Niz, she/her, middle aged. Writer of sickfics. Multifandom blog, I write for 9-1-1 Lone Star, currently also watching a lot of Starfleet Academy, Bluey, and Bob’s Burgers. Afiendishthingy on AO3
New fic: Carlos goes viral (amazingly not a sickfic) T, 4400 words.
“Drop the phone,” Carlos tries now, as though TK is an armed criminal.
“Uh, no, Carlos, I’m not trying to crack my screen, you’re the one who’s always telling me to be more careful,” TK replies blithely, sliding his phone into his pocket.
“Nope! Jonah, go! Tickle attack, get him!”
While Jonah pounces, TK unlocks his phone again and sends the video to Andrea, then to his dad for good measure.
“Time for ice cream!” Jonah screams in Carlos’s face.
“Only if you stop tickling me! And TK doesn’t get any.”
TK and Jonah gasp in horrified unison. “That’s not nice, Papa.”
“Yeah, Papa, that’s not nice,” TK echoes.
“You’re not nice,” Carlos says darkly. “You’re a cyber criminal.”
For those who have been wondering what’s in the video, now’s your chance to find out!! Also, this fic contains cats.
Once when I was in undergrad, someone described something as “problematic” in class and our professor was like, “That’s cool, but ‘problematic’ doesn’t really mean anything. It means that the thing you’re describing has a problem, and in and of itself that’s not bad. Art, especially, should always have problems, or else it’s not interesting and not art, either. It sounds like you’re trying to say that this is bad, but you don’t want to say ‘bad.’ Is that right?”
So from then on whenever one of us called something problematic, he would make us talk it out until we could name the “bad” thing we were hinting at. In this particular class, 7/10 it was some type of oppression, and the remainder was like, “I’m uncomfortable because this is very new/confusing/pushing boundaries that made me feel safe.”
Once we stopped calling things “problematic” and stopping at that, class got way more interesting and... we all had to say, like, “that’s racist” or “that’s misogynistic” or “ew capitalism gross” out loud, which a lot of us had never done in a classroom before. Or we had to be like, “Uhhh... I’m not sure what’s so bad?” and confront our own beliefs and that was maybe even more useful.
Anyway. Whenever I see the word problematic, I can’t help but think of this professor being like, “Good starting point, now let’s get specific.” I think when we have to commit to saying “that’s ___” it requires a lot more careful thought about the truth and impact and complexities of whatever we’re claiming. Sometimes there really is some bullshit afoot, and also sometimes it’s art, and it should be full of problems, because that’s what art is.
wow dude jts so awesome that your car is loud as fuck and smells worse when it drives past. thags fucking epic man. i really like how it hurts to listen to you drive past and it scares people. thats awesome man. i really like your car that makes a loud as fuck fart sound. fucking epic dude
God I miss the days when you could show up to a stranger’s farm and he’d say “What’s your name, boy?” and you’d take off your hat and hold it to your chest to better let him see your face and reply “Why I ain’t got none, sir, on account of my mammy passed on before she could give me one” and he’d tell you he’s real damn sorry to hear that and ask what he can do you for and you’d tell him that you can’t read nor even write neither but you’re mighty good with horses and can mend them fallen fence posts what you saw on your way in and won’t ask for nothing much more than a hot meal and a warm barn to sleep in and he’d keep his wife and daughters inside but send his boy who ain’t got married yet even though his mama tells him he needs a woman out with a lantern and some stew at night and the two of you’d get to talkin and he’d throw you his flask to take a swig from and watch you drinkin from it while he leant against the door frame and when he finally got called back on up to the house again he’d take a sip from it too real slow-like like it weren’t the whiskey what he were tryna savour
every day at least once while on a walk i think to myself “it weren’t the whiskey what he were tryna savour” and sometimes if i am alone i say it out loud
if you vote me for president i vow to make everything the ocean again. no more land only ocean. this will solve all of our problems and replace them with new, far more interesting problems
Ok so I may have started working on an AU with teenage TK and toddler Jonah living with Gwyn and Owen in Austin, because Gwyn deserved to see how much her boys love each other. also shockingly it’s a sickfic. Hoping I’ll finish this one and it won’t just languish in my drafts!!
“So you’re coming for Catan tonight, right? Because me and Marj are an alliance now, and we’re gonna kick yall’s asses.”
“Yeah, Nance, I’ll be there.”
“Unless you’re too chicken.”
“I’m not chicken.” As TK speaks, his little brother flings open his bedroom door with a bang, which doesn’t help the throbbing headache TK’s been trying to ignore.
“CHICKEN!” Jonah screeches. “Bock bock bock! Bock bock!” Flapping his arms, he races into the room and vaults onto TK’s bed, then coughs in TK’s face.
“Aw, is that Jonah? Hi Jojo!” Nancy calls.
“HI I CHICKENNNNN.”
“He’s a chicken,” TK explains. “See you tonight. Prepare to lose.” Hanging up, he pokes his brother in his little round toddler tummy. “You feeling better, dude?”
Jonah’s daycare is full of lots of fun germs that Jonah is kind enough to bring home to share with TK and his parents; this time he managed to catch the flu. This is the most like himself TK’s seen him in days.
In response, Jonah launches himself at TK, squeezing his neck boa constrictor style.
“Ow, ow, okay! Not that hard!” The bones in TK’s face all ache. Come to think of it, all of the bones in his body ache. He wants to blame it on the humidity, or a vigorous game of disc golf the other day, but the disease vector now singing “And on that farm he hadda POOP” into his ear begs to disagree.
Thank you @annoyingcloudearthquake @carlos-in-glasses @actuallylemon and everyone else who keeps tagging me even when I usually have nothing to share!! No pressure tags
Good morning everybody! My very best Wednesday wishes to one and all. This is from the upcoming final chapter of Mirror in the Sky, What is Love? 😭 I don't want to spoil too much of it, but I like this little moment because I found a way to bring the Camaro into Carlos' New York City life. I'm so happy for him lol.
Mid-afternoon, TK and Carlos arrive at the Hertz on Albany Street to pick up their car rental, which Enzo has also organized on their behalf.
The assistant at the front desk sweeps a glance at his computer. “Ah, yes. A Chevrolet Camaro.”
Carlos takes a dramatic step forward. “Excuse me?”
“Midnight blue, hardtop,” the assistant replies, “She’s a beauty.”
Carlos’ knees buckle. TK watches him grip onto the edge of the counter, which is separated from the rental assistant by reinforced partition glass. Carlos presses his hand flat against it. The assistant looks at Carlos’ flattened palm, looks at TK.
“Is he okay?” the assistant asks.
“I think so,” TK laughs.
“A Camaro.” Carlos stares at TK longingly, his big eyes glazing like he might cry or faint. “That’s my favorite car.”
TK bounces on his heels. "I know it is..."
“You told me Enzo rented us a Nissan.”
“I lied!” TK coos. He beams at the rental assistant who chuckles warmly as he sits back in his swivel chair and shakes his head at the pair of them.
When Carlos collects the key fob, he holds it like he’s been passed a newborn kitten.
“Maybe it’s good for you to have someone who just makes you feel good,” Marjan says, reaching across the table and giving his arm a supportive squeeze. “You’re young. He’s hot. You can figure everything else out later.”
“Yeah,” TK rolls his water glass between his palms. It’s sweating. Like it's as nervous as he is. “Later.”
It’s a funny thing. Later. Up until very recently, he’d been thinking maybe there wasn’t going to be much of a later for him. When he relapsed. When he moved down to Texas with his dad. He didn’t think he had much to live for. Nothing to look forward to. He felt so numb, so blind to the possibility of anything better that all he could do was focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
One day at a time. Just like he’d learned in recovery.
But now? He looks at Paul and remembers the way he [redacted] when [redacted event happened]. Looks at Marjan and sees the sweetness reflected in her eyes. He looks down at the selfie from Carlos.
I truly need to write more for this bthb fic but for now you get another small paragraph (because that’s all I have written lmao) Thank you for the tags @actuallylemon and @carlos-in-glasses !
Consciousness was slow to return to TK. His head was pounding and his stomach rolling, threatening to evict whatever he had for lunch. He’s not sure what happened to him.
They’d been on a call, there was a building collapse and people had been hurt and then someone was crying for help so TK went to find them and Mateo joined him-
