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mercurial-madhouse · 3 years ago

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Trigger Warning: Healing is painful, but there’s so much light on the other side if we’re strong enough to walk through the dark.

My hope in sharing my story is to help anyone who reads it find peace or healing, just as I always aim with my fiction. If it feels right to you to do so, I encourage you to reblog this. It is highly personal, but I choose to share it publicly.

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This past Sunday, I received an email responding to my desire to withdraw from a fic fest. Instead of the simple “You have been removed from the fest” that I’d been expecting through an official channel from mods to a participant, this is the response I received. Please be aware, the following is painful.

***

We've removed you from the fest and will mark you down as not being welcome to participate in future fests. We show a great deal of compassion toward our writers, which is why we send reminders, answer any and all questions, and provide extensions when requested. There's a reason why our fest has one of the highest numbers of fics of any fest/challenge in the fandom - it's because we support our participating writers and do everything possible to assist them as they complete their fics.

However, once a writer has repeatedly failed to communicate and missed both a deadline and an extended deadline, it's clear that they do not have any respect for the fest, the mods, our time, or our own unique situations, as we don't have endless extra hours to track down participants in a fic fest. Several reminders on three different platforms, an extension, and requests for writers to simply let us know if they need more time does not demonstrate a lack of compassion in any capacity. We also showed a great deal of compassion by welcoming you with open arms into the [redacted] after you insulted the fest, insulted [redacted] fics, and made writers uncomfortable last year after signing up to beta their fics, all while pretending to support and uplift writers in the fandom just as you did in your email here.

Have a great week!

- [redacted] Mods

***

This email arrived right at the end of the night, just as I was lying down to sleep. I couldn’t read it all the way through. It elicited a trauma response in me. My heart started racing, my palms were sweaty, I was shaking, I felt sick to my stomach.

I went into fight/flight/freeze/fawn mode. My first response was to freeze. In order to escape the barrage of pain bombarding me, I simply dissociated and disconnected from my body. It allowed me to sleep, but barely. I deleted the email in a desperate attempt to pretend it didn’t exist.

The pain caught up with me twenty-four hours later. I couldn’t breathe, my lungs shrunk in around my heart. My whole body locked up. I couldn’t move. I knew that if I spoke, even to say ‘hello’ to someone, I’d start crying.

The moment I was alone in my room the tears came. The pain came, bursting through me. I sobbed uncontrollably, curled into myself on my bed, begging for the pain to stop, begging for a miracle, screaming internally for relief and to understand what I’d done to deserve this because I didn’t have the air for more than broken whispers.

I fell asleep whispering ‘I need a miracle’ over and over. The mantra blocked out all the disgusting thoughts that wanted to keep swirling through my head. This is it. This is the final proof that you don’t belong here. You never have. You never will. Run away, M. It’s over. You tried, you failed. You always do. You always will.

I fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

Grief is intense. These are the moments where we don’t think we’ll survive what we’re feeling. My love, whoever you are, if you are reading this, hear from me. The agony passed. I needed to feel that agony, to allow it to move through me and to give myself the space to feel it. Without diving off the deep end into what hurts, I wouldn’t have been able to find the inner peace to keep healing, to start to understand.

The residual pain is still there, even as I write this post. But it no longer overwhelms my senses. And by Tuesday morning, I’d been given insight into what was happening.

I experienced a trauma response because it mirrored mistreatment I first received in childhood from family and classmates alike and continued into my adult life. In full view of others, it was acknowledged as cruel even by my mother, who struggles with her own guilt because she never stood up for me. No one did.

So I internalized the mistreatment. I must deserve it if everyone else around me is ok with me being singled out like this? At first I spoke up for myself. But in the end I stopped speaking up for myself too. I had never healed this pain and here it was, coming back around again, forcing me to face it, to heal it once and for all.

I still do not know what exactly I may have said to cause these accusations that you see in the email. **I do not and will not deny them.** Even if my words were taken in a way I did not consciously intend, to deny that I said anything that caused someone else pain is to deny my own power AND to deny that everyone’s emotions are valid and worth digging into.

I have the power to inflict pain, just as I have the power to spread and share love and joy.

Whatever I said came from a place of pain, of believing I did not belong in this community. That I am not good enough or worthy enough to be here. A series of unfortunate but necessary events when I first entered this fandom completely disintegrated my core beliefs in my abilities as a writer, something I have always kept so close to my heart, and my belief that I had a place in this fandom.

I expect, as I look into my past patterns, that what I did was try to logic why I wasn’t allowed to belong. At the time, this fest was the only subset of the fandom I knew, I was so brand new. So I looked through all the prompts in the fest. I brought a scientific method view to answering the question: “What is it about the fics people write in this fandom am I unable/incapable of doing?”

This process allowed me to generalize everything I saw that I perceived as ‘I can’t do that, this is why I don’t belong here’. Consumed in my own doubt that I could measure up and write something worth reading, I dropped from the fest last year too. If I can’t contribute writing that’s worth reading, I could at least stick with what I do best, which is helping others be their best selves. I had signed up to beta, and I chose to cling to the only grasp of belonging I had, which was through beta’ing. I ended up beta’ing four fics last year for the fest. And, of course, each of them were (and still are) incredible fics. At the time, it was further proof to me of exactly what I can’t accomplish.

In all likelihood, these generalizations, stemming from a place of pain and jealousy because I wanted to write good fics too, came out in a personal conversation with someone, which they translated as a personal attack. It is valid. Whoever you are, your emotions are valid. It does not matter how I meant whatever I said, pain is what you felt. This person did not feel comfortable sharing that pain with me, so instead they turned to others and shared. My moment of vulnerability and pain then spread more pain.

Pain only comes from pain.

The response was to shadow ban me. In fact, I was never meant to find out about any of this. The pain this person shared was simply taken at face value and that was that.

So on my end, this decision showed up in the physical world this way: Suddenly all my asks went unanswered, people I tagged to share snippets and last lines and get to know more through ‘about me’ posts or who had once talked to me through DMs simply stopped speaking to me in a way that is only noticeable to the person being ignored. I thought I was going crazy. But there it was, right in front of me: absolute proof that I wasn’t good enough to be a part of this fandom.

Is anyone else beginning to see the cycle of pain?

I expect I continued this cycle right back, because the pain turned to bitterness. I’d been doing everything I could to support every author the best way I knew how, and this was what I got? The exact opposite?

I found out about this shadow ban and actual blocking around June of this year. An ask sent in by a friend for me, inquiring why I couldn’t reblog a post that’d been sent to me by someone else, finally gave me the answer that I’d been banned for the accusations you saw above.

Horrified, hurt, and unable to comprehend any of this except to know that I support every author no matter what they write, I sent an apology to the mods, trying to end this cycle the best I could without knowing any of the details of what had happened. There was nothing more I could do.

They thanked me for the apology, though as you can see from the email, it was never accepted. I do not say that as a judgement call, but simply as a statement of what happened. Everyone is entitled to accept or not accept in their own time and their own ways.

I have been healing so much since everything that occurred last year. And the more I dig in to this cycle, the more my heart goes out to the drafters of this email, to the person I hurt with my words who then turned to share it out of context with others, and to the people who shadow banned me in connection with this situation.

We attract to us what resonates with us. Like attracts like. Which means just as I’ve attracted the greatest friends to me, I have also attracted this pain, and conversely, these mods and that person attracted me to them.

Deep down, on some level we share the same core wounds. And the person who can really understand just how painful those wounds can be is someone who feels them too.

So this is my message to the mods of the above email, to those who have shadow banned me and want nothing to do with me, and to the original person I hurt with my words:

I am sorry for my part in this pain. I am sorry for causing pain and I apologize for it. You are loved. You are enough. You are doing a fantastic job. Your feelings are valid. Your hurt is valid. I don’t know what occurred that hurt you before I entered the fandom, but after finding out from others that an email like the one you sent above is ‘Oh that’s just how they are’ tells me something else happened to hurt you before I even arrived.

Your hurt then is valid too. Allow yourself to feel it and process it. Don’t let it consume you. Don’t let that hurt and fear of it happening again or believing that that’s how everyone is push away from you people who in fact love just what you love. If someone has a different belief from yours, don’t let it invalidate what is true for you. Believing internalized lies about myself only caused me pain. And we spread and create what we believe to be true, whether we consciously realize it or not.

So here, now, is my truth:

I choose to perpetuate love. I choose to spread love. I choose to understand my pain and the pain of others, to transmute it, and to heal it, instead of passing that pain on.

I choose compassion. Compassion for myself in making these mistakes, and compassion for those who have hurt me. I do not condone the email that was sent to me. No one deserves to be treated that way. I choose to focus beneath the visceral anger and lashing out, to focus on the agony beneath the words, and stop this cycle of pain.

I choose to belong in this fandom. I choose to support every author in this fandom and ensure no one ever feels not good enough. I choose to own my past mistakes and learn from them.

I choose trust. To trust that those who I truly hope will see this, will see it. I have no expectations of responses or outcomes or reactions. My only hope is that whoever will benefit from seeing this post will see it.

This is not a matter of right or wrong, bad or good, just or unjust. It is a situation of two parties in pain, triggered by the same triggers.

Looking back on that email, I’ve come to realize that half of the pain I felt when I received it was not my own. I felt the pain of the attack, sure, but I also felt the immense pain beneath those words. And I wish I could hug you. I acknowledge your pain and I acknowledge how painful it is because I know that pain myself. I also know that this pain isn’t you and it isn’t who you are.

So I choose to remember the mods I first met around this same time last year in this same email chain. Mods who were so kind and offered advice to a brand new writer even when she sent an email that had nothing to do with the fest and was still struggling to find her place in the fandom. I choose to remember how beautiful that kindness felt. I choose to remember how I was so grateful for that kindness that I shared my gratitude for these same mods in an email with with another fandom friend at the time. I am still grateful for you.

You are so loved. You are loved for being exactly who you are. This fandom is built upon love. A shared love of five incredibly talented lads who have brought so much joy and light when each and every one of us has needed it the most. Shine your light through the dark and believe with all your heart that you are not alone. You have support. I support you. Shine on. Don’t let anyone dim it.

#Being this vulnerable #is an act of courage #I never knew I had #I'm not fearless #I feel ready to vomit #I have no idea how this will be received #but I am sharing my truth #have courage to share your truth #the world needs you

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ms-m-astrologer · 3 years ago

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The Week Ahead: March 14-20, 2022

Void of Course Moon

Tuesday, March 15, 10:56 UT (Leo) - Wednesday, March 16, 4:59 UT (Virgo)

Friday, March 18, 08:11 UT (Virgo) - 11:26 UT (Libra)

Sunday, March 20, 12:40 UT (Libra) - 15:45 UT (Scorpio)

US followers are reminded to submit their income tax returns during void Moons.

Lunar Phases

Monday, March 14, 12:56 UT - Gibbous Moon, 8:55 Leo

The key phrases for the Gibbous lunar phase are to “tweak and adjust” plans, and to “pour more energy into” what you’re doing. There’s a lot of fixed and mutable energy, kind of snarking at each other. In some cases we’re too stubbornly addicted to “our own way” to make necessary changes; in other cases we’re full of doubt about what we’re doing and want to change everything, when that isn’t really warranted. We need to trust our gut, and we need to be honest with ourselves.

Friday, March 18, 07:18 UT - Full Moon, 27:40 Virgo

The key phrases for the Full Moon are to “illumine and fulfill” and to “pour all your energy into it.” This one is aligned with Pluto/Capricorn, which makes a very close sextile to the Pisces Sun and a very close trine to the Virgo Moon. We can put a lot of oomph into our work. The Moon is also away from the great glop if planets and planet-type thingies (ranging from Pluto in very late Capricorn, to Ceres in Gemini) - we have a lot of perspective now; we aren’t as thoroughly involved up to our eyeballs, and can try for a more discerning overview now.

Retrograde/Direct/Etc.

Pre-retrograde shadow: Saturn/Aquarius

Retrograde: nothing until April 29!

Post-retrograde shadow: Ceres/Gemini

Of interest in the Venus retrograde/direct cycle with the Sun, is that she reaches her greatest western elongation - that is, she’ll be as far behind the Sun, traveling through the Zodiac, as she’ll get - on Sunday. This acts a bit like the First Quarter Moon in that we’re prompted to “take action” in Venus’ areas. When this happens, Venus is in Aquarius, and just coming off a square to Uranus/Taurus - something drastic, perhaps!?

Ingress

Sunday, March 20, 15:33 UT - transiting Sun enters Aries

AKA the Aries Equinox. It will be a busy time, all right, featuring a lot of energy and plenty of options for burning that energy off. How do you want to use it? There’s a really intriguing New Moon on April Fool’s Day….

Et Cetera

There is but one Opportunity Period this week, and it’s only 53 minutes long: from 07:18 UT to 08:11 UT on Friday the 18th. “Productive time for night owls!” in the US.

This week, it seems like there will be a lot of semi-squares (irritating struggles) and a lot of sextiles (opportunities). We’ve all spent the past week getting in touch with how we feel about things, perhaps not paying much attention to anything else - and now we’re back to (trying to) function in a “real world” that sometimes doesn’t much care about how an individual might feel about something. Let’s use the powerful perspective of the Virgo Full Moon to get a more objective take on our lives and our plans.

#Astrology #Weekly astrological forecast #14-20 March 2022 #Ms M astrologer

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fjoresterweek · 4 years ago

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Greetings, Critters! Our yearly celebration of our favorite half-orc and our favorite tiefling begins on June 21st to June 27th and the prompts have been selected. We are so excited to see all of the wonderful content everyone comes up with!

DAY 1, Monday June 21st: TOUCH / HEALING Anything from adorable hand holding to angsty healing, or maybe there’s one bed.... it’s all up to you!

DAY 2, Tuesday June 22nd: BATTLE COUPLE / CLASS REVERSAL Warlock Jester and Fjord being a cleric, the possibilities here are endless. Our favorite battle couple speaks for itself!

DAY 3, Wednesday June 23rd : FAMILY / FAITH Two very important subjects in both of Fjord and Jester’s lives, and yet they’ve both had such contrasting experiences with both. The orphanage, the treasured daughter, the nightmarish monster, the trickster best friend, the mother’s embrace…

DAY 4, Thursday June 24th: PIRATE AU / MODERN AU They’d fall in love in every life, in every world, in every road of fate… and we want to see all of it! Watch them find each other again, and again, and again.

DAY 5, Friday June 25th: WATER / UNSPOKEN Water is an important leitmotif for both Fjord & Jester, but so are their unspoken moments!

DAY 6, Saturday June 26th: BEGINNINGS / ENDINGS Beginning new cycles are part of life! How did they meet? Starting their life on their own from the others? Parenthood? Endless beginnings. Happy, angsty, hopeful, how do you see them ending the campaign? Together? Apart? Happily married? Still adventuring?

DAY 7, Sunday June 27th: FREE DAY Oh, we know you’ve got something more to share. That idea that’s been filling your daydreams like Eiselcross butterflies, that one image you can’t get out of your head, that ABSOLUTELY CRAZY IDEA that even Artagan would be proud of… now is the time!

Fanfic, fanart, gifsets, playlists, moodboards, everything is allowed! Please use #FjoresterWeek to submit your contributions to the week long celebration! If you’re submitting adult content, please make sure to use #NSFWFjoresterWeek instead, so to protect those who wish not to see it. If it’s not properly tagged, we cannot share it on our media. You can also follow us and tag us on twitter at @fjorester_week or instagram at @fjoresterweek.

#fjorester #critical role #critical role fanart #criticalroleedit #jester lavorre #fjord stone #last year the pandemic got the best of us but we're back #admin: prompts

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ausetkmt · 2 years ago

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On the eve of Georgia’s Senate runoff, Raphael Warnock, a Democrat, warned his supporters about being overconfident. Herschel Walker urged Republicans to flood the polls on Tuesday.

ATLANTA — In the final day before Georgia’s Senate runoff, Senator Raphael Warnock pleaded with supporters to tune out pundits predicting his victory and instead vote “like it’s an emergency” in a bitterly contested race that is closing out the midterm election cycle.

His Republican challenger, Herschel Walker, the former football star recruited into the race by former President Donald J. Trump, made a circuit of north Georgia counties he won easily a month ago, urging Republicans who have avoided early voting to hit the polls Tuesday. “Got to get out the vote,” he said.

The two men are vying in an election with major symbolic as well as practical ramifications. A Warnock victory would deliver Democrats a 51st vote in the Senate, where the party has for the past two years relied on Vice President Kamala Harris to break 50-50 ties. If Mr. Walker wins, Republicans would maintain joint control of Senate committees and two centrist Democratic senators, Joe Manchin III of West Virginia and Kyrsten Sinema of Arizona, would maintain effective veto power over all legislation in the chamber.

But the broader political stakes are just as significant. Democrats believe a victory would deliver proof they have transformed Georgia into an indisputable battleground, heralding a new era of Sun Belt politics and reshaping their strategies for winning the White House. A Walker victory, after his deeply troubled campaign and the G.O.P.’s clean sweep in statewide races this year, would reassert Republican dominance in the state.

And for Mr. Trump, who three weeks ago began his third presidential campaign, Tuesday’s contest represents his last chance to claim victory in a battleground for one of his closest political acolytes.

More than $380 million has been spent on the race, the most of any election this year, according to OpenSecrets, a group that tracks money in politics. The runoff was prompted when neither candidate received 50 percent of the vote in last month’s general election.

The number of early votes cast has topped 1.89 million, about half the turnout on Nov. 8. Both campaigns believe that group skews heavily Democratic. Republicans involved and allied with Mr. Walker acknowledged that tilt left the candidate needing to win about 60 percent of the in-person vote Tuesday to catch up. He won 56 percent of the Election Day vote in November, according to data from the Georgia secretary of state’s office.

“There is still a path for Herschel Walker to win this race — he still could win,” Mr. Warnock told reporters after speaking to supporters at Georgia Tech on Monday. “We had a massive lead during the general. And so we know that there are differences in how people show up when they vote in this state. And so if there’s anything I’m worried about is that people will think that we don’t need their voice. We do.”

In some ways, Mr. Walker was running a final-day get-out-the-vote campaign ripped from a generation past, when the vast majority of votes were still cast in person on Election Day. Mr. Warnock — who also won a runoff election two years ago — had adjusted to modern voting patterns and Georgia’s voting rules, which allowed for a week of early voting.

At Mr. Warnock’s recent events, it was difficult for him to find supporters who are waiting until Tuesday to vote. When asked who had voted early, nearly every hand went up at stops at colleges and Black churches the last two days.

“I’ve been preaching long enough to know that I am preaching to the choir,” Mr. Warnock, the pastor at Ebenezer Baptist Church, said on Sunday at a Black church in Athens.

On Monday, when a food delivery app driver dropped off sandwiches for the Warnock campaign at its event at Georgia Tech, a pair of energetic volunteers pressed him about whether he had voted already. (He hadn’t, and said he wasn’t sure he would on Tuesday.)

“This final push is all about building enthusiasm and momentum into Election Day,” Senator Jon Ossoff of Georgia, a close Warnock ally who has appeared at many of his campaign stops, said during an interview Monday. “We want to mobilize as much energy as possible to get out the vote to reach folks who might not otherwise hear from campaigns.”

In November, Mr. Warnock finished 37,700 votes ahead of Mr. Walker out of nearly four million cast. Mr. Warnock consolidated Democratic voters, while Mr. Walker struggled to rally his party behind him.

At Mr. Walker’s final rally on Monday, at a gun range in Kennesaw, a conservative exurb about 45 minutes from Atlanta, former Gov. Nikki Haley of South Carolina spoke to a crowd of about 100 supporters. She encouraged them to turn out to vote and get others to the polls.

“There is no red wave. There’s either turnout or not,” she said, adding that she asked Mr. Walker to fill up his campaign bus with voters to take them to polling places.

“We can show America that we’re about to right the ship.”

In the runoff, Black voters, a slice of the electorate that has overwhelmingly rejected Mr. Walker’s bid, make up about 32 percent of early voters, a figure six percentage points higher than in the November election.

“I come from a family where we’ve all done early voting,” said Jordan Artis, a 21-year-old international affairs student at Georgia Tech who said she waited 80 minutes to vote last week and came to see Mr. Warnock on Monday. Her close friends, Ms. Artis said, have already voted too.

While his advisers and allies quietly lowered expectations, Mr. Walker on Monday said he was feeling “pretty good” as he shook hands and took photos with voters at a popular diner in Flowery Branch, an Atlanta exurb in a county where he took 71 percent of the Nov. 8 vote.

He later delivered unusually short remarks — free of his signature long tangents — to about 75 supporters at a vineyard in Gilmer County, another Republican stronghold.

“Tomorrow is a big day,” he said, asking the group who had voted. Two-thirds of the crowd raised their hands. “This is what we’ve got to do — we’ve got to vote.”

Mr. Walker’s supporters on Monday brushed off worries that poor weather — rain is in the Tuesday forecast for the Atlanta area and North Georgia — or low energy would diminish Election Day turnout.

“I’m feeling very encouraged. I think he’s got this,” said Judy Shinall, 77, a Walker supporter from Ackworth. Ms. Shinall acknowledged the party has fallen short at clutch time, most recently two years ago when Mr. Warnock won a runoff for a special election. “Republicans sometimes, you know, won’t get out there. And this is crucial. Tomorrow is it,” she said.

Mr. Walker was wrapping up a campaign that appears to have failed to consolidate the disparate wings of his party. He ran hard toward the party’s Trump-aligned base, repelling moderate elements of the coalition that propelled Gov. Brian Kemp, a Republican, to victory.

Mr. Walker was pummeled by damaging headlines throughout the campaign, including accusations from women he has dated and been married to that he was physically abusive. Two other former girlfriends said he urged them to have abortions, although he ran as an abortion opponent. (Mr. Walker denied the claims.) He also faced questions about his residency, after living in Texas for decades before moving back to Georgia when he began this campaign.

Mr. Kemp kept some distance from Mr. Walker during the general election. But in the runoff, he turned over his political operation to help, recorded a television ad and appeared at one campaign event alongside Mr. Walker.

Other Republicans never got onboard. In recent days, Lt. Gov. Geoff Duncan of Georgia, who did not seek re-election this year after repeatedly condemning Mr. Trump’s efforts to overturn the results of Georgia’s 2020 presidential election, has done a media tour explaining why he stood in an early-voting line for an hour but then declined to vote for Mr. Walker.

“I think Herschel Walker will probably go down as one of the worst Republican candidates in our party’s history,” Mr. Duncan told CBS News in an interview broadcast Tuesday.

The runoff is taking place under new voting rules written by Georgia’s Republican state legislators and signed into law by Mr. Kemp. After the victories by Mr. Warnock and Mr. Ossoff in January 2021, Georgia law now forbids new voter registration between the general election and the runoff.

Republicans also cut in half the period of time between the two contests, limited the early-voting period and made voting by mail more difficult, among other restrictions on mail voting and drop boxes.

Some Republican voters expressed confusion about the runoff rules.

David Mathews, 74, a retired manager at a petroleum company who was having breakfast with his fiancé and a friend at the Flowery Branch diner, where Mr. Walker began his Monday campaign swing, said he did not realize that his polling location had been open for early voting, which ended on Friday.

“They didn’t have the signs out,” he said, before digging into biscuits and gravy with bacon. Mr. Mathews said he planned to cast his ballot Tuesday for Mr. Walker.

Mr. Warnock’s campaign and his allies spent millions pushing supporters back to the polls. “One more time, Georgia,” screamed his ads on billboards and cellphones that urged supporters to vote early for him. By the campaign’s final hours, he acknowledged that his supporters might be worn out.

“I know you might be tired,” he said at a Black church on Sunday night in Athens. “I get tired, too.”

#Georgia Senate Runoff 2022 #Georgia #Black Votes Matter #Raphael Warnock #Warnock Claims Momentum in Georgia #as Walker Banks on Election Day Turnout

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justcourttee · 4 years ago

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could you do another fic where mari has too many overprotective relatives (batfam, jason in particular, adrien, luka, kagami, chloe, jagged, bruce, penny, clara, tony stark and the avengers maybe lol) and all the boys who want to date her are scared away by them until she starts seeing damian or someone else i love your writing and thanks! ♡♡

I loved this prompt immediately and I really hope I did it justice! Hope you like it!

The Never-Ending Cycle of First Dates

“No! Wait! He’s just kidding!” Marinette ran out of the building trying to grab the boy's hand before he could escape, but she was too late. Her hand slapped her forehead in defeat as yet another man hurried off before they could even order drinks. Turning her attention to where her target stood, she couldn’t help the bubbling anger directed at his smirk.

“Why must you ruin every date? It’s like you guys have a pool of names and you just reach in and see who's in luck to scare off the next guy that tries to date me!” She threw her hands into the air, only earning a chuckle.

“C’mon Princess, if the man can’t handle a little threat then how is he gonna stick around for the long term? Hmm?”

Marinette wanted to argue, but she knew it was pointless. Jason and the others were firm in their beliefs; Marinette must be protected from heartbreak at all costs. She tried arguing with them that if she never got hurt in the first place then she could never learn, but alas, her words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

“How did you even find us?”

Jason’s smirk widened which only fueled her rage.

“What? You thought meeting at the restaurant would actually change anything? I can find you anywhere and everywhere. Plus Adrien totally snitched.”

Marinette made a mental note to lay into Adrien later after she found the poor kid that Jason scared of.

“One day I’m going to find someone who isn’t scared by you lot and he’s gonna make it through the first date.”

She turned her back on Jason’s boisterous laughter. She was determined to prove her point. After all, there had to be one man in Gotham City that wasn’t afraid of her, right? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The rest of her week had gone as smoothly as Monday had to say the least.

Tuesday’s date was crashed by Kagami’s foil. One look at her slicing the bread and he didn’t even make it to the table.

Wednesday’s date was a double date with Luka and Chloe. Marinette begged Tikki to lend her a little luck, but the small God would do no such thing. At least this guy made it past drinks. Marinette almost cheered until Luka donned his infamous stare. She watched as her date squirmed uncomfortably before excusing himself for the bathroom, never returning.

Thursday’s date ended with the man strung up by his ankles, none other than Nightwing and Red Robin dropping in to apologize, claiming they thought he was trying to mug her.

By Friday, she was ready to cancel her date before it even began.

“Adrien, you guys are making it impossible to even think about dating.” She collapsed on the couch, letting out a small whine.

“I think that’s kind of the point Mari, besides, you’re a working woman now, shouldn’t you be focusing on your career-”

Adrien paused as his eyes narrowed in on Marinette’s hand mocking his lecture. Her hand paused as she noticed his now silent voice. Meeting his eyes, she simply shrugged.

“You sound like my mom. She’s worried that I’m too worried about dating but guess what? I kind of missed out on that experience in high school pining after a guy who wasn’t even interested!”

They both chuckled as they remembered the awkward dance they both did from the time they were 13.

“So what are you going to do about the date tonight?”

Marinette shrugged once more as she pulled at a piece of her hair, twirling it around her finger.

“Who is on date duty tonight?”

“First of all, it’s not called date duty,” he waved off the pointed look Marinette gave him before continuing, “and it was supposed to be Jagged and Penny but in case they fail, Tony is on backup duty and Jason is on backup, backup duty.”

“Not date duty my ass.”

Marinette sighed longingly as she pulled herself into a sitting position.

“I’m giving this one more chance before I swear off dating forever.”

Adrien chuckled before offering his hand to pull her into a standing position.

“Well, guess you better prepare to look good. After all, they always say if you’re gonna go out, at least do it in style.”

Marinette rolled her eyes as she pushed Adrien to the couch, ignoring his protests. If this was going to be her last date, then maybe he had a point of going out in style.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Marinette pulled at her dress nervously as a black limo approached her outside of her apartment. She had checked the perimeter once as Marinette and once more as Ladybug; there was no sign of Jagged or Penny. Somehow though, that didn’t calm her nerves.

As the limo pulled to a stop, a man stepped out of the back seat causing her breath to hitch in her throat. As if him being drop-dead gorgeous wasn’t enough, her worst fears stepped out from behind him, wide grins on their faces.

“Oi, there she is Penny! Marinette, we tried calling you but you sent us straight to voicemail, that wasn’t very rock n’ roll of you. Luckily, this nice man right here was there to give us a ride, right Penny?”

Penny nodded sweetly as if the two of them were innocent victims of Marinette’s forgetfulness. She wanted to turn right back into her apartment and never leave again, but a small hand grasped hers, pulling it up to their lips, as soft and gentle as his movements.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I have heard many stories of you from my brothers and father. You seem to have impressed many powerful people such as the two strays I picked up off the streets earlier.”

His smile was playful as it coaxed a small laugh from her. It helped even more to see Jagged panicking in the background at the sight of the small gesture. This man, no, his name was Damian. Damian had already broken through the first wall without even knowing it. Marinette let herself feel a spark of hope at the thought of finally making it through a first date.

“Anywho, now that we have arrived, I must apologize for leaving you two here, how does the saying go? ‘High and dry?’ but I do have a date to continue.” He nodded to Penny and Jagged leaving them both with their jaws almost touching the ground.

If she had a moment, Marinette might’ve taken a photo, but she instead quickly grabbed Damian’s arm, shutting the limo door before either could protest. She didn’t bother to release the breath she had been holding until the apartments were gone from the rearview mirror.

“I am so sorry about them, they-” she tried to let the apology spill out of her mouth but Damian simply shook his head, that same playful smile monopolizing his face.

“I am fully aware of the so-called ‘date duty’ your friends have. After all, my brother is in charge of the scheduling.”

It was Marinette’s turn for her jaw to drop. This was Jason’s brother? The literal spawn of satan as Jason had put it. There was no way. He was so nice, and such a gentleman, there was no way they could be the same person.

“How come nobody ever told me you were in town? Last time Jason introduced me to the family, he made sure to wait for when you left on a business trip. I’ve only ever been invited over when you’re not there!”

Damian chuckled as if this was a normal occurrence.

“They knew I had a crush on you ever since I watched your alter ego take down an akuma three times your size. It was only a matter of time until I asked you out, but with Jason observing your every date, he made it quite difficult.”

Marinette felt her face flush as his words washed over her. A man that was actually interested in her and was willing to take on the trouble a date with her could mean? She lightly pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

“You know it’s only going to get worse from here right? Like, Jagged and Penny were only the first round worse.”

Damian leaned in, placing his hand overtop hers, that smile of his killing her slowly.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Marinette nodded as she leaned closer, nearly closing the gap between them, her heart racing from the distance.

“I borrowed his rotation schedule and have prepared for every incident that could occur tonight.”

Marinette couldn’t help the words that slipped out of her mouth.

“I think I might love you.” Immediately she slapped her hand over her mouth letting out a string of apologies as she scooched away from the red-faced man. He cleared his throat, trying to overcome his shock as his smile pulled into a small smirk.

“Don’t apologize, just tell me again if you feel the same after we’ve finished the date.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Somehow, they managed to make it through dinner without a single hiccup. It was suspicious, but she was having too good of a time to care. She fell in love immediately with his animals as he showed off his many photos, commenting on whichever one seemed to make her melt the most.

They talked about where they had gone to college, where they were working now and what they were hoping for their futures. Marinette felt her heart swell with excitement for how compatible they were, it almost made tonight ending that much more painful.

As they stepped out of the restaurant, Marinette heard a familiar voice that made her blood run cold.

“Do you know who I am? I could buy this whole place and then you’d have to let me in! I’m the damn Ironman, doesn’t that count for something?”

The poor hostess was shaking her head, trying to apologize to the other guests for the wait he was causing. Marinette let out a defeated sigh as she took a step forward to intervene, but Damian’s hand intertwined with hers pulling her in the opposite direction.

“There aren’t too many places in Gotham City that Tony Stark isn’t banned from. However, you can thank my father for that. He agreed for me to host my dinner at his restaurant to nullify backup number 2, Tony Stark.”

Marinette almost wanted to laugh at the irony of a billionaire being banned from a small Italian restaurant in Gotham.

“There’s not much that Uncle Tony can’t fix by throwing money at it, but I suppose that’s pointless when it’s another billionaire causing the said problem.”

Damian sent her a wink that warmed her to her core. They decided to ditch the limo in favor of walking home, spending more time with each other coincidentally. Marinette felt her mind racing like she was in middle school once again planning her imaginary wedding and their future hamster.

He was everything she had hoped to find in a man and so much more. She honestly regretted not meeting him sooner, it would’ve saved her so much trouble over the years.

She opened her mouth, only to close it immediately as her eyes narrowed in on a figure leaning against her apartment building.

“Jason, what are you doing here? There’s no date to ruin now and I finally found a guy who can’t be scared off by your stupid date duty.”

She crossed her arms in defiance but Jason paid her no mind.

“Damian, I didn’t know you were home so soon. I would’ve locked you up in the Batcave to make sure this would’ve never happened.”

Damian scoffed beside her as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“As if you could.”

The two men were locked in a staredown, leaving Marinette to wilt in the tension that had formed. She moved towards her apartment, only to be stopped by Damian’s hand for the third time tonight.

Turning her back to Jason, she watched as he brought her hand to his lips, his kiss still as gentle and soft as the first when he had given her hours earlier. She ignored Jason’s protest as she pulled his hand forward placing a quick peck on his lips.

The man’s face matched her own in shades of red.

“Does this mean you would be interested in a second date?”

Marinette nodded furiously before waving him goodnight, darting past Jason’s brooding figure.

“This is not the end of it Marinette!”

Jason’s threats felt empty compared to the excitement racing in her heart. She had finally broken the cycle of never-ending first dates and boy, did it feel good.

Permanent Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava @iamablinkmarvelarmy

#daminette #maribat #miraculous ladybug

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deniigi · 4 years ago

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sorry to bother again but i am a freshman in college and i am v stressed

how did you get through it and how do I make myself not want to drop every single class i’m in every semester

how does one take more than 5 classes at a time

i am in midterm hell and i am Scared™️

oh you mean, ‘Matt, please do your actual literal job on main?’ Because this is sort of my actual literal job, friend. So don’t worry. I’ve got you.

So first thing’s first, when planning future semesters:

I would recommend against taking more than 5 classes at a time. Mathematically, it is not great for you. If you have to take more than 5, plan on doing 1-2 to during summer school. You won’t be behind. You’re fine. I swear.

Example for future class planning: For every class, look at the number of units/credits it is. That is around the number of hours that you’re gonna spend in that class a week. Now multiply that by 2. That’s about the number of hours total you’re gonna spend on that class in a week (both in class and doing homework).

That means that a 3 unit/credit class = 6 hours of work per week.

You have five of those classes. That means that you’re doing around 30hrs of school work a week. If you have six of those classes, you’re practically working a fulltime job with little to no pay and benefits.

End story: Do not take more than 5 classes a semester if you can help it.

If you can, don’t take more than 4 classes in your major per semester, either. You will die. Use electives and general education classes as your fourth or fifth class to lighten your load and give yourself something that you enjoy and know you can pass for sure. That will give you some breathing room and will help you maintain your GPA.

Coping with Overload now:

At this point in the semester, it’s a little late to be dropping classes, so what you’re going to do instead is to schedule the fuck out of your time.

You need to pick and stick to set dates/times for completing coursework and midterm projects for the next week or two. People do this in different ways, but generally speaking, people will assign projects/homework to certain days.

Example: Monday is Chemistry homework night because assignments are due on Wednesday. You only work on Chemistry on Monday. You finish the assignment and turn it in.

Tuesday is English homework day because assignments are papers and take 3 days to complete due to requiring 3 different steps: research, outlining, and writing. You do the whole researching process on Tuesday and do a basic outline. You will fill out the outline a little more on Wednesday and will then write the whole paper on Thursday so that you can turn it in then, before the Friday deadline.

On Wednesday, after you’re satisfied with your English outline, you will set that aside because Wednesdays are Math days. You will do the Math homework and/or study for 2-3 hours until your brain feels like soup. Then you will stop, do something relaxing for 30min, and then decide if you need to do more studying. If you do, repeat the study + self-care process. Go to sleep at a reasonable hour (before 2am if possible)

Do the same thing for your other 2 classes, assigning each a day and a specific task or set of tasks to complete on each day. Don’t give yourself more than 3 tasks per class/study session, because that’s how you get overwhelmed and into an anxiety spiral.

Apply self-care (breaks, snacks, drinks, music) liberally while doing assignments.

Other tips: figure out how you study.

If you study best in a group, grab some folks from your class and form a study group. If you are in STEM especially, it is expected that you will form study groups. This is how studying happens in STEM, medical, and law fields. It is nigh impossible to do all that labor on your own. Yes, I am serious. Make a study group, even if that’s you and 1 other person.

If you can find a study guide, take it to study group or block out an hour or two and do the whole thing. If you don’t have a study guide, make one yourself out of your homework/assignments and test yourself with flashcards or writing out definitions and forcing yourself to explain the different parts of cycles you learned in class.

If you are in a humanities/liberal arts major, you need to figure out if you study best by reviewing your notes, by re-listening to the lectures, by explaining concepts to others, or by writing it all out as if it was an essay.

If you need to write an essay and are stuck with where to start, reach out for help from a tutor if your school has one, or just start by doing 15 minutes of brainstorming to figure out what you feel about the topic and what evidence/ideas would work to answer it. Pick apart the prompt to see what it is truly asking you to do, write out the components of the prompt separately on a separate page and start answering those question as if they were short answers.

Then when you’ve got that, you can start noting bits of evidence to add to support your points and BAM, just like that, you’ve got an outline. Write a thesis statement at the top that addresses the Who, What, Why and How You’re Going to Prove it of your essay and you’re ready to go.

Example thesis statement: “The world represented in Oh God, How do I Study by Matt Deniigiq includes references to time management, course planning, and big-picture thinking to emphasize the broader theme that this one shit semester is not going to destroy student’s lives. This is evident in the droll humor used throughout the piece and the fact that the author keeps halting in paragraphs to answer emails from frazzled students.”

**yes, your thesis can be 2 sentences long. It’s allowed, I promise.

Know that these 5 classes will not end your life.

Honestly, like, speaking as someone who does this for a living, at public schools anything higher than a C is grand. It’s not usually required for you to list your GPA on job apps later on (I’ve never been asked). No one actually cares about your GPA in social situations.

As long as my students have higher than Cs in their classes and they aren’t like, nursing students, I’m cool with their progress, so give yourself a break if you can.

Also know that getting a low grade in 1 class as a freshmen doesn’t actually fuck up your GPA as bad as you think it will. Like, there’s a lot of complicated shit around this that I could go into, but generally speaking, if you fail one class (and I mean FAIL-fail it. Fs and D-s. None of this ‘UwU I got a C so I failed’), then by the time you’re a junior or a senior, if you haven’t failed additional shit, that F/D- is barely going to shift your GPA.

Like, we’re talking .1 shifts around then. Maybe a .3 shift if you’re at the end of your sophomore year. That’s the diff between a 2.5 and a 2.4. Or a 3.3 and a 3.0. You can make that up almost entirely by taking another round of classes and getting As and Bs (again, the mechanics are complicated, so you’re just gonna have to take my word here).

So yeah, shoot for Cs or higher and know that these classes aren’t the end-all be-alls of your lives.

(For context, if I get a student with a 3.0 or higher, I’m fucking ELATED. I’m not even joking. Y’all will be fine.)

Start with these tips and get back to me if you want something more specific. I do this all day, every day.

#study skills #long post #I am literally answering 10+ email long chains right now of students asking similar questions

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vicarfelix · 4 years ago

Text

Internal Suffering

Vicar Max x Fem! Captain

Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 2,756

“Captain. You’re better than this.”

“Is she okay?”

“Should we get SAM to break open the door?”

“Damn. No amount of alcohol in the world could drown out what she probably saw.”

“ERROR. Status of Captain’s door...LOCKED.”

Max finally held up a hand to silence the rest babbling crew that was expressing their concern for their Captain from where they sat around the kitchen table. They had known something was wrong the moment that Ellie, Max, and the Captain returned to the ship after they had been out for almost two days. She didn’t say much at all, only offering a brief hello before snatching a drink from the fridge and taking a shower before keeping herself buried away in her quarters.

She was bruised and had minor injuries in various places. Not to mention that she hadn’t slept in almost 48 hours. But it was clear that was the least of things on her mind.

Max had managed to convince her to open the door long enough for him to check on her, which didn’t amount to much considering that she practically yelled at him to get out and leave her alone for a while. Max usually wouldn’t give up so easily, but he could tell that (despite her angry tone) she wasn’t mad.

She was hurt.

She was completely rattled by what they had seen today. An ugly painting of horrific images and gruesome smells that not even the hottest of showers could wash away. It would haunt her for weeks to come, and on top of that, she was worried about how this was affecting her crew.

Thankfully, she had taken Max and Ellie along today, which made her feel a bit better considering they were two of the more thicker skinned of the group. Still, she felt guilty for exposing them to that.

Max and Ellie gave the crew a brief rundown of what had happened. While they were sickened by it, they were more worried about the Captain.

“Come on. We just want to know if she’s okay.” Felix pleaded.

“She’s just seen probably the worst that the colony has to offer,” Ellie huffed; “I’d be worried if she was okay.”

Max sighed heavily. He was beyond concerned. It wasn’t like you at all to shut out the crew like this. It wasn’t like you to shut him out. He was afraid that this had pushed you over the edge.

“She wishes to be by herself,” Max announced; “We should all give her some space and let her work it out.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Mr. Vicar.” Parvati replied.

“Yeah, I don’t think she ought to be alone after seeing something as traumatic as you’re saying it was.” Nyoka detested.

Max shook his head.

“I know. But she doesn’t want to talk to us. We don’t need to push her.” Max pointed out.

Felix looked stunned at that, his eyes widening.

“She must be really shaken up if she won’t even talk to Max.” He said, clearly alarmed.

While Felix’s statement had innocent intentions, it caused a sting in Max’s chest. It was true that the Captain always seemed to flock to Max when she needed to talk. It was a mixture of things really. He was a professional when it came to listening to confessions, but he was even more comforting being as he was her boyfriend. She never felt like she couldn’t go to him when she needed him until now.

It was killing him that she was closing herself off to him.

“She’ll be alright. Give her a couple days...or weeks. She’ll feel better when we get this job done.” Ellie stated.

Max sure hoped that Ellie was right. He wasn’t going to be able to stand it if the Captain never got over this. For now, all he could do was keep his arms open to her for when she was ready. Or for when he knew she couldn’t take it anymore.

The crew dispersed reluctantly to finish out their chores to close out the day, the Captain weighing heavily on their minds. Max went to take a shower to wash off the blood (some his and some not his), dirt, and sweat from his body. He took a moment to reflect on what he had seen earlier, realizing that he hadn’t given himself a moment to process everything. He wasn’t quite like Ellie Fenhill who preferred to drink herself into oblivion until her mind was too foggy to remember much of it. He’d rather come to terms with it on his own time.

Max had killed more people that day than he had the entire time he had been traveling with you. The strung out marauders and the doped up test subjects were probably the most terrifying people he had ever encountered. They were basically soul ridden beings with no sense of purpose or morale. They were just blood thirsty, violent animals that were once loving people.

That was the scariest thing imaginable.

Max stood under the stream of water until it threatened to turn cold, prompting his exit. He changed into a pair of clean clothes before leaving the bathroom, debating on what he should do next. By the time he had freshened up, everyone else had turned in for the night. The only sounds were the humming and singing around the ship, as well as Felix’s beloved Tuesday night adventure serial coming from his cabin.

Max eyed his own cabin, the only one with the door open and the lights turned on. Max chuckled to himself as he entered. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had actually spent an extended amount of time in his cabin. Ever since establishing a serious relationship with the Captain, he found himself staying in her room pretty much always. Her cabin was much larger than his, and despite the fact that her bed was exactly the same as his, he was convinced that it was comfier.

Maybe because he always had someone he loved snuggled up to him at the end of every day.

He ran a hand through his damp hair to somewhat even it out. It always seemed to have a mind of its own when water dripped from his graying hair. She had always told him that she liked seeing his hair somewhat out of order, which was why she was likely the only person who had ever seen his hair unkempt.

He wasn’t too keen on the idea of sleeping alone, considering he had gotten so used to having her with him. But if she didn’t want him, then he would respect her desires. He bit the inside of his cheek in disapproval when he tried to stretch out onto his bunk. He sank into the mattress that hadn’t been used in quite some time, but it didn’t feel the same.

His entire cabin just didn’t have the same comfort that hers did. Although, it wasn’t her cabin that he found comfort in.

It was her.

Every other thought was occupied by his Captain. He wondered what she was doing as he lay there awake, worrying himself beyond measure. He was beginning to go against his own word, tempted to go to her even if she had pushed him away. She was struggling right now. She was suffering.

He couldn’t just let the woman he loved be in pain like that.

He got up from his bed, quietly going down the stairs to the Captain’s door. The red light above her door indicated that it was still locked, and he couldn’t get in unless she opened it from inside or ADA unlocked it for him. It was awfully quiet from inside the Captain’s quarters, and he hoped that she was just asleep.

He traveled down to the ship’s computer asking ADA nicely to unlock the Captain’s bedroom. ADA, however, almost always gave Max a run for his money.

“I cannot take orders from anyone other than Captain Hawthorne.” ADA informed the vicar.

He groaned.

“I know, ADA, but I’m worried about her. I just need to get into her room.” Max explained.

He always felt so stupid arguing with a machine. Although, ADA was likely light years smarter than he was.

“I can only take orders from Captain Hawthorne. You are not Captain Hawthorne.” ADA replied.

Max grumbled to himself. He’d have to take a different approach.

“Well...can you at least tell her I want to speak with her?” Max questioned.

“The Captain gave me direct instructions not to converse with her unless there was an emergency. Is this an emergency?” ADA acquired.

“No...” Max responded gruffly. He was a little surprised that the Captain had taken so many steps to avoid anyone from seeing her; “How would I go about unlocking her door myself?”

“Hypothetically, her door would automatically unlock if I entered a rest cycle. But that requires my restart button to be push-”

Suddenly, ADA’s screen went dark as Max put her into a manual rest cycle. The Captain usually ordered ADA to take a rest cycle overnight anyway unless something with the ship went wrong, so Max didn’t feel bad for shutting the computer up for a bit.

He commuted back to the Captain’s door, the doors whirring open to reveal what appeared to be an empty room. The Captain wasn’t sitting at her desk or laying in her bed, and she appeared to be nowhere to be found. Just as Max went to panic, he heard a sound.

It was a soft noise that he would’ve missed if the room hadn’t been as quiet as it was. He followed the sound of sniffling over to the far corner of the room behind her bunk.

The Captain was backed into the corner, knees huddled up to her chest with her head buried behind them. Her towel from her earlier shower was still wrapped around her naked body, indicating that she hadn’t even gotten dressed afterwards. Her skin was dry now, and her hair was just barely wet as if she had been there the entire time. She raised her head from her knees when she felt his presence, revealing her reddened, watery eyes and blotchy cheeks from her hours of crying.

Max’s heart broke at the sight of his Captain falling to pieces like this. She was hands down the strongest, most confident person that he knew. He always reminded her how proud of her he was for always being the bigger person and doing what was right. Maybe that was his mistake. Perhaps he had made her feel like she had to be at her best all the time.

She looked at him through bleary eyes, a fresh set of tears falling down her cheeks. Her voice cracked as she spoke, her tone thick with sobbing.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” She apologized, almost choking on her cries.

Immediately, Max was sitting at her side, her head falling onto his chest as she wailed. He eventually brought her into his lap to hold her close, rubbing her back up and down and kissing her temple. He hushed her, hating the feeling in his gut every time she sobbed out again. Her face was buried into the soft material of his shirt, her tears staining it. Her arms and legs were freezing from being exposed to the cold air of her quarters for so long without clothes, Max’s hands rubbing up and down to provide her some warmth.

“It’s alright, love. I’m here.” He hummed, holding the back of her neck in his hand.

“It was horrible. I’ve never seen anything like that,” She cried; “I don’t know how Spacer’s Choice could ever be capable of something like that.”

“Spacer’s Choice is arguably the most powerful corporation in the colony,” Max spoke; “The stronger the company, the more room there is for catastrophic events.”

The Captain sat up from his chest, leaning against Max’s leg that he had hiked up for her to lean on.

“I fucking hate the Board,” She hissed; “If I have to personally put a bullet in the skull of every single person involved then I swear to Law I’ll do it.”

Max was alarmed by her harsh words, his hands coming to her face to wipe away her tears.

“Captain. You’re better than this,” He remarked; “What’s the number one rule you always tell us? Try to talk it out before pulling the trigger.”

The Captain shook her head. Her tears had dried, but the anger coursing through her was giving her more energy than she had in days.

“It’s becoming obvious that doesn’t always work. I don’t care if I have to wipe out every soul in Byzantium if it means overthrowing the Board.” She growled.

The last thing that Max ever wanted was for the Captain’s heart of gold to be hardened by all the things she had seen. In the beginning, the Captain had the most hope for the colony’s revival. Now though, her hope was diminishing with each new discovery she made.

He didn’t want her to become a lost soul the way that he had been for so long.

“What happened to my darling Captain? This isn’t you.” Max stated.

“I want the Board out of the system. Halcyon’s never going to make it with them around.” She replied in fury, ignoring his question.

“Captain, I-”

“I personally want to throw Sophia Akande out of an airlock.” She went on.

“Listen to me, this isn’t-”

“I’d like to throw her in a cell and pump her full of drugs just like-”

“Stop,” Max cut her off; “This isn’t how you do things. I know this isn’t how you want to do things.”

She finally let her tense shoulders relax for a second. Her eyes falling downward, her hands fiddling with the edge of her towel.

“I know,” She whispered out; “I’m just tired of seeing so many people get hurt. Earth was never like this...not really.”

Max felt relief. Now she was beginning to sound like herself again. He pushed her hair behind her ear to reveal her pretty, but tired face. He caressed her face with his hand, her cheek resting in his palm.

“If you keep doing things the way you have been, taking things day by day...then we’re going to be fine,” Max said; “I believe in you. I believe in us.”

She nodded, his hand falling to her waist and rubbing through her towel.

“What do I do now?” She asked.

Max smiled softly.

“For now, let’s get you in bed. We can figure everything else out in the morning.” Max said, kissing the Captain’s knuckles in a gentle manner.

“Okay.” She replied.

She had to admit, it felt nice to have someone else giving orders for once.

Sleeping the rest of the night away was sounding really good to the Captain right about now. Without really giving it a second thought, the Captain let her towel fall so she could get dressed. She caught the way his eyes lit up at her naked frame, a blush evident on his face as he looked over her. She smirked a little, the first real positive emotion she’d had all day.

“You’re blushing, Vicar.” She teased,

His grin was blinding, as he pulled his leg in more to bring you in closer.

“It’s hard not to,” He purred; “Beautiful...”

She kissed him like she meant it. His hands were warm on her exposed skin as he touched her the way he had dozens of times before. She ran her fingers through his hair, his smirk showing on her lips.

“I’m here for you. I love you.” He rumbled deeply.

“I love you.” She returned.

Max guided her up from the floor, wincing at the way her joints cracked from being uncomfortable for so long. He got her into a shirt to sleep in, bringing her over to her bed and getting her comfortable up against him. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep. The feel of Max next to her and the softness of the mattress under her was enough to send her straight to sleep. Max was tired too, but he wanted to make sure she was okay before he got any sleep.

He knew she wasn’t totally back to normal. It’d be a while before she felt like herself fully again. But he didn’t care how long he had to wait.

He’d always be there for her.

#vicar max x reader #Vicar Max #vicar max fanfiction #vicar max x female captain #vicar max x you #vicar max x female reader #maximillian desoto #the outer worlds #the outer worlds fanfiction #the outer worlds vicar max #vicarfelix

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shoshoryu · 4 years ago

Text

Tenten Week 2021

It’s that time of year again! An entire week dedicated to Tenten!

Tenten week runs March 7th through March 13th. But, as always, take as long as you need!

This year we have some amazing art to feature by @weaponsmistress (check out her Instagram!)

Each day features two prompts. You can pick one, do both or do your own thing. The important part is that we’re celebrating Tenten!

Please use #TentenWeek2021 so we can easily find and reblog your work.

Notes: - Monday is International Women’s Day! - Tuesday is Tenten’s birthday! - Wabi Sabi definition: The discovery of beauty in imperfections; The acceptance of the cycle of growth and decay. Japanese. - Bonhomia definition: Simplicity, kindness, and honesty in character and behavior. Spanish. - All art styles, parings, etc are welcome and encouraged.

Here are the rules:

- Tag trigger warnings! Because Tumblr is Tumblr, adult content will use #spice - Give mods 48 hours to reblog your submission. If your work has not been reblogged please message us! Make sure #TentenWeek2021 is the first or second tag you use) - WRITERS: Please use the “Read More” cut line when posting your entire piece on Tumblr. This saves space on the feed. - Reblog. Don’t repost.

Goals: - We as Mods have the duty to foster a hospitable, welcoming, and supportive environment where writers and artists can share their creative contributions while being cognizant of, and sensitive to, the needs of the community as they have been presented to us. Any concerns raised will be addressed with kindness, patience, and with the respect we all have worked so hard to make the hallmark of this exceptional group of individuals. - We as members will support on another, and do our best to enjoy and share the content so freely shared with us! Like, comment, review - sport one another! - No reposting! Just reblogging. Find a new friend to follow! Support artists and writers! - Most importantly, ENJOY! Don’t feel pressured! Do what you can and know you are appreciated!

#tenten #naruto #tentenweek2021

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deliriumsdelight7 · 3 years ago

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WIP Wednesday

As I mentioned in my TMI Tuesday post, I’m focusing my efforts on my lighter fics for the holiday season. I wouldn’t consider FFA, Finding a Cure, and Jupiter’s Waters on hiatus, per se, but they probably won’t be updated for a couple of months.

I’m also pruning back my future fics; my brain refuses to come up with short fic ideas, and I can’t keep up, so I’m removing some of the ones I’m less likely to write. Future fics are under the cut, as always.

Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat: No progress.

Jupiter’s Waters: No progress.

Trinity: 1,957 words written for chapter 6.

Finding a Cure: No progress.

Breaking Cycles: Chapter 19 officially scrapped. It was mostly just an excuse to have Lachlan and Belle engage in some mild kink, and it wasn’t coming together. Moving on to the next big event.

What You’d Thought Lost: Chapter 11 posted Monday. 2 words written for Chapter 12.

Masters of Destiny: No progress.

Logic & Proportion: No progress.

A Safe Place to Land: No progress.

Future WIP count: 18. Removed 3, added one.

Lachlan/Belle “fake”-marriage-to-fuck-over-ICE fic

Franke Keane/Lacey fic

FFA Sequel

FFA Prequel: Belle and Gold’s first meeting (oneshot)

FFA Prequel: Gold with Jefferson, Prissy and Grace (oneshot)

Spinner Rumpel/Seer Belle “Cassandra” fic

“Agent French.” Kind of want to scrap this one because it’s not coming together in my mind, but I kind of feel like it might someday.

Macelle priest-falls-in-love-with-erotica-writer prompt that’s been floating around. Someone please write this so I don’t have to.

Rumbelle “Ella Enchanted” AU.

Rumpelstiltskin “Time Travel” fic. Angsty angst angst.

Breaking Cycles Deleted Scene

SS/HG Gender-swapped Beauty and the Beast-type story

SS/HG BDSM fic (Dom!Hermione and sub!Snape)

28 Weeks Later Donelle “no infection/second outbreak” AU

Dragon Age AU: Spirit!Rumpel and Mage!Belle

“Language of Flowers” sequel: Bae’s reaction to his dad’s new girlfriend

“Pyre” Rumbelle AU

Desperate Souls/Beauty and the Beast Rumbelle AU (currently outlining)

#wip wednesday

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nekoannie-chan · 4 years ago

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Am I dreaming?

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word count: 325 words.

Summary: Some events repeat every day, you don’t know if you are dreaming or is the reality.

Warnings: Brock being Brock.

A/N: This is my entry to @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan’s Hamilfilm lyric challenge with the prompt former refuted:

“If you repeat yourself again I’m gonna scream.”

**By mistake I published this in my background blog @anyamayfair**

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @saiyanprincessswanie @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @adriannajackson @white-wolf1940

You got up with a strange feeling... just like every morning of the last week, you weren't sure if every day was repeated or just some events...

You put your hands on your face trying to make the feeling go away, you couldn't describe exactly how it felt, and a similar sensation was like dizziness. You left the room and met Steve, who smiled when he saw you.

"Darling, you finally woke up," Steve said.

You nodded a little confused, you kissed him and you went to the dining room, you frowned, you ate pancakes in breakfast on Tuesday... or had it been Monday?, no, maybe it was Saturday, Natasha wore the t-shirt she had worn on Wednesday, Sam wore the clothes that he wore on Monday, Bucky had combed his hair like Sunday, it was as if everything that had happened the previous days had been mixed.

"Cap's favourite finally woke up!” Brock said mockingly.

You couldn't believe it, again he repeated that stupid phrase, again he made fun of you, that some things happened again was tolerable, but you'd already reached your limit, the first time you hadn't given you laughter, and it won’t the sixth time, you'd always hated Brock making fun of anything.

“If you repeat yourself again I’m gonna scream.”

"Don't get mad, it's a joke," Brock excused himself.

"What are you talking about? Steve asked you.

"Every day over the last week he's said that I'm sick of hearing the same phrase for...”

"That's not possible," Nat said.

"What?”

“You were unconscious for a few days, you got hit very hard in the last mission, Bruce said you had no harm, you weren't in a coma, it just looked like you didn't want to wake up,” Steve explained.

You blinked several times, that's when you realized that you weren't stuck in a cycle that was repeated every day, but you'd just dreamed everything... although it had seemed very real...

#star’s hamilfilm lyric challenge #steve rogers x reader

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fabricated-misslieness · 4 years ago

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Tendō Satori x male reader

Back to the ol’ wheel again except i spun another for the character

Used prompts from @/v4lentiines and @/drink-it-write-it

Requested: No

Word Count: 861

College AU where you and Tendō are, conveniently, roommates and dating.

Today marked the start of a much deserved weekend, and while the both of you didn’t exactly have it free - you had a very dreaded class in the evening, not dreaded for its contents but for the schedule - the weekend certainly felt like a break. You only have two days until the cycle starts again, though you have to make due with what you get.

For many, the weekend is a chance to sleep in, and mess up that circadian rhythm, but your body seems to say otherwise. You wake up at the crack of dawn.

Try as you might to go back to sleep, snuggling into your boyfriend for further help and comfort, you just couldn’t. You lay on the bed for a few hours, zoned out and thoroughly berating your body, before you decide to get up and be… productive. Eugh, productivity on the weekend; You did have that project due Tuesday, so maybe waking up earlier would actually help with that. Although you doubt you can do much in your tired state.

Morning goes by in a breeze. Breakfast is lazy instant ramen, just like always, and coffee, a lot more coffee than usual. Then you have nothing to do, except that project… you do that project for an hour or two. But for some reason, probably the fact you’re being productive, your body decides it is now that it wants sleep, so you do.

When you wake up, you hear the familiar sound of the shower running. You know it's Tendō who somehow finds energy in the morning but still takes a shower to 'wake himself up'. You're feeling kind today, along with the fact you love pampering your boyfriend, so you make him a special breakfast of instant ramen. Thoughtful on your end.

Tendō stumbles down the stairs by the time you're setting down his bowl. "Goodmorning!" He's enthusiastic, but you can tell the difference between almost fully awake and fully awake Tendō. Not the best way to call them, but trust me, there's a difference.

"Is that for me?" Tendō coos, sitting down right in front of his plate on the breakfast bar.

"Sure is." He gives you a kiss, both as a thanks and… nevermind, he gives you one kiss as a thanks and another for good morning.

"What about you?" He digs in, looking at you curiously. The fact that you're awake before him should be clue enough, but he doesn't take the hint. He has a tendency to wake up first, most likely waking you up in the process.

You shake your head, waving your hand dismissively. "I'm good, had breakfast around 3 hours ago, probably. Haven't checked a clock."

Tendō snickers, pulling you in for a messy and brothy kiss on the cheek. "You didn't mean to, did you?"

You shake your head, barely bothered by the fact he'd stained your cheek. "Certainly not." You heave a sigh as you wipe the broth and saliva mixture off.

Tendō doesn't say anything else, instead digging into his food again while humming his tune. You zone out as well, still looking at him. He doesn't mind though. A small bit delirious - from the lack of sleep, I swear - and dopey smile covers your face, because you're thinking of him. You may be the one pampering him but you can't help but think about how much you didn't deserve him.

"Keep smiling at me like that." Tendō snickers. He doesn't look at you directly, though you know there is a slight mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Is it better than my usual smile?” It’s a mere jest that you don’t expect him to respond to, except he does.

“Maybe.” Either Tendo is telling the truth or he’s just teasing you. You never know.

“Hey! Satori, explain that to me." You exclaim. He doesn't respond, and for a moment you think he's dropped the topic. "Satori!"

"I'm sorry, could you say that again?"

Your eyebrows furrow, "Did you not pay attention?"

"No, I just like your voice." He gives you pleading eyes, though they don't match well with his cheeky smirk. "Just my name, please."

"My god, you are so cute." You mutter under your breath. You knew he heard it when he smiled wider. "Alright, Sa-to-ri. How was that?"

"Perfect." He closes his eyes in bliss.

You smile, then suddenly decide you should be productive again. "Well I should do something that isn't watching you eat." You announce, causing Tendō to frown.

"This isn't–" You cut him off because you already know what he'll ask.

"This isn't productive." You say, straightening your posture. "We have all afternoon, then evening class, and then tomorrow. Plenty of time right?"

Tendō sighs rather dramatically, but nods anyway. "Okay."

You move to his side, where he's already moved his head for you to give him a kiss. "Project isn't doing itself." You give him a goodbye kiss on the forehead.

"Yeah, yeah." He gives you a kiss on the cheek. "Make it quick, alright?"

You laugh to yourself, knowing there is no way to 'make it quick' without butchering it. "Sure."

"Promise?"

"Can't promise."

tags: @atticus-wannabe

#tendo x reader #tendo satori x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x male reader #tendo x male reader #tendo satori x male reader

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lisakuma13 · 3 years ago

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Wisdom of Inner Child(ren)

“Be who you needed when you were younger.”

This was a profound lesson I learned as a volunteer in my daughter’s kindergarten classroom. I was a 39-year-old mother and wife who was beginning to understand various family dynamics that I couldn’t piece together as a child.

“How’s it going?” I asked, peering over the mop of tousled, dark hair.

Jed pouted as he struggled to eke out a sentence under his illustration of two people—one male and one female—who stood side by side, smiling, drawn in a style typical of kindergarten art.

It was volunteer day in my daughter, Jennifer’s, classroom. Every Tuesday morning for an hour and a half, I rolled up my sleeves and cut out materials for an upcoming art project, stapled weekly homework packets of addition facts, or worked with the children on their printing practice.

Today was a writing “assessment” day. The prompt was, “What fun things do you like to do with your family?” Naturally, as her mother, I started by Jennifer’s desk and watched her write, “I like waching moovs with my family.” I continued around the classroom to help kids sound out words like “/P/-/ar/-/k/” or directly offer more difficult-to-spell words like “bicycles.”

Nearly everyone contentedly worked on their prompts. Some meticulously printed and illustrated, coloring in between the lines. Others scribbled out words onto their lined paper alongside an abstract artwork.

But the face that caught my attention was Jed’s: so angry, so conflicted. I stooped down next to him on the side of his desk. “What do you think you’ll write for your sentence, Jed?” I prodded gently.

With his face cupped in his hands, his eyebrows furrowed, he replied with an adamant, “I don’t know.”

“Well, what do you like to do for fun with your family? Watch movies? Ride bikes?” I offered, drawing from ideas I had observed among his classmates.

Silence. Pouting.

“I like the picture you drew,” I encouraged. “They look like they’re happy here. Who are they and what are they doing?”

Jed let out a heavy, shuddered sigh. “My mom and dad don’t like each other.”

Silence—my turn this time. My heart momentarily sank.

Clearing my throat, I responded, “Well…the people in your picture are smiling. They look like they’re having fun. Who did you draw?”

Jed looked down at his illustration as though he’d forgotten it was there. “That’s me and my sister at the park. Because my mom and dad don’t get along.”

“How about we write a sentence about playing at the park with your sister? She’s part of your family and it looks like you guys have fun playing there together. The sentence can be about just the two of you.”

Jed’s eyebrows started to soften, and he suddenly sat up a little taller, a little straighter in his chair. “Yeah. Okay,” he said. His clumsy little fingers curled around the thick, yellow pencil as he looked at me and asked, “How do I spell ‘sister?’”

In that small moment of crisis and emotional heartbreak, I could not process the gravity of not only Jed’s words, but his world, as well as his position in it. It wasn’t until after I had hugged and kissed Jennifer at her morning snack recess—the break that signaled the end of my volunteer time—and then signed myself out at the front office and began walking to my car that I felt the weight of Jed’s statement. And it slowed the gait of my walk.

My mom and dad don’t like each other.

My heart hurt. Both it and my throat constricted—and I remembered.

I remembered feeling the powerlessness a child experiences watching and hearing the two most important people in your life shouting and yelling at each other. How, with each escalation in their tone, or bitterness in their words, it slapped you. You cringed. Your entire being shrunk into itself. “Please stop!” you’d scream from the inside. “Stop fighting!”

Even when the word-slinging stopped, the residual coldness remained in the house, and the words left unsaid lingered and haunted. As a child, it was hard to tell which was worse. Both seemed to break your carefree spirit. Both left you feeling miserably alone and scared.

I had seen Jed’s parents—once at a “Back to School” night and once more during pick-up time after school. His mother struck me as preoccupied and exasperated. Jed’s father, while quiet and resigned, appeared to be the more interactive parent with his children. I had observed them from afar without judgment.

Had I been living the perfect model of a blissful family life and marriage, I easily could have judged the pair of them. Or focused on her: What kind of mom are you, creating a setting in your children’s lives that your five-year-old son can’t write a single, positive sentence about your family?! Get it together, woman!

I sighed. Those critics certainly exist. I wasn’t hypocritical enough to be one.

As heavy as it was to remember the misery of being the child of a less-than-happy marriage, I now also bore the burden of being one-half of said marriage. I couldn’t judge Jed’s mom because I was her. At least, the distracted and aggravated part of her I superficially observed.

I was aware that I was also a parent who was setting up a dysfunctional environment for my family, because I was fighting with my husband—a lot. Whatever baggage and insecurities we were subconsciously harboring from our past, even as far back as our childhood, were being acted out in our marital dynamics.

As a child, I had taken my parents’ altercations and outbursts personally and absorbed the toxic energy as if it were my fault. Now, as an adult in the “hot seat” myself, I knew it had nothing to do with my own faultless, precious children. Mommy and Daddy have their own sh*t to process. Sadly, the kids can’t always be shielded or immune from watching and hearing it.

Life sucks like that. You can’t know then what you know now to help you process your childhood trauma and sadness.

It wouldn’t have been my place—but if I could rewind the day and put myself back in the classroom, I would tell Jed, “Your daddy and mommy not liking each other has nothing to do with you, even though it might feel like it has everything to do with you. Right now, you are the grown-up watching them throw temper tantrums. And all you can do is let them. Be the bigger boy who can go have fun with your sister at the park, with smiles on your faces and resilience in your hearts.” And I would hope to convey to him his wisdom, however green and raw, far exceeded theirs. As it did mine.

Jed’s honest connection that day drew out my inner child’s memories. She, in turn, tugged on the shirt of the mother and wife I had become to remind me:

Be present and aware. Heal what hurts so it doesn’t cycle downward. Remember what you needed to know and feel as a child to have a sense of safety in your world.

Heed the message, “Be who you needed when you were younger.”

#innerchild #healing #parenting #generationalhealing #marriage #maritalchallenges #innerchildwisdom #healingjourney #consciousparenting #presence #connection

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recurring-polynya · 4 years ago

Note

For the AU request, whichever one(s) you prefer (for RenRuki of course):

the X-Men universe

the Mafia/criminal underworld

the circus

as FBI agents (the X-Files world perhaps)

So, I got this ask, and I immediately wanted to go for X-Files, because I was hugely into X-Files when I was a tween/teen, and I think that my actual first published work of fanfic on the internet might actually be X-Files. (I didn’t even post it myself, I was like 12 and I didn’t have the internet at home, but a friend of mine posted it on Usenet for me, I have no idea whatever became of it). Anyway, I was going back and forth in my head who I wanted to be Mulder and who I wanted to be Scully, and then I got this ask:

@ulkoilla said:

I though the 10 would be full in about 1 microsecond so I didn’t even try :D This is maybe not AU enough for the purpose but I'd love to see your take on Bleach world where the shinigami work among humans as if they were in gigai -> they'll have to balance the supernatural, perhaps violent elements of their life with the modern day laws and such (like in Supernatural). Renji and Rukia have ofc gotten in trouble with the non-supernatural law (meet: Detective!Aizen?) and are on the run…

It suddenly occurred to me, What If: X-Files World, but Renruki are the cryptids. And it suddenly popped into my head exactly who I wanted to be Mulder. Anyway, I am sorry missrambler, if I messed it all up, I hope you like it anyway.

Also, I somehow thought that I would save myself some trouble by combining two prompts, but then it ended up… really long. (Forty! Eight! Hundred! Words! Go to Talks-Too-Much-Jail, Polynya!!)

PS: This takes place in D.C. because it’s X-Files and also because I am familiar with D.C. and I never get to write about places I know about. A half-smoke is a local delicacy that’s halfway between a hot dog and an Italian sausage. They are delicious.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

👻 👻 👻

Ichigo Kurosaki had known that an office with a view of the Smithsonian might be too much to ask, but he had not expected to take have to take two separate elevators down to sub-basement C, and walk past a storage room, two broom closets and a weird old vending machine full of brands of snacks he swore he hadn’t seen since he was a child.

Maybe Agent Inoue has a huge lab, he told himself. Maybe it needs to be 50 meters below ground because she collides large hadrons down here or so that her work can’t be picked up by spy satellites.

He had to turn sideways to get past a rack of wire shelves full of banker’s boxes, but there, on the other side was a door sporting a handwritten cardboard nameplate reading “Special Agent Orihime Inoue.”

“Come in!” a voice called inside, just as he raised his hand to knock on the door.

Ichigo blinked twice, and then went in.

The office was cluttered, mostly with more cardboard boxes, but books were also stacked precariously on top of boxes on top of books. The walls were plastered with maps and graphs and photographs of hazy blurs in front of staircases. There was a large poster showing a UFO, with the words “I WANT TO BELIEVE” in block caps below it.

A woman with long chestnut hair twisted up into a bun and held in place with three pencils was hunched over a metal box full of diodes and transistors and other things you would buy at Radio Shack. Or rather, that other people would buy at a Radio Shack. Ichigo had never set foot in a Radio Shack in his life.

“Er, good morning,” Ichigo said, as the woman looked up and blinked at him owlishly. “Agent Inoue? I’m Ichigo Kurosaki. I’ve been assigned to work with you.”

“To spy on me, you mean,” Agent Inoue corrected, cheerfully shaking his hand with great vigor.

Ichigo bristled. Yes, he had been directed to ‘provide additional documentation on Agent Inoue’s activities,’ but that hardly counted as spying. She was known to be somewhat scatterbrained, and having an organized person around would probably be a great benefit to her. “If you have any doubts about my qualifications or motivations--”

“Oh, don’t take it personally!” Inoue replied, slotting a lid onto her electronics project, and attacking it vigorously with a jeweler’s screwdriver. “Just because you’re a spy doesn’t mean you aren’t a nice person. Also, I read your file, you have a very interesting background! Degree in literature with a focus on folk legends. Teaching at the academy for the last few years while working on your book.” She took a momentary break from her screwing to fix him with her big, soft brown eyes. “Tell me, Agent Kurosaki, what do you think happens after you die?”

Ichigo froze. “I would be buried? Maybe there would be a funeral first?”

Inoue started laughing so hard that Ichigo was sure he caught a tiny, adorable snort. “Sorry, sorry! I wasn’t clear!” She sniffed, and wiped a tear from her eye. “Do you believe in continued existence after the death of the body? An afterlife, religion-based or otherwise? The existence of ectoplasm, cold spots, spirit photographs, EVP?”

“Are you talking about… ghosts?” Ichigo asked hesitantly.

“Yes!” Orihime replied with a nod. “Ghosts.”

“We-elll…” Ichigo drew out. “I believe that people believe they observe certain phenomena, as part of the cycle of grief and--”

“Just say ‘no’ if you don’t,” Inoue interrupted him.

“Er, no. I don’t.”

“That’s okay. Are you good at carrying heavy things?”

“Am I... I guess?”

“Perfect!” She shoved the box into his arms, and Ichigo’s knees almost buckled under the weight. “Let’s walk and talk, I want to go get a reading over near Franklin Square before 9 am. We’re gonna pass a really good half-smoke cart on the way, do you like half-smokes?”

👻 👻 👻

“Take a look at this,” Inoue said, her cheek half stuffed with sausage, jabbing a finger at the LED read-out of her mysterious box.

It was rather hard for Ichigo to see, because he was holding the box and the readout was on the other side, but he did his best to crane his neck around. “What am I looking at? The squiggles? I’m sorry, it looks like nothing to me.”

“Exactly right!” Inoue announced, waving her half smoke in the air. “Not a sniff of spiritual residue!”

Ichigo pressed his lips together. “Um… is that good?”

“It is interesting,” Inoue corrected. “Five days ago, a sixty-four year old woman had a heart attack while sitting in that bus shelter.” On every day since, I have been able to record EMF fluctuations, and on Sunday, I was able to get a voice recording that sounded like a woman reciting a grocery list. But this morning, nothing! Nada!”

“Well, uh, ghosts gotta move on eventually, right? Otherwise, just about everywhere would be haunted, right?” It’s not that Ichigo had suddenly started believing ghosts or anything, but there was something about Agent Inoue that just made you want to go along with her and see where all this panned out.

Inoue shot him a finger gun. “Or, they get moved along.” She shoved a folded paper map at him. “You can put that thing down.”

Ichigo eased the Spirit Detect-O 9000, or whatever it was called, to the grass and accepted her map. It was a street map of DC, meant for tourists, emphasizing all the local transit routes and popular attractions. There was also a great loop marked on it in orange highlighter, zig-zagging back and forth through the city. There was a little ‘x’ marked on Franklin Park, with “Tuesday, early morning” written in a bubbly hand.

“What is this?” Ichigo frowned. It didn’t seem to match up with any of the metro or bus lines. It didn’t even match with the sidewalks, it appeared to cut straight through large buildings like the convention center.

“As far as I can tell,” Inoue said, her brown eyes very solemn, “that is the patrol route of our local grim reaper.”

👻 👻 👻

“So I actually got interested in grim reapers,” Inoue explained, once they were back in the office, “while I was investigating violent ghost phenomena.” She was eating a bag of corn chips that she had gotten from that ancient vending machine by punching it and then shoving her own arm up the chute. (She’d gotten Ichigo a bag, too, but he was too afraid to eat them.)

Ichigo was sitting at a cluttered table that Inoue had told him “could be his desk.” Half of it was taken up by a large aquarium full of rocks and a water bowl, but no life forms that Ichigo could detect. The other half was covered with back issues of “Ghost Hunter Technology” magazine. “You mean like poltergeists?” he asked.

“Not exactly. Poltergeists are noisy, but they aren’t usually able to kill their targets.”

“Kill? Ghosts can’t kill people, aside from, like scaring them to death,” Ichigo scoffed. “I mean, folklorically speaking. As we established earlier, I am not a ghost-believer.”

Inoue tipped her head to the side. “They do, actually, it just tends to get blamed on something else.”

“By ghost-non-believers.”

“By everyone, really, and that’s what’s so strange.” Inoue pulled a fat binder from a stack of seemingly identical ones, and tossed it open in front of Ichigo. “Edison, New Jersey, 2014. An elderly woman dies ‘of a broken heart’ a week after her husband dies of cancer. Coincidentally, a telephone pole falls on her house the same night and rips a hole in her house.” She turned a page. “Norfolk, Virginia, 2017. A young woman dies in what the police rule as a suicide, despite the fact that she made a 911 call 48 hours previous, expressing fear of her ex-boyfriend. Three days later, the boyfriend is dead of mysterious causes. Coincidentally, his apartment complex suffered significant damages from ‘a wild cougar.’”

Ichigo squinted at the pictures. The walls of the building were scored with what did appear to be scratch marks. “Hell of a cougar.”

“Exactly! And I’ve got dozens of these historic cases. But about four months ago, I was able to investigate one myself-- a young man named Joe Wallace. He lives here in the city, over near Dupont Circle. Wallace had cut off his toxic dad years ago, and refused to visit him in the hospital as he was dying. Four days after his father’s death, a truck crashes into his house in the middle of the night and then drives away before the police can arrive.”

“And he died.”

“No!” Inoue held up one finger. “Scratches and bruises, but he doesn’t die!”

“Okay, great. So what does he remember?”

“He remembers a truck crashing into his house.”

Ichigo scratched his chin. “I am confused.”

“Look at this!” Inoue stabbed a finger at the pictures. “These are claw marks, not vehicular wreckage! There’s damage on the second story window! Wallace had scratches and defensive wounds, as if he had been fending off an animal! And look here, at the damage to the walls of the bedroom!”

“What am I looking at?” Ichigo asked, squinting at a photograph that looked like it had been blown up past the point of recognition.

“There were cuts and slashes in the walls and bedding as though someone had been fighting with a sword.”

“Like a Medieval Times sword? Was the guy a Medieval Times enthusiast?”

“More consistent with a katana. Do you like Medieval Times?”

“No one likes Medieval Times.”

“I like Medieval Times. You’ve probably never even been. But back to the ghost! Why would Wallace remember a truck crashing into his house, when nothing about the scene is consistent with that story?”

“He was...lying?”

“His memories were replaced.”

“His memories were replaced,” Ichigo echoed.

“Yes.”

“By… aliens?”

Orihime heaved a deep sigh. “By a grim reaper.”

“A grim reaper with a samurai sword.”

“How on earth did you come to this conclusion?”

Inoue raised one eyebrow. “Because when I placed him under hypnosis, Wallace didn’t remember anything about a truck. He did remember a monster with batwings and a mask made of bone and his dead father’s voice who tried to kill him, except that he was saved by a tall man dressed in black. The man had bright red hair and fought the monster with a sword that was also a whip and then he wiped Wallace’s memories.”

Ichigo stared at her. “You can hypnotize people?”

Inoue gave him a long-suffering face. Ichigo had the sudden flash that he was going to be seeing that face a lot in the days to come. “Yes, I am a certified hypnotist.” Inoue’s phone suddenly started playing “Tubular Bells”. “Oops, that’s an alarm. Come on, we have a meeting with some important people. Do you like diners?”

👻 👻 👻

Agent Inoue apparently did not care for public transit, but she walked very quickly. Ichigo was concentrating so hard on keeping up with her that he nearly collided with her back when she stopped very suddenly.

“You don’t mind if we make a quick stop, do we?” Inoue asked.

“You said the meeting was with important people.”

“Oh, don’t worry about them!” Inoue pursed her lips. “You see that bodega right there?”

They were in a part of downtown that was mostly mid-to-upscale restaurants and government buildings and FedExes. But sure enough, there was a dingy little bodega nestled between a Mexican-Indian fusion place and an Au Bon Pain, the windows stuffed with t-shirts from the last administration and a variety of cell phone chargers. The overhead sign read “Urahara Shop.”

“Y...eah…” Ichigo replied.

“That place is a hotbed of supernatural activity.”

“Is it?” Ichigo asked.

“I am almost positive that it is a supply point and meeting place for grim reapers, monster slayers, cryptids, alien hunters, and lycanthropes, but the owner is on to me.”

“I see,” Ichigo said levelly.

“Can you go in and pretend to be a customer? They have lots of good candy you can look through. Inoue dug in her purse and came up with a fiver. “Here. Buy a scratch ticket or something.”

“I’m not buying a scratch ticket, they’re a scam.”

“If the big guy is working the counter, he’ll glare at you until you buy something, so be prepared.”

As Ichigo pushed open the door, he realized he’d never actually agreed to any of this. Agent Inoue’s secret hypnosis powers, once again. Whatever. It was a bodega, there were a thousand of them in DC. They all had the same Nats t-shirts and coffee mugs with pictures of the Washington Monument on them. Ichigo pretended to be interested in a rack of comics. He tended to prefer indy comics over the big publishers himself, but even so, he didn’t recognize any of the books. Maybe they were by local authors.

Up at the front of the shop, a tiny, dark-haired woman was giving whatfor to the man behind the counter, a tall fellow with pale, straw-colored hair sticking out in tufts from under the saddest hat Ichigo had ever seen, a shapeless, battered bucket, striped green and white.

“Well, I can sell you a new battery for your phone, Miss Kuchiki, maybe that would help.”

“Not if it only lasts as long as the last one you sold me! I really need to get in touch with my partner, except that even if I could get my phone working again, his battery is probably dead because everything you sell is the same crap!”

“Ah, that’s too bad! You know, I think Mr. Abarai was in here a few days ago… I wasn’t in at the time, but Jinta said he came in, asking about…”

The man trailed off, and Ichigo glanced up to see the shopkeeper looking directly at him.

“...metrocards. But as you know, we don’t sell metrocards anymore.”

The woman made an aggravated noise. “You’re so useless! If I write him a damned note, will you give it to him if he comes in?”

“Oh, of course! Anything for you, Miss Kuchiki!”

The conversation trailed off as the woman hunched over the counter to angrily scratch out a note.

Ichigo stuffed the comic he was flipping through back on its rack. He skipped the enormous display of bedazzled flip-flops and started perusing the surprisingly extensive selection of gum.

“Here!” the woman finished and shoved her note at the shopkeeper. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Have a wonderful day!” the shopkeeper tootled, giving her a little finger wave.

Ichigo felt bad for the woman. “Er, excuse me?” he said as she passed.

She turned to scowl at him. For such a tiny person, she seemed to contain a remarkable amount of rage.

“Do you need to call someone? You can use my phone, if you’d like.” He held it out like an offering.

The woman blinked at him for a moment.

“I didn’t mean to be nosy! You were just kind of loud and you sounded worried about your, um, partner.”

“I’m not worried about him, I just need to find him.” Her face softened. “Thanks, Mister, but I can’t reach him on a regular phone. Don’t worry, I’ll track him down eventually.” She turned to leave, then stopped to jab an accusatory finger at Ichigo. “And that’s professional partner, not… you know! Whatever!” She stomped out.

What a strange, tiny person.

Ichigo selected a gum and walked up to the counter.

“Oooh, dragonberry lime, good choice!” the man trilled. “Anything else I can get you? Bottled water? Fanny pack? Spare phone battery?”

“I’ll pass,” Ichigo replied dryly.

“I imagine it’s against FBI policy to let a stranger use your cell phone,” the shopkeeper said sweetly.

Ichigo’s brows furrowed. “This is my personal phone. And how did you…?”

The man gave a chortling laugh that sent shivers down Ichigo’s spine. “Because headquarters is three blocks away and only an FBI agent would wear a suit that square.”

Ichigo took his change and his gum and shoved them both in his pocket. “Yeah, well, your hat sucks.”

The man laughed harder. “Doesn’t it, though?”

Once he was outside again, Ichigo handed Inoue the gum and her change. “The owner of that place is a creep.”

“The guy in the green and white hat?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Urahara. You’re right, he’s the owner. Were there any other customers?”

“Just the short lady. You must have seen her come out. She was ripping Urahara a new one for some dodgy cell phone battery he sold her. I think she must have been NSA or something. She said she was trying to get ahold of her partner, but she needed a special phone.” As he said it, Ichigo realized it would be pretty odd for an NSA agent to be buying cell phone batteries from some shady bodega.

“No one came out,” Inoue replied.

“She definitely did! I heard the bell over the door ring.”

Inoue regarded Ichigo very seriously. “Agent Kurosaki. I was standing here the whole time. You were the only person who went in or out.” She looked at the gum. “Ooh! Dragonfruit lime! Do you want some?”

👻 👻 👻

They were late to the meeting.

Two men were waiting for them in the back corner booth. One of them had pinched, pointy features and piercing blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. His chin-length haircut was pretty dramatic, but not as dramatic as his pure white trench coat. A cup of black coffee sat on the faded Formica table in front of him, but it didn’t look like it had been touched.

His companion was an enormous, good-looking Latino who was shoveling pancakes into his face.

“Inoue,” the dramatic guy said. “Who’s this?”

“This is my new partner, Kurosaki,” Inoue replied. “Kurosaki, this is Uryuu Ishida,” she indicated the white trenchcoat guy, “and Chad,” Mr. Pancakes.

“Also known as the ‘Lone Archers,’” Ishida specified. “We are apolitical actors who are interested in revealing the truths that are regularly hidden from the general populace by secret forces that conspire within the machinery of the American government.”

“You can just call me Chad,” said Chad.

“Good morning!” the waitress said. “Can I get you folks anything?”

“Oh, yes! I’m getting mozzarella sticks! Do you like mozzarella sticks, Kurosaki? They’re so good here!”

“So’re the pancakes,” added Chad.

“I’ll just have a coffee,” Ichigo announced. He glanced at Ishida’s cup. “Black.”

“Double mozzarella sticks, please!” Inoue chorused. “And a cherry coke!” She leaned over to Ichigo and spoke out of the side of her mouth. “I’ll give you a mozzarella stick.”

“Do you want some pancake?” Chad offered to Ishida. “I never think to offer.”

Ishida waved him off with a hand. “Agent Inoue. At great personal peril, I was able to obtain a sample of the item we discussed.” He slid a small paper packet across the table. “There are two tablets inside, but one should be sufficient for your purposes.” Ishida leaned forward, his mouth set in a firm line. “I was cautioned very strongly against using this, unless one had a firm plan for handling the… consequences.”

“I understand,” Inoue replied, stuffing the envelope into her purse.

Ichigo wanted to ask more questions, but the conversation shifted very quickly to some USGS floodplain maps that Ishida wanted Inoue to obtain for him that were apparently not available from the public webportals, allegedly because of filesize. Ichigo could practically hear the air quotes around the word “filesize.”

“We’re going to look for Jersey Devils next weekend,” Chad explained, sounding pretty excited about it.

“There’s only one, Chad,” Ishida corrected. “It’s just ‘Jersey Devil.’”

“There could be more than one,” Chad shrugged.

Thirty minutes later, they departed. Inoue had an order of mozzarella sticks in her purse. Ichigo had an armload of backissues of the Lone Archers’ ‘zine, which was, conveniently enough, titled The Lone Archer. There was no doubt in his mind that at least Ishida was completely off his rocker. The jury was still out on Chad… he struck Ichigo as the sort of guy who just went along with Ishida’s nonsense because he was a good friend and also liked taking camping trips and doing layout for ‘zines.

“So what was that thing they gave you?” Ichigo pestered. The idea of that little paper packet had been burning a hole in his brain the entire time.

“You busy tonight?” Inoue asked, raising an eyebrow slyly. “Between 10 and 11?”

“What are we doing?” Ichigo asked cautiously, wondering if he would be able to charge his time.

“We’re going to try and attract an angry ghost.”

👻 👻 👻

“Are you… sure this is… a good idea?” Ichigo asked for the sixteenth time, as Inoue focused the thermal camera on him.

They were in an old, abandoned lot that had formerly served as a Metro service facility. It was pretty spooky all on its own, filled with train cars too dilapidated for salvage.

It was 10:25pm. Inoue had set up no less than 17 different pieces of ghost detection equipment. Ichigo was questioning his life choices.

“You told me you don’t believe in ghosts. If ghosts don’t exist, then what could possibly go wrong?” Inoue posed.

“Well… that’s true,” Ichigo granted. “And, for the record, I still do not believe in ghosts. But in the Pascal’s wager sense of things, I am considering the ramifications of what happens if there are ghosts that exist, regardless of my belief in them.”

“And?” Inoue asked.

“Well, you said that these ghosts have hurt and killed people before. It seems like trying to attract one without having any method of, um, fighting it, seems kind of… irresponsible?”

“Ah, but you see, I’ve specifically picked this time and location to coincide with the grim reaper patrol routes I’ve been mapping out. Our friendly neighborhood psychopomp ought to show up just on schedule to fight the angry ghost for us. We’re doing them a favor, as I see it.”

“How so?” Ichigo exclaimed.

“It’s not like we’re creating an angry ghost out of nowhere. We’re just attracting an existing one to our location. We’re saving the grim reaper the trouble of having to hunt it down.”

Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was it so difficult to argue with Inoue? Possibly because she was so incredibly earnest in all her beliefs, and all her arguments were in completely good faith, it’s just that her logic came from some other dimension. This woman has solved multiple, high-profile murders, including several that were ice cold, Ichigo reminded himself. So she’s quirky. I am sure I can learn a lot from her.

“Okay, everything is in place!” Inoue announced, placing her hand on her hips. “Go hide behind that pile of moldy seats!”

Inoue took Ichigo’s place at the center of her recording equipment. “Agent Orihime Inoue speaking,” she said, for posterity. “It is 10:28pm. I am crushing one tablet of a substance called ‘Hollow Bait.’” She crunched the little white tablet, which looked an awful lot like an Alka-Seltzer, between her fingers, and then made a flying leap for the rotting pile of damp, orange upholstery that Ichigo was crouched behind.

“So, just out of curiosity,” Ichigo started. “How long would we have to wait, theoretically, with nothing happening, before we would declare this a bust?”

Inoue pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Usually, I would give it about two hours, but if you’ve got somewhere to be, I don’t mind if you leave early. It is nice to have company for a change.”

“No, I don’t have anywhere else to be,” Ichigo replied. “I mean… sleeping, I guess.”

Inoue gave a charming little laugh. “I don’t sleep very well. And hunting for ghosts is more interesting than most of the stuff on Hulu.”

The way that she said it gave Ichigo the distinct impression that Inoue was, well, lonely. But that didn’t seem correct. She was weird, sure, but she was also friendly and talkative, and, er, well, she was extremely cute. Surely she had tons of friends.

“How’d you get into ghost hunting, anyway?” he tried to be conversational.

“Hmm,” Inoue hummed noncommittally. “Let’s just say there was an incident in my teen years, where my memories don’t match up to the property damage.”

Oh. Ichigo wondered if he should apologize, when suddenly, a cold chill ran down his spine and a sound like a roar echoed in his ears, except he didn’t actually hear anything. “Did you hear that?” he gasped.

“It’s the EMF detector,” Inoue nodded, scrambling for the reader and Ichigo realized he could hear a faint beeping.

“No, not the beeping, it was like a… a… scream…”

“You heard a scream?”

“I didn’t exactly…” Ichigo trailed off as he heard two more, coming from different directions. “There’s more than one. Monster screams. Not human screams.”

Inoue stared at him, eyes wide. “I don’t hear anything. Have you ever been tested for latent psychic ability?”

There was a sudden change in the air pressure, and a fetid, rotting smell, even worse than the Metro seats. Ichigo grabbed Inoue by the shoulders and rolled out of the way, just as the pile of junk they had been crouched behind compacted like it had been through a car crusher. Or smashed by a giant foot.

“Whoa!” Inoue exclaimed, trying to push Ichigo off of her so she could see what was going on.

Ichigo blinked through the night. He couldn’t see anything, but there was an area of space that looked thick and hazy, like it wasn’t refracting the harsh glow of the sodium street lights quite correctly.

“We have to get out of here,” Ichigo gasped.

“Can you see it?” Inoue asked, her eyes wide and excited.

“Not-- not really,” Ichigo replied, pulling at her arm. The air blurred, and Ichigo had the sense the thing was jumping at them. He could tell it was fast, but he couldn’t see it, he didn’t know what to--

“Howl, Zabimaru!”

It was both there and not quite there, a liquid blade made of glass and starlight, that snapped through the air at the invisible thing. The monster bellowed, and whipped around, charging at a dark figure standing atop one of the old Metro cars.

“Pick on someone your own size, ugly!” the man bellowed, and as Ichigo squinted, he realized that their savior was dressed all in black. He was tall, and his hair was pulled back in a spiky ponytail. It was bright red. He was also wearing sunglasses, even though it was the middle of the night. They were pushed up on top of his head, to be fair, but Ichigo had a feeling this detail would stick with him.

“You can see that guy, right?” Ichigo asked Inoue desperately. “The guy who’s fighting the ghost? The guy that looks just like the guy in your report?”

“There’s a guy?” Inoue asked. “No. Where is he? Can you usually see ghosts?”

“I don’t even believe in ghosts!”

“Well, maybe you don’t believe in them because you can see them and you don’t want to, did you ever think of that?”

“I don’t think now is the time to interrogate my personal traumas!”

Suddenly, there was another drop in pressure, and Ichigo had the sense of heavy breathing and sharp teeth. “Inoue. I think there’s another one.”

“Well, can you get the guy to come fight this one, too?”

“He seems busy,” Ichigo squeaked.

Something black flashed by his vision, and there was a loud crack and a sound of something screeching in pain. A second dark-clad person had arrived, landing softly on sandaled feet. There was the same unreality to her, a sense that she wasn’t entirely there, as well as a certain familiarity that Ichigo couldn’t place. Her sword was bright in the darkness, like moonlight reflecting on snow.

“Oi, there you are, you big dummy!” she shouted at the first man and Ichigo realized with a jolt that it was the angry woman from the bodega. “I’ve been looking for you for four days!”

“I had a problem with my gigai and maybe you should check your texts once in a while!” the tall guy shouted back. Ichigo refused to think of him as a grim reaper. A grim reaper would not wear sunglasses.

“My phone died!”

“Can we-- ow! -- discuss this later? I’m glad you’re okay, I missed you. Why are there so many Hollows in this train yard?”

“You’re such a sap! And the Hollows are here because some stupid humans got ahold of some Hollow bait.” The woman turned, and glared at Ichigo. Her eyes burned with blue flame, like the burner of a gas stove.

That would have been the last thing Ichigo remembered, if he had actually remembered it, or any of the things that came before it.

👻 👻 👻

Ichigo was sitting at his desk.

Inoue was sitting at her desk.

The sun was streaming in the window. The clock on Ichigo’s phone read 7:12am.

Inoue frowned. She examined a coffee cup on her desk. She took a hesitant sip, and then made a face. “Why are we here?” she wondered softly.

“I hate to pull an all-nighter,” Ichigo said, stretching, “but it sure does feel good to be caught up on paperwork!”

Inoue regarded him. “Kurosaki,” she said, “how long have you worked here?”

Ichigo frowned. “Well, I guess this is my second day.”

“Right. So… how much paperwork did you have to catch up on?”

Ichigo blinked. He very distinctively recalled working through the night-- his hand cramping, the incredibly spicy Thai food they’d ordered, Inoue’s seemingly infinite Boy Bands of the 90’s playlist. “I… was helping you, I guess?” Come to think of it, why was he filling out paperwork by hand, anyway? His laptop sat next to him, the lid closed. It wasn’t even plugged in.

Inoue’s fist slammed down onto her desk. “Gosh darnit! They wiped my memories again!!”

#wacky au requests #my writing #in my youth i shipped mulder and scully so hard #and now it's like...girl #you could do so much better #it is not possible to do better than gillian anderson

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