form & file

that feeling when you’ve been reading all those gentle soft happy fanfics where everyone is gay and in love and it’s not a big deal and their friends all support them.

and your favourite superhero couples and detectives and kings and warlocks are just domestic and happy.

and then you emerge into the real world and it’s just not like that.

you walk into your job in the morning and know that if anyone knew, you’d be out the door. kids use the word ‘gay’ as a slur and it might be silly but it makes something hurt inside your chest. you look at your mother and think of the words she’d use to cut you with if you told her. the disgust on her face. you have your family around you and you know it could all be shattered in a minute and it would be you who’d done it.

everyone assumes your straightness. people look at you strangely when you use ‘they/them’ pronouns when asking what their fiancé’s name is, bcs you don’t want to make the same mistake that others make with you. you file forms with spaces for the mother’s name and father’s name and wonder how you’d fill them out if you had a partner and a child. you work with children and wonder what they have to hide about themselves.

and then, sometimes, you go home and read some more fanfic. maybe you write some, or draw fanart if that’s your thing. that’s the best thing, that we’re dreaming about a better world. maybe we’re not famous or published or earning money for what we do. but writing and reading fanworks like this helps a heck of a lot of people, including me, feel happy and comforted and like it’s possible that they might belong one day. that it gets better.

thank you, everyone who creates fanworks where being gay is simply treated as normal. your work is healing and wholesome and full of heart and goodness. and much as i may love the canon, it’s not the canon - it’s the fanworks that are a safe haven to retreat to and recover and heal.

Nintendo Announces Upcoming DLC Details for The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild!!!
  • The Dark World- An entire second map the size of the regular world with all new quests!
  • The Triforce Quest- A new main quest featuring the classic icon within the new “Great Pyramid Shrine” dungeon!
  • Two New Divine Beasts- Vah Gamerah based on the form of a turtle, and Vah Umbertus, based on the form of a walrus!
  • All New Weapons and Armor- Including the “Guardian Buster” sword, the “Bust Guardian” shirt, and the “Proton Pack” which can trap those pesky wizzrobes!
  • Mini-Games- “Waffle Making” and “Snot Rocket Distance!”
  • Unlockable Playable Characters- Ganondorf, Zelda, and Samus!
  • A “Nude Code”- By popular demand for Prince Sidon!
  • New Main Bosses- Including “Soilblight Ganon,” “Leafblight Ganon,” and the horrifying “Fusarium Ear Blight Ganon!”
  • Two New Runes: “Flame,” which can burn any substance in Hyrule, and “Guilt,” which makes enemies feel really bad about trying to hurt you, sending them into despondent hours of self contemplation and regret!
  • New Sheikah Slate Features- Including solutions to shrines in the “Sheikahpedia” and the words “Don’t Panic!” inscribed in large friendly letters on its cover!
  • Cars- Purchase and maintain cars with which you can drive across the plains of Hyrule. Customize your tires and paint job, keep an eye on your gas meter, and register your license plates with the Hyrule DMV! (75 Rupee surcharge per form filed in Lanaryu)
  • Mod Abilities- Including the ability to turn all Bokoblins into Macho Man Randy Savage!
  • Lent- Observe Lent by abstaining from meat for 40 days of game time!
You were about to make a medical comment, Jim?

So, I was thinking about what a goddamn badass Leonard McCoy is.

Actually, I was thinking about drug shortages. I am a resident in the United States. The United States of America. First world medicine, folks. And sometimes - all too frequently - I have to revise the treatment plan of a healthy patient undergoing elective surgery because I do not have access to the ideal drug.

In other words, I compromise.

That’s a sickening feeling, friends. 

Which brings me back to Bones.

Bones, Chief Medical Officer on a five year mission in deep space, where no man has gone before. Bones, who cares so goddamn deeply. Bones, desperately filing requisition forms for medications that he has no hope of receiving in the foreseeable future. Bones, elbow deep in a unfortunate ensign that caught the wrong end of a blast in engineering, sweat dripping in his eyes, nagging thoughts of, “is his name Jason or Joseph?” Bones, mad as hell because medical takes another budget cut. Bones praying frantically to a god he doesn’t believe in, “oh, please, not again.” Bones, eyeballing a unknown species and making a quick judgment call, based on a hasty heart rate estimate and an eyeballed weight, the effective loading dose of a - probably - renal toxic drug. Bones, hissing at Spock to shut the hell up, all the while making his own calculations. Bones, who years after the mission has ended, bolts up out of a dead sleep in a panic of adrenaline, because endless nights of call have made gentle awakenings impossible. Bones, staring dumbstruck at Starfleet Medical’s supply rooms. Bones, dedicatedly carting his tiny medkit on his hip, facing an alien world with a tricorder and a few hypos. Bones, hiding in his quarters for days, pouring over all of the federation’s published xenophysiology records, searching for a connection, wondering where it went wrong. Bones replaying the day’s scene in his mind, fear still gripping his chest as Jim sleeps peacefully in the biobed. Bones alone in the field, performing a bilateral finger thoracostomy on a blue-lipped yeoman who reminds him a little too much of Joanna (if somebody does not write this fic, I will). Bones, fresh out of med school, feverently murmuring his oath with conviction and wide-eyed naivety. Bones blaming himself. Bones bitching about the unpredictability of genetically modified antimicrobials. Bones needing a goddamn drink. Bones, contemplating the nuances of therapeutic nihilism. Bones, forcing himself to meet Jim’s eyes as Jim officiates a funeral. Bones, calculating pharmacokinetics in his head. Bones, knowing there was nothing to be done, but dammit, what if? Bones, painstakingly documenting his every discovery, every treatment plan, every failure and every triumph, for the next generation of medical professionals. Bones in his office with his head in his hands. Bones, absolutely giddy and shaking with relief, “Don’t be so melodramatic; you were barely dead.”

Practicing medicine is terrifying. Every day, I am horrified at the thought that I will not be able to provide for my patients. I love my field with every breath in my body, but the responsibility is overwhelming, and sobering.

Disease and danger, indeed.


“By golly, Jim, I’m beginning to think I can cure a rainy day.

Yeah, Leonard McCoy. I think you can.

Who Should You Fight: The Bright Sessions Edition

(idk if someones made this already BUT)

Dr. Bright

Chance of winning: 40%

Homegirl’s a doctor, not a fighter, and im pretty sure theres something in the Hippocratic oath about “do no harm”, but is it for therapists? see rating. She could possibly psychoanalyze her way around you and maybe manipulae you for her own goals, and she’s been taking yoga classes so she’s probably really flexible. If youre fit, go for it. 

Sam 

Chance of winning: ???

She’d probably get so anxious that she’d time travel and where would that leave you? Alone and with no one to fight. In any case, why would you ever??? Let her rest, she’s been through enough. 

Chloe 

Chance of winning: 0%

Listen. She’s a telepath, she knows youre next move before even you do. You can say “oh shes just an art student!!” all you want but consider: she’s a sculptor and can probably take your eye out with a scoring tool. Do not attempt. 

Caleb

Chance of winning: 10%

Dude’s a football player, so he’s pretty darn ripped, and probably fast too. Can literally sense fear, will use that to his advantage. Only attempt of you want a challenge. 

Adam

Chance of winning: 90%, but at what cost?

This child is an emo wreck and will end up crying on the floor if you hit him, which is not fun for anyone. Also, his boyfriend will 100% beat you up for it, so theres that. And I will also beat you up. Leave this boy alone. 

Damien

Chance of winning: 0%

listen I know what the rating says, and we all know why its like that but please, p l e a s e fight Damien, everyone will cheer you on. You’ll fail but it will be glorious. Fight Damien. 

Mark

Chance of winning: 50%

He seems like a pretty normal guy? that rating goes up or down depending on what atypical he’s near, but in a fair one on one throwdown? average joe. Go for it for a fun time, he’ll probably take you out for ice cream and a beer afterwards. 

 Agent Green 

Chance of winning: 99%

PLEase fight him it will be easy and hilarious. The guy is a bureaucrat and needs to file forms in triplicate to get authorization to throw down, so time is on your side. Fight Agent Green. 

Wadsworth

Chance of winning: 0%

Don’t do it. 

Your grandfather was a fisherman. Your father and aunts and uncles worked the waters and the docks in the coastal town you hail from. It’s not glamorous, and nobody in the family had made it into college before. You grew up in a tidy little house that always smelled a bit of fish with a huge extended family.

Nobody expected the scholarship letter when it arrived, praising your performance in the local high school swim team, and nobody had ever heard of the school. Your parents were thrilled, and so were most of the aunts and uncles. Your grandfather was suspicious, making vague noises that sounded like “tricks and bargains and that kind of business.” What he said out loud was: “Don’t ever leave the sea. It’ll break your heart, girl.”

You were excited and optimistic and exuberant, and you packed your competition suit and a bag of things from home and you went off to college, not listening.

————

Freshman year was odd. You knew you wouldn’t really fit in, given you were a scholarship kid from the back end of the east coast, but it was more than that. You were, of course, on the women’s swim team, but some of the other athletes were … you couldn’t put your finger on it. A couple of the girls seemed too tall, and they never quite got the green from the pool out of their hair. One of the boys was much stockier than the others, a bit like your dad, but he could swim as fast and powerfully as you. He wouldn’t ever speak to you. Some of them were hard to look at, and kept to themselves. Some of them were just ordinary, but they kind of steered clear of you too. It seemed the only thing holding the teams together were the coaches. There were practices, and competitions and your team always did amazingly, but never made it out of state.

Your classes were … classes. Like high school but more interesting. Your managed to keep a decent GPA to hold onto that scholarship, but some of it was a chore. Sandy the RA gave you a list of rules and warned you about some of the other students. There was some superstition about, but given your heritage, none of that seemed off. Fishermen are superstitious folks.

Your roommate was snooty and complained constantly that you still smelled of fish, especially after winter break. You finally told her to go suck a clam and she stopped speaking to you. That was fine with you. You weren’t much for socializing with people who didn’t know the ocean.

That one guy, though, the one who asked you out after the first week of Comp 102 in January. That one, he was great. He was some kind of surfer kid from California. Not a college athlete, but Surfer Boy skated everywhere, talked constantly about the beaches and waves. Somehow tan even in winter.

The third week you were dating, he got you that steel ring for “safety” and you thought it was sweet. It said “always yours” on the inside and got stuck on your finger.

And then - your swimming performance dropped off. They threatened to bench you. There was an uncomfortable conference with the coach and the dean. The rest of the team avoided you even more, and Surfer Boy got … weird. Possessive. Mean.

He thought it was fine that you weren’t competing for a while. He could have you all to himself outside of class time. Isn’t that great? Maybe you could come to California with him for Spring Break. You didn’t want to, though. You wanted to go back to the cold water of home.

Then, about a week after you got benched, out of the blue while you were studying together, he asked you where your skin was. You had no idea what he meant, WTF was this serial killer shit he was asking you? You suddenly remembered Sandy’s warnings, and took off without your books to ask her for help, maybe how to get a restraining order? And maybe to help get this ring off, too.

Sandy the RA (short for Cassandra? Because nobody ever listened to her, not because it was her name) halfway listened to you, nodded tiredly, grabbed a form from a file for submitting to the dean of students and campus security and had you fill it out. Then, as you were both reading the forms over for errors, she looked up sharply, said, “Wait. A ring? Let me see that.”

Sandy took one look at it, got out a saw, and before you could even react, cut it off your finger, in two pieces. One piece said “always” the other said “yours” and she shook her head. “I thought I told you to never accept gifts?”

“But he’s just human, Sandy. Normal, even. More normal than I am.”

“Yeah, nobody ever listens to me.”

Under where the ring had sat for two of the worst weeks of your life, was fur. Sleek, short, dark fur. You yelped.

Sandy blinked slowly, somehow looking completely unsurprised, and said, “That stocky guy on the men’s swim team? The one they call Lion? GO. Talk to him. Show him your hand, he’ll talk to you now. I think he can help.”

As you left, she said, with her back turned, “I don’t think your grandfather was completely honest with you. Have you ever seen any photos of your grandmother? Do you know where she was from?”

(X)

Imagine Dirk Gently being so excited about getting the agency up and running that he starts handing out invoices to practically everyone over the smallest things.

Imagine him sticking one to the Rowdy 3′s van (for services rendered, to whit, sixteen bloody years of feeding on my psychic energy, you assholes) before legging it up the nearest alley.

Drive down the shoulder of the road? Enjoy your fine.

I’m a New Yorker, and like all New Yorkers who drive, I hate cabbies and livery drivers with a fiery passion. I don’t hate someone just because they happen to be one of these drivers, but such a large percentage of them are perfectly happy to speed through traffic, never use a turn signal, cut you off, fuck over tourists, rapidly weave across lanes to pick up a fare, etc… that it’s hard not to generalize.

Anyway, I drive on Van Wyck Expressway every day. Everyone from the area knows that the Van Wyck has been perpetually under construction pretty much since it opened (Seinfeld even has a bit about it). Traffic is frequently congested, but it would more or less move along except that many drivers feel they’ve found a magical shortcut by cutting down the emergency shoulder, then when the shoulder runs out, they have to force their way over. This slows down everyone.

I have a dashcam on my car, and a few months ago, I got footage of a black livery SUV went speeding past me on the shoulder. I reviewed the footage later, and you can see the license plate clear as day.

I decided to check out the Taxi and Limousine Commission’s website, and found they have a very easy online form to file out a complaint about a taxi or livery driver. I filled it out, and uploaded the video as well as a couple of stills taken from it.

It was a long process, but a prosecutor for the TLC called me to discuss what happened, and they confirmed that the driver was indeed in violation of TLC rules, and would have to attend a hearing, and asked that I be available to participate in the hearing by phone as well.

On the date of the hearing, I called in and summarized what happened. I disconnected after that, so I’m not sure what the driver’s side of the story was, but it must not have been persuasive, because today (about two weeks later), I received an e-mail saying he had been found guilty, and given a $700 fine.

blackbat09  asked:

Legion of Doom Len gets his hands on the Flash. Barry tries to appeal to a man that doesn't know him to remember a relationship that hasn't happened yet.

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mulder waxgate

To provide some context to this post… I mentioned in re-watch chat tonight that there’s a notable difference in Mulder’s chest hair from season 1 to season 6. On reflection + research, it’s certainly less noticeable than I had remembered (in my defence, those Monday abs are really distracting). But I think the following screencaps demonstrate a difference in manscaping nonetheless.

For your consideration…

Chest hair - Vancouver years

Chest hair - LA years

It was surprisingly hard to find as good a topless still in Monday as in Fire… as in a “waist-up, squarely facing the camera” kinda moment… which is unbelievable because in my memory he was naked for that entire episode?!?!

Bonus Monday ab pic because damn ahem okay:

Anyway… it seems a little thinned out to me. I think the following Mulder quote says it best…

L I S T E N   U P ,                                    K I L L J O Y S !

Here’s BL/ind’s form for filing us Killjoys away. If you wanna look cool, go ahead and copy n past this fucker into a document of your own, fill ‘er out, and file>publish to the web to get a shareable link. Slap that fucker all over kingdom come.

And as always, tumbleweeds,

Keep running.

kawaiiblizzardruins  asked:

How did you come up with the idea of ​​creating DreamSwap?:D

Just like most of my other creations…

I had an idea.


oh my gosh just imagine this

an alternate version of Dreamtale where Dream and Nightmare have basically swapped roles

Dream ends up becoming kinda like Light from Death Note, thinking that he’s serving justice and doing what’s right

He decides that he wants to rid the world of evil and negativity I guess, messes up Nightmare and runs off super-powerful


This was the very first note that I wrote down for it when I first thought of it.

Man, it’s gotten so complicated since then…

Death by a Thousand Papercuts

Sharon Carter liked field work. She enjoyed traveling to new places, taking on different personas, and occasionally getting to shoot people.

She had been trained by the best, had honed her skills over years, and knew she was a lethal weapon in both mind and body. There was little she couldn’t achieve if she set her mind to it; she lived to excel.

But, paperwork, though.

It was her kryptonite – her digital nemesis – the only thing that detracted from how much she loved her job.

The only thing she hated more than doing paperwork for one of her ops was doing paperwork for one of her ops that involved an Avenger. They were the espionage equivalent of the nuclear option. Plus, it seemed like whenever they were called in, the result was some extra-weird shit that not only generated a ton of much-loathed paperwork, but also seemed to spawn new, hyper-specific forms that she, as op lead, had to fill out.

“Yo, Carter, I got you a present!” called the absolute last voice she wanted to hear. Sharon regretted leaving her office door open. She might otherwise have been able to keep silent and pretend she wasn’t there.

She sighed. “Let me guess, Lewis: more paperwork?”

Darcy grinned, “I know how much you love it.” The infernal inter-office liason dropped a three-inch stack of paper files onto Sharon’s already cluttered desk. “Cap may have neglected to mention during debrief that he took out a critical structural support during the fight.”

Only Sharon’s self-control saved her from bashing her head on her desk; she settled for pinching the bridge of her nose.

“The building collapsed, didn’t it.” Oh god, that was going to be so many extra forms.

“In a cinematic fashion as he was casually striding away from the billowing debris, according to a member of STRIKE.”

Sharon eyed Darcy, who shrugged.

“Sgt. Kabeya majored in film before joining the Navy SEALs. His reports read like screenplays of movies I’d actually want to see.”

Sharon avoided reading individual reports; there were analysts and computer programs for that. Not even an entertaining report would induce her to suffer through a longer paperwork process.

She doubted Lewis bothered to read most of them, either. The woman ignored all rules she thought were silly, including but not limited to: keeping a tidy workspace, addressing superior officers with respect, and not stealing a prototype Stark/SHIELD collaboration to engage in a high-speed chase with a “cute nefarious baddie.”

Glaring at the stack, Sharon said, “I’d thank you, but-”

“Yeah, yeah: I’ve just condemned you to death by a thousand cuts.” Darcy adjusted the lay of her standard-issue black suit jacket, and turned to leave. Sharon noted Lewis was wearing glittery Doc Martens instead of regulation black shoes.

Darcy stopped in Sharon’s doorway, pausing her retreat long enough to smirk over her shoulder, “I’ll be by later with some lemons for all those papercuts you’re gonna have.”

“Get the hell out of my office, Lewis.”

[ Tom Hiddleston - Extended imagine ]“Cigarettes and Divorce Forms”.

Based on: Imagine: Filing for divorce from Tom, and him signing the papers even though he still loves you, because he knows you aren’t happy with him and all he wants is to see you smile even if its not him who can make it happen anymore.

Written by: A.Wölf.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tom stared at the clock before lighting his 5th cigarette in the last 67 minutes. The ticking noise seemed to echo in the room.

The lawyer adjusted his cufflinks for the 3rd time and took a deep breath glancing at his impatient client with a worried look.

“How much longer are you going to wait, Mr.Hiddleston?”

Tom glared at him with the cigarette burning between his fingers.

“She’ll be here”, he murmured clenching his jaw.

“It’s been-”

“I’m sorry”, Tom cut him off, “Am I not paying you enough, mate? Because you sure as hell know how to charge”.

The lawyer shifted in his seat awkwardly and interlaced his fingers before him with a softer expression, understanding his client’s bad mood.

Well, what I mean is… that maybe this is a good thing. You know… maybe she doesn’t want the divorce after all. Many people avoid these things because they don’t really want to get divorced”, he stammered.

Tom narrowed his eyes and cocked his head.

“Oh believe me. She wants it”, he said holding smoke in his mouth.

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