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nothingeverlost · 4 years

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Marta the Vampire Slayer

I don’t even know. I was thinking about my already in progress Cablanca fic, and reading Buffy/Giles fic, and then as I was falling asleep this happened in my brain.

“It’s all true, my dear girl. Every Slayer or potential Slayer is assigned a Watcher, to train them in the art of fighting and to aid them in the fight against the dark. Harlan was your Watcher.”

“Where’s Harlan’s body?” The question came only a few minutes after Benoit Blanc introduced himself as an old friend of Harlan’s. She hadn’t even had a chance to find out why he’d come or how he’d known, somehow, that Harlan had died.

“It’s at the morgue. They have to do an autopsy.” She remembered the strange wound at his neck and the blood that stained his shirt collar. The cops thought he’d killed himself, because of the knife in his hands, but there was still something about the wound that wasn’t right.

“We have to go there right away. I’m surprised you’re not there already.” Mr. Blanc picked up his bag. “Were there any signs that they might have tried to turn him? Any blood stains near his mouth?”

“I don’t understand.” Why would it matter if someone had turned him over?

“It’s a great coup, to turn a Watcher. His knowledge of his Slayer, of course, is invaluable but what most vampires find satisfying is the potential mind games. Few things rattle a Slayer more than coming face to face with a demon wearing the face of a friend.”

“Slayer? Watcher?” He spoke the words as if they meant something.

“Oh dear. I was hoping Harlan would have explained at least some of the fundamentals to you. I’ll have to explain as we go. We need to be at the morgue as soon as we can; the sun is about to rise.” He spoke with a Southern drawl that made her think of picnics in the sun but changed direction quick enough to make her dizzy.

“Harlan’s children will be here soon.” She’d called Linda as soon as the police had allowed her. Linda would tell Walt and Joanie.

“They won’t be any use in this.” He ushered her into his car before she’d realized they’d even left the house. She felt numb, like her brain wasn’t connected to her feet or anything else. She should have insisted that they stay at the house. What happened when Linda and the family arrived? What if the police called again? And what did he mean by turning?

“The morgue will be closed by now.” It would be dark outside in half an hour.

“Good, that should make it easier to get inside. Fewer people to distract.”

“You don’t really mean to go inside, do you?” Corpses weren’t anything new; she’d had to dissect them for her AP bio classes, and she was planning on being premed next year in college. She wasn’t ready to see Harlan like that.

“We’re both going to have to go in, I’m afraid. We need to be certain that he’s not going to rise.”

“He’s dead.” Blood dripping down his neck and his eyes fading as he tried to whisper something to her. She hadn’t been able to understand.

“He is, and I’m sorry Marta, I really am. I know you will need time to mourn him, but unfortunately right now there are more pressing matters. We need to be certain he stays dead,” he said emphatically.

“People don’t come back from the dead, not after their brain activity stops.” It had been hours since she’d found him. He’d be so cold now.

“There are exceptions.” He looked at her once, as they pulled up to the red light of an intersection. Until the car started again he was silent. “Harlan has been training you, hasn’t he?”

“Someone comes to the house three days a week for judo lessons. Harlan says it’s important that I know how to defend myself.” Her mom had always said to make as much noise as she could and then run, but Harlan said you couldn’t always get away. “He’s teaching me fencing too, but I think that’s more because he misses having someone to spar against. And we play Go in the evenings, because he says it’s good training for the brain.”

“He’s right about not always being able to run.” Mr. Blanc parked the car on the street behind the morgue. “Has he trained you with any weapons?”

“Other than the epee? He showed me how to use a knife and how to get a weapon away from an attacker. And he explained a lot of his weapons.” He had a whole wall of them, some centuries old. Marta had put it down to his being a mystery writer. “Sometimes we do archery. I’m pretty good at that.”

“Yes, well it’s going to be too small of a room for arrows, and a knife isn’t going to help you if the worst happens tonight. You’ll need this.” He opened the bag he’d stowed in the trunk and handed her a stick. Sure, it was sharp on one end but it was still a stick.

“I’m going to defend myself with a stick?”

“Yes, and remember to aim for the heart. The wood has to pierce the heart for it to work.” He was already making his way towards the back door. Marta didn’t have any choice but to keep up, the wood still clenched in her hand despite her confusion.

“What if someone sees us?” It wasn’t quite dark yet, and he was kneeling in front of the door with a lock pick in his hand. He might be able to get off, but she wasn’t a white guy with a charming accent. And she had a weapon, if you could call it that. She was so going to jail.

“We tell the truth, or at least part of it. Our friend died today. We didn’t know the morgue was closed already.” It didn’t take him much longer to open the door then it would have with a key. She had to wonder why he was so good at that. The lights were off, the hallway already dim. It only took a few steps to get to the room they were looking for. “It’s always better to at least start with the truth.”

“I can’t lie.” Even thinking about it had bile rising at the back of her throat.

“Ah yes, I heard about that. Well I’m sure regurgitation would be just as good at distracting anyone who asked a question.” He opened the door, holding it for her to enter first. She really didn’t want to go in, but couldn’t figure out how to say no to him. “Oh good, it looks like everyone is still nicely tucked in.”

“You said you would explain things.” She pulled her cardigan a little tighter around her. It wasn’t actually getting colder in the room, was it?

“I did, and I always endeavor to keep my promises. There isn’t an easy way to explain this, but the simple version is that vampires are real, and in order to battle the forces of dark there is a Slayer, a girl gifted with the power to fight the vampire and protect our world. When one Slayer dies a new one is called. And that, Marta Cabrera, is you.”

“Are you in a mystery writing group with Harlan? Is that how you knew him?” She would laugh if she remembered how.

“Harlan was a friend of the family.” He’d taken her and Alice in, two years ago when their mom had died. She’d never met him before that, but he’d apparently been an old friend of her father’s from years ago and since she and Alice had no other family he’d become their guardian.

“He has quite the extensive library. Did you ever see books about vampires and magic in his collection?”

“He writes mystery novels. Some of them have occult plot lines.” She might have looked at them, finding them fascinating, but it was all fiction. It had to be.

“Does he train your sister in fencing and martial arts?”

“She’s younger than I am and doesn’t go places alone.” She was thirteen now, and a freshman; it was the only year they would go to school together. Marta had just started her senior year.

“Vampires are very real, Marta. I’m afraid you’re going to learn that soon. If not tonight then we’ll start patrolling tomorrow.”

“Patrolling what?” The tables in the middle of the room were all empty, but there was a wall of drawers that Marta knew didn’t hold papers. Harlan was in one of those drawers.

“Cemeteries. It’s the best place to find new vampires other than morgues and I don’t think we should break into one too often. It’s better if you start out with ones that are new, before they’ve learned to use their strength.”

“I’d like to go home now.” She didn’t think she could take much more. Then again she didn’t know how much longer she had a home either. Harlan was her guardian but he was dead. He had kids, though she hadn’t met them very often. She was pretty sure none of them would be interested in taking in a pair of orphaned teenagers.

“I’m afraid it’s time for your first lesson, Marta. You have your stake?” Behind her there was a sound of metal rolling. One of the drawers was opening but she and Mr. Blanc were the only ones in the room.

“Mr. Blanc…”

“Why don’t you call me Benoit? We’re going to be spending a lot of time together.” His touch to her shoulder was gentle. “Now just remember to aim for the heart, alright?”

Marta turned and wanted to scream when a man came lunging at her. It was a young man, someone she’d never seen before. Even though she didn’t believe what was happening she was grateful it wasn’t Harlan. The stake in her hand was weirdly comforting.

“Aim for the heart,” she whispered to herself. Maybe she took her own advice, or maybe she just reacted. When the man - thing - got too close she moved her hand. A piece of wood shouldn’t be enough to impale someone but she felt it hit flesh. A moment later he was gone and all that remained was a pile of ash on the floor of the cemetery.

“Good girl. How do you feel?” Benoit asked.

“Fine,” she answered politely. A moment later she threw up in the trash can.

It was an hour before they left, One moment Benoit had been telling her a story about a demon prophecy thwarted a year ago, and the next he had declared that if Harlan had turned he wouldn’t have been so patient. They were spared that painful task, at least.

“What happens now?” She asked after they drove back to the house in silence.

“You will need to train and study with a Watcher. Tomorrow we’ll start night-time patrols.”

“You said Harlan was my Watcher.”

“He was a good Watcher and a good man. He will be missed but the Council would never leave you unprotected. I did not come just to tell you that you’re a Slayer, Marta. I am your new Watcher.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say. It was all too much, and she wanted nothing more than her bed. Alice was at a friend’s birthday slumber party, and tomorrow she would have to tell her about Harlan. They would have to figure out what came next, which she thought was hard enough when it meant where they were going to live and who would take care of them. But apparently, now there were vampires and demons too.

“We’ll work on it all together, a little at a time. You’re more prepared for this then you know. I will help you see that,” Benoit promised.

Marta looked over her shoulder when she got out of the car. The house was surrounded by darkness. She wondered what was out there, waiting.

#Cablanca #marta cabrera #benoit blanc #My fic #cablanca fic #knives out fic #gen at the moment #not saying there's more #but in some future it's probably a shippy thing

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darkblueboxs · 4 years

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Holding On and Letting Go

Read here or on AO3

Andrew keeps missing his classes. Aaron shouldn't care, but watching his brother hit self-destruct on his own life turns out to be more difficult than expected.

Apparently, Andrew's protective streak runs in the family.

Andrew hasn’t left his room in two days, not that Tilda has noticed. Aaron’s homeroom teacher had flicked her eyes over the empty seat behind Aaron which he normally occupied, but Andrew’s absence had otherwise gone unremarked upon. The rougher kids still parted before Aaron in the corridors, either because they had mistaken him for his twin or because they knew what Andrew would do to them if Aaron came home with a black eye and their name on his lips.

On the third day, Aaron hovers outside the door to Andrew’s room, counting the minutes until the school bus is supposed to pass by. They’re meant to be doing a joint presentation on photosynthesis in their shared bio class, although “joint” is stretching it. The plan is for Aaron to talk while Andrew stands at the projector and, hopefully, switches the slides when Aaron prompts him. It’s a class Aaron usually enjoys, and Miss Woods is usually nice to him, but she had paired him with Andrew for the project in a misguided attempt to help them bond. Hopefully she will give up on the idea when she sees Andrew slouching over the projector while Aaron does all the work.

As much as his brother’s presence is unnecessary to the presentation, Aaron doesn’t want to do it alone, and the participation grade is all that stands between Andrew and another flunked class.

He knocks on the door. Predictably, there is no answer.

Aaron remembers, suddenly, vividly, the day that he pushed the door to his mother’s room open to find her passed out in a pool of her own vomit.

He swallows back the memory like bile, forces down the twitch of his fingers for something more, something strong enough to make the memories leave him alone.

He knows his brother keeps an iron grip on himself, perhaps stronger even than the grip he keeps on Aaron. Andrew is self-destructive in ways that Aaron will never understand, but they have a deal that Andrew won’t break no matter how much Aaron might wish he would by something so mundane as suicide. Nonetheless, the image of Andrew lying dead and forgotten on the other side of the door is a little too vivid for Aaron’s stomach, so he tentatively pushes the door open. Just to make sure.

The room is dark, the air stale. Unless Andrew has a stash of food in his room like Aaron has, he hasn’t eaten in some time. There’s a pile of covers on the bed and the outline of a body beneath them that might be human-shaped. The crack of light from the doorway slices across it like a clever, too dim to show whether it’s moving. The deathly stillness of the room is enough to make Aaron push the door further open until a square of yellow light sets the bed aglow.

He still can’t pick out the regular rise-and-fall movement of breath, which is the only reason he steps into the room. Andrew is prickly and volatile at the best of times, but Aaron learned the hard way that he has boundaries carved in stone when it comes to his personal space. Aaron doesn’t think he’s been in Andrew’s room since he moved in with them; the lack of personal artefacts leave the spare room indistinguishable from before Andrew moved in aside from a mess of dirty laundry scattered across the floor and a sweaty, teenage-boy musk that tells Aaron exactly how long it has been since Andrew opened a window.

There’s a fluff of blonde hair peaking out from the covers somewhere near the headboard, but still no sign of life. It’s the paranoia that pushes Aaron onwards, taking the corner of the comforter and pulling it down to expose Andrew’s face.

He doesn’t even see the eyes flashing open; it’s the instant clamping of a hand around his wrist that has a rush of air leaving Aaron’s chest as he flinches from the contact. Andrew’s knuckles are white around his arm, cutting off the blood supply to Aaron’s hand so brutally that Aaron feels like he’s about to amputate it.

“I’ll kill you,” says Andrew in a flat croak. It sounds like the first words he’s spoken in days.

“Fuck you.” Aaron writhes instinctively, but Andrew’s grip is steel. “Let go of me.”

Something in Andrew’s gaze shifts as he recognises his own features snarling back at him. “Get out,” he orders, relinquishing his grip.

“We have our presentation today.”

“Oh no.” Andrew’s eyes burn into him. “Miss Woods will be so disappointed. Just don’t offer her a shoulder to cry on. I’d hate to have to intervene.”

Aaron resists the urge to punch Andrew in his stupid, empty face. He hates how Andrew can read him like nobody else, can zero in instantly on any woman who holds his attention a second too long. He doesn’t know when being barred from a little staring during the duller parts of class became part of their deal and detests how much it feels like a one-way street. Andrew has never shown the slightest interest in anyone or anything, so it’s clearly not a huge loss on his end to cut himself off. Aaron, on the other hand, is a human being with actual feelings and desires, and the fact that Andrew expects him to behave otherwise is as absurd as it is true.

Aaron curses Andrew out again before leaving. He yanks the door shut behind him, not caring if the noise wakes Tilda.

Miss Woods makes a concerned sound when Aaron tells her Andrew is off sick, but Aaron won’t meet her eyes. He does the presentation alone.

When he returns home to find Andrew’s door still shut, he wants to be angrier than he is. Aaron is enough of a germophobe that he doesn’t get sick often anymore, but he remembers sweating under his sheets for days when he was younger, unnoticed and unacknowledged. Not that he would have wanted Tilda’s attention had she offered it. That being said, Andrew doesn’t do much to paint himself as a sympathetic figure, and Aaron is tempted to just leave him to stew. It isn’t like Andrew is really sick. Just sick in the head.

Tilda is, typically, nowhere to be seen, so Aaron fixes his own meal to take to his room. After a moment’s hesitation, he scoops half the pasta into another bowl. He only opens the door to Andrew’s room wide enough to scoot the bowl through it before shutting it after him.

He forgets about it until the next day, when he trips over the empty bowl abandoned in front of Andrew’s door. He picks it up, glances towards the closed door, and takes it down to the kitchen to wash up.

The next day, Andrew is back at school, and it’s as though nothing ever happened.

“You have to come to class.” Aaron wrinkles his nose as he yanks back the curtains. Andrew won the coin toss when they moved in with Nicky in Columbia, meaning his is the larger room with the south-facing windows which Aaron is convinced Andrew chose just to spite him. It’s no more personal than Andrew’s previous room, nor is it any cleaner. Andrew doesn’t move from under the convers, and Aaron belatedly remembers the effect his new drugs have on Andrew’s sleep patterns.

Aaron picks up a pillow and smacks it down on Andrew’s head before diving out of the way. Andrew bursts into life in a mess of swinging fists and manic fury before recognition clicks into place along with the usual glassy smile.

“Wrong room, Aaron! Did you get mixed up?”

“If your attendance keeps dropping, they’ll report us to social services and Nicky will lose custody.” Nicky, for all his good intentions, has been pulling nightshifts at Eden’s all week and sleeps through most of the day to recover. Each night, Andrew drags himself to the kitchen table and chatters vaguely about his classes as though he actually went to them, but it’s only a matter of time before Nicky notices something is amiss or the school phones home.

“I’m sick,” Andrew says. “Cough, cough.” His eyes are bright and there’s a little too much sway to his stance, but it’s indistinguishable from the normal side effects of his drugs.

Aaron has seen Andrew stubbornly sitting through AP math class with skin so white he looks seconds from fainting dead away, has seen him dive into the toilets between classes to gag like he’s bringing up his stomach lining, but has also seen him blow off a week straight of classes just to lie in bed all day staring at the ceiling. If there’s a rhyme or reason to Andrew’s sick days, Aaron has yet to figure it out, just like he still can’t tell when Andrew is ill or faking or when it’s just the drugs. Sometimes he hides the symptoms like a dog snarling to hide his wounds, while other times he rambles for hours about what the meds have done to his digestive tract, taking delight in grossing Aaron and Nicky out so badly that neither of them can finish their dinner.

Andrew flops back onto his bed with a dismissive gesture. “So much faith in the proactivity of social services. Your naivety is touching.”

Aaron looks at the prone body of his twin and resigns himself to the direct approach. “Are you really sick? Or is this…” He gestures vaguely. “You know. One of your moods.”

Andrew sends him a sharp, considering look. “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean,” he replies, his voice lilting up and down almost comically.

Aaron shakes his head, because of course just asking isn’t going to work with Andrew. He moves to put his hand on Andrew’s forehead. Andrew’s hand catches his arm in an instant, smile turning toothy and shark-like. “I would have thought you knew better by now, dear brother,” he says, half-way to that terrible, terrible laugh that means someone is about to die.

“I need to check your temperature,” Aaron says through gritted teeth. “If you’re really sick, I can pick up some medication on the way home. But I’m not buying you anything if you’re just being a fucking weirdo.”

Andrew slaps his free hand to his forehead dramatically. “Woe is me! I’m truly afflicted. Call the leach doctor!”

“If you don’t let me check then I’ll tell Nicky you’re sick and you can deal with him fussing all over you,” Aaron snarls.

“You’re telling Mommy on me? Low blow.”

Aaron flinches. Raw wounds tear open all over again. “Don’t call him that.”

Andrew stares at him for another long moment. Aaron knows better by now than to expect an apology, but Andrew’s grip on his arm loosens until his hand dangles around his wrist like a bangle. For a moment Aaron thinks Andrew is going to put Aaron’s hand to his forehead, but instead he pushes him off.

“It’s one of my moods. Call back tomorrow.”

Aaron huffs, but acknowledges that pushing Andrew any further will only end badly. He leaves Andrew grinning feverishly at his own ceiling and tries not to think about the horrific blackness beneath. Aaron remembers that space, the deep, empty pit of black that he threw himself down night after night with whatever drugs he could lay his hands on. He can’t imagine living there every hour of every day, nor being trapped there by legal mandate. He starts to wonder how Andrew ever manages to get out of bed at all.

Andrew is back in school before the end of the week, and Nicky and the social services remain none the wiser. Andrew always seems to know exactly how far he can push the system before it will break their “family” apart, but that doesn’t make Aaron any more comfortable with how he toes the line.

One more year; one more year of high school and he won’t ever have to think about Andrew and his sick games and his sicker head ever again.

Aaron bumps into Neil as they’re both leaving their respective dorm rooms. It’s been months since Neil and Andrew moved into a dorm together, but Aaron still isn’t used to it yet, how Neil will occasionally surface in one of Andrew’s oversized hoodies or vice versa. It’s too early in the day for Aaron to muster up the full force of his usual scowl, but they enter the elevator together in stony silence. It’s becoming rarer and rarer to see Neil without Andrew’s monolithic shadow at his shoulder, but Aaron doesn’t put too much thought into it until Neil turns up to practice on his own.

Neil answers Wymack’s raised eyebrow with a minute shake of his head which goes unnoticed by the others.

On the fourth day, Aaron watches as Wymack takes Neil aside, and they talk for several minutes with muted gestures and worried expressions. When Neil looks his way, Aaron pretends to be fixing his racquet strings. Andrew isn’t his damn responsibility anymore. He doesn’t need to care. Shouldn’t care.

The next day, Aaron pulls on a long-sleeved black shirt and a flat expression and sits in a stupor through several criminology lectures. Andrew’s lecturers know better than to bother calling on him, leaving Aaron mercifully undisturbed. What’s important is that a row of ticks appear next to Andrew’s name on their attendance sheets.

It’s Neil who opens the door to their dorm, so it’s Neil who receives the stack of notes Aaron dumps into his arms.

“Tell him to get his shit together,” Aaron says, leaving before Neil can respond.

* A week later, Andrew tracks Aaron down at the library. Mercifully, Katelyn isn’t with him; he’s in no mood to be preventing Andrew from murdering her nor himself from murdering Andrew.

“You have a strange definition of ‘letting go’,” says Andrew. He drops Aaron’s notes on the desk.

“I’m not going to sit back and watch you blow up your life for no reason. You’re a college athlete, not a high schooler. Stop handing your lecturers an excuse to kick you out.”

“For no reason,” Andrew repeats. “Is that still what you think this is?”

“I’m not a fucking mind-reader,” Aaron snaps. “You can’t keep playing your stupid games and expect the rest of us to figure out the rules. Why explain yourself when you can jerk the rest of the world around until we all run out of patience and you’re left with nothing and no one but your little fuck-buddy.”

“Language,” says Andrew, the closest thing to a warning Aaron is going to get. Aaron’s gaze flicks down. He’s still learning where the boundaries lie where Neil is involved, the ins and outs of Andrew’s protective instincts. He still isn’t used to being outside that circle, to standing on his own.

“It isn’t a game,” Andrew continues flatly. “I have depression. PTSD. A few other things besides, probably. Sometimes I get sick. Sometimes I can’t function. Sometimes I need a few days to myself. I’m not self-destructing, I’m surviving.”

Aaron stares. He knew his brother was fucked up in ways he could never imagine – the last year had been a brutal wake-up call to the depths of Andrew’s trauma – but he’s never seen it lain bare before, put down in proper terminology and honesty and acknowledgement. “So? Why should you get a free pass to do whatever just because of some shit that’s all in your head?”

“You’re going to make a terrible doctor,” says Andrew. Aaron clenches his fists, waits for the specific brand of murderous intent that Andrew alone can draw from him to pass. “Surely you know better than anyone how difficult it is to control what happens in your own mind.”

“Addiction is different. Addictive chemicals and-”

Andrew raises a finger to silence him. “Yes. Chemicals. Precisely.”

“Whatever.” There’s no worse feeling than when Andrew is right. It makes Aaron doubt every decision he’s ever made. “It doesn’t make a difference when you’re going to get kicked off the team.”

“Bee cleared my absences with the guidance department. Students with mental health difficulties get certain allowances.” Andrew pushes the notes towards him. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It wasn’t pity.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “It was something.”

Aaron remains silent. He isn’t sure what it was. “You’re getting help, then.”

Andrew’s gaze remains upon him for several seconds. “Like I said, you have a strange definition of ‘letting go’.” He leaves, knowing that Aaron has no response to give him.

The next day, Aaron and Neil bump into each other again outside their dorm rooms, both having a class that starts at the same time in the same building. Instead of greeting Aaron with his usual disdainful glare, he nods briefly. Aaron finds himself returning the gesture. The silence is less stony now, more…quiet.

“Will he be back at practice today?” Aaron asks bluntly, without bothering to specify who he is referring to.

“Tomorrow,” says Neil after a pause. “Probably.”

“Good.”

Aaron doesn’t acknowledge the way Neil’s gaze skates over him like Aaron has turned into a new man since last they spoke. The look of understanding that skates across Neil��s face sends an uncomfortable prickle across Aaron’s skin that he resists the urge to scratch away.

He and Neil reach an understanding that neither wanted nor sought out; they may be different in more ways than Aaron cares to count, but they’ve found their common ground in Andrew.

One day, Aaron might figure out what that means.

The patient sitting in Aaron’s consultancy room has long legs, spindly arms and a nervous tick when she speaks. The hood of her hoodie is still pulled over her head like she wants it to swallow her whole, the sleeves pulled down over her hands.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she says quietly. The girl’s eyes haven’t left the floor since she entered. “I can’t make myself eat. I can’t make myself sleep. It’s like I don’t know how to act like a person anymore.”

Aaron nods. She isn’t the first patient to say this to him, and she won’t be the last. He’s had a lot of practice in learning the right thing to say.

“This isn’t your fault.” Bedside manner was not a part of the doctor’s skillset that came to Aaron naturally, but every so often there’s a patient for which he makes the effort. The ones who need it most. “This is a condition, and we are going to help you manage it.”

He glances at the photo of his family that he keeps on his desk and remembers that Andrew will be phoning him tonight. They will make perfunctory enquiries about each other’s partners, talk about their respective jobs, and if Bella is in a good mood Aaron might hand her the phone so she can warble disjointed syllables at her uncle for a few minutes.

“I can’t promise that it will get better right away,” Aaron says. For the first time since she entered, the patient meets his gaze. “But this is the start. Okay?”

She nods. There’s fear in her eyes, but there’s fight too. It’s a look Aaron is more than familiar with. “Okay.”

It’s a long road to recovery, but Aaron knows that better than almost anyone. He also knows what waits on the other end.

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought! Currently open to requests (lockdown, ammiright?)

#aftg #tfc #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #neil josten #my fic #i had so many other things I needed to do today and yet this is what I did #oops

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sincerity-moi · 5 years

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Found-Family Prompts (Top Secret Military/Government-Unit Edition):

. Everyone who works with the “Main-Team” lives on-base (because reasons)

. Everyone has their own role to play in the blooming “Family”, even if they don’t give a flying fuck initially and don’t want to bond with anyone when they first meet the team (The Old, Grizzled-Veteran is the "Dad"/"Mom", the Middle-Aged Buffoons are the "Aunts" and "Uncles", The Sort-Of-Experienced-Ex Rookies are the "Older Siblings", and the Newest-Recruit straight out of enlistment is the "Baby").

. They probably don't deal with what would be considered "Normal" Military-Stuff and the wacky bullshit of their job never fails to bring them closer as a family

. There are probably a few recruits who didn't come out of the traditional military wood-work (Bonus points if these are the "Older Siblings" and not the new rookies, because them being a "Bad Influence" on the "Baby" and getting yelled at for it by the Veteran is some top-tier stuff!).

. "What the hell do you mean that you're only 18/19?!........ I know that you're technically and adult, but there's no way in hell that someone as young as you should have been placed in such a dangerous field!".

. There is a token "Snarky One" and He/She is constantly annoying everyone on purpose (Particularly after a traumatic experience, which they deal with by being a shit-head to certain people).

. The token "Sweet One" is surprisingly OKAY with the Snarky-One's snark.

. The token "Trouble-Makers" aspire to be as petty as the Snarky-One, but usually fail miserably because they just aren't wired for it.

. The Veteran is just so tired, guys.

. "THAT'S MY RATION, PUT IT BACK YOU SHIT-STAIN!".

. "ENOUGH!, We can get more rations at the next stop!".

. "Do you ape-shits ever shut the hell up?....".

. Love is communicated through Bro-sults (Insults from your bros).

. Somebody is keeping a Not-So-Safe (Or normal) pet which they found on one of their missions and now everybody wants a pet because of it, the Veteran/s have to put their feet down and say "No, this isn't a petting zoo!".

. Somebody buys a rat at the local pet-store just to spite their superiors and now a rebellion has begun (The Veteran/s cannot for the life of him/her/them figure out how everyone is fitting fully out-fitted luxury Guinea-Pig and Hamster cages beneath their bunks, and are starting to blame themselves for making said bunks bigger than normal Military-Grade).

. The one Super-Natural/wild pet which started this mess is not pleased by the little animals' presence in it's new home, but it tolerates them because it's human is friends with their humans.

. Nothing ever goes right during inspections (But somehow the unit stays afloat and continues to be funded).

. "Wait... so you're saying that your bio-family has been holding Get-Togethers during holidays for years and not inviting you just because they can't accept that you're a little different from them?, ALLOW US TO THROW YOU A CHRISTMAS PARTY OURSELVES AND THEN KILL THEM FOR YOU!".

. "NO, PLEASE DON'T!, I APPRECIATE THE SENTIMENT BUT THAT'S ILLEGAL!".

. There are a lot of instances where someone will wake up from a PTSD-Related nightmare and have a "I know that this is super odd given our line of work, but can I sleep with you tonight?... my own bed is lonely and the darkness is making me uneasy" moment.

. It's not uncommon to find a pile of these morons on the same bunk in the morning after a particularly hard mission the night before.

. There has to be a total of eight pets on the base when all is said in done (Including a dog and whatever the hell it was that one of the soldiers initially brought home).

. "HOW IN THE FUCK DID YOU GET A PUPPY PASSED BASE-SECURITY?!".

#writing #literature #writing prompt #whump #whump prompt #found family #found family prompt #angst #angst prompt #animals #pets #pets and animals gone wild #supernatural creatures #secret government organizations #military

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steadycoffeeflow · 6 years

Text

Day 10. Flowing | H&J

This prompt was supposed to be about Leo and his addictions, in the framework of J&H. I didn’t want to write that. Maybe another time. Instead, we get my self-insert character. She seemed easier to slip into and deal with.

Today was also Mental Health Day! Take care of yourselves you fucking eggs.

Osmosis: a process by which molecules of a solvent tend to pass through a semipermeable membrane from a less concentrated solution into a more concentrated one, thus equalizing the concentrations on each side of the membrane.

The concept was something Steady knew they’d gone over in high school AP Bio class. She could picture it, as if a mere decade hadn’t passed her by at all. Mr. Brett who was a portly and pleasant man with a full, pepper-salt beard who always referred to himself in the third person. They were setting up an experiment that involved potato slices.

Damn if Steady could remember what the results were. Just one thing stuck out to her: homeostasis and equilibrium. Needing to have a balance.

And as she sipped from her coffee mug - laden with irish cream and vodka, her fingers feeling heavy and mind slipping even farther away - she considered that. Mulled it over. Fixated on the idea.

Having a balance. Two solutions. One lacking and the other too much. Too much of what varied. Energy. Electricity. Food dye. It didn’t matter what - it was just Too Much. A lot. Excess. It needed to be burned off, in the case of energy. Spread and shared around in the case of dye.

One side, flowing into the other. Filling in for the lack and spreading out what was too much. It sounded...nice. Peaceful. The type of ideal tranquility that would strike her on some odd Thursday night, an ordinary day out of ordinary days, and make her begin to weep, curling in on herself.

Steady watched, eyes languid, as Mr. Brett put the potato slices in the water, then took another sip of the syrup, letting it sting her tongue pleasantly.

One time, just before college started, Steady had been struck by the idea that she needed to go camping. Had made it to the door with her old tent pack gear, a couple days’ worth of food and a fishing pole. She didn’t even know if there would be water where she was going. Didn’t even know where she was going. Said as much when her mother asked. Both parents had flown into rages at that, thinking she was running away. Hell if Steady even knew where she was running to, let alone away from, just knew she needed to run.

It happened another time, when she was still working in Detroit. This one had an impulse. ‘New York State of Mind’ by Billy Joel came on the radio, cutting through the static of the afternoon and information technology article write-ups. Steady had to go to New York. Could see it so clearly, her sitting on a bench, watching the taxi lanes clog up, observing the people on their phones and in their nice clothes with her darting eyes. She’d only seen the city on the news, for New Year celebrations, in the older shows before the century.

She got to the receptionist when he’d joked: “Taking a second lunch?”

She’d frozen, hand raised to push the handle, but not quite touching it. The spell broken, she laughed at him. “Just putting my bag in the car. Thinking of taking a walk to wake up.” Nodded. Accepted. Normal response.

She had to be more normal.

There was that other time at college, her mind pivoted to next. She’d stayed up, drifting into hour-long naps once every 24-hour period because, distantly, she knew she needed some rest, and all she’d been doing was writing. Writing writing writing until her wrists were aching with the force of creation.

Then, she crashed for 32 hours, unable to move. When she woke up, groggy and head stuffed full of pain, she’d called home. Explained what had happened.

‘Oh honey, you’re just creative.’

But this was different than all-nighters in high school. Each new idea had been something to explore, a compulsion she had to explore. It was frightening, getting swept up in a tide of creation. Usually the process was freeing. This...this was something else. She was skipping class, realizing only when it was dark out that she hadn’t left to go to the dining hall, that someone - her roommate - had asked if she wanted to go. Then snuck a plate back. Bought a sandwich using Steady’s ID. Put a bottle of water snugged up on the pillow with a smiley face on a sticky note and Steady couldn’t answer her own question: When had that gotten there? When did you last drink water? Shower? Eat? Use the bathroom?

People joked. ‘Who’s your supplier, eh?’

Who knew how long Reese had been standing there. Not Steady, that was for sure. She jumped when she noticed him leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed and a slight crease to his brow. “Heya,” she said, chipper.

“You do this often?” he asked, processing something.

Steady looked around the kitchen. “Cook? Yes. I need to eat food, Reese,” she snorted, going back to slicing the peppers.

“Are you cooking for an army? Was there a new upgrade I didn’t know about, where androids have to eat too?”

Steady bristled a bit. Reese wasn’t laughing. Wasn’t brushing it off. Which meant she’d misstepped. Shit.

Taking inventory of the counter, she tried to think if this was excessive. Was it too much? There was the crockpot with the chili simmering away on low. Had been for the past three hours. Still needed another five or so, which meant it would be ready for her to take to work. Then, she still had pepper left, so she was slicing those up to fry for a fajita mix she’d cook up once the chili vacated the crock pot.

This all had a logical, clear progression.

Steady looked confused at Reese, to see if he was going to fill in any gaps she was missing.

“Are you going to eat that all tonight, or will you be feasting in your dreams?” he asked, holding out his hands at the mess.

Steady followed the hand motions instead of looking at Reese’s face. Couldn’t meet his eyes. Whenever she did look at him, she found herself drawn to his chin, or maybe the wave of his hair or the tattoos he had. Or just the knife in her hand - that was a good idea - to keep an eye on that.

“I mean,” she said, mumbling it now. Voice lower than she needed it to be. Had to pitch it up. Sound like she wasn’t affected - like she normally was. “I’m just not tired. Must be the coffee, whoops.”

Reese frowned. Folded his arms. Watched her. “You...last cup of coffee you had was this morning.”

The blade skipped on the pepper skin. The blade was dull. Knew she had to watch it, or she’d graze her knuckles, slide a fingertip. “Should cut it out entirely,” she replied, smiling ruefully. “Last doc suggested I go straight decaf if I needed to have my hot drink fix. I never went back.”

Reese nodded. Didn’t say anything until Steady was working on the third and final pepper to slice. The pile was consuming the counter space, thin, uneven strips of it falling off the cutting board. “Well, are you going to need help cleaning up…?”

He moved to the sink and Steady jolted. “No.”

Her cry rang out. Probably alerted Rose and Aria. She winced, sucking air through her teeth as she bowed her head over the pepper. “Don’t. I’m good. I’ll clean up after myself.”

“That’s a lot of mess,” Reese started to protest.

“Don’t.”

“Okay.” He relented easy, likely had only been offering to be polite.

Steady eased up, then scooped the peppers up, dropping them into a waiting, warm pan. She turned up the heat, added a dash of butter, then turned to the flank steak. She’d used about half for the chili. Could sear it nicely with the fajita mix. Keep that on low for another-

“It’s nice to see you up and about. Last two weeks you spent on the couch,” Reese said.

Steady shrugged. She was missing something. Something about this scene was odd to him. She had to figure it out, smooth it down, fill in the crack somehow.

Reese patted the island counter. “Well, looks like you’ll be a minute or two. Mind if I…?”

“Go for it,” Steady said, smiling. Forgot why she’d been worried anyway. Probably just paranoid. Nothing to worry about. She busied herself slicing up the beef. Methodical. After a couple of minutes, her mouth began to move of its own accord. Filled in the cracks. And Reese listens. Listened to her story about high school AP biology as she trimmed the fat from the meat. Soaked it in when she relayed the story about camping back in Detroit as she stirred the peppers, appreciating how they were sweating down and charring the bottom of the pan. Tilted his head as he considered her story about wanting to travel to New York.

“Is that why you’re here now?” Reese asked.

“What?”

“New York. Now. Rose hasn’t mentioned how you two met yet.”

“Oh. No. That’s not - I’m. That’s something else, I mean. I always wanted to go to New York, who doesn’t. There was this one time we were going to see a Broadway performance, actually, but the trip just didn’t work out so we went to the local Apple Diner Theater in my hometown instead. Gosh that was such a good - my friend was in it? She was great. Knew her from high school. She used to sneak out with me during lunch breaks. Always smoked. I never did. I mean the harder shit. Sometimes I get a nicotine hit.” Steady shrugged, pushed the meat into the pan. “Wonder what happened to her.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! I mean, we had a falling out. People always have falling outs with me.” A tightness overtook Steady’s chest and her eyes stung. Must be the peppers. No - that was onions. “Misunderstandings and the like. They get tired. But…” Where had she been going? Right, the play! “It was Wicked! She had the role of the witch…”

And as Steady bustled about in the early hours of the morning, limbs, chest, fingers, heart - mind - racing with electricity, Reese listened. He inclined his head this way and that, shrugged, flashed his palms, wrinkled his nose that caused the burns around his brown eye to crinkle.

Outside the night pressed in, chilling and tran - We should decorate the house for Halloween. Just the inside should be fine. Not too attention grabbing. I can go shopping after work and- quil in its absolute pitch blackness.

And things felt just right.

#inktober #inktober2018 #promptober #dbh fic #my writing #steady writes #day 10 #flowing #hey so this was uuuuhhhh pretty easy to write because most of its nonfiction #imagine that #one day i'll get to leo but i'm less familiar with those struggles honestly #wanna do them right #rkhaus

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thearistocratsblog · 3 years

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The Various Goos

Assembler: A small nanomachine designed to construct other nanomachines, including copies of itself. Assemblers were used in Engines of Creation to describe the manufacturing capability inherent in molecular nanotechnology. The word "goo" has never been applied to assemblers; they are included in this list because of the fear that a random "mutation" (in other words, magic or very poor design) could turn assemblers into gray goo. Although a well-designed assembler would have numerous safeguards against uncontrolled replication, such as spontaneous combustion if exposed to oxygen, it now appears that assemblers are completely unnecessary to achieve the benefits of nanotechnology. Monolithic factories, containing huge numbers of assembly stations, would be able to work more efficiently, since an assembler would have to navigate and communicate as well as build and a factory does not have these problems. [KED; definition written by CP] Blue Goo - opposite of Grey goo. Beneficial tech, or "police" nanobots. The trouble with blue goo is that it could easily make too much of itself--and it's hard to clean up, even to replace with a later version. The idea of "Blue goo" was apparently invented in 1989 [link]; since then a lot more work has been done on how to stop gray goo, especially in this paper by Robert A. Freitas Jr. "Some Limits to Global Ecophagy by Biovorous Nanoreplicators, with Public Policy Recommendations", and it appears that (for example) a full-blown worldwide atmospheric infestation can be cleaned up with a mere 88,000 tons of pre-built, non-replicating dragnet robots. [Alan Lovejoy; definition written by CP] Gray Goo or Grey Goo - destructive nanobots See Star Trek scenario. Vast legions of destructive nanites. Supposedly created by accident, they are nano-scale or "atomic-precision" robots capable of precise, molecular control over chemical reactions, programmed to make unlimited copies of themselves, and capable of surviving and gathering supplies in a wide range of environmental conditions. Left unchecked, they would basically convert everything they touch into more of themselves, or consume and digest it for energy [ecophagy]. Either way, a gray goo would be bad news. Green Goo: Nanomachines or bio-engineered organisms used for population control of humans, either by governments or eco-terrorist groups. Would most probably work by sterilizing people through otherwise harmless infections. [AS] Golden Goo: Another member of the grey goo family of nanotechnology disaster scenarios. The idea is to use nanomachines to filter gold from seawater. If this process got out of control we would get piles of golden goo (the "Wizard's Apprentice Problem"). This scenario demonstrates the need of keeping populations of self-replicating machines under control; it is much more likely than grey goo, but also more manageable. See also LOR Goo and LOR Paste. [AS - Originated on sci.nanotech 1996] Khaki Goo: Military Nanites; see grey goo. [AS] Pink Goo: (humorous) Humans (in analogy with grey goo). Pink Goo refers to Old Testament apes who see their purpose as being fruitful and multiplying, filling up of the cosmos with lots more such apes, unmodified. [Eric Watt Forste August 1997] Red Goo: Deliberately designed and released destructive nanotechnology, as opposed to accidentally created grey goo. [AS] ÜBERGOO: A related term to grey goo, used (jokingly) to refer to the mistaken idea that during the singularity powerful technologies would decimate non-transhumanists, and that some transhumanists would see this as desirable (which is clearly against the Transhuman Principles). [Dale Carrico 1996] LOR Goo: Lake Ocean River. See also LOR Paste (below). Nanites that both clean up and harvest the oceans, rivers, and lakes--gathering raw materials, such as precious metal atoms, and cleaning up spills, old waste, wrecks, and other dangerous sites. Cleaning the bad stuff also allows for creation of good stuff, such as more LOR goo. However, it would be hard to recover the goo after it has gathered the desired harvest, and a simple programming error could turn LOR Goo into Gray Goo. LOR Paste would be considerably safer, and LOR Goo should probably be made illegal. [uhf]

The Various Pastes

ACE Paste: Atmospheric Carbon Extractor. Harvests the greenhouse gases for Carbon, to be used for diamondoid fabrication. Larger than most pastebots, because it has to be collectible afterwards. A well-designed paste could harvest 100X or more its empty weight. ACE Paste may not be necessary, because large fixed installations might be more efficient. [uhf. CP] Garden Paste: Utility fog that is used in place of, or in combination with, your garden soil, and is able to be "dialed in" to match the optimal soil composition requirements for each and every plant you have. It will change according to each plant's needs for water, nutrients, and soil density. It will also form shade when and where needed, automatically, or upon request. Further, it will keep out moles and gophers by forming instant temporary barriers; store sunlight via solar cells, for use on overcast days; detect and drive off harmful insects, perhaps via insect-specific pheromones; retain water and minimize evaporation (sophisticated networks of Garden Paste could include an irrigation system), and even identify and remove plants started via airborne propagation [sometimes referred to as "weeds"]. [uhf] LOR Paste: Lake Ocean River. See also LOR Goo (above). Nanites that cleanup and harvest the oceans, rivers, and lakes--gathering some materials, such as heavy metal molecules, and cleaning up spills, old waste, wrecks, and other dangerous sites. LOR Paste would have limited or nonexistent fabrication ability, making it smaller, more efficient, and easier to design than LOR Goo--and much safer. Heavy metals would have to be stored onboard, a form of encapsulation, but undesired organic compounds could be broken down into harmless molecules and released. [uhf. CP] Medic Paste: Applied directly to external wounds, and internally via ingestion or shot, for rapid diagnosis and treatment. Carries telemetry nanites as well, in order to provide real time feedback to the doctor, for tricky diagnostic and/or treatment decisions. [uhf] Utility Fog: A mass of robots with twelve legs apiece forming a microscopic truss structure. Capable of changing shape, and perhaps color, in response to external commands. [JH]

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imagines-corner · 7 years

Text

Jealous: Scott McCall

requested: by anonymous

pairing: Scott McCall x Reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: light season 5A spoilers, territorial Scott????

summary: When Theo Raeken comes back to Beacon Hills, your boyfriend, Scott, starts acting up, and you decide to confront him.

a/n: keep sending in those requests!

This was the beginning of the end.

Sure, some would say that it started your first day of high school, or the last day of junior year, or the night of senior scribe. For you, the beginning of the end was the first day of senior year, the beginning of the end of this long road you’ve been taking for almost 13 years. It seemed like just yesterday you were walking through those heavy double-doors as a freshman, excited to have more freedom, responsibility, and maturity. You had no idea how much growing up you would do (frankly, you thought you were as grown up as you could get at 14), especially with the revelation that Beacon Hills was teeming with supernatural creatures and secrets that were waiting to be discovered.

It felt almost nostalgic, walking up the steps from the student parking lot, your eyes searching for your friends. Summer had given you some time to reflect, but most importantly it gave you time with your friends, family, and boyfriend.

“Scott!” You called, quickly rushing up the stairs to meet your boyfriend. As he waved, a large smile broke out across his face, reminding you of why you ever said yes to dating him in the first place. As you approached him, his arm was outstretched to bring you in for a hug and a quick kiss before you greeted Stiles, Lydia, and Malia.

As the five of you discussed the last three years together, smiling and laughing under the early morning sun, you noticed Scott’s attention was suddenly diverted. You weren’t supernatural, but after being so close to Scott for so many years, you could pick up on little things that Stiles couldn’t even sense. You tried to identify what was pulling him away from the nostalgic conversation, but nothing jumped at you - until you saw someone walking towards your group, a look of purpose displayed on his face.

The first thing you noticed about him was his stance. As he walked, you could almost feel his confidence radiating off of him, despite the curious and careful look on his face. As he came closer, you could see his bright blue eyes and defined facial features, while his hair matched that of almost every guy your age in Beacon Hills, short and sticking up. He was clearly fit, meaning he was either a werewolf or very enthusiastic about working out. When he was close enough to catch everyone’s attention, you knew you recognized him, but not from where.

“Hey,” He smiled, his voice continuing to remind you of someone, “I thought I would come say hi, after seeing you guys last night.” His eyes wandered to you, making an odd kind of eye contact that seemed to make Scott uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” Scott replied, “Thanks for that.” You now assumed he was the werewolf from last night that helped fight off the weird creature with glowing talons that Scott talked about while waiting to participate in Senior Scribe. Scott nodded, pulling you in a little closer. You could tell this guy made Scott a little uncomfortable, but without knowing who he was, you couldn’t tell what it was.

“Do I know you?” You asked, “You look really familiar.”

“I’m Theo,” He spoke, “Theo Raeken.” Suddenly, you felt enlightened, your brain filling with old memories of Theo and elementary school. You all had been in the same class in fourth grade.

“Oh my god,” You breathed, “I can’t believe it’s you! I’m (Y/N), we were all in class together.”

“Yeah,” Theo smiled, “I can’t believe it’s you. It’s been so long.”

The bell rang, signaling that you all had to get to first period.

“We should catch up,” Theo said to you as the group walked towards the heavy double-doors, “It’s been so long.”

“Yeah, definitely,” You nodded, watching as Theo walked down a different hallway.

You and Theo oddly had a lot of classes together, which gave you two a lot of time to catch up. It turns out he had been living somewhere nearby, and he was bitten by an alpha but found that he was killed before he could join the pack. He came back to Beacon Hills to join Scott’s pack, since almost all of California knew he was a True Alpha.

Theo seemed to remember a lot about you, from your puppy that was now an older, lazier dog, to your sister’s name, to your favorite lunch that the school cafeteria served. It seemed weird that he would remember so much, but you brushed it off as him having a good memory. He seemed to remember a lot about everyone, especially Scott.

“Hey,” You spoke, leaning against the lockers as Scott grabbed some of his stuff, “I have a history project to work on tonight, so we’re gonna have to skip on our normal hangout. Is that fine?”

“Yeah,” Scott nodded, “What kind of project is it?”

“It’s a partner project,” You replied, the two of you walking down the hallway, “Theo and I are researching the comparison between the Cuban Missile Crisis and-“

“Theo?” Scott asked, “Like, Theo Theo?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, “Why?”

“Nothing,” Scott spoke, “Comparison between…?”

“The Cuban Missile Crisis and the Cold War as a whole.”

“Sounds cool,” Scott lied, smiling as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. You knew he wasn’t a big fan of history, but he always wanted to listen to what you had to say, even if it had to do with 1960s politics.

“Yeah,” You nodded, “How’s AP Bio going?”

Scott was about to speak, but he noticed Theo walking towards you from down the hall. Once more, he tensed up, as if Theo was some kind of threat.

“Ready?” Theo asked, smiling at you, “Sorry I have to take your girlfriend, Scott.”

“It’s fine,” Scott lied, clearly hesitant to let you go with this guy that Scott was somehow intimidated by. Before letting you go, Scott leaned in, pressing a big kiss on your lips that seemed to say “goodbye” and “back off” all at once.

You and Theo studied for what seemed like hours. With books piled high on the floor and a collaborative notes document that seemed to be 20 pages long, all you wanted to do was take a nap, eat, and go to bed. Theo left around dinner, being sure to discuss the final pieces that needed to happen before your next deadline on the project.

“Oh,” Theo spoke, “And do you mind talking to Scott for me?”

“About what?” You asked, crossing your arms as you listened to Theo.

“Well, you know how I really want to be a part of his pack,” Theo spoke, “I feel like he’s a bit… hesitant about it, and I don’t blame him for that. Do you think you could talk to him and see how he feels? Maybe throw in a good word for me?” Theo’s eye contact was strong as he asked for this favor.

You nodded, opening the front door for him. “Sure, I’ll talk to him.” You had noticed that Scott didn’t seem to be Theo’s #1 fan, but you knew Stiles had a much more extreme hesitation when it came to Theo joining the pack. You weren’t sure if that was what affected Scott, or if it was something different, but you decided it was time to find out.

“Hey,” You spoke, lying across from Scott on his bed, a plethora of English books lying between you as you played lightly with his fingers, “Are you alright? You know, with the whole Theo thing?”

“Yeah,” Scott spoke, clearly lying, “Why?” His eyes refused to meet yours, which signaled to you that there was something else going on in his mind.

“You get really tense every time he’s around,” You spoke, “And you’re always being… well, a little… touchy when he’s around.”

Scott laughed lightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You rolled your eyes as you rested your head on his pillow. “The hugging, the kissing, the arms always around me, that kind of stuff.” Scott raised his eyebrows curiously. “Don’t get me wrong - I love it all so much - but you turn it up a few notches when he’s around, and I know it’s that territorial werewolf thing you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything different,” Scott spoke, a smile creeping onto his face, “Is it a crime to wanna express my love for my girlfriend?” He leaned over the river of books to plant another kiss on your lips, this time his hand placed lightly on your cheek. He clearly wanted to do anything but talk about Theo, but you resisted, even though his lips begged for you to come closer.

“Scott,” You complained, “Please tell me. Consciously or unconsciously, you’re different around him. Territorial. You’re not like that with any other guy.”

Scott sighed, realizing that it was time to come clean about his true feelings for Theo. “I… I feel a little threatened around him, I guess.”

You raised your eyebrows, staring at Scott curiously. “Threatened? Scott, do I need to remind you you’re one of the most powerful Alphas in California?”

“Not like that,” Scott laughed lightly, “Do you remember fourth grade?”

“What about it?”

“Do you remember your feelings about Theo?”

“I don’t think I ever talked to him, Scott.” You rested your head on your arm as Scott flipped onto his stomach.

“You didn’t talk to him because you had the biggest crush on him,” Scott mumbled, “You almost never shut up about it.”

“Hey!” You exclaimed, “I never shut up about a lot of things then.”

Scott laughed. “You’re right.” You could tell he was insecure about the matter, and you decided it was time to reassure him that he had nothing to worry about.

“Listen,” You spoke, your voice growing softer as you leaned towards him, resting your head on his shoulder as you wrapped an arm around his shoulders, “You have nothing to worry about. I don’t see Theo like that anymore. We’re just friends, and I’m using that word loosely. He’s a bit cocky for my taste.”

Scott smiled, turning to face you. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” You promised, pressing your lips up against his, “You’re the only werewolf I need in my life.” You kissed him again, and Scott adjusted his body so he could wrap his arms around you tightly, reminding himself that you were here, with him. His worries about Theo were eased, and as he rested his forehead on yours, closing his eyes, he couldn’t be any happier to have someone like you in his life.

#scott mccall #scott mccall imagine #teen wolf imagine #tyler posey imagine #scott mccall fluff #teen wolf

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tbhstudying1 · 6 years

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Is three ap courses too much for freshman year? Most of my friends are doing two, but I’m doing ap bio which was highly discouraged by the majority of my teachers. I keep thinking abt it and I don’t know what to do bc i can do one of them later. What do you think?

i think it genuinely depends on

you as a person and how you cope with time management and academics

your schedule

your teachers / curriculum / teaching styles

if you’re super duper good at managing yourself and your tasks + your schedule isn’t busy, then you might have a decent chance at it. if your teachers have a tendency to pile work on or don’t teach the subject very well, i’d discourage it. also, consider the fact that you’re going into freshman year and no matter what every freshman might say at the beginning of the year, it’s still going to be a bit of a culture / academic shock for you in the first couple weeks and possibly months.

i’d advise you to consider those factors carefully before making your decision + in the end, it’s up to you to decide on how much work you wanna put on yourself for the first year

from for the dreams i want to catch https://ift.tt/2LJaxPW via See More

#IFTTT #for the dreams i want to catch

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tbhstudying · 6 years

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i think it genuinely depends on

you as a person and how you cope with time management and academics

your schedule

your teachers / curriculum / teaching styles

i’d advise you to consider those factors carefully before making your decision + in the end, it’s up to you to decide on how much work you wanna put on yourself for the first year

#like some ap classes don't give u a whole lot of stuff to do #while some ap classes give u a whole lot to do #and it also depends on ur personal interest and how much u like the subject too #it's just stuff to consider before making a decision #anon #ask

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beathq-archives-blog · 6 years

Photo

BASICS

full name: daphne moon

age: 20

gender: cis female

pronouns: she/her

department: visual arts

HISTORY

there are those destined for bright lights and magazines, or for briefcases and medical reports. those who turn their dreams of touching the stars into fruition—or as close as they can get, working for nasa, becoming astronauts, searching for new planets and galaxies. those who turn fantasy into reality, spinning worlds of color into dresses and skirts flowing like rivers.

you never really pictured yourself as any of that. you never envisioned yourself to be anything, really.

( question: what do you want to be when you grow up? answer: just like my mom question: what’s your mom like? answer: everything i’m not )

your mother is both your rock and your cage, your inspiration and your downfall. in childhood’s eyes, she is a superhero, a single mom taking on the world even when it is fighting against her. she works long shifts as a nurse, so you bounce from after-school care to your neighbor’s living room to your own when your neighbor isn’t around. the apartment is small and you see your mom worrying over bills you don’t understand, but you two make it work. she puts your crayola drawings on the fridge with dollar tree magnets, and you always make sure to tell her your school day because she always asks.

( there comes a point when she stops asking and you stop sharing. )

even in elementary school, she pushes you to do well, double-checking your spelling and math homework when all you’d rather do is play basketball with the kids down the street. sixth grade rolls around and not much has changed: you’re great at p.e. and drama, but your grades in social studies aren’t exactly stellar. you’re popular and talkative and make people laugh, but your mom just wants you to do better in school.

but you just want to make art. you tote around an old canon point-and-shoot you get from your uncle after he notices you playing with it the last time your mother drives you two hours to his house for christmas dinner. you don’t realize it yet, but that camera holds a promise you won’t break to yourself even if you think you will.

( when you blow your wishes up to the sky, you promise yourself this: do what you love no matter what. )

puberty brings a lot of changes, but you don’t expect mom’s new boyfriend. even more unexpected is the wedding that comes one year later. he’s overly nice and tries too hard, but you suppose with your mother’s inclination towards tough love and candor bordering on harsh, you guess they balance each other out. with a double income and a promotion at the hospital, you end up moving from your apartment and into the suburbs. you even get two step-siblings! isn’t this the happy, wholesome family you’ve always wanted?

( no. no. you and your mom were fine on your own. )

step-sibling one and step-sibling two are okay, you suppose. not best friends, but not at each other's’ throats; you all understand that your parents are happy and so you should try to be too. still, it could be a lot better, especially when your new sister is twenty times more perfect than you’ll ever be. star athlete, star student, star everything who spends her free time volunteering and tutoring and walking dogs. meanwhile, you spend your time getting high and barely turning your homework in on the due date—your new high school doesn’t change your habits no matter how much they try to.

daphne has potential, say teachers at parent-teacher conferences, if only she applied herself more. you’re known for talking back and skipping class, for being a disruption. you’re still the girl everyone goes for a laugh and a good time, but you’re barely passing the one AP class you take junior year, and you’re average in all your others. you spend your weekends stealing alcohol from your stepdad’s liquor cabinet and kissing almost strangers in parks after midnight. when you’re seventeen, you look in the mirror and wonder: did your mother really put herself through so much for you to end up like this?

of course, it’s harder when everyone is pushing you in the direction you don’t want to go, when your passion is supposedly misplaced. making movies isn’t going to get you anywhere even if you did win awards for young, aspiring filmmakers, even if you want to spark conversations about the unspoken. even if you want to tell stories about people like you because not every asian is the awkward nerd or the sexy dragon lady. it doesn’t matter if you take pictures of everything and anything, if you capture the giddiness of a couple newly in love or the smile in your friend’s face as you catch her mid-laugh. it doesn’t matter that the money you saved up from your part-time job went into a new lens when your stepsister is two years into her degree at stanford or your cousin has just been hired as a software engineer at google.

what makes you think you can make a career out of a camera? your mother asks you, and you wonder if you two have ever seen each other at all, or if you’ve been too busy piling expectations on each other to take a closer look. either way, you resign yourself to maybe a business or computer science degree; you at least know you really, really suck at bio, so med school’s out of the question.

graduation rolls around and you can’t feel more relieved to throw that cap up in the air. while some classmates head off to start their freshman year at cal poly and usc and columbia, others take a gap year. one of your friends goes backpacking across europe. and you? community college. might as well knock your g.e.’s out before you declare an average degree that’ll pave the way to an average nine-to-five.

it’s halfway through an econ lecture when you ask yourself what the fuck am i doing? you hate this. you’re not meant for business meetings and data entry. you have more fun in the screenwriting elective you took because you had room for it. you decide not to apply to transfer after your two years at the jc are up, and instead book a one-way ticket to the east coast to keep that promise to yourself. your friend in dc needs a roommate, you’ve got the entire summer and maybe more to build an even better portfolio, and if all goes according to plan—which really isn’t your forte—you’ll apply to film school. your parents aren’t sure what you’re doing and you’re not either, but it’s about time you take a risk that doesn’t involve some drunk dare.

the b-side happens on accident. you find it through someone you’ve been following on instagram, and after you watch one performance, you’re hooked. the atmosphere is exhilarating; there’s passion in every spoken word, in every song. it doesn’t take long for you to become one of their videographers, and the long days and late nights you shoot are all worth it. someone once told you a vibrant soul like yours belongs in front of the camera, but you’ve never felt more right behind it.

( question: what do you want to be when you grow up? answer: everything i told myself i’d be. )

( played by JENNIE KIM & penned by IZZIE. )

#( f. )#( visual art. )#new rp #semi appless rp #oc rp #city rp

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palmspringsbeats · 7 years

Photo

2017.

That was pretty sweet, right?

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuk.

Well, at least we all made it.

And we’re all right here.

Quick strategy for ‘18:

There was a recent interview with Bjork, while she was promoting her new album, Utopia, where she was asked how she dealt with the insanity of the world. She said she creates a small bubble around herself, and focuses on filling it with everything she loves. (Not, like, a literal bubble, btw….I should clarify because it is Bjork.) Nah...but she just focuses on herself and her immediate surroundings, and creates her own world of the things that matter to her... love family music...and does her best to not let the outside awfulness in. Create your own little bubble world. I really liked that. That’s all you can really do these days. What’s important to you? What do you love doing? Cool, create a small bubble and concentrate like a motherfucker on just those things. Tune everything else out. Easier said than done, especially when the outside bullshit is directly affecting your life, but still seems like a pretty good goal for operating in the world today. Work to create your best bubble. Keep filling it with what you love. Turn off the bullshit. And pretty soon...this is your life: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_n0Ps1KWVU0

I’ve been filling my bubble with a lot of music this year.

And it’s time to step on in this bub ya’ll.

Because it is time to present to you…

WhatWhat’s best music of the year.

Also, RESIST.

Personal Music Highlights of 2017

1. Movement Detroit (see you again soon).

Highest of lights was Function wiping clean 90 minutes of my memory at the RA stage under Hart Plaza (went up to him afterwards, looked him directly in the eyes and told him he was number 1. He gave me a head nod. I was content.) Check out his album, ‘Recompiled,’ which was released this year. Respect the master.

Runner Up: Walking into a club at 3am with Eddie while Moodymann dropped the Beastie Boy’s Paul Revere. An entire club of Detroit techno heads went bananas and everyone in the club sang every word. That is what it means to be a good DJ. First time I saw him and it was everything I needed. Played everything from D’angelo, to MK to Ro James...to The Beastie Boys). Talking shit into the mic all night. Doing it all using iPod earbuds. Thank you for being exactly you, Moodymann. (P.S. There was a thing this year where super cool internet DJ chat room people took issue with Moodymann playing Kings of Leon, Sex On Fire, at a festival. You realize you’re criticizing Moodymann right? You’re criticizing MOODYMANN. Immediately fuck yourself. You’re what’s wrong with everything. You are banished from my bubble. Also, for the record, ‘Sex On Fire’ fucking rules. Drink more cheap beer and figure out your life.

Movement Detroit weekend playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/user/bobbysouers/playlist/54ve0L6kDdCI1dZIrbbL0l

2. Radiohead in Portland

Ended with Creep, can die now.

Set list/playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/bobbysouers/playlist/3VLMcyumHN6FYCQqGvFd3X

3. Solange in Portland

Made me realize Solange is actually cooler than Beyonce.

And Beyonce is...Beyonce.

Thus,

Solange is really, really fucking cool.

4. Solar in an Oregon orchard

Me full zenith.

Shout out and thank you, OV.

5. Queens in MSG

Thank you Ian.

Thank you for existing, Queens.

6. My wife singing Post Malone’s Rockstar acapella in our house without knowing the lyrics.

Shout out to legal Portland things!

Also, biggest surprise of the year: I really like Post Malone. As an artist and as a person.

And then...

7. Black Thought.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=prmQgSpV3fA

Life lesson: You can’t do this without grinding for 30 years.

Best Music Videos of 2017:

2 Chainz ‘Trap Check’ was a lock for this. A LOCK.

Then came ‘The Gate’ (see intro paragraph).

Didn’t realize the drug DMTMDMA existed, so at least 2017 gave us that!

Anyway, #BjorkBubbleGoals fo real fo real.

(I’m going to get a tattoo on my face and become a Soundcloud rapper and my first song will be me mumbling “Bjork Bubble Goals, Bjork Bubble Goals, Bjork Bubble Goals” a thousand times over a pretty awesome beat. Gonna be siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick.

Runner up:

2 Chainz: Trap Check

2 Chainz is a superhero.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZqoHYAdbQrE

Best Albums Of 2017:

1) Fever Ray: Plunge

The Queen Mother returned when we needed her most.

I could write a whole bunch about this but I advise you to instead just read all the interviews she did for this album.

She is revealing and honest.

She is my favorite artist.

And the album’s theme of sexual freedom also made me ok with a sexual fantasy I’ve been having.

It involves Fever Ray and Mike Pence, locked in dark room for 24 hours, with only jars of Trader Joe’s Coconut oil.

GET FREE MIKE!

WE KNOW YOU NEED IT AND IT’S OK.

Also, can we please unite the two most powerful natural forces on the planet and get a Bjork / Fever Ray SUPER SLIMEY collab album before 2020?

Help me put that energy out there and let’s create an actual vortex.

P.S. this album also contains the clear winner for 2017 lyric of the year:

“Your lips, warm and fuzzy, I want to run my fingers up your pussy.”

-Fever Ray, “To The Moon And Back”

Force of nature.

2) Honey Dijon: The Best Of Both Worlds

The music genre I was most obsessed with this year was Chicago House. I felt the need to go as deep as I could into the origins and classics...where so much of the music I love today started. Damn. What a time and sound. Deep in the exploration, something was dropped on the very top of the pile. Honey Dijon’s, “The Best Of Both Worlds.” Honey Dijon is a super real DJ vet from Chicago and just created a beautiful album that is just House music to the bone. So quality, sounds so warm and good. Only she could make this. If you’ve never listened to Chicago House (what are you doing with your life, btw?), this is a great starting point. Note to self: I need to see Honey Dijon DJ in the next 3 months.

3) Ellen Allien: Nost

Ellen Allien has never played it safe and has always pushed it, hard. If you really like electronic music you should listen to her earlier albums, namely, Berlinette, Thrills and Orchestra Of Bubbles (collab with Apparat). A pure techno head, who just BRINGS it on this album. A review described it as spending hours in Berghain and that’s a decent description. DARK AND HARD. If you can’t lose your mind in a club for 3 days, you can use this album to pretend you are, while doing things like walking through airports, riding bikes fast, and sitting at your workplace desk. There’s a track on this album named “Mind Journey,” and ALSO a track named “Jack My Ass.” What more do you want people!?

4) All The Good Rap Albums:

2 Chainz: Pretty Girls Like Trap Music; Future: FUTURE; A$AP Ferg: Still Striving; Quality Control: Control The Streets Volume 1; 21 Savage & Offset: Without Warning; A$AP Mob: Cozy Tapes Vol 2: Too Cozy

Don’t be a Joe Budden old head. If you say new rap is wack, you ain’t listening...at all. Everyone of these albums has at least 3 absolute bangers. God I love this shit so much. Metro Boomin is producer of the year, again and again. Beats are so fucking hard. Also, for the record, Migos are incredible. The goal of rap is sounding the coolest. And they sound pretty fucking cool. (ALSO, they provided the ad lib of the century: https://youtu.be/yBXO_hiNWUc “Ostrich, Ostrich, Ostrich, yee.”) My 17 Rap Songs of 2017:

5) LCD: American Dream

There was a generational sea change across the board this year. When Arcade Fire missteps then doesn’t sell out live shows? And they were/are the best band going? What? How fickle are we now (me included)? Things are too fast. We’re getting old. When this album was coming out it made me nervous. I really needed it to be good. Proof of life. They delivered. No crew can bring it like this. They stand alone. And you know what? Getting old is fucking badass. What’s more hardcore? Just keep making stuff and pushing HARD and no one can f with you. There’s really no other way.

6) War On Drugs: A Deeper Understanding

Me. Music for Sunday afternoons. Music for time with great friends and family. For when you’re driving alone in the dark. I love you guys. KP and I saw them live a few months ago. Holy shit. Just 9 really talented and experienced dudes onstage JAM ROCKING. Portland was standing and cheering, I was violently air drumming. Love forever.

7) Four Tet: New Energy

Proves this guy is pushing it forward and on another plateau. He could have just made some quality beats and it would have been satisfying. Instead he made ambient spiritual desert in winter night music. Happy we get to listen to this guy create things.

8) Lil B: Black Ken

When Lil B tweets, he signs every tweet: “-Lil B.”

He also takes a screenshot of every tweet and posts it to Instagram, often times again captioning the post, “-Lil B.”

Earlier this month, he tweeted this:

"WHAT UNIVERSITY WHATS TO LET LIL B COME LEARN AT YOUR INSTITUTION? IM VERY INTERESTED IN SCIENCE AND BIO AND ALSO NUERO SCIENCE I WANT TO OFFER MORE TO THE AMERICAN PEOPLE AND GLOBALLY AS WELL AS ANIMALS WHAT UNIVERSITY WILL ACCEPT ME? I DID NOT FINISH HIGH SCHOOL!!!"

Very quickly, schools like Pennsylvania State University, the University of Oregon, Butler University, the University of South Carolina, the University of Wisconsin-Madison, the University of Texas at Arlington and Brandeis University tweeted at him, providing offers and links to applications.

His response:

“SO FAR PENN STATE, UNIVERSITY OF SOUTH CAROLINA, LSU HAVE ALL SHOWN INTEREST IN EDUCATING LIL B !!!!! IM SO HONORED!! SERIOUSLY FOR THEM SHOWING THAT THE EDUCATIONAL SYSTEM DOES NOT DISCRIMINATE !! LETS GO! I WANNA LEARN!!! - Lil B”

He then tweeted exclusively about guys and girls getting “Mudd Butt” for at least 48 hours straight.

Lil B has more personality than all humans.

Thank you, Based God.

(Anyway, this album is so good and fun and was the most hip hop thing that happened this year...until Black Thought opened his mouth.)

9) Nick Hoppner: Work

Mature master aspirations.

10) Thundercat: Drunk

I listened to this on a sunny day this year with a chocolate or two, and just remember laughing a lot. I want to hug this guy and invite him to a party where everyone is wearing sweatpants. So talented, makes the world more fun.

11) Karen Gwyer: Rembo

Discovered this recently. How is this exactly what I’m looking for?

12) DJ Python: Dulce Compania

Read a review that described this album as “ambient reggaeton.” And somehow, with DJ Python, that’s a great thing. I put this album on as I walked into work and it helped me.

13) Kendrick Lamar: Damn

Wait, this album came out this year?

Also, I’ve failed you because I haven’t listened to this album backwards yet, as Kendrick revealed, but, fuck it, I’m on vacation so I’m going to do that RIGHT NOW.

Best Tracks Of 2017:

Here are 70 of my favorites.

Special call outs below.

1. Track of the year - Cardi B: Bodak Yellow

In the year where women rose up and refused to accept male bullshit, this, fittingly, was the soundtrack. What gets me everytime is that she’s just rapping her ASS off. Also learned that saying “BLOODy shoes” is consistently really fun. ALSO, when she was on Fallon recently she was basically Rosie Perez on Jeopardy in the movie ‘White Men Can’t Jump,’ and that just warmed my entire body. (and....the beat is the beat). Final score: Undeniable.

2. Runner up - LCD Soundsystem: How Do You Sleep?

Hardest diss record of the year! This song sounds like ten thousand angry miles. Or, exactly like 2017! Runner up for lyric of the year: “You warned me about the cocaine, then dove straight in.” He makes you feel all of it. I want to hear this played live.

3. Four Tet: Two Thousand Seventeen

From my Sunday morning album. A mental womb.

4. Hercules & Love Affair: Are You Still Certain? (feat. Mashrou’ Leila)

Shout out to Peter who played this during a b2b sesh in my basement which was the first time I heard it. A week later I played it as the closing track of a DJ set in a wonderful outdoor space, during the day, in the Sun (Zekefest!). Those are the moments.

5. Thundercat: Them Changes

I started more DJ sets this year playing this song. There is never a bad time to play this song.

6. Honey Dijon: Thunda (feat. John Medelson)

Soul.

7. Ellen Allien: Innocence

My favorite track off of Nost. Play it as loud as you can in a pitch black room.

8. Fever Ray: Mustn’t Hurry

Hard to chose one, but this one split a good divide between the sound of the first album and second album. Oh yeah-eee-yeah-eee-aah. Fever Ray is actual magic.

9. The War On Drugs: Holding On

I am, because of you.

10. 2 Chainz: Trap Check

Start your workouts properly.

11. Sufjan Stevens: Visions Of Giedeon

See the movie, “Call Me By Your Name.”Be crushed by this song forever.

12. Lil B: Berkeley

Play this song loud on a Summer Saturday with your shirt off. God damn it this shit is so hip hop. Just on his straight positive. “We in downtown Berkley, I’m not rich, but I’m workin’.” Thank you, Based God.

13. Kamasi Washington: Truth

Pretty fucking important.

14. Nicola Cruz: Tzantza

My wife and I went to Hawaii on vacation this year, first time I’d been. We went to this place. Very dope spot. They were playing this on a good sound system and it stopped me in my tracks. It will always make me think of a Hawaiian vacation. And my love of low bpm dance music.

15. Travis Scott: Butterfly Effect

This song actually is 4am in Hidden Hills. Everyone on incredible drugs. Perfect weather. Slight cool breeze at 3am to remind you how high you are. Then Travis Scott pulls up to Kanye’s house in a space ship, and the party continues.

16. ASAP Ferg: Plain Jane

Flipping Three Six’s lyrics from “Slob on my knob, like corn on the cob,” into “Ride with the mob, Alhamdulillah” is the reason Ferg is the Hood Pope.

17. LCD Soundsystem: American Dream

Closing time.

Random Afterword:

Recently learned that, before Motorhead, Lemmy was in a band called Hawkwind. Did some searching on Hawkwind. Christmas indeed. One of their albums is called ‘Warrior On The Edge Of Time,’ and their live album is called ‘Louder Than The Universe.’ On these, the last days of 2017, I recommend drinking some cold beers, cranking Hawkwind up to one million, removing your shirt, and begining preparations for 2018. Go harder than a young Lemmy, young people. 2017, peace. 2018, lessgo!

Bjork Bubble Goals,

-WhatWhat

#Best Of 2017 #WhatWhat #Hawkwind

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readmyjournal1996-blog · 7 years

Text

i fucking hate--

12/13/2017

I fucking hate the new Instagram update. Before, I could go through my search feed (idk what it’s called), and wander from cooking post, to hair post, to meme, and back to more food posts. Now, if I click on a a hair post, I only see hair posts. Not even different ones, like they’re literally all the same.

I also just fucking hate social media in general. Okay, more like I hate to love it, because I’m always on, and I’m too much of a pussy to actually delete anything anyway. I did, however, delete the Facebook app from my phone, so I mean, I guess that’s a start… right? I say so. But I should just rip the band-aid off and do it, because it’s not like anyone is counting on me to keep it, you know? Who cares if I delete it? Maybe my boyfriend who likes to google me every now and then because he’s bored (I say he’s paranoid). That’s all I can think of. And don’t even get me started on how shitty it makes me feel?!

Listen, I’m completely aware of these things work. Social media. Brag about yourself and what you have, and make everyone think that your life is 110% perfect. And get the likes and comments and all that other shit to make yourself feel better. I mean, I know I certainly feel good about getting them. Unfortunately, lol. But I also feel super shitty when a picture that means a lot to me only gets the same 20 likes from the same 20 people who go around following and liking everyone’s picture.

Maybe I’m just thinking about it too much…. Yes, most definitely. Everyone does! And I’m so sick of seeing everyone’s perfect life goals playing out for them perfectly, and things just going there way without problem, because DAMN, if only I could just have a little bit of that. Anyway.

I fucking hate this throbbing headache that I have after only the first of my three finals. I feel sick. And it’s not even today, like I feel sick all the time. I’m just super out of shape; moreover (learned this fancy sentence trick in AP Lang my junior year of high school—wassap), I eat like a fucking dump truck. Really. I fill my body with such gross food, it’s nasty. And I don’t take care of my body. Sigh.

I fucking hate the conversation I had with some girls from my Cell Bio class today, where we talked about how ridiculous the stress is we put ourselves through, just for a number out of 4, that is supposed to define the thousands of dollars and time and effort over four years. That’s what it boils down too. What is your GPA? Can’t be a lawyer with a shitty one. Can’t be a doctor with a shitty one. Does it matter? I don’t even want to be a doctor. What the fuck do I want to be? I don’t know? I don’t even know what I like. I’m mediocre at best at a lot of things, and nothing has called to be my passion, like it has been for so many others.

What I need to be doing, is looking for some stupid internships. I guess. Right? I could mix some fruit fly food for a lab. Biology. I could… be a lab bitch and do whatever shitty work has to be done for an actual scientist. Biology. How dumb would that be. Just doing more busy work.

I fucking hate that life just feels like one big pile of busy work. I don’t know if there’s going to be anything worthwhile underneath it, and I sure as hell don’t know how to get out of it. I just gotta figure things out already. I’m so physically tired of this semester. I haven’t been this tired in my life. At least when I worked like a dog over the summer, I was getting a decent paycheck. Now, I get to pay thousands of dollars for it instead.

I shouldn’t be like this, I know. I promise you—all maybe 1-2 of you that perhaps happened to stumble over this and read it—I promise you that I’m going to start trying. After finals. After this Friday, December 15th. Because fuck, life is too short.

I’m kidding. I hate that phrase. “Life is too short.” Maybe I should begin to like it, because doing it for myself honestly isn’t the motivation that’s going to keep me running right now, lol. I think of myself, and I see this lazy piece of unmotivated trash, that’s gained the most weight she ever has in her life, and I don’t want to do it for her. I’m just going to do it because you know what, I have nothing better to do. And there is nothing in my life that is just calling to me, so maybe I can just try to focus on this and sculpt this new creature that looks bawling in a bikini, and can wear whatever she want’s, but be comfortable in her own skin.

I hate how nervous I am about this. I think that I’m going to fail, and I really just don’t want that to happen. I want to think of myself as this strong person who can do it, who can push herself and get what she needs to get done. But… we’ll see, I suppose. And sometimes I still try to tell myself that; that I’m as strong as I have made myself up to be. Maybe when I told myself that in high school, it was true. But now I’m just running low on fumes. I just needed to break a little bit before I could realize it again…

Fuck…

> If you never break > you’ll never know how to put yourself > back together

I knew those were my favorite lyrics for a reason.

I fucking hate a lot of things right now, and this semester just fuckin dumped a load of highlighter onto those things. But you know what, Real Friends is right. I’m never going to learn how to put myself back into a functioning self unless I break.

And I know that’s been done very thoroughly! So it can only get better from here, right? Come on, new year, new me, RIGHT?!

#journal

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