statue watching him from his bedside table.

He texts the group chat, Hey did anyone put an evil little gold guy in my bedroom last night? But Parker chickens out and says nothing (drunkenly betting Eliot that she can seduce Hardison is one thing, but admitting that she likes him is something else altogether). Everyone else texts back variations on “nope.” (Except Sophie, who just sends back a string of heart eyes emojis and a wikipedia link. She loves cursed artifacts.) So Hardison puts the statue away in a closet somewhere and figures he’ll deal with it later.

Parker is mildly offended that he put her gift in a closet. She goes into his room the next night and puts it back on the bedside table, where it clearly belongs.

This goes on for a week. Hardison puts the statue in a desk drawer, then in one of the cabinets in the office downstairs, then in the dumpster down the street. Every day he wakes up to those glittering red eyes watching him sleep. He’s asked his internet buddies if anyone knows a good exorcist. Hardison doesn’t really believe in curses, but also? What the fuck. What the fuck.

~

2. Eliot assumes the drunken bet will be forgotten by morning. What kind of world would it be if people always followed through on promises they made while they could barely stay vertical? So he spends the morning nursing his hangover and cleaning his knives. Cleaning guns is no good while hungover—all the snaps and clicks of popping things in and out of place sound like actual gunfire when you’re hungover, it’s a nightmare—but knives are quiet and have no moving parts. Buffing and polishing them is soothingly repetitive work, and every once in a while he can throw one at one of the dartboards on the walls and reassure himself that his reflexes are still sound even after that much tequila.

It’s only when he gets Hardison’s text about the golden statuette that magically appeared in his room overnight that Eliot realizes Parker’s actually going for it. After some internal debate about whether he’s going to stoop to this or not, Eliot decides what the hell and starts making plans.

Eliot agrees that gifts are the way to go, but not stolen gifts. Not things. Anyone can give a thing. Proper wooing is about giving experiences.

Eliot plans for three days. On the fourth day, he and Hardison have their irregularly scheduled monthly coffee date, and Eliot texts him beforehand to say he wants to do it at the brewpub this time. Hardison arrives to find a deceptively simple meal: basic country fare perfected through years of experimentation, made with the best ingredients Eliot can get his hands on. And Eliot, after all, is still a retrieval specialist. There’s very little in the world he can’t get his hands on.

And yet the night ends and somehow he has not gotten his hands on Hardison.

This is just not right. Eliot knows how to deploy a smolder, okay, Tangled reference aside he is damn good at flirting and he knows the looks he’s giving Hardison are clear as day. It’d be one thing if Hardison had turned him down, or if he’d been uneasily unwilling, or even if his eyes had widened slightly in suppressed panic and he’d abruptly found a reason to leave. Eliot can take rejection, bet or no, and he’d have bowed out graciously without a fuss. But this was much, much worse.

Hardison didn’t even notice he was flirting.

He’s going to have to up his game.

~

3. “How do you seduce people?” Parker asks bluntly, turning up at Sophie’s door just past midnight.

Sophie, despite the hour, is utterly delighted by the question.

This goes as well as you would expect.

~

4. Eliot’s taken a lot of dates to sports games. Hardison may prefer sparkly elves with purple lightning magic to a decent MMA fight, but baseball is the American pastime. Eliot gets them perfect seats, hot dogs from the best vendor in the stadium, even chilled beer that he smuggles in without letting it get warm. It’s going to be a perfect game.

And it is. At first. Hardison, it turns out, has a lot of opinions about baseball. What he does not have is an understanding of the rules. They’re not even into the second inning by the time Eliot finally snaps and starts arguing with him about it.

They make it all the way to the fifth inning before Eliot realizes that Hardison’s basing his complaints off the rules of a game from a Star Wars novel.

They’re at the bottom of the eighth before Eliot will speak to him again.

~

5. Eliot and Parker are drunk again. This is not intentional. They didn’t even mean to come to this bar, but the smoothie place with the fried oreos that Eliot had brought Parker here to try was playing such incredibly bad music that they’d ordered the oreos to go and fled. The bar was just the coziest looking place on the block, and of course they’d ordered drinks to avoid being rude––Eliot had entertained himself for a few minutes scouring the menu for something that would pair well with fried oreos and popcorn chicken.

And now they’re drunk. The conversation has, perhaps inevitably, turned to the ongoing bet.

“I tried everything!” Parker wails. “I laughed at every joke, I touched my hair constantly, I got him talking about things he likes.” She thunks her forehead on the bar. “All that happened is now I know the complete history of orcs in western literature.”

“Hardison wouldn’t know flirting if it pinched him on the ass,” Eliot grumbles.

Parker slaps his arm. “No pinching Hardison!”

“I’m not going to—I don’t pinch people!”

Parker’s ignoring him. Eliot pouts and takes another sip of his drink. He’s not entirely sure what this one is––it’s blue and kind of fizzy, that’s all he can say for sure. Parker took over the drinks menu several glasses ago, and she’s been picking them based on what has the most fun name to say. Eliot’s pretty sure the alcohol content’s been doubling with each order.

“Eliot,” Parker slurs, “we need to work together.”

“What?”

Parker lifts her head from the bar and frowns at him, the way she does when she’s figured out the obvious solution and is just waiting for everyone else to get on the same page. It’s adorable. It’s always adorable, but right now her eyes are wide and slightly unfocused from the alcohol and she’s listing sideways a little, almost as if she’s unbalanced, and it is the most adorable thing Eliot has ever seen. Parker’s never unbalanced, but some part of Eliot’s fuzzy brain thinks she’s about to fall on top of him and cannot wait to catch her.

“You can’t seduce Hardison,” Parker points out. Eliot is drunk enough to get offended by this, but too drunk to get out a complaint before she continues, “I can’t seduce Hardison. But if we work together, the two of us can definitely seduce Hardison. Together.”

Eliot stares at her. Then he takes another sip of his fizzy blue drink. Later, when questioned, he will blame his next words on that drink.

“Worth a shot.”

They take Hardison to a movie. They research for three weeks beforehand. They find the best movie theater in town, with the nicest seats, the biggest screens, and concession snacks that Hardison likes, and they buy tickets for the midnight premiere of the superhero movie that Hardison hasn’t shut up about for the past month. Parker even hacks into the theater’s computers in a last-minute fit of nerves and cross-references the credit cards with drivers’ licenses to make sure the people sitting in front of them won’t be too tall.

Parker witnesses a kidnapping in the parking lot while the boys are getting popcorn. They don’t even stay long enough to catch the commercials.

~

+ 1. “Hey Eliot,” Hardison says during movie night, a little over a week later. “Remember the Ice Man Job?”

Eliot groans. “I try not to.”

Hardison throws a piece of popcorn at his face. “Shut up. Remember how you did your hair for that one? With the little—those little beads on, like, a braid?”

Eliot shoots Hardison a suspicious glance. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Teach me how to do that.”

Eliot shoots Hardison another, more deliberate look, this one pointedly directed at Hardison’s complete lack of braidable locks.

Hardison rolls his eyes as if that’s a silly detail to get hung up on and leans forward to dig around in one of the boxes he has under his coffee table. He emerges with a ziplock bag of plastic beads in no time flat and hands it triumphantly to Eliot. Then he yanks a few cushions out from behind Parker, who’s sitting on his other side, and puts them on the floor in front of him. “Sit here?” he asks Parker, patting the cushion pile.

Parker takes a moment to consider being offended at having her cushions stolen, but curiosity gets the better of her and she just plops down between Hardison’s legs, grabbing the bowl of popcorn as she goes, and waits.

Hardison lifts her hair with sudden gentleness, drawing it over her shoulders and letting it fall down her back in a golden wave. His fingers brush against her neck. Parker shivers. Eliot is distantly aware that he’s gone perfectly still, focused with a hunter’s intensity on Hardison’s dark, graceful fingers carding through Parker’s hair.

Hardison leans back, hands on his knees, and Eliot breathes again. “Well?” Hardison looks over at Eliot, a tiny smirk of challenge on his lips. “Show me how it’s done.”

Eliot is suddenly, brutally aware of how close they are. Hardison’s couch is obscenely comfortable, which is half the reason movie nights are at Hardison’s in the first place, but it is not large. Their thighs are touching. Hardison leans away, to give Eliot access to Parker’s hair, and he’s still so close that Eliot would barely have to reach out a hand to—

Eliot ruthlessly shoves that thought down into the dark where it belongs. He dealt with this, he dealt with this years ago, and accepting Parker’s stupid bet doesn’t mean he’s forgotten the way Hardison and Parker look at each other. It just means he doesn’t mind losing for a good cause.

So he keeps his tone steady and his fingers brisk as he shows Hardison how to braid the clunky plastic beads into Parker’s hair, and if he flushes with heat when their hands brush each other, well, nobody has to know. He’s been trained to withstand eight different schools of torture. It won’t show on his face. His voice never once falters.

Parker has had no such training. Her lips have parted, and her breathing is shallow. She’s staring glassy-eyed at the TV. Hardison can’t see her face, sitting behind her, but Eliot watches her carefully, worried that they need to call this off. Parker’s not used to intimacy, to closeness that means something, and for all the three of them have spent half their movie nights literally on top of each other, this is something else. This has weight.

Eliot puts a hand on her shoulder, pressing down just enough that Parker startles and cants a glance over at him. Eliot raises his eyebrows in question, and Parker glares back: don’t you fucking dare. Eliot backs off. Hardison, frowning in concentration as he threads a wisp of Parker’s hair through a green bead, graciously pretends he didn’t see the exchange.

Hardison gets the hang of the beading fairly quickly, and Eliot shows him a few different techniques. He’s almost managed to convince himself that nothing is actually happening when Hardison says, conversationally, “You two are really bad at this.”

Eliot glowers his confusion. “At movie night? You started this, if you wanted to actually watch Alien then you shouldn’t have—”

Hardison’s smile is soft, but Eliot decides for his own safety to focus on the laughter at its edge. “No, at this.” And then he slides his hand onto Parker’s neck, caresses her cheek, and isn’t the slightest bit surprised when she gasps.

Parker whips around, and there’s hurt on her face but it dies in the glow of Hardison’s gentle, unteasing smile. Hardison pulls her up with the lightest of touches, and she goes, eyes fixed on his like salvation.

They kiss sweet and slow, and Eliot’s heart twists in his chest and he can’t breathe. He needs to leave now before he shatters in half, but if he moves then they will look at him, and he would rather never breathe again than meet their eyes right now.

Hardison breaks off the kiss, gazing at Parker with something just this side of wonder, and then he does look at Eliot. Eliot flinches. He opens his mouth to…say something, make some joke or hasty excuse and scramble out the door, but Hardison raises a hand to Eliot’s face, slides his long fingers to cup Eliot’s neck, and pulls him forward, as gently as he did Parker.

It’s a chaste kiss, no more than a soft press of lips, because Eliot is too stunned to respond and Hardison doesn’t push. It lasts a long time. A whole era of change happens in the span of that kiss, as everything Eliot thought he knew tears out of place and then settles, gingerly, into a new understanding.

Hardison pulls away, his hand still warm on the back of Eliot’s neck. His smile is pure sunshine. Eliot finds himself smiling back, helpless.

Hardison’s grin turns smug. “And that,” he says, looking between Eliot and Parker, “is how you do it. Y’all are disasters, honestly, I can’t believe two master criminals working together couldn’t manage a single real date—”

Eliot heaves a deep sigh and drags Hardison into a headlock, pinning his arms when he flails. Parker surges to her knees and starts tickling him mercilessly.

They don’t finish the movie.

[gaalee-events]

What is GaaLee Hallo-week? How does it work?

GaaLee Hallo-week is basically a Halloween-themed ship week for the pairing Gaara/Rock Lee. Each day from Oct. 24 - 30th, there will be different prompts to fill. There are (at least!) two prompts per day: a spooky prompt and a sweet prompt, riffing off the idea of trick-or-treat. There is no sign-up and no obligation. Creations for this event can be fanfic, fanart, playlists, icon sets, panel edits, moodboards, memes, closet cosplay, or any other fannish pursuit you can think of! As long as it features the GaaLee pairing and fits a prompt, it counts!

Sounds great! How do I participate?

There’s no sign-up for this event, and it’s open to everyone. On the appropriate day, simply post your creation on Tumblr, indicate which prompt you’re filling, and tag the @gaalee-events blog! You can also use the hashtag #gaaleehalloweek, but be sure to tag the blog as well to ensure your creation doesn’t get lost. The GaaLee events Tumblr will then reblog your work for all to see! If you don’t have a Tumblr or would prefer to participate only on Ao3, that’s also fine. When you’re uploading your work, you can add it to the GaaLee Hallo-week Collection by typing ‘GaaLee_HalloWeek’ (without quotes) into the ‘Collections’ box. For people who choose to participate just on Ao3, the organizers will create a link post on Tumblr with a link to your fic. If it’s been 24 hours since you posted and you haven’t seen your contribution reblogged, please send an ask to @ghoste-catte, as it may have gotten lost in notifications.

So, what are these prompts you’re talking about?

Each day has a scary prompt and a sweet prompt associated with it! For a handy rebloggable visual guide, check out the prompts page!

Day 1, Oct. 24 - Haunted House -or- Hallowed Ground

Day 2, Oct. 25 - Demons -or- Deities

Day 3, Oct. 26 - Nightmares -or- Sweet Dreams

Day 4, Oct 27 - Fear -or- Wonder

Day 5, Oct 28 - Movie Night! (The Amityville Horror -or- The Addams Family)

Day 6, Oct 29 - Scary Stories (“I do not love men. I love what devours them.” - Prometheus Illbound, Andre Gill -or- “People don’t want to see what can’t possibly exist.” - Mort, Terry Pratchett)

Day 7, Oct 30 - Trick-or-Treat (free day!)

How do the Movie Night / Scary Stories / Free Day prompts work?

In the second half of the week, let your imagination run wild! You can be inspired by the suggested movies, images, or quotes, or you can create something for the overall theme of “Movie Night” or “Scary Stories”. For the final day of the event, you can create whatever your heart desires, as long as it’s scary or sweet, and GaaLee-themed! As with the previous days, you can also use “Trick-or-Treat” as your prompt and create something based on that.

What are the minimum requirements for a prompt fill?

This is left open to the individual participant’s discretion. If you feel that what you created meets the prompt, then it counts! A single creation can only count for one day, but it may be inspired by one or both prompts on that day. (For example, you could create something for October 25th to fit the prompt “Demons”, or “Demons and Deities”, but not “Demons” and “Nightmares”.) You can create multiple creations for a single prompt or a single day. If you make something that has multiple components, like a multichapter fic or a multipage comic, each chapter/comic page/etc. can be counted towards a different day/prompt, as long as they’re posted on the correct day and fit one of the prompts for that day.

Do I have to participate in all seven days? Do I have to fill every prompt?

Not at all! You can fill just one prompt on just one day, you can fill multiple prompts across multiple days, or you can fill all the prompts on all seven days. Think of this event like that bowl of candy on your neighbor’s porch that’s labeled ‘Take One’ -- you can do whatever you like with it; nobody’s going to stop you. That being said, if you do create something for all seven days, you’ll be in the Monster’s Ball, which sounds very cool but really just means that your creations will be listed at the top of the event wrap-up summary in a fancy text box.

Does everything I make have to be Halloween-themed?

Nope! While we’ll all be getting in the mood for Halloween, ghosts, ghouls, and pumpkins don’t need to feature in your creation. As long as you feel like your creation fits one of the prompts, it counts. That being said, we’d love to see the fandom flex their horror muscles and go full Spooky Season on us. Bring on the blood and guts!

I have something I’m already working on that fits one of the prompts, can I use it for this event?

Yes, with a couple of caveats! The creation must be new and posted on the date of the prompt that it was created for. If you already have a partially published project and something new you’ve created for it fits one of the prompts, that can absolutely count. For example, if you’re writing a 20-page comic about a haunted house, and you post a new page on Oct. 24th, you can count that for the prompt “Haunted House”. If you say you created something with this event in mind, we’ll take your word for it. The only other restriction is that if you’re creating your project for a different event (such as an exchange, ship week, theme week, big bang, etc.) and it also happens to meet one of the GaaLee Hallo-week prompts, you should check the other event’s rules to ensure they don’t have any restrictions on counting a single work towards multiple events.

Are there restrictions about what kinds of content can be created for this event?

Because of the Halloween theme, it’s to be expected that some works might be transgressive, upsetting, or triggering. However, we want this event to be enjoyable for as many people as possible! We ask that you use caution and consideration in your creations and be mindful of the ways that traditionally ‘scary’ tropes have been used to harm marginalized groups. Tag judiciously and use your best judgment. Be wary of ableism, such as using a person’s mental illness or physical disability as a scare factor or to make them seem more monstrous or mysterious. This does not mean you can’t create works with or about disabled or neurodivergent characters, simply be mindful of how those characteristics are portrayed and the role they serve in your work. Avoid transphobia, such as portraying a male character in a woman’s costume for laughs or using a character’s trans identity to make them seem villainous. (Lookin’ at you, Buffalo Bill.) This doesn’t mean your characters can’t explore gender roles! But it’s important to be thoughtful and intentional about how you portray transgender characters in a horror setting. Also, please be aware that the word ‘spook’ is an anti-black slur, and should be avoided in the creation of your works. (‘Spooky’, the adjective, is fine.) This is not a comprehensive or exhaustive list, and your judgment as an individual creator is important! If you have concerns about something you’re making, you’re more than welcome to message either of the organizers (@ghoste-catte or @puregaalee) for feedback. The organizers reserve the right not to reblog or republish work that is not appropriately tagged or that may not fit the spirit of the event.

What about sexually explicit (NSFW) content, is that allowed?

NSFW content is more than welcome, with some guardrails. NSFW content posted on Tumblr should be appropriately tagged and behind a ‘Read More’ cut. Any NSFW content hosted off-site should likewise be clearly labeled. If you choose to create NSFW images, be aware of Tumblr’s content guidelines. You may want to consider posting a cropped or censored image on Tumblr and linking to another site (Twitter, Privatter, Pixiv, Imgur, etc.) for the full image. Individuals under the age of 18 may not create sexually explicit material for this event.

I’m so excited, I just can’t wait! Can I post my creations early?

Please wait until the assigned day to post your creations for that prompt. Creations will not be reblogged until the assigned day for the prompt that inspired them.

Eek, I’m running behind! What if I created something for a specific day, but I didn’t get it posted in time?

Late postings will be accepted throughout the week, so if you created something for October 25th’s prompt but didn’t get it uploaded until October 28th, that will still be reblogged. The two weeks following the event will be reserved for ‘late posting’, during which time you can still upload your creations and tag the blog to have them reblogged. An event wrap-up will be posted after the end of the late posting period.

There’s an awful lot of words on this page, but none of them answer my question!

Please send an ask to @gaalee-events and we’ll get it answered as soon as possible!

[teachingtales]

Migraines

I am writing this for those of you who:

don’t have migraines, but know someone who does and want to know more

don’t have migraines, but may develop them later

do have migraines and don’t really know how to tell other people about them, so you can find some phrases that may help here (or just link them)

My mother had migraines, and I never did. I remember asking her what it was like, and was told, “It’s like a really bad headache.” In no way did that prepare me for migraines. I started getting them after getting disabled in the Marines with neurological issues. I honestly thought I was having a brain aneurysm or something. Was I dying? Is there a parasite boring through my brain and trying to find its way outside of my skull? 

It turned out to be a migraine. 

Later on, I lost strength in my left side. I was confused, dizzy. Is this a stroke? I went to the veterans hospital. Nope, it’s “just” another form of migraine. Uh...cool?

What is a migraine?

Unlike regular headaches that have many causes, migraines are a neurological disorder. You may have another neurological disorder that also produces migraines, or your neurological disorder may produce migraines as the primary problem. Migraines affect about 10% of the population, making them the most common neurological disorder. 

How can I tell if I get migraines?

Being the giant nerd I am, I looked up the etymology of the word and it comes from Greek. The original word is “hemikrania”, with “hemi” as “half” and “kranion” is “skull”, and you can see that over time the “he” part was dropped off. 

While there are lots of different symptoms of a migraine, this is actually one of the most defining symptoms...that’s probably why they chose this name. The head pain will happen only in half of your skull, either the left side or right side. A single migraine event can switch sides, but they won’t hurt at the same time. I usually get migraines on my left side, but occasionally they happen on the right instead. I’d say it’s about 95-5 for the split. 

A friend asked me if having them on the right side was any better or worse, and it’s a great question. The answer is: they still suck the same way, just on the other side. Although I will say that they’re almost worse in a way, because I have my habits to compensate for my left-side migraines and have to alter all of those habits. It’s not terribly annoying, objectively-speaking, but when you’re in the middle of a migraine it is annoying.

If you experience severe pain on half of your head, see a doctor. You probably are having a migraine.

What is it like to have a migraine? What are the symptoms?

This is what I wish I knew going into them. The pain severity can be “oh this really sucks” to “aslasfoiafjagjglkagnlgfjajwoi”, and I use that keyboard smash because when the pain is severe you can barely talk. Think of getting a brain freeze. You know how you stop doing everything to address the pain in your head that’s suddenly there? Imagine that level of pain for several hours. This is what it’s like to have a severe pain migraine. You can’t think of anything else, you can’t even sleep. 

While “really frickin’ bad head pain” is what most people know about for a migraine, there really are tons of other symptoms. As a neurological condition, it can cause syptoms like:

nausea and vomiting

diarrhea 

diarrhea and vomiting together

sudden dizziness (for anyone that’s been blackout drunk, it’s like that period right before you black out, where you’re really dizzy), and you end up walking in a swaying motion, sometimes falling down or falling into walls...it really looks like you’re drunk

loss of coordination, so it’s hard to do things like open a small package or tie your shoes

loss of strength in arm, hand, leg, and/or foot, making it difficult to walk

change in perception of temperature, including wild swings between shivering shaking cold and sweating hot

sensitivity to everything: lights, smells, sounds, tastes, touches...all of these increase the symptoms you’re already feeling

confusion or “brain fog”, which lead to things like you losing your train of thought mid-sentence, forgetting what you’re doing while you’re doing it, inability to focus, difficulty talking

slurred speech (sounds like you’re quite drunk)

suddenly feeling incredibly tired

slipping into sleep  without warning when seated or lying down (not great during commutes on the bus or subway)

changes in vision, such as blurred vision, changes in color perception, seeing “auras” around things, missing one eye’s vision, or having chunks of your vision missing

Sometimes you know when you’re about to get a migraine. This is called “prodrome”, but since most people don’t know this term I just call it a “starter migraine” or “I’m on the edge of a migraine.” If you can catch yourself in this period, you may be able to prevent the migraine with medication. The prodrome period depends on the person and takes a while to get used to, and you won’t always get them. Sometimes you just HEY MIGRAINE, sometimes you wake up and already have a migraine. You’re not guaranteed any prior warning. 

The opposite is the “postdrome”, which I just call the “after-effects of the migraine” because most people don’t know what “postdrome” is. As you can see from the symptoms, it’s quite intense. As a result, you’re left exhausted, drained, sometimes sore, and often feeling a bit vulnerable, like anything you do will cause you pain or bring the return of the migraine. Even though the migraine is over, you still can’t get back to your normal activities. It depends on the person, but it can be quite common to experience the postdrome. As with the prodrome, you may not have this. 

What triggers a migraine?

What is so frustrating about migraines is that there are so, so many triggers, and they’re often inconsistent. Sometimes, they’re even opposing. 

caffeine can help during a migraine, but too much caffeine without having a migraine can trigger a migraine; and sometimes caffeing during a migraine makes it worse

chocolate can trigger a migraine but I personally have not experienced this

strong cheeses can trigger a migraine, but as with chocolate I never experienced this

 low blood sugar due to skipped meals can trigger a migraine 

too much sugar can trigger a migraine

changes in air pressure 

changes in humidity

dehydration

too much exercise 

not enough exercise

moving around too much

too much lying down or sitting

stress is a common trigger

cold, such as cold weather or cold items touching the skin

running/jogging

bright lights, especially flashing lights

loud sounds of any type (human, booming sounds, construction)

vomiting also can trigger migraines, such as if you’re sick with something else or if you have bulimia

being sick with another illness can stress out the body to trigger a migraine

I’ve had relatives ask if I can “just move to another place” to avoid things like storms, and that’s not an option. While stormy, rainy weather is a common trigger, so is bright sunshine (especially if dehydrated)...which rules out most of the world during summertime. 

I was enjoying Avengers: Endgame until I realized that the sounds and light were hurting, and I was shoved into one of the worst migraines I’ve had. I had no prior warning, I otherwise had felt fine that day, but after a couple hours of loud booming noises coupled with bright flashes, it triggered a migraine. 

As you can see, this is really a difficult thing to manage. Some people get rare or occasional migraines, but people like me have chronic migraines. “Chronic migraines” are classified as “having at least 15 per month”, but in my case I will get them daily if I don’t take my medication and do my best to avoid all these triggers. Just this morning, I woke up around 06:30 and a couple hours later a migraine came because of the weather so I went to take a nap, but that made the migraine worse because I was lying down too much. I woke up in more pain and had to go for a walk (after taking my noon medication) for it to try to subside. 

What are the treatments for migraines?

No matter which route you take, you will always have to do your lifestyle changes. This means making sure you have plenty of water, don’t skip meals, manage stress, etc. 

You can take medication. I have medication I take a few times a day, and another one I take for when I feel a migraine breaking through. If that also fails, I take an injection at home. 

You can take supplements. There are things like butterbur, magnesium, catnip, ginger, and other things. Look online and include the words “migraine study” with the supplement name. This way you can see how effective it was, and the dosage. Check the company as well to see if they’re reputable. In places like the USA, supplements are not regulated so companies may put other ingredients instead. You can also make extracts or teas with things like catnip and ginger. Send a PM if you want to know how to do that. It’s easy. 

You can get Botox. I haven’t tried this but some people swear by it. The price was out of my range and I was told that it would impede my range of motion; since I lift weights, I didn’t want to deal with that. My regular doctor told me that my migraines are managed “well enough” with medication and I can’t expect any better with Botox; in other words, it’d be a waste of my money. But if you are having problems managing yours with medication, then see if Botox works for you. 

Other treatments for migraines include:

resting in a dark room

sunglasses or yellow-lens glasses

ice pack on the pain area (or a cold pillow)

stretching (but this can increase pain in some cases)

going to sleep

drinking water

drinking caffeine (coffee, energy drink, green tea, any source is fine)

eating a small meal if you haven’t eaten yet; preferably something with sugar, like fruit or fruit juice

binaural beats (this is my sound-video of choice, but be careful because there’s a loud “BING” type of sound at the beginning)

no screen time 

removing strong smells (such as cleaning the cat’s litter box if it has feces or urine)

not eating anything with a strong flavor, and avoid spicy food

don’t wear a bra

don’t wear anything tight/snug around your waist or upper body, to include: tight waistbands, pantyhose, snug belts, corsets. If you need a belt, wear it looser than normal

If I’m at work and having a vomiting + head pain type of migraine, I will make myself a mix of electrolyte drink (like Powerade) + an energy drink and sip it. This helps get some caffeine and helps wake me up a bit, plus it helps re-hydrate me. 

Not a treatment, but apparently if you get migraines as a child or teen, finishing puberty can somehow result in your migraines stopping, so that’s cool, but it doesn’t always happen because migraines are apparently a gift from some kind of trickster deity.

Are migraines dangerous?

Chronic migraines can unfortunately increase your risk of stroke in your forties. 

Chronic vomiting, if you get this as a common symptom, can have a negative impact on your teeth and muscles...including your heart. If you get chronic vomiting, ask your doctor about any supplements (like potassium or magnesium) that they can prescribe to help mitigate the muscle issues. Wash your mouth out with water after vomiting (this is what my dentist recommended...I asked about baking soda, but they said to just do water. Do not brush your teeth because it can do more damage, but if the post-vomit taste in your mouth is going to trigger more vomiting, gargle with mouthwash or drink some juice).

I don’t get migraines but know someone who does. How can I help?

You are a beautiful person for wanting to help. How you help depends on where you are...you can’t lie down and take a nap when you’re at the grocery store, for example. Ask the person what they need, and remind them that it’s okay to sit down or stay home. We’ll often feel guilty about having to cancel plans, so let them know it’s okay. 

If it’s around a meal time, bring them something kind of bland that they can pick at. This can include hard boiled eggs (peeled and cut into quarters or halves), sliced bananas, peeled/shelled nuts, rice balls, cooked potato pieces (chips, crisps, french fries, roasted potato cubes), small pieces of cooked chicken breast, bread that has been cut into cubes, cubed or sliced apple or pear. 

Be prepared to make an ice pack, which needs to be wrapped in a small towel. Some people have never used an ice pack before and you cannot put it on your skin directly. It needs to be wrapped in a small towel or shirt. If you don’t have an ice pack, frozen vegetables/fruit in an unopened package works. If not, put ice cubes into a zipper baggie and then wrap that in a cloth. If you have a loved one who gets migraines and visits often, buy a small ice pack to keep at your home. This is a pouch with a gel in it, and it is quite inexpensive. You can find them at pharmacies or large stores with a pharmacy section. 

In closing, migraines suck and I’m sorry if you get them. Please have some memes I made.

I thought I had more but I guess not or I forgot where I put them. Feel free to share or ask questions.

[laketaj24]

Ransom: Sigtrygrr

Author’s Note: Backkk to the Last Kingdom writing! I love Sigtrygrr, if you haven’t watched season four this doesn’t have any spoilers, but it just shows a new character that is on the Show! My taglist and requests are open! Happy Sunday and Happy reading!

Requested: Could you write a Sigtryggr imagine where the reader is the chieftain's daughter, and sig kidnaps her for ransom. The reader stays in Sigtrygrr's tent for the night, where she tries to kill him in his sleep. But he wakes up and is unnervingly calm about it, and the two have some sort of chemistry. It could be smutty if you like.

Warnings: None, first part of three part series. Sooooo more to come.

Pairing: Sigtrygrr X Reader

The Last Kingdom Masterlist

“If she screams, cut out her tongue. No one is to touch her.” The wild-haired man had a mild voice. It was unsettling. He glanced over at you and smiled. The pristine look of innocence touched his eyes before he gave you a small nod and turned out of the tent. “I will return within the hour.”

It had been a day since the men had stormed your father’s hall and took whatever gold and silver they could get their hands on and then you. It was easier to kidnap and raid when the men were off fighting somewhere, cowards. You sat in the corner eyeing the place for weapons; like most Danes, there was bound to be one lying around here. Nothing. You pushed aside the furs searching for anything, and finally, a small dagger fell onto the floor. Quickly you tucked the leather holster into your shirt.  They’d already searched you, the chances of it happening again were slim.

Minutes faded into hours, or at least it felt like once your eyes started to grow weary. You closed your eyes and covered yourself in blankets, and slept sitting up, prepared for whatever they may try.

“Let me see the little bastard.” The slurred voice from outside of the tent boomed.

And now it started, the drunken state of men was sure to make your life a miserable hell, but you didn’t hide, you welcomed the intruder. You’d cut his tongue out and throw it in the face of that asshole who’d threatened you earlier. The tent opened, and the cool breeze brushed in.

“Lie down, you whore.” His face was disgruntled, brow furrowed and eyes glassed over. “Or squirm if you like… I like my women to have some fight in them.” The barrage of chuckles from outside the tent only made your heart beat harder. His belt fell to the floor, and the wool pants he wore started to slip. There he was almost naked from the waist down, and you had no fear. You’d just kill the asshole, and if he took your life, then the valkyries were sure to lead you to the gates of Valhalla.

“Do not touch me. I am Magnusdottir.” He stepped towards you, and you just watched, waited for him to make his move.

“Shut up.” He laughed.

He moved closer to you, and the smell of ale and woods hit your nose. Your stomach riled. You clutched the thick string of the necklace around your throat, Thor’s hammer Mjollnir was given to you by your father when you were younger. He claimed it was carved by Ragnar Lothbrok, it was there for protection. “Allfather,” You whispered. “Give me the strength.”

The spatter of blood hit your face before the drunken man fell back, gurgling his blood. “My instructions were simple.”

“Sigtryggr.” He growled, rolling to his side, cupping the blood that dripped from his mouth. He stood on wavering legs.

“Get some sleep.” Sigtrygrr pulled the chair close to you and took his seat. “Now, Leidolf.”

Leidolf left staggering, and you looked up to your captor. “I am not afraid of you.”

“Of course you are,” He chuckled, poured water into the curved horn, and handed it to you. “Drink.”

You didn’t deny the water, your throat ached from all the screaming earlier in the day. The cool water hit the back of your throat, and you breathed deep before gulping down more. Then your stomach rumbled, you hadn’t eaten in nearly a day.

“You can eat after we talk.” He crossed his legs. “Do you know who I am?”

“I do not.”

“I am Sigtrygrr.” Sigtrygrr placed his large hands on his chest.

“Spare me the introductions.” Upon hearing his name, you knew him, and you knew all about his glorious victories on the battlefield. Sigtrygrr was young and revered throughout Irland and Denmark. But in England he was a no one. He had to make his mark here. This was why he had taken you, a first step into establishing who he was while gaining a stronger following. You were a chest piece.

“And you are Y/N, daughter of the richest and without a doubt the most traitorous man of our people.”

“My father is not treacherous.” He did not interrupt you, he just stared attentively as you continued to talk. “My father has fought in his battles! He wants what is best for his family.”

Nothing. Sigtrygrr smiled, and the silence filled the room. “What do you want for me?” The silence in the closed area made it easy for him to hear the protests of your empty stomach.

“I want nothing from you; I only wish to broker a trader with your father.” He clapped his hands. “Leidolf, bring her some food. Her stomach continues to talk louder in this conversation than either of us.”

You scoffed. “I’d rather eat at home.”

“Or you can starve?”

“Fine.”

He took the plate from Liedolf and handed it to you. And you scarfed down the food, satisfied with the portions that he gave you. “Tell me about North Umbria?”

“I know nothing of it.”

“Your father conquered more than half of its lands. I know you know of it.” He perched back in the chair, raising the front legs from the ground. “I like conversing, so if you were honest with me, this would flow better.”

“It seems that you know more than enough.”

“Fine, we don’t have to talk. Sleep.” In a fluid motion, he took the plate and tossed it outside.  “Tomorrow, your father is likely to arrive, and then we can decide which limb to toss to him.” He smiled and laid back on the pallet of blankets. “Sleep well.”

 It didn’t take much time for Sigtrygrr to find sleep, the soft snores came from him within an hour. The darkness had swept over the camp. From the shadows, you could see the two guards at the entrance. Sigtrygrr was trusting or dumb. The sword at the side of the bed could easily be used to impale him while he slept. You cared less if he was polite or not, you wanted to return home.

Climbing onto the pallet, you moved stealthily, avoiding contact with him until you were over him with the steel of the dagger pressed to the nape of his neck. His eyes opened, not shocked, frightened, or even nervous. His eyes appeared welcoming. “This knife belonged to my father.” He whispered. “With it, he cut the eyes out of 100 Saxons and fed them to the ravens.” Sigtrygrr cleared his throat. “He said their eyes were not worthy of him, arrogant and confident he returned the heads to King Ecbert… and screamed at his gates for a worthy adversary.”

“I prefer not to hear the old tales of your father.”

“Well,” He easily pushed your hand from his neck. “If you were to kill me… I’d be disappointed you chose this dagger to do it. I am a worthy adversary of your father… this death would be unfair.” He said with a smirk. He reached for the weighted sword and handed it to you. “Here you are.”

It wasn’t fair; even with no weapon, Sigtrygrr had found a way to win a quarrel. You tossed the sword to the ground. “I do not think you honorable.”

“Good, that surely was not my intention.”

“Why are you doing this? Ambition, fame? Neither is worth it.”

“A man with no ambition hasn’t a right to be called a man at all. Now, if you’re antics are of Magnusdottir. I’d like to sleep.”

Even in the darkness, you could see the grin on his face. The youthfulness of Sigtrygrr was only in looks, his intellect gave him years of advantages you’d never seen.

Tags: @ceridwenofwales​ @whenimaunicorn​ @titty-teetee​ @supernaturalvikingwhore​ @geekandbooknerd​ @captstefanbrandt​ @pokeasleepingsmaug​ @carlya65​ @therealcalicali​ @sparklemichele​ @earthsmightiestasses​ @stardustnthings​ @dangerousvikings​ @greennightspider​ @awesomerextyphoon​ @allonesharingonebreath​   @rabeccablake​ @savismith​ @kittybites-94​ @naaladareia​ @umnoyeahno​  @riottkatt​  @ariellostatci​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​ @marvelousthronewars  @thevikingsheaux​ @prettythingsworld​ @miahelizaaabeth​

[victoria-daydreams]

Something’s Gotta Give

Chapter Four: A Frightful Dinner

AN: If this chapter was an actual person, I would want to fight them because this chapter was somewhat difficult to write. There would be times where everything would just flow together and then other times where I would hit a brick wall. Like, I got stuck on a single line of dialogue for hours, it was incredibly annoying. Anyways, here’s the next chapter, hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Five: Avoidance

Summary: Livia has been doing everything humanly possible to forget what she witnessed at Booker’s apartment, it’s easier said then done.

Two days.

That's how long I haven't seen or spoken to Booker. Honestly, I've been avoiding him at all costs, it's cowardly, I know. But can you really blame me? I entered Booker's apartment that night on the belief that the two of us were going to have a nice and quiet dinner between friends. That didn't happen, not in the slightest, what I got instead was something straight out of a horror movie.

Maybe I was right, maybe Booker really was a vampire.

Pushing out the awful memory of what transpired that night had become of a priority of mine. I've been busying myself with my work by spending more time at my office, coming in earlier than I need to and leaving a lot later than I usually prefer to. On top of that, I've been hanging out with my friend Leonie more frequently, we met at university where I studied abroad and from there the rest was history. Leonie teased me when she noted how much time we've been spending together, she knows that I'm a bit of an introvert and likes to stay inside and relax by myself, but she welcomed the change in behavior nonetheless.

"I've had such a great time today!" I announced, smiling over towards Leonie.

"Well it's a wonder what a little spa day can do," she replied, a proud a grin on her face. I unlocked the door to my apartment and stepped inside, looking over Leonie's shoulder my smile began to fade as I stared at Booker's door. "Hey," she called, placing a hand on my arm. "What's wrong? Why the sudden long face?" she asked curiously.

I shook my head and softly chuckled, "It's nothing, it's just my neighbor," I answered, Leonie turned around and looked at the door.

"What about them?"

"I haven't heard any movement or sounds from him in days," I explained, my eyes glancing at his door again. "I'm just a little concerned, that's all," I added, letting out a sigh and crossing my arms.

"Why? Do you know him well?" Leonie questioned curiously, arching her brow.

"Not as well as I thought I did," I thought.

I shook my head, "No," I answered. "We hardly speak to each other," I lied, with another shake of the head.

Leonie squeezed my arm, "Then you have nothing to worry about." She reassured, a small laugh leaving her. "He probably just works the night shift or something," she suggested, shrugging her shoulders. A loud chime made the two of us look down and Leonie lifted her wrist to look at her watch. "I gotta go, but today was a nice outing, we should go to the spa more often," Leonie stated, nodding to herself.

"Sounds like a plan,” I agreed, a smile on my face.

Leonie began backing away from my door, "Now, go ahead and plug yourself into a wall Livia," She advised teasingly. "You have to recharge your social battery," she explained, with a grin of her own.

"Shut up!" I exclaimed, laughing at the quip and Leonie's laughter echoed in the corridor as she walked away.

Smiling to myself, I pushed the door closed, but stopped myself and slowly lifted my eyes up at the faded number four on his door. I closed my eyes and exhaled deeply.

"This is killing me," I thought.

Opening up my door again, I walked out of the apartment, locking the door behind me. I raised my hand to knock, but it didn't move, I just stared at the door, I could feel my nervousness eating at my stomach. Inhaling deeply, I shook my head and let my knuckles rap against the door in three rhythmic knocks, I waited and waited, but it was just silence.

Absolute silence.

"Booker, it's me!" I called, listening for any movement behind the door. "Listen, I feel horrible for how I reacted two nights ago," I admitted, hoping that would elicit some sort of response. "Booker please let me in so we can discuss whatever that was on Wednesday," I requested, knocking on the door again, this time with much more force. "You know I'm stubborn Booker, either let me in or I will find a way in," I threatened, not sounding the least bit of threatening as I slapped my hand against the door.

Still no response.

"Fine," I breathed, pulling bobby pins out of my hair. "Have it your way," I muttered, bending the pins before entering them inside the keyhole.

Gently, I maneuvered the bobby pins, twisting and wiggling it around at different angles. Minutes passed by as I attempted to pick the lock, letting out frustrated grunts and sighs as I worked. Jimmying the bobby pin a little harder I heard the sound of a satisfying click and a proud grin made it's way on my face. Slowly, I twisted the door knob and opened the door to Booker's apartment. As soon as I stepped inside I was shrouded in darkness, the only light source was from the corridor, that's when an odor invaded my nostrils and my nose twisted in disgust at the foulness.

Booker's apartment reeked of booze, spoiled food, and vomit. God, I hope I'm wrong about the last one. I lifted my hand to cover my nose and mouth and moved in further, a loud crunch could heard underneath my feet, slowly I lowered my gaze to the floor. It was tiny shards of glass all around my feet and the dots connected in my head. This had to be the glass I heard shatter two nights ago. My hand found it's way to the wall and light pushed the switched on.

"Oh Booker," I sighed softly, looking at the state of his apartment.

There were several empty bottles of liquor strewn throughout the room, trash was littered all across the floor, and the kitchen and small living room was in disarray. One of the kitchen chairs was knocked over and two armchairs laid on their side, the pillows scattered haphazardly. Then my eyes fell upon the long, red sofa where a figure laid. Another sigh escaped me as I looked down at Booker's sleeping form, I didn't know if the sigh was out of disappointment or pity. I glanced down at his hand to see a bottle dangling from his fingers.

Pity. It was definitely pity I was feeling.

Locking the door, I walked over to Booker and gently tugged the bottle from his grasp before placing on the coffee table.

"God, you look terrible," I commented, gazing at him.

His hair looked greasy, like it had been washed in days. He was still wearing the same clothes from two days ago, they were all wrinkled and riddled with mysterious stains. The dark circles underneath his eyes were unmistakable, a slight frown lined my forehead at the sight of them. And finally his skin, the glow that I commented about days ago, had vanished. Now his skin looked sunken and sallow. Shaking my head, I reached down and slightly shook his shoulder. A foul odor that I couldn't exactly identify wafted into my nose, causing my nose to scrunch up.

"And you smell awful,” I added, momentarily turning my head away from him.

Booker didn't respond to my actions, but instead let out a soft snore, briefly I closed my eyes and exhaled heavily from my nose. I sat down on the edge of the sofa and gave Booker's shoulders another shake, this time harder.

"Booker!" I called, my tone becoming firmer. Still no response. "Jesus Christ," I muttered, my hands now resting on his shoulders.

"Desperate times, calls for desperate measures," I thought. "Sorry Booker,"

Bracing myself, I lifted my hand up and reached back before slapping Booker hard across the face. He jolted awake, knocking me off the sofa and onto the floor and I let out a small yelp. I pushed myself back up into a sitting position to face Booker and I felt my blood run cold, I was staring down the barrel of a gun.

I threw my hands up, "Booker it's me, Livia!" I exclaimed, my heart pounding against my rib cage.

"Livia?" he repeated, slightly slurring my name.

"Surprise!" I cheered weakly.

I heard the safety of the gun flipped back on before he lowered the gun, his eyes narrowed at the sight of me.

Booker placed his gun down the coffee table, "How the hell did you get in here and what the hell do you want?" he questioned, his voice raspy as a deep frown formed on his face.

"Well," I began, using the sofa and table to help me stand back up. "I used some bobby pins from my hair to-"

"You broke in," Booker interrupted.

I lifted a finger, "I knocked first," I pointed out, causing Booker to scoff and roll his eyes. "I was concerned about you Booker," I explained softly, folding my arms together.

Booker scoffed again, "Concerned?" He repeated, raising a skeptical brow. "After what happened Wednesday, I find that very hard to believe," he chuckled derisively, his hand reached out to grab the bottle of booze I previously took from him.

I snatched it from out of his grasp, "Booker, I'm sorry for my reaction, truly I am," I apologized, hoping he would see the sincerity in my eyes. "I just...how did you expect me to react? I'm human." I stated, throwing my hands up slightly.

"I'm human too Livia!" He snapped back, mentally I winced at my choice of words. "Do you think I'm some sort of monster?"

"No! God, no!" I answered, putting the bottle down quickly and taking a seat next to Booker. "Booker, you are very much far from that." I argued, taking a hold of his hands which he only snatched away which felt like a stab to the heart.

Booker stood up from the sofa, "I disgust you, don't I?" He asked. "You've treated me like a leper ever since the dinner!" He stated, glaring at me.

"That's n-" I started, shifting in my seat.

Booker pointed his finger at me. "Don't you dare lie to me!" He growled, cutting me off. "You nearly threw up at the sight of me." He reminded.

I bounced onto my feet, "At your hand, not you!" I argued, shaking my head.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you haven't been avoiding me Livia," Booker said, I opened my mouth to speak but nothing could seem to come out. "You leave your apartment at 7:15 am every morning and you come back at 6:00 pm." He said, and I lifted my eyebrow. "But now you leave earlier and come back much later,"

My brows furrowed. "That's a bit stalkerish," I quipped.

"Livia!"

"Okay, okay," I conceded, raising my arms in surrender. "Yes, I have been avoiding you,” I admitted, watching Booker's reaction. "I was scared, I just witnessed something that should be impossible and I just freaked! And I thought the best way to process it was to avoid it," I explained, running my hands over my hair.

"You don't think that I wasn’t scared as well?" Booker asked, nearly yelling. "What happened that night was my biggest fear, that is why I was so resistant on befriending you. But as time went by and I learned more and more about you, I thought maybe, just maybe, that you'd be different, but you weren't. The moment you discovered my secret you looked me like I was a freak of nature and ran!"

Without thinking, I placed both of my hands on each of Booker's cheeks. "You're not a freak of nature Booker!" I protested, vigorously shaking my head. "It's just as you said, you're human too," I affirmed, gently stroking his cheeks with my thumbs. "Even though you can mysteriously heal yourself," I added, moving my head from side to side.

He narrowed eyes slightly, "You honestly can't help yourself, can you?" He asked, referring to my quips.

"No, I can't," I answered honestly, a faint smile on my lips. Lowering my gaze, I cleared my throat. "Listen, I understand that I hurt you deeply Booker," I began, my voice quiet as I lifted my eyes to meet his. "And if you never want to speak to me again I will-" I continued, but stopped when I felt a pair of hands rest on top of my own.

"Please, don't go," Booker stated, finishing my sentence. "That is...the last thing I would want to happen," he added, a sigh escaping him as he lightly ran his hands down my arms.

A smile of relief broke onto my face and my hands traveled from Booker's cheeks to his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. He returned my gesture, embracing me tighter than I held him. It was a intimate moment, one that I would cherish, but there was something that was slightly ruining it for me. It was Booker, or at least his smell.

I pulled back from our embrace, "Booker, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you smell like a garbage bin," I commented, a grin tugging at my lips.

He chuckled and lowered his head, "Thanks Livia," he deadpanned.

"Go freshen up, I'll clean up around here." I told him.

"Livia you don't have to-"

"I want to," I insisted, giving his arms a squeeze and Booker slowly nodded. "Now get to showering, you look like shit," I ordered playfully, dropping my hands from his arms.

"Thank you Livia, I mean it,"

"Anytime Booker," I replied, echoing the words that I said to him when I helped him to his feet from the stairwell outside.

He smiled at me before walking down the hall to where I'm assuming his bedroom was located.

"Let's get to work," I said to myself, taking my coat off and throwing it onto the sofa.

~~~x~~~

I smiled to myself as I shrugged my coat back on, the apartment was spotless more or less so. All the bottles of booze that were scattered about in the kitchen and living room were tossed in a trash bag that was tied up and ready to be thrown away. The shards of glass from the cup was swept up and dumped into the trash bin, I washed the dishes that looked to be untouched since Wednesday, and general tidying up.

"Will you...will you stay with me for tonight?"

I turned around, my eyes wide in surprise at Booker's question.

He stepped back from me, "I've offended you, I'm-"

"No," I disagreed, shaking my head. "You just caught me off guard, that's all," I clarified, a small reassuring smile on my lips. "Since I abandoned you for two days it's the least I can do, right?" I commented, taking my coat back off. "I'll take the sofa if that's all right with you?" I asked, laying the coat down on the armrest of a chair.

Booker cleared his throat, "Um, I was wondering if you would join me...in my bedroom?" he asked awkwardly, shifting on his feet.

Again, my eyes nearly bulged out from my skull. "Wha-What?" I asked back in disbelief, my cheeks heating up.

"Oh God, not in that way," Booker stated, sticking his hands out and shaking them. "I-I just wanted to talk until I dozed off," he clarified, rubbing his neck which seemed to be flushing red.

A smirk made its way on my face, "Some pillow talk, Booker?" I teased, doing air quotes.

"Livia!" he groaned.

"Sorry, sorry," I laughed, making my way towards him. "It was too good to pass up," I remarked, grinning widely. "Lead the way." I said, tapping his shoulder.

Booker guided me down the short hallway to his bedroom, entering the room my eyes slowly looked around the space. It was a spartan room with a full sized bed, a bedside table, a bookshelf lined with vintage edition novels and a couple of bare wardrobes.

"It's so plain," I thought.

"Thanks Livia," Booker said dryly.

I covered my mouth with both of my hands, "Did I say that aloud?" I squeaked, slowly turning my neck to look at him.

Booker chuckled, "It's fine," he reassured, walking to his bed. "It's not like you're wrong," he added.

I kicked my loafers off, "We should decorate it," I suggested, climbing onto the right side of his bed.

Booker slid onto the other side of the bed, "We?" Booker repeated, raising his brow.

I rolled my eyes, "Fine," I huffed, crossing my arms playfully. "You should decorate it," I corrected, leaning back against the headboard and looking at Booker.

A silence fell between us and I found my eyes scanning over the room, seeing things that I didn't notice when I first walked in. There were clothes were strewn all across the floor, if they were clean or dirty, I had no way of knowing. A half drunk bottle of booze rested on top of the bookshelf next to an empty wine bottle. I leaned forward slightly and recognized the label on the bottle, it was the wine that I had opened that created the fiasco that ensued.

"Booker," I called softly, shifting my gaze from the bottle to him.

"Hmmm," He hummed, his eyes closed.

I rolled over to my side to face him, "How bad...did it get?" I asked gently.

Booker exhaled loudly from his nose, "I pretty much spiraled the moment you flew out the door," he answered, opening his eyes. "Since the day you invited me over for tea I hadn't felt the need to drink to drown out my sorrows," he admitted, turning himself onto his side. "But that night, when I saw the look of fear in your eyes, the way you recoiled from me..." Booker let out a humorless chuckle, glancing down at his comforter. "I went on a bender, drinking myself into unconsciousness. It was a rinse and repeat cycle, I would drink one bottle after the other until I would blackout or puke," he explained, picking at a loose thread. "And then, whenever I would wake up, I got to do it all over again," Booker finished, lifting his eyes to mine.

Hesitantly, I moved my hand towards his and gently interlocked our fingers.

"No more running away," I stated, and Booker lifted his gaze from our hands to me. "I'll stick by you, even when times get tough," I promised, softly squeezing his hand.

"That's quite a promise to make," Booker remarked. "What if something else happens and scares you?" he asked quietly, his fingers slightly tensing around mine.

I rolled my eyes, "You can't possibly scare me anymore than you already have Booker," I joked, making him chuckle lightly.

"You'd be surprised."

"Even if you do, c'est la vie,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. "Life's too short for me to worry about what might happen," I explained, a small smile appearing on my face. "So, by the looks of it, you're stuck with me Booker," I remarked, now full on grinning and planted a quick kiss on his knuckles before slipping my fingers out from his.

"I'm sure there are worse punishments," Booker responded dryly.

I lightly punched him in the arm, "Shut up!" I chuckled, shaking my head. "If it wasn't for me, you'd still smell like a sewer," I pointed out, even though I was slightly exaggerating. "Which by the way, that shower worked wonders on you," I commented, my eye scanning over him.

Instead of seeing greasy and clumped hair, Booker's dark blond hair was clean and had a slight shine to it. His skin had a rosy hue which looked so much better compared to the sallowness I was greeted with earlier. The dark circles were still underneath his eyes, but the shower seemed to reduce them slightly.

"Really?" Booker questioned, lifting a brow. "Did I really look that awful?" He asked again.

Closing my eyes, I breathed out a laugh, "You looked like you got hit by a bus and then they put it in reverse," I joked, finding it hard to reopen my eyes as my body relaxed itself on Booker's bed.

He laughed, "Is that right?" Booker asked again, and I felt his fingers gently brush my hair out of my face before letting them softly trace down my jaw.

The action sent a shiver down my spine, "The gospel truth," I replied, a sleepy smile on my lips.

"Livia," Booker called, I hummed in acknowledgement. "There's...there's something else you should know about me,"

"Shoot," I replied, snuggling myself even further onto the mattress. There was a pause and if it was any longer I would succumb to my drowsiness. "Booker?" I called, a small frown on my face.

He sighed, "I'll tell you the in the morning, yeah?" Booker proposed, placing his hand on top of mine momentarily.

I yawned, "Sounds good to me," I agreed, nodding my head. "Goodnight Booker." I added.

"Good night Livia," Booker echoed.

And just as I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness, I heard Booker mutter something in French

"Lumière de ma vie."

Chapter Six: Let’s Try this Again

[thecipherfamily]

Full rules {so far}:

•° SFW blog, therefore NO NSFW. Mild flirting is fine.

•° {Will think of of an OOC tag soon- for now, it's just 'ooc'}

•° Mun much prefers reblog roleplays over DMs

•° Moderately dark themes allowed {but no heavily sexual themes, r*pe, inc*st, etc. I don't judge, it's just not my thing}

•° Swearing/cursing is fine- just no slurs, or you will be blocked

•° Many muses may have trauma- e.g. things such as William's punishments {not usually sexual; but he was left with physical and some psychological damage}, Bill's many hidden regrets/crimes, Mabel and Dipper's school life {bullies}, etc. Please let me know if you need this tagged or want me to avoid directly mentioning it as much as possible. Don't be afraid to ask me to avoid/tag something with a tw, no matter how silly you think it is

--

•° If I forget to respond to an ask, tell me! Neurodivergency can be annoying sometimes, so I might just need reminding. Other times, I may just not know what to respond with {it's not the other person's fault- blame it on my ASD and horrible social skills} and would be ever so grateful for a "hint" or suggestion

•° Note: I have other things outside of roleplay/Tumblr and so may take a while to respond. I also regularly get caught up in executive dysfunction, unfortunately.

•° So, expect slow-ish replies.

•° Multimuse.... kinda? Will & Bill are the mains/"hosts" on this blog, but I can play Kill, Jill, Tad if asked and if I like the idea.

•° Please ask first before starting crossovers. They tend to make me uncomfortable

•° 🙅‍♀️No Undertale mentions in RP please 🙅

•° Ships are fine. OCs are fine (selective). Self-inserts are okay. For BillDip/WillDip, MaBill, MaWill, or the like, no-one is to be under the ages of 18. 20/21 would be better though. If you try to ship child!Dipper with Bill on this blog, you will be permanently blocked. Platonic/friendship bond in that case {similar to in Demonic Guardians AU}, only, and ask first. Otherwise it would make me deeply uncomfortable and you'll be blocked straight away

•° You don't have to match my length of writing, and unfortunately, I won't always match yours. If I feel like writing a lot, then I will. If I don't, then I won't. I'm not making RPs into a chore anymore. Don't feel pressured into writing long stuff either. If I write two paragraphs and you write two sentences, that's A-okay :)

•° Semi-literate only please. As in, full sentences at least {so not just "*they smile* *hold hands*" and instead, "they smiled, and then reached out to hold hands", or some slightly shorter variant} and some form of grammar would be appreciated

•° As long as you use paragraphs and separate sentences/paragraphs for new speakers, then I'm mostly fine with any layout(s). I may reach out to you if I was having any issues reading it, though

•° You don't have to use images or Picrews or pictures just because I like to. Only if you want to.

•° OT3 ships are okay, depending on what is is {e.g. Bill×Dipper×Will- where Bill and Will are each both involved with Dipper, but not with each other}

•° Plot or no plot, that is the question! ...The answer is, I don't really mind. Starters are a good go-to option if you're stuck, though.

•° Note: Feel free to tag me on starter lists or tag me on a start post.

•° Muses are very headcanon-based. If something confuses you, just ask a question- I don't bite! In fact, I enjoy answering questions about my versions of the characters.

•° DNI if racist, homophobic, far right, a bigot, 30+, etc.

•° You can always send me memes/random things for either me/my muses to react to :)

•° If something on your blog makes me uncomfortable, then I will soft block you, but please don't take this personally. It's likely to just be that your blog topic/theme has something (e.g. a topic) that I don't want to interact with/see

•° Will add more if needed

[supercasey]

TF2 RED Headcanons by an idiot that can’t pay attention well enough to read the comics

Back on my bullshit, because I apparently can’t shut up tonight. This is gonna be a big, possibly in-cohesive mess, and will probably have more focus on Scout, Pyro, Sniper, and Spy since they’re my favs, but I still felt like writing down all my dumb headcanons/ideas regarding everyone’s favorite mercenaries (at the moment at least; I might make another post like this later on, hopefully after I’ve read the comics)! Sorry if any of these seem OOC, I’m just goofin’! (Putting this under a readmore because WOW this got LONG)

Every Sunday afternoon, Scout, Pyro, and eventually Sniper when he tells everyone that he's a trans guy, hold a makeshift “Trans Buddy Club” meeting, which mostly consists of Scout mindlessly rambling about drama on base, Pyro nodding along, and Sniper occasionally adding his two cents/spilling tea as well.

Scout can speak fluent French, on account of his mom making sure to teach it to him so he could have more of a connection to his dad, but no one found out until a little after Spy told Scout he was his dad. It wasn’t long after this that Scout revealed that this entire time, he’s known every single thing that Spy's ever said to him in French, but he didn't say anything because he thought it would be funny to keep the ruse going (also because he really liked being praised in secret). Cue Spy freaking tf out because oh no, now his kid knows that he's secretly a huge softie for not only his son, but his whole team.

Sometimes Spy and Scout talk shit in French right there in front of the team, but no one has any fucking idea what they’re saying and to be honest it’s pissing Soldier off the most, much to the father and son duo’s amusement.

Pyro secretly has a little black rabbit named Lucifer (Lucy for short) in their bedroom, which they only take out to get some fresh air and hop around very early in the morning, before anyone else is awake. The only people who know are Medic, Spy, and surprisingly enough Soldier, whose raccoons became friends with Lucy.

Sniper has a goldfish in his RV, but it died three months after he joined the team; he has no idea though because Miss Pauling replaces it every time one passes away, so now Sniper is convinced he has the world’s oldest goldfish.

Scout and Soldier both really want a dog, but they're not allowed to have one on-base. :(

((Heavy plans on sneaking a dog in next Christmas and no one can stop him. It’s gonna be a Border Collie named Bandit, and it gets the most attached to Scout and Heavy.))

Demo is no longer allowed to make mixed drinks for parties; the last time he did, he got everyone so shitfaced that they had to cancel work for three days in a row in order to recover from it.

Continuing off of that: drunk headcanons.

Demoman: Unassuming drunk. Acts like he usually does, unless he’s gotten particularly shitfaced for a party/event, in which case he’ll be slurring so bad that no one can understand him anymore.

Pyro: Giggly drunk. Is just laughing the whole fucking night at nothing in particular, which scares anyone who’s still sober. If they’re too far gone, they’ll start mumbling something that sounds like it’s in Spanish.

Spy: Party drunk. An absolute fucking mess, he’s trying to impress everyone and keep their attention on him, which usually leads to him standing on tables and dancing until he falls and passes out.

Sniper: Sleepy drunk. Out like a fucking light at the slighest bit of alcohol. If he wakes up and keeps drinking though, he’ll just be slurring like Demo, only with a lot more anger in his voice. Let him sleep, or he’ll fucking stab you to death.

Scout: Clumsy drunk. Bumps into anything and everything; eventually has to be given a sippy cup for his alcohol because he dropped three glasses in a row. Talks even faster than usual, until he accidentally fucking pukes on someone.

Soldier: Calm drunk. Instead of getting loud and aggressive like most would think/fear, he’s just… chillin'. Just watches the shitshow as it happens, not even laughing when people get hurt/fall down. Kinda terrifying if we’re being honest here.

Engineer: Depressed drunk. His depression goes through the roof if he has too much, so he doesn't drink more than a few beers if he can help it. If he does accidentally drink too much, he'll be sobbing his eyes out in no time flat.

Heavy: Cuddly drunk. It’s very, very hard to get him drunk, since he’s really good at holding his liquor, but if you do, he’s gonna be hugging and carrying everyone he can get his hands on; you can expect him to have Medic and/or Pyro on his lap once he’s drunk enough.

Medic: Angry drunk. He wants to start fights with fucking everyone, all his rage coming out once he’s had a few too many; god help anyone who tries to stop him. Luckily for all involved, Heavy is more than capable of holding him still until he tires himself out.

BONUS Miss Pauling: Dumbass drunk. With too many bottles in her, she’s gonna be the one shouting and encouraging Spy to act reckless, while also encouraging Engie to drink more because quitting is for losers. Will pass out within an hour or so of downing her first drink.

BONUS The Administrator: Stereotypical drunk. Slurring, stumbling, she’s got the whole nine yards, but she’ll be damned before she let’s anyone see her that messed up. Secretly sips wine at work.

Okay, back to my rambling.

My personal headcanon names and ages for Scout’s older brothers, going from oldest to youngest: Grant 34, Timothy 32, Jacob 31, Arthur 31, Patrick 30, Malcolm 27, Curtis 26, and Jeremy (Scout) 23.

((Also, I’mma go off on my headcanon personalities for them, which are based off of how I’ve tried portraying them in my "Jeremy" fic.))

Grant - 34 years old - Bisexual - Occupation: Veteran/Construction worker - Personality: the oldest of the bunch, he takes it upon himself to keep his little brothers in line/help Ma out as much as he can. Enlisted in the Air Force after he graduated high school, and still takes a lot of pride in his veteran status after serving overseas three separate times. The family peacemaker.

Timothy - 32 years old - Homosexual - Occuptaion: Cartoonist - Personality: the gentlest of his brothers, he often gets roped into helping Grant keep the pack from running too wild. Bit of a softie; loves his husband and loves his job. Closest relationship is with Scout. Doesn’t approve of Scout being a merc but is too scared to say so. The family heart.

Jacob - 31 years old - Heterosexual - Occupation: Freelance guitarist - Personality: the firstborn of the only set of twins, Jacob is a lot more abrasive and instigating than his twin brother. Can’t grow a beard for shit, which pisses him off. Doesn’t get along well with Timmy, despite them both being talented and devoted artists. The family sword.

Arthur - 31 years old - Pansexual - Occupation: Carpenter - Personality: the second born of the only set of twins, Arthur is far more outgoing and nonchalant than his twin brother. Has a beard and loves it more than life. Secretly has a boyfriend, but is too nervous to come out. Gets along better with Jacob after they’ve become adults. The family shield.

Patrick - 30 years old - Heterosexual - Occupation: Hairdresser - Personality: probably the least social of all of the brothers, he prefers staying out of sight and out of mind tbh. Used to practice cutting everyone’s hair when they were kids. Doesn’t talk to his brothers that much, mostly due to being busy/forgetting to call more. The family shadow.

Malcolm - 27 years old - Heteromantic Asexual - Occupation: Wrestler - Personality: the most aggressive and physically competitive of his brothers, there’s nothing he won’t do to win a fight, save for using weapons/lethal force. Hard to get along with, but he still loves his brothers to bits, and was overprotective of Scout when they were younger. The family instigator.

Curtis - 26 years old - Heterosexual - Occupation: Bartender - Personality: was a total fucking mama’s boy growing up, and constantly got in trouble with his brothers for tattling on them. Still argues with Scout every time they see each other. Wants to make Ma proud, but it’s hard for him to keep a job for very long. The family drifter.

Jeremy - 23 years old - Transmale Pansexual - Occupation: Mercenary - Personality: (This is mostly for how he was as a kid) was constantly following his brothers around (especially Malcolm) in hopes of getting in on the fun. Was always treated as the family baby, so everyone was a bit scared to wrestle/fight with him for fear of getting him hurt. Very close to Timmy and Ma. The family runt.

No one on RED team can fucking drive well, save for MAYBE Sniper, but even he hates doing it. Spy gets so goddamn mad within two seconds of driving, Pyro can't stop swerving, Scout drives like a 16 year old who hasn't realized their own mortality yet, Medic jumps at every little inconsistency on the road, Heavy shouts at other drivers for being too slow/fast, Demo's depth perception is shit, Engie drives like a 90 year old grandmother, and Soldier is fine except he will literally shoot at other drivers for tailgating him/cutting him off.

The whole team has designated “Team Bonding Days” thanks to Miss Pauling, which involves playing board games, card games, and video games (in a slightly more modernized AU) together… this, of course, goes badly sometimes. The worst incident they ever had was a bad game of Monopoly that almost ended Heavy and Medic's friendship.

Uno is forever banned from Team Bonding Days. No explanation is needed.

Off the battlefield and in the base, Miss Pauling had the team set up a chore wheel, which is only occasionally followed. Engie is the most dedicated to following it, while Demo and Sniper try everything in their power to avoid cleaning the base.

Spy sometimes disguises himself as other teammates in order to get out of doing his chores, which has led to a lot of shouting matches that ended in Spy being forced to admit it was his fault.

Spy's favorite teammates to disguise himself as are Engie and Scout. He likes being Engie because he gets to be more affectionate with people without being found out, and he can act as Scout incredibly easily due to knowing him so well (tbh he's so good at masquerading as Scout that it's scary).

For Halloween, everyone put their names in Soldier's hat, then proceeded to pull out other teammates’ names to dress up as for their Halloween party. I dunno exactly who would be who, except that Scout traded around to get Spy, steals one of Spy's suits, and just goes around the party bonking people with a plastic baguette he bought online and speaking in a purposefully bad accent.

Spy: Mon fils, you can speak perfect French and you fucking know it. Please stop making a fool of ton père.

Scout: Hohoho, wee wee, I am a fucking frog that gets pegged by baguettes, hoho!

((Spy is this fucking close to committing filicide.))

Everyone can actually cook pretty well, but only very specific things for each merc: Demo can mix and blend drinks (not just alcoholic ones) like it's nothing, Pyro and Heavy like baking, Medic can barbecue anything, Scout knows how to make a lot of shit from scratch (thanks, Ma), Spy and Engie can grill like the true dads they are, Soldier will deep fry every piece of food he eats, and Sniper makes the best soups and stews imaginable.

In order of least to most messy bedrooms: Spy, Heavy, Engie, Sniper, Pyro, Demoman, Medic, Scout, and Soldier. You'd think Scout's would be the worst, but Soldier's room looks like a literal fucking war-zone.

Even when they're not working but get injured in some way (namely from shenanigans/horseplay), people will straight up kill themselves in order to respawn without the injury. The pettiest thing anyone ever respawned off-duty for was Medic suiciding over a tiny ass paper cut.

Demoman is scarily competent at the weirdest of times. For instance, Engie was once trying to figure out how to fix an issue on one of his turrets, only for Demo to stumble over, completely shitfaced, and point out the problem as well as the solution, before passing out under Engie's worktable. Demo doesn't remember this at all.

The first time Engie swore in front of the team in excess (due to dropping a hammer on his foot while he was tinkering), everyone was absolutely horrified because they had only ever heard him say “fiddlesticks” and the like.

Medic's room may not be the messiest, but goddamn is his office a fucking bomb waiting to go off 90% of the time. No one but Medic can find anything in the mess, which is just fine by him.

Heavy likes to sing (mostly just to Sasha) when he's cleaning her in the locker room. The others try to be within hearing range when he does this, because holy fuck, Heavy is a very good singer! He mostly just sings soft songs/lullabies, so his singing is sometimes used by the team insomniacs to help them get some much needed rest.

Okay, another group one. The mercs during shopping trips together:

Demoman: Sneaks a shit ton of alcohol into the cart when no one's looking. Starts complaining if he has to be at the store for too long; will try and sneak away to go home at least once during the trip. Accidentally bumps into a display case and makes a huge fucking mess.

Pyro: Sits obediently in the cart the whole time, occasionally nabbing candy and stuffed animals off of nearby shelves. Will puppy-dog eyes their way into getting everything they grabbed, no matter how much it is.

Spy: Somehow managed to steal an employee uniform and he pretends to work at the store the whole trip; the other mercs keep accidentally falling for it and asking for his help. This all goes to shit when a Karen starts shouting at him over something he didn't do, and he straight up slaps her.

Sniper: King of forgetting wtf was on the list and just grabs shit on the grounds of “Doc said we needed milk, right?” and other such excuses. Knows where everything is despite never having come here before.

Scout: “Gimme the list, I can get everythin' in, like, ten minutes!” Wants to speedrun grocery shopping due to years of shopping with his mom and brothers. Will run loose if left unsupervised and accidentally bust ass on some spilled milk.

Soldier: The one who spilled the milk that Scout busts his ass on. Insists he knows where he's going, but doesn't. Gets into a fistfight with a soccer mom while everyone's waiting to check out; the soccer mom won.

Engineer: Has a full, printed list of everything the team needs, which is organized by aisle number. Is the one who gives into Pyro's begging. Team Dad; keeps an eye on everyone and stops the soccer mom from murdering Soldier.

Heavy: Pushes the cart the entire time. Spends way too money on stuff in the protein shake aisle. At one point runs the cart down the aisle and let's go because Pyro wanted him to, and it ends up crashing into Demo.

Medic: Argues with the pharmacists at the pharmacy counter. Got lost with Soldier until they found Scout unconscious, so he had to perform CPR in the dairy aisle and a fucking paramedic criticized him the whole time; the paramedic hasn't been seen since.

BONUS Miss Pauling: Tries to more or less chaperone this shitshow of a shopping trip. Starts out cheerful and happy, ends up threatening to put child leashes on every last one of these dumbasses.

After Spy taught him how to dance in Expiration Date, Scout goes to him occasionally for advice, such as how to change a tire, how to cook certain things, how tf to do laundry, etc. Spy secretly loves that Scout does this, and tries to help him as much as he can.

Everyone on the team has called Engie “Dad” at least once, even Spy and Medic. No one comments on it.

Medic has been known to go on hour long tirades about anti-vaxxers, with Engie sometimes joining in.

Heavy buys Pyro stuffed animals during his trips to visit his family, which has started a tradition of everyone buying Pyro stuffed animals/toys when they go somewhere without them. Pyro's room is starting to look like a preschooler’s dream bedroom.

Scout calls his mom every other Friday, and he’ll occasionally let his teammates talk to her. Soldier always goes on and on about how good a soldier Scout has been (Scout cries like a baby), Medic tells her about Scout’s latest injuries (Scout damn near chokes him over it), Sniper is just glad to talk to a mom who won’t scold him for the whole phone call, Pyro hums music while Scout’s Ma sings the lyrics for them, Heavy talks about living in huge families with her, Demo asks her how she’s doing and if he can help her out at all, Engie is polite and also praises Scout, and Spy just tells her he’ll call her later before hanging up (Scout punches him for being rude to his mama).

Spy calls Scout's mom on the Fridays that Scout doesn't, mostly to check on her and sometimes to get into some, uh, “steamy” conversations over the phone. Sniper overheard a conversation between them once and now he can't look Scout or Spy in the eyes anymore.

And that's all I've got for right now! I hope you all liked my stupid headcanons!

[amer-ainu]

Hi! I appreciate your taking questions. My questions have to do with writing though if you don’t take those specifically that’s all good. I’m researching for a series. One goal is a diverse, non tokenized cast. Something I’m worried about is reliable sources and I was wondering if, aside from your blog, if you have any books or stuff to watch to recommend? I’m mostly concerned that there might be dog whistles I’m not familiar with. My other question is as someone who isn’t Ainu is there anything I should avoid writing? I’m aware of a couple things to avoid in regards to writing Indigenous folks generally but not anything specific to writing Ainu characters. Also if me not being Ainu is something that means I shouldn’t write an Ainu character then that’s okay too. I just wanted to make sure. Like I’ve heard from a Romani person for instance that there’s (understandable) hesitance regarding non Romani folks writing Romani characters. Btw my phone is not giving me a 400 character limit so sorry if this gets cut I’m not used to this and I’m not sure if I can actually send this much in one message? It looks like so but I’m also not good with tech so here’s hoping! Not sure if I can add space for paragraphs as well let me know if I should resend anything due to being too wall of text or anything. Thank you for your time! SC

I’m in the middle of writing a praising review of the Golden Kamuy series, so I’d definitely feel comfortable suggesting that to watch or read. Other books I’d suggest picking up are Our Land Was A Forest: An Ainu Memoir by Kayano Shigeru,  The Fabric of Indigeneity: Ainu Identity, Gender, and Settler Colonialism in Japan by ann-elise lewallen, and  Beyond Ainu Studies: Changing Academic and Public Perspectives with Mark James Hudson (Editor), ann-elise lewallen (Editor), and Mark K. Watson. Those are good places to start from. As far as who should write Ainu stories or not, it’s my personal opinion I don’t mind it. It’s my preference to see stories about Ainu written by Ainu given priority in terms of publishing and distribution, the decisions that are above us meager writers. But if you’re just writing for yourself, fanfics, online stuff, it doesn’t bother me. Of course, I don’t speak for all Ainu, so any Ainu who wants to comment on the issue feel free to add to the discussion. The usual tired stereotypes of Ainu by dumbass racists is like, the uneducated hairy barbarians, or lazy, or primitive, etc. Any of the tribal barbarian or noble savage shit you’d avoid while writing Native American or First Nations characters apply to Ainu. Calling us dogs is a typical Japanese slur against us, calling us inu instead of Ainu. I might be an optimist, but I’d like to think we’re mostly over this garbage at this point, at least outside of occupied Ainu Moshiri.  One thing I’ve noticed is a thing is if people are writing a hafu Ainu, they tend to devalue certain Ainu aspects as primitive and backwards, compared to modern post-industrial Japanese, like tattoos. Don’t write a character who’s like, “thank god I don’t have to get these tattoos!” I’ve seen that a lot. The tattoo issue is a really, really heavy topic. The tattoos are specifically a component of our religion and matriarchal funerary rites, and it was devastating when the Japanese government criminalized them. It’s fine for a character to have them or not have them, but please be mindful and respectful about this aspect. Iyayraykere!