#i actually prefer that one but I think if I post another piece w/ blood people will start to worry LMAO

[muzzlemouths]

my oh my, lying is against the rules, little bird. do you know what we do with rulebreakers?

[jazzistolkienfanfics]

Scared - Eowyn x fem!reader

I’m in love with your writing and am a disaster of a bisexual, so when I saw your Arwen piece I was thrilled. Could I request an ÉowynxFem!Reader where she’s tending to Éowyns wounds post battle, so when Éowyn wakes up she sees the reader crying and they confess feelings?? 

sure thing @itgetsatadhazy! sorry if it got kinda long. SHE SO PRETTY-

Type: Imagine Pairing: Eowyn x fem!reader Summary: Y/N isn’t scared of much, but losing her best friend is the one thing that terrifies her. Warnings: non-canon parts?, ‘shit’ Word Count: 1114 words

The battle raged around Y/N, and for the first in her life, she was truly fighting for her life. 

These Orcs were unlike any that she’d faced before - with such relentless rage and bloodlust in so many numbers that Y/N was very prepared for the possibility of death. 

Dying didn’t scare her. Pain never had. Battle was too ordinary for fear. But the thought of leaving Eowyn, her beautiful best friend, behind if she did perish with a sword through her chest ... that scared Y/N more than anything.

Although, she supposed that if she was currently fighting a battle outside Gondor itself, surrounded by what seemed like millions of Orcs, pirates and Oliphaunts, there really wasn’t that much more to be scared of. 

She glanced over at Eowyn, who rode her horse with a casual grace, and admired how beautiful her fellow Shieldmaiden was. Then, Y/N forced herself to snap out of it - Eowyn wasn’t actually meant to be here, and she was disguised. Y/N wasn’t about to be the reason that Eowyn got caught because everyone in Rohan knew the h/c-haired girl’s lovesick glances directed towards the blonde.

Y/N’s sword cut through another Orc with a squelch, and she grimaced as blood splattered across her armour. The battle wasn’t going exceptionally well, but, then again, they faced Sauron’s forces. It wasn’t exactly a play fight. 

When Y/N looked to Eowyn again, she realised her mistake after a couple of seconds making sure that her friend was okay. The h/c warrior had gotten distracted, and some soldier slashed through her horse’s flesh, making her fall off with a scream. 

As Y/N raised her head again, she saw Eowyn looking around.

She recognised my scream, Y/N thought warmly. She cares about me.

But that fuzzy feeling quickly turned to panic as Eowyn was yanked from her horse.

“Shit!” Y/N hissed, drawing a shorter sword and sprinting towards Eowyn.

The Shieldmaiden staggered to her feet just as Y/N reached her. Her blue-green eyes that Y/N found so beautiful were wide with shock, and they were no less stunning through the large helmet that obscured the rest of Eowyn’s face.

“You okay?” Y/N yelled, swinging her sword to intercept the attack of an Orc, stabbing it through the chest with a sickening gurgle.

“Fine!” Eowyn yelled from behind her - back-to-back was their favourite way to fight. “Merry!” 

This next cry was directed at the Hobbit who’d been with her. “Stay close to us!”

The small Hobbit nodded furiously, and held his own impressively as the three of them fought their way towards Gondor.

---

In hindsight, Y/N was stupid to think they’d been winning. That was before the Nazgûl had showed up, wailing with such pure agony and force that Y/N almost dropped her sword to cover her ears. 

The screams made her want to curl up and die, but she forced herself to keep fighting - she was in no hurry to die.

Then, the thing that Y/N least expected to happen did.

The Witch-King of Angmar himself flew down, and she acted before she could think. His steed, a fell beast, roared at Merry, who was frozen to the ground, and lunged forward, presumably to bite his head off. Y/N swept her sword upwards, and the leader of the Nazgûl was forced to slide off his beast as its head flopped around its detached body.

Before Y/N knew it, she’d been knocked to the floor, at least half a dozen of her ribs probably cracked or broken, and a rapidly swelling cut on her head that blurred her vision with tears and blood.

Y/N could barely raise her head, let alone help Eowyn, but she was glad to see that Eowyn held her own. She crawled quietly so the Witch-King didn’t notice, reaching for her sword, and looking up just as the Nazgûl had her crush in a chokehold. 

With a swing of her weapon, he screeched, dropping Eowyn to the floor. Y/N felt an indescribable pain shudder up her shoulder, and she fell back to her knees.

“I am no man,” she faintly heard Eowyn declared before crying out, followed by an agonised death wail.

“Eowyn!” Y/N cried as the blonde fell to the ground. But she was barely keeping herself conscious.

Everything went black.

---

Y/N was beginning to worry.

She’d woken and recovered fairly quickly, finding herself in Gondor’s Houses of Healing. A fellow resident there, Prince Faramir, had befriended her and kept her company even when she was so upset at being confined to a bed that she felt like throwing something extremely valuable and preferably delicate at someone’s head.

But Eowyn still slumbered, her pink lips slightly parted as she breathed quietly, humming in her sleep. Her eyes were tightly closed and her forehead lined - even in dreams she could not escape worry or pain.

Y/N wanted to take it all from her so badly.

Why? she asked herself stupidly. She’s just your friend. Just as Eomer is. Then why are you so much more concerned about her? 

Y/N berated herself for finally facing the truth as she sat by Eowyn’s side, stroking her long blonde hair out of her face with a s/c hand.

“Why do I care about you so much?” Y/N said aloud, wrapping a deep cut with a fresh, medicine-soaked bandage. “Well, maybe it’s because you make me smile like no one else can. Maybe it’s because you’re mor ebeautiful than anyone else I’ve ever laid eyes on. Maybe it’s because ...”

She took a shaky breath. 

“Maybe it’s because I love you.”

Of course, Eowyn didn’t respond. Of course, Y/N was only greeted with silence.

The h/c girl couldn’t help it. She started to sob.

Ugly, fat tears, rolling off her cheeks and onto Eowyn’s bed as she bent her head to cry and cry and cry. 

Hopelessness was as familiar as a breath. But never had it seized her like this.

“I love you!” Y/N said, her head still down. “I love my best friend, and she would never feel the same!”

“H-hey.”

A quiet whisper snapped Y/N out of it instantly.

Eowyn’s eyes were wide open, blinking away tears of sleep to reveal the beautiful blue-green depths.

“I feel the e-exact same way.” It was obviously paining her to say anything with the state she was in, but she said it anyway. “W-why did it take this?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N whispered, almost smiling. “But I want a happy ending. And I want it with you.”

“My Knight in shining armour,” Eowyn teased.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure that’s you.”

A laugh. “Goddamnit, Y/N, just kiss me, please.”

“Gladly.”

A/N - hope you enjoyed @itgetsatadhazy​ and everyone else reading this!

[overwatch-does-stuff]

Lindholm Family Headcanon Dump!

I know Michael Chu retracted the statement that Torbjorn has a bunch of kids, but Chu just quit so I make the rules now. It’s a LONG post under the cut because I got carried away. Mostly starring Torbjorn, but featuring Ingrid, Reinhardt, and Brigitte (plus a bunch of other kiddos that exist but I don’t have headcanon names for yet oops.) There won’t be any Bastion in this one because that’s an entire other post’s worth of content.

- Torb has a big family. He and Ingrid had a couple children of their own while he had a stable position in Overwatch, but they found out that they loved having little children around the house, so after all of their biological children moved out, they chose to volunteer in the foster system! This lead to them adopting at least four more kids. - Which means they drive a huge van everywhere.  - Both Ingrid and Torbjorn are masters at driving as a result. - They’re exactly equivalent in skill with one exception: Ingrid can parallel park the van, a skill he has yet to figure.

- Their house is pretty big (the Overwatch paycheck paid well, that, along with Ingrid’s income,) so there’s plenty of room for all of them. - There’s three levels: upstairs (for the bedrooms and playrooms,) downstairs (for entertaining spaces/the kitchen and stuff,) and finally, the basement, which is Torbjorn’s personal workshop. - Most third world countries would kill to have a workshop as good as his. - It’s all because Ingrid spoils him so much. He gets just as excited for Christmas as his kiddos do. - “The latest arc welder? Aww, honey, you shouldn’t have!” - Ingrid doesn’t work in his field, but she listens to his special interests dumps, and puts in enough research of her own, that she knows just what to get him every year. - Ingrid doesn’t like getting gifts as much as he does, so for Christmas, he always makes sure to spend quality time with her. He jokes that he ‘sucks at planning dates’ but he really doesn’t! For her, it’s nothing but the top restaurants and most exciting experiences. She loves going ice skating in particular, something that he hates but will always do with her. - Torbjorn and Ingrid split the cooking equally. They’re a bit traditionally gendered with what they like to cook, with Torb leaning more towards grilling and Ingrid preferring baking, but it suits them just fine. - Their grill, along with every other cooking contraption in the house, has been upgraded in some way. In fact, Torb’s the one who grills only because Ingrid still can’t figure out how to use the damn thing since he upgraded it. - Their house is covered in contraptions of all sorts. Other than the grill, Ingrid utilizes every single one of them. Meals get served and sent around via chutes. The floors sweep and mop themselves automatically when they’re dirty. The dishwasher loads, washes, and unloads itself in record time. - You know the zany contraptions in the Addam’s family house? Think that, but more brightly colored. - However, Ingrid’s taste in interior decorating is the opposite of gothic or minimalist- she loves quirky, unique features and bright colors. - She loves thrifting.  - The huge chair they got for Reinhardt in the living room was a thrift store find that she’s still very proud of. - She also has an old-fashioned “live laugh love” wall with all of the family portraits. She knows it’s cheesy, but it’s nostalgic for her.  - She doesn’t just bring furniture home. She also brings home cats. - That’s right. Brigitte got her cat love from Ingrid. - It’s a long-standing tradition, with the first cat she brought home was over thirty years ago when they were a new couple. - Torbjorn swore that it would be her cat and that he wouldn’t take care of it. - He was wrong. - Very wrong. - He now loves his cats and calls them cutesy nicknames in whatever language he feels like in the moment. - He built them automated feeders, automated litter boxes, and even some automated toys. He spoils them rotten. - Every time Ingrid brings home a new cat it’s the same routine. He swears that this will be the last one and that he’s not taking care of this one! But that’s wrong and he knows it. - But, because Ingrid’s always bringing things home, she’s a little more tolerant when Torbjorn brings. . . a specific Omnic. . . home.

- But that’s a whole other fanfic that I would need to write, so instead, back to the parenting! - Ingrid is 100% a feral soccer mom. Torbjorn is just as bad. - They’re the ones screaming their lungs out at sports games.  - They have a house rule where their kids have to participate in one extracurricular sport. It can be school teams, club teams, or even just working out on their own, but fitness is something that both Ingrid and Torb consider important. - Torbjorn, of course, built his own gym in the basement. He trained with Brigitte, and now he trains with another one of his daughters who’s taken an interest in weight-lifting. - But this all doesn’t mean that the Lindholms discourage more creative talents! - Torbjorn crafted a giant steel board where any arts and crafts get hung with magnets. One of his little boys is an artist and he couldn’t be more proud.  - Brigitte experimented with metal art when she was a teenager, and many of her pieces are now permanent fixtures in the Lindholm home. - She crafted a particularly beautiful string of lights that hangs above the dining room table.

- Now it’s time for Uncle Reinhardt!!! - Okay, so maybe he’s called just ‘Reinhardt’ by the older kiddos, but everyone knows he’s essentially an uncle in all but blood. - He’s been invited to every holiday celebration for about. . . actually, he’s just always been there.  - He’s a true multi-generational staple. Brigitte can’t remember a holiday without him, and now the younger kiddos are getting doted on by him every Christmas.  - Rein loves telling stories for the children. He spends the entire car ride there planning his multi-hour epics. - Now that she’s older, Brigitte sometimes helps with the storytelling, contributing sound effects and such. - Something which just causes Torbjorn to laugh and shake his head. - Reinhardt also loves nothing more than being a walking jungle gym. As soon as he walks in the door, he’ll grab the nearest kiddo and put them on his shoulders. He’s often seen walking around with a kid in each arm and usually an extra hanging off his back. - Sometimes he gives Ingrid a heart attack when he starts throwing kids around, but hey, she’s known him long enough at this point that she (mostly) trusts him. - Everyone gets sad when Reinhardt has to leave, but he insists that there is justice that needs to be done. He soothes the kiddos by promising an even better story when he gets back.

- Now it’s time to get sad. . . here’s my Brigitte headcanons. . . - Brigitte was REALLY close with her father growing up. She spent so much of her time in his workshop learning from him, as one of the only Lindholm children to take a liking to machinery and engineering. - However, when she moved out. . . she found it difficult to escape his legacy. Everyone, many of the older industry professionals and the like, expected her to be just like her father. They tried to cajole her into finishing old weapons designs that Torbjorn had abandoned. - It was then that she learned the full extent of Torbjorn’s involvement in the Omnic Crisis. - She had a lot of trouble reconciling this news with her love for him. It’s still something she had great difficulty with.  - This shock played a big part in her decision to give up on finding a job in the industry and instead accompany Reinhardt on his travels. - It wasn’t a decision that Torbjorn endorsed, which hurt their relationship even further. - But it’s not like he doesn’t try to keep in touch. They call every other weekend or so to catch up, but there’s always a tension between them that neither one is ready to address.  - They will talk about it someday. They’ll figure things out. They care about each other too much for either one to give up.  - In the meantime, though, Brigitte has gotten a lot closer with her mother. She calls her much more often.  - They talk about all of the things that Brigitte wasn’t all that interested in when she was younger. Stuff like fashion, makeup, and more traditional advice, such as how to get a date or what it feels like to fall in love.  - Ingrid also makes sure to show her how the cats are doing over the online call.

- To be truthful, Ingrid isn’t too worried about Brigitte’s decision to live the rough-and-tumble lifestyle. It reminds her a lot of her own young adulthood, where she decided to pick up everything and move to the big city to get away from her parents. - She’s quick to remind Torbjorn that her own little rebellion is how they came to meet whenever he gets worried about Brigitte’s decision. - (They met at Ironclad. The only job Ingrid could find after her big move was working secretary. She fell head-over-heels for him immediately, while it took him a while to warm up.) - (Their first date was just walking around the city, with Torbjorn talking almost the entire time about random things he saw. He’d see the newest cars on the street and dive into what he knew about that industry. They’d pass by a construction sight and he’d point out what tool designs were similar to the ones he was working on.) - (When he realized that she was actually listening to him and taking him seriously, he agreed to a second date and never looked back.) - They aren’t a perfect couple- they’ve had their fair share of arguments, especially because they’re both deeply stubborn, but they’re always able to work it out in a way that makes them both happy. That skill is why they’ve lasted so long. - One thing they’ve never argued about, though, is Torbjorn’s commitment to duty. When they started dating he made it clear that his work was very important to him. Ingrid made it clear that she was willing to be patient. - It got hard when he was away for months at a time with Overwatch during the Crisis and its aftermath, but through constant online calls they managed. - The biggest surprise of Ingrid’s life was when he told her he wanted to have kids when the Crisis ended. - Turns out, having a major life crisis about how your career impacted the world makes someone want to find another purpose in life besides their career. - And thus, they dove into parenthood together. - Now they both couldn’t be happier :)

[telesthisia]

“Dear my beloved hero, my dear friend, Link, Champion of Hylia... hello, are you well? I am uncertain whether or not this letter will reach you... perhaps courage will find me this time and I will not hide it away with the others but. 

I miss you. I hope that you are well... I hope that you are enjoying your adventures outside of Hyrule...”

ALRIGHT Y’ALL NOW IT’S MY TURN WITH DEPRESSED CRYPTID PRINCESSSSSSSSSSS!!! If you haven’t already might I suggest checking out Blue’s post about how her Zellie is a swole 172 cm aka 5′8″ GODDESS!!! It’s quite the read but as with all her headcanons, it’s a fun read so def check it out if you haven’t already. BUT LET’S DO THIS!! For this pose I went with a simple cute one with Zelda holding a letter that’s addressed to Link. She has two years worth of unsent letters all to him, while the penmanship is neat in all of them there’s a lot of crossed out sentences in each one before she folds it up and places it in a small box that she hides under the bed. The one she’s holding in her hands is the last one before giving up on ever contacting him and wishing him all the best on his journey. It hurts how the only time they could ever have that same connection is when darkness strikes her kingdom, believing that the happiest she ever was is that dream sequence she has with Link in the manga... for their connection was the strongest she’d ever felt. Lining up with the 90s comic bittersweet ending, she feels lonely now that Link is no longer by her side since their duties keep them apart, but she believes in the future and believes it’s best to move on. ;v; alright more things under cut because I tend to ramble!

Midway through drawing this, I realized that my notes on the draws wouldn’t be easy to read, so I’ll put all my messy thoughts on Zelda’s appearance after the events of Oracles and ALTTP! My post won’t be nice looking, I tend to get a bit distracted when excited, blame the ADD and super sorry for that!! Keep in mind that Zelda’s main verse canon is three years after the events of ALTTP and a year after Oracles!

This is more of an art thing if anything and part of the messy notes I can’t add, but Zelda has a petite-pear shaped body. The shoulders and back are smaller than the hips which are wider than her shoulders. It’s something I gotta keep in mind when doing full body draws aaaaa! But her rare blood disorder has affected her growth, which is why she’s tiny (5′0″ my dudes but she’s 5′0″ full of love for you) and so freaking pale too. The paleness of her skin is meant to show that she looks a bit on the sickly side. I try to give her kind looking eyes that are big and wide!! And dark blue in color!! She has a bit of a sleepy look to it to make them look more calm and gentle!! Sadly, she’s physically weak and doesn’t have the stamina or even the heart power (Without triggering a fainting spell) to go body building for that sweet eight pack. The complexion she has is blemish and scar free because when you rich you get only the best skin care..... aside from the freckles covering her face. Makeup does make it appear lighter but when Zelda’s not wearing her royal get up the only makeup she tends to wear is eyeshadow and the blue lipstick! So those freckles? They’re there for the world to see! They cover her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, her shoulders, and back!! Noble kids used to make fun of her for her freckles but Zelda found a way to refute their teasings by insisting that her freckles were from when children of the fae would give her small kisses for luck! Her ears a little longer than most Hylians, it comes with being from the royal family and yet another hint to her divine origins. 

She is almost never seen without the little tiara she wears when in commoner clothing, the one with the three stones hanging from it! In truth, it’s a gift given to her by the oracles and their colors correspond with the oracles rather than the goddesses, which is why she’s wearing it all the time as a means to remember them. She loves those girls :’) while the bracelet is the same one we see in ALTTP! That one is a bit of an important piece of jewelry. It was a present from her father on her sixth birthday, when exploring the stalls of a nearby town yet affected by the sudden onslaught of plagues and droughts, she’d been fascinated with it and her father bought it for her because how can you say no to baby Zel??? It’s a simple fool’s gold bracelet with no design to it and you can find it anywhere, really, but she loves and wears whenever she can when wearing commoner clothes. Sadly, the maids in charge of dressing her up in her stuffy royal dresses would never let her go around the castle wearing that due to how cheap it is. And finally, the earrings and pendant of courage... I’ve mentioned it before but she’s always wearing the pendant. It was given to her by Link before Link went away on his journey and since then it’s become an important symbolic thing where it gives her courage she lacks. Hence why she wishes to give it to the person she marries so that they too can feel the same courage. With the dress I’ve designed for her, it’s more noticeable, but sometimes she’ll wear it under her clothes if she feels it wouldn’t match her outfit! And the Triforce earrings? Her mother’s!! She’s never seen without them, that’s like seeing Bayonetta without her glasses with the earrings pft. 

So something that’s fun to point out is her shade of blonde! Originally, she had a more golden tone to her hair color, hence why the close up with her eyebrows the color is super darker than the blonde (I tend to color them black but that’s the actual color of them, only reason why I color them black is because I love the contrast with light hair and dark eyebrows ;w;) we see in this draw! So, why’s her hair lighter? Well, Zelda suffers from a little something called Marie Antoinette syndrome. What the hell is that??? You may ask yourself and it’s more or less where the hair turns white from extreme fear and shock, it’s used in the realm of fiction since irl something like that can’t really happen. Due to the various stresses, traumas, and extreme fear she’s endured by witnessing the death of her father, the priest and countless others as well as being kidnapped twice and being used for sacrifice one time and nearly a blood sacrifice to revive Ganon another... well, it affected her mentally giving her trauma and physically all that stress poorly affecting her already bad health. So, the lighter her hair, the more stress she’s been through and that’s probably why whenever you see me draw Zel you’ll see her with pale hair... (I kinda want to make it white because that’s peak Ambercore BUT PLATINUM BLONDE IS CLOSE ENOUGH WE GOTTA KEEP THE BLONDE!!!!!) As always, the hair floofs are very important to her design! It’s what makes her friend shaped!!! That said, I just think it’s a very cute design choice hence why I kept it here! Her hair is longer than in oracles and ALTTP, growing it out to her hips and just above the tailbone! It’s super long, there’s no meaning behind why she grew it out this much aside from failing to keep up with it due to how fast it grows. The public, naturally, believes differently and as common with the mindset of those times believe that she has long hair to show her status as a member of someone who comes from wealthy background. She’s a little hurt by this assumption, really, as it implies she does nothing but brushes it all day as well as showing off her status when it’s actually neither of those things. The floofs, shows that it’s a bit on the messy side as proof that she doesn’t do that at all... but instead spends her days exploring ruined places of decay and death! 

The dress she wears is one of her favorite ones, she has dark boots underneath that goes up to her shins because I think that’s peak character design. The dress is two layers!! The first being the blue overlay and the second a plain old white dress with the collar showing off her shoulders, the cut of the collar is almost reminiscent to nightgowns, the sleeves are short and poofy and in the back is a ribbon, no real reason for that aside from me thinking that’s cute. In truth, I based her outfit off of historical dresses worn in those times for commoners. Their clothes tend to be more simple and Zelda much prefers to wear the dresses of commoners than her silken royal gowns with the heavy gold regalia. Though the pink dress she wears in alttp (and SSBU) is for more important events such as when she was crowned as the next ruler for the throne, she also has a wide wardrobe of various dresses which I will be basing off of Tudor era and a little later in 17th century.... 

In short.... I tried to make her as friend shaped as possible. 

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey! Will go on a 10-day trip soon and I was thinking i would like to save some fics just in case i don t have data over there. Share some longer stories? (also really loving your blog, million heart emojis from me)

Hi Nonny!

Oh gosh, that’s exciting!! I love long trips! And lucky for you I LOVE long fics, because they’re perfect for a long trip! (that and I have SO MANY FICS for 20 to 25 and 25 to 50 that I had to choose one or the other for you, LOL). 

Lucky for you I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to share that very list!! BUT if you prefer some longer fics, check out these past lists I made:

Top 20 Fave 40K+ w. Fics (April 2017)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K (Nov. 2018) 

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. (May 2019)

Smut-Free Fics Over 50K (Aug. 2019)

Otherwise, I think these fics will be perfect for your trip! And as always, I sort them by length so if you want longer fics, check out the bottom of the list and work your way up, or just want something that will last you a plane ride or a day of relaxation, check out the top to bottom!

—–

NOVELLA-LENGTH FICS: 25 to 50K w. (Aug 2019)

Among the Secret Things by Kate_Lear for coloredink (E, 26,073 w., 14 Ch. || Angst, Drama, Amnesia) – Sherlock would be the last person to describe himself as given to flights of fancy, but at the look on Lestrade’s face he could swear that something inside him curls up and dies. Part 1 of Among the Secret Things

Dropping the Act by jadztone (T, 27,258 w., 10 Ch. || Parentlock, Fake Relationship, Mary’s Family, Post-S4, Cuddling & Snuggling, Bed Sharing, Pining, Christmas) – Sherlock and John are quite happy living together with Rosie in Baker St. They might be even happier if they didn’t act towards each other like their love is only platonic. Mycroft brings troubling news in the form of Mary’s parents wanting to know just what their grandchild’s home life is like. The boys decide to spend Christmas pretending like they are in love in order to seem more like a "normal" family. It's easy enough to pretend when all you're doing is dropping the act.

And A Doctor by StillWaters1 (T, 27,393 w., 6 Ch. || Friendship, Doctor John, Whump, Soldier / Doctor Dichotomy, Five and One) – It was only when people actually saw John working as a physician that they began to understand: that it wasn't just about bullets and IEDs and trauma care under fire. That "doctor" actually covered a pretty wide field. And that John was bloody good at covering ground. 5 times Dr. Watson treated others and 1 time he treated himself.

Don't Leave Anything Out by lookupkate (E, 27,422 w., 24 Ch. || Letters / Epistolary, Misunderstandings, Angst, Happy Ending, Alternate Meeting, Sherlock in Love, Pining Sherlock) – The first letter John writes home from Afghanistan is meant to go to a woman he went on only one date with. How it ends up in Sherlock's hands is completely innocent. What happens next is not. What do you do when you find out the person you're in love with has been lying about something as monumental as who they are? What do you do when you're the one who lied?How on earth do you put the pieces back together?

Vena Cava by SilentAuror (E, 27,452, 1 Ch. || H/C, Infidelity, Angst, HLV Fix-It, Romance) – Sherlock has been shot in the chest; John has been shot in the heart. Though everything is broken, they do their best to heal the wounds that Mary left on them both.

Trust Me, Trust Nobody by BlueMoonOnTheRise (T, 27,751 w., 10 Ch. || Kidnapping, Friendship / No Slash, Adventure, Trust Issues) – Whatever he told Mycroft, John trusted Sherlock almost instantly. When a new case shows up - smattered with the usual thrill of danger, death and cool logic - such trust ends up pushed to its very limits...

26 Pieces by Lanning (E, 28,236 w., 1 Ch. || H/C, Torture, First Time, Happy Ending, Schmoop) – Mycroft gives Sherlock the apparently simple task of solving a puzzle box containing a stolen microchip. It isn't simple.

Silhouettes by allonsys_girl (E, 28,585 w., 7 Ch. || Canon Compliant, POV John, Heavy Drinking, Sad/Depressed John, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Foot Jobs, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Cheating, Drug Use/Abuse, Anal, Switchlock, Rimming, Parentlock) – Sherlock and John find comfort in each other's arms, but as ever with these two, it's not your typical relationship. It's fluffy at the beginning, gets deeply angsty in the middle, gets porny at the end.

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

An Experiment in Apathy Series by belovedmuerto (G to E, 28,701 w. across 13 stories || Empath John, Empath-by-Proxy Sherlock, Epic Bromance Becomes Romance, Angst, Nightmares, Experiments, Trauma, Dreams) – "No man is an island, John. You less so than most." A sequel to the EiE Series, wherein John and Sherlock explore their relationship.

To be Loved by You by TwisterMelody (M, 28,775 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, H/C, Friends to Lovers, Post-HLV, Infidelity, Character Death) – Too many times they had confessed themselves in the darkness, leaving it there, never to speak of it again.  But this is different.  This love deserves the light of day.

To Mend Icarus by AlessNox (T, 29,186 w., 14 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship, Drama, BAMF!John, Emotional Turmoil, Introspection, Harry is in this Fic, Angry John, Happy Ending, Queerplatonic Relationship) – After a case lands John Watson in court, he tells Sherlock that he is leaving. Not understanding why, Sherlock decides that the only way to learn the truth is to investigate his flatmate, Dr. John Watson. A revision of the story Mending Icarus.

The Wisteria Tree by SilentAuror (E, 29,773 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Emotional Love Making, Amnesia/Memory Loss, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Sherlock POV, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, First Times, Hurt/Comfort, Est. Rel., Retirement) – Sherlock wakes up from a month-long coma only to discover that he has no memory of the previous six years to his own shock as well as John's...

M Is For Moriarty by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 29,882 w., 12 Ch. || Suspense, Mystery, Case Fic, Worried Sherlock, No Slash, Whump) – A figure at the end of the hospital bed; a needle in the dark...Moriarty has John, and Sherlock must follow the paper trail through London to find him before time runs out. Sequel to BANG.

"finally kiss the bloody idiot" by Salambo06 (E, 29,812 w., 13 Ch. || Mutual Pining, Declarations of Love, First Kiss / Time, Angst, Misunderstandings, Fantasies POV John) – Inspired by a fic idea on tumblr : "John and Sherlock know the Yard has a pool going for when they’re finally going to get together. It’s been running forever, and it’s worth thousands of pounds. It’s all fun and games, hahaha, until they find out Lestrade is in dire financial straits (dog needs emergency surgery, he’s putting his kid through gymnastics training, I don’t know, something), and they decide to fake a relationship to win the pool for him. Sherlock figures out the day and way that Lestrade thinks it’s going to happen, and they act it out. It’s all for a good cause, fake relationship style, until it’s not." Part 1 of The Pool

Another Auld Lang Syne by DiscordantWords (M, 30,234 w., 31 Ch. || Post S4, Mutual Pining, Alternating POV, Introspection, Parentlock, Christmas, New Year’s, First Kiss, Past Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending, Drinking, Sherlock Whump) – There had been years of missed chances.

Hitting the Water at Sixty Miles an Hour by what_alchemy (E, 30,568 w., 5 Ch. || Fake Rel., Roadtrips, Slow Burn) – “You love your mother, Sherlock?” John watched the muscles in Sherlock’s jaw jump. He nodded in one sharp jerk.“Then we’re going to her party and making her happy.” John let out a resigned sigh. “As a ruddy couple, you bastard.”

The Kissing Disease by cottonballz_of_death (E, 30,856 w., 15 Ch. || Sick Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Case Fic, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Jealous Sherlock, Body Image Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional H/C, POV Sherlock, Oral / Anal, Thong, Frottage) – John brings home a boyfriend, shocking Sherlock, who long ago gave up hope that his straight flatmate would ever take a romantic interest in him. In a bid to reconnect with John, he tries to infect himself with a "harmless" virus. Neither of them is prepared for the emotional fallout that results.

An Acquired Taste by kinklock (E, 31,059 w., 4 Ch. || Vampires AU || Vampire Sherlock, Misunderstandings, Bat!Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Humour, Magical Realism, Fluff and Angst, Blood Drinking, Holmes Family, Slow Burn) – At Montague Street when Sherlock was forced to sate his body’s needs, he was at least able to wander about the flat as much as he pleased. At Baker Street, it was mini-bags in a mini-fridge and bedroom confinement.

Shallow Grave by SilentAuror (E, 31,672 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Angst, HLV Fix It, Infidelity, Pining Sherlock, First Person POV Sherlock) – Starts as Sherlock's plane is taking off at the end of His Last Vow. When he finds out that Moriarty is alive and that he's being recalled from his mission, Sherlock decides that he should have told John how he felt before he left. So he walks off the plane and kisses him.

Love or What You Will by miss_frankenstein (T, 31,987 w., 11 Ch. || College/Uni AU || Professor John, Ph.D Student Sherlock, Pining John, Poetry, Falling in Love / Slow Burn, Light Angst, Happy Ending) – John is an English professor who specializes in War and Post-War Literature and Sherlock is the brilliant yet impossible Ph.D. student assigned to be his TA because no one in the Chemistry Department is willing to put up with him. And - somewhere between Waugh and Plath, e-mails and takeaway, novels and villanelles - they fall in love.

Here Comes The Sun by JennLynn77 (E, 32,126 w., 15 Ch. || Post S4/TFP, John Whump, Caring Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Emotional Sex, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Switchlock, Cuddling/Snuggling, Surgery/Injury Recovery, Endearments, Anal, Hand Jobs, Porn with Feels) – John suffers an injury and needs surgery. Sherlock, and those around him, help John recover. Along the way, John and Sherlock realise what they mean to each other, and what they've had together all this time.

The Midas Touch by flawedamythyst (E, 32,231 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, John has a Magical Cock, Dub Con, Healer John) – John Watson has a medical condition that means everyone he sleeps with is instantly healed of all illness and injury. This causes complications when Sherlock breaks his arm, and even more complications when Sherlock falls in love with him. Yes, this is a story where John has a literal magic healing cock. It's a lot less cracky than you're probably imagining. Warning: Contains complex issues of sexual consent, although not between Sherlock and John.

Five Times They Kissed for a Case, and One Time They Kissed for Real by fleetwood_mouse (M, 32,406 w., 6 Ch. || 5+1, Slow Burn, Fluff / Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers) – A stolen ring! An artful blogger! And many more adventures for your enjoyment.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,690 w., 8 Ch. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

a good old-fashioned happy ending by darcylindbergh (E, 32,731 w., 26 Ch. || Christmas, Frottage, Comfort, Est. Rel., Fluff, Insecure Sherlock) – For Christmas this year, Sherlock wants to get John something special: something every fairytale deserves. Part 2 of things fairy tales are made of

Our Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained by withoutawish (M, 32,961 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff and Angst, H/C, Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mild Gore, Sherlock Whump) – The list that is tacked haphazardly on the refrigerator of 221B reads, ‘Kidney(s), and/or a full cadaver (preferably male, late 30s, under six feet tall), bag of fresh toes, sixteen cow’s eyes (corneas retained), dual exhaust hand –held flame thrower, an unopened first edition copy of Joseph Conrad’s 'Heart of Darkness', and no less than ten abhorrently gruesome murders in the upcoming month.” The one neatly hanging next to it simply reads, “Sex.” One of these lists is not John Watson’s. If John Watson were to put what he really wanted in list form, to live in a land somewhere beyond ‘almosts' now that Sherlock Holmes has indeed returned to him, he would never be able to look his flatmate in the eye ever again.

Chaperones by MissDavis (T, 34,114 w., 7 Ch. || 11 Years Post-S4, Fake Relationship, Parentlock, Disney World, Bed / Room Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, First Kiss, Obsessive Sherlock, Insecure John) – Right. Of course. Everyone assumed they were a couple and no one would question it. John put his elbows up on the table so he could rest his head in his hands. "You want to pretend to be a couple so we can chaperone a trip to Disney World with Rosie's class and you won't have to share a room with a stranger?" "Exactly." Sherlock beamed at him. "Don't worry about the cost. The Birmingham case last month paid more than enough to cover expenses for all three of us."

Pater Noster by SilentAuror (E, 34,256 w., 2 Ch. || Case Fic, HLV+, Family Trauma, Sherlock POV, Villain Mary) – During the autumn that John is staying at Baker Street again after Sherlock was shot, he ruminates over the similarity between Sherlock's shot and the one that killed his father when he was fifteen. Cold case meets series 3 fix-it. Part I takes place entirely within His Last Vow, Part II takes place starting at the end of HLV and continues after.

Bedtime Stories by Liketheriver (M, 34,388 w., 1 Ch. || Emotional H/C, Romance, Angst & Humour, Bed Sharing, John First Person, TRF, John Whump) – John's POV during Season 2 and beyond when Sherlock takes up semi-permanent residence in his bed. A collection of codas and missing scenes wrapped up into one long fic and topped with a bow that takes the story beyond Reichenbach and into happy territory once more. Part 1 of Bedtime Universe

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,504 w., 5 Ch. || Post S3, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes/Funerals, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression/Insecurity, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain/Injury, Reconciliation, Awkwardness, Loneliness, Scars, Heavy Angst With Happy Ending) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

Inexplicable by emmagrant01 (E, 34,664 w., 6 Ch. || Body Swap, TSo3, Magical Realism / Artifacts, Infidelity, Angst) – So what was in that matchbox, anyway? John and Sherlock find out, the hard way.

Where Else Would I Be? by cwb (E, 34,910 w., 10 Ch. || Retirementlock, Domestic Fluff, Falling in Love, Parentlock, Fluff and Smut, Reminiscing) – John and Sherlock's five-year-old granddaughter spends the weekend with them in Sussex. Sherlock happily indulges her whims, and John takes care of them while quietly revisiting the past thirty years of their lives together.

The Yellow Poppies by SilentAuror (E, 34,952 w., 1 Ch. || H/C, Nightmares, HLV Fix-It, PTSD, Trauma, POV Sherlock, Doctor John) – Sherlock is threatened and assaulted in the hospital immediately after having been shot in the heart, first by Mary, then by Magnussen. As he recovers at Baker Street with John and plans the attack on Appledore with Mycroft, he fights to work through the trauma caused by these two visits. Set during His Last Vow.

LHR-HNL by scullyseviltwin (E, 35,066 w., 7 Ch. || Hawaiian Vacation, Post-TRF, Friends To Lovers, Slow Burn, Just Talk Already, Drinking, Mutual Pining) – In need of an endangered flora sample, Sherlock and John must make a trip to an unexpected destination.

That Partitioning of the Things of Youth by wearitcounts (E, 35,353 w., 7 Ch. || Humour and Angst, Post-TRF, Fake Relationship, UST / RST, Friends to Lovers, Jealous John) – Victor Trevor is in town, and nobody's happy.

The Wrong Wagon by DancingGrimm (E, 35,663 w., 20 Ch. || Alternating POV, Molly x John [Molly pines for John], Public Sex, Casual Sex, Obliviousness, BAMF!John, Awkwardness, Angst & Humour, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock) – Molly sees John in a new light and realises that she may have hitched her horse to the wrong wagon...or something like that. John pines for Sherlock and worries what he will think if he ever finds out. And Sherlock doesn't know what Molly's up to...but he knows he doesn't like it.

Classified(s) by blueink3 (E, 36,153 w., 4 Ch. || Wedding Date AU || Fake Relationship, Jealous, PIning, H/C, Idiots in Love, Happy Ending, Mary is not Nice) – Clara's American father is the ambassador to some such territory that Great Britain probably used to own, but she (and Harry’s undying love for her) is the reason John is getting on a flight at 12:30pm, flying across the second largest ocean in the world, and pretending to be in a perfectly happy, healthy relationship with an undoubtedly perfectly coiffed stranger. See, Clara is not only American (and wealthy to boot), she's also best friends with John’s ex-fiancée. Whom she's placed in the wedding party. As Maid of Honor. And John just happens to be Best Man. Bloody brilliant.

The Boy Who Drank Stars by kinklock (E, 36,157 w., 4 Ch. || Howl’s Moving Castle AU || Witches and Wizards, Slow Burn, Magic, Jealous John, Happy Ending, Bed Sharing) – “I’m looking for a castle,” John informed the scarecrow. “A moving one.”Except that, as it turned out, it was not a moving one at all.

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

Malediction by MapleleafCameo (M, 36,680 w., 11 Ch. || Ladyhawke AU || Magical Realism, Romance, Curses, Eventual Happy Ending) – Cursed to a half-life, John and Sherlock must fight the forces of evil to be reunited once again.

Nothing to Make a Song About by emmagrant01 (E, 36,833 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Time, Reunion, Jealous John, Pining Sherlock, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending) – When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won't let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

The Unfinished Letters by SilentAuror (E, 37,391 w. , 1 Ch.|| Post S3 / S3 / HLV Fix it, Angst with Happy Ending, Romance, Infidelity, Depression, Case Fic, POV Third Person Sherlock, Love Confessions, Pining Sherlock, Letters) – A fire at Baker Street leads John to read something he was never intended to see: a notebook of half-written, unfinished letters Sherlock wrote during his time away...

Turn Left at the Park by Glenmore (NR (E), 37,409 w., 28 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting / ASiP Divergence, Case Fic, Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Loneliness, No Mary, Possessive Sherlock, Fluff & Angst, Nightmares/PTSD, Sherlock Saves John, Sherlock Whump-ish, Doctor John) – So what would have happened if John hadn't walked through the park and met Stamford?What if, instead, he walked around the park and just went home?

Goodness Gives Extras by mydwynter (E, 39,629 w., 6 Ch. || Fluff & Angst, Case Fic, Oral / Anal, Humour, First Time, Miscommunication, Snark, Christmas) – Christmas time. 'Tis the season to settle down with a drink, some food and a present or two, and to enjoy the quiet relaxation of the holiday. Instead, there's a case that drags them all over, missing presents, disappointed kids, angry parents, and a freak snowfall. On top of that John has to deal with Sherlock, who is being even more of a prat than usual. He really shouldn't have expected anything different.

Act IV by SilentAuror (E, 39,707 w., 1 Ch. || First Person POV Sherlock, HLV Fix-It, Indifelity, Angst, Drama) – After Sherlock is shot, John moves back into Baker Street. They spend the autumn together as John tries to make sense of his life and make some important decisions about both Mary and Sherlock. Canon-compliant, excerpts from His Last Vow.

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn't It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w., 4 Ch. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy/Bored Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock's forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don't worry, things'll be fine in just seven days.

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea by DiscordantWords (M, 39,968 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It || Grief / Mourning, Victor Trevor, Friendship, Sherlock is Not Okay, Nightmares/Flashbacks/Panic Attacks, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John Comes Home) – Baker Street is very much the same. Only different. And Sherlock is just trying not to drown.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

The Curious Adventure of the Drs. Watson by ShinySherlock (M, 40,883 w., 14 Ch. || BBC & ACD Fusion || Victorianlock, Time Travel / Magical Realism, Friends to Lovers, Love and Kissing, Romance, Body Swap) – What if ACD Watson and BBC Watson switched places...  “Imposter!” Hands clenching the lapels of John’s coat, Holmes shoved him anew. “Yes!” John agreed, nodding, and then grimacing. “Sort of!”

There's Someone On Your Shoulder by halloa_what_is_this (NR, 41,215 w., 6 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Daydreams, Sherlock Loves John So Much it Hurts) – Sherlock trips and falls head over heels in love, makes a lot of lists and stares, stares, stares.

The Semantics of Crop Circle Formation: a case study by Sherlock Holmes [unpublished] bycanolacrush (M, 41,710 w., 9 Ch. || Sherlock POV, Aliens, Wordplay, Casefic) – “Look at these photographs,” I said, gesturing to the wall of crop circles. “What do you observe?”“Crop circles,” John replied.“Obvious. What else?”“Are…are those intestines surrounding them?” “Yes. The majority are bovine and ovine in origin. The farmers who have acquired these crop circles in their fields have also had a tenth of their livestock murdered and arranged thus.” “Why?” John said, presumably in a rhetorical fashion. I detest rhetorical questions. “That is what I must find out, John.”

Resistivity and Relative Charge by liriodendron (E, 41,770 w., 8 Ch. || Synesthesia, Angst, Case Fic, Romance, Est. Rel., Homophobia, Religious Content, Victor Trevor, Mild Jealous John, Mild John Whump) – In which Sherlock Holmes meets an old acquaintance, John Watson doesn't enjoy a trip to the country quite as much as he thought he would, and the past absolutely refuses to stay where it belongs. Part 3 of Conductivity

Right Hand Man by SilentAuror (E, 42,031 w., 4 Ch. ||  H/C, Injury, Slow Burn, Infidelity, Mary is Not Nice) – When John's left arm becomes paralysed after a car accident, Mary asks Sherlock to take him back to Baker Street to recuperate, as she's about to give birth. Despite the fact that the search for Moriarty is ongoing, Sherlock takes John in and takes responsibility for overseeing his rehabilitation as he adjusts to the loss of his arm.

In the Still of the Night by SilentAuror (E, 42,234 w., 1 Ch. || S4 Fix It / Post-S4, Sherlock POV, Angst, Drama, Romance, Virgin Sherlock, Awkwardness, Misunderstandings / Miscommunications, Case Fic, Travelling, Pining) – As locals on the Northeastern coast begin to report UFO sightings, life at Baker Street becomes significantly awkward as John brings up his desire for more than friendship and Sherlock refuses him. They embark on the investigation from the confines of the tiny cottage Mycroft has rented for them, attempting to navigate both the clues of the case as well as their own inability to communicate...

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

Bloody But Unbowed by BeautifulFiction (E, 43,211 w., 8 Ch. || Abduction, John Whump, Mild Torture, Background Case Fic, Friends to Lovers, Post-TRF / S3 Rewrite, Hurt/Comfort) – When a familiar argument threatens to destroy the last remnants of John and Sherlock's failing friendship, both men are left questioning their worth to one another. Before either of them has the chance to make amends, circumstance intervenes. John is left at the mercy of his abductors, and this time, he's not sure Sherlock will bother coming to his rescue.

The Soul Remembers by i_ship_an_armada (E, 43,636 w., 10 Ch. || Oblivion AU || Post-Apocalypse, Movie Fusion, Science Fiction, Action/Adventure, Angst, Dreams, Bittersweet Ending) – John Watson is the lone security repairman stationed on a desolate, nearly-ruined future Earth. His dreams are plagued by a tall, dark-haired man, and when his dreams meet reality, he will be forced to question everything he believes is the truth about his life.

The Case of the Vanishing Pants by SwissMiss (E, 44,025 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, UST, Homophobia, Friends to Lovers) – Five times John and Sherlock lost their pants in the course of a case.

Sentenced by SarahKnight (T, 44,777 w., 30 Ch. || Dev. Rel., Alternate S4 Canon, Drama, Angst, Pining, Feelings are Hard) – Virtual series 4 opener. Sherlock's in prison being targeted by a murderer, John's married to a pregnant assassin and Moriarty's back.

Left by lifeonmars (M, 45,153 w., 9 Ch. || Magical Realism) – John Watson is left-handed. He’s tried not to let it affect his life, but as any Lefty knows, that’s almost impossible.

The Real Great Perfumers by shelleysprometheus (E, 45,355 w., 68 Ch. || Case Fic, Alternating POV, Gay Sherlock / Bi John, Canon Compliant with Divergence at TRF, Friends to Lovers, Oral / Anal, Pining, First Kiss / Time, Dev. Rel., Drugging, Body Worship, Bathing, Love Confessions, Travelling, Bottomlock, Cranky Sherlock, BJ’s, Alternating POV, Jealous John) – The case, this case. This extraordinary, fascinating, scintillating case. A house. Designed entirely by its eccentric owner, built by no less than five hundred expert tradesmen in the heart of Marrakesh. A house that had, seemingly not only driven its owner out, but also to his quite unpleasant death. And a perfumer, a chemist no less, the very thought of the secrets that house could reveal, would reveal was irresistible. Sherlock had to have this case ... and it seems, he also had to have John! Part 1 of the Forethought and Fire series

Corpus Hominis by mycapeisplaid (E, 47,709 w., 12 Ch. || Casefic, Fluff, Romance, Frottage) - John knows the human body intimately. He’s had plenty of opportunity for study as a doctor, soldier, and lover. There’s one particular body, however, he knows very little about. When Sherlock launches himself head-first into a new obsession and they get sent on a case in an unlikely location, the pair discovers each other’s bodies with confusing yet delightful (and sometimes hilarious) results.

The Norwood Love Builders by flawedamythyst (T, 47,798 w., 9 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Slow Burn, Post TRF Angst) – Sherlock and John go undercover to solve the murder of Joanna Oldacre, but things are complicated by the many feelings John has been repressing in the wake of Sherlock's faked death and return.

The Pieces That Fall to Earth by Itsallfine (M, 49,513 w., 84 Ch. || S4 Fix-It, Epistolary, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Parentlock, Past Abuse, Coming Out, Questioning Sexuality, Mental Health Issues / Therapy, Angst, Happy Ending) – John and Sherlock have hit rock bottom, but with all their armor stripped away, they can finally speak honestly, seek healing, and find the truths that matter most.An epistolary post-s4 fix-it fic. Now complete.(This fic is rated T except for one very clearly marked and easily skippable chapter, which is rated M.) Part 1 of The Pieces that Fall to Earth

Holmes is where the heart is by Rose de Sharon (T, 49,636 w., 13 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Post-TRF, Reunion Fic, Bromance, Empty House Inspired, Adventure) – Three years after the Reichenbach Fall. On the anniversary of Sherlock's death, John pays a visit at 221 B Baker Street… and he gets the shock of his life.

Bedroom Tales by Junejuly15 (M, 49,950 w., 22 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Through the Years, H/C, Military Kink, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Insecure Sherlock, Voyeurism, Post-TRF, Ficlets, Fluff and Angst, Fix-It Fics) – Bedroom Tales is a collection of John and Sherlock ficlets. They are set at various stages of their relationship and are in no particular order. Some are fluffy, some sexy, some angsty, there is hurt and comfort, romance and love. What unites them is that they all play in a bedroom, but not necessarily the one in 221B.

A Love with No Name Series by aceofhearts61 (M, 49,955 w. across 20 fics || Ace!Sherlock / Straight!John, Queerplatonic Relationship, Cuddling/Snuggling, Soulmates, Caretaking, Platonic Romance) – In which Asexual!Sherlock and Straight!John are platonically in love life partners.

[thedailyimagines]

Imagine getting into a relationship with Barbara Gordon.

Anon requested: “Batgirl (Barbara Gordon) x Male Reader, where the reader is the son of joker and is arch enemy of batgirl, but eventually they end up falling in love and they get into a secret relationship due to their allegiances but later they are found out and they’re relationships spread throughout Gotham and swear to each other to protect one another and come public with their relationship.”

.

This work contains swearing and some pretty heavy violence near the end. Also it is long.

When you see the red WARNING, it’s a sign that the violence is about to start. Skip ahead if you need to.

~~~~~~~~

Being the son of the clown prince of crime sucked. He was, to put it extremely lightly, an asshole. So you made it your job to undermine everything he did. Currently, you had your own gang and were getting ready to rob Gotham’s biggest bank.

With a loud crash, you burst through the doors of the bank with your crew, taking out the security guards posted in the room. In moments you had everyone gathered in the middle of the room.

“Alright everybody, listen up! We’re not here to hurt anybody, just to lighten the bank’s vault! So stay still and quiet, and nobody gets hurt!” Leaving two of your men to watch the hostages, you directed the rest to start emptying out the vault. Soon everything was ready to go.

“Oi, the boss said shut up! So either make the kid stop, or I shut them up myself!” You turned to see one of your henchmen, Pete, yelling at a woman and her child. The woman was trying to calm her child down to no avail.

“Pete, dear, could you come here for a minute?” The henchman looked confused, but did as you said. You took him out of sight of the hostages to where the rest of your men were emptying the last of the vault’s contents.

“What’s up boss?” You smiled sweetly at the goon.

“You know how I feel about threatening children.” Pete’s eyes widened, realizing now you had heard his threat.

“W-wait boss, please—!”

BANG. Pete fell over dead, and you put your gun back in it’s holster. Turning to the other men, you addressed them like you hadn’t just shot one of their coworkers.

“Let Pete here be an example. Don’t break my rules.” The henchmen all nodded. You rolled your eyes when they didn’t start moving. “That doesn’t mean you stop working! Grab everything and let’s get moving!”

<—>

How was it you had the worst luck? First you had to find some new henchmen (stupid Pete), then your getaway driver decided to bail—forcing your crew to steal a car—and now you had to find another window repairman. You should get a discount for the amount of times you called.

“You know, if you asked I’d give you a key to the front door. Or the roof. You don’t have to come crashing through every window.” Batgirl raised her fists, prepared to fight you if necessary.

“You’re going to Arkham clown-boy.” You placed one of your hands over your chest, feigning hurt.

“Ouch. Clown-boy. Listen, I can take being called lots of things, but that’s where I draw the line. I don’t think I can be your nemesis anymore. We’re through now.” Batgirl threw a punch but you dodged it.

“This isn’t a joke. Now are you going to come quietly or do I have to knock you out and drag you back?” You shrugged and gave her a smile.

“Oh come on, lighten up a little Batgirl! It’s not like anyone died!”

“Really? What about the goon in the clown mask?”

“Oh yeah. Forgot about him. He threatened to kill a kid cause they were crying. I don’t like people who do that.” She scoffed and threw another punch, this one connecting with your shoulder when you tried to move out of the way.

“Yet you work with your father.” You caught Batgirl’s fist and pulled her closer to you, tapping her on the nose before releasing her hand.

“Correction: I work against him. I’m currently in the process of blowing his current cash flow to pieces. Make it a little harder to buy bombs and other fun stuff.” She backed away from you and frowned.

“So you can what? Own them for yourself?” You shook your head and crossed your arms behind your back.

“Nope. I really don’t care about gang fighting and all that crap. But I’d rather not have a lunatic running the streets, you know?”

“You’re insane.”

“Technically, yes. But you know me Batgirl. When I ever committed mass murder or something like that?” Before she could answer, a knock came from the door leading out of your ‘office’.

“Boss? Is everything alright in there?” Henchmen. Always interrupting the important things. You rolled your eyes and answered.

“Everything is fine. What do you want?” There was a pause, and the goon replied with a nervous voice.

“Joker’s on the phone. Says he needs to have words with you.” Gah. Couldn’t the clown call at a later time? Preferably never?

“Ugh. Fine. I’ll pick it up in here. Go back to doing whatever it was you were doing.” The henchman confirmed this and left. Batgirl waited til the footsteps had gone before she spoke.

“Some secretary.” You raised your hands up in an ‘I guess’ gesture and walked over to the phone on your makeshift desk.

“What can I say? He’s good eye candy. Only for looking though, wouldn’t want to make you jealous.” She scoffed again, and you picked up the phone.

“Doug Dimmadome, owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.” The voice on the other end screeched, causing you to hold the phone away from your ear. When you held it back, it was less loud but still as annoying.

“—And listen here you sarcastic little shit—” You interrupted the Joker before he could speak any more.

“I’m sorry, but it’s ‘Dr. Sarcastic little shit’. I have a doctorate in sarcasm.”

“You ruined everything! I had the perfect plan to drive Gotham mad laid out, and you ruined it!” You tapped your chin and turned towards the window, your back towards Batgirl.

“Oh yeah, I heard about that.” Your voice took on a mocking tone now. “Did the big bad Batman swoop in and disarm your little gas attack?” The Joker snarled and uttered several more expletives.

“When I get my hands on you, you’ll wish you were never born!” You chuckled into the receiver.

“Too late for that. Good talk, go take a walk off of Wayne Tower.” You hung up the phone and turned to face Batgirl once again, only to find she was gone. Huh. Maybe she got bored of waiting for you?

<—>

Finally, a night off. The bar was a little crowded but it was better than a cold warehouse full of people who probably shared one brain cell between all of them.

“Excuse me, is it okay if I sit here? Everywhere else is full.” You glanced up at the red haired woman in front of you and gave her a smile.

“Yeah! Let me just move my bag.” Once the seat was clear, you pushed it out so she could sit down. The redhead did so with a grateful smile.

“Thanks. My feet were killing me. Name’s Barbara by the way, what’s yours?”

“My name’s y/n. Nice to meet you Barbara.” Barbara tilted her head, trying to get a good look at you. For a moment you thought she recognized you from the news, but brushed that thought aside. You looked pretty different when you weren’t covered in face paint and your usual getup.

“Do you come here often? I don’t think I’ve seen your face before.”

“Nah, only when I’m not busy. Unfortunately those moments are few and far between. You?” Barbara waved down a bartender and ordered a drink.

“Usually I meet my dad here, but he’s working late tonight.” You nodded and took a sip of your own drink.

“Sounds nice. My dad would kill me if I suggested we have dinner together.” Or at the very least, put you in the hospital for a couple of months. That was assuming you would actually talk to him.

“Not a nice guy, huh?”

“That’s underestimating it, but yeah.” The two of you talked for a long time, and at the end of the night exchanged phone numbers. You probably wouldn’t call her, but it was nice to imagine.

<—>

“What the hell did you do to her?!?!” You were glaring in pure anger at your goons, all of whom were staring at you with wide eyes and pale faces.

“She snuck in boss! So we shot her—” Your hand shot out and grabbed the closest thug, the one who had shot Batgirl.

“Are you fucking idiots?!?! She works with Batman! We don’t need him breathing down our necks!” You shoved the man to the ground, running a hand through your y/h/c hair.

“Boss—”

“Shut up. I’ll deal with this myself. I swear if any of you do anything stupid while I’m gone, I’ll make the rest of your short lives hell. Is. That. Clear?” Your henchmen nodded, and you walked over to Batgirl. Picking her up bridal style, you carried her to one of the throwaway cars and loaded her into the passenger seat.

You were halfway to the hospital before you realized you couldn’t take her there. They would have to unmask her and that would most likely ruin her and any of her family’s lives. At the very least the GCPD would throw her in a jail cell.

...What was under the mask? Lots of Gotham’s thugs and lowlifes assumed the Batman was a robot or something, but what about Batgirl? You parked the car and looked at the unconscious superheroine. Surely a look couldn’t hurt?

The mask slid off easier than you expected. Your eyes widened as you saw the face of Batgirl—but you had seen her before.

“Barbara?” She groaned and opened her eyes. The first thing Barbara saw was you, your face painted and clothes covered in blood. Then she saw her mask in your hands.

“You bastard!” You raised your hands to stop her from murdering you right there and then.

“Wait Barbara, listen to me!” Barbara froze at the sound of her name.

“How the hell do you know my name?”

“Do I really look that different with face paint on?” Dropping the mask in her lap, you grabbed a towel from the backseat and scrubbed your face with it, until you were sure all the paint was gone. “Now do you recognize me?”

“You! You’re the guy from the bar!” Her surprise turned back to rage. “We’re you just spying on me? Trying to get information about me?”

“No! I didn’t know it was you, I just...I was curious. I wanted to see under your mask.” Barbara put her fist down, wincing at the pain in her side. She almost forgot, she had been shot. Her future really was in y/n’s hands now.

“So what are you going to do now?” You shrugged and drummed your fingers on the steering wheel.

“I’m not turning you in or anything. And you’re still bleeding. Do you have a place where I can drop you off, or...?” Barbara let out a sigh of relief, knowing you wouldn’t blab about her secret identity.

“I can contact Batman and he can pick me up. I just need to be dropped off somewhere.” You nodded and let her make the call, then dropped her off where she directed.

<—>

Five months.

Five months was all it took to start a relationship with Barbara Gordon. It was a rocky start, but it was easy when nobody knew your alter ego.

And it was almost a year after that, the night before your anniversary, when you received a call from the Commissioner that she was in the hospital.

A gunshot wound. The Joker has gone to her apartment and shot her. Tortured her father. All just to get back at the Batman.

You took a trip to the hospital to see Barbara, the sight of her hooked up to machines filling you with rage. When you left you drove straight to Arkham. You still had a few connections there and soon you were waiting in one of the various abandoned sub levels.

The door to the room you were in banged open and two Arkham guards dragged the Joker into the room. They threw him to the ground and looked to you for instructions.

“Leave. Call the Batman if you want. I don’t care. He stays.” The guards looked to one another, then nodded. When they left you turned to face the Joker.

“You know, I never thought you were so stupid. You may be crazy, but stupid was never really on the list. Yet you went after the commissioner’s daughter and the commissioner.”

“So what? It’s not like you had a personal stake in this.” You regarded your father with a cold expression, from his arms being restrained by a straight-jacket and to his face covered with bruises.

“You paralyzed a girl from the waist down, humiliated and tortured her father, and for what?” You grabbed his chin and leaned in close to the green haired madman. “Just so you could have the attention of the one person who you want to break? News flash asshole; He won’t pay attention to you beyond kicking your ass.” The Joker jerked his face away and gave you his signature grin.

“So what now? You drop me in Gotham Harbor? Feed me to Harley’s mongrels? Ooo, I know! Hand me over to some of Arkham’s nastiest to have a little one on one with me!” You turned away and grabbed something from the bag you brought with you.

“You might wanna close your eyes.” The Joker frowned now.

WARNING: VIOLENCE AHEAD

“What? Why—!” With a loud CRACK, the baseball bat you held connected with the side of Joker’s face. Over and over you rained blows down on him, not letting up until the bat finally broke from the stress.

You weren’t done yet. Going back to your bag you pulled out several metal spikes, their points barely sharpened. Ever-so-slowly you pinned the Joker to the floor, relishing in his grunts of pain. Once he was pinned down you pulled out your knife, a gift from (ironically) Harley for your birthday.

You carved into his skin, making sure each cut would scar permanently. But you left his face alone. You wanted people to see just who this was. That the Joker, the Clown Prince of Crime, wasn’t invulnerable.

By the time you let up, the Joker was a bruised, bloody mess. He would live. His injuries would take weeks, probably months to heal. And even then he would still be in pain for the rest of his life.

VIOLENCE HAS ENDED

The Batman found you not long after. You were sitting on a crate messing with your phone. The Joker laid nearby, beaten beyond a bloody pulp and unconscious, but still breathing.

“Why did you do this?” The Batman was shocked, but didn’t show it. He almost didn’t believe anyone was capable of doing this to their father, even if he was the Joker.

“You can’t tell me he didn’t deserve it.” You put your phone away and looked up at the Batman, his face unreadable beneath the cowl.

“Why?” Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair. You really weren’t getting out of answering his question, were you?

“He hurt my girlfriend.” Batman frowned a little more.

“Who—” You cut him off before he could finish the question.

“Barbara. She and I have been dating for about a year now. He fucking shot her. This is the least I could have done to him.” Shock silenced the bat, but soon he spoke.

“...You should go see her.” You raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Not going to arrest me?” He shook his head.

“She needs you now. We’ll talk later.” You took a moment, then stood up and headed for the exit. The Batman was right.

And you needed to see how Barbara was doing.

~~~~~~~~

I don’t own the above gifs, all credits go to the owners.

[gotatext]

 hello, its nora (she/her, gmt) n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam (she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck). raised in a farmhouse in vermont, big horse girl energy. very hungry for everything life has to offer. wakes up and smells the success in her blood. luvs the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. here is pinterest. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages but i might forget tho so pls message me x

application template.

『ELLE FANNING ❙ CIS-FEMALE』 ⟿ looks like ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM is here for HER JUNIOR year as a CLASSICS student. SHE is 21 years old & known to be RESILIENT, MAGNETIC, CALLOUS & PROUD. They’re living in PERKINS, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ NORA. 24. GMT. SHE/HER.

aesthetics.

a red beret nestled on top of bright platimum locks, neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do it in french new wave films, running barefoot through the woods in feckless hedonism, china dolls with porcelain faces lined against the walls of your room, the mona lisa smile, knee-socks tugged over the hockey grazes on your knees, a forged botticelli drying on your easel, ophelia floating in the middle of a lake. 

proceed w caution, tw for death, drugs, alcohol, violence

the short form.

— studying classics cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus and writing about how all women in myth are literally forgotten. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into radcliffe but she made an impression.... like... super fast and in her sophomore year she was upgraded to perkins accomodation n a paid scholarship bcos i think the governors kind of expect to see her in the supreme court one day or.

—  born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immigrant and worked on a plantation, made his way up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had large personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit wise beyond her years.

— very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french.

— studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin.

— isn’t a foward-planner, however. alma prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

— pretentious motherfucker. loves poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very intelligent and beautiful and knows both of those facts. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. petty and vindictive

— obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — tries to be an enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women desirable and interesting and cool. very amy dunne in the way she expertly reinvents herself to suit her audience, when she wants to impress

— act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning.

— her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee-high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramophone because “the sound quality is better” kfdsjj.

plots.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends –  probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

people who live in perkins n feel like they r constantly competing with one another to keep their place as one of the #elite only know each other from brief interactions in the lift or the canteen

honestly someone who is fully in love with her or crushing on her that she can just break would be sweet :/ or on the other hand someone she unexpectedly gets feelings for and actually wants to guage her own  eyeballs out bc of it

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

A SECRET SOCIETY !!! honestly i would die for a slug club esque thing in which the children of notable families are invited to dinners OR alma’s also an art forger, so maybe like a club of students set up to basically forge paintings and documents from the university special collections

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

full biography.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

         the girl is a knife. razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. you’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. a mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. to have the power to control that is to be a god. it’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. you cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “mama, when will i be a queen?” as soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

         if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? in the beginning, you never knew hunger. twins, born under the same star, you first, him second – a nuclear family. never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. white-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. the townhouse in vermont and the summer house in lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

         at eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

         your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather wolfgang hildegarde a german immigrant, great-grandmother maura lisbon a prairie girl. they fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the indians, vacations to calcutta, your father todd putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. he worked hard so that you’d never have to. your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? that blood money had no business raising a child. you look far back enough, edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a civil war to silence, and i think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

         language was never fickle on your tongue, french dinner time talk by the time you were out of your hush puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. you learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. by eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. that was how magnetic you wanted to feel. but mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to english boarding school.

         fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. you were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. tell us what it’s like in the states, alma. they’d coo, enamoured by your hollywood drawl. does your father own a gun? you hardly knew. barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. when you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

         the road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to radcliffe. bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. there was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. in leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were helen of troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. but there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. hockey helped. there was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. sweat. stiff knuckles. feet pounding the earth. the smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “slipped, sorry.” hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. on the pitch, you feel alive. you feel like a god.

[tok3r]

News Punch

I Was An Alien Abductee – What I Have To Say Will Shock You

 Sean Adl-Tabatabai

3 years ago



An alien abductee has come forward and publicly revealed the plan extraterrestrials have for humanity in the next few years.  After being abducted by aliens for the last 17 years of his life, the anonymous abductee says he wants to share his experience with the public so they can learn the truth about extraterrestrials. 

In an online post on a popular conspiracy forum, the alien abductee reveals:

How aliens are able to communicate via telepathy with eachother and humans

The secrets about Earth’s history hidden from us by our rulers

How the universe came into existence (it was NOT the Big Bang or ‘God’ according to these beings)

What the future for the human race holds

Full Disclosure: Revelations of an Extraterrestrial Encounter.

My name is [redacted]. I’m [redacted] years old and I’m going to let you know right away, there’s a whole lot to digest about who I am, why I’m here, and what I’ve gone through in my life.

The thoughts that will go through your head as you read this have kept me awake hundreds of sleepless nights in my life.

I’ve questioned my sanity many times over, but I assure you, in every way possible, I am quite sane.

I’m not endorsing this story, or saying it even really truly happened. I’m only saying I believe this happened to me.

I could be crazy. I could be getting used to spread distraction. I don’t know. I’m just going with what’s gone on in my head over forty years, and saying it like it is.

Just keep in mind If i was telling this for any other reason than a true love for this planet, I’d be telling it to a Hollywood agent or book publisher and charging you money to read it. I’m not.

We all have our reasons for being drawn to the esoteric. Mine was UFOS.

Not my interest in them, but their interest in me. It started when I was only 4 years old. And it’s gone on ever since.

My first experience was a face to face meeting with a strange little Being. We communicated by telepathy and that connection remains today.

It’s a one way kind of communication. I’ve asked a million questions but never really got an answer to any of them.

Well except for one I suppose. I guess she must be able to hear me. The one question I asked the most was answered. It just wasn’t the answer I wanted.

Naturally I wanted to know what was going on…and I always heard the same response. “When it’s time, you’ll know.”is

I’ve gone years with no interaction but she always comes back. Yes. The Being was female and quite motherly in her communication with me.

She tells me things. About myself and about them, and about this planet. And it’s history.

Seems I’ve been at this for quite some time too. I’m a very old soul. She’s recently told me a bunch of things that in all honesty, I already knew, sort of.

I know one thing for sure. Amongst other things, i’m a warrior through and through. That I didn’t need to be told. But just how much of a warrior, I had no idea.

Unfortunately having the heart of a lion only gets you so far. And for me, it’s never been far enough.

That’s why I’ve learned to fight with my mind this time. Even though I spent a lot of my life in a subculture of violence this time around, I see now I had to be there to unlearn the ways I’ve always handled my confrontations. In this life too, but more so in my past lives.

I really am tired of all this. It’s been long enough. Too many people have died thinking we could beat them (the elite force controlling the world) in a physical confrontation.

They didn’t start actually “abducting me” until I was 31 years old though. And I prefer to think of myself as “taken” not abducted.

For the last 17 years it’s been an on and off again thing. I’d just gone 5 years without any contact or communication incidents, but in Aug 2016, (like 4 months ago) things got very serious, very fast.

Life was as normal as I think it’s ever been for me. I was right where I wanted to be, and comfortable with everything my life was becoming. Mine has been a life of constant rebuilding and change.

I went to bed one Saturday night just like any other night. But Sunday morning was not anything like any Sunday I’d been through before.

I woke up and realized immediately what happened. I was freezing. And soaking wet. And I felt like I was in a dream. Have you ever been under anesthetic? Same feeling when waking up. It’s like coming back from, hmmm, i don’t know where, but It’s the telltale sign.

But this time there was more. I had a head full of ideas and an absolute NEED to search out and connect to people just like all of you.

And, she was back. Like never before. And she had a lot to say in the last three months. Wow!

What I’m going to tell you was revealed to me, a bit here, piece there, over my lifetime. It really never made much sense to me though, until now. Now I have the whole truth.

And I do apologize to the people I’ve been difficult with, but you can’t imagine the pressure I’m under with this.

It’s really, really hard to listen to theories I know are incomplete or distraction, while having no ability to present what I know until right now. I was told not to tell anyone.

So, before I go any further, I need you to understand something. Read this next line as many times as you need to.

We, aren’t what we’ve been taught to believe we are! Not at all. Nothing!

What I’m going to tell you may change your life. In what way is entirely up to you.

I see it one of three ways, you’ll hate me forever, you’ll embrace this and know me forever, or you’ll call me crazy.

The reality is there’s been some very big lies told. And I’m going to do my best to explain the who, want, when, where, and why that surround these secrets.

So here it is, the real story as I understand it.

This planet was not the result of a Big Bang or the creation of “God” as we understand Him. The Universe came to exist because of The One.

The One is neither alive or dead, male or female good nor bad. IT just is…

The One is responsible for creating all the framework which functions to provide an environment for everything to exist in.

IT created this planet, and all the other planets, stars, moons, and everything in between.

Unlike the story we were told, “God” does not work alone. The One had some help.

The One created several intelligent races of benevolent Aliens that function to serve The Universe. Like The One, they are Immortal and never die. They are tangible Beings though, just not in the same way we are.

These Aliens are the craftsmen tasked with maintaining the integrity of all The One had created.

Planet Earth was seeded with life by a race of immortal Aliens called Centaurians from a planet called Eden. It’s located in the Centauri star system.

And when I say life, I mean ALL of it. Especially us.

The Centaurians are part of the immortal workforce that service The Universe. They are scientists and geneticists. It was theiru job to seed life throughout The Universe.

There is one exception though. The sector where The Six Headed Beast ruled.

Using a master set of plant and animal DNA supplied by The One, The Centaurians genetically engineered a vast living library of life.

Earth was their seed bank and it was called The Garden of Eden. Easily it was the most beautiful of all the planets. The One had really done a wonderful job.

They used a process called gene splicing, and did this work in labs on Eden.

Each new plant or animal prototype they created was then taken to Earth where it was cultivated.

Not all planets have the same conditions or type of atmosphere. So it also had to be determined which species could exist in different places.

This planet was designed to support many different types of environments and climates that mimic conditions around the universe.

Once these new products were studied, logged, and samples were stored, they were distributed to the planets throughout the universe best suited for each species.

However, in the face of all The One had created, even IT was not perfect. The One had made only one mistake. But it was a big one.

I’m not going to even pretend I understand it. But in the beginning, when The One was the only thing in existence, IT became “lonely”.

To combat this problem, The One divided itself by 25% to create another, lesser version of itself.

This new Number Two later realized that’s exactly what it was. Lesser. The One could have split in half and made them equal, but IT didn’t.

And when The One finished what IT had set out to do, which was create the Universe, and the immortal work force to help complete it, Number Two took offence.

Number Two realized The One had provided no role whatsoever for IT to contribute to all that was created.

Upon realizing the sole purpose of IT’s existence, was to keep The One from becoming lonely again, Number Two decided to leave.

At the time, Number Two didn’t realize it, but the choice to leave, introduced some new things to The Universe. Conflict. And Free Will.

Number Two took up residence in a far off corner of The Universe. It didn’t take long to realize though, IT was all alone.

As The One had divided itself to solve the same problem, so too did Number Two.

But Number Two didn’t want to face the same dilemma, so IT divided into 6 equal individuals. And they quickly set out to develop this corner of The Universe into their very own version of what the rest of The Universe would be like.

The result was a galactic society of miscreants lead by what would come to be known as The Six Headed Beast.

The division into 6 individuals had corrupted key bits of knowledge and understanding from the consciousness of the whole.

This lost knowledge was the reason all the creatures that were created to reside on the planets in this sector, had no soul.

Some of these creatures were worse than others, but none of them could actually be considered good.

They are flesh and blood creatures who only live for a certain length of time and die one day.

We were created the way we were, with a soul, for a reason. The Centaurians wanted to create an intelligent worker who would live on Earth and be responsible for maintaining the integrity of The Garden of Eden.

Tending to this garden would be an extremely delicate, and sometimes dangerous program. They needed leverage to ensure compliance to the job.

Also, since free will and conflict had come into existence when Number Two left, it was decided that from this point forward, immortality would have to be earned.

So it was decided that a promise of immortality under certain conditions, would help motivate this creature called a human being, to serve its purpose to the best of its ability.

A unique approach that would allow human beings to exist as two separate halves of one entity, had been successfully designed by an amazing team of scientists on Eden.

And quickly this design and reasoning for it, was approved by The One.

One half of the human would exist on Eden. The other half would exist on Earth.

The two individual halves of the human being are connected by something called a soul.

Inside the body of each half of the humans, flows a pure form of energy that binds both parts to one another.

A telepathic connection that allowed the two parts to communicate back and forth was also a very useful feature for completing the work projects tasked to the humans.

The half which existed on Eden would work in the lab as a genetic scientist to create new life forms.

When these plants and animals were cultivated on Earth, the process would be conducted by the Earth halves of the scientists whose team had invented the specific species.

This way the scientist and the botanist or biologist could share information to ensure a well cared for and properly designed product was the end result of their efforts.

This telepathic connection was also a way to never forget home and in times of struggle, a voice of reason to offer advice. A friend, so no matter what, no human would ever be alone, like The One had once been.

You likely won’t believe me yet, but that voice in your head, your conscience, is actually what’s left of the telepathic connection to our counterpart on Eden.

Of course today we are raised to believe thinking anything other than “it’s your own voice” will get you locked up in a psych ward.

Big threats to protect big secrets. And big secrets are certainly being kept from us about how and why that connection was lost.

To become immortal, the humans had to live by guidelines and rules and show the intelligence, loyalty, and desire to be a productive, honest, contributing member of the Galactic Society they belonged to.

A series of tests, and lessons would be incorporated into their lives that would determine when they would be ready to achieve immortality.

On Earth everything living has an expiration date, meaning one day it dies. This applies to everything except for one thing, the human soul.

When a human died on Earth, the soul ascended to Eden for evaluation. If it was decided the soul was ready, the two halves would merge into one immortal being.

However, if it wasn’t ready, the soul would experience something called reincarnation where it was sent back to Earth in a new body.

The human would then encounter a more difficult path designed to address the issues that kept it from achieving immortality.

This complex two part creature would be the prototype for a whole new approach to the concept of being alive. If successful, humans could be placed all over the universe.

As The Centaurians hoped, the evolution of The Garden of Eden, and its new occupants, was a great success.

After nearly a hundred thousand years of evolution, only one major change was made to how this system would operate.

It was originally the plan to allow unlimited reincarnation and guaranteed immortality eventually. However, there were unforeseen issues that arose from that idealistic view.

The result was a decision to permit ten chances to get it right and earn the reward of immortality.

By limiting reincarnation to nine times, the decision to populate some of the other planets that had been seeded into life with humans, had passed the scrutiny of The One.

By the way, I told you which star system Eden exists in without feeling like I’m giving up a secret.

Unfortunately, there are people here on Earth right now searching for it, and they already know where they should be looking.

The Kepler telescope made a discovery this year not six months ago in August of 2016

There is one particular planet quite close to Earth. Like close enough where the technology here will allow a probe to make it there in the next 25 years or so.

It’s not Eden. But it’s one step closer. So they really need to be stopped before they get there.

As I said before, I’m an old soul. And I’ve tried more than once to stop those responsible for what I’m trying to tell you, during several of my past lives.

Obviously, I’ve never been on the successful side of any of the battles that have taken place in an attempt to gain control of our own destiny.

I’m sure you’ve realized something must have gone terribly wrong someplace along the line.

Earth is quite obviously not being used by The Centaurians as a living library anymore. It’s being exploited, polluted, and soon enough, will be destroyed.

If you don’t know, there are several tyrannical groups of very rich, very powerful, business men, political leaders and Church officials with questionable ties to each other.

They belong to groups such as The Illuminatii, The Roman Catholic Church, The British Monarchy, and The Freemasons to name a few.

It’s widely accepted that these Billionaire Boys Clubs are up not on the up and up and exist to serve ulterior motives.

They have created, implemented, and enforced a system of corruption, greed, control, and hostility for thousands of years.

The roots of these shady organizations have been traced back to the time of Jesus.

The last attempt to confront these corrupt, power hungry, tyrants was in the early 1300’s.

A very wealthy group called The Knights Templar, that was aligned with The Roman Catholic Church, had found out some extremely sensitive information about Jesus, and the Bible.

Having expressed concerns to a trusted government official about The Church withholding the secret knowledge, The Knights Templar were betrayed and for the most part, disbanded and killed brutally for going against The Pope.

And ever since then these elite tyrants have taken full advantage of the fear they instilled in anyone who may oppose them.

Their stranglehold on the resources and human lives on Planet Earth grows stronger every single day we choose to do nothing.

The Knights knew what I know. Unlike me, they never got the chance to tell though.

Once you know why, and what is at stake, you’ll understand why I’ve made it my choice to suggest we confront these men, end these lies, and try again to rid this planet from their control.

The elite tyrants who control us using money, work hand in hand with the ones who destroy some of us by taking our soul.

The Roman Catholic Church is the real controlling influence behind those running the world, enslaving mankind, and destroying this beautiful planet.

There is no one more powerful than the guy with the funny hat, The Pope. None that are human anyways.

The Pope is always chosen from a secret, and very long list of bloodlines that go back thousands of years to a time when giants roamed the Earth.

Yeah I just said that. But it’s gotta be said. And someone had to say it. And that’s always been my role. To sound the alarm.

But this time the call, MY call, will be heard. This time, the world is ready to hear it. YOU, are ready to hear it!

The age of information has brought a new dimension, one we have never had available before. If you haven’t realized it yet, she told me, IT’S TIME!

This time, we have the ability to UNITE World Wide!. And we will. And we are.

I can feel the soul of every warrior who ever lived and died at the hands of The Elite. All of them. They’re all here.

Some already know it, most don’t, but you all will. The universe will not let you rest until you accept the responsibility of fixing what we have ALWAYS allowed them to do to us.

The Elite aren’t exactly like us in case you haven’t noticed. There is an empty, void, hole in all of “them”.

The world really is an US vs THEM situation.

You may believe “we are all one” and some spiritual awakening is on the horizon, but please, know this: There are TWO different SPECIES living together here on earth. Humans. And Half Breeds.

And no, they are not shape shifting reptilians. In all ways they are identical to us, except for one thing.

They don’t have a soul!

When they die, they are dead. That’s it. No more. They are manufactured.

These soulless shells i’m talking about are The Elite. And they know what they are. Predators. Nasty, sick, twisted, Predators.

There is another group of people who also suffer an impairment of their soul but they have no idea anything is even wrong with them.

At least they have a soul, even if it has been shut right off. As long as it’s there, all hope is not lost.

It’s imperative if we want to experience any kind of freedom again, we begin working together. All men. All for One Cause. One World United.

United, we can move forward into a new Age of Enlightenment.

United, we can be free from all the pain that’s been our lives here on planet Earth.

It will not be easy. But nothing good ever is. Just be certain, if we continue to fall for the tactics that keep us divided, once again, we will fall short. Divide and Conquer will defeat us like it has before in past lives.

The Elite have slowly divided the entire world into divisions so small, they feel confident that it’s just not possible for us to lay aside our differences or seek a new perspective on our beliefs.

I’m hoping that deep down inside though, you feel it! You’ve always felt it. You probably didn’t understand that feeling was your other half calling out to you. And your home. Eden. In all ways possible, they both need you now, more than ever.

For some of us, the connection to our other half is starting to be established once more. I’ll explain why later.

It’s the ones caught deep in this web of lies I worry about though. The ones with the soul affliction.

Things on Eden have taken a very long time to fully recover from the Annunaki Invasion.

The reason is the soul affliction that has taken hold here on Earth lately, has nearly crippled the population on Eden.

The half of the human that’s born and exists on Eden, that’s attached to the people on Earth commonly referred to as Sheeple, (people who can’t see anything at all wrong with how the world operates) are basically handicapped.

They don’t contribute to the workforce, in fact, they take away from it, as they require constant care and supervision.

Despite all that has changed since humans came into existence, the soul still continues to develop properly and in unison with its Counterpart on Eden.

The changes to the minds of the humans on Earth however, somehow have caused the autism -like affliction of the mind running rampant on Eden.

So I’m here on a mission. I’m here to wake you up to what you used to be, to what you are.

And what you need to be, if we ever want to free ourselves from this nightmare we’ve all been tricked into living.

I guess tricked isn’t the best choice of words either. They didn’t trick us, they genetically modified us is what they did.

And what I’m about to tell you now, is where things get intense.

What you think you know about the history of earth and its many different inhabitants, are all lies. And it’s the job of the church, to protect those lies.

And the reward from protecting those lies, goes to the enforcers of the lie. The Illuminati. The Freemasons. The Elite.

Their reward is your life of servitude! And every man, woman and child belongs to them whether you admit it, or not.

Because the elite know they are soulless shells of what we are, they hate us.

Once I explain what they are lying about, and how far they’ve gone to protect the lie, you’ll understand just how much hate for us they hold.

The only other things that interest them are material riches and the thrill of feeling somehow superior as they treat us like garbage in a ruthless pursuit of the Almighty Dollar.

And we allow it because deep down we feel like our souls will live on regardless.

But that was the old way. Soon you will realize how, like me, you’ve avoided the trap and reincarnated here, over and over again.

Until we get this done, we will continue stuck in this loop, doomed to watch history repeat itself again and again.

And I’m going to tell you why.

There was an invasion on Eden, and they lost. The Centaurians are peaceful scientists, not warriors.

The Annunaki, a race of soulless creatures from the far corner of The Universe developed by The Six Headed Beast had come seeking knowledge.

They required technology to save the atmosphere of the planet they came from, Nibiru.

But Eden refused to help them. They were not in the business of cooperating with any of the soulless abominations created by The Six Headed Beast.

And the Annunaki replied in force. In the process of taking what they came for, they also discovered the location of Earth.

They left Eden in near ruins, and made off with some very sensitive, essential information about all life, and about Planet Earth in particular.

The Annunaki first arrived on planet Earth during a cleansing period.

Once all of the different species were properly sampled and classified, or if circumstances required it, the scientists in charge would initiate a cleansing. The eradication of the old, to usher in the new.

The idea being to repeat the same process with new varieties of plants and animals, as they were developed and created on Eden.

This particular ice-age was also to repair a structural issue with the drainage system. A series of massive trenches and gullies were needed and the only thing powerful enough to dig them were migrating glaciers.

The humans all relocated to Africa during that time, moved by ships sent from Eden.

Unfortunately this relocation turned out to be the very thing that gave full advantage to the Annunaki.

The Annunaki were quite pleased with initial test samples they took. This planet was rich with monoatomic gold just as the stolen information from Eden had stated.

The information from Eden provided them with the formula used to create, or repair, an atmosphere. Monoatomic gold is the key ingredient. And they needed a lot.

The next thing the Annunaki did was set in motion a chain of events which accelerated the melting process.

There was a large area though where life was thriving. Here The Annunaki found a creature they hoped could be used as workers for the massive job of mining the Earth. They had discovered humans.

However, these creatures were quite different than anything The Annunaki had ever encountered. They seemed intelligent enough, but they were impossible to deal with.

Nothing, not fear, not pain, not even watching their friends die would sway them to what The Annunaki wanted them to do.

It was almost like these humans had one purpose and couldn’t do anything else even if they wanted.

But it was love for their home and an outright refusal to damage, destroy, alter, or manipulate the Earth at The Annunaki’s request that kept them from conforming.

The Annunaki even tried, unsuccessfully, claiming they were the ones who created the humans.

However, at that time The Annunaki were unaware of the connection the humans had to their other half back on Eden. The humans knew exactly who had arrived.

The Annunaki were in fact, very intelligent creatures however. A series of genetic manipulations performed on the male humans would solve the problem, or so it was believed.

One by one, the male humans were captured and injected with a DNA upgrade that would eventually change the fate of the inhabitants of The Garden of Eden. It would just be a matter of time.

The Annunaki, having completed the genetic tampering, prepared to leave. They needed to give the melting process of the ice covered planet time to do its thing.

A small team was assembled and would remain on Earth to manage and maintain the breeding process of the humans.

This task was put into the hands of a top scientist named Enki.

Enki was a powerful member of the upper echelon of Annunaki hierarchy.

He was very interested in studying the progress on the rate of change in these creatures.

The Annunaki had an amazing gift bestowed by The Six Headed Beast which created them. They had the power to shape shift, or transform into whatever they needed to be. So they took on human form.

Enki stood among the humans and watched as the other Annunaki boarded their ship and left Earth.

At that point the changes to the human mind had not taken over yet, and as the ship left, a legend was born about the ones who came from the sky in black clouds that burned in the sky.

And in telling this legend, the first of the changes began to materialize in the hearts and minds of the recently injected men, as fear crept in and filled them with a brand new perspective on life.

This new emotion clashed heavily with the very limited emotional database humans had been living with up to this point.

It only took a few generations of reproduction for Enki to realize something had gone wrong though.

By this stage there should have been significant changes in the way this creatures mind worked. But the change was minimal at best.

These creatures were learning to simply adapt, and somehow they retained the sense of self worth they had always enjoyed.

Frustrated, Enki began a series of experiments on his modified humans. What he discovered, shocked, and amazed him

In ways he could not understand, it appeared this creature was in fact, two creatures.

Enki began to decipher a series of files that were part of his spoils of war from the invasion of Eden. And what he learned, he could not believe.

These creatures had something called a soul. Something he had never heard of. Something that made these creatures immortal. As far as Enki knew, only The Six Headed Beast was immortal. More than anything, he wanted that! In fact, Enki became obsessed with the idea of living forever.

So obsessed, he entirely forgot why he had attempted to change the humans in the first place.

All that mattered was finding a way to implant or replicate one of these souls into himself.

Experiment after experiment failed. And as these further modified humans got released back among the others, the more damaged the integrity of the humans became.

After several more generations, significant changes could be seen.

So much so that they began to change in their physical appearance over time, not only mentally as the modification was initially supposed to be.

The most significant change was the colour of some of the creatures skin. There seemed to be several distinct skin tones and physical attributes appearing.

Though Enki had yet to discover the secret of the soul, he was forced to turn his attention back to creating a workforce for the mining operation.

He was rather impressed with one particular group that stood out from the others. It appeared this group was going to be the dominant one.

This dominant version of a human had changed almost entirely in colour.

It began with deep dark brown skin like they all had in the beginning.

But now it had transformed to become pale and light coloured, very much like Enki himself.

Up till this point Enki and his crew had lived unnoticed among the humans. But it was time for a change.

It was now about 190,000 Earth years since the Annunaki had left in their flying spaceship leaving Enki and his crew behind.

Enki and his kind lived to be about 360,000 years old in Earth terms. Which meant if he was going to complete the actual mission he was here for, he would have to find success soon. His age was creeping up on him.

The ice sheets that had once covered the Earth had been greatly diminished by this time. And the redistribution of the humans could begin.

Enki had sent for The Annunaki to return. The first mission was to gather all the humans of each kind based on their skin colour.

Then, each “race” was strategically dispersed around the world to the locations that were no longer inhospitable.

There were 4 distinct races based solely on skin tone. Dark brown, light brown, yellow, and white.

The first three races were relocated in their entirety and kept together. The white race however was divided into three groups.

[redknight3996]

It’s a few weeks late to do something like this, but hey, might as well. Last year, I wrote a story called “A Summer Shanty”, which was basically a combination of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (well, four horsepeople; this isn’t a Good Omens thing, I wrote this before the live-action series came out and got big, but I do love that book) with a modern and somewhat more cynical take on A Christmas Carol, born out of need to get out a lot of negative feelings I felt about billionaires (because they suck) and whatnot. I submitted it for Bogleech’s story contest thing (which, if it’s a problem posting this here, please inform me), so it’s all up there, I just have this kind of urge to put it up here. Maybe get more people to see it, maybe just have out there, who knows? But hey, if it sounds like something you’d like, feel free to read. Gonna be splitting it up here, into little segments, so expected the next one tomorrow or something.

A Summer Shanty, Part 1

The world was getting warmer. It was obvious by this point. Shame there was nothing to be done about it.

Such were the thoughts of one Gregory Louis Morgan as he sat back in his poolside chair. The Chairman and CEO of Renfield Industrial was celebrating another lovely Fourth of July in his own private villa. He had earned some time off from running his multi-billion dollar conglomerate and was taking a well-deserved summer vacation. 

Sure, there was always work to be done at some point, but what was the point if he couldn’t enjoy himself every so often? He really did deserve to indulge himself every now and then. A man who traveled as much as he did had certainly earned a little relaxation.

Morgan wasn’t about to retire though. He would go stir crazy in a week if he had to give up his business for some worthless life of leisure. To give up the board meetings, the dinner meetings, the financial reports...No, he was like a shark in that regard. He would always keep moving.

Morgan chuckled to himself as he took a sip of his margarita. That was a clever little metaphor of his. Fitting, even, considering the nearby coast. 

The heat had gone down as the night dragged on, and the din of fireworks had gradually subsided as revelers, red-blooded Americans celebrating their nation’s independence in a grand show of lights, gradually went off to drink or party or even sleep. Whatever those types of people did. 

Morgan preferred his parties more subdued. Less aggravating, in that way. People could be so noisy. 

Morgan valued his quiet.

“Heh. Well, ain’t this snazzy?”

Morgan’s eyes snapped open as he sat up and glanced around. There. 

The billionaire smiled as he slowly stood to face the younger man standing by his pool in a Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts. “You’re on private property, young man. You need to leave, now.” 

He kept the false smile on as he took in the lightly tanned man’s clean cut appearance, his dark brown hair cropped short. The man was taller than Morgan, slightly, and had more of a muscular figure than the aging billionaire. Hm. Was he one of his security officers?

“Nah, sorry old timer. I’m right where I’m supposed to be tonight.”

Morgan’s lips twitched and he idly pressed the security signal in his pocket. Really, the layabouts should have arrested this man before he even got this far. “No, you’re not. Are you drunk, boy? You are in my home.”

“Yeah, I am,” the blond man replied, his brown eyes oddly bright in the patio lights...Wait...No, it was some trick of the light. “And your home is where I’m supposed-”

“No, it isn’t. Get out of my damn house already! Do you even have any idea in that drunken mind of yours where you wandered into?!” Morgan snarled, dropping all pretense of civility in the face of the idiot’s lackadaisical response. Where the hell was his security anyway? And why didn’t Tatiana notice this idiot? How did even get past his gate, much less the fences?

“Woah now man. No need for all that hostility,” the man replied, an odd accent to his word-Wait, wasn’t he white? Why did he look hispanic now? The man placed a hand on his chest, smiling with pearly white teeth. “Me llamo Jonathan Doe. You can call me John.”

“I-What?! No, that is it, I am done with this!” Morgan strode over to the man and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, bodily yanking him down to his eye level. “You will get out of my home immediately or-”

And the man’s face cracked. “You’re being really rude right now, Mister Morgan.” 

Doe smiled. He looked...arabic? What? There was a crack splitting across his forehead, some sort of glow-

Morgan yelped as he was shoved backward, landing right on his rear. “W-What?! What-H-How did you just-What?!”

“Wow, real articulate. First you shout, then you put hands on me? Man, you old bastards really can’t handle your temper.” The now black man smiled, squatting down in front of him. “So, Morgan, we need to talk.”

“I-I...I will not be treated like this! What even are you supposed to be!? Some...Some kind of radical trying to extort me-”

“Hey man, that’s real rude.” Doe frowned and sat down fully, his legs crossed. He looked different again, his skin a lighter shade of brown, his face narrower. “Real rude. I’m just here to tell you what’s going on tonight, for you and you alone.”

“What?”

“You keep saying that. Why not try listening for a second?”

“Ah, you-” Doe held up a hand and Morgan felt a sudden surge of rage. “I WILL NOT-”

And then he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t make any noise come out of his mouth.

Doe sighed, running a hand over his short hair. “Y’know, I doubt Marley had to deal with this shit back in the day.” 

Morgan tried to speak again, tried to shout at the bastard in front of him, tried to call for someone. Where was his security!? Where were his dogs?! Where was...Where was anyone?

He looked towards his house. All the lights were off. There...wasn’t anything there. At all. No motion in the house whatsoever, no indication that anyone was home. How could that…

He stood, surprisingly easily...there was no pain in his knees. He’d been shoved to the ground but his back was fine. The moon was still high in the sky, half of it shrouded in darkness. He couldn’t hear any noise either. He looked lower, and saw that the suburbs below him were dark too. Dark, and silent.

Only the lights around his pool were still on. There couldn’t be a blackout. That didn’t…

Doe was standing again, his hands in his pockets. He was smiling again. He looked Asian now. “Okay, I think you’ve reached the point where you gotta listen. Good, didn’t want to start cutting into the schedule or anything.” 

“Schedule?” Wait, what? “I can talk?”

“When you’re not trying to shout, sure. Now, I think we got off on the wrong foot here.” The redhead grinned, holding out a freckled hand. “My name’s John Doe. You’re Mister Greg Morgan. It’s interesting to meet you.”

Morgan didn’t take his hand. “...This is a dream. Ha, so that’s it...I fell asleep at my chair and this is a dream.”

Doe kept smiling, but dropped his hand, pocketing it again. “Heh. You’re going to be a piece of work.”

“You can’t speak to me like that,” Morgan snapped, before huffing, fixing his polo shirt. “So what, are you supposed to be made up of all the employees I’ve ever fired or something?”

“Nah, worse than that.” John Doe grinned. “But we’re not at that yet. We’re talking about you, Mister Morgan. You’ve been chosen for a little something something.”

“Oh? And what would this be, Mister Doe?”

“Ha, wow, you sure change your tune fast when it suits you.” Doe chuckled for a moment. “Congrats Mister Morgan, you’re getting Caroled.”

“...What?”

“C’mon. You must’ve seen, like, any cartoon in the last sixty years or so. Dickens, pal. Think.”

Morgan blinked, then scowled. “You can’t be serious. It’s nowhere near Christmas! And I’m no Scrooge! I’ve earned every penny I have and I’m entitled to use it as I wish!”

“You’ve earned a lot more than pennies, Mister Morgan,” Doe replied. “And no, it’s not quite that.”

“What is it then? Am I to be visited by three ghosts to teach me the meaning of materialism or whatever that trash was about?”

“No, Mister Morgan. You don’t get ghosts. You get worse.” Doe’s smile was thin. “See, you’re thinking of a story where a miserable miser driven by loneliness finds his heart. A wonderful classic, teaching the good in people. 

“This ain’t that kind of story, Mister Morgan.” The crack on his forehead began to split further. “You’re not that kind of man, so you get a different one. Congrats though. It’s practically an honor here.” Doe smiled, and his cheeks cracked, an orange glow visible in his split skin. “You get to represent America, Mister Morgan. You’re the perfect man for the job.”

“...What? What...What could you possibly mean by that?” Morgan mumble, staring transfixed as the man’s skin burst into flame.

Doe kept smiling even as his skin burnt the color of charcoal, embers lighting every inch of his body. “You’ll see. As a little hint, I’ll tell you a secret.” He leaned in close, his grin wide and his teeth black. “Hell’s real, Mister Morgan. Hell is very, very real, for men like you. 

“Oh, and to answer your earlier question, I’m a soldier, Mister Morgan.” His eyes were gone. Two burning pits were in their place. “Just a soldier.”

~1~

Morgan woke with a start, flinched as he blinked. He sat up in his pool chair and looked around. His lights were still on. Every light in his house was still on. The houses below had their lights on too.

“...Heh. Hehahah...I knew it was a dream,” he muttered to himself as he stood up from his pool chair. Suddenly falling asleep like that was unusual for him...perhaps he was letting himself relax a tad too much. Lying down in his actual bed would do him some good, particularly with how late it had grown.

He stood and started walking back to his home. How late was it, even? He checked his watch as he stood up from his pool chair. One in the morning. Really now? It had gotten quite late all of a sudden. He really should be in bed by now.

He stood up and walked to the patio door. It led to a living room. He had a few of those. He slid open his door and stepped inside and blinked at the light of his study. Which was on the second floor, overlooking his pool. 

“...How...did I get here?” he mumbled to himself as he sat down in his leather office chair. Had it always felt this comfortable? He quite enjoyed the brown look to it too. It fit well with the color of his full bookshelves and the wood of his desk. All mahogany, all very cozy. 

“Really? Rand? Wow, way to stereotype yourself, jackass,” muttered the white woman looking through his bookshelves. She pulled a book, flipped through it, and casually tossed it over her shoulder.

Morgan blinked, and sat up in his seat, instantly alert. “What? Who the-Who are you supposed to be?!”

“Johnny Boy told you, asshole. I’m your first visitor tonight. Gotta say, not real fucking impressed,” the white woman replied. And by God, she was white. Her skin looked like new-fallen snow, and her hair, tied back in a bun and covered by a white bowler, was equally ivory. She was dressed in a long white coat and a long white skirt with white shoes. From what he could see, even the frames of her glasses were white. 

In fact...everything about her was white. Morgan couldn’t see any hint of shadow on her body. The woman was entirely white. There was no hint of yellow or gray like some shades, it was just all white. Every inch-

“Hey asshole. Eyes are up here,” the white woman spoke again, turning to face him with a hand still on the bookcase. He couldn’t see her eyes. They were completely covered by her round glasses. Even the lenses were white. How in the world could she see out of them?

She pointed at her lenses with two fingers, clenched her fist, and then pointed both fingers at him. She stared at him and he stared back and she huffed in irritation and crossed the room in two strides and slammed her hands on his desk. “GAH!”

“So now you wanna fucking speak? Fuck me, I thought this would be a fun gig,” she complained, sitting back in a white chair that looked exactly like Morgan’s own.

“...No. No, no, this isn’t happening,” Morgan began, shaking his head, “Earlier was a dream, and this is just another one-ow!” He rubbed his head, blinking in surprised pain as the woman lowered a white walking cane with a rounded top. She slipped it into the crook of her arm and smirked at him.

“Good, now you can actually fucking listen.”

“...You’re very foul-mouthed for a woman.” She just smirked back at him. “So...So then what is this supposed to be? Are you going to carry me around on some wondrous vision of my own past so I can appreciate what I have now?”

“Fuck no. I’m not here to deal with namby-pamby bullshit like that, Greg.” She suddenly leaned back and put her feet up on his desk. He noticed how the soles of her dress shoes were also white before indignation overtook him.

“Get your shoes off of my desk!”

“No. Alright, let’s see,” the woman muttered, leafing through a green book that was suddenly in her hands. “So, Greggy Morgan, son of blah blah blah, some old fuck rich bastard and a woman who doesn’t matter-”

“What? My mother was-”

“Oi.” She pointed at him with one hand, the other still flipping through her book. “Don’t interrupt me while I’m working. Born in Kansas, moved to Texas, lovin’ those as’s. Studied business, economics, shit philosophy, lots of emphasis on ‘personal freedoms’, built up an inherited company, oil and refinery, ties to agriculture and pharmaceuticals, got tons of subsidiaries, damn, you’re a regular king capitalist, huh?” She closed the book with a snap and tossed it to the side. 

Another book, this one with a gold-cover, was in her hands already as Morgan frowned. “...Was that it?”

“Fuck no, again. So, big supporter of the free market, personal freedoms, all that.”

“Yes, I am. Is there a problem with that?”

“Everything’s a problem to someone, dumbass. You could say you’re all for giving free money to everyone and you’d have bitches whining about unwarranted charity. Hell, you could say you’re pro-puppy petting and some bitch would whine about the wasted time to pet them. Bitches whine, it’s what dogs do.”

“...Is there a point to this?”

“Everything has a point, dumbass. Fucking hell, that college fucking education didn’t do jack for you, did it? No, that’s one’s not totally fair, is it? Education cures ignorance, not stupid. Can’t do anything for a dumbass that insists on being blind and deaf.”

“I don’t need to take this,” Morgan bit out. He stood and-

He was on the floor, clutching his temple. “...A-Ah…” 

“Oi.” Suddenly, the woman’s white face was in front of his, her lips turned down in a small frown. He couldn’t see her eyes behind her glasses. She was using her walking cane to hold herself up as she leaned down towards him. “I didn’t say you could stand.”

“...You hit me.”

“Yeah, I did. Isn’t that what you do with unruly children? You say that often enough. Gotta give them discipline, no more participation trophies.” She snorted, smirking again. “That one always gets me. Parents act like they didn’t demand the trophies so their shitty kids wouldn’t look like failures, blame it on the kids they fucked over. It’s fun, y’know?”

“...What?”

“Every piece of shit passes down their own fuck-ups to their kids, creating more and more fuck-ups.” She abruptly giggled. “You have to wonder, where did all start? Where will it all end? But then again, we all know where everything ends, don’t we?” She held out her hand to him. “C’mon. You’re getting up now.”

Morgan didn’t take her hand. He pushed himself up, stood on his own two feet, and touched two fingers to his temple. There was no blood. In fact, his pain seemed to be fading remarkably quickly.

The woman stood too, still smirking. “You just reminded me of something hilarious.”

Morgan stared at her, slowly brushing himself off. They weren’t in his office anymore. They were in some kind of white hall… “Where are we-OW!” The damned woman hit him again!

“Oi, listen when your betters talk. Now, like I was saying-”

“You are not-AGH! STOP THAT!” 

And then her hand was around his throat. He gulped as she spoke. “Now, as I was saying, I found out a really damn funny thing some time ago. A bunch of you idiots seem to have started using the phrase ‘pulling yourself up by your bootstraps’.” 

She grinned at him, tracing her thumb over his Adam’s apple. “See, what makes that funny is that the phrase originally refers to a fuck up you Americans got. A little misattribution of an old wives’ tale, and even then the meaning still refers to something so ludicrously impossible that it simply can’t be done. Like, say, pulling yourself over a fence by lifting up on your bootstraps.

“And seeing you, Greg, fumble as you tried to get up, reminded me of that. Ain’t memory fun?”

“...I see. So is this place supposed to lead back into my memories then?”

“No, dumbass,” she stated, her tone flat, “We’re here for a different reason. C’mon, walk and talk.”

She let go of his neck and wrapped her arm over his shoulders, leading him further down the hallway. He could see doors along the wall, plain white doors, but all of them were closed. Though, he could vaguely hear something…Voices? It was hard to tell. The clack of the woman’s shoes drowned out most of the sound.

“So, what’s up first on our agenda? Race, religion, sex? No, no, we don’t have enough time to focus on all of that shit. They’re all fucked, of course, but I can’t get to everything here, you dig?”

“...”

“Medicine it is! Hey, Greggy, you ever think to yourself about all the people those pharmaceutical companies of yours murder?”

“What? What in the world are you talking about?” he asked, turning his gaze on her as she continued to pull him along the hallway. “No company I support has ever murdered anyone and insinuating that is-” He bit back his instinct to bring up defamation and slander. What good would it do him in this sort of situation? In a dream. A dream, of course, because this couldn’t be real, and the thug dragging him along wasn’t real.

He still didn’t expect her to outright cackle. The woman didn’t slow her pace in the slightest as she roared with laughter, her amusement wild and unrestrained. “Eheheheheheha~! Pull the other one, it’s got bells on.” She cracked another grin. “You really shouldn’t lie to my fucking face, Greggy boy. It looks bad on you.”

“I am not lying, I…” What was the right answer here? “While certain individuals within companies that I hold shares in may provide financial support to other individuals who could have committed less than moral actions in their pasts, I do not condone nor support murderers.”

“Cut the legal speak and the bullshit along with it. Your hard-on for the military aside-”

“I support our great nation’s soldiers-!”

“SHUT IT!” she barked right in his face, snarling down at him until she abruptly grinned again. “Now, we’re leaving that can of maggots for later. My session here’s all about how you, Greggy the investor, Greggy the shareholder, Greggy the lobbyist, support the thieving pricks making money off of human suffering. Granted, that’s all capitalists, but we’re talking about the ones that rip teeth from the sick this time.”

“Companies have a right to profit from their products,” he retorted. “They put in time, effort, and money into their work and the profits garnered from those sales go back to supporting the very companies that produce the medicine.”

“Aw, cute, you actually believe that. It doesn’t help people who can’t afford the medicine, but fair enough. You gotta look out for you and yours first, right? Fuck everyone else, you gotta survive in a hellish world where the merest disease or injury can throw you out on the streets with tens to hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical debt to you name, all because the top dogs want their crap to land on someone when they shit. It’s a fun little cycle.” 

Morgan rolled his eyes. “That’s why people get insurance.”

“Ooo, yeah, because everyone can afford insurance, and it’s such a good idea~! Everybody’s just gotta do as they’re told, pay their dues, and march right up the death panel that decides whether their coverage is good enough to save their life! And God help you if you can’t make payment! Not everyone can be born a CEO, Greggy boy.”

He sighed in irritation. The woman felt like a culmination of every idiot undergrad who thought Marx was their damn savior. “Think for a moment. A CEO runs their company. They manage the production and distribution so everyone can be rewarded for their efforts and therefore-”

Her hand abruptly clamped down on his nose. “And that’s real cute. They get to sit up there in their big boy offices pretending that what they say and do actually matters. Lead the company! Direct the troops! Be our king. But that’s not what we’re talking about, is it?”

Her fingers tightened around his nose. “Gh...l-let go-”

“Shhhhh. I want you to look around you, Greggy. I want you to recognize where we are.”

“What? What does that have to do-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake man.” She swung her cane out, the door opened, and-

“GOOD LORD!” He stared in horror at horribly scarred thing in the room, in a hospital bed–it was a hospital and terrible bumps and lesions covered-

A hand slapped the back of his head and he was being dragged along again. “Don’t be fucking rude, asshole.”

“W-What was that?”

“That was Ailen.”

“A-Ailen?”

“Yeah, Ailen. She needs a change of blankets,” she explained casually. “Do you want to go back and say hi?

“No! No, no, n-never!” he immediately snapped, shaking his head rapidly. 

“Aw, shame. You’re losing out, buddy boy. And besides, why such a bad reaction? I did say this was a hospital. You’re bound to see some gross shit.”

“...W-Why am I in a hospital?” he asked, glancing back at the room for a moment. More of the doors opened and he immediately averted his gaze, trying to look forward. “What even was that?”

“I told you-”

“NOT WHO! WHAT!” he snapped and then he was on the floor again, clutching his nose. Good God had she just broken it??

He was yanked to his feet again and she kept pulling him along, holding him around his waist as groans started to fill the air. 

“Oh, just a fun little remnant of your shitty country’s past victories, about the only thing you fucks can count on. You want to know something funny, Greggy?”

“...Y-You...y-you just broke my nose-”

“HA! Ah, that is funny.” She grinned down at him with pearly white teeth. Had she gotten taller? “But no, this is funnier. Did you know Pratchett and Gaiman thought I was on my way out way back when? See, they thought things like antibiotics, disinfectants, penicillin especially, all that fun stuff, would drive me on my way out. Hell, they put fucking Pollution in my place! 

She took a drag of a cigarette, white smoke filling the air. “Now that was cute, real cute, brat got a real chuckle out of that one. Cute kid, really, kinda dumb, but working her way up there. Could sink your entire world one of these days but my point is, you dumb mother fucker, is that I’m still around and not going anywhere because of people like you.”

Morgan blinked, trying to keep himself from tearing up as he clutched his nose. He had to breathe through his mouth because it felt like blood was leaking from his nostrils. “W-What?”

“Oh you poor stupid bitch. Don’t you get it yet? Why I’m one of the chucklefucks here for your stupid salvation drive? I’m one of the big ones, the fun ones, the kindly ones that rip out all your throats and guzzle down every bit of sweet, salty nectar in your pus-ridden bodies~!” she giggled, high-pitched and psychotic. “Oh now don’t be rude now~. We’re running a ‘scare you straight’ program and it won’t do if you start thinking uncharitable things about the mentally unwell~! Another thing I have to thank your people for, by the way!”

“W-What-” The doors were banging open faster and faster as they walked. Everything was starting to become a white blur but he could hear vomiting, defecations, revoltingly leaky noises-

“What what what, you keep saying what, say something that matters! Look, think, you’re on a fucking one way road, dumbass. You profit from the sick, you demonize the mental, you call the broken lazy while you sip pina fucking coladas by the poolside~! You fuck and fuck on an old, broken dick while people writhe and die with cunts full of cysts because you can’t be assed to let them control their own vags! You don’t get it yet, but you’re my favorite kind of vile bastard!”

She suddenly lifted him up and he was eye level with her, his feet off the ground as she grinned wide and carried him through the hall. “Eheheheheha~! Oh, if only you were an outright anti-vaxxer instead of just supporting their ‘freedom of choice’~! I’d throw you down and fuck you right here and now and fill your cock up with every nasty infection your abstinence only shit can’t name~!”

He went pale. “L-Let me down, let me down right-”

And then he was on the ground and she was dragging him by the leg and at the end of the hall a set of double doors opened and he saw an endless white void. “N-No no no! No, let go of me! Stop, stop you can’t do this to me!”

“I can’t~? Why can’t I~? I have the freedom to do this~! It’s my right to choose, and it overrides yours.”

“STOP! STOP THIS RIGHT NOW! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! THIS CAN’T HAPPEN TO ME!” And suddenly she pulled him up again and smiled. In an instant, she looked almost kind, the lights of the hall behind her, now silent, illuminating her white face in an almost serene glow. And then he felt the pit at the edge of his feet.

He couldn’t stop himself from looking back. Behind and below him, there was a massive pit, far larger than anything he’d ever seen, and it was full of bones. Bleached, white bones. “W-What?”

“Aw, really? What, again? Jeez, I thought you’d have something more impressive to say.”

“...W-Why did you bring me here? Why are those down there?”

“So you could see it. And those down there are the bones of every human being killed by the good old United States of America through disease. Down at the bottom you have the smallpoxed Natives, further above you have the hundred thousand AIDs victims old Ronny Regs condemned to death–and hey, if you look close enough, you might see him still trying to climb out–sprinkled all around are the thousands of people your shitty health care let die because it was cheaper than saving them, and in between are the poor fucks who got the short end of the deregulation stick. Rot in the food, filth in the waters, smog in the sky. All those amazingly fun shitshows~.” 

She giggled again and leaned close to him, her smile wide and white. Up close, he could see the inside of her mouth was white too, from her gums to her tongue and every last one of her teeth and the whiteness wasn’t clean. She didn’t look like some pristine, marble statue, no, she was absolutely covered in blisters and lesions so white they all created a pale patchwork over her entire face. “You people are definitely some of my favorite~.”

“Y-You said that before,” Morgan said, starting to nod and smile, trying to keep down his bile. “Y-You said I was your favorite. S-So, please, I can give you so much-”

“Oh? Would you leave your third wife for me then?”

“YES! Yes, anything!”

She laughed again, high and giddy. “You’re so easy! Ah, a fucked up slut to the end then~.”

He paled. “Th-The end?”

“No, not yet. Just for part one.” She abruptly smirked, her hand going and grabbing the collar of his shirt. “Before you go, though, you deserve a little treat. Now, I’m not going to fuck you, because frankly I could do better, but I’ll give you a good look, kay~?”

“I-What?” What did she-Was she going to-

The woman reached up and pulled her glasses free from her face. She tilted her head, smiling at him with white eyes. Wriggling, white eyes. Shifting, twitching, white maggots spilling from her eye sockets and-

Morgan screamed and pushed her back. She was far too solid for him to move but he went backward and into the open air, watching her smile as the maggots wriggled from her eyes. He saw her hold one on her fingers, lift it to her lips and give it a little kiss before he hit-

And then Morgan woke up in his office chair.

[almarchive]

   hello, its nora n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam. she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck. raised in a farmhouse in vermont, never really had to work for anything in her life and doesn’t want to. studying class civ cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into lockwood. loves the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages. i might forget tho so pls message me x

application template.

( elle fanning  / cis-female ) haven’t seen ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM around in a while. the ELLE FANNING lookalike has been known to be TENACIOUS & MAGNETIC, but SHE can also be FANCIFUL & DOUBLE-CROSSING. The 20 year old is a SOPHOMORE majoring in CLASSICS. I believe they’re living in FIDELIS but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door. ( nora. 23. gmt. she/her. )

aesthetics.

a red beret nestled on top of bright platimum locks, neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do it in french new wave films, running barefoot through the woods in feckless hedonism, china dolls with porcelain faces lined against the walls of your room, the mona lisa smile, knee-socks tugged over the hockey grazes on your knees, a forged botticelli drying on your easel, ophelia floating in the middle of a lake.

connection to tatiana & did they choose her name during the watershed?

alma saw her as academic competition and a threat to her de jure throne. in freshman year, tatiana got the role alma auditioned for in a university production. she’s disliked her ever since. alma abslutely chose tatiana’s name, and she’d do it again without hesitating. [that vine voice] I WON’T HESITATE, BITCH

the short form.

—  born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immigrant and worked on a plantation, made his way up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had large personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit wise beyond her years. — very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french. — studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin. — isn’t a foward-planner, however. alma prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night. — pretentious motherfucker. loves poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very intelligent and beautiful and knows both of those facts. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. petty and vindictive — just wants to be loved by all. a party girl ; doesn’t rlly enjoy it, jst feels she should enjoy it. — tries to be an enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women desirable and interesting and cool. — obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning. — her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee-high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramophone because “the sound quality is better” kfdsjj.

plots.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends –  probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

people who live on the same floor and only know each other from brief interactions in the lift or the canteen

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

full biography.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

           the girl is a knife. razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. you’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. a mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. to have the power to control that is to be a god. it’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. you cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “mama, when will i be a queen?” as soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

           if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? in the beginning, you never knew hunger. twins, born under the same star, you first, him second – a nuclear family. never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. white-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. the townhouse in vermont and the summer house in lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

           at eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

           your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather wolfgang hildegarde a german immigrant, great-grandmother maura lisbon a prairie girl. they fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the indians, vacations to calcutta, your father todd putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. he worked hard so that you’d never have to. your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? that blood money had no business raising a child. you look far back enough, edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a civil war to silence, and i think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

           language was never fickle on your tongue, french dinner time talk by the time you were out of your hush puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. you learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. by eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. that was how magnetic you wanted to feel. but mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to english boarding school.

           fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. you were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. tell us what it’s like in the states, alma. they’d coo, enamoured by your hollywood drawl. does your father own a gun? you hardly knew. barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. when you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

           the road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to small-town fame. bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. there was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. in leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were helen of troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. but there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. hockey helped. there was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. sweat. stiff knuckles. feet pounding the earth. the smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “slipped, sorry.” hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. on the pitch, you feel alive.

[magmasliveblogs]

1.04

i have not been captured by goblins! nor have i been turned into steak! this is the 5th chapter! 

recap: last chapter our protag, erin, returned to the inn and fought off some goblins. she also found a stream. now, onward! 

Her legs hurt. As she stepped outside Erin felt at the back of her legs and winced.

“Right. Knife cuts.”

She should wash that. If she had water. But since she didn’t and the wounds were already scabbed over, Erin left it and started walking.

i skipped over that section during the last post, but yeah erin was cut on her legs 

If there were, they didn’t seem interested in her at the moment. Erin found the strange, spindly trees easily and picked an armful of blue fruits. She sat and ate fourteen. It wasn’t that she was hungry so much as really thirsty. She sucked as much of the blue juice out of the fruits before gathering as many as she could carry and walked back to the inn. The seed cores she left where they lay.

…Actually, now that she thought of it…

Erin doubled back and grabbed two seed cores and placed them carefully on top of her stack of blue fruits.

always be ready for the those crabs. always be ready! 

“Firewood. If I could cut the wood away, that is.”

She thought of the incredibly stiff branches.

“…Nope. But wait a second. What about fallen branches? Or—”

She turned around and started walking back. But when she got there she found neither helpful twigs nor larger branches anywhere in the orchard.

“Weird.”

Frustrated, Erin kicked a tree and dodged another falling blue fruit. She added it to her armful and walked back to the inn.

The room was still a mess from last night’s fight. Erin sat the fruits down on one table and started righting chairs and tables.

“Stupid Goblins.”

yes it is probably a good idea to clean up, though when will we get visitors? 

“But I won.”

“Barely.”

“They’re not that dangerous.”

“Unless they stab me in my sleep. Or there are lots of them.”

“But I’m probably safe if I keep the windows and doors closed.”

“…Probably.”

“And there’s the rock-crab-thing.”

“…Does it eat Goblins?”

“They were eating the blue fruits. So they live nearby.”

“But I can run away from them.”

“…Until they chase me down and overwhelm me and eat my guts, that is.”

dont talk to yourself too much, or you could go insane 

Erin stopped and put her face in her hands. She immediately regretted that decision.

“Pheh! Dusty.”

She sighed and grabbed the rag. Time to clean up some…more?

“Uh. What happened to the dust?”

The floor of the inn was made out of floorboards. Very sensibly, and in keeping with the rest of the inn which was also made out of wood. However, Erin had never seen the floor before. Up till this very moment it had been covered by a thick layer of dust.

Now though she was staring at the floor. A clean, undusted floor. Erin stared and then stared some more. Then she looked at her hands.

“Was that me?”

It must have been, but how had she done it? Of the numerous and varied—of the few skills Erin possessed, cleaning was not one of them.

Oh, sure she could clean up spills and small messes. Anything that involved tossing water and mopping stuff up was okay. But this?

“I wasn’t even dusting for more than—an hour? Two? And it’s all clean.”

Erin scuffed at the floor and amended that thought.

“Sort of clean. You couldn’t eat your dinner off it I guess. But that’s why we have plates.”

And it was a definite upgrade from before. Distractedly Erin scratched her head and felt the caked dirt and dust on her face start to crumble away.

“The floor is clean. I am not.”

first of all, this seems like the skills from earlier took effect. also yeah, erin could use a bath 

“Right. I need a drink.”

Water, preferably. But Erin would have killed for a nice cool drink of anything, really. Too bad there wasn’t any water nearby.

“Time to find some. Or I’ll die. Whichever comes first.”

Erin wandered out of the inn. After a minute she walked back in, grabbed the knife, and closed the door behind her as she left. After another minute she walked back in and threw the dustrag on the ground. She slammed the door as she left this time.

this is quite amusing to picture 

“Water. Water is water. Because water. Where’s the water?”

Erin walked for a few minutes in one direction and saw no water. So she turned left and started walking that way.

“I could drink a Gatorade. Or a Pepsi. I like Coke too, though. What about Pepsi and Coke and Gatorade? Gatorpepcoke? Pegatoroke?”

It occurred to her that she wasn’t making much sense. Even for her, that was. Erin looked around for the water and felt her head spinning. Her head was really starting to hurt.

“Cogapeptorade?”

Her foot slipped. Or maybe she stumbled. But suddenly Erin tripped and had to spin around to keep her balance. That was so much fun that she started spinning around as she walked. She stopped after a few seconds and tried not to vomit.

“Feel sick.”

She wiped her brow. At least she wasn’t sweating. It was really hot, though. Weird.

those fruit may not have been the best for your health, or was it just the seed cores? the crab didnt like those 

not where she was. Maybe if she lay down she’d feel better?

Erin went to bend over. Halfway down she remembered.

“The stream!”

She tried to stand up and nearly fell flat on her face.

“Where—where was it?”

Head spinning, Erin looked around. The inn was still visible.

“It was there. So if I’m here…there?”

Shakily, Erin began stumbling towards where the stream was. As luck had it she was closer than she thought and came across the stream in a matter of minutes.

looks like she was able to find the stream once again! huzzah! this still leaves the question though, does the stream have fish? because if those fruits arent good for the health than fish might be the only other option. excluding the settlement in the distance of course 

The stream is fast flowing and cold. The young woman cares not. The instant she spots it she dashes madly into the water and flops down face first.

“Water!”

She cups her hands and begins drinking the water as fast as she can. Then she spits out the water and washes her hands of the grime caked onto it before trying again. She drinks one palmful, another, and then five more.

—-

It was around the fourth handful that Erin realized she’d made a bad mistake. The water was delicious and cold as ice cubes, but she was so thirsty she drank it down like…water. Five minutes later she was laying on her side trying not to puke.

Too much water on a dehydrated body. Erin could feel her stomach trying to empty itself and was determined not to let it.

“It—it hurts. It really hurts…”

After a while the pain went away. Erin reluctantly got back up. She was glad she hadn’t puked. She only had one pair of clothes after all.

Speaking of which…Erin raised her arm and sniffed.

“…Bath time.”

dont drink too much after not drinking, and i am glad she realizes that a bath is probably a good idea 

Erin ran her hand through her wet hair and sighed. She’d scrubbed hard, but without soap or shampoo what could you do? And when she thought about how she hadn’t used a toothbrush in days…

“Hm. So, [Basic Cleaning] was really a skill after all?”

Erin thought about it. It was better than thinking of cavities and rotting gums.

“…Huzzah. What a great skill! I mean, I might have to fight off giant crabs and Goblins, but at least I’ll be able to clean the floor while they eat me!”

She sighed and dunked her head into the water.

“Gah! Cold!”

our protag has realized that the skill is in fact real! lets hope the other one works just as well 

“Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.”

Erin laughed to herself.

“Or not. Knock on wood.”

She turned jokingly to find a piece of wood to knock on and saw it. A huge shadow in the water.

Erin shot out of the stream like a reverse cannonball just as the fish lunged. She felt something incredibly large brush past her navel, felt the slimy, slick feeling against her skin for one heart-stopping moment—

And then it was over. Erin lay on the grass, breathing for air as she stared at the fish flopping around on the grass.

“W—wh—”

ok fishing may be out of the picture for now 

Just in case Erin psyched herself up, ran over, and kicked the fish hard in the side.

“Aaaaaah!”

Erin hopped around in agony, clutching her foot.

“Is that thing made of rocks?”

yeah fishing is definitively out of the picture for now 

After a while Erin stopped hopping around and swearing. She limped over to the fish and stared at it. It had…two eyes. Four, actually. But it had two on each side. One big eye and a smaller eye right behind it.

“Ew. Mutant fish with teeth.”

Erin stared at it for a little while longer. Her stomach rumbled.

“Right. Lunch.”

She stared at the fish.

“…Sushi?”

but she doesnt really have any other options does she? plus she already has the fish 

“And hey, I need food. So it’s time to chop stuff up.”

Still, Erin hesitated. She’d never had to cut up a fish before. How was she supposed to do it? She had no idea.

“Huh. I guess [Basic Cooking] doesn’t work on fish.”

i agree, this doesnt really fit under the idea of basic cooking. sushi is more advanced 

Erin put down the knife and stepped into the common room to breathe for a while. When her stomach had stopped lurching she went back.

“There is no way I’m eating that. Cooked or raw. Actually, there’s no way I’m eating any of this without a frying pan.”

She looked around. Frying pan? Check. Good.

not copying it all but there was a lot of disgusting description of the insides of the fish. i would not want to eat this thing, even after cooking it to a crisp! 

She pressed hard with the knife. But it just wasn’t going through the skin. Annoyed, Erin pushed harder.

And slipped.

It happened in an instant. Her hand lost its traction and the blade skated across the scales.

“…Huh?”

Erin blinked, and held up her right hand. A gaping red line split her palm diagonally. There was no blood.

She flexed her hand once. That’s when the blood starting pooling. But there was no pain.

Erin looked around. Bandage? There were no bandages nearby. Or cloth.

Her hand felt…numb. Then tingly.

Bandages? Cloth? There were…curtains upstairs. Right? But they were dirty, and mouldy too.

this is bad

The blood was dripping onto the fish and the counter. Erin wanted to wipe it away, but she was still holding her knife. And suddenly, her hand started hurting.

“…Ow.”

Erin dropped the knife.

“Ahh. Ah.”

She gripped her wrist as hard as she could, stopping the blood flow. But the pain kept coming now, on and on.

“Bandage.”

She didn’t remember leaving the kitchen. But she was back with one of the curtains from upstairs and slicing it to make a bandage as blood soaked the cloth. It was hard. She could only use one hand and her other was hurting.

Eventually she wound the cloth tight and gritted her teeth as she tied a knot. The bloodstain was already spreading, but at least something was covering the wound. But it still hurt.

It hurt! Erin tried to think as she stumbled back to the common room. It wasn’t deep. Well, it was deep but she wasn’t looking at bone. But it felt really deep.

“It hurts.”

She didn’t have words to describe the agony in her hand. The rest of the world was dim and unimportant compared to the pain radiating from that one point. All of her senses were focused on that place, and it was all Erin could do not to scream.

“Screaming is bad. Quiet.”

She just knew it. Screaming would make it somehow so much worse. So instead Erin sat and gripped her wrist. The blood was dripping. It hurt.

It really hurt.

this is very bad 

The dead fish stared up at her on the cutting board drenched with her blood. It stank. At the same time, Erin’s stomach grumbled. She wasn’t hungry for fish, but she was hungry.

Still, she didn’t want to eat. Erin walked back to the chair and sat down. As she did she bumped the back of her legs. The knife cuts burned and hurt. A different kind of pain.

“I get it. It’s a bad day, right?”

Erin whispered. It made her feel better not to talk loudly. She was awake even though she was tired. The pain wasn’t going to let her sleep. And she was hungry, but she really didn’t want to eat.

So she sat, and watched her blood fall.

Drip.

okay now we have a bleeding hand, a rotting fish, giant crabs, and goblins to worry about. if i may reiterate, this is very much not good 

t was dark when the puddle stopped growing. It soaked into the floorboards, a dark stain in the night. Erin stared at the blackness. She couldn’t sleep.

“Still hurts.”

Erin stared at the table. She stared at the grain of the wood. No good. She couldn’t distract herself. But she had to.

So she began to whisper.

“Pawn…pawn to E4.”

She rested her injured hand on the table. It flared once in pain, and then resumed throbbing. Her other hand traced a square, and her eyes darted over the empty table.

“Pawn to E5. Pawn to F4. Pawn captures F4 – King’s Gambit Accepted. Bishop to C4, queen to H4. Check. Bishop’s Gambit. King to F1, pawn to B5. Bryan Counter-gambit. Bishop captures B5, knight moves to F6. Knight moves to F3…”

She kept talking long into the night. But the pain in her hand never stopped. It just kept hurting. And hurting.

aaaaand it gets worse. she cant sleep, and thus cant get any more of the levels, which could give her a skill that would help, plus she has started rambling out a chess game via chess notation. based on her backstory, this seems like a coping mechanism. lets hope our protag gets over this or gets help soon 

also thats the end of the chapter! the situation got a bit better and then got a lot worse. half a step forward 3 steps back i suppose. 

will our protag get over this pain? will she get medical help via a skill? will she stumble into the settlement in the distance half dead? find out next time! 

see you tomorrow! looks like this formula of post endings is sticking till i think of something better 

[merrylittlehogwartsrp]

Happy Holidays, Karli! We are thrilled to “invite” Lavender Brown (fc Alisha Boe) back to Hogsmeade for a little forced Winter Cheer. We adored how past, directly post war, and current all worked so well in your app--from family dynamics to current werewolf (or not) infection.

Please pack your bags and send in your tumblr. Additional information can be found here!

OOC DETAILS:

NICKNAME: Karli

AGE: 27

PRONOUNS: She/Her

ACTIVITY  ESTIMATE: Around 6-7 probably. I generally am on every single day through mobile, but I can’t post every day. T/W are usually a no for me as far as posting goes, but I’m on in the weekends fairly regularly. 

CHARACTER DETAILS:

FULL NAME & NICKNAMES: Lavender Claudia Brown

BIRTHDATE: November 3rd (”That’s a Scorpio, a water sign. Professor Trelawney always said that we are called that because we can be as mysterious as the ocean itself. Don’t you find me mysterious?”)

BLOOD-STATUS: Half-blood

GENDER IDENTITY: Cis-Female

GENDER PRESENTATION/PRONOUNS: Female, She/Her

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual. Lavender likely doesn’t think much about her sexuality and perhaps doesn’t even know this word (it is the early 2000s, after all, and sexuality wasn’t as understood), but she does understand that she likes pretty things and people. If someone catches her attention, she’s on it. It doesn’t matter if it’s a boy, girl, or something else entirely. Well, perhaps not everything else… she’d like to them to be human. Like, Professor Lupin was good-looking and all, but…

CHARACTER SITUATION:

OCCUPATION: what do they do for a living? 

Lavender owns a very small shop in Diagon Alley, just on the border between Diagon and Knockturn. Not actually Knockturn, but no one wanted the little place with the boarded up windows so close to all the dark happenings (you think there would be less without a war, but apparently not!) so rent is cheap and it adds to the appeal. Her shop is supposed to be mysterious, you see!

It’s called Azure Moon (as in “Welcome to Azure Moon, are you ready to awaken your aura?”) and it’s a mystical shop. She sells various items for the art of Divination, such as tarot cards, tea leaves, and crystal balls. There is also a line of homemade hand creams, scents, and other products that are geared towards enriching the experience. In the back, Lavender will provide a tarot or palm reading for an additional fee. No, she will not blow you for a bit extra coin, thank you very much!

Her scars ended up choosing the name for her. Many people actually assume she’s a werewolf since her attack. There are so many rumors around the species that people often believe they can “catch” lycanthropy from a simple touch. What wix don’t realize is that actual werewolves wouldn’t have scratch marks like Lavender’s cursed wounds. She lets the rumors go, though - it adds to the appeal of the shop. She often gets business simply because teenagers dare one another to enter or adults just have to see and no one leaves without a purchase after her wolf eyes catch them staring. 

HOUSING:

Lavender lives in the flat above her shop by herself. It’s even tinier than Azure Moon - with a little bathroom with the sliding wood door, while everything else fit into the one room. Her bed is off to the side with bulbs of light hanging around it from the ceiling. Scented candles or incense burn at the table in the corner. She has a purple couch with a teal rug, wood floors. Shawls and blankets in varying places. Not quite Trelawney because Lavender is much more fashionable, but there’s an aura about the place anyway. In her bathroom, she has an entire closest dedicated to hair products, scrunchies, nail polish, and make up. Her vanity is her sanctuary… even if it barely fits next to the toilet! 

SOCIAL STANDING: 

She’s nothing. Well, not nothing to herself or her friends or whatever - but to the Wizarding World… nothing. She had joined the D.A., yes. She fought the Carrows, yes. She nearly gave her life to the Battle of Hogwarts, yes. But she’s no war hero. She hadn’t even taken down a Death Eater before her fall! The world does not remember her name, even though it was in the papers once as one of the injured. Ginny and Neville and Luna - they led the rebellion. Harry and Ron and Hermione - they took down Voldemort. Lavender is nothing.

But she’ll be damned if she’s not remembered for something before she goes!

CHARACTER CONFIGURATION:

TALENTS/WEAKNESSES 

(+) Divination

(+) Fashion

(+) Finding a weakness and making someone see it

(-) Transfiguration

(-)  Inspiring others

(-) Not very athletic

STRENGTHS/FLAWS

(+) Intuitive

(+) Passionate

(+) Confidence

(-) Possessive

(-) Manipulative

(-) Reactive

CHARACTER HISTORY: (It says “short” paragraph but I got a bit carried away on some of them!)

FAMILY BACKGROUND

When Felicity Brown got pregnant right out of Hogwarts, her family was appalled. They were purebloods, after all! Maybe not Sacred 28 or anything of that caliber, but still… purebloods had standards! And with a stranger, no less! Felicity claimed the man had also been a pureblood wizard, but she didn’t even know his last name, so what was the truth, really? Her family kept it up, though. It was easier to explain to the neighbors and friends that a mistake with the potion had happened (each retelling had it less and less on Felicity’s shoulders) while keeping up appearances of little Lavender’s bloodline.

For the first two years of her life, she’d lived with her mom and grandparents in a nice home in a magical community. Such a beautiful baby, Felicity put her daughter in bows and dresses and teeny tiny golden robes. So precious! people gushed and Felicity smiled because that’s what was expected. She began to notice, however, that the way her parents treated her daughter was different than the other grandchildren. Well, she was married out of wedlock, after all! And it had been obvious that even the claim of a pure bloodline wasn’t enough to keep her parents happy.

She left without a word, dragging her crying toddler into the stormy wind, apparating to a new home in the countryside. And wasn’t it such a coincidence the muggle owners suddenly wanted to move out and leave the deeds to a young, single mother? Felicity had assumed muggle life would be easy. After all, she had magic on her side! Finding a job had been simple once she learned the trick of enchanting a parchment to say exactly what an employer wanted to see. But acting the part. That had been a bit tougher. Still, if she became fairly good at those memory charms, no one from the ministry had come knocking!

As Lavender grew up, she learned of the Wizarding World, but only the basics. Hogwarts, wands, robes, magic. Nothing about the details. She loved her mother but, once, she wished she could visit her grandparents again. Felicity, however, liked to keep her daughter close. They’d grown up together, after all. A child having a child.

She poured over magazines - both magical and muggle alike - and didn’t even realize that it wasn’t normal for a parent to prefer to spend most days inside the house. That it wasn’t normal for boxes to be stacked in the house, filled with trinkets and trash and those cut outs from 1984. (”Oh, honey, we can’t throw them out! We may need them some day!” her mom had said more than once).

All Lavender knew was that she was ready to get out of the clutter. She was ready for Hogwarts, where she could style her hair for people to actually see it. 

LIFE DURING THE WAR

The castle was beautiful and, oh, look at the floating candles! There are elves here! And ghosts! Hogwarts had been spectacular. Even with deaths and tournaments and ever-changing teachers and heartbreak and Harry Bloody Potter messing things up for everyone! Even with the war looming, Hogwarts was spectacular. And maybe that’s why the death of Albus Dumbledore had been so shocking. She’d thought they were untouchable.

But Voldemort had taken over, The Chosen Jerk had fled with her dolt of an ex-boyfriend, and Lavender had realized that beautiful things could be dangerous. Hogwarts turned dark. The Carrows and Severus Snape took over, tormenting the students, and leading the students’ lives down a place that only ended in bloodshed. Lavender realized, for the very first time it seemed, how much a blood status mattered. She’d always been half-blood… safe. But she knew so little about the Wizarding World and, whenever quizzed, she’d failed. The curse of a parent who did not want anything to do with the wixen any longer.

She continued with the D.A. - but only after asked. She snuck out of the common room - but only with a group. She wasn’t the leader here! And, even if she tried to be, no one would ever follow her. People have been underestimating Lavender her entire life, why would they stop just because a war was going on? She tried to resist as much as she could whenever the Carrows told her to torture someone, but sometimes she felt like she just had to. After all, if she didn’t do it – didn’t Crabbe and Goyle just get called in? And they were so much worse than her! It wasn’t an everyday thing, but she did do it and knew that sometimes that meant people judged her. But whatever – she was still fighting the damn war, wasn’t she?

She stayed for the Battle of Hogwarts. Of course she stayed! But it wasn’t even halfway through when Greyback attacked. The world had exploded and she’d been thrown over the edge and he’d bitten into her body. Her skin had been eaten. She couldn’t remember much after that. Not the stirring or the hexes or people finding her body. She was alive – but was she?

LAST THREE YEARS

The first four months after the war had been spent in St. Mungo’s. Not just for the cursed wounds – though there was a gnarly scar on her neck from the place Greyback’s teeth had sunk into her, as well as others on her face, a few on her stomach – but also just… the rest of it. She’d been left to die for hours in that unsteady Hogwarts corridor. She’d been hit with stray curses, pieces of debris had partly covered her body. There were bones to fix and regrow, wounds to heal, hexes to trace, antidotes to drink. She didn’t have to learn to walk or write or anything again, but her memory stayed hazy and there were things she forgot. Had she taken her meds yet? Did the healers visit yet? That is mostly better now, but Lavender still struggles with short-term stuff every now and again.

The shop came later – much later. After being released from the hospital, she went back to her mum’s house. Felicity, who had given up the Wizarding World for good (other than using her wand for simple things), had tried to use Lavender’s injuries as proof that it was dangerous. She tried keeping her daughter away from everything magical and, for the first year, it almost worked. Lavender was still recovering, she couldn’t live on her own. At first, she didn’t realize her mother was isolating her but, when letters from Parvati were never given or her friend never received Lavender’s, she realized.

She left just before the one year anniversary, leased the shop, and didn’t look back. She still writes to her mother sometimes – she does love her, after all – but she also needs space and doesn’t visit often. This is her life and she gets to choose how to live it! Which is maybe why she’s been getting so annoyed with Parvati lately. All she ever did was talk about Lavender’s scars – her symptoms. Lavender was more than constant shaving and cursed wounds and growling in anger and if her friend was devoting her entire life to fixing her, did she really love Lavender for who she was? Sure, maybe Lavender gets a little squeamish around actual werewolves – but she’s not one, so why does it matter? All she knows is that if Parvati doesn’t just give it up soon, Lavender may explode.

HOLIDAY DETAILS:

Her mother is not religious - it’s something she says with pride, smirking at whatever expression the other person gives - and so Lavender was not raised with any sort of real religious tradition. However, they do celebrate Christmas because Felicity believes it’s a time to give gifts, get drunk, and stuff their faces. 

Being just the two of them, they spent Lavender’s breaks from school with hot cocoa (lots of marshmallows!), crappy romantic Christmas films on television, cuddled up in blankets on the couch. Lavender loves her mum - even now! But it’s also hard losing some of that easy connection. Her decision to fight in the war hadn’t just screwed her up - it messed with a lot of her relationships, too.

Something else Lavender did with her mum growing up was look at all the lights. They would go out every year - Lavender holding the side of the car for dear life, as Felicity had never actually been trained in driving and had charmed her papers to get her license - and argued over who had the best house. It was fun and something Lavender missed last year when she decided not to spend the holiday with her mother.

She hasn’t told her mum she won’t be heading home this year either and, given there is no Daily Prophet for Felicity Brown, Lavender will eventually have to find her Gryffindor courage. She’s not exactly angry for the celebration. It’ll be weird going back to school, but she’s happy to see her old friends, show off her new robes or muggle dresses, and hear all the gossip. She’s also planning on setting up a table to sell a bit from her shop. So, if it’ll get her a bit of extra coins, then why not? It’s life after war… might as well get a bit drunk and have some fun!

OOC SUPPLEMENT:

SHIPS: Nope! This would be my first time playing Lavender, if accepted, and I have literally no preference. My biggest thing is… I definitely need chemistry and build up! I’m the slow-burn queen and can’t just jump into something without any build. 

CHANGES: Nope, I think we’re good!

FACECLAIM: Alisha Boe or Vajèn van den Bosch

[fictionpants]

Prompts List

List of prompts that can be requested (w/ or w/o a requested person/character) - [most of these are prompts I found on pinterest in the writing prompts tag - will be adding prompts continuously] - Also, I’ve made a little list of rules when it comes to requests: https://fictionpants.tumblr.com/post/186141917542/rules-for-requests

1. “I apologise in advance for the inconvenience my murder is going to have on your life.”

2. “I hate you.” “Why? I’m lovely.”

3. “Murder wasn’t on today’s agenda.” “It’s not on anyone’s.” “No, it’s on mine, just not until next Thursday.”

4. “Hold on, you died.” “Yeah, well it didn’t stick.”

5. “This is my life now. I have climbed this hill and now I will die upon it.” “Shut up. We’ve only been hiking for twenty minutes.”

6. “She’s crying, what do I do?” “Go comfort her.” “How do I do that?” “Start with hugs.” “With what?”

7. “What’s our exit strategy?” “Our what?” “Oh my god, we’re all going to die.”

8. “I’m going to need chicken blood, salt, five candles, and a bottle of vodka.” “Vodka? For the spell?” “No, that’s just to make me feel better about ripping a hole in the universe.”

9. “Are you clinically insane or incredibly annoying?” “I don’t know, probably both.”

10. “I saved your lives.” “How? By stealing our freedom? Our minds? Our identity?”

11. “It takes a very special kind of idiot to pull off what you just did.”

12. “I’m getting really tired of pretending I’m not evil.”

13. “Did you just agree with me?” “Oh I wish I could take-” “Nope! You said it! No take-backs!”

14. “It’s a long story.” “You conned me into thinking you were dead for eleven months. I have time.”

15. “I regret a lot of things. Having this conversation tops the list.”

16. “I had a thought.” “Oh no.” “I swear it’s a good one this time!’

17. “FBI, open the door!” “No. It’s cooler when you break in.”

18. “Do you think they remember you?” “I sure hope not after what I did the last time I was here.” “What did you do?” “You’ll find out.”

19. “You look…” “Beautiful, I know. Can we move on?”

20. “You scared me!” “Well, I am naturally terrifying.”

21. “I’d agree with you, but then we’d both be wrong.”

22. “I’d take a bullet for you, you know that.” “You’re immortal, and I’m going to kill you if you keep saying that.”

23. “You really have no clue who I am?” “You’d think the confused looks and blank stare would have answered that for you.”

24. “I am way too sober for this.”

25. “You don’t strike me as a professional criminal.” “That’s what makes me so good at it.”

26. “I don’t think of you as a protector. More like a distraction.”

27. “We have five people trying to kill us right now, what are we supposed to do?” “Actually, it’s more like eight.” “Oh, sorry I wasn’t specific enough!”

28. “If you could even comprehend where I’ve come from, you would be terrified of me.”

29. “I saved your life!” “You pushed me off a building.”

30. “You know we’re not all born with the ability to throw fireballs, right?”

31. “How do we keep getting into these situations?” “Eleven years of friendship and I still don’t know.”

32. “Did you hear that scream?” “Yes, I’m the one who screamed.”

33. “Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?” “Yes.” “What if I just break his nose a little?”

34. “You are remarkably well behaved tonight. What did you do?”

35. “You’re-you’re crushing my spleen.” “You don’t even know where your spleen is.”

36. “I’m no detective, of course, but I think this dead body might not be alive anymore.”

37. “Right now, I don’t know if I want to kiss you or shove you off a bridge.” “Can I pick?”

38. “The real treasure was the memories we made along the way.” “I almost died!” “Ah yes, that was my fondest memory.”

39. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you!” “And I’m trying to subtly avoid it!”

40. “Hey, I didn’t kill anyone today!” “What do you want? A gold star?”

41. “I hate you.” “Why? I’m lovely.”

42. “On a scale from one to ten, how bad do you think it would be if-” “At least a twenty.”

43. “Literally everything about this is illegal.”

44. “Seven billion people in the world, and you’re overreacting because we killed one man.” “But-” “Seven. Billion. People. Now quit the complaining and drink your smoothie.”

45. “It’s not my birthday.” “It’s definitely your birthday.” “Give me a calendar. It’s not and I will prove it to – oh. Never mind. Happy birthday to me.”

46. “On a scale from one to ten, how bad do you want to kill me right now?” “I’m hovering somewhere in the high thirties.”

47. “I can fix that.” “I’m calling a professional.” “I’m a professional.” “A more professional, professional.”

48. “What’s the word for that infestation of tiny creatures over there?” “Those are children. That’s a school.”

49. “I have a concern.” “Just one?” “No, but I didn’t think you’d let me speak my piece if I told you how many I actually have.”

50. “Why are you glaring at me?” “I’m hoping you’ll spontaneously combust.”

51. “If we die, I’m going to spend the rest of our afterlife reminding you that this was all your fault.” “That’s cool, I wouldn’t mind having company while being a ghost.”

52. “What are you so afraid of?” “You.”

53. “What is that THING in your backpack?” “It’s my new pet dragon.” “Dragons aren’t real!” “Then why is there one in my backpack?”

54. “I hate the sight of blood.” “Then maybe you shouldn’t kill for a living.”

55. “All that blood looks good on you. It really brings out your eyes.”

56. “Want to see what kind of trouble we can get into?” “Oh god, we’re going to die, aren’t we?” “It’s a Tuesday, I know how to restrain myself.” “You absolutely do not.”

57. “I don’t give a damn.” “You give so many damns they’re visible from SPACE.”

58.  “It’ll be easy. You just have to seduce them.” “You’re kidding, right? I’m about as seductive as a cabbage.”

59. “You’re not as evil as people think you are.” “No. I’m much worse.”

60. “That’s a terrifyingly accurate drawing of us.” “It’s almost like I’m good at what I do.”

61. “You have no power over me.” “You sure about that?”

62. “This isn’t good.” “How can you tell?” “See how they’re slowly surrounding us? And they all have guns and knives and I think one guy is carrying a machete?”

63. “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” “Actually he’s right in front of you.”

64. “I’m not a thief. I’m just really good at acquiring things that aren’t mine.”

65. “I’m not completely human anymore. Remember that next time you want to punch me in the face.”

66. “Is that blood?” “No?” “That’s not a question you’re supposed to answer with another question.”

67. “I never stood a chance, did I?” “That’s the sad part – you did once.”

68. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

69. “I’m not going to leave you.”

70. “Everything is okay.”

71. “I’m going to protect you.”

72. “I believe in you.”

73. “Do you feel guilty? Like, at all?” “I don’t have time to feel guilty. And neither do you.”

74. “Stop that!” “Stop what?” “Doing that thing with your face when you’re happy. It’s making me nauseous.”

75. “What are you doing?” “…Eating.” “We’re being held hostage and you decide to raid the kitchen?” “They didn’t say the fridge was off limits.”

76. “Is that a dead body?” “Maybe?” “It is. I can see it right in front of me.” “I promise I’ll clean it up before dinner.”

77. “If we’re going to get out of here, we’re going to have to work together. After that, we can go back to killing each other.” “Oh, fine.”

78. “That’s not funny.” “I thought it was.” “You don’t count. You started laughing in the middle of a funeral because you started thinking of a meme you saw on Facebook.”

79. “Do we need wine?” “No, I need wine, you need to put your pants back on.” “But life is so freeing without them.” “Pants. On. Now.”

80. “Can you please go be stupid somewhere that’s away from me?”

81. “I feel like I’m being stabbed.” “How do you even know what it feels like to be stabbed?”

82. “Will you be quiet?” “I didn’t say anything!” “Well stop thinking so loud.”

83. “Did you get my note?” “Of course I got it. You taped it to my forehead while I was sleeping.”

84. “You’re a psychopath.” “I prefer creative.”

85. “Why do people keep trying to put this blanket on me?” “Because you’re in shock.” “That doesn’t mean I need a blanket. It means I need booze.”

86. “Oh no.” “What is it? What happened? Who died?” “I think I just felt an emotion.” “You have GOT to be kidding me.”

87. “When all this is over, I want my sanity back.”

88. “That’s definitely not true.” “Of course it is. I read it on Wikipedia.”

89. “You forgot me.” “It was an accident.”

90. “Why do you keep risking your life? To prove a point?” “Yes.”

91. “I would like to join you in acknowledging the difficulties of your life.” “You are the WORST at this comfort thing.”

92. “You’ve got to stop doing that.” “What?” “Saying things that make me want to kiss you.”

93. “Look, if you want to conjure some demon spawn from the great beyond, that’s all fine and dandy. Just wait for me to leave before you start.”

94. “Just calm down!” “My leg just dematerialised and you want me to calm down!?”

95. “You know what they say, panicking burns a shit ton of calories.” “Who even says that?” “Me. Just now.”

96. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just be in the corner, having another existential crisis.”

97. “Oh my god, I had the exact same dream!” “Really?” “Are you crazy? Of course I didn’t.”

98. “I need to go de-stress.” “Where are you going?” “To demolish the living room.”

99. “I think I’m having a feeling. How do I make it stop?”

100. “I’m bitter and complicated. It’s one of my charms.” “I don’t think you know what that word means. Or how to count.”

101. “I don’t know what the protocol is for revealing your secret identity so, hi? Surprise?”

102. You always think you know what you’d do when faced with the end of the world. Me? I went home and took a nap.

103. “Damn it, why aren’t you obeying the laws of physics?”

104. “I’d hug you right now, but you’re covered in evidence. And I also really don’t want to.” “Evidence is a really nice euphemism for blood, gore and guts.” “You’re totally missing the point. Do you know how pissed I am at you right now?”

105.  “This way is more efficient.” “This way is going to get us killed.”

106. “You’re not my favourite person today.” “I’m not your favourite person on any day.”

[bisexualdanavidan]

oh boy oh boy my friend tagged me in a WIP tag meme thing!  thank you @thepartyresponsible, you don’t even go here and you’re still my favorite 

we’re gonna go under a cut cuz i can’t ever shut the fuck up

i wanna tag uhhh @orgyforone @sweetiefiend @theseusinthemaze and whoever else that follows me that wants to do this, i don’t want to impose!! 

1. wip #1 (“and start again”) is a three-part thing about arin & co living in a little oregon town where arin is the elementary school art teacher and dan is a single dad to a seven or eight year old

The farmers’ market starts the first Saturday of September and ends the last Saturday of November.  It’s always been that way - it’s certainly been that way since he moved here, six years old and starting out the season in shorts and a t-shirt and ending it bundled up behind the little stall his mom rented to sell bread and muffins out of.  He’s made it a longstanding habit to get up early on Saturdays year-round, and it pays off by the time fall rolls around - he’s almost always the first person to get his stall set up on the town square.

It isn’t that he has anything very interesting to sell.  There are other gardeners and farmers with better tomatoes, and Mrs. Culver talks about different breeds and cross-strains of blueberries like his mom used to talk about horses, and anybody with opposable thumbs can grow herbs like he does, even if he does have twice as much mint and lemon balm as anyone else because he let it overgrow a couple summers back and never did get around to wrangling it back to a more manageable level.  He kind of likes the way it looks, more garden than yard on three sides of his little house.  

[...]

“Hey,” Ama’s dad says, “I’m sure Mr. Hanson has stuff to do,” even though Arin’s pretty visibly not doing anything other than talking to them.  Arin takes a moment to look him over while he’s distracted by his kid: they might be the same age - Arin might be a little older - but he looks harried, Arin thinks, and thin in a way that suggests he’s getting over a long illness rather than that he tries to stay that way.  He’s pretty, in a skinny sort of way, with Ama’s long face and curly dark hair.  

2. wip #2 is a record/bookstore au; dan is a former opiate addict whose grandparents/parents set him up with a small shop to run so that he would have something to occupy his time that wasn’t drugs (and set him up with an “employee” aka babysitter in the form of barry, who’s grandma probably went to shul with danny’s or something); arin moves to new jersey, which is as far away from los angeles and his cheating jerk ex-boyfriend as he can get without leaving the country, and ends up spending maybe too much time in this weird little shop; also, arin has a dog

(Part of him is aware what a romantic comedy this is - the whole post-breakup-get-a-dog thing - but there’s not a ton about his life that feels romantic <i>or</i> funny right now, so maybe that specific cliche isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.)

The guy at the front desk seems delighted that he's coming in with the express purpose of adopting a dog.  "If you don't fall in love with someone today," he says after he gets Arin's basic information, "we can get your email or your number or, like, your Facebook or whatever, we get surrenders all the time.  But we've got a really, really great group in right now."

He's short-ish, with a dense scrub of dark beard and bright, clever brown eyes, and his nametag says <i>Hi, I’m Barry</i>.  He's cute, Arin thinks, but there's no spark of legitimate interest like there might have been a couple years ago back home.  <i>Back in California</i>, he corrects himself inside his head.  He leads Arin with a surety through the shelter, past offices and vet tech rooms until they get to the actual anima holding areas.  

"Are you thinking, like," Barry says, "a puppy?  Size preference?"

"Not a puppy," Arin says immediately, because the little brown-and-white terrier puppy that's eyeing him from a couple kennels down is cute as shit, but he's never actually owned a dog by himself before.  "Do you have, like.  A beginner dog?"

3. cw for domestic abuse, skip to the next one if you aren’t cool w it; wip #3 is yet another normal-world-never-famous au where ross and arin are art students in philly and dan works a series of odd jobs in between open mic nights; arin befriends him and gradually tries to ease him away from his piece of shit boyfriend (mostly i want to write about the dynamics of a bad relationship where at least one half of the relationship cares about the other despite being able to acknowledge the toxicity/abuse and avoid the trope where there’s One Final Straw and they make a clean break the first time and live happily ever after)

There’s a chunk of hair ripped out, Arin thinks, and then realizes faintly that it’s not hair, it’s scalp, too, that there’s dried blood matted into his mess of curls, dry and flaky under his fingertips when he reaches to touch it.  Dan jerks away infinitesimally, breathes in, careful, and seems to make himself relax.  

“Sorry,” he says, and when he looks up, Arin can see the hemorrhage in his left eye, a little explosion of scarlet that makes his breath catch in his throat.  He still smiles, though, and it’s small and tight around the edges but almost believable.  “Sorry, that’s - uh - that’s pretty gross.  Sorry.”

4. wip #4 is weird and way overambitious; tl;dr egobang medieval semi-realistic fantasy where arin gets the attention of the seely court and gets arin-napped and dan, who is wildly unsuited for rescue missions, has to venture through the fae forest to get him back 

Morning comes cold and wet to the farm. Mist hangs low over the pastures and stables, clinging to the gardens like a lover; Dan wraps his cloak more snugly around himself before he steps outside, burying his fingers in the thick grey fur lining in search of the cords that lace it tighter.  It's Arin's cloak, made for someone far broader of shoulder, but there’s no one there to see how foolish he looks in a cloak twice his size. The wind from the east is brisk and cold, and it only seems to grow colder as he checks everyone over: the chickens first, who flutter their wings at him and cackle the news of the morning’s bounty - and the goats, the little doeling and her mother, who nips at his sleeve and vainly tugs him forward to her stall - and then all fourteen of the horses, the handful of colts and their nosing mothers and the three raw-boned geldings, ready to be traded.  Ice clings to the very tops of the long grass in the near pasture, and crunches under his feet as he walks the fenceline.

It seems lonely in a way that the farm rarely does.  He lingers in the barn with the hens, scatters more barley than usual so that they peck and prance around his feet, and even offers a handful to the goat doeling.  <i>It’s the cold,</i> he decides.  The doeling snuffles at his empty palm and bleats, a thin, piteous little noise.  Reflexively, he reaches into the bag for another palm’s worth.  <i>The cold has come too early, and without Arin - </i>

He stops himself there, shakes his head as if that will shake the thought away from it.  He’s given to spells of melancholy, and has been since he was young: they’re worse when Arin is gone away, but he only has only one more day to wait.  

so yes those are the myriad things i am Struggling with!!  tbh if any of those catch yr fancy send me an ask, if people seem like they’re more interested in one over the other it will probably be Much easier for me to write them lmao 

[wafflesandsyrup]

About Me~

“tagged” by @vontacompton.

My Last:

1: Drink: Water, but maybe wine by the time this post is through. 2: Phone Call: @catneepx, an angel. 3: Text Message: Mom! 4: Song You Listened To: “Doesn’t Remind Me” by Audioslave 5: Time You Cried: Like five minutes ago. Not even an exaggeration, I cry over everything, and it’s triggered by every emotion. This time it was because I watched The Iron Giant for the millionth time.

Have You Ever:

9: Lost Someone Special: Yeah boi 10: Been Depressed: Yeahhhhhh boiiiiii 11: Gotten Drunk And Thrown Up: Once! I can’t even think of drinking a gin and tonic anymore. But I took it like a champ. It was super funny then and now, lmao. 12: Three Favorite Colors: Red, Blue, and Gray/Black tbh

In The Last Year Have You:

13: Made New Friends: Yes! More before I moved, but I have made a handful of friends recently. 14: Fallen Out Of Love: Nope! 15: Laughed Until You Cried: Absolutely. 16: Found Out Someone Was Talking About You: lol yeah 17: Met Someone Who Changed You: I don’t think so! I’m usually who changes myself. I don’t think I have ever changed because of someone else. 18: Found Out Who Your Friends Are: For sure. I don’t tolerate disrespect or pettiness lmao 19: Kissed Someone On Your Facebook list: My husband, so yes! 20: How Many Of Your Facebook Friends Do You Know In Real Life: All of them, even if I knew them briefly. 21: Do You Have Any Pets: I have a dog! Back in MO, I have another dog and a cat, who I miss a shit ton. 22: Do You Want To Change Your Name: No, though it was hard to let go of my last name when I got married. I’ll always hyphenate it on unofficial documents lmfao. My new one is pretty unusual, though. 23: What Did You Do For Your Last Birthday: I made a booze cake and drank at home, since Brendan won’t be 21 until October and I had no other friends in WA lol. 24: What Time Did You wake Up: 9:30 25: What Were You Doing At Midnight Last Night: Playing Skyrim 26: Name Something You Can’t wait For: I can’t wait to visit home in July, for the short term, and I can’t wait to achieve my goal of being a forensic nurse. 27: When Was The Last Time You saw Your Mom: November. I miss her so much. I am her number one fan. I’ll talk about my mom to everyone, she’s so smart, funny and pretty! 28: What Are You Listening To Right Now: Chopin’s “Ballade No.1 in G minor, Op.23″-- I’m planning on learning this on the piano soon, and I grew especially attached to it after watching Your Lie in April tbh.  29: Have You Ever Talked To A Person Named Tom: Actually, no. 

General:

30: Something That Is Getting On Your Nerves: Boredom tbh, but that’s nothing new. My inability to relax, too! I just want restful sleep god dammit. 31: Most Visited Website: YouTube probs 32: Hair Color: Dirty blonde?? Light brown maybe?? some copper is in there too?????????? Idk anymore. 33: Long Or Short Hair: Short right now, though I want to have medium-length hair for a while before having long hair again.  34: Do You Have A Crush On Someone: I’m married, so I obviously do lmfao. 35: What Do You Like About Yourself: I like my personality-- I like making people laugh and how I look on the bright side of life (since I used to be a real big whiny pussybitch). 36: Piercings: Ears 37: Blood Type: Ok i’m gonna be fr I have no idea what my blood type is so if i need blood immediately i’m fucked 38: Nickname: Syrup! 39: Relationship Status: Married to my fav human. 40: Zodiac Sign: Capricorn 41: Pronouns: She/her 42: Favorite TV Show: the X-Files, though I also like Parks and Rec. 44: Right Or Left Handed: Right 45: Surgery: I got my tonsils removed as a kid (super shit) and my wisdom teeth removed (also suuuuuper shit). Once I am done losing weight, I’m going to have a breast reduction because this shit is out of control. 46: Sport: Softball/baseball 47: Vacation: I would like to visit Europe (particularly Ireland, England, Germany, and Italy) and Japan, China, and Korea. In the US I would like to visit each state at some point. 48: Pair of trainers/Sneakers or Tennis Shoes: I call them tennis shoes, and I have a nice black pair of running shoes which are super comfy.

More General:

49: Eating: an apple lol 50: Drinking: wine 51: I’m About To: fold laundry and play more Skyrim, probably, maybe, hopefully. 52: Waiting For: Death to Take Its Inevitable Toll on my Flesh Prison 53: Want: hugs, friends, to be able to eat like a fat piece of shit w/o being a fat piece of shit lmfao help 54: Get Married: check 55: Career: I want to be a forensic nurse. I love working with the human body, always have, and I have always been fascinated with the forensic industry. I’ve wanted to do something that makes me happy and does something to get justice for people who have been hurt, and the moment I decided upon this career path I felt like everything finally made sense. A huge weight left my shoulders, that’s for sure.

Which Is Better:

56: Hugs Or Kisses: Hugs! I love hugging. I hug everyone bc I have a lot of platonic love to give every single person. 57: Lips Or Eyes: yo’ peepers! 58: Shorter Or Taller: I’d say similar height or taller because I am incredibly short, but personality is what seals the deal for me in the end. 59: Older Or Younger: about the same age, give or take a year (since my husband is about a year younger than me), or older. I wouldn’t be able to stand someone all that much younger than me if we’re being honest here lmfao 60: Nice Arms Or Nice Stomach: Stomach?????? 61: Hook Up Or Relationship: Relationship, for the other person’s sake. I’m too much of a goof for hooking up and I’d make someone feel insecure for cracking a joke in the middle of some sort of sexual encounter. It is literally impossible for me to take sex seriously. Also, I just prefer the companionship part of relationships over the physical. 62: Troublemaker Or Hesitant: Troublemaker, but not like... a felon or anything. Just goofy, without shame, and kind of annoying. Like me. But being reasonable when appropriate is important, too.

Have You Ever:

63: Kissed A Stranger: Yeahhhhhhh, immediate regret (cigarette mouth!). 64: Drank Hard Liquor: ya 65: Lost Glasses/Contact Lenses: every gd day dawg. and it’s partially because in order to find my glasses I need my glasses to see them. 66: Turned Someone Down: hoooooooo boy, yes, yes, yes. 68: Broken Someones Heart: HOOOOOOOOO boy, yes. I was always caught off guard by it, because I never see someone as potential relationship material, but always as bff material, until they make it explicitly clear. It just wouldn’t feel right to assume they may have a thing for me. So, most of my friends in life have been guys, and I have had to deal with a lot of uncomfortable confessions and rejection from said pals. I hate hurting people, and they’re often very hurt by my rejection, and I end up losing friends over it. I don’t even like thinking about it lol. 69: Had Your Heart Broken: Yup! Abusively and tragically. Some Carrie shit, haha. It doesn’t impact me now, except for making me angry. 70: Been Arrested: I’m a straight edge dude. 71: Cried When Someone Died: Duh 72: Fallen For A Friend: I can’t fall for someone unless we are friends, so yes! Brendan was my BFF for a while until he told my oblivious ass he wanted to date me.

Do You Believe In:

73: Yourself: Yes! The only person you can always depend upon, no matter what, is yourself. 74: Miracles: hmmmm, maybe. I’ll say yes, but my skeptical mind will always question. 75: Love At First Sight: Attraction at first sight, maybe. I believe in friendship at first sight, if we’re being honest. I see someone and just get this feeling that we could be awesome friends. Love is something much more deep rooted for me. 76: Santa Claus: I believe in My Dad 78: Angels: I’m not sure. I’m open to the possibility, due to the limitations set by existing as a human, but I’m not Christian or anything. I feel like there’s “something” out there, but I’m just a dumb human and will likely never be able to know for sure. I think human beings can be deemed angels.

Other:

79: Current Best Friend’s Name: Casi/Stephanie (I love them both so much my dudes). 80: Eye Color: Green/Hazel (more green than hazel tho-- it’s really cool because i have a fleck of gold in one of my irises, and my grandma has the same fleck of gold) 81: Favorite Movie: I couldn’t narrow it down to one. I love the LOTR movies, The Sixth Sense, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Spirited Away, Saving Private Ryan...... the list goes on forever. My family has always been a big movie family.

im not tagging anyone lol

[svtskneecaps]

I’ve been watching too many kpop school performances. . .

So here’s a list of tips and tricks and songs for that sort of thing.

Note: I’m not a dancer, and I’ve never done this myself. This is based off of my observations from the videos I’ve watched.

1. If you’re filming the performance, don’t wear black long sleeves

   This goes especially for people who don’t have a high quality camera. Black long sleeves make it difficult to tell what the arms are doing without the sharp edges provided by higher quality. And even with a high quality camera, take the precaution that some computers can’t handle higher qualities and just be prepared for people who have to watch in 240p or their computer crashes. White long sleeves are preferable, even if you think you’re the palest person in existence. (Or don’t, your choice)

2. Know your audience

   If your school is like mine and they like hip hop stuff, don’t hit them with “TT” straight out the gate, unless you’re looking to do something cutesy first and then knock them in the face while their guard’s down. Likewise, if your school isn’t very kpop oriented, consider doing the BBHMM remix, Blackpink choreography as your opener. I’ve seen numerous schools do that and it results in a lot of screams.

3. Strive for synchronization

   I may not dance, but I know this is damn hard. However, a lot of the awe factor in kpop dances comes from their near-perfect synchronization, even among larger groups. Thus, if you’re trying to do BTS - Fire, or Dope, it’ll look way more impressive if you do it in sync, especially if you have a larger group. Not Today was hella cool because they had a freaking army of people doing the same thing in perfect synchronization. If it’s not in sync, it’ll look strange and messy, even if you’d be perfect on your own. I understand that this means a lot more extra practice and can get frustrating, but if they can do it, so can you. ^w^

4. Confidence

   It’s either all or nothing. It looks odd if there’s someone on the side putting their all into the moves with intense power, and then the center is nervous. It might be rude, but try to keep the less confident out of the center, or help them find their confidence. Within each of us is a royal, ready to slay. All they need is a chance.

5. Transitions

   Remixing is hard, but if the songs stop between, it’ll be like that awkward piece at an orchestra concert with three movements and your parents keep clapping when the song’s not over, and this time there’s no director’s baton to even half signal that “Hey, performance isn’t over yet people!” A good transition is most of that. Try to put songs together that work well together, or find natural stops in the songs and just cut into another. For example, in SNSD’s “I got a boy”, they say “Ayo stop, lemme put it down another way.” After this is a natural pause, where you can easily transition into another song. This makes for a smooth transition without needing to remix anything.

For larger groups, consider splitting into two groups if performing in a gym-like setting. For example, doing Cheer Up facing both sides of the gym, or both halves of the bleachers. (THIS [obviously] DOES NOT WORK FOR STAGES)

Song list after the break, because this is kinda long.

Note 2: I didn’t actually watch through all the video links. I linked to mirrored dance practices. If a link doesn’t work or the practice isn’t mirrored or something is wrong and it’s useless, let me know and I’ll fix it.

For Larger Groups: (**MAKE SURE TO BE IN SYNC FOR FULL EFFECT**)

BTS - Not Today

Anything by Seventeen (x) (x x)

Probably Exo

Also consider smashing a metric fuckton of songs together and changing up the people for every group (So 9 people do a Twice song, then 7 new people do BTS and so on and so forth), then doing one of these as a finishing number)

Intense / Impressive Choreos:

CLC - Hobgoblin (x)

BTS - Dope

BTS - Fire (unless you’re looking for YouTube approval, this one’s pretty common)

Anything by Dreamcatcher (x)

Got7 - Hard Carry

Got7 - Never Ever

Exo (Probably anything, I hear their choreo is pretty intense, but I’m not huge into them)

NCT 127 - Cherry Bomb

4Minute - Hate

4Minute - Crazy

A lot of Red Velvet

SNSD - I Got a Boy

Cutesy Choreos

(Almost) anything by Twice (x)

Pristin - Wee Woo

I. O. I. - Very Very Very (The video credits it to Pristin, but it’s full of lies)

GFRIEND - Me Gustas Tu

Sexy Choreos

Twice - Ooh Ahh

BTS - Blood Sweat & Tears

Exo - The Eve

Sistar - Touch My Body

I. O. I. - Whatta Man

(Relatively) Common for school performances:

Note 3: I have no actual statistics for this. I’m not keeping scientific track for a post thrown together in an attempt to procrastinate

Anything by BlackPink (x)

BTS - “Fire” “Dope” “Blood Sweat & Tears”

For Intense Cheering:

Coming soon, when I don’t have an essay due

Basically the gist of this would be badass choreos or memey choreos (ex: BTS - Go Go)

Momoland - Bboom Bboom (this also has one of those natural stops I was talking about)