#i will block this entire fucking website if i need to do not test me. i am exhausted and the acecourse ate up all my tolerance in 2015.

[fursasaida]

oh HELL

came back to NYC from DC today. had spent the weekend in VA with a friend and his family, and then went out for drinks with other friends in DC right after getting back from VA, so i was like double-hungover to begin with. but you know, fine. all was going smoothly until, right as it was time to get off the train, i realized i’d left my tote bag on a coathook in the bathroom hours earlier and it was indeed no longer there.

on the bright side: all the valuables and essentials (electronics, IDs, money, etc) were in other bags or in my pockets. on the bad side: in that tote bag were two books i have read or almost finished reading, COVERED in marginalia and underlining and commentary i had not yet transferred to any other storage medium. i need these books and my thoughts on them - in one case pretty badly!

i try to find an Amtrak worker (while hauling a heavy backpack and a biggish rolling suitcase). she tells me to find the conductor. i cannot find the conductor. i go upstairs to look for an amtrak service desk or lost and found or anything. i cannot find that, so i ask the woman regulating the waiting area if there is such a desk i can visit. she does not answer this question. she instead yells at me to go back down to Platform 7 and see if the train is still there. i tell her it is but there are no people. she argues with me about this. i say fine and go back down there. i don’t find anyone who can help me but i do walk through the entire train (again, dragging my bags). no luck. also it is 90+ degrees.

so then i call amtrak customer service and start the Long Trek of Waiting On Hold. i had been going to just sit outside and wait (rather than risk missing a callback because I was on the subway) and probably chainsmoke, but then i realize that of course my cigarettes were also in the missing bag. i decide fuck it, i’ll take a cab.

in the course of getting the cab, i get accosted by someone trying to hustle me, fought over by two drivers (one legal, one illegal), and harassed by a man who is extremely upset that my legal cabdriver is picking me up down the block from the cabstand. like, he tried to physically stop me from putting my bag in the trunk.

after about 40? minutes on hold, i finally get someone. all he does is give me the phone number for the penn station lost and found. i call the number and get a recorded message saying that the reporting procedure has changed and i have to go to chargerback dot com or the baggage section of the amtrak website.

in the middle of wrestling with this third layer of bureaucracy, i get a text from a friend of a friend i saw last night saying he just tested positive for COVID.

i have submitted my report, have basically no hope that i will get these things back (the bag itself had some sentimental value! i’ve had it since 2003!), and you know, most of the time i am an enthusiastic defender of new york, but holy shit fuck manhattan tonight.

#i refuse to read familiar futures again please don't make me god #the deepest irony is if i'd been ~disciplined~ and stuck to my plan to finish transferring the book-notes to a word document while on #the train #(the reason the book was in that bag and not one of the others!) #then i would have noticed immediately and none of this would have happened #disproportionate karmic punishment if you ask me #just jibbin' #whining tbh

[star-spangled-steve]

His New Partner

Chapter 21: The Bridezilla

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 3424

Warnings: A very distressed and angry Reader, sexual innuendos, cussing, fluff at the end.

A/N: This was honestly so much fun to write, I really hope that you guys like it too. And also, in case you couldn’t tell by now, the italicized words are flashbacks. Enjoy!

Y/N’s neck started to hurt from being hunched over her laptop for so long. The couch cushion underneath her butt began to get uncomfortable as well, but she was too concentrated on the numerous books, magazines, and checklists in front of her to really care.

Her computer’s battery charge was nearing 30%, and she knew that it wouldn’t be healthy to stay on it any longer. But each time she told herself that she would go back to bed, there was always one more thing to take care of. One more thing to research, pick out, plan, and organize for this damn wedding.

A knock on her and Steve’s bedroom door startled Y/N as she was laying on their bed, flipping through a bridal magazine.

“Ya?” The girl asked, not even looking up from the various chair covers on her page.

Natasha took a peak inside of the room before slowly opening the door, shaking her head at the scene in front of her. “J.A.R.V.I.S. called you to come down, why didn’t you answer?”

“I’m busy.” Y/N answered as she circled yet another item in the thin book.

“Well, it’s lunch time. The whole team is waiting for you, come on.” The assassin cocked her head in the direction of the elevator, urging her friend to get up.

“Not hungry.” The H/C haired girl told her blankly.

Natasha shook her head, stepping farther into the bedroom. “Ya? Then take it up with Steve. He says that you haven’t eaten all day, and he wants you down there. Now.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, switching from laying on her stomach to laying on her back. She held the magazine above her face, completely blocking out Natasha. “Tell him that I can take care of myself, please and thank you.”

“Well clearly not.” The red head stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

The actress finally sat up, closing her book in front of her. “What’s that support to mean?”

“Come on, N/N, look at you.” Natasha scolded. “You are obsessed with planning an event that’s like a year away!”

Y/N pouted, looking away from her friend. “10 and a half months.” She corrected under her breath.

“Oh, whatever!”

3:07 in the morning, her laptop read. 

Nope, wait.

3:08 now.

Steve would most likely be up in about three hours, ready to go for his usual morning run. All the while Y/N continued to search through countless websites about dresses, and plate settings, and centrepieces galore.

She knew that she was being irrational. That it didn’t really matter whether the bridesmaid dresses had a halter neckline or a v-neck, whether the invitations were printed on pieces of white or cream coloured cardstock.

But this was something that she had been looking forward to ever since she was a little girl. Having a great big wedding filled with her amazing friends and family; a handsome groom waiting for her at the end of the aisle. And now she had all of those things. A group of people in her life that she adored more than anything, and a fiancé who she loved with her whole entire heart. 

Y/N had all of the tools, all of the resources and support systems in order to pull off the fantastic wedding that’s she’s always wanted. But deep down, she knew that she should’ve been treating that support system better in the process.

“Alright,” Steve spoke as he sat down at the kitchen table, “what do you got for me?”

It having been about nine months until the big day, it was finally time for the couple to be testing out cake flavours. Y/N had ordered about twenty different kinds for them to try, and she could’ve not been more excited to get a taste of each and every one.

The girl put her hand on the refrigerator handle, giving her man a smile. “A ton of different options.” She opened up the fridge with a smile. “Let’s just say, you should be thankful for your fast metabolis-“

“What?” Steve asked, seeing Y/N frozen in her spot.

The girl’s eyebrows began to furrow as she went up and down, searching through all the levels of the Avengers shared fridge. “Where’s the rest of my cake?”

“Huh?”

“My cake.” She faced him, placing her hands on her hips. “Half of it’s gone.”

Steve stood up from his chair. “That’s impossible.” He met her at the refrigerator and began to look through it himself, only to see nothing as well.

Just in that moment, Tony and Bruce had walked into the kitchen, looking for a mid-science snack.

“Hey, guys, have you seen the other half of our cake samples?” The Captain questioned them, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder in hopes to calm her down.

Banner gave the group a shrug and turned to Tony, who looked pretty suspiciously guilty himself. 

“What did they look like?” The billionaire asked, avoiding eye contact from the unhappy pair.

“Oh, you know,” the girl ground her teeth, beginning to get a little frustrated, “cake. Cut up into little. Sample. Sizes.”

“Hmm.” Tony pretended to ponder, even scratching his chin for show. “Well, I, uh...”

“Stark?” The Captain interjected, wanting to get to the bottom of this. He could tell that Y/N was getting angry, and he did not want this to cause another ‘episode’.

“I... may have eaten them.” Tony admitted, crossing his arms over his chest in uncharacteristic nervousness. But no one in the whole Tower could even blame him for being frightened. Scary bride Y/N was a very real thing.

“You what?” The girl fumed, shrugging away Steve’s hand and stepping a bit closer to Tony.

The brunette man gulped. “I’m sorry, N/N. I didn’t know that they were yours.”

“Oh. So the large white label that said ‘Wedding Cake Samples’ wasn’t a big enough hint to for you, Mr. Genius?”

The other scientist cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m just going to go.”

“No.” The actress told Bruce, pointing a stern finger at him. “You stay right there, young man.”

Banner furrowed his eyebrows. “‘Young man’? You’re the youngest one here!”

Y/N gave him a pointed look; one that urged him to shut his mouth right away, one that was something a mother would only give to her misbehaving child.

“Do you realize, Tony, how important those little pieces of cake were to me?” She asked, looking the man dead in the eye.

“Look, I really do apologize, Y/N. I’ll just buy you guys new ones. You’ll have them within a couple of days!” He told her in hopes to lighten her spirits.

The Captain just stood there, not daring to get in the middle of this. Sure, he could get her on her knees with a couple of dirty words. And when he used his low sexy voice, she was practically putty in his hands. But right now in this moment, his usually delightful girl was scaring him shitless.

“That’s the problem, dumbass!” Y/N shouted, throwing her hands up in the air. “The baker who made these things is going to be in France for the next month and a half for some fancy cooking course!”

“Oh.”

“Ya.” She said in a not so polite way. “Are you just trying to piss me off? Is that it?”

“Wha-No! I swear, it was a simple mistake.” Tony told her. “Why were they even in the common fridge anyways?”

“Because the one on our floor wasn’t big enough to fit the whole tray. I never thought that one of you dummies would eat half the fucking pieces!”

“Woah!” Steve interposed, making the girl turn towards him. “Watch your mouth.”

“Oh shut up!” Y/N yelled back, sticking her tongue out at her fiancé. Him telling her to watch her mouth would usually turn her on in the bedroom, but now was really not the time.

“Y/N, you need to calm down.” The billionaire stated.

“Are you trying to not get invited to our wedding?” The furious girl questioned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is that it? Because I will uninvite you so fast, Tony Stark.”

“I-I’m one of Steve’s groomsmen.” The man spoke with a confused look on his face. “You really can’t-“

“You know what? I don’t even care anymore, finish the whole goddamn tray if you want.” Y/N hissed. “I’m going to my room, and nobody is allowed in!” She stomped past Bruce and Tony and headed her way towards the elevator.

The three men sighed, seeing her click the button multiple times in frustration before finally marching on.

Once the doors were completely closed, so he knew that she couldn’t hear him, Tony let out a low whistle. “Good luck with that one, Cap.”

Gold napkin rings would look just beautiful with the theme of their wedding, Y/N thought to herself. But then again, the cutlery was silver, and it would definitely look silly together. Though, she could also just get gold cutlery. Too many decisions to make and too little time.

With her laptop’s battery nearing a measly 10%, she knew that she should just wrap things up for the night and finally join Steve back in their bed.

But for some reason, she couldn’t. It’s as if she was addicted. Each and every minute of her spare time was dedicated to planning this wedding. And unfortunately, anybody who tried to mess with that, did not come out with a smile.

“Can you please pass me the salad, Maria?” Pepper asked as the whole gang sat around the huge dining room table.

It was Saturday night and all of the Avengers had agreed to not make any other plans, choosing to eat dinner together instead. Meals as a whole were great for team bonding, and mostly everybody enjoyed each other’s company.

“Where’s my doll?” Steve questioned as he was the last one to arrive in the upstairs dining room. The man glanced around the table, only to see her usual spot empty.

“The little firecracker?” Tony spoke before pointing to the hallway opposite of the one that Steve walked in from. “Over there, talking some poor person’s ear off.”

The Captain glanced to where Stark had pointed and sighed at the scene in front of him. There his girl was, standing with her phone to her ear and the other hand on her hip. She was pacing around restlessly, and the look on her face was one of pure annoyance.

Steve slowly walked closer, not wanting to scare her, and placed both of his hands on her shoulders lightly. “Y/N, baby?”

“Ya, ya, just give me a second, Steve.” She continued with her call. “Now this is where I’m confused, Miss Jessica. You told me that they could be ready by July 18th. It is only January the 10th. Why do you need six whole months to make 80 personalized jewellery boxes?”

Steve raised his eyebrows, turning to the team with a ‘help me’ look.

“80 women is not that many!” Y/N continued, completely ignoring him. “What do you mean that you have ‘too many customers’? I ordered first, did I not?” She continued to walk back and forth in the corridor, as the rest of her friends ate their meal. “Well then you know what? I might just have to contact another company and get them to do this task for me, since you obviously can’t. Good day, ma’am.” The girl hung up her cellphone before shoving it in her pocket and running a hand down her face. “Shit.”

“You okay, darling?” Steve asked concernedly.

“I’m pissed off, that’s what I am.” She marched over to the dinner table and sat down in her respective spot; Steve taking his own to the right of her. “Pass me the chicken, please.”

Rhodes then held the dish out in front of her, watching as she angrily placed the chicken parmesan on her plate and messily cut it up.

“Thanks.” She puffed before just ultimately giving up on her food, slouching back in her chair.

“Sweetie, do you want to talk about what happened?” Natasha spoke up, something that the rest of the table was too scared to do. Nobody wanted to get yelled at.

“Well,” Y/N chuckled dryly, “remember those little jewellery boxes that we were looking at together? The ones that we can get engraved with everybody’s first name on them?”

Natasha, Pepper, and Maria nodded, having been there when Y/N was picking them out.

“Apparently the lady can’t make 80 of them in time for the bridal shower.” The passed off girl continued. “So either we reschedule it, or get something else.” She shook her head in frustration, absentmindedly balling her hands into fists.

“I’ll just get some Stark Industries workers to make them.” Tony said through a mouth full of food. “Problem solved.”

“Wait,” a look of pure bliss made it’s way on to Y/N’s previously mad face, “are you serious? They can do that for me?”

The billionaire just shrugged like it was no big deal. “They’re electrical and mechanical engineers. I’m pretty sure that they can handle a little woodshop.”

“Oh my goodness, thank you!” Y/N jumped up from her seat and ran around the table, giving Tony a big hug as he was still in his seat. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” She gave him a kiss on the cheek, suddenly feeling so much happier than she was before.

“Woah.” Clint chuckled. “Talk about a mood swing. Guess that it’s somebody’s time of the month.”

The whole room went silent.

“What did you just say to me?” Y/N asked slowly while nobody else in the room even dared to make a sound.

“I-It was just a joke.” Clint told her. “M’sorry, N/N.”

“It’s not my time of the month, okay? I’m just really stressed.” The girl explained, wrapping her arms around herself in embarrassment.

“We know, love.” Steve assured with a small smile. “Are you going to sit down and eat now, or am I ‘gonna have to airplane the food into your mouth?” He joked, but he could tell that Y/N was not in the mood.

“Actually, I guess that I’m going to have to take care of my ‘time of the month’.” She said with air quotes. “Have a nice night.” And with that she stormed out of the dinning room, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.

“Not pointing any fingers,” Maria spoke up after a long minute, “but that was totally your fault, Clint.”

“Babydoll?”

A voice broke Y/N out of her wedding day trance, making her turn towards the raspy sound.

“Steve? What we you doing awake?”

The man stood against the wall in a t-shirt, hoodie, and sweatpants; a typical pyjama set for a cold February night. The outfit made him look every bit like a big snuggly teddy bear, and Y/N would usually just want to cuddle into his chest, but right now she was too preoccupied.

“I reached out for you, but all that I was met with was cold sheets.” Steve told her, a frown very much evident on his handsome face. “But the real question is, what are you doing awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She shrugged before turning back to her bouquet arrangement website.

“Hm, I see.” The man nodded, walking over to join her on their floor’s couch. “Actually, uh, before I realized that you were gone, I was having a dream.”

“Cool.” Y/N said, not even sparing him a glance. “What about?”

“Well,” Steve cocked his head, trying to put on his sexiest voice, “not much, not much. Just me fucking you so hard that you can’t even walk tomorrow.”

The girl didn’t even flinch. “Nice.”

“Ya.” He sighed, trying to get her to show any kind of emotion. Ever since they had gotten engaged, Y/N has been acting way differently. Steve was determined to break her out of this shell. “Did I ever tell you how much I like your new haircut, baby?”

“Yup.” She replied. “Multiple times.”

“Well, it’s very pretty.” He added.

Y/N continued to scroll through her website, making little check marks on her clipboard every now and then. “It’s just a couple of inches off the bottom.”

Steve smirked. “You know, if you come back to bed with me, I can be more than just a couple of inches into your bottom.”

The girl rolled her eyes and shook her head, beginning to get really annoyed with him. “Don’t even need anal right now, Steve. You’re already being a pain in my ass.”

“Wow.” He lightly chuckled, still attempting to turn on the charm. “What’s with the snarky attitude, baby girl? Do I need to take you over my knee again?”

“For the love of God, no, Steve.” Y/N fumed as she stood up from her seat, finally having enough of this. “Do you know what you need to do? What you need to do is go back to bed and leave me alone!”

Steve gulped at her coldness. This was Y/N, his girl. Within the two years and nine months that she had known him, she had never talked to him like that. Ever.

“I-I oh, goodness, Steve. I’m sorry, honey.” She saw water in his eyes and began to cry as well, all of the stress from last several months finally releasing itself. “So sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

The man stood up too and wrapped his thick arms around his fiancée, slowly bringing her closer to his warm chest. “It’s okay, doll.”

“No, no, it’s not okay.” Y/N began to sob while her hands grasped onto Steve’s muscular body, never ever wanting to let go. “You don’t deserve to be tr-tr-treated like that.” She sniffled.

“No, N/N, it’s fine. You’re so good to me, sweetheart.” He insisted, soothingly rubbing the expanse of her back with his hands.

“You’re so good to me.” Y/N told him, taking her face out of his chest and looking him in the eye. “All of you are. I-I’ve been so horrible lately. I yelled at Tony, Nat, Bruce, Pepper, Clint, Maria, Rhodes, my cousin, my mom, my other cousin, those three guys in the mail room that accidentally sent my package to the wrong floor, and now you. I’ve been a complete bitch.”

“Hey, no. I don’t ever want to hear you call yourself that again.” Steve shook his head. “You’ve just been under a lot of pressure lately.”

“It doesn’t excuse my actions.” She said before wiping her face of any leftover tears. “You guys are always under a lot of pressure, and you never take it out on other people.”

“No, I just take it out on Tony’s punching bags.” The man said, making Y/N’s lips quirk up just the slightest bit. “Is that a smile I see?”

The girl bit her lip sheepishly. “Maybe.”

“Think that I can give you another one?” Steve raised an eyebrow, a plotting look taking over his face. “I think that I can.” His hands slowly made their way down her sides, fingertips ghosting over the dip of her waist. “Maybe with just a little…”

“Stevie-Ah!” Y/N began to giggle at the feel of him tickling her. “O-O-Oh my god, Ste-e-e-eve! Sto-Stop it!” Her giggles soon turned into cackles, and she was squatted so low in hopes to get away, that her back was almost touching the carpet.

“See, there’s my girl.” The Captain beamed, finally finished with his attack. “You promise to stay happy now?”

Y/N nodded, still out of breath. “Only if you help me get off the floor.”

“Whatever you say, N/N.” And with that he scooped her off of the floor, beginning to carry her into their bedroom bridal style.

“Honey.” The girl said with a laugh.

“What?” Steve shrugged. “I’m just practicing for our wedding night.”

Y/N snuggled further into his body, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. “M’kay.”

“Looks like somebody is tired after all.” He pointed out, settling her on their shared bed and pulling the covers up over her body.

“I guess so.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Steve spoke, walking around to the other side and getting underneath the covers as well, “right now, we’ll go to sleep. But first thing tomorrow, you and I are hiring a wedding planner.”

Y/N was too fast asleep to even hear him, her dreams filled not with the wedding itself, but with the man that she was sharing it with.

And oh what a wonderful dream it was; not one bridal magazine in sight.

Next Chapter

Feedback is always welcome!❤️

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #chris evans x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america x reader #steve rogers #captain america #chris evans #captain america x you #chris evans x you #captain america x y/n #chris evans x y/n #avengers x reader

[blue-bismuth]

Case #0161210

i have been egged on to post this so! here’s what i consider my tma oc’s first real involvement with everything going on. it’s formatted like a statement but pretty much everything else i post here about them will be in my more traditional writing style

tws: mentions of trans/nbphobia, people acting uncanny, animal harm/death (no pets), kidnapping, cannibalism

EDIT: here’s the ao3 link if you wanna read it there!

-- -- --

Avery

You’re sure this isn’t too much of an inconvenience? I-I don’t have to talk about it. You probably still have more statements to get through.

Archivist

If you ask me that one more time, I won’t take statements from you ever again.

Avery

Christ, alright, I’ll stop. At least I won’t get in trouble, ‘cause I got everything assigned to me done already…

Archivist

Aren’t you fast.

Avery

It’s a blessing and a curse. Curse in that I get chewed out if I’m caught fucking around on the office computer.

Sorry, sorry, getting off topic. I’ll make the statement now.

Archivist

Statement of Avery Linwood, a finance worker in the Magnus Institute, regarding their time living in the rural town of Crestfallen, between the spring of 2014 and the summer of 2016. Statement taken direct from subject, December 10th, 2016. Statement begins.

Avery

Man, okay. So, as you can probably tell, I’m not from England. I was born and raised in America, Wisconsin to be specific. I graduated college in 2009 because I had to get 150 credits to qualify for CPA exams--although I guess in the end it did jack shit, ‘cause I only ended up staying in the U.S. for five years. 

Archivist

Sorry, could you clarify what a CPA is?

Avery

Oh! I-it stands for Certified Public Accountant. It basically means that I can provide accounting services to the public alongside working for companies. And since I’m here now instead of my home state, I have to do continuing education if I wanna keep that license active. I guess it makes sense, but it’s still extra work, y’know?

Sorry, getting off topic again. I feel like that’s gonna be a theme for this statement.

Archivist

I’ve had my fair share of ramblers. I’m guilty of it too.

Avery

I mean, still. Anyway, that shit kinda drove me into the ground. I never managed to get enough money to rent a decent office space so I could be independent, and the closest I ever got to that was working in assurance services. I would’ve stayed in forensic accounting, but every office I was in had a terrible culture. One of my ex-bosses told me that I, quote unquote, “had too big of a rack” to be anything but a girl. So...yeah.

Archivist

And I assume this is why you left?

Avery

Pretty much. I wasn’t too keen on moving anywhere inside the U.S., everywhere was either too bigoted or too expensive or too crowded...you get the picture. I guess I just wanted something different, something where I didn’t need to sit in an office all day and handle people’s taxes or whatever. I’ve always loved those kinda video games where you move to some old farmhouse and clean it up, start taking care of crops and livestock, making friends with the townspeople...it was a form of escapism I could never really afford--honestly, unless you’re a big dairy farmer, you’re not gonna get anywhere stable in Wisconsin. 

I don’t know how I found my way to Crestfallen. I think I saw a post on Tumblr about how, if you promise to restore an ancient castle--the ones that’re all over Europe--you can live in it for free, and there was a link to some website where you could register to do that. I guess it held more than castles, though, ‘cause I saw a section for old farmhouses. The one in Crestfallen was the cheapest, and apparently I would even get a financial reward from the mayor if I helped out enough. It was a moment of weakness, I guess.

I don’t tell my parents a whole lot of stuff anymore unless they ask, but I felt the need to tell them I was moving to a different country. They must’ve seen it as odd, but they knew I wasn’t doing too well in my...current line of work. They gave me their well wishes and I left for England.

I guess the first thing that tipped me off was getting there. I didn’t think anything of it, but when I told the bus driver--coach driver for you guys--where I was going, he seemed...surprised. He didn’t know the place at first, that it wasn’t even on his map. I pointed it out on my phone, and he said that the nearest stop was Billingham in County Durham. I said that was fine, that I could probably catch a taxi the rest of the way. I don’t know if he believed me, but either way, he accepted my ticket and I boarded. There wasn’t anything unusual about the ride up, and at the time, I just guessed he didn’t know because the town was so small.

When I finally arrived in Billingham, I managed to flag a taxi down and asked the driver to go to Crestfallen. He also seemed surprised, but it must’ve been for completely different reasons. Whatever they were, he shoved it down and told me it was going to be a fairly expensive taxi ride. That was fine by me, I had already converted all of my money to pounds anyway. So I loaded my luggage and got in the back.

Thankfully, he kept silent most of the way through. He told me when we were about five minutes away from the stop, and followed it up by telling me that if I wanted to turn back now, he wouldn’t charge me anything. 

I realized what he meant: I had been paying attention to my book and not to the town itself, which was covered in a heavy fog. I hadn’t noticed any fog when I got to Billingham; the skies were clear all day. Maybe it was just foggy west of the bus route and Billingham--I wanted to get away from my old life so desperately that I was denying any possibility that my new life would be worse.

I shook my head and said that I was staying. The taxi driver laughed, a short, almost bitter laugh. Told me that I was gonna die in Crestfallen one way or another before he dropped me off. I paid him and took my luggage, still questioning what exactly he meant.

The odd thing was that, after I stepped off, the fog had lifted. I mean, the sky was still overcast, but I could see clearly. I was in this...little clearing, with a path that presumably led to the town, and another one apparently leading to the farm. A man was waiting in the clearing, and he approached me. Said he was the mayor, and that he wanted to show me to the farm. 

I had already expected the farm to be a mess, honestly. I saw the pictures. There were scattered branches and stones throughout the farmland, wild grass growing everywhere...if there was even a previous owner, they must’ve left a long time ago. I wanted to ask the mayor, but he just ignored me. At the time, I thought he was just busy and that he had better things to do. He gave me a random bag of seeds and told me my tools were in the farmhouse. And then he just left.

I wish I could tell you more, but I just can’t remember a good chunk of my time there. My therapist is pretty sure it’s a symptom of my PTSD, which...if there’s even more traumatic memories my brain has blocked out, that’s scarier than anything I can remember.

Everything was just so uncanny. Most of the people always moved around like robots, their eyes glazed over, until I talked to them. And then they were all too perky. Even the people I were told were grumps acted like it. There were things that were superficially different about them, but they all acted so similarly, it felt like some sort of hive mind. I don’t know if that’s what was going on, and honestly, I don’t want to find out.

I say most of the people, because there were two I felt like I could trust. There was a huge lake on the outskirts of the town, and these two people lived on the beach. One of them lived in a small cabin, her name’s Odelia Stevens. She’s a writer, and she had gotten herself in the unfortunate situation where she couldn’t afford to move out, once she realized what was going on with the town. The second was an old fisherman living by the docks, his name was Langdon Averill. I’ll...get to why I say “is” for Odelia and “was” for Langdon later.

I think meeting them was the thing that kept me from falling into the town’s clutches. They were considered outcasts, and the town seemed to pretend like they didn’t exist. I never saw any of them go to the beach, and when one of them tried to talk to me after I left, they would tell me I just appeared out of nowhere.

I didn’t end up farming much. I would buy from the general store, at first, but when I harvested the crops, they were...god, I can’t think of the words. They were mangled and sickly, even though I knew the soil at least looked good. The seeds the mayor gave me, I think they were supposed to be parsnips, but the leaves were so shriveled, and the parsnips themselves were hard and spotted, and they were so small. When the mayor came to my farm to gather the harvest, I didn’t know whether or not to give...any of what I’d grown to him. But he saw them and he was overjoyed. He took one of those parsnips and bit right into it, dirt and spots and all. And he loved it! The only things that really prospered was food that I foraged from a nearby forest, and that became pretty much my entire diet. I took a sample of the soil from the farm; I have it with me if you want to keep it for testing or something.

Odelia and Langdon told me a lot about the other townsfolk, mostly so I wouldn’t outwardly freak out. I learned that they hate that the hard way--I once saw a child, couldn’t have been more than ten years old, shove a live robin down his throat and swallow it. I screamed, and the child’s mother descended on me, scratching me with her nails. Even though they were short, they were almost deadly sharp. I still have the scars on my cheek. She was screaming at me, over and over, screaming that he was just having a snack. It must’ve drawn the attention of the other townsfolk, because I could hear more voices yelling at me, telling me that I would be cooked in “his pot,” whatever that meant. Suddenly, the clock in the center of town rang and, like a reset button, they all stopped and went back to their usual activities. Thankfully, I had already met the two at the beach, and Langdon patched me up in his house.

I learned that they ate live birds a lot. They really seemed to like raw meat, flies or rotting be damned. I liked my meat, still do, but at least I cook it first. They would eat raw chicken and vomit in the streets afterwards. I never saw anyone die, funnily enough. 

They had celebrations every so often. I hadn’t properly learned from Odelia and Langdon yet, so I went to the first one in the spring. I think it was something for Easter, but all they did was crack a bunch of eggs in this huge pot and take turns drinking spoonfuls from it. When I declined, I could feel that they wanted to attack me, but something prevented them from ending the celebration in bloodshed. 

After that first spring, I spent a lot of my time at the beach and in the forest. The forest wasn’t completely free of the townsfolk, as one of them ran a ranch near the edge of that, but I needed it for food. Eventually, Langdon taught me how to fish--I couldn’t exactly subsist on wild leeks and berries forever. It was a nice way to pass the time.

By that first winter, though, things started to change. So long as snow covered the ground, the townsfolk would come in the night and write things in it. Sometimes I wouldn’t see them if the snow covered it up, but otherwise...it was always things about how I had betrayed their father, more references to his pot, that I would melt and cook while they feasted on my bones with said father. I wish I could remember more, Jon, I’m sorry.

Archivist

Do you remember anything else?

Avery

Well...sometime around the first fall, Odelia taught me how to make seeds out of the food and flowers I foraged. That was how I knew it wasn’t the soil that made the crops suffer, the seeds that I had made turned out fine--sometimes they were even better than what I had foraged. I ended up farming more for myself over anything, even though one of the points on that ad was that I had to be generous and donate some of my crops to the townspeople. I doubted it would make them happy, though. And I don’t really like hurting or killing people unless they’re actively attacking me or other innocent people; if my crops were going to poison the town, I didn’t want to risk anything. Chances are it would’ve just made them madder.

I tried to raise some chickens, though. Despite how much I didn’t want to interact with either of these people, I asked the carpenter to make a coop, and I got some chickens from the man running the ranch. By all accounts, they acted like normal chickens, and I tried to feed them good hay by harvesting the grass, but their eggs were still terrible: gray yolks, incredibly thin whites...I love scrambled eggs, but I could never use those. I eventually sold the chickens back to the ranch and had the coop taken down after a few months in the summer. I didn’t even want to try raising cows.

I wanted to leave so badly by the time that second winter rolled around. While Odelia and Langdon would often visit me and we would spend time on my farm or in the forest, by that time there was some odd force preventing them from leaving the beach. I witnessed it myself; anytime they would approach that border of trees separating the beach from the rest of the town, it was like they got...stuck. I don’t know if you play video games, but you know when you reach the border of the game map, and you just can’t go any further despite there not being anything physical stopping you? It looked like that. I could come and go as I pleased, but it was like...like the townspeople had rejected their existence so hard they couldn’t even penetrate the town they had constructed so carefully.

I think the final straw for the townspeople was late spring, the last year I was there. They had this sort of dance deep in the thick of the forest, apparently only accessible when the dance was going on. One of the men around my age there was the town doctor--which I doubt he was actually licensed to practice medicine, since I don’t even think he was thirty at the time--and he asked me to go to the dance. I’d never been asked before, in Crestfallen or in general, but I really didn’t want to go. I had no idea what kind of fucked up shit would happen there, and I didn’t want to find out. So I said no.

That night, just before I was about to go to bed, my door was broken down. I don’t remember how many people were there, but it was definitely the doctor and at least four other people. They descended on me like vultures, only instead of eating me they were savagely beating and kicking me. I was crying, and...sorry, hold on a second.

Archivist

Take your time.

Avery

[They nod, silently wiping tears away from their face]

Sorry, I...I have a bad habit of going nonverbal when I start crying. That, and I sound incomprehensible when I try to talk, and that’s especially bad considering you’re recording this. Anyway, I think one of them brought a bat down on my head, and I was knocked unconscious. I woke up the next morning in this weird white dress and a flower crown on my head. I could feel thorns on the stems threatening to pierce my already sensitive head. As my vision came into focus, I could see that my hands and feet were bound with rope. Actually, I wasn’t wearing anything but that dress, but when I tried to ask where my clothes had gone, I...I couldn’t make words with my mouth. Just a gentle sigh. It was a moment later that I saw the doctor holding my clothes, all neatly folded, approaching a blazing bonfire. Before I could even try to yell out, he threw them into the flames and turned towards me, watching me with cold infatuation as my clothes burned away.

Soon enough, the mayor approached me and grabbed my wrists, pulling me to the center of what looked to be the actual dancing part of the area. It was from here that I could see the whole field: the bonfire in the middle, separating what looked to be a buffet from the dancing. Various townspeople were milling around the buffet or looking at the bonfire, but when the mayor whistled, everyone turned to face me instantly.

They must’ve all known what would happen, because without a word or even a gesture from the mayor, the doctor stepped forward and grabbed my hands in his own. I tried to look at the ground, but the mayor held a hand under my chin so I would look my apparent dance partner in the eyes. 

I hated every second of it. I was basically just getting tossed around, since I couldn’t move my feet. I could hear the townspeople chanting and playing instruments, but it wasn’t anything I could decipher. That or I just can’t remember, I wouldn’t be surprised at this point. Slowly, more people joined in on the dance, although from the snippets I could see, their dance was totally different than whatever the doctor was doing to me.

It felt like hours, but the sun’s position hadn’t even moved in the sky when the dance was done and I was released. I didn’t get much time to relish it, though, because I was knocked unconscious again. When I woke up, it was night, and I was lying naked on top of my bed.

I knew at that point that I had to get out of there. But I didn’t want Odelia and Langdon to be trapped either. I needed to do something. God, I can’t believe I forgot to mention this, but the entire time I was there, I could never get a signal on my phone. And it wasn’t like I had run out of data or anything, I was on a by-the-gig plan at the time. At least I wasn’t wasting my money, but it still frustrated me. Most of my days after that dance were spent walking all around the town limits, trying in vain to even get one bar. I’d downloaded one of those rideshare apps forever ago, but I never used it, and I figured now would be the best time to see if anyone could show up. I didn’t have much faith, considering my previous experiences getting to Crestfallen, but dammit, I had to try. I did not want to die in this place, and I didn’t want Odelia or Langdon to either.

I know you’re probably wondering why I didn’t just walk the road back to where I came, but to be honest, I didn’t want the townspeople following me. None of them had cars, as far as I knew, maybe a motorcycle owned by one person, but I still feared that they could track us down anyway. Plus, I didn’t want to get turned around and end back up in Crestfallen again. So, I figured calling someone over would be the best solution. I really didn’t want to rope anyone else into this mess, but it had the highest chance of succeeding in my eyes. And well, I’m here right now.

I finally got two bars on May 31st. See, part of Crestfallen is on a huge hill, and on the peak of that there’s a train that comes through--no stops, unfortunately, and I never heard or saw one go by while I was living there. Either way, it was there that I finally found a signal. So, I told my plan to Odelia and Langdon: that as soon as I found a way to get them out of the beach and onto the single road that went out of Crestfallen, we were leaving. Langdon seemed more hopeless than Odelia, but they both eventually agreed. 

As it turned out, Odelia was on her high school’s swim team, and she had kept that up. She found that, so long as she swam to where the river flowing through Crestfallen emptied into the lake and kept her body underwater the entire time, she could escape into the rest of the town. With the added bonus of this river emptying out in the forest, she and Langdon could have some secrecy coming up. Meanwhile, I could take their luggage beforehand and keep it at my house until they were ready to go.

They were ready June 7th. The three of us stood at the top of the hill, Odelia and Langdon soaked, while I got someone to pick us up. Once the ride was approved, we raced back down to my house to get our luggage and wait for our driver. Unfortunately, the rest of the town seemed to have picked up on our plan.

Five minutes before our driver got there, we could see a mob approaching us, and they had weapons. Crude ones, but I could see kitchen knives glinting in people’s hands, sharpened sticks and stones and bats. They didn’t want to just beat us up this time; they were either going to indoctrinate us or kill us.

Despite his age, Langdon was surprisingly good at defending us against the mob. While we were able to avoid things being thrown at us, and at a couple points we threw them back to keep individual members from attacking us, Langdon was actively keeping them away with his suitcase. Two minutes before our driver got here, he was able to wrestle a butcher’s knife from a woman’s hand--the same woman that clawed my face so long ago. It felt like slow motion, watching him throw the knife right in the center of the woman’s forehead.

As she collapsed into a heap, the mob paused. They looked at the dead woman, and their faces contorted into anger. One of them cried out, and the mob descended on him just as the driver pulled up. Langdon screamed at us to save ourselves, and Odelia pulled me into the car. As she told the driver to go as fast as she could, I watched helplessly as the mob tore chunks from Langdon, and he screamed in pain as they ate his flesh.

When the driver dropped us off at the bus station, I gave her a five star rating and a tip that basically doubled the cost of the ride. She didn’t sign up to see a man be cannibalized, so it was the least I could do for potentially traumatizing her.

As we waited, I asked Odelia if Langdon sacrificing himself was something he planned. She shook her head, but she did remember hearing him say that he would rather he die on this mission over either of us, his rationale being that he was just an old fisherman, that we had more potential than he did out in the rest of England. I don’t know if he was right, but I can’t exactly change the past.

When the bus drove up, we boarded. I ended up sleeping most of the way down, which gave Odelia the chance to rest her head on my shoulder. Even though it was on a bus, it was the most comfortable I slept in the longest time. She must’ve had family or something in Liverpool, since that was where she requested to be dropped off. At first, I didn’t really know where I wanted to go. I didn’t know what to do with myself anymore; all of my plans for the future had been dashed by Crestfallen. I ended up telling the bus driver to bring me to Greenwich, since it seemed far enough away from the center of London that I wouldn’t be overwhelmed. I applied for temporary housing there while I looked around for jobs to tide me over. It took about a month for me to get my own place, and as you probably know, I got a job here in August.

Archivist

That’s...certainly a lot. Do you have any way of contacting Odelia to perhaps get her perspective on Crestfallen?

Avery

I have her number, yeah. Though I’m not sure how willing she’d be to talk to you about it, considering whenever I’ve tried to bring up her time in Crestfallen, she doesn’t want to talk about it.

Archivist

Well, I suppose that’s understandable. As much as I would want to send someone up there to investigate, it would likely take a day at least, and if your claims are true, it would be very dangerous for--

Avery

What, you don’t believe me?

Archivist

You said yourself that you don’t remember a whole lot. But considering some of the...more horrific things you’ve told me about Crestfallen, I don’t want to think about what’s been blocked from your memory due to trauma. 

Avery

I...I guess. I wouldn’t want anyone going out there either. Not without a weapon, and I doubt you can have those on public transportation.

Sorry. It’s just...wanting to tell someone about this was part of the reason why I applied to work at the Institute. Not all of it, but...I was kind of worried you wouldn’t believe me if I was some stranger. Although, I guess now’s not much better.

Archivist

[Sighs] Avery, I know I might act like I do, but I don’t hate you. I’m not around you enough to hate you.

Avery

I have a feeling you will if you get to know me better. It happens a lot. [Sighs, getting up from chair] Well, if that’s all you need from me, I should go.

Archivist

For now, yes. I’ll reach out if I need additional information.

Avery

Cool. [Footsteps, door opens then closes]

[CLICK]

Archivist

[CLICK]

Despite the...awkward ending to that statement, Avery has been surprisingly cooperative in regards to follow-up questions. They asked Odelia Stevens if she could come in and give a statement, but apparently her work schedule would make that difficult. However, Avery has arranged a video call with her and myself, so maybe she’ll be able to give us some more insight.

As it turns out, Crestfallen is a registered town in County Durham, despite there being very little information about...anything involving it, really. I don’t know how I could convince anyone to go there, even if they don’t know about it. I don’t think I could live with myself if I did that.

I really don’t know all that much about Avery, now that I think about it. As much as I don’t want to trust them, I’ve been trying to let my paranoia go. It’s strange, you’d think knowing them less would give me more reason to be paranoid about their intentions, but...quite the opposite, really. I don’t know what motivation they’d have for faking something on this scale, especially when their job is so removed from the more paranormal aspects of working here.

I just don’t know. And I don’t know if that’s a sign I should get to know them better, or keep them at arms’ length.

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

#the magnus archives #tma #tma oc #tma fic #idk if i'll post this on ao3 or not but we'll see #i might just for the extra validation

[honeyvoicehwang]

Writing Quiz

tagged by @ph0ebevix

1) what is your ideal setting for writing?

actually, a really good question.  i have to either be on the move or really in the groove to write well.  something that has also proven to be good is when i’m in class.  but i have a difficult time just sitting there and writing because i can’t seem to focus (i’m trying to get tested for adhd but it’s hard with corona - there are a lot of other factors included), and i have to have something in the background, but my conditions are just so insanely specific and constantly changing so it’s really a wild ride and is more guess-and-check than anything.  but moving around and staying in one place for only a few minutes makes me write best.

2) what is your favorite genre to write?

my favorite genre to write is either tooth rotting fluff or hurt/comfort.  i find smut easy to write and it tends to get more attention than my fluffy fics, so it’s really hard, but i’m a huge huge fan of hurt/comfort and i’m currently writing an angst and hurt/comfort series for haikyuu that will be on my haikyuu account @tkagayama

3) do you prefer writing on paper or digitally?

i do both.  most of the time, i start physically on paper and then i edit by writing digitally, but if i’m doing something like nanowrimo, i write almost solely digitally because i’m just typing into the website and it’s easier for me to do it that way, unless i’m in class and cannot use my phone/laptop.  hell, i’ve even been in gym class and because i always have a pen or marker on me, i’ve written on my arms and legs and even my torso when i got desperate and my teacher was like “what the fuck” and my friend was like “this is-- just a normal occurrence,, don’t question it” and immediately typed it when i got home bc gym was my last class of the day.

4) it’s the middle of the night and you wake up with an idea, what do you do?

depends.  what i try to do is go to my notes app and write as many of the details as i can down and some lines if they come to me, but if i have the entire thing or i literally can’t stop thinking about it, i will just start writing it.  but chances are i’m already up oop.

5) who is your favorite person to write about?

i don’t know.  it always changes.  i’m in a ton of different fandoms, ranging from one direction to harry potter to anime to k-pop, so it’s always sort of changing.  i’ll say for the past few months, it’s been a rotating cycle of stray kids members as well as the haikyuu characters and i have a huge series coming up, like i mentioned before.  that’s been the most fun for me because i can gauge their personalities really well and that shows through in my writing, but i have also been told that my characterization of shane madej and ryan bergara from buzzfeed/unsolved is really good as well.

6) do you like making your own characters or do you usually write about real people?

as someone who does want to be a published author in the future, i thoroughly enjoy writing my own characters as well as writing people that do exist and characters that already exist.  all of them except for three that i can think of off the top of my head are my babies and i will protect my own mind children with my life.  precious babies deserve to be protected, especially reno,, such a babie.  now, if only i could STICK TO MY OWN PLOTS AND NOT WRITE FANFICTION I’LL BE GOLDEN. 

7) have you ever written a book or story with more than 15 chapters/100k words?

yes.  my longest fic is currently 45k words (i think, i have to check the google doc again), but i’d rather it would die so i will not be providing links and it is 20 chapters.  i am working on another fic (shyan, can be found on my ao3  and is currently 30k words and is 15 chapters, but will be 21 chapters when i’m done with it).  as for novels, i have about 16 chapters, but planned about 25 or so for a novel i’m putting to the side for now and it resides at about 35k, i forget exactly. 

8) how often do you get ideas?

depends.  sometimes something will happen in my life to impact a story idea (like my current one i’m working on that will be uploaded here in a day or two that i mentioned in my last post that will have a sfw and an nsfw counterpart uwu), or i’ll see something and go “i need a story with this in it” or it’ll just happen.  i don’t have them all the time, but i do get more chaptered ideas than one shot ideas, though it doesn’t seem like it because i don’t post everything i write.

9) do you ever get an idea that you really like and just can’t seem to finish?

absolutely.  i have plenty of ideas that i’ve started and lost interest in or can’t continue.  if that’s the case, i take them down because i’m a firm believer in not letting people down with “last updated 3739 years ago,” but if it’s one that i’m just taking forever to write like my shyan fic (going on a year) or the one that i won’t link (took three years to write), i’ll let people know that every once in a while that it’s not forgotten about or abandoned, i’m just having massive writer’s block with the story or the chapter i’m working on, but will eventually come out. 

10) what is your least favorite plot?

my least favorite plot to read has to be mythical type stories.  they aren’t done right and are absolute hell to get through (i.e: mermaids, fairies, demons, angels, pirates [not like the actual somalian pirates but the pirates of the carribean-type pirates], etc) and it just sucks oops.  i also don’t like reading overly gory stories but that’s generally just not my cup of tea.  i also really hate reading little/non-sexual age play fics unless it’s done in a hella specific way, but i’ve found very few fics that actually cover it well so i just tend to avoid them like the plague.

my least favorite plot to write as i recently found out, is fighting!  i’m writing a mafia au and you will literally find, like, no fighting in it whatsoever because it’s a bitch to  write and i have no experience (i used to go to the library for fun -- what do you expect), and sports type of fics/stories.  it’s just too hard for me and i don’t understand how most games work and i don’t have the patience to sit there and learn the sport just to write it accurately, soooo... yeah.

11) tag writer friends

i have no writer friends that weren’t already tagged so uwu this is open to anyone that wants to.

#writer #writing #writers #writers quiz #writing quiz #teen writer #author #teen author #good luck and happy writing #writing tips #writing ideas #au list #fanfiction #teen writing

[xathia-89]

Interfering Friends

In celebration of Sasuke’s route being released, a little fiction!

Natsuki was rushing through the streets, she was trying to hold her emotions together whilst she kept checking over her shoulder. All of her friends had said to not go to the specific restaurant her date had set, and even one of them had recommended a highly famous chef who was meant to be to die for, but she’d gone along with it. Now she was working her way through the rougher streets of Kyoto before a motorcycle drew up next to her.

“Get on,” the voice was gruff. “That prat has been following you. I’ll take you to the centre of town if you want.”

She was desperate, and definitely not dressed for riding motorcycles. But then she heard her name being shouted by her ‘date’.

He had some lungs on him for certain, as Natsuki squeezed her eyes shut and had her arms around the stranger’s waist.

She didn’t dare to open them again until the motor was turned off, and the man nudged her gently.

“Oh, thank you,” she smiled, her face flushed red in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, I must have taken you out of your way-”

“Actually, you’ll want to thank your friends,” the man took his helmet off and chuckled darkly. His wine-red eyes lighting up in the darkness before he ran his fingers through his dark hair. “They hired me to make sure you were okay.”

“I probably should have listened to them,” Natsuki smiled weakly, fidgeting with her purse strap and dipping her gaze.

“You should, you shouldn’t lower yourself to such standards as that man,” the stranger scoffed before going to put his helmet back on, and then found himself tilting his head at the woman. “Did you eat yet?”

“Oh, no, I was going to find a takeaway, but thank you for your concern-” Natsuki was about to turn around, but found that the man had a hand on her wrist. She surprisingly didn’t feel threatened by the male, he was confident about himself, he didn’t need to beat her to feel better.

“I’ve got a friend who has a restaurant, my treat,” he shrugged.

“I don’t even know your name,” she softly said, feeling very embarrassed.

“It’s Nobu to my friends, get on,” he smirked.

Natsuki had to calm her heart from all the fluttering it was doing. The man knew how to manipulate his looks, and then he handed her the helmet.

“But-” She began.

“I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened, sorry it’s sweaty and not the best fit, but it’ll stop your head from splitting open,” Nobu was practically shoving it onto her head.

Natsuki was getting the feeling that she was going to have to get used to it.

The ‘friend’ had turned out to be the famous chef that all of her friends had been begging for her to go to for the date. Masamune Date was as reckless as the media made him out to be, but he was obviously a devoted friend of Nobu since he insisted on coming out with enough food to feed about twenty people and taking his break there with us. It wasn’t that long before another friend had joined us, and was already lecturing Nobu on bringing a random girl from his work to the restaurant before he turned to me and I had a lecture on raising my dating standards so that I wouldn’t need to have Nobu hired to look out for me. Then I got an introduction from a pharmacist who interrupted everything and told Hideyoshi that he should really introduce himself before starting to mother them and that he wanted to opt out of his subscription to the mothering. The pharmacist turned out to be Yasu, and then there was mention of the two Mitsus,  but it was assumed neither would turn up.

“Nobu picking you up?” Hideyoshi had put an advert out for a secretary, and it was more than a little surprising to see Natsuki apply for it.

“The helmet isn’t very subtle,” she smiled, tilting her head at her boss.

“Has he tried to get you driving it yet?”

“I can hear the mothering, Hideyoshi must be fretting,” Mitsuhide was chuckling as he let himself in to the floor.

“It’s Nobu and me on the bike, he needs to have something to worry about, or he would be trailing after you,” Natsuki laughed, greeting the white-haired male with a kiss to the cheek. “What brings you here?”

It was impossible to not watch Natsuki walk away in her tight skirt and high heels, both men were burning through her clothes before she sat down behind her desk. She loved to know that she could draw the attention of men and women alike, but she was comfortable as she was. She lived on the same floor of a flat building as the boys, though that was more that Nobu made the decision she needed to move in for ‘protection’. Which also doubled up that any dates she’d had over the past couple of years had been scared off by the appearance.

“Has Nobu approved tonight’s date?” Mitsuhide had a sly grin on his face and made Natsuki freeze in her movements.

Hideyoshi instantly frowned before Mitsuhide had already pulled up the dating app and showed the profile of who she had been matched with. Her boss was now flicking through everything with a scrutiny that could only be expected from him, while Mitsuhide had a shit-eating grin on his face as Natsuki took to glaring at the man.

“He’s an astrophysicist?” Her boss asked, not looking up from the profile.

“Yes, just graduated and has taken on a research role at the local university,” Natsuki said, scowling and sulking that her date had been uncovered.

“Seems very different from your usual type,” Mitsuhide had picked that up.

“He likes Sengoku history, we were talking about it, and I decided to give him a date, the guy can hold a conversation at least, and not just with my tits like the last guy,” she reasoned. Natsuki rolled her eyes as she settled in for a lecture and a half, knowing that Nobu had been notified and would be on his way already.

“Give me the breakdown.”

He didn’t even need to announce himself, Nobunaga would just enter the room and take command, just as he had pretty much done of Natsuki’s life since he had been hired to look out for her. She sighed loudly and sat back in her chair, grumbling loudly at the scene unfolding before her.

“Seems clean enough, very much not the usual type, so she’s probably now learning,” Mitsuhide was a huge tease, Natsuki was his secondary form of entertainment, Hideyoshi being his first of course, and he was thoroughly enjoying this.

“He looks completely different too, and he works where he says he does too, he’s on the university website,” Hideyoshi confirmed.

“And you all wonder why I stopped telling you all about my dates,” her smile was tight before she went to pick up her leathers. “Since you brought Nobu here, I’m going to change and then we’re going home so I can get ready for my date,” she declared to her boss, who then got a slightly guilty look at the situation.

“Make sure you dress for getting on and off a bike for your date,” Nobu declared, “Like hell am I letting you go without making sure you’re safe.”

“I think Hideyoshi can take lessons from you in worrying about me,” Natsuki quipped before disappearing.

She had to change her entire outfit plan, and just braid her long chestnut hair out of the way instead of doing something fancy. Motorbikes and helmets did limit her options, even though she was used to it by now. Nobu was at home on her couch and watching tv since he had told Natsuki that he was waiting for her to get ready before finding out what restaurant they were going to.

“Come on you bum, and no coming back and eating all my food again, or I’m getting Hideyoshi to take me shopping on your tab,” she scoffed, already heading out of the door as she shouted for her best friend’s attention.

In tradition, she was five minutes late because Nobunaga had decided that being on time wasn’t something a lady should be. Which got him a scolding about what his future partner would be like of course before Natsuki had already thrust her helmet back at the man.

“I’ll text you when I’m ready,” she instructed, walking off in her tight jeans and sparkling top as her high heels exaggerated her hip swaying. Nobu had to admit it was impossible to not watch the woman, even if he had no romantic feelings for his best friend, Natsuki knew how to leave and make a man only think of one thing.

He had to give her this one, she had booked at Masa’s restaurant at least, and the chef had just come back to say he would test the boy out anyway.

Masa: She looks dressed to kill in that outfit… Nobu: I didn’t get a chance before she left the apartment to vouch for her outfit. She’s caught onto my techniques. Hideyoshi: what about the date? Masa: he’s got her talking about something, her hands are flying about when she starts discussing Pokémon and things.   Mitsuhide: Did you block their order? Masa: Who do you think I am? I’m bringing out the usuals. Masa: Suki is cute when she glares. She thinks she’s intimidating. Masa: I was told off for interfering, and her date was just staring at me before half the restaurant realised I was out from behind the kitchen, and then I had to go back in. I’m interfering on dessert as well. Mitsuhide: Keep changing his drinks too. Nobu: Suki just texted me and told me that she’s not coming home for this. Mitsuhide: She knows we wouldn’t let that happen anyway. Yasu: Why don’t we just let her have a date in peace? You guys are worse than her actual family. Masa: He’s actually not tried anything on with her, they’re just talking all the time. Yasu: all the reason for leaving them alone. She’s a grown woman. Hideyoshi: With a constant stream of bad dates with womanisers, flirts, and generally awful men. Masa: Suki just moved her chair closer to him. I can’t figure out what they’re discussing. Yasu: Take. The. Fucking. Hint. Yasu: Leave her alone. She’s not Mitsunari. You all interfere enough. Nobu: Says the boy who already checked to see if you dispense her date’s medication. Mitsuhide: Naughty boy. Masa: Wait, they’re leaving. And looking chummy. Hideyoshi: I thought you’d arranged for dessert? Masa: I did!

Natsuki was smiling as she brushed shoulders with the male. Sasuke had been a random selection, she hadn’t even meant to check out his profile, but her finger had clicked on his photo instead of the man below, and then she had been drawn in by his sheer nerdiness.

“I’m sorry for my friends,” she spoke up. “They’re used to me dating womanisers and the likes, so they like to roast my dates.”

“It means they care,” the man replied.

Natsuki could see the smile in his eyes as they strolled through the nearby park. It was away from the security cameras so Mitsuhide would have a job getting a visual on them without physically arriving. Her feet were aching from the stupid choice of heels that went with the outfit before she was taken by surprise as the male pointed out a bench.

“Let’s take a seat,” he suggested.

They were sat in silence and gazing up at the stars. It was a clear night for once.

Their hands slowly crept together, before slowly intertwining. Sasuke slid a little closer to her before switching his visual focus to the woman. He was openly admiring Natsuki before the female turned her head. A faint blush had crept on her cheeks before the couple leaned in for a kiss.

They were blinded by the flashing of lights as the two froze mid-kiss.

“Sasuke! You never told us you knew such a sublime goddess,” a red-headed male swooped in, arms around them both before interjecting.

“Or that you even had a date,” a blond haired male huffed, and narrowed his eyes in a glare at Natsuki.

“You would have the same sort of friends,” the female smiled in understanding before a third male dragged himself into view. “We escaped the security cameras only to run into the paparazzi,” she laughed and kissed him on the cheek, catching everyone else off guard.

“Natsuki!” Hideyoshi’s voice could be heard for miles as he was running through the park in a blind panic, and then shortly joined by the sound of a motorbike. Nobu did like to ignore signs. “You did that on purpose!”

Sasuke was managing now to blush. Natsuki still wouldn’t give him his hand back and had gone as far as entwining their fingers with their hands sat on her lap.

“Of course I did, you never give me any privacy and Mitsuhide would have happily broadcast us over the internet,” she scoffed and rolled her eyes as Sasuke’s eyes widened. “I told you I understood the whole ‘overbearing friends’ thing,” she beamed brightly at the astrophysicist.

Sasuke couldn’t help it as he kissed her again, wrapped her in his arms and pulling her flush against him. She squeaked in surprise before slowly looping her arms around his neck, enjoying the moment until they both realised that they’d had an audience for the entire time.

“So you’re both exhibitionists?” Shingen broke the silence with a knowing smile.

“We didn’t have a choice really,” Natsuki replied with a laugh. “You all insist on hounding us both, so you get the full show,” she grinned mischievously, her head resting on Sasuke’s chest as the men had to concede defeat to the woman for once.

#Sasuke Sarutobi #nobunaga oda #masamune date #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #Ikémen Sengoku #fluff #first date

[janeofcakes]

FJW: Chapter 13

** Hello and Happy Mother’s Day to anyone that applies to! I join you tonight with another spellbinding chapter as I sit in bed with my laptop and my guilty pleasure playing in the background. I intend to do some typing and editing after I post. Gotta keep up and definitely, definitely not disappoint. Sadly, my meds have been knocking me out all weekend. Give me strength with positive Johnlock vibes. Haha. Y’all are the greatest. Thank you. **

John has been home for three weeks now. He has one week of physical therapy left, having continued to make such great strides that Dr. Hoover believes his work nearly done. John tends to agree. He is perfectly capable of nearly anything he could do before. At least, he thinks so. John has remembered precious little since his move back to Baker Street. A fact he finds very troubling.

He is not entirely discouraged, however. Sometimes when he’s reading a book he has actually read before, the words become familiar and he remembers something about the first time he read it. Maybe a feeling or the sun shining through the window and onto the floor of the flat or the expression on Sherlock’s face, the look in his eye. Other times, John will glance up from a book to see short scenes play out before his eyes. Sometimes he can hear what the players are saying and others it’s like someone has pushed the mute button on a remote control. No scene is ever complete and they seldom make sense. He always needs another piece or two of information, but never gets it. John often considers telling Sherlock. Perhaps he would fill in the blanks. He has not yet tested that theory.

Sherlock and Rosie burst through the door to 221B. The little girl drops her school bag and tears off her coat. She tosses it to its hook and hits the target perfectly. Sherlock raises a brow, following her slowly.

“Daddy!” she calls, making her way to the sitting room. Sherlock listens from the kitchen where he starts water boiling and begins collecting ingredients for pasta sauce. “Daddy?”

She walks into the kitchen with a perplexed expression on her face. Sherlock doesn’t even have to look over his shoulder to know she is there and what she is about to ask.

“Do you want to help with the sauce?” he asks. Still frowning, Rosie pulls the three-step stool from where it is slotted between the refrigerator and wall. She unfolds it and pushes it up to the counter next to her father. He hands her the open jar of tomato paste and a spoon.

“Where is Daddy?” she asks, spooning it into a pot.

“Well, he was at physical therapy until five, as you know,” he begins chopping an onion. “Lestrade picked him up to go to dinner.”

“We’re going to a restaurant?” her eyes are bright and excited.

“No,” Sherlock turns his head, “Daddy and Lestrade are going to a restaurant. You and I are making dinner right now. To eat at home.”

“But why can’t we go to a restaurant too?” the girl pouts.

“Because Daddy and Lestrade want to talk. They haven’t had the chance since Daddy came home. They were good friends before Daddy went to the hospital.”

“I want to eat at a restaurant.”

“We’re making spaghetti, remember?” Sherlock holds out the cutting board covered with chopped onions. “You were excited about this all the way home. Now, are you helping or not?”

Rosie casts her eyes upward and quickly decides to abandon her strop in favor of dumping the onions into the sauce. Spaghetti is her absolute favorite and making the meal with her papa is even more fun than experiments. It’s always amazing how he knows the recipe without even opening a cookbook.

***

After dinner and the washing up, Sherlock settles in at his desk with his laptop. He is reading one of the cases from John’s blog. People still comment and send private messages, even though it has not been updated in years. Sherlock has found new clients nearly every time he has visited the website, not that he’s looking. His only desire ever to read John’s words and see into his mind again. While John was unconscious, the blog and his mind palace were his only solace. And Rosie, of course. They were the only ways to see that beautiful mind, the mind of the man he missed so much. Now that John is awake and even in the flat, Sherlock has found some relief, but the bulk of John’s mind is still shut off to all of them. Sherlock finds himself drawn to the blog, especially when John is not at home. He has the need for that connection they have always had through cases. That which they lack now, John still having no idea they have ever worked together.

As Sherlock reads the case, recalling the details and marveling at John’s skill as a storyteller, he glances toward the fireplace where Rosie appears to be setting up a colossal matchbox racing track. The release point is attached to the mantle, making for quite a sizable drop to gain the momentum required to make it through the many turns and loops in the track. She has made use of her blocks and dollhouse as supports for the drop, having already learned that the cars just fall off the track when it simply hangs from a tall spot. Sherlock smiles at her ingenuity and returns his eyes to the screen before him.

A couple of cases later, he feels a little hand on his shoulder and turns his head to look sideways at his daughter. As per usual, she has pushed the footrest up behind his desk chair to stand on so she is at his eye level.

“Have you tested it?” he smirks.

“Not yet. I’m taking a break,” she tells him with her eyes on the laptop. “What’s dee-cape-itation?”

“Decapitation,” Sherlock corrects. “It is having one’s head severed at the neck.”

“Severed?”

“Cut off.”

“Oh,” her expression is somewhere between disgust and intrigue. Sherlock grimaces.

“This is probably not the best reading material for you.”

“But it instrests me.”

“Irrelevant. It is inappropriate for a five year old.”

“Then you shouldn’t read things that are so instresting to me.”

Sherlock lets out a quiet laugh and pulls her into his arms. She giggles, grabbing both shoulders with her little hands and holding tight as he stands.

“Let’s test out this track, shall we?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!”

***

John leans back in the booth at Greg Lestrade’s favorite pub and pops a chip in his mouth. He laughs at his friend’s jokes as they share stories - police work, living with Rosie and Sherlock. A lot about Sherlock, to be honest. Greg tells some choice tales from crime scenes that have them both in stitches. Greg spears his fish with a fork and brings it to his smiling lips as he finishes a particularly amusing one. John tilts his head back and laughs heartily.

“Oh my god, that is priceless,” John looks to Greg again and then glances around the pub. Greg laughs around his bite and readies another. John turns to him again, sobering a bit. “This is a great pub.”

“It is at that.”

“Did we used to come here a lot?” he asks. Greg swallows the food and watches his friend, his smile fading a little.

“We did,” he nods. “When we wanted to relax or needed to talk. Or you wanted to get away from a certain detective. He can be quite a handful.”

Greg smirks, but John remains serious. There is something on his mind and he has to talk with someone before he goes spare. John studies the DCI with a narrowed gaze. His fingers hover around the rim of his pint as he decides how to best approach this.

“Can we talk now?” he tests the waters. Greg inhales deeply and gestures with his hand.

“We are, aren’t we?” he comments jovially.

“Not quite what I mean,” John fixes him with steady eyes. Greg grows more serious as he picks up his own pint from the table.

“What’s on your mind?”

“It’s Sherlock,” John wets his lips. “He’s troubled.”

“Troubled?” Greg asks in confusion. “About what? A case?” Greg’s eyes go wide and he leans toward the table, suddenly very concerned. “You’re all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s not that,” John sighs and rests his elbows on the table, his fingers toying with his half-full pint. “There’s something I don’t know, that I don’t remember and Sherlock seems to...to dread it.”

“Have you recalled anything since you got home?”

“Not really. Sometimes a conversation or a feeling. Maybe part of a scene playing out, but it never comes together. It’s all so murky.”

“I’m sure it’ll come to light.”

“Yeah, but when?” John persists. “And why is Sherlock so disturbed by what I might remember? Can it really be so bad?”

“Well,” Greg purses his lips and contemplates John’s questions. He knows so much more about John’s past than he does right now and John wishes Greg would just tell him what he wants to know. He knows it is far better for him to remember his life on his own, but waiting is so damn frustrating. And feeling like he’s making no progress at all and what the fuck is Sherlock so worried he’ll remember?

“There were a lot of cases. A lot of enemies. It’s a recipe for danger.”

“But what does that have to do with me?” John looks befuddled, and irritated. “They were Sherlock’s cases.”

Greg’s eyes go wide, the beginning of panic, the realization that he’s said too much. John can see it all on his face before he schools it. If John could hear Greg’s thoughts, they would be curses. The DCI clears his throat and shifts in the booth uncomfortably.

“Right. Sherlock’s cases. You’re right,” his lips are a thin line and he bites his upper lip. His eyes dart away from John’s and he grabs his pint, hurriedly taking a pull.

John observes every detail thoughtfully. Greg is clearly nervous about what he just said, but it seems so innocuous. John had worked at a surgery. Sherlock worked the cases. Neither had anything to do with the other, but Greg’s words hinted at it. John narrows his eyes, considering the possibilities. Greg assumed John would know what he meant and became anxious when he realized John did not know. He said something he shouldn’t have and it is now absolutely essential that John know what it is this minute. His deep blue eyes grow wide as the pieces fall into place.

“Unless,” he begins, “someone kidnapped me. Used me to get to Sherlock?”

Greg’s gaze is locked on John. He doesn’t reply, taking a large swallow of beer instead. John hit the nail on the head and can’t help a satisfied smirk. Greg puffs out a bemused breath.

“Christ, you’re more like him every day,” he mutters. John’s lips curl down and he leans in, even more serious than before.

“He told me for years to not just see but observe. I finally feel like I can.”

“Did he now?” Greg places his nearly empty pint back on the tabletop, his face grim. He meets John’s eyes with a weighty gaze and there it is.

It pops into his mind and immediately fills him with a sinking feeling. It is on the edge of his brain, but won’t come into focus. This pane of glass is one of the darkest, like his mind doesn’t want him to ever know what it hides. An image flashes through his thoughts like lightning and he gasps.

“What?” Greg asks on high alert. “What is it?”

“I…” John opens his eyes, not even aware he had closed them, “remember a coat. A parka. And a swimming pool?”

Greg straightens and presses his lips together firmly. He pushes his pint closer to the center of the table.

“Look, John, I think we should talk about something else. This isn’t the place for that.”

“For what?” John challenges. Greg just shakes his head, looking at him with regret. Frustration peaking, John barrels on. “Fine. Fine. Then we can get back to my first question. What is Sherlock so afraid of?”

“John,” Greg begins, his voice filled with sincerity, “there are so many things you don’t know yet. A lot has changed.”

A hot flash of anger courses through John’s body. He wants to snap at his friend, tell him that Sherlock repeats that same sentence every fucking day. Okay, an exaggeration, but still something that pisses him off. He is acutely aware that he remembers virtually nothing about important parts of his life and the man he loves. He doesn’t appreciate having it thrown in his face, thank you very much and fuck off.

But John does not snap at Greg because his last four words stop John cold. ‘A lot has changed.’ Of course it has. Maybe that’s why Sherlock is so worried. John was in a coma for five years, a long time to be alone with a small child to raise. Maybe Sherlock met someone. Fell in love with someone. The very thought squeezes John’s heart sharply and pain bursts into his chest.

“Have I really changed that much?” he shakes his head in dismay. “Am I so different?”

Greg’s expression sparks in surprise before quickly settling into sympathy. He leans in intently.

“Oh, no, John, no. You are almost exactly like you were before. You’re still a good man. Always have been.”

“Almost?” John glazes over the rest. He is different and, even if it’s small, it’s driving Sherlock away.

“John. God, I know how that must sound, but it’s not like that. If anything, you’re more patient than you used to be.”

“More patient?” he questions, raising his brows.

“Yeah, but you act the same, think the same, more or less. Your personality hasn’t really changed, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“What I’m worried about is Sherlock,” John’s tone is all business. He may not remember being Captain Watson, but he can certainly adopt the persona when he wants to. “Things are so different between us.”

“You remember how it was before?”

“Well, no,” John clarifies, shrugging, “not as such. It’s more like assumptions, really. I have no doubt that we were happy and now… He’s happy, but he’s also sad. And scared. That’s what really bothers me.”

“Scared?”

“Yes. He’s scared of what I don’t know and what I’ll remember,” he pauses, taking care to gauge every detail of Greg’s reaction to his next words, “or what I’ll find out.”

His friend furrows his brow, his face somewhere between disbelief and utter confusion. John feels frustration building within, threatening to take over his brain. Sherlock has made every effort to make John comfortable since he moved back into the flat they once shared, but he goes out of his way not to touch him or change clothing in their bedroom at the same time. Or kiss him. God, why won’t he kiss him?

“He’s...distant at times,” John tries to find a way to explain and fails. Greg’s expression changes to one of knowing, certainty - like it’s to be expected.

“When he’s in his ‘mind palace’,” he raises his hands to make air quotes. “Yeah, he does that.”

“Look, I know that. He explained that,” John exhales his frustration. “This isn’t when he’s thinking. It’s different. Times when it makes sense for him to touch me or…”

Greg’s brow is down again, a frown on his lips. John swallows hard. He may as well go all in.

“Like when we’re in bed,” he goes on, abandoning all notion of decorum. He has held this in for so long and can stifle it no longer. “He doesn’t come near me. He doesn’t snuggle or sleep facing me. He won’t even hold my hand.”

“You..” Greg struggles to find the words. He look utterly befuddled. “You sleep. With Sherlock. In his bed.”

“Yes,” John answers simply. Greg blinks once and gapes at the doctor. He has absolutely no idea what to make of that. John is not entirely sure why Greg is so shocked, but fixes him with determination and continues. He’s too close to voicing his real concerns now and he can’t turn back. “Greg, do you think it’s possible that Sherlock doesn’t love me anymore?”

His friend’s face goes completely slack and a rush of breath puffs from his mouth. He leans back in the booth and looks at John for a moment before licking his lips and leaning forward again.

“No, John, there is no doubt in my mind that he loves you. But he doesn’t want to push you. You haven’t been awake long at all and you’re still recovering. It’s going to take some time, that’s all.”

John’s shoulders drop and he sighs, disappointed and frustrated. Gutted.

“I know,” Greg continues quickly. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but that’s the reality of it. He wants to give you time. To remember, to be comfortable. Everything he’s doing, everything he’s done for the last five years, and even before that, has been for you. Just hold on. It’ll all make sense eventually.”

***

John white knuckles the armrests of his chair and his whole body tenses. He stares wide-eyed at the woman standing before him. The corner of her mouth curls up as she levels a gun at his head. He racks his brain, trying to find a plan of escape where there is none.

“I want to destroy my brother,” she tells him in an indifferent tone, “and the only person he cares about is our brother. His precious little brother.”

Her lips curl all the way into a broad smile. It is eerily familiar and pure evil. Her eyes are emotionless, unreadable, dead. She blinks slowly as she takes a step closer to his chair. He is frozen.

“The only person his precious little brat cares about,” she stops and tilts her head, eyes locked on John’s, “is you.”

John darts out of the chair as she pulls the trigger and misses, but the barrel follows his movements and she squeezes again.This bullet explodes into his forehead. The impact throws off his trajectory and his body falls to the floor awkwardly, landing on his left hip and shoulder. It should be painful, but everything is eclipsed by the searing burn of the bullet in his head. Or has it passed all the way through? John can feel the wet of the blood surrounding his cheek. It is growing larger, enveloping his head as his mind slips away.

“Rosie!” his mind screams loud enough that his head twitches. God, his little girl, his baby. He can’t leave her. She has no on else. No one.

John hears the woman’s footsteps as she comes closer to finish the job and he closes his eyes. Or are they open? He can’t tell anymore.

“Sherlock!” his mind screams again. Even louder this time. “Oh god, Sherlock. Please don’t let me die.”

John can’t see anything. He expects the shot. One shot is all it will take. Instead, a pounding vibration fills his ears. It is more noise than he has ever heard before and yet, it is quiet and far away. He hears footsteps hurry away and a cracking, splintering of wood. Footfalls rushing near, his name, and a pale face surrounded by dark curls comes into view. Or is he imagining that face?

“Sherlock,” John knows he isn’t really speaking, but he continues anyway. “Sherlock, I love you. Take care of Rosie.”

The detective is gone and there is nothing but blackness. It isn’t until that moment that John realizes his eyes were actually open all the time. Or was it no time at all? But now his eyes are closed. Never to open again.

“John. John,” the deep baritone fills John’s ears and he can feel strong hands on his shoulders. His eyes fly open to see a pair of panicked silver-grey eyes looking back. They look like...like hers.

John thrashes his legs and thrusts his arms up in between Sherlock’s, pushing the man’s arms away from John’s body roughly. The detective pulls back like he’s been burned. Without taking his eyes off those shocked grey eyes, John sits up and scrambles backwards until his back hits the headboard. The two men stare at one another apprehensively. Sherlock is on his knees at the foot of the bed, his arms still outstretched at his sides after John’s escape. He lowers his chin and looks at John gravely.

“John, it’s all right,” he says firmly. “You are safe at home. It was a nightmare.”

The doctor continues to stare. He doesn’t move a muscle. Why the hell would Sherlock not tell him he had a sister? A psychotic sister. If the dream is to be believed, and John is absolutely convinced it was a real memory, John had no idea at the time that his so-called therapist was a Holmes when she shot him. Why wouldn’t Sherlock have told him?

“John?” Sherlock draws John’s focus once more. He has not moved his arms and holds his palms out so John can see them, his fingers splayed wide as though John is a danger to him. “John, can you hear me?”

“Of course I can hear you,” John hisses. “Why wouldn’t I be able to hear you?”

Sherlock doesn’t move and his posture is beginning to annoy John. He isn’t some dangerous caged animal, ready to lash out at anyone who crosses his path. The detective continues to watch him with a measured gaze.

“You had a nightmare.”

“A memory, more like. And a bad one at that,” John lets out an almost involuntary puff of air, just tinted by a humorless laugh. He sets his shoulders and jaw, and then wets his lips. “I remember a woman. The woman who shot me. Your sister.”

Sherlock’s eyes close slowly and his face falls. His arms move to hang at his sides in defeat. John watches his flatmate sink from standing on his knees to sitting upon his calves and feet, his legs folded beneath his body. His shoulders slouch and he looks away as he opens his eyes again. When he finally meets John’s gaze, his face is pained, his eyes filled with such sorrow and resignation.

“Her name was Eurus. She was a year younger than me. She posed as a therapist to gain your trust.”

“She said she wanted to destroy Mycroft,” John says quietly, not wanting to push too hard.

This topic clearly brings Sherlock great pain. Sherlock told him in the hospital that the woman was dead, but never mentioned who she was. John thought it was because it didn’t really matter at that point, but now it all makes sense. Why Sherlock didn’t offer any information and why Mycroft was so interested in what John could remember. As much as he would love to spare Sherlock this pain, John needs to talk about this. He needs to know and he has to understand why Sherlock didn’t trust him all those years ago.

“She you were his weakness and I was yours.”

“Oh god,” Sherlock’s voice breaks. “I’m sorry, John. I’m so sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” John whispers as his eyes fill and shine. He shakes his head. “You couldn’t trust me?”

Sherlock’s eyes widen, lips parting slightly and then he ducks his head down.

“I didn’t know,” he begins unsteadily. He looks back at his friend to see confusion, wrinkled forehead and furrowed brow. “I had no idea I even had a sister. She...did something terrible when we were children. I was so traumatized I rearranged my memories to exclude her.”

Without even thinking, John lets the question slip past his lips. He regrets it immediately, but hasn’t the chance to take it back before Sherlock answers.

“What did she do?”

“She…” he pauses to steel himself and John feels like an ass for asking. The look in Sherlock’s eyes tells it all. He is about to apologize when Sherlock speaks again. “She lured my best friend to an old well and pushed him in. Mycroft couldn’t make her tell where it was and our parents wouldn’t believe she was responsible. Victor was never found.”

“Jesus, Sherlock,” John whispers in utter disbelief. His friend has such a far away look in his eyes.

“Then she set fire to our family home. It burned to the ground. No one was injured. Mycroft was already being courted and groomed by the government, so he used his contacts to manufacture Eurus’ death and held her in a maximum security asylum on an island. She grew up there and when she escaped…”

“She set about her revenge,” John interjects. “God, Sherlock, I’m sorry.”

“It was my own weakness that put you in danger.”

“You were a child.”

“If I hadn’t altered my own memory, I could have warned you.”

“I doubt that would have made any difference.”

“I could have protected you,” Sherlock insists, the tension in his voice growing.

“Stop,” John’s tone is commanding, yet gentle. He moves onto all-fours and crawls to sit on his calves inches from Sherlock. “You blame yourself. You have all these years. It’s not true.”

“It IS true.”

“No,” John’s hand is on Sherlock’s cheek and the man nearly gasps from the surprise of it. “You suffered a major trauma. You can’t blame yourself for what your mind did to survive. And if you’d known, you would’ve warned me, but would I have suspected my therapist? Would you? No.”

“John, I…” his hand closes over John’s and his eyes glisten with tears.

“You have been everything I needed you to be. I need you. So does Rosie.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Yes, she does. You’re her father and she loves you.”

“I’m not her father.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Not her real father.”

Sherlock’s face is cupped between both of John’s hands now. His left thumb brushes away a falling tear.

“You are the only father she has ever known.”

“That’s not true.”

“You have been the best father I could ever imagine. You have taken care of her and given her all the love in the world. She’s so happy and smart and I wish you hadn’t had to do it alone. I wish I’d been there and I’m glad I’m here now. With you. We will be...a family.”

Sherlock is shaking his head and pulling out of John’s grasp. He rises off the bed and walks to the door, mumbling no every few steps.

“Sherlock?” John is beyond confused and worried. He watches as the detective opens the door and slips part way through before he finally stops to look back at John.

“You won’t feel that way once you know it all.”

“We can work through it. It’s all something we can work through.”

Sherlock does not answer, except to shake his head as tears fall down his cheeks. He leaves the room, closing the door softly behind.

@echosilverwolf @technicallywiseoncns @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow@philliphooper@whodwantmeasaflatmate@swissmissing@gloriascott93@kingdomofbrokenhearts@srebrnafh@thetranslucentwallaby@britishaccentfan@plasticstrawsmuggler@spazzz32@absentmindedsstuff@shuukichan @annecumberbatch @maeliandmyself @welcometomyharddrive

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock fanfic #john watson #johnwatson #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #season 4 #S4 fix

[infiniteshawn]

Puppy Love | Part 5

2.6k of a bit of angst but lots of fluff

You sat in front of your computer screen, learning everything you possibly could to make sure Shawn was suitable for the Cameron House. Letting him down again would certainly destroy every chance of getting to know him at this point, and you weren’t sure if you could handle that.

You read the description on their website, discovering that they were in search of a younger artist who performed predominantly acoustic covers. Testing your luck, you pulled up YouTube in a new tab and searched Shawn’s name.

A ton of results popped up in no time, some having already reached thousands of views. Your heart broke a little, remembering that you were the reason he couldn’t do this anymore.

Your shaky hands clicked on the first result, a video taken just sixth months ago at the Horseshoe.

Your screen went dark, gradually illuminating as a stage lit up. Shawn stood in the middle with an acoustic guitar in front of a few other band members. There was a pianist, a drummer, and a guy with a bass guitar. You watched as Shawn stepped up to the microphone stand, exhaling softly as the bass guitar began with a little riff. Before you knew it, the piano had joined in and Shawn was bopping his head a little, singing the opening lyrics to Amy Winehouse’s version of “Valerie.”

It soon became a little more lively and upbeat that the original, and Shawn’s hips began to sway with the music. A smile uncontrollably crept up on your face as you watched his fingers strum the guitar, a rosy hue on his cheeks as he sang his heart out. The drunken crowd was cheering him on as he sang over their chants, a desperate rasp finding his voice and carrying throughout the chorus. Your head bopped along as your eyes remained fixated on the screen, mesmerized by his on-stage energy. He was so good.

The white lights on him grew a little dim and his hips slowed as song came to an end. As the pianist played the final few notes, Shawn darted to the side of the stage, setting his guitar down and returning to his spot. The lights slowly transitioned into a deep red, completely changing the atmosphere as he placed two large hands on the microphone that was still resting on the stand. You wondered what he would do next, furrowing your brow as you could see the video was only half-over. He stood before the crowd, head hanging low as the piano continued its interlude, soon transitioning into the opening notes of “Back to Black.”

Your stomach dipped as a smile erupted on Shawn’s face, looking up at the crowd as he began singing in a lower voice than before. You could feel your mood changing, quickly changing from a happy excitement to a hungry, lustful passion. Your eyes raked over his body as he moved against the microphone stand, slowly swaying along to the sensual melody.

He wore skinny jeans and boots as usual, accompanied by a button-up that hung open at the top. Now without the guitar, you could see his thin middle and broad chest, shirt tight over his bulging arms with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hands gripped the microphone for dear life, causing the veins in his forearms to protrude and ultimately fuck you the hell up.

His jaw was defined in the dim crimson light and you could just make out the sweat dripping down his temples, thanking your lucky stars for the highly defined quality of the video. His cheeks were even redder than before, eyes shut tightly as he hit every note perfectly. The song was sultry and he was owning it, and you were absolutely fucked for him. How the hell was this your first time seeing him perform?

His hips loosened up a bit as the song neared its bridge, and you’d never wanted to become a microphone stand more in your entire life. His rendition was beautiful and his movements fit perfectly, causing a heat to shamelessly grow between your thighs as your lustful eyes focused on the vein in his neck. Before you knew it, the song was ending and he muttered a low “thank you” into the microphone, stepping off the stage as the video stopped. This boy had you shook.

Navigating back to the Cameron House’s website, you concluded that he was definitely suitable to perform there. You scrolled to their “Contact Us” section, emailing them a link of the video you’d just watched and giving them Shawn’s information. Satisfied with yourself, you finally felt as if everything was going to be okay, and it was probably safe to give him a call.

It rang a few times, a nervous feeling growing in your stomach as you wondered if he was asleep, ignoring it, or debating picking it up. Geoff had said he was really into you, which was either a lie, or Shawn was fighting a mental battle with himself over his pride.

“Hi, you’ve reached Shawn. Sorry I missed your call, please leave a message!” played in your ear as you swooned over the sound of his voice, unsure of what on earth you were going to say. Beep.

“Uh, hi, it’s me. Um, I know you deleted my number and you’re probably still mad, but uh, I need to talk to you. So, um, if you could call me back, that’d be great. Sorry, again, for everything,” you said a bit shakily, hanging up and tossing your phone down on your bed as soon as you were finished. Your fingers ran through your hair as your mind ran wild, desperate to fix what you had with Shawn.

You got up and ready a little later than usual, thankful to have Fridays off. Your hair draped over your shoulders in loose waves as you applied a little more makeup than usual, hoping to remind him of how much he liked you. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Your phone buzzed as an unknown number lit up your screen.

Hey, it’s Geoff. Apartment 819, remember? I’m not gonna be there but I told him I was coming over so he’d be awake and stuff. Good luck, kid.

You smiled, instantly typing a response.

Got it! Heading over soon, I’ll keep you posted.

You shovelled some breakfast into your mouth and took Chloe around the block, bringing her back home before setting out toward to Shawn’s building.

The sun warmed your face as the air chilled the tip of your nose, putting you in a good mood as you walked down the street. It was midday, so people were out and about, sending you smiles and waves as you passed them on the sidewalk. You took your sunglasses off and folded them up as you stepped into the vestibule of his building, thankfully slipping in behind someone else who’d been buzzed up.

The lobby was cute and modern, tempting you to sit down and collect your thoughts before facing Shawn. You decided against it, heart beating heavily in your chest as you stepped into the elevator and selected the button for the eighth floor. The mirrored walls allowed you to run a few fingers through your hair as you gave yourself a little nod of approval in an attempt to boost your own confidence.

Its doors slid open and you stepped out into the hall, turning left to go eastward. You felt your breath getting a little shaky as you straightened out your jacket, walking by a few front doors until you stumbled upon the one that read 819. Inhaling sharply, you decided to just go for it, firmly knocking on the door with your knuckle three times.

“Come in!” a voice called, making things a little better for you because he couldn’t really turn you away.

You slowly pushed the door open, calling out “Shawn?” to warn him that it was actually you entering his house, completely uninvited.

You slowly poked your head around the large door, stepping inside to see an empty kitchen and living room. His puppy came racing toward you, jumping against your knees as you leaned down to give her a little scratch. You froze in place as you heard heavy footsteps coming from one of the rooms, only to be greeted by a shirtless, tired-looking Shawn with grey sweats hanging low on his hips. You couldn’t help but eye his body, taking note that he was totally fucking ripped. The sweats hugged him in all the right places, showing the slightest bit of bulge and revealing the “v” of his lower abdomen.

“Oh, shit, I thought you were Geoff,” he said in a shocked tone, crossing his arms as he stood at the opposite end of the kitchen island.

“No, uh, not Geoff,” you spoke, unable to meet his eyes as you looked out the large living room window. “I need to talk to you,” you said a little desperately, eyes finding his in the bright kitchen. You stared into his honey orbs for a few seconds too long, noticing how hurt they looked at the sight of you. His lips were slightly parted, forming a bit of a frown as he reverted his gaze.

“I got your message,” he said sternly, standing up a little taller. “I didn’t call you back.” Your heart broke a little as your face fell.

“Shawn, just hear me out,” you pleaded, maneuvering yourself around the angled counter and stepping in his direction. “I realize you’re not at the Horseshoe anymore, but there’s an opening at the Cameron House and I think you’d be perfect.”

His chest fell as he exhaled, pondering what you’d said. His eyes found yours again as he uncrossed his arms and spoke flatly, “I don’t want it.” You took another step in his direction, now only a few feet away from him.

“Shawn, ple-“ you started, but he cut you off.

“No, I don’t want it. How can I even know if you’re being serious? How do I know your boyfriend didn’t send you over here to dangle it in my face?” he said angrily, shoving his massive hands in his pockets.

“Shawn, no,” you pleaded, shaking your head as he took a step away from you.

“You don’t understand, I was so close,” he spoke firmly, looking away and blinking a few times. He took a moment to collect himself, talking with his hands as he spat, “I was close to being fucking signed, and now I have to start over again. It took me so long to get that position. And you knew! You knew and you didn’t tell me. I liked you so much,” he shook his head, running a hand through his hair. Your heart fell again, noticing that he’d said liked rather than like.

“Shawn, he’s not my boyfriend, we broke up ages ago. And I realize you lost it and I’m trying to fix it, I don’t know what to d-“ you spoke, but he was trying to butt in. “No, let me finish,” you said firmly, causing him to fall silent and re-cross his arms. “I realize that I fucked up and I’ve already apologized so many times, I even researched you last night to make sure this new gig was suitable because I know I wouldn’t be able to handle letting you down again,” you felt a lump forming in your throat, and you knew you only had a few more seconds until the tears would spill over. “And to think, t-to think I’d ever want that asshole more than I want you,” you paused, eyes pooling with water as tears began rolling down your cheeks, “is just fucking rude, and you’re so wrong,” you tried to keep going but were overcome with emotion, frustration taking over as he wasn’t hearing what you were saying. “I just, I don’t know what more you could possibly wan’t from me!” you yelled, shoulders slouching a bit as the sobs began to escape your lips. Before you could process what was going on, Shawn had closed the space between you and pulled you into his arms. Your face was pressed against his bare chest, tears wetting his skin as he hushed you and rubbed your back with his strong hands.

“Shhh, it’s okay, honey I’m overreacting,” he spoke softly as you tried to compose yourself, the heat from his body making you even warmer, “I’m so sorry,” he said, voice laced with realization.

"I don’t know what you want from me, Shawn,” you said quietly, tears continuing to fall as you felt helpless.

His strong hands moved from your back to your shoulders, slowly pulling your face from his chest as he cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. His features were much softer than before, graced by a little half-smile, glossy eyes, and a loose curl hanging on his forehead.

“I only want you,” he whispered softly, pulling you closer and planting the softest kiss on your lips. His mouth was warm and smooth on yours, innocently kissing you as you melted in his arms. Your hands found his abdomen, pressing against his warm middle as he pulled away from your face. Your eyes fluttered open to be met by his soft chestnut gaze staring back at you.

“But you’re mad at me,” you whispered, inches from his face.

“No, I’m not. Baby, it doesn’t matter anymore,” he said quietly, “I like you so much.”

This time it was you who leaned forward, pulling him in for a kiss by the back of his neck. His hungry mouth moulded to yours as you pressed your body against his, parting your lips to welcome his hot tongue. His hands moved from your cheeks into your hair, attempting to pull you impossibly closer as he inhaled through his nose, deepening the kiss and releasing a soft moan.

You knew it was time to stop, pushing off his chest and separating yourself from his wet lips. He broke into a smile, kissing your forehead and stepping away.

“I should go,” you said softly, reaching for his hand one last time. “You’ll look into it, though?”

He nodded with a smile, a soft “yes,” escaping his bright pink lips. You gave a little nod of approval and turned on your heel, looking back at his giddy expression before disappearing out into the hallway.

Breaking into a smile, you continued toward the elevator and stepped inside, more-than-satisfied with how things went. As the doors began to close, you jumped at the sight of a large, tattooed hand forcing them open again.

Shawn popped around the corner with a lazy smile, a little shaken from running after you.

“Will you go on a date with me?” he asked quickly, eyes wild with excitement. “Tomorrow, please?” he pressed, an expectant look present in his eyes.

You laughed, stepping closer to his still-shirtless self, “Of course, Shawn.”

His smile grew as he leaned in once more, planting a soft kiss on your lips. You could feel him fighting a grin as his mouth pressed against yours, soon being pulled away as he stepped out of the elevator entrance. The doors began closing as a deep blush erupted in your cheeks.

“I’ll call you!” he yelled as the doors were almost shut, only allowing you to see one of his eyes and a thin portion of his body, causing you to laugh as the elevator descended.

Relief washed over you as you left his building, soon realizing he was playing no games as your phone lit up with an incoming call from Shawn.

a big thank-you to @achinglyshawn for helping me plan this one out! go show her some love!

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #imagine shawn mendes #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes smile #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes series

[nitallica]

Cross-posted from my blog: I should have just stayed in bed

I took a mental health day yesterday. The first one I’ve had in I can’t remember how long. I woke up and texted Ryan to see if they could do without me for a day. As far as I knew I didn’t have anything pressing, and he said go for it. Honestly, I could do with a week off, and I’m sorely tempted to ask if I can do that next week. I’m tired and angry. And it seems like every time I go back in, something else sets me off.

I spent the morning watching tv and trying to decompress. I played a little GW2, and for the most part enjoyed it. I ran into someone being a complete asshat in WvW but I tend to just block and move on when it comes to PVPing in that game. The community is great … as long as you stay out of the WvW and sPVP maps. :P I tried to nap but had a splitting headache so I started watching monster movies and ordered a pizza. I figured it was Fuck it Friday, so why not?

I had considered going out that afternoon when Donna texts me asking if I’d seen a ticket that came in. No, because I removed all work-related apps from my phone since it’s a personal phone now. I find out that we’re getting a new COO … and he starts in 2 days. Great. And no one said anything to me and half his accounts are already setup, so I’ll have to figure out his Domino/Notes stuff when I get in Monday. I’m pretty sure no one thought to ask, and at this point I decide I’m too angry to go out and opted to stay home. Fuck it, I will deal with it Monday. That’s become my mantra lately … “Fuck it, I will deal with it later.”

I told Donna that right there was proof they didn’t need me and she says that anyone can setup the AD stuff but no one knows Notes. Thanks a lot. I took over setting up the AD accounts because they kept getting fucked up. And I’ve made the Notes setup as easy as possible, documenting step by step what should be done where in case anyone needed to pick up while I’m out. I’ve made this known to the entire department several times, and no one bothers to look at it, and claims “Oh, I don’t know how, we still need YOU to do this.” I’m tired of it all. I’m angry, and I’m hurt. I’m tired of reaching out to folks to try to explain, then have my feelings either minimalized or just told (in a round-about way) to get over it. And people wonder why I keep withdrawing?

I don’t think she meant it the way I took it, but I already feel alienated, left out. And shit like this doesn’t help.

So monster movies all night long, basically until I passed out. I woke up this morning and received an email that one of my fanlistings weren’t working. It turns out none of them were. I had upgraded EasyApache on my server about a month ago and performed some badly needed upgrades. I was quite frankly embarrassed at how old the software I was still running was, and decided it would be a good idea to update EVERYTHING to the latest and greatest. Yeah, did not go as planned. Worse, I decided to initiate this about 45 minutes before walking out the door to an appointment. I opened a ticket with KnownHost to let them know that I did a dumb thing and asked about rolling back to the last VPS snapshot. After some back and forth, it turned out that I didn’t really need to do that, I just needed to fix my root htaccess file. It turns out I caused my own problem with just one little line, hah!

Some days I really do question my own intelligence.

OK so this morning I’ve been digging through code and yelling at my monitor, and it seems the Enthusiast script I’ve been using is outdated. Actually, that’s an understatement, it’s a fossil, an antique. It was written for PHP 4.1 or 4.2. Even worse, this was an upgrade from an even earlier version and I’d customized the hell out of it over the years. The official Enthusiast site has been down (looks like they recently had an upgrade of their own that went TU), so I checked the repository on GitHub. It was the latest version I could find … and would not function fully on PHP7 or higher.

Lovely. /headdesk

It seems there’s a fork with an updated version of 3x that works on PHP 7.3, but I’d have to figure out how to convert my existing Enthusiast installs to it. I copied the new fork’s files on a test subdomain, created the databases needed and installed the script. Yep, NOPE! Everything’s totally different and honestly by this point I’ve been staring at code all morning and am a bit pissed off, coupled with the aggravations from work, I decided to go another route. I’m not proud of this, but it works and for now it gives me time to figure out if I want to keep these fanlistings or not. I created a new subdomain account and added PHP 5.6 to my EasyApache profile. UGH! I really don’t like adding something so old, but my plan is only to allow that one subdomain to run it. I create a new MySQL database and export from my main domain to the new subdomain. I update all config files where needed with the new db infos and BOOM, I’m back in business.

Granted, now I’ve got to clean up all of my customizations and make sure all of them work. I also have to submit a modification request to TFL letting them know that these things have been moved. Of course while I’m in there looking at the code, I’m shocked at how badly these things are written. Granted, these sites were all written 10+ years ago. I guess I can’t be too hard on myself. A small part of me badly wants to re-design these things “properly” … but a larger part of me doesn’t have enough fucks to give. It’s not that I don’t care, but … I don’t have the energy to spend on them. That actually makes me a little sad.

My therapist thinks that’s stress and/or my depression talking … these used to be little fun projects and I loved making websites one after another. And now I don’t find it fun anymore. Actually, it’s really hard for me to enjoy much of anything that I used to. I mean I laugh about it some days, but I have gotten to the point to where nothing I used to love brings joy to me anymore. My job is one thing. I can easily explain that with burnout. But this is more. I’m beginning to think that maybe I need to find another psychiatrist and give that another shot. Because I think I’m getting worse.

Anyways, I hope your weekend is going better than mine. And May the 4th be with you. ♥

... from I should have just stayed in bed

#Code #Personal #Fanlisting #Health #KnownHost #Movies #Rant #upgrade #Work

[academicsapphic]

University classes are a monster you can’t prepare for until you’re in them. I have been through every up and down with schoolwork possible in the past year, so here are some tips that can hopefully help you avoid those downs:

Choosing and Registering for Your Classes

Make sure to thoroughly check both your major requirements and your gen ed requirements. Normally, you’ll have an advisor to help you make sure you’re on track, but Vandy doesn’t assign first-year engineering students one until after registration when school starts, and I didn’t have an advisor for this year’s registration either due to my major change, so I’ve spent hours and hours doing this on my own. There’s often recommended courses and example schedules in the course catalog that tell you what classes you should be taking at this point in time. Pay attention to that and you should be fine. For example, you have to have taken a first-level writing class to qualify for junior standing here. Those are the little things you have to look out for. To keep track of it all, I have a spreadsheet I use for planning my sophomore - senior years that lists all the requirements I need to meet in terms of hours and courses in order to graduate on time. I plug in possible courses and see which requirement they would fulfill and when. You can check it out here to see what I mean, it’s very helpful.

Find at least one fun elective to take if at all possible. It gets very tiring when all you have on your schedule are really difficult classes that you don’t enjoy. Try to find at least one class that you’re genuinely interested in to help get you excited for the day. Each of my last semesters, my schedule consisted of a calculus class, a lab science, a comp sci class, and Italian. Italian was the only fun one that I enjoyed going to. It really helps you out. You’re not just in college to get your degree, you’re there to discover what you really want to do, so feel free to explore your catalog and take something completely out of character just because you want to. Bonus if it fills some kind of requirement (Italian filled my Foreign Language Proficiency and one of my International Cultures reqs.).

Have multiple versions of your schedule based on which classes you may or may not get into. I don’t know about your school, but at Vanderbilt, class registration is literally like the Hunger Games. You’re assigned an enrollment date based on your year (seniors get to go first, then juniors, etc.) and at 8 am on that day, you refresh the website and either enroll in your classes or get placed on the wait list for it. If you’re a freshman, you’re basically screwed because you go last, and so you could have planned out your perfect schedule only to find they’ve all filled up the day before your enrollment period starts. To avoid having to scramble, have multiple versions of your schedule, with back ups and substitutions for every class. This way, you won’t be surprised when you go to enroll and all but one of your classes are filled, then you have to search for other classes, but at that point, all that’s left are scraps that don’t fit your requirements. Plan plan plan and practice clicking the enroll button on all your classes as fast as you can for when the clock strikes 8.

You have freedom over your schedule now; take advantage of that! No more 8-3 Monday through Friday; you can take classes whenever you want. I prefer to have all my classes on MWF in a block of a few hours and only one or no class on TR. Of course, sometimes you’re going to have to take classes at less optimal times, but do try to accommodate yourself and take classes at times you know will be good for you. Lots of people prefer to start early and finish early, while I like to start no earlier than 11, even if I don’t finish until 5. The best part of college is you can do what you want.

Don’t take 8 ams. I’m repeating this cause it’s important. I swear, you’ll regret it. In high school, I woke up every morning early as hell to catch my bus at 6:30, but in college, it was nearly impossible for me to get up for my 11 am only three times a week. Don’t ever take an 8 am by choice. And if you have no choice, good luck lol.

Don’t be afraid to drop a class. If you’re doing terribly in a class or you absolutely can’t stand it, drop the class. There’s a very little chance that if you’re failing during the first half of the semester, you’ll be able to change your grade dramatically in the second half. Maybe you decided to be an overzealous freshman and signed up for the maximum number of hours possible and now you’re drowning. Drop a class! Sometimes, a course is going to do more harm to you than good, so it’s best to get rid of it than have an F or a W on your transcript.

Use RateMyProfessor! I totally forgot about this when I originally posted this and it’s already got almost 1,000 notes but hopefully people see this. RateMyProfessor is so fucking useful. It’s IMPERATIVE that you check this website before you enroll in classes. Someone at Vandy actually made a Chrome extension for our enrollment website that automatically shows a professor’s ranking while you’re looking for classes. Obviously, take it with a grain of salt, and make sure the reviews actually make valid points about the workload and class and isn’t just someone bitter about failing. I took calc with a professor who taught at my high school just cause she taught at my high school even though her reviews said she was insanely difficult and the class was near impossible to pass. Guess what? They were right and I failed as did a big chunk of everyone else in her class. You don’t have to let RMP dictate your schedule, but definitely check it out, and if everyone says the professor is awful, don’t fucking take them. 

Attending Your Classes

Establish a connection with your professor early. I recommended introducing yourself on the first day of class just so they know your name and face in another post. It’d be even better to attend an office hour or review session or something. Just make sure they know you. It’ll be easier to communicate when you need something later in the semester if it isn’t their first time seeing you.

Actually use this connection with your professors. In my experience, they can be pretty understanding and when you’re in a bad place, they’ll likely help you out. If something is preventing you from doing your best in class, go to them for help (I didn’t go to many office hours but I wish I did! Who better to explain to you something you don’t understand than the person who grades you on it?) or explain to them your situation. I had professors let me take tests late and redo assignments due to my mental health after I explained to them I wasn’t just a terrible student; if it wasn’t for this, I would’ve failed all of their classes. Maybe at the end of the semester they’ll drop one of your wonky grades or bump you up that extra half point you need. Your professors are a resource, and it’s up to you to use it.

Take notes however you want. I used my laptop in some, paper in others, and even my iPad and a stylus for calculus. In all of your classes will be a mixture of different techniques and no one cares what you do. Whatever works best for you and helps you get down the most information is what you should do. Also, you don’t have to write down everything. If your professor uses slides and posts them for you to download, you don’t really have to write down anything at all unless they add extra points, so that’s really convenient. 

You don’t have to sit in the front. As long as you can see and hear, which you’ll likely be able to due to large projection screens and microphones, it literally doesn’t matter where you sit. In my experience, the professors call on people from every part of the lecture hall, so everyone gets an equal chance at participation. It’s up to yourself to make sure you can pay attention, not your seat.

Do your best to attend every single class meeting. It’s inevitable that you’re going to miss class at some point; you will get sick, you won’t have finished an assignment, you’ll need a mental health day, something will happen. Missing class can too easily become a habit if you do it often, so try to never do it. Don’t force yourself to go if you can’t handle it, obviously your health always comes first, but I mean don’t skip cause you want to sleep in or cause you just don’t feel like going. If you do have to miss class and 1) you have a good reason for it (i.e. sickness) and 2) it’s a class small enough that your professor will notice you’re not there, email them and let them know why, just so they’re aware you’re not just skipping to skip.  

Try to make friends in your classes. A little study group would be even better. It’ll be really useful to have someone who can help you with a homework question you don’t understand or send you their notes when you miss a class. It can also be great to study with other people, depending on how you study best. I’ve had friends in all my classes so far and it’s been a great help, even if we just complained about the test we just failed then went to get pizza.

Tackling the Coursework

Make a REALISTIC study schedule. The key word here is realistic. During winter break I made a study schedule that started with me waking up at 8 am every morning to go work out and ended with me going to sleep promptly at 11 or midnight after spending literally the entire day studying with breaks only for meals. No breaks on weekends, no room to socialize, and I thought this would be perfectly fine for me to follow. Of course, I didn’t last a week because that was fucking ridiculous. You don’t need to schedule every hour of your day; college doesn’t work like that. Just do something simple, an hour for a class or maybe less depending on how hard it is and if you have a test coming up. Trust your instincts. There’s no need to go overboard, and you don’t need to spend six hours a day working, just dedicate a time to studying and stick with that.

Explore study techniques until you find one that works for you. Everyone doesn’t study the same, so if you do what everyone else is doing you might not get the results you want. Even if you had a great system in high school, it might not be fitting for college, so check out a bunch of different methods and see how you do with them. Once you find the best way you study, you’ll be unstoppable when exam time comes.

Start your assignments early, as soon as you can after they’re assigned. There’s nothing worse than having a bunch of assignments/tests/papers due on the same day and you haven’t finished any of them. Trust me, it is so much less stressful to complete an assignment as soon as you can after it’s been assigned so you don’t have to worry about it anymore. Putting things off has much more severe consequences than it did in high school and you will regret procrastinating. If you have a weekly assignment due every Friday, try to complete them by Wednesday every week. At the very least, start an assignment the day you get it even if you can’t finish it that day. It’s a lot easier to do something after you’ve already begun working on it, and that one thing you do is progress.

The name of the college game is prioritization. If college teaches you anything, it’s how to prioritize your duties. You need to create a hierarchy of importance for your classes and types of assignments. For me, calculus assignments were always done first because that was the most difficult class and the one I absolutely needed to pass, and Italian was always done last cause it was my easiest class and I could complete even our biggest assignments in one day. You’re going to have a very large amount of work and sometimes you have to sacrifice finishing a small homework assignment to finish a huge paper or study for an exam. I liked to complete my hardest/longest assignments right when I got back from class to get them over with and leave my easier ones for later. Prioritizing is essential if you want to succeed in university, so learn how to do it immediately! 

Remember that uni is really difficult and your grades don’t define you. Something I learned the hard way is that sometimes you can try really really hard, do the best you can, and still fail. That’s just life. Sometimes you have to do something a million times before you get it right, or before you discover that it just isn’t right for you at all. I worked harder than I ever had this past year, and what I got in return was two failed classes, two D’s, academic probation, and a 2.3 GPA. Actually, my current GPA isn’t even a 2.3, it’s a 2.295, which is probably blasphemy to the studyblr community, but this shit happens. It happens to all of us and it sucks. It can be really shitty to feel like your effort wasn’t reflected in your result. What you need to do is adjust your expectations and keep working hard. After you hit your stride, your grades could be great in no time. Or you could discover that math or science or english just isn’t for you. Maybe you’ll discover university as a whole isn’t right for you, and that’s okay! Bad grades, whether you define that as a B or an F, don’t mean you’re a bad student or a bad person. You do what you can, and then let go of what you can’t control. The sooner you grasp this idea, and the sooner you learn to be gentle with yourself, the easier a time you’ll have.

So I feel like I forgot a lot of things but also this is pretty long so I’m going to end the post here. If you have any further questions or topics for a post you’d like to see, my inbox is always open. I don’t know which post is coming next, but I’ll keep you posted. Thanks for reading and I hope this helped you out!

Previous Posts:

Application Process

Choosing/Changing Majors

Orientation/Move-In/First Day of Classes

Roommates

#mine #studyblr #studyspo #study motivation #studyspiration #bullet journal #bujo #university #university advice #university advice series #college #college advice #college applications #appblr #study masterpost #masterpost

[aceprosecuties]

Okay, so I am still hesitant about writing/posting this, but I find that it is important based on my breakdown the other day and my desire for something like that to not happen so suddenly again. Basically I am going to go through some of my viewpoints on fandom and this website and all that.

If you would like to unfollow or block me after reading this, then that is your choice (if you read it at all…it’s quite long). I ask that you do not debate me or argue with me on anything I’m about to say, simply because I am exhausted and am not in the mood to do it.  (Also I tend to not trust most ‘debates’ on this website because they quickly devolve into nastiness.)

My philosophy on fandom is very “Old Fandom,” if I had to describe it using a short phrase.  In other words, I am very much against policing or censoring fictional content, because in the end, it is fictional.  While “fiction affects reality” is a popular gotcha phrase here, it usually does not affect reality in the way that people claim it does.  It is not really a “monkey see, monkey do” situation. If that was the case, people who play violent video games, for example, would almost always be violent people. That argument was brought up when I was a child and a lot of people considered it ludicrous.  

That’s not my saying that fiction can’t affect reality or doesn’t; usually it involves affecting our emotions more than anything.  While things like Hollywood movies and series can have a larger impact, fandom is…small.  It seems large, but it really isn’t in the grand scheme of things.  The impact one person’s fanfiction can have on the world at large, whether for good or for bad, is limited at best.  

Essentially what I am saying is that things are grey. Middle grounds exist that many on this website refuse to acknowledge; living in such a black-and-white world is, in my opinion, very dangerous.  It makes it so that people – who are convinced they are morally pure and therefore superior – are able to justify doing things like suicide baiting and harassment.  If you’re convinced that your crusade is completely morally just, then anyone standing in its way is a dirty sinner and must be punished.  

The need to be morally pure might stem from self-hatred.  It is a form of perfectionism, honestly.  Perhaps people are convinced that they’ll be more of a “perfect” person if they only consume things that have been deemed righteous by a mob of random internet users on this or other websites.  I don’t know. I’m not a psychologist, so perhaps I am guessing.

People are shades of grey.  (Most people, anyway.  I would never argue that there is no such thing as evil in this world, but most people we will interact with on a daily basis are grey.)  We try overall to be better, but we as human beings are not perfect and never will be perfect.  We might say the wrong thing or get angry with someone for something that was inconsequential or might even have a belief that is grounded in incorrect facts or upsets others.  The point of humanity is to grow, however.  Maybe you will learn from your mistakes; maybe that opinion you held that was upsetting to others transforms into something else because of things you learned over time.

We all have people we like and dislike.  We all have personalities and opinions we are drawn to and stay away from.  But the declaration of someone as evil based on what essentially amounts to very little is…troublesome.  (Note: ‘Very little’ does not include political views like nazism or the like. Those are not ‘very little,’ as they affect the real political world and therefore affect policy.  That is not what I am referring to right now.)

What a person likes in fiction is oftentimes unattached to their real moral code, and declaring someone as evil or scum based on the themes they like is a highly dangerous way of thinking.  It doesn’t allow people to explore the darkness in their own minds through writing or drawing.  It doesn’t give them outlets that might be needed to help them escape their own world, which can be dark and depressing, really.

Personally, I am a fan of very dark themes in fiction (when people ask me what my favorite anime is, for example, I immediately say Hellsing Ultimate).  Psychological torture, gore, dub-con/non-con, emotional manipulation and mental abuse, self-harm through physical acts or thoughts, etc.  These things, while terrible in reality (and some of which I have suffered in reality) are just things I like to explore in fiction because I find them interesting or fascinating.  Whenever I think about writing self-insert/reader fics (I have never done it, but I have thought about it), they are never…nice.  They are rough and fucked up because that’s what I enjoy.  I know that these types of themes are triggering to many people, which is why putting warnings on your work is important, and I believe wholeheartedly in doing that as a responsibility to your fellow fandom members.  

The whole black-and-white mentality can also cause weird slippery slopes which end up with people claiming things as “problematic” and therefore “evil” that actually are not a huge problem.  (I hate using this argument because most of the time I find that it isn’t entirely true, but in this case I’ve seen it happening more and more.)  

I’ve seen people called pedophiles for shipping an 18 year old with a 16 year old (Otabek and Yuri P.), which is essentially the equivalent of a senior and a sophomore in high school dating.  Not only does this cheapen the term pedophilia – making it oftentimes hard to recognize when someone is an actual child molester versus when someone just ships something “problematic” – but it also is just so far removed from what happens in real life, where teenagers date. 

I’ve seen people called Nazis because they ship two villains and enjoy their dynamic and their individual characters (Kylo Ren and General Hux).  Ignoring the fact that Nazism is not even a thing in the SW fictional universe, it also is saying that if you like these types of characters for whatever reason, then you are a bad person.

It is difficult for me to process that, since I always liked villains and anti-heroes the best.  Saying that enjoying villains and their dynamics is basically condoning their actions in real life is infantilizing, in a way.  It is basically assuming that I cannot differentiate between what is real and what is not.

Was I so evil and trash when I was around 10 or so? When I gravitated towards characters like Vegeta and Sephiroth?  Yami Bakura and Darth Vader?  If I’m terrible for liking them now, was I terrible for liking them back then, too? Would people call me an abuse apologist at 12 because I shipped Yami Bakura with Ryou?  

I already have problems with perfectionism and self-hatred.  The idea of standing across from a young me and telling her that she is a disgusting human being and a piece of trash because of the characters she identified with and liked or the characters she wanted to see kiss…it upsets me.  Because I internalize it and wonder if it is true. Because if that is the case then I was born a broken person.  

I’ve always had issues with depression.  It just took until adulthood to recognize it. When I was young people asked me why I was angry a lot.  I never really could answer them…I just was.  My perfectionism (which started in elementary school brought on by extreme competitiveness) got so bad that in high school I cried and told myself I was a stupid piece of shit because I got an 88 on an AP Calculus test.  If I did not get all As all the time I was not a worthy person.  Hell, I was in the top 1% of my graduating class, and I was still somewhat upset because I was not valedictorian or salutatorian.  (This was all internalized; other people were allowed to fail or mess up, but I was not allowed to.)  I can’t even say that my parents or my family life brought this on.  It didn’t.  My parents were always very supportive.  They would sit me down and ask if I did my best, and if I say yes, that is all that mattered.  As long as I tried, it was okay to fall down.

My brain never really accepted that lesson.

It is frustrating.  I have no reason really to be depressed and anxious (I guess aside from graduate school right now) and think of myself as terrible, but that is just my brain and it has been like that for a long time.  

So now to have people screaming at me that I actually am that terrible person because of the fiction I choose to consume?  It is…demoralizing.

 …This has ended up way longer than I originally intended it to.

(Thanks to those who actually read the whole thing. Sorry if I rambled or anything like that.)

I sort of said this, but I do have a writscrib beta access key, so I will be setting up shop over there as well.  I am wondering about leaving this place altogether if that takes off (and I’m hoping it will), but I’ll keep you guys updated on that front.

My semi-hiatus might turn into more of an actual hiatus, but we’ll see.  I say that a lot, and then it doesn’t seem to happen.    

#allie makes posts #this is v long #once again please do not debate me on things #I'm too tired to do that #I figured I would just write this so there would be no more surprises so to say #now people know my whole stance on this #and you can do as you please with this knowledge #this got personal

[tinypigeonlord]

Holy crap Murphy’s been screwing with me the entire day by now and I really need to vent or I’m gonna burst =A=

It all started in the early afternoon. I was happily working on my custom shimeji of an OC, when I found out that the shimeji-ee.exe I had downloaded was a different version than I wanted. I had the ‘active’ version which can run around, climb stuff and multiply on rare occasion, but I wanted the 'mischievous’ shimeji which multiplies like heck and climbs all over the place. No problem, I’ll find the correct version, I said to myself.

Hahahahah....

So it turns out that originally Shimeji was programmed for 32-bit Java. The version I had was customized for 64-bit, but like I said, kinda incomplete. It took me an hour or two to scour the internet and find a Mischievous version which was altered to function on 64-bit. HUZZAH, I said... until I found out that this version was customized to the point where it no longer recognized other shimejis than the one it came with when downloaded. Whenever I imported other shimejis I would get a configuration error. Well that didn’t work...

Several hours, multiple downloads and some sobbing later, I found a complete version which runs on 64-bit and recognizes other shimeji files than the original, and which had shimejis that could interact with all types of windows.

I am relieved, and carry on with the frame I was working on at the time I realized the version issue. Attempting to boot up an online editing tool, I come to the realization that during my digging through the world wide web to find the shimeji version I needed, I contracted malware which kept redirecting me to all kinds of random sites. Fake search engines, fake ‘update your outdated Adobe Flash Player here [insert download link]’ sites, websites that told me I had like 4 viruses on my computer and I needed to download shady antivirus software to fix them immediately or it would ruin my computer, even this weird site with an anime girl in bikini pressing her index finger to her lips and telling me to not enter her super secret website unless I was 18+ :’D

So I entirely reset Firefox in the hopes that would fix it. And at the time it seemed like it had worked. After re-installing adblock plus and setting my preferences right again, I re-open the online editing tool and open the image again to finally work on it. Only for the program to crash on me. Ok fine, happens. I reboot firefox and am about to retry... when Firefox decides to update. I grin and bear, set my preferences AGAIN, and return to the online editing tool to work.

Only to get a message that my Adobe Flash Player is outdated and I need to update it. I sigh, go to Adobe’s website and update. Good, great, everything is freshly clean and updated, time to work. Yeah I wish it was this easy. After the update, the layout of the online editing tool somehow changed, and the taskbar was gone, succesfully blocking me from importing my files to edit them. Refreshing the page does nothing and I end up rebooting the entire computer.

After all that is done, I return once more, and thank god the taskbar is back, and I can import my file. Alas, I barely get any changes done, when I get fucking redirected to a fake Yahoo search engine, closing my editing tool. The redirecting is back and ready to send me to every shady website in existence.

I am frustrated and upset, but there is nothing else to do than install the monthly updates which includes a virusscan to remove malware. This takes yet another hour and rebooting the computer 3 times for it to function again, but finally it is done. Updates installed, I assume EVERYTHING is freshly clean and updated now, and return to my editing tool to once again work on that same fucking frame.

All seems well in the world, I get a few edits in-- and then my tablet fails me. Out of nowhere, the left and right button on the pen ceased functioning, as do the keys on the tablet itself.  All I can do is move the mouse and tap things. I unplug the tablet and plug it back in, and for a moment it works again. -- until even the cursor stops moving shortly after. WELL, ANOTHER REBOOT IT IS.

After said reboot, my tablet is all fine and dandy again, I am happy once more, and open. the editor tool. again. By now I have gotten so used to taking this same step that I can immediately input the same edits as I kept inputting before. I am making progress here, I am doing good-- and then my editing tool disappears... replaced by a new website telling me to buy their totally not suspicious antivirus to save my computer from the evil 4 viruses they detected on it somehow.

I flip my lid, and google search for how to get rid of this shit. Only to get more shady websites in the search results, telling me to download these inconspicuous malware detectors blah blah.

At my wits end, I do a system restore. Another hour wasted, but the restore is succesful. No lost artwork or files, my shimeji stuff is safe and sound. I open firefox, open some pages to test if I get redirected. Nothing. The evil malware seems to be finally defeated. Relieved, I go to my bookmarks to open the fucking editing tool again.... only to find out that my computer went a little overboard and deleted ALL MY BOOKMARKS, FAVOURITES AND HISTORY, INCLUDING ACCOUNT AND PASSWORD INFO. EVERYTHING IS EMPTY, I HAVE A VERY, VERY CLEAN FIREFOX NOW :V

I quit, I give up, I spent an entire day fixing shit and still didn’t get that particular frame done. I am so tired, I need rest to cool off hngnhnghg. =n=

#shutup pigeon lord #wall of text about all the shit that happened today alert

[silveraspens]

Thank you @loserofliverpool for tagging me in this impressively long questioner 😂 Nobody will probs read this but whatever Answer these 92 statements and tag 20 people THE LAST: 1. Drink: water 2. Phone call: My dad 3. Text message: My friend 4. Song you listened to: Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene 5. Time you cried: Today ;_; HAVE YOU: 6. Dated someone twice: Me?? Date?? Haha!! 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: I haven't kissed anyone :/ (other than like my cat) 8. Been cheated on: Fucking Quinn Tanish looked over at my Egyptian history test in the fifth grade and I've still not entirely recovered 😤 9. Lost someone special: Many times :/ 10. Been depressed: yeppppp I haven't been "diagnosed" but you don't need a weather man to know that it's raining 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: In thankfully not someone who really pukes 😂 tho I came close when I took a shot of fireball (I hate cinnamon) LIST 3 FAVOURITE COLORS: 12. Maroon 13. Yellow/Gold 14. Teal/Turquoise/Mint IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU: 15. Made new friends: Um yes!! So many I'm really happy about it 16. Fallen out of love: Can't break what isn't there 😂 17. Laughed until you cried: Many times yes 18. Found out someone was talking about you: not that I can remember? But yeah probably 19. Met someone who changed you: dude yes two people in particular 20. Found out who your friends are: Mainly just had my current friendships strengthened 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: Still haven't kissed anyone, and I deactivated my Facebook yo GENERAL: 22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: when I had it, I knew all 33 of my friends irl 😂 then I deleted it cause it was all school people I wanted to forget 23. Do you have any pets: 4 cats 1.5 dogs 2turtles 24. Do you want to change your name: Maybe if I get married, tho Morgan Plant doesn't really roll off the tongue 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: hung out in my friend Kylie's basement... I think 26. What time did you wake up: 8:30am 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: watching Old Greg / Guy on a buffalo with my buddyyyyyy 28. Name something you can’t wait for: to be married to a gorgeous hippie guy with 2-3 kids and living in a tiny house in the mountains surviving off ArtiNg U-U a girl can fantasize can't she??? 29. When was the last time you saw your mom: 2ish hours ago 😂 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: I wish I had ambition 31. What are you listening right now: Night Flight 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Yeah my Grandpa was named Tom 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: My art block / epic procrastination "oh no don't worry I'll go to college, I just need to decide where I want to go!!" 34. Most visited Website: Tumblr or cracked- but probably Tumblr 35. Mole/s: I have a shit ton on my shoulders arms and chest 36. Mark/s: I think I have a birthmark on the base of my skull 37. Childhood dream: Dr.Morgan the Paleontologist 38. Haircolour: Dark strawberry blonde 39. Long or short hair: long 40. Do you have a crush on someone: Um in real life no... partially cause I have dissociated with reality and fallen in love with Robert Plant 41. What do you like about yourself: I like my eyelashes (they're naturally dark and curled!!) 42. Piercings: None! Not even in my ear lobes 43. Bloodtype: No clue, tho I've always been curious 44. Nickname: Morgs, asshole 45. Relationship status: I was born alone and I'll die alone 46. Zodiac: *new age hippie voice* Sun-Libra Moon-Gemini Rising-Leo 47. Pronouns: She/Her or Dude 48. Favourite TV Show: ...Supernatural... 49. Tattoos: None, but i want one 50. Right or left hand: Right 51. Surgery: Do wisdom teeth count? Like I was knocked out but ??? 52. Hair dyed in different color: I've made it darker, redder and lighter- but mostly I've just "enhanced" my natural color 53. Sport: I played basketball in the 1st grade. I'm not coordinated or aggressive enough. Also organized sports are fascist man 55. Vacation: New Zealand pls 56. Pair of trainers: Just some beat to shit Chucks MORE GENERAL: 57. Eating: A half frozen piece of pizza 58. Drinking: Milk or agua 59. I’m about to: Go to bed 61. Waiting for: Me finishing this questioner 62. Want: Love ambition and motivation 63. Get married: I'd really really really want this- I just need to find a guy :/ 64. Career: anything artistic or creative WHICH IS BETTER 65. Hugs or kisses: hugs are cuter 66. Lips or eyes: Lips, eyes are overrated 67. Shorter or taller: I'm happy with my height 68. Older or younger: Younger, send my ass back to 6years old. That's when I peaked 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: I would like to have a nice stomach 71. Sensitive or loud: both (?) 72. Hook up or relationship: Relationship, hooking up depresses me 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: Depends on the situation HAVE YOU EVER: 74. Kissed a stranger: nope 75. Drank hard liquor: Unfortunately 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: not yet 77. Turned someone down: Yeeeeee 78. Sex in the first date: Unless this dude was like Robert Plant incarnate, no way- I think it's smarter to wait and form an emotional bond 79. Broken someone’s heart: Fuck I don't think so?? 80. Had your heart broken: *emo voice* too many times to count 81. Been arrested: No but the police did tell me to stop singing so loud 😂😂😂 82. Cried when someone died: yeah 83. Fallen for a friend: Can't say I have, DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 84. Yourself: ha I wish 85. Miracles: without a doubt 86. Love at first sight: I believe in Lust at first sight but not love 87. Santa Clause: duhhhh(no) 88. Kiss on the first date: nothing too saucy 89. Angels: ...yes 90. Current best friends name: JOSIE, My Mom, Kylie, Nadia, Ro, Emily, Shannon, Angie, 91. Eyecolour: is like to say hazel or "amber" but no- just brown 92. Favourite movie: The Big Lebowski hands down @all-my-favourite-people-that-I-talk-to-on-the-regular Jk Idk if you feel like doing this tag me and I'll read it Go nuts my dudes

#personal

[crunchyenglish]

Angry Lunatic's Scientific Journal of Shit I Made Up. Vol. This One

Feeling uncharacteristically productive today, and my new job is unusually slow. Time for another edition of my extremely occasional series, where I take the bold, dynamic declarations of the internet's lowest life forms and try to hold them up as an actual scientific hypothesis. I also try to learn something, which is usually the easy part given my limited knowledge base and tremendously narrow worldview. And since I'm making pretty liberal use of the word "scientific", here's the usual disclaimer:

I am not, and never have been a scientist. My education is paltry and laughable. Part of the point of this series is that this knowledge is freely available to anyone with an internet connection (which all my targets obviously have) and a desire to learn (which all my targets obviously lack). My only qualifications are a willingness to spend sometime Googling and a desire to showcase the stupidity of others.

Note: A lot of the dumbest discourse on the Internet these days is political in nature. Nothing seems to shut down people's ability to reason and function quite as much as cheering for or against a political party. And that landscape is currently filled bizarre conspiracy theories that are deeply tempting to rebuke or debunk. However, they aren't really in the spirit of this series, and unfortunately politics breeds that stuff because there's a lot of grey area and no source is considered very objective these days. Also, no one following politics has ever learned anything except "we are a fucked up species", and learning is my stated secondary goal.

So, with the housekeeping out of the way, let's get to this issue's hypothesis. This one comes to us from Mathew Shields. From his website, "He is a free- lance researcher and international speaker on the human energy field, paranormal phenomenon and healing techniques to name a few." That's right, it's time for this journal to up its game and beginning analyzing the claims of professional bullshitters. Mat Shields is a top-shelf dickhead with a bunch of suckers following in tow, and this claim in particular stands out as primo material for our little article:

"Negative Ions- the invisible healer.

Negative ions enhance our mood, stimulate our senses, improve appetite and sexual drive, provide relief from hay fever, sinusitis, bronchial asthma, allergies, migraines, even post operative pain and burns. Negative ions stimulate the reticuloendothelial system which is a group of defense cells in our bodies which marshal our resistance to disease. Negative ions promote alpha brain waves and increased brain wave amplitude which results in a higher awareness level. The body is better able to absorb oxygen into the blood cells, oxidize serotonin and filter airborne contaminants."

That's actually just the opening to a much larger article, in which Mat tells people to keep their shower running constantly in their house, since water in motion produces more "negative ions" than standing water. Before I get angry (ok, I admit it, too late) let's take a moment and appreciate this fine, thick slice of bullshit. This really is a master class. You can tell we've moved up to the big leagues here. You can't tweet this level of bullshit. It's got a bunch of impressive sounding words. It's claims are vague and opaque enough to confuse and desirable enough to tempt. Truly splendid bullshit. Now, let's figure out how we're going to take it down.

Negative Ions are a widespread health myth, propagated by all sorts of pseudo-doctor types. Typing "Negative Ions" into Google is going to get you a lot of positive results, and not all on homemade web pages with links to a Zionist World Order Theory in the sidebar. Sites like WebMD, Nutrition Review and other seemingly "reliable" sites have hosted blogs, articles and editorials by all stripes of quacks, most of whom are happy to push this narrative in order to sell you "negative ion generators" or "negative ion bracelets" or some other brand of this particular snake oil. And the health claims are exactly the kind of unspecific promises on which pseudo-science thrives: more energy, better sex drive, clearing up headaches, the works. Let's start with what a "negative ion" is even supposed to be.

An Ion, as you learned for a test and then promptly forgot in school, is an atom or molecule which is carrying a "charge". This charge is either positive or negative, dependent upon the number of electrons versus the number of protons. More electrons creates a net negative charge, fewer creates a net positive charge. The actual term for a negatively charged ion is an anion. This is a clever dodge by the quacks here. If you google "Negative Ions" you get all their bullshit, in no way hampered by any actual science, because people who know what the fuck they're talking about don't use that phrase. 

Supposedly, these electron discrepancies are the source of "Negative Ion"'s "healing" powers. The only thing Anions should attract are positively charged ions, called cations. This is simple electromagnetism. Negative attracts positive and repels other negatively charge particles. Arguably, you could say that Anions would also "repel" or push out other Anions, but if that's how they work you wouldn't feel any of their numerously claimed benefits. So, unless positively charged Ions, cations, are constantly draining you of energy, causing you pain, making your dick wilt, and are giving you hay fever, then there's no reason for fucking Anions to have any benefit to you.

And I can even prove cations aren't doing that. Coulomb's law bitches! I could try to stumble through a basic explanation, but for the sake of accuracy, let's just cut and paste this next part:

Coulomb's law states that: The magnitude of the electrostatic force of attraction between two point charges is directly proportional to the product of the magnitudes of charges and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them. The force is along the straight line joining them.

Short answer, if for some reason, you had a bunch of positively charged cations clogged up in your body, you would be constantly discharging them anyway. You are constantly coming into contact with Anions, they are exceptionally common. You don't need "constantly splashing water", or a "negative ion generator" whatever the fuck that's supposed to do. Oxygen is a goddamn Anion. Fluoride is an Anion. Chloride is an Anion. Cyanide is a goddamn, fucking Anion.

Ions are everywhere.  I mean it, fucking EVERYWHERE. The forming of covalent bonds is the literal building blocks of the entire universe. To somehow suggest that nearly everything in the universe is divided into "neutral atoms", "the good thingys" and the "bad thingys" is fucking infantile nonsense. It's stupid on a level that I can barely comprehend and I once scrolled through Trump's twitter feed for nonsense for another article. If you're having trouble understanding the absolute incoherency of the bullshit here, let me try an example.

Imagine if I told you that all nutrition was categorized in three ways - Solid, Liquid and Jell-O. Now imagine that I also tried to convince you that Liquid was "The Bad One" and tried to sell you a device that turned all liquid food into Jell-O. That's the level of arbitrary crazy we're talking here. The only apparent thing you have to do to convince people to buy your shit is keep the benefits vague and use science-y sounding bullshit like "Negative Ions".

This one was less experimental than some other articles I've written. I didn't cite my sources properly, and I ranted a lot more. That's because I'm starting to think that writing rebuttals and thought experiments is the wrong tact for solving this problem. Maybe you need to already be a trusted quack and then tell people to their face that you simply fooled them and stole their money.

To that end, I'm proud to announce my new product - the Energy Wave Modulator Collar. Simply place it around your neck and let it's natural minerals effortless modulate the alpha waves in your brain and the beta...channels...in your....ehhh, let's say eyes. You'll see results in just a few days, or hours, or weeks. Your headaches will be far less frequent and more manageable. Your energy levels will rise. Your sensation of taste will greatly improve, and everything will smell just slightly like vanilla. You'll gain immunity to bee-stings. Your dick will stay incessantly hard for days at a time. If you don't have a dick your uterus will make friends with you and never hurt ever again out of respect for that one time you came to its birthday party. You will suddenly eat healthier and make better romantic choices. Buy my shit, losers.

[kyloknightofren]

You’re Sure It’s Not Spelt Hucks?

So for the @verymerrykylux shindig that I’m totally late for, I got to write for @gingerbitch-hux. I’m so sorry it’s late. I have no excuses. I’m a lame dude. Anyways! I hope you like it. Thanks to @sithofren and @kyloren-sithlord for reading through this and giving it the polishing it needed!

There is something to this newfangled Facebook thing that Han is simply unable to wrap his mind around. Leia insists -- in that endlessly annoying Leia way of hers -- that he needs to get it in order to stay current with ‘this generation.’ Whatever that's supposed to mean. Han’s never met a computer he couldn't work his way around, but this god damned, imbecilic blue-and-white website of death is testing him in new and inspired ways.

He hates it.

His first friend, surprisingly, is Luke. He didn't even realize Tibetan monasteries had wifi, but proof to the contrary is staring him right in the face. Lando and Leia tie for second, because he can't find the little button that looks like a horribly mutilated and bleached upper body for a solid ten minutes while Leia sends him a series of increasingly concerned and illegible texts, using literally anything on the keyboard save actual letters, until he finally cedes defeat and calls her to ask for help.

She rolls her eyes at him but helps all the same. She's sweet like that -- burn and salve all in one.

It takes him a month to realize that he's missing something, or perhaps more accurately, someone. Han had simply assumed -- evidently wrongly -- that Ben would search up his name, click the little white face and their relationship would repair itself. The accident smoothed over, or perhaps even ignored; Ben’s attempts at running from the guilt that Han had no small part in exacerbating, resolved.

Searching ‘Ben Solo’ comes up with frustratingly little -- ‘Ben Organa’ produces even less. The internet is supposed to connect people, and all it’s left him with is the taste of palpable bitterness.

Leia gives him a knowing look over what could generously be considered spaghetti and spinach salad that night. She’s never been much of a cook, and Han himself can’t do much in the kitchen beyond opening the wrapper of a granola bar. The house feels empty with just the two of them, and Han can’t even fathom how much emptier it must feel when he can’t take anymore of acting domestic, when it’s just Leia.

“He’s not on there, you know,” she starts, apropos of nothing after too many minutes of uncomfortable silence.

Han grunts in response, digging into his pasta with renewed vigour. Perhaps if he just doesn’t respond, this conversation can simply stop. Of course, Han knows that’s a losing battle.

“I try looking, every few months. Perhaps I’m just not cut out for this internet crap. But -- I happen to know someone. He’s rather good with technology, always getting me out of a bind when I need it.” She smiles at him -- it’s small, but significant. Like everything about her. Han can’t remember the last time he saw her smile like that.

“Is that so?” he asks, the beginnings of a smirk playing about his mouth. “I suppose I could take another look for you, princess.”

“My hero,” she says, rolling her eyes with something he hopes is fondness.

The next days are spent in a fevered state, scrolling through the blue-and-white screen of death. He’s always worked best when he has some sort of task to complete, some goal to reach for.

It seems unlikely that Ben simply isn’t on the internet — he’s a young man, after all. Or at least, that’s how Han remembers him. It’s been close to ten years. Things can change.

Still, no matter how hard he works, there’s no tangible results to give to Leia. no gold medal to award for a job well done. Google refuses to cooperate with him — all of the results pulled up relate back to the accident. One particular news site has the gall to refer to it as a tragedy, which is frankly absurd.

Han resorts to means he never thought he’d use — calling Luke’s daughter and praying that she doesn’t tell Leia. Rey insists that she hasn’t heard from her cousin in at least five years, which is still somehow better than Han himself.

But, she does give him a name, someone he was apparently seeing when they last ran into each other (in a coffee shop of all confounded places). Hucks. Which can hardly be the real name of a human being, but Han supposes that if Rey can be married to someone named Finn, then who is he to judge?

Hucks turns up...nothing. Well, not nothing exactly, but unless Hucks lives in the Bahamas and is a very busty sixty year old retiree whose given name is Pamela, Han probably has the wrong person. Still, he’s not here to judge Ben or his life choices (much), so he sends a link to Rey via email and waits for confirmation.

What he gets in response is a series of -- what are they? Emogicons? -- that indicate someone crying from laughter. Or at least, Han thinks that’s what it is. Rey sends another email to follow up, informing him that he’s spelt Hucks wrong, which is hardly his fault. Who the hell assumes it’s spelt ‘Hux’?

Idiots, that’s who.

Hux is apparently a very well-off lawyer with a strange fixation with ginger cats and a child that Han assumes is his own, given the bright shock of red hair and what Han can only consider to be most morose pout he’s ever seen on a toddler. He apparently doesn’t have a first name, and might be the most boring person Han could have ever conceived of.

His relationship status isn’t publically listed, and as he scrolls through pages and pages of Hux’s very tame Facebook history, he can’t help but be disappointed that there’s nothing on his wall from Ben Solo-Organa-whatever.

There is, however, a lot from a person named Kylo Ren, whose profile picture looks like a hunk of metal garbage in a white room. Leave it to uppity rich folks like Hux to be friends with modern artists. At the very least, this Kylo Ren character has good taste in animal pictures -- Han is a particular fan of the one with the cat holding onto a railing with the caption ‘Hang In There!’.

Han debates, for the better part of fifteen minutes, when is the appropriate time to send a friend request to someone you’ve never met before. He texts Leia for a second opinion and she replies with a series of thumbs up and the weird hands that look like they’re straight out of a televangelist gathering. Which probably means something like ‘go for it’, but Han has never been very good at figuring out what Leia’s trying to say without making a giant mess of everything.

At 3:02, which is probably a very respectable time for lawyers to get tired of working and go on their phones, Han sends his request.

It takes a week and three days for him to get a response from Hux, during which time Han alternately frets that this entire thing is a waste of time and curses Hux’s name for making him wait for so long.

<< Who the hell is this?

There’s a moment of clarity when Han realizes that yes, of course Facebook has a private messaging system. No wonder Leia kept teasing him about posting things onto Luke’s wall. Damn stupid website.

<< Hello? I’m very busy and I don’t have all day to sit here and wait for decrepit old men to figure out how to use the internet. I don’t want whatever it is you’re selling.

>> hi no dont go my name is han

>> i think u knew my son

>> ben

<< Jesus fucking Christ.

>> thats not my name but ill take the compliment

>> i just want to talk to ben

<< We’re all very happy without you and your miscreant ways, thank you very much.

>> wat does that even mean

<< “Ben” has told me all about you. We aren’t interested.

Han is...puzzled, to say the least. He knows he wasn’t the ideal father, knows the accident was his fault, but he doesn’t think that that qualifies him to be treated like the literal scum of the earth. But still. Ben knows this man.

>> wat do you mean “ben”

>> his name is ben

<< Perhaps it used to be, yes. That’s no longer what he goes by.

>> y not?

>> ben is a perfectly good name

>> its a family name

<< Yippee for that. It’s still not his name.

<< Look, I could spend all day arguing about what name my incredibly asinine husband prefers to go by, but that would be a) pointless, and b) a waste of everyone’s time, but most importantly mine.

>> i just want to make sure hes ok

>> wait

>> husband???!?!?!?!??!?!

<< Fuck.

<< Fine.

<< If I answer all your questions, will you promise not to try to contact “Ben”? He’s very . . . delicate, about things like this.

>> but i want to see him

<< Good for you. Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.

>> ok

There’s a brief negotiation, mostly steamrolled by Hux, where they discuss where to meet. They settle on a coffee shop in downtown which Han assumes must be close to Hux’s office. He’s never heard of it before, but -- it’s something.

Han hates the downtown core with all of his being. Where the hell is everyone supposed to park? It’s damn ridiculous. He circles around the block where Hux’s chosen coffee shop is for the better part of twenty minutes before finally finding a spot, squeezed in between two cars that independently are probably worth at least five times what the Falcon is.

He’s wearing his finest jacket — the one with only one grease stain — and a pair of probably clean brown corduroys. Definitely not because he wants to impress his...son-in-law? He’s still not fully able to wrap his head around the concept, no matter how hard he tries. He has a son-in-law, and that son-in-law has a child. Does that make him a grandfather? Does he even want to be a grandfather?

He hasn’t told Leia about this meeting, mostly because he doesn’t want to get her hopes up. Han has spent the better part of twenty years disappointing her, and there’s something about how tenuous their relationship is at the moment that tells him that if he well and truly fucks this up, there might not be any going back.

Hux is easy to spot — he’s the only one with ginger hair and a frown in the whole damn place. He’s sipping fancy coffee, which is to say, coffee that didn’t come from the McDonald's drive through around the corner from his garage.

He claps Hux on the back as he comes around, sliding into the seat opposite with a gruff “Hello.” Hux gives the watch on his hand a cursory glance before glaring up at Han.

“You’re seven minutes late.” His voice is clipped, accented in a way Han wasn’t expecting. It reminds him of Luke’s Uncle Ben, of the Arizona desert and his old smuggling routes.

“Yeah, well, you try parking around here and see if you can get anywhere on time, son.” Hux rolls his eyes, seemingly unimpressed.

From what Han can gleam, Hux is always seemingly unimpressed.

“Yes, well, that’s all well and good but I have a meeting I need to be at in thirty-three minutes, so if we could simply cut to the proverbial chase, I would be most appreciative.” Hux taps a finger on the cup of his fancy coffee, which seems to be more white fluff than actual coffee. The motion draws Han’s attention down, towards the ring gleaming on his hand.

“So — you really — you and Ben?”

“Me and Kylo, yes. If you want to have this conversation, the least you could do is make an attempt to call him by his preferred name.”

“Wait — you mean the Kylo Ren who posts all the cat pictures on your Facebook?”

“Oh my fucking — yes. Of course. Obviously. That Kylo. Your spawn, Kylo.”

“Oh.” Han stares down at the table, at Hux’s hand again. The ring is gold, plain and unadorned but clearly polished regularly and meticulously. There’s something about it that makes Han wish he’d worn his own wedding ring, if only to prove that he’s not a bad husband as well as a bad father. “Are you — happy?”

The question contorts Hux’s face into something more closely resembling a sneer -- it’s clearly not often that he considers happiness as something important, a metric to be closely observed. “I — yes. I suppose we are.”

“That’s good.”

“Indeed.”

They sit in silence — awkward, uncomfortable silence — for what feels like an eternity but is more likely only a minute or two. “He’s an artist, you know,” Hux starts, clearly trying to reach for any topic of conversation that the two of them might have in common. “He has his own studio, and — well, I suppose he doesn’t do as much now because of Cillian, but still. He’s very well known within art circles, if you go in for that sort of thing.”

“Cillian?” Han asks, desperate for anything to cling to in the hopes of continuing the conversation.

“Yes, Cillian. He’s rather brilliant, for a four year old. Kylo is — well, he’s much better with him than I am, but that’s perhaps because Kylo still has the mind of a child locked inside the body of a giant.” The words are harsh, but they’re said with the barest hint of affection — the first actual sign of emotion Hux has displayed throughout the entire conversation.

“And he’s — yours?”

“Ours,” Hux corrects quickly. It’s evidently a conversation he’s had before, if the rapid way he replies is any indication. “He’s ours, no matter who’s biology he’s got in him.”

“Right, yeah.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of Leia or me getting to spend some time with Be-Kylo?” Han knows what the answer is most likely going to be, but he can’t help but ask anyways. For Leia’s sake, if not his own.

“I -— look. You seem like a nice guy, sort of. Kylo’s told me all sorts of absurd things about you that might be true, but given his proclivity towards grandiose exaggeration, probably aren’t.” Han nods along, waiting for the definitive ‘no’ that he’s expecting. “But I can’t speak for Kylo personally. It’s not my place.”

Hux reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a business card in matte black with the name ‘Kylo Ren’ emblazoned in plain white font. “Send him an email. Don’t bother calling because he doesn’t answer his work phone and he has no idea how to check voicemail, no matter what he says to the contrary.”

“Thanks, kid,” Han says, taking the card and putting it in his pocket like it’s a winning lotto ticket. In some ways, it is.

“Don’t mention it,” Hux says, standing up and straightening his suit. “Really, don’t. I sleep on the couch enough as it is.”

Han chuckles, sliding out of his chair. “Yeah, his mom’s the same way. They’re always making you think they hate you when it’s the damn opposite.”

Hux makes a face, something between pained and affectionate, before looking down at his watch. “Well, this has been — something. I ought to —”

“Yeah, yeah. Go on, kid.” Hux glares, but offers his hand to Han anyways. The shake is firm — surprising, given Hux’s relatively willowy figure.

“Have a good day,” Hux says, by way of closing remarks. Han smiles and thinks that, for the first time in the better part of a decade, he actually might.

#kylux #gingerbitch hux