#i’m living at cpa for the week so i will be there

[ikealamps]

happy kraken gameday to all of those who celebrate 🫡

[daforged]

there’s a lot of things im not enjoying about my life right now but i think the worst one is that i don’t have anything to talk about other than how miserable and tired and unmotivated i am

[madsworld15]

New Fic Alert: lifeline of a promise in a shot glass (Brian/Justin AU)

PART ONE of MANY

Synopsis: What if Justin never met Brian when he was 17, and because of this, his father convinces him to go to Dartmouth and follow a business path? Years later, Justin is 25 and works alongside Ted, who was his mentor as he studied for his CPA the year before, and lives a life of limited socialization due to crippling grief and anxiety caused by the death of his close friend 3 years prior. What happens when Ted pushes him into interacting with the family?

Justin sat at his desk, ignoring the client files he was supposed to be working on. Instead, he fiddled with the personal check in his left hand. It was from his father, part of the reason he had driven the five hours to Philly over the weekend. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts about that visit that he didn’t realize that Ted Schmidt had approached his cubicle until the older man cleared his throat.

“If that’s a check from a client I can show you how to input it.” Ted smiled and jokingly tapped Justin’s arm with his fist.

“No, more like blood money.” Justin sighed, shoved the check into his desk drawer, and turned to give Ted his full attention.

“I feel there’s a story there.” Ted raised his eyebrow.

“More like a tragedy that could rival even the most beautiful of arias.” Justin licked his lips and quickly changed the subject, “You need something?”

“Well, it’s Wednesday, this week has sucked. I thought you’d want to go out with me and my friends to a club downtown.” Ted shrugged.

“Isn’t it a bit sad to show up with a young kid? What will your friends even think?” Justin loved to tease Ted considering the man was 13 years his senior. 

“Honestly?” Ted rubbed his hand over his mouth, “Brian and Emmett will be shocked that I am allowed out in public with a guy as hot as you. And Michael, well if he or his husband show up they’re likely to be supportive of welcoming someone new to the fold.”

Justin glanced at the clock, saw it was 5:45 pm, shut down his computer and stood up. He grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair and smirked at Ted before chuckling.

“Also, I’ll have you know, Emmett is only 32, not much older than you. And Brian, Michael and Ben are all 35.” Ted followed Justin to the garage where they parked their cars.

“I still don’t understand why you hang out with me outside of work. I’m a first year and you are practically my boss.” Justin added, fishing his car keys out from his pocket.

“None of my lifelong friends like anything artistic. They think the epitome of human expression happens on the dancefloor at Babylon.” Ted rolled his eyes. “At least with you I don’t have to go to museums or art openings or the opera by myself.”

“Wow. Schmidt. I’m touched. Really, I am. It’s not sad at all that at nearly 40 you rely upon me, a gay man in his mid-20s to keep you alive.” Justin pressed his hand to his chest and gave Ted his best emotional simper.

Ted simply rolled his eyes and responded, “So, Babylon, 9 o’clock?” 

Justin shrugged. “Maybe.” But he knew in his heart he wouldn’t be taking Ted up on his offer. Today was a rough one and he didn’t want his first impression to be that of a morose dickhead.

“If you decide not to, please at least give me a call?” Ted put his hand on Justin’s shoulder and fixed him with a knowing and understanding gaze.

Justin nodded, climbed into his car, and drove off without another word. He went straight to his apartment complex to park his car and drop off his work things. But, he didn’t stick around long before he went out to his favorite bar, Woody’s for a few drinks. Justin wanted nothing more than to forget about today. 

He was two shots of whiskey deep when he felt the presence of someone else next to him. Justin sucked in his lip, sighed, and looked at who had joined him at the bar. The man next to him was older, elegant, and sex on legs. His brown hair was styled in a way that said he cared but wanted the world to think he didn’t give two shits. There was something so alluring about him that Justin couldn’t quite put his finger on and with his current mental state, didn’t have the patience to work out.

“Another,” Justin motioned to the bartender, slurring his words just slightly.

The gorgeous man next to him reached across the bar and grabbed the bartender’s arm. “Jake, don’t pour the kid anymore.” 

“Fuck you. I’m an adult. I can have as many drinks as I want.” Justin was annoyed that this stranger would step in his business like that.

“Fine, suit yourself, but your current petulance tells me otherwise.” The brunette smirked, downed his shot, and then turned his back to the counter and leaned back to troll his eyes across the sea of men in the room at large.

“Besides, I’m not your goddamn mother. I just thought I’d do you a favor. Go home. Sleep off whatever you’re trying to drown away. Trust me, no one likes a sloppy drunk.” And just like that the gorgeous man was gone, stalking after a buff man at the pool tables who had curly black locks and fuck-me eyes.

Justin threw some cash down on the bar and stumbled out of Woody’s. He didn’t want to admit the man had been right, so instead, he stewed in indignation at the nerve of a complete stranger telling the bartender to cut him off. His stewing took him all the way back to his apartment. With a sigh and some fumbling, he managed to unlock his door and step inside.

Justin threw his keys in the dish on his kitchen counter, saw his answering machine was flashing a red 3, and pushed the button to let them play. He crossed to his refrigerator to grab a bottle of water before he stumbled to his couch and plopped down.

Hey Justin. I know today is hard. I’m getting worried about you. You haven’t called me to meet up for coffee in a long time. David and I would love to have you over for dinner sometime. We have big news. Love you. Call me back. Please.

Justin felt the tears prick the back of his eyes as his best friend’s voice rang out over his one bedroom apartment. Daphne meant well, but she didn’t know Jason. How could she possibly understand?

The same way she has been there for you the last 3 years. A voice in his head replied unprompted.

The next message played, and from the first seconds, Justin knew it was Jason’s mom.

Hey, Jus. I went by to see Jason today and saw that you’d recently been there and left some flowers. It warmed my heart to know his closest friend still thinks about him. I wish you’d come by to see us. We miss you dearly. Well you take care. Congratulations on earning your CPA.

The floodgates let loose at Jason’s mom’s words. He’d known her since he was 16 and met Jason at a High School Business competition. She’d always been kind and treated Justin as one of her own. And when Jason died she never blamed him, though Justin sure did.

Justin, baby. Please call me. I don’t want you alone today. 

Instead of getting up to get his phone and at least call his mom back, Justin pulled his legs up onto the couch and curled against himself to cry. It had been three years. Three years since he’d woken up in the hospital only to find out his best friend was dead. Three years of feeling responsible. Three years of drunken nights and zombie days, just going through the motions to prove he was still alive. But was he really?

In the year after Jason’s death, Justin struggled to put his life back together. He couldn’t go from graduating straight into his internship and then CPA exam. No, he had to take a gap year to relearn so much of who he was in order to be the man he was today. His mother would argue that he was doing beyond great and that he was “good as new,” but what she didn’t know and Justin has yet to tell her, Justin was simply a shell.

Jason had been the love of Justin’s life and he couldn’t even talk about it. Daphne knew he was gay, but no one else around him did, besides Ted. It allowed him to put up a wall between himself and his family, but also his coworkers. If he didn’t tell people anything deeper than what appeared on the surface he couldn’t get hurt.

~ BREAK ~

Two days later, Justin was back to staring at the check from his father. Now that he was a CPA he hardly needed financial support from his estranged father, but Justin couldn’t bring himself to fully cut himself off from the man. He was hardly what one would call father of the year, but Justin didn’t have the courage to stand up to the man.

With it being Friday, Justin was one day closer to another day of keeping to himself and ignoring the world around him. He just needed to get through the day, and avoid Ted at all costs, like he had the day before. And then he was scot free for the whole weekend, unless Daphne decided to be her usual pushy self and show up at his door.

“Glad to see you are still alive.” Ted greeted him with a crooked grin. “After you didn’t come out on Wednesday and didn’t call me I figured something terrible must’ve happened.”

“Sorry, I went home on Wednesday and fell asleep. Then when I woke up it was almost 9 and I didn’t feel like going out.” Justin refused to look at his friend and boss. 

“And yesterday?” Ted wasn’t going to let things go. It frustrated Justin to no end, he much preferred Daphne who knew when to push and when to let things drop.

“Jesus, Ted! What are you my mom?” Justin suddenly let his frustration bubble to the surface, “I don’t always want to be around people.”

Ted smiled and then backed off from his questioning. “I completely get that. That’s what makes accounting so great. You can completely shut yourself off from the world.”

Justin continued working on the file at hand. He would rather focus on numbers than the turmoil rolling around in his brain. So, when Ted offered an out for the evening Justin took it.

“Tonight there’s an art opening at my friend Lindsay Peterson-Marcus’ gallery, the Sidney Bloom Gallery. I wondered if you might want to go with me?”

Justin didn’t even think, all frustration at Ted forgotten, “Yes. That would be great. I can’t believe you know the curator at the Sidney Bloom Gallery. It’s been an obsession of mine since I was a kid.”

“I met Lindsay through my friend Brian, but honestly aside from you she’s the only person I know who appreciates the arts.” Ted shrugged and then handed Justin a ticket for the night’s events. “Just meet me out front at 8 o’clock.”

“Will do.” Justin finally looked at the older man and gave him a fake smile. His heart wasn’t really in it to be a functioning member of society right now. 

The anniversary of Jason took more out of him this year than he expected and knew that he probably should just go home and work through those emotions. But, the nagging voice in the back of his mind reminded him that getting out and doing typical activities he enjoyed would help him move forward faster. Not for the first time in the last few years, Justin wondered if he would ever be able to go out with friends and fully be himself, let loose, and enjoy. He wondered if he would ever fall in love again without losing his breath and panicking that Jason would be mad.

So, by 8 o’clock Justin was just parking his car up the block from Sidney Bloom Gallery. He bit his bottom lip as he walked back toward where he was to meet Ted. Going into a big group of strangers like this gave him some anxiety, but not nearly as much as it did a few years ago. As much as he liked to bemoan to his mom about therapy, it was actually helping him.

“Hey.” Justin gave a half wave and then tucked his hands into his pockets, shrugging his shoulders upward. 

“Glad you could make it. I hate showing up to these things alone. Brian teases me mercilessly for it.” Ted smiled and nodded his head for Justin to follow him.

“God the way you talk, Brian must be the biggest dick known to man.” Justin smirked, already feeling grateful to be out with a friend.

“More like he thinks he’s God’s gift to Gay PA.” Ted laughed. 

Once they were inside, Justin felt his grief, anxiety, and worry all float away. He truly loved being immersed in a world of art and the freedom of expression. At times his heart itched to draw and paint, but he hadn’t done either since high school. Ted handed him a flute of champagne, which Justin simply held as he looked around deciding where to start.

“Teddy!” A blonde woman came rushing over. She was gorgeous and wore a maroon sweater and tan slacks that really extenuated her figure.

“Lindsay!” Ted gave the woman a brief hug before throwing his arm out toward Justin beckoning him forward. “This is Justin. I was his mentor all last year as he prepared for his CPA.”

Just then the gorgeous man from the bar a few nights ago sauntered up and wrapped his arm around Lindsay’s shoulder and placed a kiss on her cheek.

“Not another boring stiff. Seriously, Theodore? Must you? I do believe one of you in the boring gays society is enough.”

Ted sighed and opened his mouth to respond, but Justin beat him to it.

He gave his best smile and replied, “Ah you must be Brian Kinney. I’ve heard so much about you. And I must say, you live up to every word.”

“Welcome, Justin. So glad to have someone else in the group who has Brian’s number.” Lindsay chuckled and held out her hand to shake Justin’s.

“Theodore,” Brian immediately turned toward Ted, “What exactly have you been telling this…kid?” Brian looked Justin up and down with a smirk.

Justin wanted so desperately to correct this man on his classification of “kid”, but his anxiety was starting to rise and so he swallowed the champagne in his hand in one go and casually walked away. He knew, from experience, that Ted wouldn’t judge him for this. Instead, the older man would allow Justin to have his space and then check in with him later on down the road. It’s how they always handled social outings together. 

Justin didn’t actively seek public occasions with many people because the accident had caused brain damage that made reading people really hard for Justin. Therefore, his anxiety went into hyperdrive when presented with multiple faces and phrases all at once. He stuck to simple one-on-one conversations, whenever possible, and only pushed that boundary while in therapy.

“You know, when you first showed up with Theodore I thought, there is no way someone as hot as that is willingly hanging out with someone as boring and bland as him. Then, you freaked out over a simple conversation and I understood.” Brian’s voice brought Justin out of his thoughts, and he realized he’d been standing in front of Pollack styled painting for far too long.

Instead of responding to Brian, Justin moved on to the next section of artwork and acted as though the brunette wasn’t there.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I now understand?” Brian followed him, demanding to be noticed and heard.

“I don’t particularly care. I don’t know you. Therefore your opinion of me or Ted has little bearance on my life.” Justin replied nonchalantly and without tearing his eyes from the colorful art before him.

“Wow, you use big words. Let me guess, Pittsburgh Community College,” Brian continued to goad Justin into giving him his full attention.

Justin rolled his eyes, “Dartmouth. And judging by your pompous, holier than thou attitude I would say you went to some pretentious business school such as Carnegie Mellon or Penn.”

“Oooo an Ivy Leaguer!” Brian grinned as he stepped between Justin and the art, forcing Justin to make eye contact. “What makes you think I didn’t also attend such prestige as that? Why does it have to be local?”

Justin cocked his head and smirked. “It really bothers you doesn’t it?” And then he walked off toward another area of the gallery.

Brian continued to follow him. “What bothers me?”

Justin ignored him and instead turned to discuss the painting on display with none other than Lindsay Peterson-Marcus herself. He found her knowledge and passion for art comforting. She really did love the work she was doing, and Justin found that refreshing.

“Are you an artist, Justin?” Lindsay asked, looking past Justin to smirk at Brian. Justin could feel the man's glare on his neck.

“I used to be. I haven’t picked up a brush since high school.” Justin shrugged and tucked in his lips to smile, knowing that by ignoring Brian it was eating the man alive.

“What bothers me?” Brian asked again, cutting off Lindsay’s reply.

Lindsay gave Brian a searing look and continued, “We never stop being artists. No matter how much time has passed. If you want to paint, who’s stopping you.” 

Justin thought about her words as she squeezed his shoulder and moved on to the next patron. He bit the left corner of his bottom lip and continued to contemplate the artist’s work before him. The mix of blues, purples, and grays made him think of the swirling grief that lived within him, always pulling him just below the surface.

“It bothers you that I don’t give a fuck about you,” Justin replied to Brian, who was still standing there waiting for him. Then he deposited his empty flute on the tray of a passing wait staff and walked out of the gallery into the night.

~~

Tagging my discord pals so they can read! @winderlylandchime @lostcol and @maryp50

[leomonwell]

The Big Four: Uplifting, Educating, and Serving The Community Together

Hey there, MonWell Fam!

This week on the Leo MonWell Podcast, we’re diving into something near and dear to my heart: Love Begins At Home, the nonprofit organization I founded that’s been a cornerstone of my mission to uplift, educate, and empower communities. What makes this episode special is that I’m joined by some of the incredible individuals who lead this charge with me — our fabulous board members. They’re the heart of our organization, and trust me, they bring both the wisdom and the vibes!

First, a little about us. Love Begins At Home is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit, which means we’re governed by a board of outstanding leaders who share a passion for making a difference. I’m honored to serve as President, but what really keeps our mission alive is the team surrounding me. Let me introduce you to these rock stars:

Meet the Team

Adrain Lee, our Vice President, is a powerhouse of vision and passion. She’s the kind of leader who inspires everyone around her. Adrain shared on the podcast how our journey together started: the day I walked into her office with a dream. She believed in our mission to uplift, educate, and serve the community — and the rest is history. Now, she’s helping us grow and spread our message of love and empowerment far and wide.

Tirrell Wilkerson, our Secretary, is a true legacy. He’s worn many hats within the organization — VP, Treasurer, and now Secretary. Tirrell has been with us since the very beginning, when Love Begins At Home was just an idea. On the podcast, he talked about the importance of staying aligned with our mission and evaluating the impact of our efforts. His dedication to the community and his thoughtful approach to accountability make him an invaluable part of our team. We also crowned him the Leader of Learning during the episode — fitting for someone pursuing a Doctorate in Education and constantly pushing us to grow.

Mylika Morton, our Treasurer and newly dubbed Magistrate of Money, ensures that we stay financially sound and compliant. With her expertise as a CPA and attorney, she’s the one who makes sure our mission has the monetary footing to thrive. Mylika’s dedication goes beyond the numbers — she’s deeply invested in ensuring we continue to make a positive impact in the community. She’s the backbone of our financial strategy, and we’re so lucky to have her on board.

Why We Do What We Do

During the episode, we discussed the driving force behind Love Begins At Home. For Adrain, it’s the passion for embracing and uplifting the most vulnerable in our community. She shared how witnessing other cultures’ dedication to their communities inspired her to bring that same spirit to her own. Her message resonated deeply with me: “You can’t pour from an empty cup.” This idea is at the core of our work — we’re here to fill those cups, to give people the tools, resources, and support they need to thrive.

Tirrell brought another crucial perspective: the importance of checks and balances. As someone deeply involved in evaluating our efforts, he emphasized the need to measure not just monetary returns but also the impact we’re having on people’s lives. It’s about the hard and soft data, the tangible and intangible ways we’re making a difference.

And then there’s Mylika, who reminded us that financial sustainability is key to keeping our mission alive. Her words were a powerful reminder that to serve others, we need to ensure our organization remains strong and resilient.

Wrapping Up Part 1

This episode is all about gratitude and growth. As we approach our five-year anniversary, I’m reflecting on how far we’ve come and the incredible team that’s made it all possible. From the early days of community events and outreach to the structured, impactful organization we are today, it’s been a journey of love, perseverance, and teamwork.

Stay tuned for Part 2, where we dive deeper into the future of Love Begins At Home and the incredible work we’re planning for the next chapter. For now, let’s celebrate the people behind the mission and the lives we’ve been able to touch.

Let’s keep spreading love and making waves.

Watch Part 1 of the conversation here:

[strawberry-jazzcake]

💜 The Days When IU Sing Me Lullabies 🌷

If I think of KPOP artists that remind me of my Pandemic Years, one of them is no other than IU (Lee Ji-eun). 🌸During the pandemic, she released the album lilac and it became my favorite album of hers. 💜I do not know why but I remember everything I learned about IU. I really cannot understand but maybe it is simply because she is South Korea’s Little Sister. Naaa.. I am just kidding. My ears like IU’s voice. I cannot argue with my ears. I am not crazy. Hehe… Her voice is really relaxing, and it helps me to be calm, especially every time I am having stress because of work. 🌝

Another reason is, she is an inspiration for my generation. For the Kpop stars I know, IU, Do Kyungsoo, and Kim Seokjin have similarities in my heart. IU was born May 16, 1993, Do Kyungsoo was born January 12, 1993, and Kim Seokjin was born December 4, 1992. My Birthday is April 14, 1992. 🐏From what I see, there are many successful artists younger than IU, DO, and Jin but they still thrive in the industry. The perseverance of IU since she was young, the authenticity of D.O, and the humbleness of Jin, these are the qualities that they should be proud of. They embraced the fire within themselves despite hardships they faced while in a 3rd generation of KPOP.

If they could succeed, I know I can too, regardless of if I only learned what I want to do in my 20s. 🪽

Here are some of the facts and my opinions about IU.

IU was supported by her grandmother with her career. Since they lack financial resources, they even lived in a house infested by cockroaches 🪳. In my third attempt to study for the CPA board exam, I rented a room that I did not know at first that there would be cockroaches when I turn off the lights. It even came to a point that I woke up with a cockroach wound in my hand. That was a horrible experience. 😖

Just like the other rookies in the K-pop industry, IU started as nobody. She was able to release songs but yet to make a mark. But she was able to introduce her talent when she released the song, “Good Day”. ☀️Nobody knew that IU can sing really well since she can sing up to 3 octaves for Good Day. That is the start when people turned their heads to her.

IU said Dear Name is one of her songs that is hardest to sing.

IU has a sick ear. 👂

“

IU was recently diagnosed with Patulous Eustachian Tube Dysfunction. According to Hopkins Medicine, the disorder causes one to hear themselves too loudly, creating discomfort.

It is a disorder of the valve of the Eustachian tube that causes it to remain open. When the valve remains open, sound can travel from the nasal-sinus cavity to the ears, allowing you to hear your own voice or your own breathing too loudly, or even the sound of blood pumping. — Hopkins Medicine”

IU revealed in the documentary that she felt the disorder was due to her anxiety.

When I’m anxious, there is a pressure that becomes greater when I sing, so my ears open more easily. — IU

Excerpt from www.Koreaboo.com

Her boyfriend Lee Jong Suk is older than her but he said that he feels like she is older since she is always at LJS side especially through his hardships. IU is good at giving advice. 💚🙂‍↕️

The song “Eight” with BTS Suga was dedicated to her late close friends Jonghyun of Shinee and Sulli. 🦎

The song “BIBI” is a protest against the toxic media around Kpop artists like her. If you attempt to research the meaning of lyrics and music video of the song, I bet it will last for a week. Haha… 💛

🐳Her Skeleton Skinny Diet - To do this, IU would drink a lot of water for 5 days straight about 3LT every day. On the day before the event (6th day), IU would stop drinking. Then on the 7th day, she would look like a skeleton. She often does this in preparation for Music Videos. If you want to do this, please do not do this without a doctor’s supervision. 🙂‍↔️

IU has one brother, Lee Jong-hoon, who is four years younger than her. - sbsstar.net 🧒

That is all for now! You can comment here so we can chat more about IU. And for those who will be going to HEREH Concert, enjoy your day. Definitely, IU is going to give her best. 😘

Fan Merchandises

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55Pcs/Box IU Photocards SEASON'S GREETINGS Album Lomo Card The Golden Hou Postcard

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IU Button Pin Can Badge Fanmade Lee Jieun HER Concert Freebie HERER The Winning Tweety

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50PCS Korean Kpop IU Sticker Famous Female Stars Waterproof Decorative Laptop Tablet Diary Sticker

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#IUHERWorldTour #LeeJiEun #LeeJongSuk #kpop

[thejenhardy]

Redefine your personal brand after 50

Greetings fabulous! 

Today we dive into the glittering world of personal branding with none other than the punk-rock-spirited CPA, Heather Zeitzwolfe. Between shared technical snafus involving the mysterious entity that is Zoom and confessing our collective affinity for AppSumo deals (they really should start sponsoring us at this point), we spent more time laughing than I ever have during an episode!  And yes, that image of us decked out in sequins and leather while balancing our checkbooks is 100% accurate - our personal brands are all about shining bright and rocking out, no matter what the ledger says.

So pull up your favorite chair, slap on some of that old-school eyeliner if you're feelin' it, and get ready for an episode that juggles everything from our punk days listening to Social Distortion  to the taxing conundrums of being an Amazon Vine reviewer (who knew reviewing could be so, well, taxable?). Heather not only brought down the house with her tales of spicing up the CPA world with a dash of rebellion, but she also gave us a peek behind the velvet curtain of personal reinvention. Trust me, whether you're a rockstar at heart or a glitter enthusiast, finding your personal brand over fifty isn't just possible—it's a downright hoot. Let's crank up the volume and celebrate the fabulous, misfit anthems of our lives.

  Thank you for joining us today!

I'm having a blast creating Fabulous Over 50 & it would be an honor to have you share it with someone who would enjoy it. Thank you!

Want more?

You can go to the website and you'll find many ways to live your best life over 50!

I'd love to hear what you think about this episode & what you'd like to hear about in the future. Send me a message HERE.

Have a blessed week,

Jen

  Let's Connect!!

JenHardy.net

Facebook

Instagram

LinkedIn

Contact Heather:

Instagram - 

LinkedIn 

Get Radical With Your Business: Facebook - Website - Podcast Book a Discovery Call (via Zoom) - Schedule Zeitzwolfe Accounting: Website - Facebook

Check out this episode!

[jdgo51]

What Is My One Word?

Today's inspiration comes from:

My One Word

by Mike Ashcraft & Rachel Olsen

Editor’s Note: 2023 is in our rear view mirror, so the time has come for us to set our New Year’s resolutions and think about our goals, hopes, and wishes for the year ahead. But as authors Mike Ashcroft and Rachel Olsen remind us in this devotional, becoming the person Christ created us to be requires focus — and for you that might mean zeroing in on one word to guide you through the new year. We hope this devotion inspires you to pick your one word for 2024!

"So teach us to number our days, that we may present to You a heart of wisdom." — Psalm 90:12

"'I don’t have enough time to live my own life!

I reached this conclusion after trying to follow all the advice given on a morning news show one week in January. It seemed like a smart way to start my day. I figured I’d tune in, get the forecast, learn the headlines, and maybe hear a celebrity interview. I wasn’t expecting all the show segments telling me how to live my life better.

Most of these segments offered the promise of deliverance: “Financial Freedom Is Closer than You Think” or “Four Secrets to Better Communication.” Others, I decided, were designed to scare the socks off of me: “Six Health Risks Every Person Faces” or “Thieves You Cannot See — Avoiding Identity Theft.” Motivated by this combination of hope and fear, I compiled a to-do list of ways to improve my life and its management according to the experts. The more I listened, learned, and listed, the more behind schedule I felt.

The topics on my list ranged from health maintenance to home maintenance to car maintenance. I was informed I need to eat certain foods every day: four veggies, three fruits, two proteins (preferably chicken or fish), and I think a partridge in a pear tree. I also need to get enough fiber, calcium, Vitamin D, B, C, and Beta-something-or-other.

I need thirty minutes of cardio a day (but apparently with the right exercise product this can be done in ten), fifteen minutes of strength training, and ten minutes of stretching. Plus, some extended time for meditation so that my body and mind could align. I’m told a germ-resistant mat is needed for that. I need to bust my stress, nurture my creativity, and improve my posture.

I need to pay attention to my finances. Save and invest. Spend frugally — yet somehow also buy the cool gadgets they review on the show. Apparently extreme couponing is the way to afford it all, but it takes a lot of time to save 80 percent on your grocery bill. I need to check my credit report regularly. Shred important documents. Back up my computer. Meet with my financial planner. And read the information that comes with our kid’s (underfunded) college fund. That, by the way, is forty pages of legal and financial mumbo jumbo in eight-point font, single-spaced. I suppose I need to meet with my attorney to understand it. And that creates two prerequisite tasks to add to the list: find an attorney and find a financial planner. They assume every regular Joe has a CFP, a CPA, and a JD on speed dial. I have Domino’s on mine.

The list continues…

Change my oil every 3,000 miles and my transmission fluid every 30,000. Test my smoke detector batteries biannually. Change my air filters every other month. Replace my toothbrush every three months. Flip my mattress every six. Buy new pillows every three years — I think this is for my posture, but it could be to get rid of dust mites. Check my skin for irregular moles. Check my yard for moles too. Weed and feed the lawn each spring. Grow houseplants to cleanse the air. Save last night’s roasted chicken bones to make my own chicken stock. Buy undervalued international stocks. Sell my stock before it drops. And stock my pantry for possible natural disasters.

Fertilize, amortize, winterize, maximize, scrutinize. Suddenly I realized: I don’t have time to live my life!

PAUSE. My word for the year is PAUSE. In my busy life there are so many times I need to pause. Pause to remember these days, for they will fly by so quickly. Pause to say yes … and no. Pause to give thanks. Pause before I speak in anger, judgment, or criticism. Pause to say I’m sorry. Pause to dwell on God’s goodness and mercy. — Dawn

Looking at the list of things I was supposed to do to live my life right, or well, or whatever all this was going to do for me, I felt defeated. The list that was going to improve my life left me overwhelmed. In my moment of defeat all I wanted to do was go surf. ’Course the list said I should put on a high-SPF sunscreen and take along a BPA-free water bottle to keep me well hydrated. Filled with filtered spring water, of course.

Change is possible.

Dropping the Ball

I’m sure you can relate; you’ve made lists too. Lists of things you want to start doing or stop doing — things you want to change about yourself. Lists of ways to improve your life and your character. Maybe you’ve only listed them in your head. But I bet they come to mind each January. Nearly two-thirds of America’s population has made New Year’s resolutions. I am one of them.

And you’ve probably found, like I’ve found, that each day keeps blurring into the next while we try to make some progress with our many good intentions. Yet very little actually changes. That ball keeps dropping in Times Square each New Year’s. And we keep dropping the ball on our resolutions to improve.

Only 20 percent of resolution makers report achieving any significant long-term change.

When I open my Bible, I find more lists. Things a follower of Christ should do. Things a follower of Christ should resist doing. Traits a follower of Christ should display — all the truly important stuff that never makes it onto morning show segments. When was I going to get to any of this?

I decided to drop my list of ways to get the most out of my life. I realized I needed to find a new way to approach personal change.

Losing the List, Picking a Word

My first journal entry in 2004 was a single word: FLOW. Not merely written on the page, but etched in bubble letters about three-quarters of an inch tall. The letters are heavily outlined, surrounded by a thin border, and colored in gray. It took me about ten minutes to draw and color the word FLOW. But it took three weeks to narrow all that was bubbling up in me down to that single word.

I’d been writing in a journal for years, but here was something I had never done before. Instead of blasting paragraphs on a page to capture my thoughts and insights, recording my steps and setbacks, I decided to meditate on just one word.

I wrote this word FLOW in response to something Jesus said. He said,

Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water’.— John 7:38 ESV

That struck a nerve.

There were times when I felt the living water flowing with ease from my heart. But there were other times, more times, when it felt forced.

The idea of FLOW drew me forward. It didn’t have the trappings of regret or the pressure of sweeping promises to change like my resolutions did. It awakened something in me. Not a compulsive desire to change born out of being sick of the way I was, but a desire to live an authentic life that flowed from my relationship with Christ.

Could my life really flow from my heart? The question sent me on a search anchored by the four letters of this one word.

If what Jesus said was true — pause for the obvious answer to arise — then I’d need a way to pay attention to my heart on a daily basis.

I decided looking at and concentrating on this word FLOW would remind me to do that. In the months to come, I paid attention to FLOW and used it to gauge my heart and my life. I discovered I could tell the condition of my heart based on what was coming out of it into my life.

And slowly, over time with this word FLOW, I learned to reverse that process. Instead of looking at my life and actions to realize the state of my heart, I proactively addressed the condition of my heart. That changed my life.

In looking through the lens of a single chosen word, I found a new approach to personal change and spiritual formation — one that is doable, memorable, effective, and sticky. The results have been greater than I expected.

FAITHFUL. For twenty-seven years I’ve believed that my plan for my life is superior to God’s plan. My time has been spent pursuing goals, accomplishments, and things I felt I needed to be happy and complete. After twenty-seven years of much external success, I realized I was still personally and emotionally unsatisfied. While driving to work one morning I was listening to K-LOVE, and I heard Mike talk of the One Word concept. That day I decided, for the first time in my life, to focus on God’s plan for my life instead of my own. Handing over the reins has not been easy; in fact, sometimes I’m not sure I have the endurance. So I chose FAITHFUL as my one word, because I’m committed to being faithful to God’s Word and plan. The thought of where things are going is exciting! I’m now being led by the earth’s Creator. — Brian"

Excerpted with permission from My One Word by Mike Ashcraft & Rachel Olsen, copyright Mike Ashcraft & Rachel Olsen

[steamishot]

weekend work

it’s the busiest month of the year - i’m doing work on the weekend so that i’m not bothered by emails coming in and i can actually focus on meeting deadlines. this busy month was specifically tough this year due to all the changes in series (voluntary, GSR, and housestaff specifically). 

the anticipatory anxiety that i experience is always worse than the actual event. the red eye was more than fine. the subway was more than fine. meeting with a group of work friends was more than fine. being alone in my apartment is more than fine. i’m now having some anxiety about my therapy session on monday, as it will be my first time doing a video call for individual therapy. i always hid behind texting or phone calls. i’m “prepping” myself by finding negative things that i want to bring up which is most likely not helpful.

B officially asked me to be her bridesmaid. we are texting a lot more often, and working to be on better terms. i’ve let go of any hard feelings.

the newlyweds R&T are planning a move to NYC in two months! yay for having more friends in the area. we’ll be meeting matt’s friend H for dinner tonight and couple A&H will be visiting sometime next week so i’ll most likely meet with them too.

update: i had my first therapy video call with joel, an old white man from florida. i found it easier to talk to a male; he was really calm, and made me more introspective. he even poked some fun at me because my worries can be a bit ridiculous. he recommended i read a book called the worry trick, which i ordered immediately after the session. since i was young, i’ve always liked a sense of harmony and peace, which often means i stay complacent or i shut myself out from new stimuli or challenges. however, the new stimuli and challenges are usually what makes life more interesting and fulfilling, and i am robbing myself of that. there’s a lot more i want to explore in therapy and am excited for our session next week. 

regarding anxiety, he gave me an analogy of being in the woods and seeing a bear. will i stay calm in this scenario, or will i start a scene, run away and have the bear chase after me? we are often faced with uncomfortable challenges. we can choose to see the challenge as it is, or intensify the situation and make it worse than it needs to be. another analogy was having a headache. when we have a headache, will we take the necessary actions (rest, drink water, go for a walk), or will we start freaking out believing that it’s a brain tumor and make the situation worse? 

after completing my degree, my life in nyc has become lackluster, and i understand my dread. my remote work offers some purpose and pays the bills, but it is overall quite boring and doesn’t offer excitement. i immediately wanted to run back home to the comfort of family and friends. there’s nothing wrong with this, but i think i can learn to grow to be independent as well. i’d like to move back not on a whim and worry (of like omg, what do i do with myself now), but rather, a feeling of contentment and readiness. 

it’s a weird transition, kind of like i don’t want to start anything new (including new friendships) because i know i’ll be leaving in the next half year or so. but i still have to continue to look forward to things, meet new people, and continue living life in general with the understanding that i am still here NOW. that being said, the next things i’m interested are: running club, more hot yoga, checking out more coffee shops, possibly pursuing a CPA, and cherishing the time we have left with our current friends. 

[sweettoothedtrickster13]

A Second Look Chapter 5

Tags: Female Sherlock Holmes, Elementary, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Season 1 Episode 12- M.

Warnings: None

Summary: When a case touches a nerve, Sherlock spirals.

Notes: Whew. So I hate watching this episode, and actually the next one too bc I hate seeing Sherlock so broken. But it's also a really important episode, so I figured I'd write it. Hope you enjoy!

AO3 Portal

Sherlock had been happily watching some of her bees buzz for some time when Watson comes down the stairs. “What are the bees doing in here,” Watson asks.

“Buzzing,” Sherlock provides.

“No, I mean what are they doing inside. Why aren’t they on the roof with the other bees?” Watson stops next to her.

“I’m seeing how the indoor temperature suits them. Our six weeks together are very nearly up, Watson,” she says as she stands. “In a matter of days, your room will be vacant. I’m very seriously considering turning it into an apiary. Finally the space will serve a purpose.”

“You say the nicest things,” Watson says as she moves behind her. “The end of our companionship is actually what I wanted to talk about,” she notes. 

“Do tell.”

“When I’m wrapping up with a client, I like to carry out exit protocols,” Watson continues.

“Sounds ominous.”

“No, we just need to talk.”

Sherlock pauses. Talking. That sounds ominous, as well. “It’s time I tell you Watson, you place far too much emphasis on talking. Most of what humans say to one another is communicated haptically,” she explains, gesturing to her body and looking at Watson. “When I think of the many thousands of words you have wasted during your time here-”

“And yet there was one sentence that if I had never spoken we wouldn’t have realized we were soulmates,” Watson says. “Just because we won’t be companions anymore doesn’t mean we don’t have to see each other anymore. I explained that to you during the Purcell case.” Watson’s voice turns soft.

“Keeping that in mind, we don’t really have to do the ‘exit protocols’ now, do we?”

“It will be the end of our companionship. I want to get that formally over with so when I move to my next client, we can start with a clean slate.”

“Consider the slate clean.”

“That’s not how this works. So, we’ll have dinner and talk, out loud, and discuss my six weeks here and reflect on your progress.”

“Reflections are for mirrors. If you’d like, you can just give me a report card.”

“Sherlock.” Sherlock waits, but Watson doesn’t continue to talk. She looks at her. “Don’t blow me off, ok? Just do this. For me.”

Sherlock’s phone rings and she picks it up, looking at the caller I.D. “Captain Gregson. How may I be of assistance,” she answers.

“Got a weird one for you.”

“Perfect. Address?”

“I’ll text it to you and brief you when you and Watson get here. Bye.”

Sherlock hangs up. “Come, Watson. A murder awaits.” She goes to her room and changes and meets Watson at the door and they hail a cab to get to the address Gregson had provided.

“The owner of the house is a CPA by the name of Ian Vickers,” Gregson says as he walks them in the door. “We’re pretty sure he’s also the victim.”

“By ‘pretty sure,’ you mean,” Sherlock prods.

“There’s no body. Just blood.”

Gregson stops at the edge of the living room and Sherlock takes a step to her left. She stares at the large pool of blood on the floor. Her own starts to roar in her ears as everything starts to rush through her mind. 

“Hey,” Watson’s voice breaks through, and Sherlock focuses again. “You ok?” She nods wordlessly.

“Aside from the blood,” Gregson continues, undeterred. “The scene is clean. No footprints, no witnesses, no nothing. Whoever did this, we don’t know the first thing about him.”

“He’s tall,” Sherlock remarks.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s tall. Strong, too. He’d have to be to hang his victims from a hook. Hook’s gone now, but it was once attached to a tripod device of the killer’s own design. He assembled it after he incapacitated Vickers, hung him upside down, and slit his throat. Gravity and the last few beats of his heart pushed every last ounce of blood from his body.”

“A tripod device,” Gregson asks, incredulous. “Look, Holmes, I know you’re good, but what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Here,” Sherlock says, crouching and pointing. “It’s from one of the legs. There are two more groove marks in the perimeter of the blood there and there,” she indicates. “After he’d completely drained Vickers, he dismantled the device taking it and the exsanguinated corpse of his victim with him.”

“Sherlock, how did you deduce all that from this pool of blood,” Watson asks.

“I didn’t deduce anything, actually,” Sherlock admits. “I’ve stalked this particular madman before. In London.”

“I’ll get the files from Scotland Yard sent to me,” Gregson says. “Come to the precinct tomorrow, I want a total debrief on what you know.”

“Certainly.”

She stands at the edge of the living room and watches the crime scene technicians process the scene.

The next morning, Watson drives them to the precinct. They walk into the bullpen, where Gregson had set up boards concerning the serial killer. “Now, Holmes has tailed this guy before,” Gregson says to the precinct as they settle into chairs and stand around. “That means she knows the most. I’ll have her tell us what she knows. Holmes?”

Sherlock walks to the boards and puts her back to them. “M,” she starts. “A simple moniker for a complicated monster. He is, without question, the most sinister taker of lives I have ever had the displeasure of pursuing,” she says. “He’s been active since January of 2002. During the last ten years, he has tallied a body count of thirty-seven. His image has never been captured. He is methodical. He is as efficient as he is clean. He also has no type or victim profile, which makes it almost impossible to predict when, where, or whom he might strike. His oldest victim in the U.K. was in her late eighties. His youngest a mere twelve.” She hears quiet sighs and gestures to areas of the boards as she talks. “He drains his victims of their blood and then dumps their bodies in the ocean. Bodies of twenty-one of his victims were recovered from the shoreline. The other sixteen were presumably carried out to sea. I wouldn’t be surprised if the body of his latest victim, Mr. Vickers, were to make an appearance on one of your beaches in the next few days.”

“I’ll call the Coast Guard, tell them to keep an eye out,” Bell says. 

“Yeah,” Gregson assents. 

“I trust that the lab has, by now, confirmed that the blood at the scene was Vickers’,” she asks Gregson.

“All twelve pints of it.”

More quiet noises of shock and revulsion. “M’s fascination with blood is as mysterious as the man himself. He mentions it in his correspondence with police,” she says, striding forward and picking up the stack of photos of the letters. “But only rarely,” she hands a stack to the nearest detective. She walks about the front of the room, handing out stacks for the detectives to pass among themselves. “You’ll notice he has a tendency to ramble. Do not be fooled. I have long suspected that M isn’t nearly as mad as he’d like to lead the authorities to believe. His letters are, in my humble estimation, a feint. An attempt to make everyone who would attempt to analyze him believe he is one thing when he is, in fact, vastly another. Finally, M tends to kill in bunches. So be prepared for more bodies to drop. I’ve brought my personal files on this killer to the station, and I’m arranging them for your consumption.”

“Alright, let’s get to work,” Gregson announces. Sherlock walks off to the side and the gathered detectives and officers start to murmur. She goes to the conference room where she had stacked her case files. 

“Hey. How are you doing,” Watson asks when she walks in behind her.

“Quite well. Why,” Sherlock questions as she starts to leaf through a pile of papers. 

“You seem oddly chipper.”

“I do?”

“And last night, at the crime scene. The way you were staring at the blood.”

“I was struck, I suppose. The moment I laid eyes on the scene, I knew who has done it. Not by name, of course, but by method and moniker.”

“And this morning?”

Sherlock looks at her and strides behind her, closing the door to the conference room to leave them in relative privacy. 

“Ten years ago, when M first started killing, I was an integral part of the investigation. By the time he had claimed his 36th life, however, my addiction was out of control. I was, I’m embarrassed to say, useless to Scotland Yard. Now, his appearance in the colonies is a second chance for me. To do what I should have done years ago- bring a ruthless killer to justice.”

Gregson opens the door. “Let me ask you a question,” he says, coming into the room. “This M. character. What was his awareness of you back in London?”

“He might have made reference to me in a letter or two. Why?”

“And his appearance in the States, in New York, so soon after you is, what, a coincidence?”

“I hadn’t given that much thought, Captain.”

“Maybe he knows you’re here.”

“Perhaps.”

Gregson sighs. “I’m posting a couple of unis outside your door until further notice.”

“Captain, that’s hardly necessary-”

“No arguments.” He sighs. “I’m not losing my soulmate if I can help it.” He smiles a little and turns. With his hand on the doorknob, he looks back. “The uniforms will be there whether you like it or not.” Sherlock follows him out after a moment and goes to the copier, feeding a paper into it.

“Well, I have an appointment soon but I’ll be back in a couple hours,” Watson says, following her. 

“I shall count the seconds until your return.”

“And when I get back, I’ll help you with the M files.”

“Actually, that won’t be necessary.”

“You need all the help you can get.”

“While I appreciate that, I’ve realized I’ve become too dependent on your assistance. Much as it pains me to admit, you’ve become a crutch, at least in part. I need to get used to working alone again.”

“You sure,” Watson asks gently.

“Positive,” Sherlock looks at her. “You go to your appointment, Watson. I shall keep you apprised of both my work and the progress of the case via email.”

Sherlock goes between the conference room and the bullpen, working the case. “Holmes,” Gregson calls, and she looks up. “Vickers washed up. Come on.”

Sherlock follows the man. Just as he described, the bloodless body of Ian Vickers is on the coastline with CSU technicians working around it. “No evidence,” Sherlock asks, already knowing the answer.

“No. Water must have washed it all away.” Gregson sighs. “This guy’s good.”

Sherlock doesn’t reply.

“Hey,” Gregson says, and she looks at him. “Don’t worry. We’ll get him.”

“Oh, of that I have no doubt, Captain,” she nods. 

Gregson looks a little taken aback. “And like I said, those unis will be posted at your door all night, just in case M tries to get at you.”

They stay with the corpse until it’s transported to the morgue, where Gregson leaves her alone after the autopsy. Sherlock texts Watson the details and where she is before she puts on gloves and examines the body closely. 

“Hey. I got your text,” Watson says when she walks in.

“Meet Ian Vickers,” Sherlock says. “Washed up on Roosevelt Island. Which narrows M’s dumpsite to the whole of east Manhattan.”

Watson walks to Vickers' head and examines it. “My money’s on the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Oil in the hair. There’s a high concentration of industrial oil in and around the Navy Yard. I donated to the cleanup effort a couple years ago.”

“Noted and informed Gregson.”

Sherlock walks to Vickers’ head and sniffs his hair. She runs her fingers through a section of it to more closely examine the oil both she and Watson had noticed. 

“I’m gonna miss this,” Watson admits quietly.

Sherlock looks up and raises an eyebrow.

“Well, not this,” Watson gestures to the body. “But…this,” she gestures between herself and Sherlock. Sherlock slowly straightens. “Working with you,” Watson shrugs. “I think what you do is amazing. I wanted to tell you that at our wrap-up dinner, but there’s looking to be less and less of a chance of that happening with everything that’s going on.” Sherlock stares at her for a moment. “I’ll wait outside. Give me a five-minute warning and I’ll call a cab.” Watson turns and walks out of the morgue.

Sherlock examines the body further, then texts Watson the requested five minutes before she’s done and they go home. 

“So given that it’s after 11, our delivery options are pretty limited,” Watson says while they walk in. Sherlock stops at the edge of her library. “There’s that Vietnamese place on 23rd, but I think you said it was a front for songbird smuggling.”

“Watson, I need you to be very, very quiet right now,” Sherlock requests.

“Why?”

“Because I believe our home has become a crime scene.”

Watson stops next to her and gasps when she sees the note. 

“I’ll call Gregson,” Watson says. Sherlock nods and they don’t move. “Gregson. You need to get to the brownstone. M’s been here. No, no blood. He left a note.”

Soon, Gregson comes with a veritable army of detectives, officers, and crime scene technicians. He stands next to Sherlock. When the all clear is sounded, Gregson picks up the note with gloved hands. “Men make plans, God laughs,” he starts to read the note that had been comprised of letters cut from magazines like a stereotypical ransom note. “I am laughing at you now, as I always have. You think you honor me with your pursuit, you do not.” Sherlock and Watson look at each other before returning their attention to Gregson. “You are a mouse chasing a lion, a mere planet in orbit of a raging sun,” he turns his attention to Sherlock as he reads the last few words. “You talk to Ellis and Hitch yet,” Gregson turns to Bell.

“They were parked out front all night, never saw anyone come near the door.”

“He came in the back,” Sherlock says. “The lock was picked, quite expertly if I might add.”

“I guess this answers the question if he knows you’re in New York or not.”

“My apologies, Captain. If I had any inkling that he might follow me-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Gregson says, stepping in front of her and looking her in the eye. “He’s the twist, not you. This isn’t on you.” He puts his hand on her shoulder. “You two go pack a few things, I’m putting you both up in a safe house until we catch this guy.”

“Captain, all due respect, I hardly think that’s necessary.”

“Sherlock, a psychopathic serial killer with 37 notches in his belt is after you and was in your home!”

“If he wanted me dead, he would have lain in wait, not leave me some bombastic note.”

“Sherlock-”

“I’m as safe as houses here, Captain, I assure you. Put more uniforms at the back of the building if you want, those are the only two entrances into this apartment. But I am staying.”

“I’m not losing you,” Gregson says quietly.

“And you won’t. He wants the chase, wants me fully engaged. That’s all.”

Gregson shakes his head. “What about you, Ms. Watson? I’m sure you’ll feel safer somewhere else.”

“If Sherlock says we’re safe here, I believe her. And I go where she goes.” Gregson looks between the women, incredulous. But he shakes his head and stands at the edge of the library until everyone clears out. 

“Thank you very much,” Watson says as everyone leaves. “Good night.”

“Sherlock,” Gregson says when everyone else is gone, and walks towards her. “Are you sure you don’t want to leave?”

“Quite.”

“And I can’t keep someone in here?”

“I box, Captain. And I assure you, I have more than enough weapons to defend myself.”

“You have guns?”

“No. I do, however, own a singlestick.”

“A what?”

“A long stick, rather like the handle of a broom, that I can use to defend myself. It’s used to strike the opponent in the pate,” she gestures to her own. “I can take care of myself, Captain. Thank you for your concern.” Gregson sighs. 

“Goodnight, Sherlock. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Captain,” Watson says.

“Night.” He leaves.

Sherlock goes to her computer and pulls up the website to the property she’s planning on.

“What’s that,” Watson asks from behind her.

“Another one of my father’s properties. I’m think of moving once we’re through.”

“Since when?”

“Since our home was violated by a madman.” Watson frowns.

“You told the Captain you weren’t worried.”

“I’m not. Just thinking ahead; my enemies are legion. The next one might leave more than a note.”

“Well, I’m going to bed. Night, Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, Watson.”

Sherlock listens for her footsteps to disappear before she retrieves her security camera and downloads the information on it. She pauses it on M’s face. She makes a few calls.

Sherlock gently closes the door behind her and walks into the kitchen to get some food. Watson is sitting at the kitchen table. “Care to explain this,” she holds up the photo of M. “I got it from a friend of yours. Teddy? No? What about this,” she continues, sliding the book she had hidden the camera in across the table towards her. “I looked around, I found three more. I can’t imagine how many I didn’t see. It’s funny, when I moved in, you didn’t mention your little security system.”

“This is my sanctum sanctorum. You didn’t expect me to leave it unguarded, did you,” Sherlock speaks at last.

“Is this M,” Watson demands, pushing her finger onto the picture. “You told a bunch of children to go to upscale hotels and look for him. Why?”

Sherlock approaches and picks up the photo. “Note the hands. Vintage MG driving gloves. Quite expensive. But not nearly as expensive as his John Varvatos shoes. M has money- that much is obvious. He’s also a recent addition to New York. Why did I assume he was in a hotel as opposed to a property he might own? Quite simple. There was a curious scent on his note. High-end hand soap and an even higher-end mint shampoo. Both products are used individually by various upscale hotels around the city, but only one chain, the Betancourt, stocks both. My lieutenants and I each staked out a Betancourt and watched for M.”

“Oh, very impressive. I want to know why you shared a photo of a known serial killer with a bunch of kids rather with the police precinct you belong to!”

Sherlock turns off the sink she had been planning on getting a glass of water from. She pauses but puts the glass down and turns, walking back to Watson. “Several weeks ago, you learned of the existence of a woman named Irene Adler. I told you she’d died.”

Watson looks shocked. “M killed her.”

“Obviously he realized the degree to which I was assisting Scotland Yard in the hunt to find him and he made it personal. As to why I’m withholding this information from the police is quite simple. I have no intention of letting him be captured. I have every intention of torturing and murdering him.”

Sherlock walks away. 

“What do you mean, you plan to torture and murder M,” Watson demands, following her.

“I hardly think I could be much clearer.”

“This isn’t a joke!”

“No. This is revenge.”

“How are you so calm,” Watson asks as Sherlock retrieves her kit.

“I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m not calm. I’m merely presenting a calm exterior. Inside I’m roiling. I have been dreaming about this moment for quite some time- one year, six months, twenty-two days. That’s when he killed her.”

“Irene.”

“We’d been together seven months by then,” Sherlock details, moving around the room and fetching various items. “I won’t bore you with the details of our courtship. Suffice it to say, I was quite smitten. Until that point in my life, I’d found most people quite boring. A means to a physiological end. Irene was different.”

“You were in love.”

Sherlock looks at her. “Prior to her murder, my drug use had been recreational. Something to do when I was bored or needed a boost during a particularly challenging investigation. After Irene, I lost control. I used various stimulants as I tried to help the authorities identify M. Once went several weeks without sleeping. When the trail went cold, I turned to opiates.”

“Look, I’m grateful to know the whole story,” Watson says. “But you’ve come a long way since London. I’m not going to let you risk it all by chasing down a psychopath.”

“I don’t think you understand, Watson. Without you, none of this would have been possible. Everything you’ve helped me do during the last 6 weeks- every meeting you dragged me to, every exercise you made me perform- everything has been in preparation for this moment. I’m not throwing away anything I’ve learned. I’m using it. I’m as clearheaded and focused as I ever have been. There’s a clarity to my thinking that’s…frightening.”

“I didn’t help you stay sober so you could become a murderer.”

“You didn’t realize that’s what you were doing. Nor did I, for that matter. Not until I walked in on that crime scene and saw M’s handiwork. I realized I’d been given a second chance.”

“Is that why you didn’t want me to help with the M files? You didn’t want me to see Irene’s name and figure out that you were up to something? I was the only one who could make that connection.”

“I’d hoped we would never have this conversation. I don’t want you to feel responsible for something I have to do.”

“You lied to me because you know what you’re planning to do is wrong.”

“If you’re considering following me, I strongly advise against it.” She doesn’t want to hurt Watson. But she will if she has to.

“I’m not gonna follow you.”

“Good.” Sherlock walks away. 

“But you know that I’ll call Captain Gregson.”

“Do what you feel you must, Watson. That’s what I’m doing.” She leaves.

Sherlock goes to Theodore. She taps his shoulder while he’s putting out the trash, making him whirl and exclaim in shock. “Theodore. Heard you met another one of my associates today. She said you had something for me.”

“Depends. You got something for me?”

She holds up an American hundred dollar bill. Theodore reaches for it but she pulls it out of reach. “Tell me.”

Theodore does.

Sherlock goes to the woman’s apartment and stands behind M. He’s watching a football game. “Oh, that’s a joke,” M exclaims. “He hardly touched him!”

“Arsenal fan,” she remarks, making him turn. “As if I didn’t have enough reasons to despise you.”

“You,” M sneers.

“Me. Baton,” she extends it, and knocks him out.

She goes to the woman. “I will cut you free, but only if you don’t look at me. If you’d please wait ten minutes, you can call the police. Do you understand?” The woman nods. “Alright then.” Sherlock cuts her free and the woman doesn’t turn. 

Sherlock drags M out and into the waiting car. She drives to the property. She hangs him up on the scaffold, suspending him by his hands tightly enough he doesn’t have a hope of getting away. She sits in a chair and waits. 

M stirs. He strains against the restraints, trying to pull himself out of them. Sherlock stands in front of him, and M laughs.

“Hope you don’t mind being hung right-side up. I know you prefer the opposite for your victims.”

M looks at the various weapons she had laid out. “Figured out where you’re gonna start yet,” he asks conversationally, as if they’re sharing a cup of tea.

“I have not,” Sherlock admits. “I had hoped to use the bees in some capacity, but then it occurred to me that you might be allergic. After all this trouble, I’d hate for our fun to be over so soon,” she smiles.

“That would be a pity. Bit surprised at you, though,” M cocks his head. “I thought you were more of a by-the-book sort of broad. Why here? Why not take me straight to the nick?”

“I think you know why,” Sherlock approaches him. 

“I think I don’t.”

“Irene.”

M pauses but shakes his head, frowns, and shrugs. 

“Pretending the name isn’t familiar to you will not make things any easier for you.”

M thinks more. “Addison?” He grins, tilting his head back. “No. Adler. Irene Adler. Got killed in her flat, Camden lock, about a year and a half ago. Sorry to disappoint you, love, but that wasn’t me.”

“Of course it wasn’t. It was probably the other blood-draining maniac with the tripod device, hmm?” 

“I was banged up in Brixton for six months. Got into a bit of a disagreement with a Man United fan. He was running around, slagging off the Arsenal. Didn’t paralyze him, just bashed him up a bit. And while I was doing the stretch, I read in the papers that the notorious ‘M’ had struck again. Imagine my surprise. But you disappoint me. And Scotland Yard, of course. Falling for that copycat so easily?” He chuckles. “Tell me. You and Ms. Adler, did you two shag? Because if you did, I would have paid a pretty penny to see that.” She restrains herself from throttling the man then and there.

“I must say, I’m a little disappointed in you,” Sherlock says. “I though you’d be a much better liar.”

“Haven’t lied yet.”

“Why would you, when you’re facing an agonizing death?”

“Ex-Royal Marine, love. Death’s an old friend.”

“Is he,” she asks, approaching him. “What about torture? Is he an old friend as well?” She pauses. “You made me a shambles of a woman,” she admits. “I’m going to return the favor.” She punches him in the ribs. Then the face. She walks away and hears M spit twice behind her.

“Anyone ever tell you that you punch like a woman,” he mocks.

“A woman did once. But she was much bigger than me.” M turns his head and spits blood again. “And the abductor of young girls she then used to turn a profit in the sex trade.” Sherlock shrugs. “So I didn’t really care about her opinion.”

Sherlock peruses her weapons.

“Well, you move quick. I drop my first body here, what, 72 hours ago? What’d you do, jump on a plane?”

“A plane from where,” Sherlock looks over her shoulder at him. M raises his eyebrows.

“Uh, London?”

“What made you think I’d gone back there?”

“What are you talking about, ‘gone back,’” M asks. “You trying to tell me you live here now?”

“You know very well where I live.”

“How would I know that?”

“Because you paid a visit there. Left me a note. Feigning amnesia will do you no good.”

“The brownstone was your place?” M shakes his head. “Something’s not right. I’m not what you think I am. I’m not a serial killer, love, I’m an assassin. I have an employer.” M must see Sherlock doesn’t believe him. “Look, I receive the names of everyone I kill for him. He pays me.”

“I already told you you’re a terrible liar, didn’t I?”

“Once again, I’m not lying. He sold me out. He never told me you was here.”

“Who didn’t?”

“My employer. The MO’s, the notes, all the serial killer bollocks, his idea!”

“Let’s pretend that I believe you,” Sherlock turns and leans against a table. “What was his motive for killing 37 people?”

“I don’t know, I never met the bloke. He sends me coded messages on me cell phone. It’s in my jacket. Have a look if you don’t believe me.”

Sherlock fetches it and looks through the messages. “This gobbledygook? Proves nothing.”

“Sebastian Moran, that’s my real name. Look me up! There was a trial, it was in the papers. You’ll see I was locked up when Adler was killed.” Sherlock types in Moran’s phone. “He talked about you, was obsessed. He never told me you was here and he sure as fuck didn’t tell me it was your flat I was breaking into. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the one who killed your girl.”

Sherlock starts to shake. “No.”

“Don’t let him play you as well!”

“No. It’s you. Has to be.”

“You saw the article, didn’t you? I’m telling the bloody truth!” Sherlock just breathes. “You can kill me for all the others, but your girl? That was him. That was Moriarty. He’s the one you want, not me.”

Sherlock puts aside Moran’s phone. “I seem to recall you saying you weren’t afraid to die.”

“It’s not fear I’m feeling right now, love. It’s anger. Righteous anger. Moriarty sold me out, and I’m gonna get even.”

“You’re a monster. A sadist. A murderer.” She turns back to her weapons.

“All of that. But I’m not a liar. I didn’t kill your girl.” Sherlock starts to shake again.

“You killed her.”

“I never touched a hair on her head!”

“You killed her.” She picks up an ice pick and grabs Moran’s head, holding it up to his eye. 

“Moriarty said you was obsessed with puzzles. But he’s the greatest puzzle you’ll ever come across. You kill me now, you’ll be killing the best clue you’ll ever get.”

Sherlock lets go of his head and steps back.

“I knew you’d make the right decision,” Moran says. “You’re a rare thing in this world, Holmes. You’re an honorable woman.”

“A famous statistician once stated that while the individual man is an unsolvable puzzle, in the aggregate he becomes a mathematical certainty. You can, for example, never foretell what any one man can do, but you can with precision say what an average man will do.”

“You’re not average, though, are you Holmes?”

“Individuals vary. Percentages remain constant. I am not average, you’re right there Moran.”

She stabs him, making him scream. She backs away. Moran starts to laugh. “You made the right choice, Holmes. What do you want me to tell them?”

“Whatever you want.”

She releases him and drags him to the car, driving to the station with Moran laid out in the back seat, groaning. She pulls up to the station and drags Moran in. “This is M,” she announces to the bullpen. They’re swarmed and Moran’s stomach is wrapped in bandages. He’s cuffed and brought to Interview One. 

Gregson arrives and points at her. “Park it in my office.” Sherlock goes, sitting on the couch. She makes a call to Brixton.

Watson walks in. 

“You’re missing out on quite a story back there,” Watson says. She puts aside her coat and approaches her. “The stab wound he sustained? He claims he got it in a struggle, but I’m pretty sure if he had, there would have been more damage.” She drags a chair over and sits. “Looks more like he was stationary. Maybe even restrained. I used to be a surgeon, but I doubt I’d find a place to stab someone without actually doing any real harm.” Watson just looks at her, but Sherlock keeps looking straight ahead. “If that’s what you meant to do, I’m impressed. If you’re trying to make some sort of point-”

“He presumed to know me,” Sherlock cuts her off, looking at her at last. “He needed to be shown he did not.”

“He’s willing to confess to all the murders, but he won’t give you up.”

“He believes that he’s been wronged. He thinks I’m the best chance he has at bringing whoever wronged him to justice.”

“Are you planning on helping him? The man who killed Irene?”

“As a matter of fact, he did not.” She extends her phone, pulled up to the article. “He was incarcerated when she died. I confirmed it a short while ago.” She inhales. “I’m sorry that I lied to you, Watson. The last few days have been quite vexing. Even now I’m unsure I’ve done the right thing, allowing M to live. Strange, really. I’m rarely conflicted about my decisions. The beauty of deductive reasoning, I suppose. Makes a science of nearly everything. But not this.”

Watson stands and sits next to her. She lays a hand on Sherlock’s arm. “I’m going to miss this,” Sherlock whispers. “Maybe not this, but this,” she says, laying her hand on Watson’s and looking at her. “Working with you. I think what you do is amazing.” Watson presses against her side and lays her head on Sherlock’s shoulder. “I’m sorry our last days together had to go so poorly.” 

Gregson walks in, furious. He closes his door. “Moran might not be giving you up, but I knew what you did, Holmes. You’re done. Joan, take her home.”

They stand and go home. Sherlock goes to sleep on the couch. 

The sun eventually wakes Sherlock, and she turns and sees Watson on her phone, looking at something. “Watson, what is it,” she asks. She rolls off the couch and gets to her feet.

“I called your father last night. Given everything that’s happened, I recommended staying on a while longer.”

“And,” Sherlock asks, trying not to hope.

“He agreed.”

“I suppose the apiary will have to wait.” Sherlock walks to her evidence wall and takes everything down. When the wall is clear, she writes a single name on an index card and puts it up. She sits in a chair in front of it and looks up at it. Watson brings her tea and puts it on the floor next to her before silently sitting on the couch behind her. Sherlock sips and stares at the wall. 

[financialsecrets]

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[smallcrystals]

I really like your “SciFlash is next door neighbors” headcanon! So what the scenario would be like? Have they been neighbors but didn’t find that out until half way through high school? Or they knew they were neighbors even before FG? Or Flash and his family just moved in next door to Twilight and they are the new neighbors on the block?

AAA i'm glad you do !! but if i remember correctly, that was actually one of my friends' headcanon! i might have posted abt it to add my two cents in but it didn't come from me!

but i can say it's a REALLY cool hc and i'm so down to write a next door neighbours fic if i have the time

so i'll answer your questions based on my personal take of this hc!

i like to think sciflash met each other when they were kids but neither of them remember it well. it was like a one time at a park or one time at a class gathering. i hc that they both come from wealthy families so that's how their parents met!

at some point sci twi n her family had to move to be closer to CPA so they ended up keeping that house as a summer house. this would be around the time where sciflash were kids so, again, they don't remember. they never really visited it after that, too busy with life.

sci twi moves back when she transfers to CHS, so it's easier for her to get to school. this would be probably during or a bit before better together season 1! flash would probably be too distracted to focus on his new neighbours moving in, so he wouldn't notice until a few weeks later.

and that's when they find out! specifically a few days after pinkie pie: snack psychic.

they both live in like sort-of mansions? there is a spare room on the top floor that turns into sci twi's, which turns out that outside, the balcony is connected to flash's bedroom! imagine like a tree growing beneath the bridge that connects the balconies so there are leaves that decorate the balcony, giving it a ~magical~ feel.

when they see each other, they're like.... HOLD UP. WTF???? and they just sort of. geek out about it. sci twi rambles on abt the mechanics and design of the connecting houses while flash listens and adds some of his knowledge in (i headcanon that his dad is an architect so he knows some things teehee)

sci twi insists on going to see flash's room and is like utterly enamoured by how tidy it is. you can probably imagine that's how they become friends.

so they can like,, sneak into each other's room if necessary (like for school, to hang out, in house arguments etc)

but yeah, that's how i see it!!

[stevenbasic]

I couldn’t believe my life had come to this, waiting in my car as evening began to settle over Far Horizons Medical Associates, watching for Melissa to pull out of the parking lot. We had just walked out together, after what turned out to be a long day of patients for me and...whatever it is she does...for her. A catch-up day, for sure, after a week away from work. Our chat, as we had locked up the office and both headed out to our cars, was idle and friendly. She was headed to the gym, and asked what I’d be doing tonight. I lied, of course, telling her my wife, Sheryl, had a nice dinner planned. Maybe we’d catch up on the series we’d been watching. 

But here I was, watching Melissa finally pull out of the lot and disappear into traffic in her white beemer. Only then did I think it safe to turn off my car, grab my bag, surreptitiously hurry back to the building, and sneak back inside. I felt so foolish...

My practice, I guess I should explain, occupied the biggest of three decent-sized office suites on the ground floor of our building. Well, I say “our”, but it was really Sheryl’s. She had bought it as an investment property, years ago, and rented the space back to the practice. One of the other two suites had been a physical therapy office, but was now recently vacant. Sheryl hadn’t, as far as I knew, been looking actively for new tenants. The third set of offices was currently a financial advisory group; they’d been there a while. 

Above the first floor, there were some smaller spaces Sheryl also rented out for little private offices. There was a patent attorney, a coin trader and a couple CPA’s, but most of them had recently been vacant, too. There was also one space that she’d converted to a basic little studio apartment that was, as of just last night, no longer vacant. It was now, in fact, where I was heading. 

Furtively, I entered the main foyer space of the building through the glass doors from outside, hoping beyond hope that I hadn’t been seen. While the now-locked entrance to FHMA was directly on my right, those to the other two suites on the opposite wall, I headed to an unmarked door in the far corner, which led to a stark, cement stairway, which went up to the second floor hallway, a utilitarian passage which itself led me to…

...home. 

I struggled a bit with the key but finally got the door opened, switched on the fluorescent overhead light, and sighed. I was greeted with several small stacks of boxes, an old couch, and the silence of bare white walls. At least it smelled okay. 

The fight, last night, was a bad one. I’d known, driving home from the airport, that Sheryl would be waiting for me at home. I realized, of course, even when I was down south at the conference with Melissa, that a full week away was too much. The extra few days at the end to relax was irresponsible, escapist, just a chance to avoid the problems I had up here in my real life - the tensions at home, in my marriage. The loss of respect I’d been feeling at work. I knew in the end it was just going to make them all worse, exacerbating the already festering issues. Now it was coming to a head…

...and the photos didn’t help. 

Sheryl had, I immediately saw as I had stepped in the front door, a manilla folder full of them. Possibly two, in fact. 

“Hi honey,” she said plainly, as I struggled my bag into the living room, dropping it in the arched doorway, “welcome back.”

Full-page photographs, mostly of Melissa posed in various bikinis, lay strewn across our coffee table, spilled from the folder labeled “phone”, in black sharpie. I recognized them all: the white bikini, the burgundy, the rainbow. There were also a few more photos, Melissa in a beach dress, Melissa laughing, a selfie of the two of us together. I recognized those too. I recognized all these pictures, of course, because I had taken them. 

“Hey uh...what’s all this..?” I asked, dumbly, as my heart began to race. Oh my god, what had she done?? I knew - now, at least - that whatever pictures I took with my phone automatically got shared with Sheryl, that she could see them. I’d kicked myself for my naivete multiple times upside-down and sideways since she’d explained that to me, having seen all the damning modeling pics I’d taken for Melissa at the beach last Wednesday. This was obviously a folder full of them. What was in the other?

“I don’t know, honey. Why don’t you tell me..?” Sheryl answered. 

I, of course, was totally awkward, inept and hapless in my defense. How does one explain hundreds of bikini shots of one’s Uber-buxom Office Manager on one’s phone to one’s wife? Or the photo Melissa took of me, with lipstick on my forehead? How does one argue one’s point when one’s opponent is a high-powered corporate attorney who has prepared her case and stacked her deck against one? One does it...poorly. 

I tried, I really did, to assuage Sheryl, to convince her that nothing happened during our trip, between me and Melissa. Nothing did!! Really!! But I knew my heart was not in it, and - if I was being honest - throughout the last two months since I’d hired Melissa I’d been effectively unfaithful to Sheryl, at least in spirit. I did my best, though, to plead my case and she watched me do it, sitting there on the couch in what she’d call her “warrior princess” look. Hair, clothes and makeup she’d use when she knew her adversary was a male easily swayed by such an appearance...one such as myself. Sheryl was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. She knew the warpaint, the big fluffy blond hair and the tight dress showing off her healthy implants would give her power in this exchange, tip the scales even further in her favor.  

But her coup-de-grace was the pictures. She had printed them, of course, to humiliate me. Nice and big, glossy, they were certainly all that, for sure. But, of course, they’d also be pretty useful to her in court, since she’d have to expect I’d delete them from my phone...which I’d done (after saving them al elsewherel…) Nonetheless, here was her proof. 

She had let me talk, and then she went on her tirade. It actually started calmly enough. 

“Do you realize how weak you look, how pathetic,” she began, coolly,  “spending your time with her? This...girl?”

“M-Melissa’s n-not just a ‘girl’...” I retorted, beginning to defend myself, trying to match Sheryl’s composure, but feeling the heat in my face already and hearing the stumble in my speech, “this was for work, she’s an employee, our office manager, a...a…”

“A what? A G-cup?” she snapped

she’s actually an H-cup…I thought to myself, in a silent flush of shame. 

Sheryl knew, of course, my history, my weakness for the young and buxom. It had nearly ended our marriage in the past, several times. “At first, when you first hired her, I was more disappointed in you than angry,” she continued, regaining her poise, “knowing why you’d done it, that you were basically helpless. I was disappointed that you, after all these years, were still so weak-willed and stupid. I do suppose it's no picnic having that huge penis of yours. It’s honestly the only outstanding thing about you, but it must be a burden. It sort of overwhelms your brain, doesn’t it? Make you make these stupid decisions?”

This was so humiliating. “Sheryl, c’mon..”

“No, really,” she said, calmly, “Sometimes I think I shouldn't blame you for being a slave to that...thing. You’re just a man, and your erection is the biggest part about you. But you’re also my husband. You made a commitment, and I’ve worked so hard on this marriage. So, yes, back then, when you hired her, I was disappointed...but I wasn’t angry.”

Oh my god I felt like a child being scolded, but in my disgrace I held my tongue. 

“But now,” she continued, the heat beginning to build in her voice, “seeing all those pictures, seeing her tits all over you phone, seeing the two of you together, now I’m angry…”

“Sh-Sheryl, listen, I-“ I tried, stepping towards where she sat. 

“Is that really what you want?” she asked, voice breaking for the first time, “To be with someone like her? Someone young and dumb? It is, isn’t it? You like that she’s big and young and dumb, that she’s soft and pretty and that she adores you...”

I stepped in again. “n-no, honey, wait…”

“Don’t ‘honey’ me…” she bit, “not after you hired not just her, but a whole harem of them. Because that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Building yourself a harem of young, dumb, soft pretty things?”

“Sheryl, pleas-“

“Be quiet,” she commanded, suddenly standing up from the couch.

I gasped, and visibly took a step back. She was surprisingly, impressively tall in her office stilettos, and I couldn't hide my shock. If she noticed, she said nothing, just narrowed her eyes for a moment and pressed on. “You should just go be with your big-boobie office manager, your new little bunnies, if that’s what you want. Let them take you and coddle you, tell you it's all okay. Let them kiss away all the boo-boos you got from your big, mean wife.”

She took a step towards me; I took a step back. A smile curled on her face as she watched my reaction. 

“Oh, yes. Don't think I don't know,” she continued, her voice chilling again, “don't think that I don't know what you did with Rina, your secret little fantasies. I know what you like, they all know what you like. Rina told them at the office four years ago and it’s going to follow you for the rest of your life.”

Sheryl stepped right up to me; we were eye-to-eye. wh-what the…?? She watched the shivers run through me as I realized I was not just dealing with someone who could intellectually and emotionally dwarf me, but someone who could also possibly physically harm me as well. 

“Sheryl, h-hold on…wh-what Rina and I did, it-“

Her smile frightened me, and her voice changed. “Awwwww,” she cooed, in baby-talk, her eyes flashing as she took to releasing the years of pent-up resentment, “All that baby-play, what you did with Rina, is that what you want, sweetie-pie?” 

Suddenly unable to face her, I turned away, stepped away. I felt her following behind. 

“You miss it, hmm? You want it again, right, baby?” she persisted, hammering away at me from behind in that babydoll voice, “But now you want ‘Melissssy’ to be your mommy now, don’t you?? Yes...yes you do!”

“Sheryl, s-stop..!”

“Oh, I'm sorry..! Is that emasculating??” she chided,  “Am I emasculating you? Telling you that I know, that everybody knows, that what you really want is to be an infant?? That you may look like a big strong man - or, whatever you are, these days - but inside you’re nothing but a child. A toddler. A little needy baby that just wants its mommy.”

“Oh my god Sheryl, n-no, please…” 

From behind she took my shoulder and, forcefully, spun me around to face her. “You look at me,” she ordered, “Look at me when I’m talking to you, you understand?”

Meekly, I nodded. “y-y-yes…” I answered. . 

She sneered at me. “Jesus. Face it, honey, you’re an infant already,” she told me, her eyes boring into mine as my gaze dropped; she allowed it, as I was looking at her chest. “Think about it: women own your business, women own your house, women organize and keep your little practice running,” she said, laying bare all my deepest truths, opening the wound that has festered for years. All I could do was stand there and take it, eyes cast downward. “Women figure out what you’re going to eat, what you’re going to wear. And you love it, how we infantilize you, you don’t fight it at all,” she continued, “You all do, you men, these days. You love it. It’s everywhere. Men are becoming like little babies, more helpless every day, while women are working harder, becoming their big, competent mommies, taking care of everything, letting you cling to us just to make it through life. It’s happening, you’ve seen it...”

She looked at me, pausing in her diatribe, and considered. She had me sufficiently cowed, obsequiously speechless; her voice dropped. 

“But you...you...you’ve been this way all along. That’s what makes you different,” she said, half-cryptic, “That’s why they want you.”

“wh-what do you m-mean?“ I asked, a strange fear gripping me, a primal instinct, making me find my tongue and raise my eyes to her. 

She pressed on like she didn’t hear me. 

“In some ways I guess I can't blame you,” she continued, “You're a beta male, surrounded by alpha females...” 

Oh my god, this? Sheryl, too??

“...Me, Melissa, all the rest, all of us alphas,” she stated, as if it was plain as day, “It’s the hierarchy of mankind...or in your case womankind. There's no way you can avoid it.”

“wh-where is this coming from??” I suddenly blurted, the fear and confusion in me bubbling up finally in a defensive yawp, “Is this from those meetings you’ve been going to? I don’t know if I want you going to them any more..!”

holy shit what did I just say..???

“WHAT?!?” she screamed, her hands suddenly on my chest, pushing me with surprising force backwards. I stumbled, my knees catching the overstuffed chair behind me. I fell backwards into it, and sat frozen, stunned, gaping up at her in shock and fright. My heart raced.

She looked down at me, eyes wide. She seemed, for the moment, surprised herself, that she was capable of what she just did...and at how easy it was. 

She took a step towards me; I recoiled below as she seethed. 

“Y’know what I wish? Hm?!?” she glared down at me, imperiously, over her nose and full chest as her anger flashed again, “I hope that someday, someday soon...I hope you get exactly what you want. I hope you get a woman that really emasculates you. That just dwarfs you, with all that she is. A woman that makes you feel tiny, like the weak little man you really are.”

I watched as the anger of the last seven years all came to bear above me, in her, as she began to rage. 

“Oh god!” she cried, “I hope someday you get what you really want! I hope you get crushed between the tits of a huge, strong woman!! I hope you get shrunk to the size of a tiny little bug by her, I do, and I hope I get to watch!” 

Jesus christ what is she saying?!? Where did she get this?!? And why - oh god no - am I getting..? I can’t let her see...

In her fury, she continued, her fists balled. “Oh god I’d like to see that, I'd like to see you squashed,” she spit, “I'd crush you myself, if I could. I'd crush you under my big, high heel.”

I moaned, a pitiful wail. She looked at me, aghast. 

“Oh god this is turning you on right now, isn’t it?!?” she fumed, suddenly incredulous, “Me yelling at you? Me humiliating you??”  She leaned over, brought her face so close to mine. I backed away, retreating the inches I could. Her fists still balled, she all but snarled: “Do you get aroused when a strong woman gets angry at you?” She watched me trembling, and dropped her voice as she began to speak more slowly. “Oh my god you do. You get off on being...belittled,” she said, “Being made to feel small by the anger of a woman. And you love that, you love feeling small, don’t you..?”

She considered me, thought for a moment, ignoring the near-wordless denials I was trying to form. “Well, then, let me help you out, if you want to feel small,” she said and then, without another word, she grabbed me through my pants,

“Sh-Sheryl, no..!” I sobbed, weakly moving to grab her wrist. She slapped me away, her hand now forcefully half-encircling my turgid girth through my khakis. 

She squeezed, then she unleashed. 

“Would it make you feel small if I told you I have more than fifty times the money that you do?? Hm?” she sneered, inches from my face, pressing my outsized cock down into my thigh, feeling it harden with her anger, under her abuse, “That with my new jobs I made more last week than you made in a year. You didn’t know that, did you?? No - I do all our banking, I do all our finances. You wouldn’t know. You let me take care of everything. I own this house, I own the practice.” She squeezed my shaft, roughly, making me spasm, my whole body tense towards her. “You’ve been basically nothing but an employee of mine these past thirteen years. An employee that I let live under my roof, eat my food…”

Insistently, she began to stroke my cock through my pants, slowly, with a strong grip and commanding authority. “How does it feel to be a kept man, hm?” she asked, watching my eyes flutter helplessly in the newly lit blaze of arousal to which she had me held, mercilessly working me now, “I know you. You like people to think that I stay with you because you’re a rich doctor, that you’re a successful man. But it’s really quite the opposite, isn’t it? You stay with me because you’d be nothing without me. I own your house, I own your car. I’m your fucking boss. You have barely anything in savings and what you do have I would totally consume with our pre-nup” 

My voice began to bubble up, to tremble. “w-w-why…?” was all I could manage, not even knowing what I was asking. 

”Why? Why do I stay with you?!? Oh my god I ask myself that all the time, all these years, through all the affairs and the mistakes and the absolute pitiful way you run your life.” My question, my audacity to speak, had only caused her to redouble her efforts; she squeezed me again, pumped me harder. “Why do I stay with you?? I don’t know- maybe because I loved you, once? Maybe because I felt, somehow, that someday you’d change? Or maybe because...maybe because I started to like it. Maybe I started to like the feeling of making more than my husband, of watching him get smaller and smaller to me, inside our home, as I grew bigger and bigger outside it, wealthier and wealthier, more and more successful as he slowly turned into this...this...this little worm, writhing under me, clinging to me. God!!!” she exclaimed, suddenly rising up a bit, putting her free hand on my shoulder, “Do you see what you’ve done to me?!? What you’ve made me become?!?”

Whether on purpose or not, she’d positioned her upper body right in front of my face, forcing me to stare at her chest as she worked my cock. I can see her bra, she’s swelling out of it, modest implants under taut flesh. Implants she got for me, years ago. So she could...do this, more easily. And it worked, it fucking worked…

I groaned again. I was already so close...so close to...to coming...oh god no, not in…not in my pants...p-please Sheryl...

“But, yes. Part of me liked the idea of owning you,” she mused, allowing me to just gape at her cleavage, knowing I was close, “Of having you as a kept man. But now...now...it’s done. I’ve decided - I don’t want to keep you any more. They can have you...”

She reached behind herself, grabbed something off the coffee table, her left hand never leaving my lap.

She held it right in front of me, right before my eyes, a picture...

“They can have you…”

With a grunt, a lurch that buckled me forward in my seat, I came under her hand, I came in my pants, I came in the most shameful way I could imagine. I came in my pants under my wife’s strong hand as she kicked me out of the house and gave me to Melissa’s tits

“Unh, unh, unh…” I whined, allowing myself only the briefest of moments to ogle the photo, and then casting my eyes down, clamping them shut in my vileness. My cock, so huge, bucked and jerked in the hips of my khakis, soaking them - I felt that already, its hot brine, gooping onto my thigh, making a mess.

“There you go,” Sheryl said, her hand still squeezing my firm spongy shaft, “get it all out…”

I groaned, I groaned as I felt Sheryl move, putting down the photo so she could support me with her right hand to my shoulder. Otherwise, I would have folded forward, right into her

She squeezed me, she milked me, she urged and pulled everything she could from my cock, into my pants, and as my eyes began to open I saw the spectacle, the shameful stain darkening my pant-leg, nearly the entire thing from mid-thigh down to my knee.

”a-are you divorcing me?” I peeped, finally, the first words I could manage as my climax faded, my cock pulsing weakly now. My meekly resigned question sounded fully like a demission, obsequious surrender to whatever she wanted. 

“No, I’m not divorcing you,” she replied, with austere plainness, “The world would eat you alive, and I’m not ready for that yet.” She watched the monstrosity of my erection fading, under her hand. “But I am kicking you out of my house.”

Where will I go??? I thought, with passive acceptance, even as the last pulses of climax had yet to fade. Images of sleeping in my car, soaked in my own filth, crept through my skull.

As if reading my mind (omigod can they all do that??) Sheryl spoke up. “Don’t worry, you’re not going to be homeless,” she said, still tenderly massaging the now softening mush of my spent manhood, squishing it wetly into my leg, “But...you do need to be put in your place. So, I have a place for you. It’s perfect. Nice and small.”

The apartment, at the office, hers, she explained, as I watched her left hand tend to my afterspasms. I’d live there, I’d live in the little apartment she kept as a side thought, a pittance of her charity. I knew I really had no other option, and hung my head. It proved how dependent I was on her; I’d have a place to live only on account of her good graces. It was just something else she could lord over me, show me how small I was. 

“Now, get up. Get up,” she instructed, finally peeling her hand off me, leaving me sticky and foul as she sat back, “Get up and leave. I’ve packed your bags, your things. They're all there already.” She stood, over me, seeing me still trembling from my trauma. “Just go, here’s a key-“ she said, fishing into her top and pulling a key from her bra.

“Sh-Sheryl…?”

Dismissively, she tossed it at me. “Go lose yourself in her tits for all I care.” It bounced off my chest, slid down onto the chair.

Clumsily, I floundered at finding the key in the cushion, as all the while Sheryl  straightened her skirt, smoothed her hair. “n-no, I’m going to show you,” I began, finally gathering the key, finally starting to stand, rising wobbly to my feet, “I’m n-not that weak. I’m going to prove myself to you...”

”Sure you will,” she said, not even looking at me at this point, “now get out.”

“Sheryl, c’mon…”

“Get. Out.” Her eyes were on me again, cold and hard. She pointed at the door.

At the end, the end of my time in my home of seven years, I was walking towards the front door when my wife said one last thing to me. “Wait…” she said, causing me to pause, look back.

“Turn around…” she said, regarding me with new, discriminating eyes, “...are you shorter?” 

==============

Thanks to TopographicSociety and tumblr reader nycslave for inspirations

[bluewhale52]

The History of Us - Ch. 16

Synopsis: You have built your career and you have 2 rising hip hop superstars as your besties. Life is pretty good, until one drunken night that derails your life plan. How would you survive?

Pairing: ?? x OC , main characters are mostly Namjoon, Yoongi and Tae, but all 7 are present now

Fic type: social media au + text 

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, fluff, angst.

Rated: R

Warning: swearing, talk about sex and unplanned pregnancy

Disclaimer: photos are not mine, and of course characterization and scenarios of the boys are purely of my imagination

Masterlist  |  Next>>

Ch. 16 - 3some

—

10 March, 20:15

You and Taehyung sit nervously across from Seokjin. He still has not said anything since you broke the news that you are in fact, carrying Kim Seokjin’s baby, and not Kim Taehyung’s. There are probably a million questions that will need to be answered, but Seokjin has not shown any indication that he has processed the jawdropping news. 

“Maybe you should wait in the bedroom,” you whisper to Taehyung. At the raise of his eyebrows, you pat his cheek lovingly. “It’s OK, Tae. It might be easier for him to talk to me alone.”

Your heart aches with the way Taehyung looks at you. A flash of jealousy, possessiveness then understanding, one quickly replaces another. He kisses the top of your head and gently rubs your belly, before excusing himself and heading to your bedroom.  Watching him leave, you immediately blush at the memories of what you did last night and this morning.

You and Taehyung had not talked in a month, since you  told him about the identity of your baby’s father. All the frustration and anger finally boiled over last night at Yoongi’s birthday dinner. Annoyed at Taehyung’s cold demeanour towards you, you openly started flirting with Seokjin all night, which resulted in you and Taehyung shouting at each other across the table. 

When a particular barb Taehyung threw at you finally broke the dam of tears you had been holding back, Namjoon dragged you out of the restaurant and held you as your cried into his chest. Minutes later, however, Taehyung came out to pull you from Namjoon’s arm, flagged a taxi down, and you both ended up going back to your place together. 

The taxi ride was quiet, but once you both entered  your apartment, you were anything but. Lips smacking, skin slapping, pants and moans filled your living room then your bedroom. And it was at your fourth orgasm of the night, when you screamed his name over and over again, that he claimed you as his, and you gladly accepted it.

This morning was no different, instead of talking, the two of you were going at it again, and you both apologised, cried and promised to be honest and to communicate better, all said between orgasms. Spent, a decision was then made that Kim Seokjin needed to know- that the baby growing in your belly is his. Which led you to inviting him to your place for dinner, to break the news.

You turn to the man in front of you, wondering how long more you need to wait before Seokjin is able to say anything at all.

“Seokjin,” you reach out and rub his knee, “are you OK?”

He blinks at your touch, and clears his throat. “Uh, let me just get the facts straight.” 

You nod, silently encouraging him to talk. In the short amount of time you have known him, you realise he has a habit of talking his thoughts out loud.

“So, we met that night, at the Halloween party, then we came here, and you know, and somehow our protection was faulty..” his hands are flapping and you nod at him, “and you’re pregnant.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“And i was the one night stand guy whose identity you didn’t know, until the whole partnership thing with Namjoon and Yoongi.” You nod again.

“But you told me last week that Taehyung was the father.”

You shrug your shoulders a little. “Well you caught me off guard, I panicked and just said the first name that came to mind.”

This time it is Seokjin who nods. then he chuckles, “You know I thought you were going to offer me a proposition, like for a threesome.”

You choke on your own saliva at his blunt confession. “Excuse me?”

Seokjin laughs loudly, his shoulders shaking. “Turns out I’m going to be a father.”

You stare at him wondering how his mind could go from ten to 200kph in an instant. “Yeah well, no threesome. I think we have enough spice in our lives as it is now.”

You wait till Seokjin stops laughing, and when he buries his face in his hands, you start to worry. He must be going through a hell of a rollercoaster of emotions right now.

“So... what now?” he finally looks up at you and asks.

“I don’t know, really,” you helplessly answer, “Tae and I agreed to tell you because all eight of us will be working closely. And not only that, you’re becoming friends with Joon and Yoongi too. And then Hoseok and Tae seem to be forming this bond over fashion, I just didn’t want to ruin any of these relationships you guys are building.”

You take a deep breath. “I didn’t want to tell you, but Tae insisted that you need to know,” you confess reluctantly.

“I see.”

Seokjin and you  awkwardly stare at each other. Something seems to hold him back from saying anything, so you continue talking.

“I don’t want your money. I swear, this is not why I told you about the baby. Before Tae was even in the picture, I was ready to have this baby and raise them on my own. My relationship with Tae just happened, and I’m grateful for it.  And he was planning to move in here so he can help, you know he loves children, and I know he’d be an amazing fath- I mean, he’s amazing with kids...”

You stop talking when you see Seokjin tilts his head at your almost referring Tae as the baby’s father. 

“So it’s like a parenting threesome.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “What?”

“You know, two dads, one mom. Is that what’s going on here?”

You sputter, lost for an answer, and Seokjin feels agitated by your lack of response.

“Are you expecting me not to be involved? Do you want me not to be involved?” he asks, voice firmer now.

Your heart is beating faster. “I’m not... it’s up to you Seokjin, I-”

“Jin.” he says firmly, interrupting you. “You’re carrying my baby so call me Jin.”

You swallow, getting nervous now. “Jin,” you repeat his name, “it’s up to you. It’s your choice how much you want to be involved. I’m not expecting anything from y-”

Jin abruptly stands up, startling you. “Well I’m telling you now I’m not expecting to be a third wheel in this, it’s my child!”

He runs his fingers through his head in annoyance. “You can’t just tell me and expect me not to be involved.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you speak gently, trying to ease down the tension. “I’m just saying it’s entirely up to you. If you want to be involved, that’s great. If you don’t, that’s fine too. I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“Because you have that knight in shining armour, right?” he gestures towards your bedroom. You groan inwardly, praying Taehyung is not eavesdropping. You stand up and grab Jin’s arms and direct him back to his seat.

“What do you want then, Jin?” you ask, forcing your voice to stay calm.

“I want to be involved, and I want the baby to call me dad. The baby can call Taehyung whatever you guys want, but the baby will call me dad.”

“OK, that’s absolutely fine.”

“And I will pay for the baby.” He shushes you as you shake your head. “50% of the baby is me, so whatever medical costs of this pregnancy, and when you give birth, and whatever the baby needs later in life, I’m also responsible for it.”

“OK, if that’s what you want.” 

“If you don’t mind, I will start a fund for the baby. For financial security. My parents did it for me, and I want to do it for my child too.” Jin continues, “there’ll be paperwork involved, to ensure the money goes to the child and the child alone.”

You nod, it makes sense. He has money and he wants to ensure his child’s well being. As an expectant mother you feel somewhat relieved, and as a CPA, you know it’s the right arrangement if one can afford it. “OK, that’s a good plan and I’m really grateful for it. But Jin, do you want people to know you’re the father?”

Jin stares at you blankly. You have thought about this question long and hard. You are fine admitting your child is fatherless, or when an answer is needed and you can’t circle around it, you know Taehyung is ready to step in. Your inner circle knows who the real father is, and that’s all that matters.

But if Jin wants to be openly involved with the child, it would be his reputation on the line. He is too much of a public figure now- the whole situation will definitely be seen as a scandal, tainting his name and very likely will cost you your job too.

Jin seems to understand the dilemma. “If your firm finds out...”

“... I’ll probably lose my job.” You finish his train of thought.

“So we’ll be discreet. We’ll just tell those who need to know. Wait, does everyone in Bulletproof know I’m the father?”

“Just the guys, and you know we can trust them completely.” You assure him, and yourself.

Jin nods. “So your job should be safe then. As long as no one from outside finds out. Though you know, most first borns tend to look exactly like their fathers. One day people will put two and two together.”

“Well then,” you chuckle, “let’s hope our child is going to be a boring accountant like me, and not famous like you.”

At that Jin smiles at you, a real genuine smile, and you feel hopeful that this strange arrangement- this parenting threesome as Jin puts it- may just work out. 

Jin and you both whip your head at the sound of Taehyung clearing his throat. You freeze, wondering when Taehyung came out of your bedroom, and how much has he heard? Then you realise you are sitting very close to Jin, and you start to worry if Taehyung misreads it. The fight you had is still fresh in your mind and heart.

“Sorry to disturb you, and to burst your happiness bubble,” Taehyung walks closer to you and Jin, “but you need to see this.”

Taehyung holds out his phone, and Jin and you quickly read what is on the screen. Jin groans, and you grab the phone from Taehyung’s hand, reading the screen over and over again. Taehyung bites his lower lip nervously.

And then you let out a blood curling scream.

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

[letsdiscoverkitty]

06.10.20

I am sorry (again) for the radio silence. I am unsure how to use/if I want to come back to this account at all...I pop onto instagram but I don’t personally post there as I still have very mixed feelings about it. 

Anyway, I’ve been on the ward for nearly 6 months now and I think it is fair to say that I am feeling very out of place. I was VERY fortunate to be allowed to go away with my parents and Andi to Cornwall last week - my mum pulled all the right strings in my CPA as my consultant was not keen on me going as it was a big part of my dad’s continual rehab/recovery- and let’s just say that it was the break I needed from the ward. A bit of a recharge I suppose. Unfortunately in my last CPA my consultant said that she wants to keep me on the ward for a number of weeks with no home leave and there is still no sign of a discharge date. I am really starting to question how staying here for x more time is going to benefit me...of course there are some ways in which it will but at the same time being here is also dragging me down. 

Cornwall challenging to say the least; it was a bit of a reality check and showed me both how far I have come but also how far I have to go. It was also a good chance to see how this is not the life, this quasi state, is not the life I want to live...although, again, I am not sure if being cooped up here is going to help me to make the steps that i need to. I suppose in some ways it is becoming a bit of a comfort blanket being here, and I really do not like that feeling, not at all.

My mind is a bit of a maelstrom at the moment.  I’m feeling very alone and lost; unsure of where to turn. I have no idea who I am or where I want to go; The future is terrifying but so is the real reality of staying stuck.

Recovery is messy and confusing. I feel like I have been taking steps forwards then steps backwards a lot recently. I know recovery isn’t linear but I wish that it wasn’t always like this.

[petrichorpoetryy]

tagged by @teremisoo . Tereeee, im tats, huhu. I’m usually just here silently liking and re-blogging posts, pero someone’s actually aware of my existence pala rito hahah. Love uu 

(ok, so sobrang simple ko lang about stuffs hehe.)

five things you’d find in my bag:

1. Laptop

2. Wallet

3. Water bottle

4. Wires? (charger ng phone at laptop, earphones. haha)

5. Stationeries

five things you’d find in my room

1. Books (for entertainment and accounting-related)

2. Study materials (chair and table, for when I study or work)

3. Clothes

4. Work-related documents

5. A framed painting that was given to me by one of my closest friend then during 4th grade (grabe, ang tagal na pala, ano? huhu.)

five of my favorite things

1. A scrapbook that was given to me by my bestfriend then, who happens to be my first love as well lol, before our high school graduation.

2. My physical diary

3. Phone

4. Laptop

5. Earphones

five of my habits

1. Massaging my feet with baby oil, or any ointment that has menthol in it,  after a long tiring day. 

2. Having my earphones plugged in my ears in any possible circumstances, hehe.

3. Watching live performances of my favorite artists.

4. Writing my feelings in my notes or here in Tumblr.

5. Reading stuffs whenever I feel things are being too much and I want a quick escape.

five things about me that i like

1. My social skills. Idk, I always find  myself in situations where people would say that they instantly feel comfortable with me. Also, just a side story (this was from last week), I was about to turnover one of my clients to one of my co-accounting associates due to some changes in work, when a client refused the other accountant to handle their company and specifically requested me to stay and continue working for them. 

And I could honestly go on about other similar circumstances regarding my social skills, haha, not that I’m bragging :3 

2. My persistence. I guess I could safely say that I’ve had my fair share of failures in life, but even with those experiences, I’m proud that my goals have always been the same. If anything, I’ve grasped them closer when paths are blurred and tighter when my steps are unsure.

3. My fervent capacity to love. I know this has its down sides as well, but someday in some way, I will get it right and things will fall into place that all the consequences of loving fervently won’t even matter at all.  

4. My willingness to pour my broken heart into art. I know this is baduy and all, huhu, but as much as it is baduy, I believe it’s sweet and unique when I find the right one who’ll understand all my shenanigans in life haha. Sige nga, hanap ka ng taong susulatan ka ng tula, kanta (kahit hindi talaga ako marunong kumanta huhu), maraming maraming letters, at marami pang iba! (haha, yes, with exclamation point kasi my crush doesn’t know what she’s rejecting. chz, haha.)

5. Being a perfectionist. I’m not saying I’m perfect ah, haha. It’s actually the opposite, I want things so badly to all go perfectly according to my imagination that I end up procrastinating instead. I badly overthink things, kahit hindi ko pa ginagawa, pagod na ko. But I’d still like to think this as somewhat an advantage, because at least I have a higher structure of ideals in mind, it’s just a matter of dwelling with myself for the execution. 

five things i want this year

1.CPA title

2. a job that I actually love and at the same time treats and compensates me well.

3. pass the entrance exams and get into a law school of my actual choice

4. love life

5. lose more weight :) 

tagging the birthday girl @lrviolet @gladventurers @mediwriter @kinikimkimnikimbie @maligalig

[introvert-bella]

life lately

After months, I can finally say the famous line —hi, it's been a while! Well, I have been pretty busy and couldn't find time to write again (busy for me was laying all day haha). As you all know (or maybe not), I'm a second year accountancy student which have gone through qualifying examination for me to continue with the program. I only had a one week break after finals and decided to review right away for the eight major subjects I need to take. It's been a stressful month for me 'cause it's really hard to focus and just fight the urge to sleep. Given that there's so many distractions and all, I really had a hard time reviewing.

I used to wake up at 8 am, prepare our breakfast (sometimes, lol) and start at 9 am till 5 pm. But of course, schedule are just there and not followed most of the time hehe. During the entire month, I had this thought in my mind always —should I still continue?

I believe some of you were on the same stage as mine — not knowing what to do in life. When I first thought of what to take up for college, I honestly don't have in my mind. I don't have the skills I can relied on to know where I'm good at or simply, I don't really know where I'm good at. It was this moment when my sister told me that she wants to take accountancy program during college that made me think eto na lang. Thank you so much ate, for opening my life to dream. So when the Philippine government implemented the k-12 program which adds another two years of studying after highschool, I took up Accountacy, Business and Management strand knowing that I will really take up accountancy for college plus, my friends are there (number one reasons of some who can't decide, aminin na natin). So it all went well, I've graduated on time. But here's the major decision I need to do, choosing three programs to put on my application for college. Since I made up my mind few years ago (or so I thought), I put Bachelor of Science in Accountancy as my first choice and voila! I already finish two years of it. But the process wasn't easy —everyone knows that. I had a hard time during the first year. As an introvert, it wasn't easy to move to city to study all of a sudden. I'm used to going home to my family for my whole life and then suddenly, I need to be independent and live alone (not merely alone 'cause I'm with my friends but, you know? it's still different). I honestly think of it during high school, like there was a time me and my friends would talk about living in the same house when we got to college and all the fun things we will do —But it wasn't that easy. I need to prepare my own food, do grocery and laundry plus the struggle of studying.

I feel overwhelmed. During the first weeks, I barely passed my exams, I had so much in my mind, I'm not ready with the pressure alongside my program. It's as if we're used to hearing ay accountancy yan, matalino mga yan, but in reality, I'm not. I'm an overthinker, like a lot. And it didn't do good on me. After the first semester, I decided to moved back to my parents house, even if it meant to travel 4 hours everyday, back and forth. Luckily, my schedule wasn't that tight. I feel like a little burden was off of my shoulder when I decided to but of course, the struggle to get to pass my subjects was still there. Not a long time since second semester started, the virus came making all of our lives turn around all of a sudden. Schools were shut down for a moment expecting that after the first implemented lockdown, we will all go back to normal but that didn't happen. Online schooling was the new normal —which I've never expected to be this hard. Learning and studying things on your own wasn't that hard to think right? but it shaken the hell of me. I find it really difficult to study and learn, especially when 'home' for me was my resting place, where I'm running whenever I used to find a hard time from school and all of a sudden, it turns around! And with all the events going around, it made me overthink so much. Will I survive? Will I pass? Will I still going to get that three letters after my name? The entire time, I still have this thought in my mind, even if I'm doing all of I can to get through the program, I still think if this is really what I want, if this is where I really belong. Maybe because I still didn't get enough answers? or I'm just trying to find an excuse whenever I feel like I'm losing it? or maybe I just really didn't know if this is where the Lord wants me to be. Ang hirap kapag hindi mo alam kung anong gusto mo. Ang hirap kapag hindi mo alam kung saan ka magaling.

It's easy to say, especially those in older generations, that you'll get through it, that mental health issues was just an excuse. I know, we do have different take on life, especially with our generation, our thoughts and the way we see the world seems different from their's. And that's exactly because we actually lived in different time, it's not the same circumstances anymore. So it's not fine to say that arte lang yan. There's a bigger reason behind.

During those times before qualifying examination, especially when the rules were laid down, I was sure I will not make it, that I will not make it to the cut-off even if I pass. Who would have thought of passing if I barely passed my subjects right? So from that moment, I didn't get my hopes up that I will (less expectation, less pain). Even though I have doubts if this is still what I want, I still reviewed, I still hold on to the thought that maybe this is where I'm meant to be. I used to pray, Lord ikaw na po bahala sa'kin, if hindi para sa akin, sige lang po pero sana makapasa pa rin. Confusing right? Maybe it's because I still don't know where would I go if I didn't pass? How will I explain to my family and to those who knew and expecting that I can that I didn't make it? How will I make them understand? What will going to happen to me? What will I do with my life? What would my future will be? Saan ako pupunta pagkatapos? Those questions were lingering inside my head that I couldn't get enough sleep for weeks. I was so scared. Scared of disappointing those who believes in me. Scared of disappointing myself, 'cause I couldn't give my best to what I've decided. Disappointed that it is still not for me no matter what I did. Growing up, I've always been seeking for validation. I've always think that I need to do good for them to notice me 'cause if not, I will always just be left in the corner. I will always just be left behind. So I'm scared, takot na takot ako. Given also that I'm the youngest in the family, I have given this feeling that I'm the last resort of my parents that will give them a good life. I feel like I needed to do good 'cause they're expecting so much from me. But what if I got stumble? What will I do?

So tonight (days after the exam and days after I first started this entry), results are finally posted. I didn't make it. I did not pass the qualifying exam.

I honestly expected it already, I know it will be a miracle if my name would be included. But still, there's a little hope, I still have despite of how the exam happened. My friends checked on me upon knowing that the result was posted but all my replies are the same, that I'm okay and I will not cry. But still, I shed a tear, I'm still crying —cause finally the burden was finally lifted off.

I can now breathe.

I dreamt of becoming a CPA, and I still do...just in a different way, just in a new path. Congrats to those who made it! Padayon, CPA's!

I'm still scared...but I know God has better plans.

Onto the next one! 🥂

ciao⚘