#im wanting to hunker down and write more of this today

[kurtsascot]

thank you @rockitmans for the tag <3

this year was kind of a rollercoaster. im definitely in a transitionary period of my life right now, and its simultaneously exciting and terrifying, but, more than anything else, im so grateful that this year i decided to get back into writing again, and, im very glad that, in the spur of the moment, i decided to make a tumblr over the summer and join this fandom more actively. i have loved participating in the events and talking to people all over the world. i never want to leave !!

klainepolls has also been a such fun project with @carsonphillips … shes so funny and makes me laugh so hard. we talk to each other nearly every day at this point and its been so lovely to have an internet friend !!!!!

but anywayyyy heres an excerpt from klaine!clueless au, klueless, ugh as if!, whatever we want to call this sucker…… and im not going to lie, ive been having fun googling 90s terms and trying to weave them into this guy. (its not six sentences but i seriously doubt you guys will be mad about that)

and, theres still news about something unrelated coming tuesday :^)

“Hey Dad?”

“Mm?”

“Can we talk?”

Burt raises his head, his reading glasses hanging low on his nose. “Sure.” He sets his pile of envelopes to the side, on his mahogany end table and one of Elizabeth’s lace doilies. “What’s up, bud?”

Kurt worries his lip in between his teeth.

Burt’s eyes get a little wider. He takes off his glasses and sets them over top the pile of stationary. “What’s up?” He repeats as his eyes search Kurt’s face. “Is someone giving you trouble at school?”

“No.” Kurt turns to face him, shifts his one leg under himself, his other bent and hanging off the edge of the couch. “Did you ever have a problem that you couldn’t argue your way out of?”

Burt snakes his hand over the back of the couch. He looks down at his lap, and, calm yet firm, presses, “Tell me the problem, and we’ll figure out how to argue it.”

Wrong direction. That’s not- Kurt sighs. “No. It’s… It’s about a boy.”

tagging !!: @cryscendo @bitbybitwrites @special-bc-ur-part-of-it @fallevs @little-escapist @daisyishedwig (and….for a sketch maybe?? @esilher @warblercore )

[ad1thi]

frequent (emergency room) flyer | AU-gust Day 6: Hospital AU

AU-gust masterlist

i wrote this a while back, and a couple of people seemed interested in more, so here is another piece in that AU. tagging @m-e-i-c-h-a-n, @severelytinyeagle and @warmachinesocks (who was the original prompter) and im sorry if you asked for a continuation and didn’t get tagged. note: this can be read a stand-alone fic (but reading the original ficlet will help)

I’m begging you, please help me out here and get me something edible, I’m so tired of hospital food (from this prompt list) 

//

After his first visit, Bucky isn't expecting to see Tony again. Despite how garish the burns had looked on his arms, the actual injury itself had thankfully not been that bad - and Tony only needed to come in one more time for a check in, just to make sure everything was healing well. It was a short visit, nothing to write home about and Bucky privately wished that the injuries had been a bit more severe.

Not too severe, because he didn't want Tony hurting himself, but severe enough that it warranted a couple more visits. Of course he kept that particular inclination to himself, because it wasn't normal to want your crush to be hurt and it was unbecoming for a doctor to want an injured patient, but it was there - in the back of his mind.

When Steve pages him a month later and tells him that he's got a repeat customer, and he ducks into A&E to see a familiar mop of hair; he's secretly pleased.

"What are we looking at?" he asks Steve, holding his hand out for the chart. Steve passes it over with a grim face, "His roommate brought him in. He was unconscious. Apparently he's been locked up in his lab for the past week, and when his roommate went to check on it - he was slumped against his desk. We managed to get him conscious again, and it looks like a case of a lack of food and drink."

Instantly, Bucky regrets the way he felt when he first found out that Tony was back in A&E. He nods sharply at Steve, and pulls back the curtain to see a pale Tony on the bed, and a black kid who can't be more than a few years older than Tony standing near the side of the bed.

"Bucky!" he croaks when he looks up, lips stretching out into a wide smile. He pulls at the black kid's sweater, "Rhodey look - it’s Bucky!"

"I can see that Tones," Rhodey says in a wry tone, and holds his hand out for Bucky to shake. "James Rhodes, but this punk likes to call me Rhodey."

"Doctor James Barnes," he says back, "also cursed with a bestfriend who gives out terrible nicknames. You must be James the original."

Tony gives him an indecipherable look, "You remembered."

Bucky can't tell him that he's played the weekend that Tony was in the hospital in his mind on repeat, revisiting the memories like they’re treasure, so instead he clears his throat and asks, "So what brings you to my neck of the woods this time?"

Tony opens his mouth to reply, but Rhodey beats him, "He doesn't know how to eat. Don't even start with me Tones you know it's true. Doctor," he turns to Bucky with pleading eyes, "maybe you can knock some sense into him. Explain to him that human beings need sustenance three times a day and they can't survive on coffee and ramen."

Bucky frowns, "You've only been having ramen and coffee? Tony you need vitamins, you need protein. While it's possible that you just fainted because of hunger, I'm going to keep you around for a couple of days. Run some tests to make sure you haven't given yourself scurvy."

His lips twist into a pout, and Bucky has to tamp down the urge to lean down and kiss it off his face. "This is all your fault," he glares at Rhodey mulishly, "I'm stuck in a hospital instead of at my lab like I should be. All you had to do was splash some water on me and this whole thing could've been avoided."

"I did, you didn't wake up" Rhodey says, obviously not rising to Tony's bait. He oddly reminds Bucky of himself, back when Steve wasn't a hunkering man made of muscles and Bucky had to wrestle his four foot ass in bed because he couldn't go five steps without dissolving into a coughing fit. "Besides, what're you complaining about? Now you've got all this free time to ogle at the doctor you've been talking my ear off about for a month."

Tony's cheeks pink, and Bucky excuses himself before he does something he's going to regret.

(Like find out exactly what Tony's been saying about him to his bestfriend)

/

Thankfully, Tony doesn't seem to have any serious illnesses apart from a mild case of dehydration and malnutrition; but Bucky keeps him under observation to be sure just in case. He's heard horror stories of students cracking under the pressure at MIT and almost starving themselves to death, and he's got a special interest in making sure that Tony doesn't become one of those horror stories.

Besides, he's fairly certain that Tony can afford the medical bills.

The downside of Tony not being at high risk of death is that Bucky can't justify visiting him often. So he does the next best thing, he assigns Steve to Tony. It's standard hospital procedure to have a nurse dedicated to their VIP patients, and it soothes something inside Bucky to know that Stevie is looking out for him.

What he fails to take into account, is the fact that Steve and Tony are remarkably similar people, and are therefore bound to clash.

"I can't take it anymore!" Steve bursts into his office, interrupting what was promising to be an extremely rewarding fifteen minutes of sleep at his desk, "He's so - UGH!"

Steve tugs at his hair, and Bucky gestures at the couch in his office, wincing when Steve slumps against it face-first.

"Use your big boy words Stevie," he says in what he hopes is a calming tone, "Who's got you so worked out?"

"Your ickle Tony," Steve props his head up and says in a scathing voice, "Is the most infuriating person I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. It's like he wants to die. I don't know what you see in him Buck, honest to god, he drives me crazy."

"What did he do?"

"He refuses to eat!" Steve moans, but when he notices the expression on Bucky's face he backtracks a little, "He eats, but like ridiculously small amounts. His tray is never empty, and one time - I even caught him shovelling food under his plate to make it look like he'd eaten it. The kid is going to kill himself if he goes on like this."

Bucky wants to go over there right now, but he's got patients that can't wait. "I'll visit him after my rounds today," he promises, "find out what's going on."

When he enters the suite that they've put Tony in, he's in the middle of a very heated conversation on his phone. His skin is no longer pale, flushed full with colour, but he's still too skinny for Bucky's comfort.

"No Pep I -" he looks over when the door slides open, and his face transforms into a smile, "Bucky! Pep, let me call you right back."

Whoever it is on the other line is clearly not happy about Tony cutting the line on them because he hears the beginning of what sounds like yelling - but Tony ends the call before they can get anywhere. He cocks his head and bats his eyes at Bucky, "What can I do for my favourite doctor?'

"I'm your only doctor Tony," Bucky says with a chuckle, "Nobody else is willing to treat you." It isn't a lie, but it isn't the complete truth either. Bucky is Tony's only doctor, but only because he put dibs on any future Tony related visits. So it wasn't that nobody else was willing to treat Tony, it was more that Bucky wasn't willing to let anyone else treat Tony.

"So, what's this I hear about you not eating food? Keeping you under observation for malnutrition is counter-productive if you're not eating Tony." Tony frowns at that, his face twisting like he's had something sour.

He hears out and clasps Bucky's hands, looking up at him with wide eyes, "You have to help me. You gotta get me out of here. They keep trying to make me eat hospital food," he says 'hospital food' in a hushed tone, like he's worried Stevie is going to jump out with a tray and shove it down his throat.

(Knowing Stevie, it was completely possible)

"Tony," he says gently, "You have to eat. It's for your own good. You're dangerously low on vitamins and protein, and if we don't get that stuff in your system you could be running the risk of serious illness. Then you'll be shackled to a hospital room for the rest of your life, with no choice but to eat hospital food."

Tony contemplates that for a second, brows furrowing in concentration. "Okay, how about a compromise? I'll eat hospital food, two times out of the day, if you smuggle me in a cheeseburger for lunch."

"How about this? You eat hospital food all times of the day, and I'll buy you a cheeseburger when we discharge you?"

"You mean like a date?" Bucky suddenly becomes intimately aware that Tony is still holding his hand, "You asking me out on a date Doc?"

Bucky wants to say no, he knows that he's supposed to say no, but what comes out is, "Not yet."

Tony's face twists at that, before smoothening out in comprehension, "It's because I'm your patient isn't it. There's rules about this stuff, ethics or whatever."

"I could lose my license over it," Bucky admits, "not to mention that you're still in college."

"I'm a master's student," Tony says breezily, "I'm older than I look. I turn 22 this May. So how long?" Bucky makes a quizzical noise at him and he explains, "How long until it's okay for you to date a patient?"

"6 months," Bucky rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, "There's a bit of debate on it, but six months is pretty standard."

Tony nods, "I can do six months. I can wait six months."

"You have to stay out of the hospital for six months," Bucky says weakly, "No malnourishment, no lab accidents, you can't even get a scrape on your elbow, otherwise I could get written up."

"I can do that," Tony says confidently, and Bucky knows that he should talk him out of it, but he smiles toothily at Bucky, and he's gone, "I can wait six months for you. Can you?"

"Six months," Bucky says back, and it feels like a promise.

Fin

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (19 [INTERMISSION 2])

A/N: cut to me rubbing my little fly hands together — i am SO excited to get this ball started that i’m literally boutta post 2 chapters, so bear with me here ,., also, posting them now because i’ve gotta go to work at around 11 and then dont wanna do posting/edits at like, midnight lmao 

bc that’s when im just gonna. keep writing., im so excited for this arc y’all im literally shaking

WARNINGS: massive descriptions of disassociation, being lightheaded, mentions of being dehydrated, mentions of not eating, threats of being pushed down the stairs, bandage mention ig? — i think that's all on this one!!!

Words: 1181

AO3 link!

MASTERPOST! <– look here!! for the longterm warnings!! including sympathetic Deceit and cursing/swearing!

enjoy !!! <3 <3 <3 <3 

“You’re in my world now, not your world~”

“Why are there so many stairs?”

“And I’ve got foes on the other side~”

“Wait, that’s not the lyric.”

“Sit down at my table~”

“.....Fine.”

“Put your mind at ease~”

“I put a spell on you~”

A small, tired laugh. “If you relax, it will enable me to do….”

“And now you’re mine~!”

“...Anything I please. I can read your future~”

“Be prepa-ared!”

“I can change it ‘round some, too~”

“Trust in me~”

More laughter. “Ironic.”

“Fuck off or I’ll drop you down the stairs. You started it!”

“I know, I know. It’s all almost done. I only hope Thomas is-I hope he’s okay.”

“Eh, who gives? He’ll be fine soon enough, don’t worry your bandages off. Come on, your gown is waiting.”

Thomas flicked his feet left and right, watching the television while paying absolutely zero attention while laying on the couch upside down. After failing to summon the Sides that morning, he’d gone to watch television, and found himself rewatching The Office again in a semi-binge state. It’d take a solid four days to watch it all but it wasn’t like Thomas had the motivation or drive to do anything else, despite the looming deadline on the new video’s script.

On any other day, he’d be able to hear Virgil screaming at him, Roman rushing around with ideas, butting heads with Logan over rewrites and edits. Patton’d pop in with some supportive words and an offer to make dinner sometimes.

But now? Now he wasn’t getting anything. It was as though all of his sides had clocked out at once — even Deceit and Remus weren’t delivering input. And whatever was holding back any of the other Sides he had (because, lets face it, Thomas had no idea how many Sides there were in total, especially not after Remus’ introduction) wasn’t letting up. So, using every ounce of deductive reasoning he had left, Thomas figured that he just. No longer had a personality.

The more he thought about that, though, the more he considered how irrational that would be. But he didn’t care enough to believe a separate reasoning? And didn’t have the focus, creativity, or capacity to think of a different explanation.

So, The Office. 

He had been sitting on this couch for upwards of twelve hours. Probably bordering on sixteen to seventeen hours, but he couldn’t count. It was long past sunset outside, perhaps the stars were out. 

An empty pizza box was sitting on the couch beside him. At least he had the common sense to eat one meal — an extra large pepperoni meal, but a meal nonetheless.

What the heck was happening?

The phone on his chin, balanced there out of boredom a few hours ago, buzzed and nearly fell off. 

Thomas’ hand smacked up to it, causing his phone to fall and hit his nose. That caused a chain reaction of him falling over, first sideways onto the couch, then rolling off the couch all together and onto the floor. 

So much for “nothing happening.” Thomas groaned as he pushed himself up onto his elbows and grabbed his phone, which had slid beneath the table. 

He flicked it on.

JOAN —> IMG0492.JPG

Ah. Thomas squinted and opened it. 

It was a Sanders Sides meme, one of the new templates. He covered his mouth and snorted with laughter, shaking his head. 

Another text from Joan dinged.

JOAN —> you alive? you missed prime coffee shop writing hours

Oh, heck. Thomas mentally chided himself. He and Joan were going to hunker down at a cafe and hash out the new script today to get it done before the deadline. Of course he forgot, like an absolute doofus. 

He began typing out a response. The thought of lying flitted through his mind, the excuse of being “out of it” wasn’t exactly the best reason. He thought for a second but he couldn’t even think of an adequate lie. Wow. Even Deceit had clocked out. Thomas probably should have tried to summon him, now that he thought about it. A little past time, but, oh well.

Alright, the truth. How the heck was he supposed to explain that he couldn’t think? Thomas pushed himself off the floor on his elbows, but winced as the weight seemed to leave his head almost immediately. He kept a hand on the couch as he sat up on his knees, one hand running through his hair and then resting on the back of his neck. 

How long had he been sitting upside down again? Goodness gracious. Part of him wanted to be worried about the repercussions of not having a coherent thought process, but the other was kinda singing Disney songs on repeat. 

In actuality, the most coherent thoughts he had held all day was the nonstop playlist of Disney songs that seemed to run through his head. 

At least that meant Roman was still kicking? That’s what that meant, right?

Oh, yeah, the text. Thomas pushed himself up onto the couch, ignoring how both of his legs seemed to be asleep, buzzing with the prickly pain of pinched nerves and a lack of blood. Lack of blood. All the blood was in his head. Heheheh. 

Gosh, he should sleep soon, he was getting light headed. Had he had any water today, actually? The thought of water made his throat run dry — no, no he hadn’t.

Focus, Sanders. He bit his tongue and typed out a response. Using both thumbs, because for some reason, his single-hand coordination was not working.  

THOMAS —> Yeah. Sorry about that, I think I’m sick or something. Haven’t been able to hold a thought all day and my head is super light.

JOAN —> thats fair, do you have tea or some soup? :( if youre that sick do you wanna push the script deadline a day or two? 

What did Thomas do to deserve Joan, they were always such a beacon of sunlight. He smiled to himself and responded as fast as he could while typing like a technologically illiterate fool, one letter per minute.

THOMAS —> That would be awesome. I’ve got tea, too. Think I’m gonna go to sleep soon though

THOMAS —> Could we push one day? And if you’re still not doing anything on Sunday, we could reschedule 

JOAN —> okay, I’ll let the team know. you get some sleep!!

JOAN —> I’m down for prime coffee shop o’clock on Sunday. 9 am at brewed awakening?

JOAN —> if you need some soupy soup let me know 

Then they sent a cat gif with hearts from Giphy. What an angel. 

Thomas exhaled and leaned back on the couch. He put his phone flat on his forehead, then crossed his arms. That was the best news to come out of today, honestly. One day was better than no days. And if he and Joan could mix up some good ideas on Sunday, then all the better. 

Hopefully that’d give the Sides enough time to figure out what the flip was happening in there.

taglists!

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda @askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil @theobsessor1 @ninja-wizard101 @fandomsofrandom

general taglist: @jemthebookworm @okay-finne

[ethereal-stark]

Almost pt. 2

The second part to almost!

I am again so sorry this is so late? School and work were horribly overwhelming, but i was working 25-30 hour work weeks while in college classes and it was hard for me to manage. Its now summer and i have much more free time so there will be more writing and i am excited!

I am sorry if this sucks i dont have anyone who proof reads my writing and i always feel as my writings suck, but thats okay!!

You could tell something wasn’t right with today, all day every little aspect of the glade had seemed off. Everything around you held an aura of eeriness, an anxious feeling fluttered constantly in your stomach. You sat against the stump of a tree, mindlessly drowning some water, hoping that would help with whatever had you all riled up. Some of the other builders had noticed your symptoms and passed around hushed whispers to Gally. After your incident a few weeks before, Gally kept your work at a bare minimum and something even a greenie could accomplish.

The wind swayed, blowing a cold breeze over you as you kept your focus on the grass that seemed to dance in the wind. “You alright Y/N,” gally asked quietly taking a seat next you.

You could feel the gaze of the older boy, you could feel the concern that radiates off of him, it felt sickening. “ ‘M alright Gally,” you uttered,” just don’t feel to well. Not really sure what’s wrong,” you admitted, pulling grass from the ground trying to distract yourself from the situation. You weren't even sure what the situation was, but you were sure that there was one.

Gally skimmed his hand over the grass, taking your hand in his and took his time to rub small circles,” you need anything you tell me you shank,” his lame attempt of a joke cracked no smile,” i love you like a sister Y/N,” he admitted,” always gonna be here for you.” The concern cut like a knife, you didn’t know why but i felt like too much, but you knew deep down it's what you needed.

You chuckled, rubbing under your eyes harshly,” thanks Captain Gal.I really needed that.” A little weight had been taken off, and even the smallest of freedom felt nice.

Gally looked around the glade, seeing that Newt kept his gaze locked on you. Gally grinned,” i’m not the only shank here who is worried ya know? Newt over there looks pretty concerned,” you lifted your gaze from the grass and saw that indeed the blonde boy was looking at you with an intense gaze,” take a break and talk to him.” You looked over to protest the idea when Gally cut you off,” captain’s orders. Go. Now!”

“Alright you shank,” you muttered, pushing yourself up from ground, only offering a small wave as you walked away. You looked to the walls seeing that the sun was coming down, and seeing the runners standing at one of the entrances to the still open doors. “Aren't those supposed to be closed by now,” you asked standing beside Newt looking into the maze.

Newt bit at his lip,” they should be,” the stress slowing starting to fill him. The memories of when he used to be a runner flowed into his head. Newt was more than thankful that he didn't have to worry about making it back in time, but now that same stress was held for his friends.

You looked over at the older boy and reached out for him,” it’ll be fine. Maybe the creators are just pulling some sick joke.” Your left arm was slung around Newt’s shoulder and you slid your right arm across his stomach, keeping him in a side hug.

When you made contact with Newt, you could feel the anxiety off of the boy. His arms shook and he couldn’t seem to stop tapping his foot. “ Hope your right (Y/n).”

You looked into the abyss and feel something just drop in your gut,” yeah me too.”

*

Everything was falling apart. Everything did fall apart. The glade your home, was utterly destroyed. The gladers were divided, between staying in the glade and escaping the place they once called home. Thomas and Minho somehow managed to screw up, the walls wouldn’t close. Then the grievers attacked, you had been lucky that Gally dragged you and a few others to the box.

There you hunkered down, stayed silent, hoping that you made make it through the night. You were praying the rest of the gladers were safe, you were praying that Newt would be safe. The homestead wouldn't hold off the grievers and you had already heard the splintering of wood, and the screams of your friends in the night.

Too many lives had been lost, and the feeling of your stomach dropping hasn't left. Not a single sound was uttered. Gally looked down on you as you tried to hide yourself in one of the corners,” It’ll be okay (Y/N). We’re okay.”

You looked up through the metal bars of the box, the screams of the gladers and the shierks of the grievers had gone silent,” not all of us Gal,” you sighed, aggressively rubbing the tears from your eyes.

“They know how to fight,” Gally crouched down next to you,” Newt will be okay. One of the toughest shanks we know.” You nodded slowly and rested your head on his shoulder. After a short while the screams began to die down and the tension left your body, all you felt was the numbness that creeped up on you. Gally stood and pulled you up with him, keeping a death grip on your shaking form.

“I think they’re gone,” Gally whispered, gently cracking open the doors and peeking into the glade. Gally looked around, the grievers were gone and no other gladers were in sight. “Let's go find everyone yeah?” One by one everyone left the box and gazed at the glade. Your knuckles white at how tightly you gripped the handle of the knife.

You followed Gally over to the homestead, where you could finally see other gladers, some of your closests friends among them.

“Thank god,” you whispered, loosening your grip on the blade, and slipping it back into your belt.

Gallys paced on quickened as him marched his way up to Thomas,” Gally,” Thomas called out. Only a second later did Gally’s fist fly across Thomas’s face. The gladers started shouting at Gally as you rushed over and pushed him back from Thomas, and in the process Newt pulled you away.

“Let them figure this out love,” He whispered holding onto you waist,” im glad to see your okay,” you swore you could hear his voice crack.

For a moment you allowed yourself to melt into his touch,” i’m glad your okay too,” you whispered back, turning around to offer him a smile.

The worry that seemed ingrained in his expression fell away he was about to start when the shouts of Gally interrupted him. You both looked back to see Gally attempting to throw punches at Thomas.

Frypan and Winston pulled Gally away,” You heard what Alby said!,” Gally stated,” He’s one of them! They sent him here to destroy everything,” Gally kept rambling as he tried to fight off Winston and Frypan. “And now he has. Look around Thomas, Look around this is your fault.”

You sunk your body closer to Newt’s,” Gally that's enough! He wanted to get out of here! We’ve been trying to figure a way out for years!”

Gallys head snapped at you,” he ruined our home (Y/N)!! What else is he going to do.”

A heat had engulfed your body, a rage you hadn’t really felt before. The first wrong choice was leaving the safety of Newt’s hold,and your marched straight up to Gally.“ Gally you shuckface! Thomas is scared just like we all are, but this isn't home! We had lives before this that we can’t remember so shut your shuck mouth before you regre-” A loud smack rang in the air. You stumbled back as shock washed over Gally’s face.

“I-i’-i’m sorry (Y/N),” Gally rushed, trying to find his words. Slowly you backed away from him bumping into someone behind you. You glanced back and saw Newt, you saw the anger evident in his face and felt his arms wrap around your waist.

“You’ll regret that,” he started, but the yells from Teresa and Chuck cut him off. At first you felt enraged that Gally had the audacity to hit you, then embarrassment. Your cheek lightly throbbed with pain as you attempted to cradle your cheek.

Newt’s hand slipped from your waist has he ran over to Thomas,” Why in the bloody hell did he do this?”

“He thought Gally was right. He wanted to know,” Chuck told him, everyone glancing over and sneering at Gally.

Gally looked back at his friends,” throw Thomas and Teresa in the slammer.” Anyone who disagrees with me can join them.”

One by one everyone went taking their stand with gally, not ready to face his wrath. Newt kept a grip on you glancing down at you, trying to figure out what your next move would be.

“Love what do you want to do?” He whispered in your ear as Gally kept a strong  gaze on the two of you.

“I’ll side with him but i don't trust him, not again,” you breathed, following the other gladers to stand behind Gally.

The second you made it into the safe zone, Newt pulled you closer into him. “I promise you love, I’ll keep you safe okay. “ Newt could feel you slightly temoring against him ,” I lo-.” he stopped himself. It felt wrong, the wrong time, the wrong place, and the wrong reason for a confession.

You heard the word form on his lips then vanish, you felt the breath that the word escaped with and all you could think was “i love you too tommy.”

[aabikeadventure]

Day 3 and 4. By Adam.

Hello friends! So day 3 was pretty uneventful so we skipped a day of blogging. The hurricane was supposed to roll through with some heavy winds and rain so instead of biking we decided to take our hosts up on their offer to hunker down in their barn while the storm passed. It was a pretty sweet setup and it felt silly to risk getting caught in a storm when we had a giant empty barn to ourselves with a bathroom, sink, wifi and electricity. Oh, and they had a giant garden with tomatoes and corn and zucchini and other tasty vegetables that they told us to help ourselves to. To try and get to telling you about today i'll try to make my summary of Tuesday quick.

We woke up and did yoga in their yard with the neighbor who leads weekly yoga classes. She took a liking to us and offered us a room in her second, unused home next door while the storm was coming through. We were grateful to have a place to stay but the interior was like a 1960's timewarp nightmare plus a yoga studio??? We kinda wished we just stayed in the barn next door with all the good vibes over there... The mattress was awful and we got a horrible nights sleep so we got a rough and late start to the day, getting on our bikes around 9.

We biked into Portsmouth which is a really cute little town! We didn't get to see much of it, but had our breakfast at a nice park on the water. We have been eating really well and mealtimes are definitely a highlight to our days. We then biked through kittery and then up through some beautiful roads with light traffic. And the best part was as soon as we crossed into Maine we were welcomed with a cool ocean breeze that gave us life. Like 10⁰ cooler out of no where! If felt so good. Amalia saw a swim spot that looked nice on a little ocean inlet and wanted to jump in. Im more picky than she is about swimming so I got my feet wet in the very cold water while she swam around and got out with goose bumps, but with a smile on her face. Omg. I have so much to write but it's already 1040 at night and Im moving my fingers as fast as they can go!

Ok so we biked up the coast. More beautiful roads. Then through York, an INSANE touristy beach spot. It was like covid wasn't even real with people packed like sardines on the beach.

It was pretty overwhelming to be around and though I wanted ice cream, we figured there would be more places to stop that weren't so crazy. So we skip doodly dood the fack outta there.

More beautiful roads and it was time for lunch. I saw a beautiful old church with a sprawling shady lawn and plenty of privacy on the side of the road and it was a perfect pick. We were both so tired from no sleep that we ended up curbing out daily mileage goal and spent around 3 hrs making lunch, napping and hanging out. The weather was beautiful and it felt like what we needed.

Then through Ogunquit. Another densely packed tourist trap. Now out of water, we had no choice but to stop. I got us water and some ice cream at a little shop and we sat and people watched as we enjoyed our frozen treat. I love people watching and it's been so long since I've seen many people out and about it felt like overload!

It was now nearing 7 and we needed to find a place to camp before it got dark. Amalia felt a little concerned about finding a good spot since its such a dense touristy area, but I knew we would find something. The bike route took us off route 1 and through a very vacationer heavy beach neighborhood. Things weren't looking so promising and we were hoping maybe we could use a little corner of someone's yard, yet how to make this happen we didn't know. While checking our map a man chatted us up and asked about our tour and talked excitedly about his love of biking and told us of some good trails in Rhode island I didn't know about! We tried to drop a hint that we were looking for a place to crash but he was either 6 beers too deep or just didn't catch our drift. I cut the conversation short when we suggested an RV campground down the road.. oh well. On we went.

And then it happened. Half a mile down the road we biked past a house that looked like it had been here for a while. Not like 90% of the other homes which looked newly remodeled rentals or vacations mansions. An older couple was on the front porch and the man waved and said "hi kids" as we biked past. Amalia and I looked as each other and simultaneously knew we should turn back and see if they could help. Ernie and Sarah are their names and they are SO cute and sweet. Ernie walked is to their beautiful back yard with overflowing garden, wind chimes and hammock and told us to set up where ever we liked. After a moment of internal deliberation he also extended us an invite to use the bathroom and shower in their rear building. What an angel. He said cute things like " I know it's covid but this is how things are supposed to be"- referencing the warmth between strangers that was unfolding. And " we aren't crazy people, we're just old people, you'll be safe here". Ernie grew up in Maine and he and Sarah have lived in this house that belonged to Sarah's parents for twenty years. We set up camp and walked down to the ocean to catch the last of sunset. I'm filled with so much warmth at this experience of bike touring. Amalia told me that it restores your faith in humanity and it really is true. When we got back to our tent there were 2 cold bottles of water waiting for us 😭.

Tomorrow we hope to make it to make it to Brunswick. Though Amalia's goal of 70 miles a day has yet to be met. If we actually get started early it is very doable, though I've been having a lot of problems with comfort which has been slowing us down. My brooks cambium saddle is awful and no matter how I adjust it there's way too much perineal pressure. And the weight on my hands, even with gloves is so much that I'm starting to get hand numbness. I'm kinda bummed that my newly built up touring bike might not be the right fit. Hopefully I just need some different bars and saddle. Amalia and I might switch bikes bc her riding position is much more upright with her bars. Bon nuit all! Good night! Xoxo

[lokilickedme]

How do you take criticism of your fics? I got a comment that was harder to swallow today and I'm not sure how to move on. It kinda made my mood drop and I wonder how you take that in stride?

Oh sweetie, lemme tell ya something.  Harsh comments - even well meaning ones - are never an easy thing to digest.  They get stuck in your throat for ages and sometimes make you gag and choke until finally they go down…and then they give you a stomachache.  

There are entire days when my mood is complete and utter shit because someone has nitpicked a detail that wasn’t important or pointed something out that they didn’t care for.  I’ve wanted to actually quit over one person’s thoughtless complaint more times than I can remember, even when there were a hundred other comments on the same chapter praising it to high heaven that I should have been paying attention to.  But our hearts and heads go straight to the one that had something crappy to say, and that’s when the crippling self doubt begins. Am I good enough to be doing this?  Is everyone else just being nice and this person is telling the truth?  Does my writing suck that bad?  It’s a tsunami of sudden negativity from one stupid little comment, and sometimes it’s emotionally overwhelming because this stuff we write, it’s our baby and we love it.  How dare someone not think it’s the cutest toddler in the world!

But it happens.  You’re one person writing for many and there’s no way to please all of them all the time without making yourself crazy (besides just being outright impossible).  And when it does happen, it can send you straight into the pit of despair - and that’s honestly no exaggeration.  One less than glowing comment can negate a thousand missives of praise and adoration, and that single little bit of criticism can make you forget all the good ones even exist.  It’s ridiculous, but it’s true.  That’s the nature of being a writer.  We’re stupidly easy to destroy.

I can give you all the standard bits of advice - to ignore it, to delete it, to remember that you’re brilliant and a wonderful writer and that the mean reviewer wouldn’t know good literature if it put steel toed boots on and kicked them in the gonads.  But the truth is that sometimes it’s better to just throw a fit.  Post a rant. Get on the IM with another writer and sob to them.  It’s okay to grab somebody and say “You know what?  I feel really crap right now because someone was a dick to me about something I wrote and I need you to tell me they’re wrong and make me feel better.”  Writers in general are super willing to hunker down over the fire with you and help you make a voodoo doll of your new enemy.  Try it. Hell, get on MY messenger after you read this, I’ll do it with you :)

But don’t stop writing.  Continuing to write is the best revenge when someone tears down your work.  Learn from it if you can - if there’s anything valid in the criticism, let yourself cool down and then go back and see if you can use it to improve somehow.  If there’s nothing to be learned from it, get righteously mad and let it make you more determined to prove them wrong.  Or walk away from it and say Ehh, fuck it, it doesn’t matter.  Because honestly, it doesn’t.

Easier said than done, I know.  But in the end you decide if one person’s opinion - whether it’s valid or bullshit - can hurt you or not.  And it’s okay to feel bruised and touchy about it.  You created something and handed it to people with the hopes that they would love it, and someone didn’t.  That’s a blow.  It’s hard to take.  But it’s not the end of the world, I promise.  It just feels like it.

Hang in there, you’re doing something that the world needs more of.  You’re making stories, stringing together words and creating beauty.  

Keep doing it.

[marlaluster]

emptying clipboard

The days aren't so great in devil world. Lost? Great day??? #itsslavetimesyigga #agreatdaywhat #youlostme #onwhatplanetyo Mark Storey, his comments disappeared n his page on Facebook from my view, i saved it. Its disappeared now. The devil made him disappear from my view, said he wasn't able to be. https://m.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10155143872281085&id=578051084&set=a.10155143867871085.1073742025.578051084&source=48&ref=content_filter I ran across a pic of a kind of cross dresser n i put it on the status of a person I wrote here about a few days ago, i mentioned human earlier today, too. It was just to remind of some things said recently, really the devil put some fake comments for someone named James Kinsella, so. Things seem go on as if it's to be who the person continues on to be who said it. I can put a link to the picture in the comments. https://m.facebook.com/groups/405041276338515?view=permalink&id=804120099763962&ref=m_notif&notif_t=group_comment_reply https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=297261564031660&id=100012434566027 https://marlaluster.tumblr.com/post/159971558245/httpsmfacebookcomphotophpfbid-4574191379386 https://marlaluster.tumblr.com/image/159918161535 https://m.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10155256251345816&id=587390815&set=p.10155256251345816&source=47&ref=m_notif&notif_t=group_activity I'm trying to share something I found on Facebook in a discussion group n i shared it on my blog on Tumblr, the photo looks like it's the wrong photo in the preview so i have to check. The devil said it was messing w the preview of the link. I closed the preview out, I'll check if its the right post. I'll talk about some stuff at some point, at least I intend to. I have many soul mates, so. The drawing im intending to share seems to pertain to that. https://marlaluster.tumblr.com/post/159971558245/httpsmfacebookcomphotophpfbid-4574191379386 https://marlaluster.tumblr.com/image/159918161535 As the one link has a bit fyrther explanation on, n also the original post i found this on, this picture shows James Kinsella w two different profile pictures at the same time. "It's magic. Hes ending the world, i would try to do it again but I can't," the devil said, last talking about making the thing happen w pictures more often to make it seem normal. I'm pretty sure I've never seen that happen on Facebook, i have seen it on Twitter n it was magic then too. "It was not something I could do. I was trying to make a picture not seen as it was," the devil said. There are too many things to put energy into other than what matters. I was trying to write a comment on a status yesterday about Americans being self centered on their own country where they live n not other countries. The devil made it delete. But I was making a point that this world/present realuty tries to hunker or load people down w so much stuff to be important other than themselves. I represent something essential in the human experience, i am the drawing in. Life has both going in n going out. You draw in, you get a sense of self n preserve yourself then you go out, you do what you dream, you try to get things you want that are so called too good to be true. But your personal experience if you don't have this you will not be able to make sense of things because they don't make sense, they are irrelevant to you. You need a personal relationship, interest, connection to things to pay attention or have any reason to. Here it's just pretended you will put energy n attention on things simply because someone or something else says you're supposed to. Thats not enough. It can't be done. "This world is too much w us," this is a saying. It is. It's just so much stuff. It is Babel. It is the worship of nothingness over the human heart or the human nature or actual experience which is to be seen as less than in this reality, dumb, etc. This reality is devil world. I call it devil world. #babble I'm supposed to represent drawing in more, i think n then my soul mates are like ambition n things extraordinary. I'm the ordinary, they're the extraordinary. But we are made of both n not to be separate like p I'm supposed to represent drawing in more, i think n then my soul mates are like ambition n things extraordinary. I'm the ordinary, they're the extraordinary. But we are made of both n not to be separate like people are here. The devil tried to stop me from writing here again just now, it drops the type pad suddenly n startlingly. Thats how it deleted my comment yesterday. Unisex. one love one bathroom mate. Let's get together n feel the ... Something, whatever the words are. The devil was making it so I couldn't type there above with the cat.

[hermanwatts]

Sensor Sweep: Roger Zelazny, Tros of Samothrace, Fred Saberhagen, Eyrie of the Dread Eye, Charles Beaumont

Authors (Rich Horton): Roger Zelazny would have been 82 today, but, dammit, he died way too young in 1995. I loved his short fiction but I haven’t written a lot about it, so instead I’ve taken four rather short bits, capsules, really, that I did of four of his novels, for my SFF Net newsgroup a while ago, and in once case for Black Gate retro-review of an issue of Galaxy.

  Tolkien (Eldritch Paths): I have a confession to make. Up until last year, I hadn’t actually read The Lord of the Rings. I know, I know. I say I read fantasy and I haven’t read what’s considered one of the greatest pieces of fantasy ever written. To be quite honest, I was a bit reluctant to read the trilogy. The complaints I’ve heard about Tolkien being “boring”, middle-earth as a setting being cliche, and that the novels having way too much description put me off. Eventually, I hunkered down and bit the bullet. To my surprise, I was blown away.

  Science Fiction (Tellers of Weird Tales): A long time ago, I wrote about Fritz Leiber, Jr., and the problem of the weird tale. The problem was and is this: How do we write convincingly about the supernatural, the rural, and the irrational in a thoroughly materialist, urbanized, and (supposedly) rational age?

Fiction (DMR Books): Talbot Mundy described the adventures of Tros in three books: Tros of Samothrace, Queen Cleopatra and Purple Pirate.  We will look at each of these books in turn and you can find them in paperback, hardcover, ebooks or here, at the invaluable library of Roy Glashan.  Although Tros of Samothrace was originally serialized in the pages of Adventure magazine in 1925 and 1926, it was not published in book form until 1934.

  Pulp Writers (My Drops of Ink): The beginning of adventure novels for men—1901-1920 period.  A few months ago, I wrote an article for Paperback Parade about Steward Edward White, an early 20th century writer of popular adventure, Westerns, and nonfiction about birds and nature.  He was a conservationist, naturalist, and big game hunter, and his love for nature, conservation, and adventure were to become very much a part of his literary works over his long career.  He enjoyed writing about pioneers, the West, logging, gold mining, and nature.

  Dime Novel Westerns (Crime Reads): Two detectives came out to Wyoming in early February 1885, seeking a boy from New York City and the ten thousand dollar reward posted by his father. The boy, an eleven-year-old banker’s son named Fred Shephard, had disappeared the month before, but had not been abducted. An obsessive reader of Western dime novels, the young man broke open his tin bank one January night and climbed down the rain spout from his room to the street. His latest book was left at school, his heroic intentions scrawled across the bottom of its open page, “Ime goin West to be a cowboy detective.”

  Fiction (Goodman Games): Science fiction and fantasy author Fred Saberhagen was born in Chicago, Illinois on May 18, 1930. Beginning his professional writing career at age 30 with a short story published in a 1961 issue of Galaxy Magazine, Saberhagen went on to become best known for his works featuring the characters Dracula and Sherlock Holmes. Fantasy role playing enthusiasts of a certain age are probably much more familiar with Saberhagen’s second-most popular work, The Swords Trilogy, which began being published in 1983, just as the Dungeons & Dragons craze was hitting its peak. Saberhagen followed that up with a subsequent sequel series, The Book of Lost Swords, which totaled eight additional books in all.

  Fiction (Paul Bishop): Somewhere, jockeying for position in my top five favorite tough guy private eyes, you will find the six book Rafferty series by Shamus Award winning author W. Glenn Duncan. Like author John Whitlatch, who I previously posted about, W. Glenn Duncan has been an enigma to his fans for many years. A former journalist and pilot, Duncan lived in Iowa, Ohio, Florida, Texas, and California, before disappearing into the proverbial wilds of Australia with his wife and three children.

  H. P. Lovecraft (Jeffro Johnson): Did this show with Zaklog the Great last Friday. Enjoyed talking Lovecraft and Lord of the Rings and… these obnoxious people that poison your mind until you’d begin to think that your “beloved past had never been.”

Lovecraft writes three times that “there was no hand to hold me back that night I found the ancient track.” After mulling this whole scene over in light of the Boomerclypse we’re in the process of rolling back, I’ve concluded that there was in fact a hand there. The hand of wisdom!

  Westerns (Frontier Partisans): During the summer between junior high school and high school, a movie came to our little local theater that I simply had to see. It was titled The Long Riders and it had this cool gimmick — four sets of brothers played four sets of brothers — the James Boys, the Youngers, the Millers, and the Fords, played by James and Stacy Keach; the Carradine brothers; the Quaids; and the Guests. My parents thought it was too violent and they didn’t like the idea of “glorifying outlaws.”

  RPG (The Mixed GM): Today, let’s take a look at AX5: Eyrie of the Dread Eye. I purchased the pdf and physical copy, but this review will focus on the pdf, due to the fact that the physical copy is still on its way. There is a 5E version of this, but I am only interested in the Adventure, Conqueror, King System (ACKS) version of it!

Sidebar: Really appreciate Autarch making the pdf + physical copy combo the same price as just purchasing the physical book.

  Cartoons (Kestifer): Mobile Suit Gundam aired on Japanese television in 1979 and birthed a brand new sub-genre of giant robot fiction: the “Real Robot.” Where the 60s and 70s had a thriving “Super Robot” field populated with classics like Tetsujin-28 Go,Mazinger Z, and Getter Robo (worthy in their own ways), Yoshiyuki Tomino’s Gundam treated giant robots less as giant superheroes calling out their attacks, and instead as advanced weapons of war against a backdrop of space opera and large scale warfare.

  Fiction (Easily Distracted): I first gave up on the paperback edition of Fires of Eden in August 1995. But powerful images and scenes from Fires of Eden stuck with me, particularly a legion of night-marching spirits filing through the wilds of Hawaii. Similar to the staying power of scenes of devouring lampreys in Simmons’ Summer of Night or the vampiric stomach siphons of Romanian orphans in Children of the Night.

  Cryptozoology (Kairos): Cryptozoology has been a sporadic hobby of mine since childhood. I’ve studied the research of investigators like Loren Coleman, Jeff Meldrum, and John Keel for years. I can’t tell you what our guest blogger encountered. I can tell you that his account perfectly aligns with multiple data points consistently found in the most credible Bigfoot reports.

  Gaming (Walker’s Retreat): WOWhead has more information as there are some significant difference between how it was and how Classic will go, mostly of a technical nature due to technology changes between 2004 and now, but if you weren’t there then you might want to read up on what you’re getting into.

Get ready for How Things Used To Be, folks, including everybody and their uncle rolling a Forsaken Rogue.

  Fiction (Pulpfest): A prolific writer of both fiction and nonfiction, Charles Beaumont was born on January 2, 1929. According to award-winning writer and editor Roger Anker, “In a career which spanned a brief thirteen years,” Beaumont wrote and sold “ten books, seventy-four short stories, thirteen screenplays (nine of which were produced), two dozen articles and profiles, forty comic stories, fourteen columns, and over seventy teleplays.”

    Sensor Sweep: Roger Zelazny, Tros of Samothrace, Fred Saberhagen, Eyrie of the Dread Eye, Charles Beaumont published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/