#like I KNOW there’s only like TWO fucking peer reviewed articles on it

[frmulcahy]

Professor: for your first research paper you should cover an artwork that already has a lot of resources

Me: okay but have you considered the fact that Man Proposes God Disposes by Edwin Landseer is fucked up and scary and I think that’s neat?

[despacito-uwu16]

The Climax

Kenji Sato x Journalist! Reader

Enemies To Lovers | Foced Proximity | Pining

<- prev next ->

“Now I see you out here on your own, and you been. Sippin' on the Hennessy, like you don't remember me. Girl, we both know, don't pretend. That we ain't got history” - Tension by Jack & Jack

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Ken waved at you as you pull up in his driveway. As soon as you opened the trunk, Kenji immediately took your bags.

“I could’ve done it myself”. You said.

“I wanted to be a gentleman”. Ken mockingly bows.

“Whatever”. You sighed as you follow him into his home.

You look around his spacious house. He has everything. A nice kitchen, a huge living room, a view of the ocean. Not gonna lie, you were pretty impressed.

“Were you always this spoiled”? You turn to Ken.

“Being an only child has his perks”. He says as he walks up to you with a cup of coffee. “Consider it an olive branch”. He extend the mug to you.

“Thank you”. You take the mug from him.

“Now, before we begin the two month long interview, I want to make two things clear”. Kenji begins. “One, you’re allowed to ask me anything, but I get to choose what to answer”.

“Then what’s the point of me asking you questions if you’re just gonna dodge them”.

“Anyways”. He continues,

“The second and most important thing, you’re free to roam around here but you’re not allowed in the basement”. He

“What’s in the basement”? You ask.

“None of your business”. He retorts.

“Alright then”. You put your hands up in defense.

“I look forward to the next two months. You will not be disappointed”. He extends his hand to shake.

“I look forward to this being over”. You smirked as you shake his hand.

~

The first couple of weeks, you were adjusting to your new environment. Despite you trying to be in good graces with him, you still found him annoying.

One time, you were in the living room peer reviewing an article when Ken enters the room with a jump rope. You paid no attention to him as he did his exercise in front of the glass window. But Kenji being the little prick he is, took off his shirt and threw it on the couch, landing on your head. You threw it down on the ground in disgust and looked to see Ken doing little tricks with his jump rope. All while being shirtless. He knows his plan is working when you noticed you staring at his reflection through the glass window.

“Like what you see”?

“I’d rather be hit by a baseball again”. You closed your laptop and walked off.

During your first interview with him, he was avoiding your questions and changing the subject left and right.

“You know, you said I get to ask you anything, and yet you’re not answering any of my questions”. You said.

“Remember rule number ? I get to pick and choose what questions to answer. Also, you said to “be honest”. He says while using air quotes.

“Being honest means answering the questions correctly”. You deadpanned.

“Oh, I didn’t know I was supposed to tell you what you wanted to hear. Is that how you managed to end an athlete’s career? By manipulating them into telling you their secrets and use it against them”? Ken presses on.

“That’s not how journalism works Ken, I just report what i see and hear. I don’t need to manipulate anyone. If it causes a disruption in an athlete’s career, then so be it”. You cross your arms.

“You’re evil, you know that”? Ken glares at you.

“You’re impossible, you know that”? You retort.

“If me being impossible means seeing how sexy you look riled up, then yeah, I love being impossible“. He says.

You stood up and bend down on the table. His eyes met yours, both of your faces inches away from each other.

“Fuck off”. You sneered, ending the recording. You straightened your back and grabbed your recorder off the table. “I’m so over this”. You roll your eyes.

“Oh okay. Well the door is right behind you. Although a little FIY, if you walk out that door, it’s bye bye journalism career”. He leans back all smug.

You groan. Of course he’s going to bring up the blackmail, and it won’t stop until it’s over. Anger boils inside of you. He’s making this interview and your life a living hell. You really want to slap Ken in the face, but your integrity is keeping you from getting potentially fired.

Ken starts to laugh at you. “If only you could see what I see… you look super red right now. I should piss you off more often”.

The interview ended early and Ken ran off to “take care of business”, while you went back to the guest room, and took out your frustrations on a pillow.

~

When it came to watching Ken’s games, he paid for a private box, isolating you from everyone from the media. Some of your coworkers side eyed you, but all you could do was just sit there. You’d watching giants loose over and over again. From him attempting to break a bat, to his emotional breakdowns at home. Apart of you found this amusing. But another part of you feels a bit of sympathy.

You left the guest room to get a glass of water, when you saw Ken in the kitchen stuffing mochi donuts in his face.

“You know that’s not really healthy”. You commented.

He looks at you and takes another bite out of the donut. He pushes the donut box towards you implying for you to take one, but you declined.

For some reason, you feel bad for him. Sure, he’s annoying and rude, but you noticed that he wasn’t as confident as he was during college. Even during your interviews, he didn’t make any snarky comments and instead gave out short and closed off answers. It made you wonder what going on with him.

The next evening, Ken came home all tired and defeated. As he laid down on the couch, a sweet and tangy aroma caught his attention. He peaks into the kitchen to see you cooking something.

“Whatcha doing?” He asks.

“I’m making dinner”. You said.

“Why”?

“Cause I’d rather not eat a box of donuts”. You gestured to the unopened box of mochi donuts on the kitchen counter

He looks at you confused. You never do anything nice. Like ever.

“Go sit, food’s almost ready”. You gestered to the table as you took the asparagus out of the oven.

Five minutes later, you put down a plate with some teriyaki salmon and oven roasted asparagus, and then placed a bowl of white rice on the side.

“Smells good”. He compliments before taking a bite of his teriyaki salmon. His eyes widened. The flavors were bursting on his tounge, something he hasn’t experienced in weeks.

“Y’know, you didn’t have to do all of this”. Ken says with a mouthful of rice and salmon, making you internally gag.

“I wanted to. Considering how long I’ll be staying here, I’d rather not eat junk food everyday”. You said, taking a bite of the asparagus before continuing. “Also, I felt bad for pushing you the last few weeks”. You admitted.

“It’s not really a big deal, you were just doing your job. I promised you the exclusive, and I didn’t fulfill my end of the bargain. I’m sorry”.

“Wow, an apology from Ken Sato. Can I quote you on that”? You joked.

“Haha, funny”. He rolled his eyes as he finished the last of his rice. “The food’s good. Y’know if you were my personal chef instead of my interviewer, I would’ve probably tolerated you more”.

“Aaaand you ruined it”. You begin to get up out of your seat.

“Gee, didn’t know there was a moment between us”.

While you were collecting the dirty plates, you both felt the ground shake. At first you thought you were just imagining things, but the ground shook again, and the lights were flickering. You try to maintain your balance as the ground repeatedly shook.

“Oh my God, was that an earthquake”? You begin to panic.

Kenji quickly got up from his seat and began to run towards the basement.

“Ken, where are you going”? You yelled.

“I’ll be right back. Stay where you are”. He instructs. The next thing you know, he disappears into the basement. The ceiling began to crack and you immediately took cover underneath the table.

A few seconds later, the shaking stops and the light stops flickering. But Ken was nowhere to be found. The elevator leading to the basement was still open. While you were told to not go into the basement, deep down you wanted to know if he was okay.

Suddenly, you hear a crash and yelling coming from the basement. With no hesitation, you ran into the elevator and made your way down to the basement.

“Ken”? You ran out of the elevator. But before you could start looking for him, you ran into what you thought was a wall. As you stumbled down and into your butt, you hear high pitch laughter.

“Not funny”! You yelled. “Ken Sato, whatever BS you’re pulling right now, you need to cut it”-

You look up at the supposed wall and your jaw drops. Your eyes met the eyes of a 20 foot lizard baby who was happily chirping at you.

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A/N: Part 4 and 5 will be uploaded on Wednesday and Thursday Respectively.

Likes, Comment and Reblogs are always appreciated. If you want to be on the tag list, lemme know! :)

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Tag List:

@imconfusedbutok @deadbydad-writes

@introvertthief @rdjsprincess

@boomboom-tanjiro2019 @moyadorogaya

@holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @lovingyeet

@ofichan @nina-from-317 @lunaryasha

@kocho-catt @scarasw1f3 @mochminnie

@ritzes28 @aise-30 @ghostatrixx @sorilyae

@marshhbs @badbishsblog

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[headspace-hotel]

i promised myself "before I go back to school in the fall, something HAS to get better. SIGNIFICANTLY BETTER."

and i made the appointments, had the conversations, I spent hours wringing my brain out googling discussing with friends and family, thinking of SOMETHING, ANYTHING i could approach disability services about now that my previous suggestions had been shot down, and i went there with a list and i was like "hey is there ANY of this stuff you can do to help me" and basically? No

i asked "maybe i could have few extra excused absences so I can rest when i'm overloaded" but the lady was like Well we couldn't do that because you would miss the material in class

I asked "maybe i could have limited group projects so i don't have to be working on something with 4 other people every single day because social interaction is really tiring" she was like Well we can't do it if it would change the course substantially but we can ask that professors tell you if there's going to be lots of group projects so you can drop the class

I asked "maybe i can do in class writing assignments in a separate room so it will be less stressful" she was like well what if we couldn't guarantee that another room would be available where some one could monitor you

This is after the possibility of a partial course load was shot down (i could request it because of 'extenuating circumstances' but there's no guarantee it would be approved, and anyway i don't even know if it would fucking help) and several other things

Going back to school is just weighing on me crushing me. The past two semesters I have been so unrelentingly exhausted, miserable and alone. I hated my classes SO much and spent so much time crying.

All my classes are stupid busy work , just like worksheets that are like "do all these tiny little steps" that micromanage you painfully as if you can't be trusted to have your own independent thoughts" while the professor sits on their phone.

The grades are made up of a thousand tiny bullshit assignments that you have to remember at the right time, if you know the material and even care about learning it, it doesn't even matter.

I took a PLANT science class last semester that I honest to god hated so much it took all the strength in my body to even go to class. I LOATHED it and I got a C in it even though it was highschool level crap and the assignments were so restrictive that they basically punished you for being passionate about anything, I would try to be creative or dig more deeply on things and my classmates (it was always a mother fucking group project because the professor didn't want to fucking lecture, just give us something to kill time like we were fucking preschoolers) hated it because creativity or thinking outside the box would always make the assignment harder for everyone and I would fuck up the grade and it made me feel so ashamed

Same class where the professor said "you can tell this is a peer reviewed journal article because it's written in two columns along the page" like what. What. Huh. What.

There is so little flexibility too like the requirements are so specifically made to "mold" me a certain way. No one sees anything I have already learned or is interested in my potential and ability and passion and keen interest that i HAVE IN ABUNDANCE by the way, and the classes are so boring and passionless

I approached a lady in the arts department about an independent study involving natural plant fibers but she was like "no sorry i only work with seniors and you would have to take these 2 of my other classes"

There is so much more that's stupid and dysfunctional about this college that is too specific to discuss with privacy online, but let it suffice to say that it's a school that wants the reputation of being really challenging and rigorous soooooo bad but it actually just has 1000 inflexible requirements that eliminate everyone's free time and assigns metric tons of tedious busy work, because being "hard" means our academics are "rigorous" right? but the quality of the academics is not good, the classes are not engaging or encouraging you to think more deeply they are just painful.

And no one, fucking no one in these classes is engaging with the work with any energy or passion or enthusiasm, the professors can't get a discussion going, everyone is just staring like a bunch of zombies because their classes r like the equivalent of two full time jobs so of course no one can Engage Deeply with them they have no fucking energy

the food is like eating out of the garbage. they reheat the same pieces of pizza over and over until they're like dried out and leathery like something from a pharaohs tomb. they have bagels kept in a box and they're so stale you can't even bite into them. I got sour, rotten milk from the milk machine so many times my stomach eventually couldn't take drinking milk from there at all.

i hate, hate, hate, HATE that place so much i start crying every time I try to make plans for fall because there is so little fucking joy in my life when i'm there it's like being trapped underground.

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 8/12)

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: eddie is bad with words

contains: enemies to lovers trope, smoking, drug and alcohol use, sexual themes, moreee jealous!eddie, mentions of piercings, smut, King James III, flirting, tension tension tension, and eddie being... idk, here u go <3

word count: 6.2k

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| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

“A date?”

The room has kicked into an orderly chaos compared to how it was just seconds ago. Richie is rallying the boys out of the room, an assistant is walking through with a trash bag to clean up the disastrous aftermath of pre-show rituals, and James is looking at you like you both have all the time in the world.

“Yeah, I mean… we don’t have to call it a date,” he shrugs, “we can just… hang out, maybe? Grab a bite to eat, maybe? Whatever you want.”

And oh god, Eddie was right.

And fuck— Eddie.

You scan the room for any sign of Eddie, but you find none, just the remains of smoke in the air and an irritated assistant picking up sticky bottles.

James’ hand has dropped from your waist, and his fingertips now lightly dance across the back of your hand, slinking around to grasp two of your fingers and give a light squeeze. Your heart races, eyes snapping back to his kind gaze. “Oh, um… okay, yeah.” You nod.

James smiles and tells you he’ll be out in the crowd with you in a little bit, and you nod before making your way out of the room. 

You said yes.

You said yes to James’ date, and honestly, a small part of you is excited because, god, it’s been such a long time since you’ve been on a date.

It’s hard to find time to date when you’re busy jumping from band to band, writing articles and music reviews, and still, somehow, managing to balance your own home life.

However, you were also under the impression that you and James had more of a friendship than anything romantic, so a bigger part of you is shocked (and slightly annoyed that Eddie managed to catch onto it before you did).

And then there’s that feeling. That tiny feeling in the corner of your mind that just wishes it was Eddie who had asked you. It’s a small feeling, yes, but it has a loud voice, and you find yourself growing irritated that you’re even thinking about Eddie when he only ever made things difficult.

But is it wrong to want somebody who doesn’t know what they want for themselves? Is it wrong to want someone who can’t even bring themselves to look you in the eye and be honest for one minute?

Because it’s no secret, the chemistry brewing between you and Eddie, from the moment you met, there was an obvious attraction, and the only thing that got in the way of that was Eddie’s aversion towards your job— which is beyond your control. 

And though there’s obviously a sexual attraction between you both, you can’t seem to deny the emotional connection you also share— because you and Eddie are more alike than what meets the eye.

Clearly, you both share a love for music, but you also grew up with similar experiences— from being teased for being and liking different things than your peers to having your heart broken by who you imagined would be your forever person.

God, why are you thinking about Eddie when you’ve just scored a date with James? 

You’re not paying attention when you step out of the dressing room, so you’re shocked and slightly spooked when you feel a hand wrapping around your bicep and tugging you off to the side of the door.

It’s Eddie; you know it’s Eddie because you’ve become an expert at depicting Eddie’s scent, and right now, you’re drowning in him. 

Eddie’s eyes are sharp and angry with a chilling undertone of something you can’t quite pinpoint. Fear? Jealousy? Resistance?

“Not into each other, huh?”

You blink at Eddie, still trying to find your way through the daze of events you’ve just gone through, and your eyebrows furrow in annoyance, “Oh, for fucks sake, Eddie. Are you serious—” “You can’t stand here and lie to me when I just witnessed whatever the fuck that was in there.” He gestures to the wall beside you, the wall that separates you and Eddie from James.

“It wasn’t anything.” You lie. 

Eddie doesn’t buy it, however, because he’s leaning in closer, alcohol and mint-coated breath fanning across your face as he calmly asks, “Then what did he say?”

You shake your head, dizzy with his proximity and the fear that James could walk out any second and see you and Eddie practically pressed against each other and misread the situation— because even though you may not precisely like James romantically, you still care for him, and you don’t want to hurt his feelings. 

How will you let him down easily after the date, then? What if the date goes well, and James thinks you’re more interested in him than you actually are? This is a mess, and your mind is a whirlwind of things you shouldn’t have done.

You blink through the haze once again, “Huh?”

Eddie’s jaw ticks, “What did he say to you? You looked shocked; what’d he say?”

Oh god, Eddie saw that? You thought he’d maybe have gotten bored of watching, and now you wish Richie had bursted through the doors just a few seconds earlier. And why do you even care? Why do you care that Eddie saw or what his reaction might be if you tell him the truth? 

Your heart is racing, and Eddie’s eyes are beautiful, and he’s still holding your arm, and you hate how much you want to scream at him to just let you in. Because, suddenly, you don’t want to go on a date with James, even if James is the kinder route, the more willing candidate, the one that makes more sense.

“Why do you care, Eddie?” You snap.

“Because I,” Eddie pauses, frustration settling into his bones. He looks at you like you might be the only thing he’s ever truly seen, and you don’t realize how your fingers are curling around his elbow, both of your fingertips sinking into the warmth of what could be.

“Eddie!” 

Eddie removes his hand from you as if your skin is hot to the touch, and you drop your hand as well, curling your fingers into the palm of your hand and clenching with a deep breath.

Eddie turns to Richie, who’s holding a clipboard and barking directions at staff and crew. “Come on, man, you’re on in 30.” Richie waves his hand.

Eddie turns back to you, dark eyes now cleared and holding urgency as he speaks, “Can you just— fuck,” Eddie tugs at his curls, and your face twists in confusion. You say his name at the same time that Richie calls him once again, and Eddie grumbles, “One second, Rich!” Eddie calls back.

“Just don’t go anywhere for the first few songs, okay?”

“What?”

“Eddie, 10 seconds!” 

And Eddie’s pacing backward as he speaks to you, “Just the first few songs. Please?”

Please. You never thought you would hear that word coming from Eddie— and your stomach twists, but you nod anyway, and then Eddie’s off to the stage.

For some reason, tonight has spun out in ways you’re having trouble wrapping your mind around, and you barely hear James walking out of the room until he presses a gentle hand to your shoulder, pulling your eyes to him.

He has your lightweight jacket in one hand as he offers it to you, “I was thinking maybe we could dip out now? I know a good place for burgers, and I figure we’ve seen the show plenty of times now— I mean, unless if you’d still like to watch, that’s not a problem,” He’s rambling, and you find it cute, so you reach out a hand to press to his arm and thank him for your jacket.

And you feel bad, glancing over your shoulder as you hear the crowd screaming upon the band's entrance, but you figure James is right— you have seen the show plenty of times, so one night off won’t hurt, will it? And besides, it’s not the big finale yet, so you’re not really missing anything.

You nod as you slip on your jacket, “Yeah, let’s go; I’m in the mood for a good meal anyway.”

James’ universe is fun and bright and spontaneous, all things he is. It’s something you find yourself admiring as you watch him jump from game to game at the arcade he dragged you to after dinner.

You were both full and satisfied from heavy burgers and fries, and James decided you both needed a way to shake off the food coma; and, as James said, “What better way to wake up than lose money in a bunch of rigged games?”

You start strong with a winning streak in Mortal Kombat, Daytona USA, and Star Wars, but you eventually lose your stretch when James crushes you in Dance Dance Revolution. You made him go a second time, but you still lost, and James called your frown cute, and it made your stomach twist because— fuck, this is a date. You aren’t here as just friends.

You make your way around the arcade until you both decide to call it a night and wrap it up with a few rounds of Pac-Man. It’s chillier in the city tonight, so James takes it upon himself to haul over a taxi to take you both to the hotel.

It’s nearing midnight when you and James walk into the hotel lobby, well past the ending of the show, and you’re holding your breath all the way to the elevator, silence taking over when the doors shut. And tonight was fun and lighthearted, and you’d hate to end it on a dull note.

You should just rip the bandaid off. Do it quick and get it over with so you don’t mislead James, because god, he’s such a good guy, and you’re just… you’re all confused with yourself and— fuck, James is looking at you, just do it.

“I think we should just stay friends.” You rush out.

If James is surprised, you wouldn’t be able to tell by a long shot because he’s simply shoving a hand in his pockets and shrugging, “Yeah, I kind of figured when you avoided holding my hand.” He scratches at his neck, and you fail to hold back the sympathetic twist on your face, “I had a really great time, I did, but I just can’t do anything serious right now…” You shyly explain, and James nods his head.

It falls awkwardly silent, and you curse Richie for booking the entire crew near the top of the building because the floor numbers seem to change slower than the seasons. James breaks the silence just four floors away from your destination, “It’s Eddie, isn’t it?”

You freeze at that, head snapping to look at James in shock, “I— what?”

James shrugs for the second time and turns to the doors, “I kind of clocked it as soon as you joined; you two have some weird thing going on.” He halfheartedly teases, and you feel your body heating up because if James can notice it, then who else has noticed it? God, this is more of a mess than you thought.

“Nothing is going on there,” you lie, “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but Eddie hates my guts, so.” You jokingly shrug. James laughs to ease the tension, only glancing back at you when you slow to a stop and the doors open, “I had a fun night, too, by the way. No hard feelings.” And with a wink, he wanders off to his room, and you’re left stepping out into the hallway. When you turn the corner, you find yourself wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole because right outside of your door stands Eddie Munson.

He watches you walk down the empty hall until you stand before him. He’s leaning a shoulder against your doorframe, one hand tucked in his pocket as the other works his cigarette back and forth from his lips. He’s in his usual all-black attire, and his eyes are dark beneath the smudged eyeliner and eyeshadow from the show. And it seems as if he got off the stage and came straight here, seeing as his hair is still slightly damp with sweat and the chains on his neck stick to his chest.

He speaks around a cloud of smoke, dark hooded eyes peering down at you with a gaze so sharp you almost cower, “Where were you?”

Jesus Christ, the audacity of this man.

Your initial thought is to snap back at him and ridicule him for being an asshole— and what’s his deal with always coming to your room? But then you remember you walked out on him when he’d asked you to stay for the first few songs.

“I’m sorry, Eddie, I—” “You went on a date.”

You freeze at that, blinking up at him as your face twists in confusion, “How do you know that?”

“Because where else would you be?” He counters.

“Maybe I got sick.” You argue, and Eddie raises an eyebrow, eyes dancing over your figure, “You don’t look sick.” He points out.

Your eyebrows pinch in frustration as Eddie takes another hit of his cigarette, “What do you want? I already said I’m sorry— which is much more than you’ve ever done, by the way.” 

“I said sorry.” Eddie snaps. Eddie snuffs out his cigarette in the large plant next to the door as you scoff, turning to angrily shove your keycard into the door, “What, that shitty apology in the garden alleyway? You call that an apology? How fucking dense are you?” You open the door, moving to step in until Eddie’s fingers wrap around your arm, turning you back to him, “I said sorry. An actual apology, I did it, and you weren’t fucking there to hear it.” He seethes.

And woah, what the fuck does that mean? You weren’t there to hear it? What does he mean?

You blink, head shaking in confusion as you gaze up at Eddie, brows furrowed, eyes searching for an answer as you ask, “What do you mean?”

Eddie’s eyes are so beautiful, with swirling pools of forest ground and the tiniest specks of honey, and you believe somewhere within his eyes lives a fairy that gives him that ability to pull you in every time. He’s a hypnosis of a human, and it’s dangerous the way you can’t seem to fight through it.

Your eyes flutter shut when Eddie leans close enough to graze his lips over yours, and your heart races in anticipation of a kiss, but you can physically feel Eddie holding himself back.

“Eddie,” you lowly say, “What do you mean?”

Eddie turns his head to where his lips kiss the skin of your cheek, breath tickling the warm skin and sending shivers down your spine. He lets out a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes tight and muttering a curse under his breath as your hands slink up his chest to curl into the fabric of his shirt. The soft, curly strands of Eddie’s hair dance across your lips, and you want to scream because every inhale and exhale of your lungs is full of nothing but Eddie.

His name prances across your tongue once more, and Eddie cracks.

Eddie cracks wide open; one last hit of your hammer, and he’s putty in your hands, mouthing at you as if his life depended on it, devouring you and breathing you and pushing you until you have nowhere to go but inside your room.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie mumbles against your lips. “I’m sorry… let me make it up to you.”

You’re breathless and dizzy from lack of air, and Eddie is pushing you back onto the hotel bed, “I— what?”

Eddie’s fingers slip under your top, cool fingers pressing into your warm skin and causing your breath to hitch against his lips, “Let me make you feel good.” Eddie whispers against your lips.

And fuck, this is insane. 

This is insane.

Just a few hours ago, you would’ve shoved Eddie away from you and told him to eat shit, but for some reason, with the way Eddie’s touching you and talking so gently, you find your body melting into his touch as you nod your head. “Yes?” Eddie seems like he doesn’t believe it, and your stomach twists as you clench your thighs together, nodding once more, “Yes.” You confirm.

Eddie kisses you once again, hastily and eagerly, as his hands push your top further up your torso. Your muscles tense and twitch beneath Eddie’s calloused fingers, and Eddie hums against the softness of your mouth, panting against your lips as he repeats, “Gonna make you feel good. Make up for what I did.”

You breathlessly laugh, “S’gonna take a lot more than this, Munson.” 

And although you were slightly serious with that comment, you suppose Eddie takes it as more of a challenge as he shoves your top entirely over your chest, pulling away to tug the shirt off of you and toss it to the side.

Eddie surges forward to press sloppy kisses against the uncovered skin of your chest, sucking tiny little marks as he moves further down your body, pressing a hand to your chest to push you down into the bed when he reaches the waistband of your skirt.

It’s a black denim skirt, and Eddie takes a moment to admire how they hug your thighs perfectly— and he can’t seem to bring himself to remove it from your waist, so he pushes the skirt up around your hips instead. Your heart is racing, and you can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks as you attempt to close your thighs, but Eddie places his palms flat against the warm insides of them.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting shy on me already. I haven’t even taken off these cute little panties of yours.” Eddie presses a thumb to your cotton-covered clit, dragging the pad of his thumb down your slit and pressing into the damp spot. Your breath hitches, sparks flying throughout your body, and Eddie smiles. You whine, “I thought you were apologizing.” You frown.

Eddie hums, leaning forward to press a kiss right where your thigh meets the fold of your pussy. You squirm, and Eddie snickers, “I am.” He responds.

You sit up to lean on your elbows, glaring down at him between your thighs as you speak, “You’re not. You’re just teasing me.” You point out.

Eddie doesn’t respond as he hooks his fingers into the band of your panties, drags them down your legs, and drops them to the side, gaze flickering up to yours as you clench your thighs together. Eddie holds your gaze as he wraps his arms around your thighs, hooking his hands into the dip of your waist and tugging you to the edge of the bed. Your center throbs in anticipation as Eddie sinks to his knees on the carpet floor, dark eyes still locked onto yours as he fits his upper body between your thighs.

And Eddie doesn’t even bother looking between your thighs when he dips his head in and begins devouring you.

Eddie, you find, eats pussy like he has all the time in the world.

He’s sloppy with it, lapping at your center and suckling your clit until you’re a whiney mess beneath him. His fingers curl into the denim skirt that’s bunched around your hips, and his rings tauntingly wink up at you under the light as he clenches his fist against the material, tugging you closer to him so he can thrust his tongue further into you.

While Eddie is busy tasting you, you scramble to reach behind your back and unhook your bra. Between your thighs, Eddie watches as you toss the garment off to the side before cupping your tits in your hands and rolling your nipple between your middle and forefingers. Eddie moans against you, burying his face deeper into you and suckling enough to have you crying out in pleasure.

Eddie pulls back for a moment, sticky strings of his saliva and your arousal dripping from his lips as he removes one hand from your waist to sink two fingers into your cunt. You pant out his name, your face twisting in pleasure when he curls his fingers up against your walls. Your eyes are screwed shut so you don’t see Eddie leaning forward to purse his lips together and let a drop of saliva drip over your pussy and sinfully coat your clit. He’s quick to attach his mouth to the throbbing bundle of nerves, and you reach out a hand to thread your fingers through his hair, knuckles curling at the root to drag an animalistic growl from Eddie.

Eddie is one of the best, if not the best, head you’ve ever received. By the time you begin teetering over the edge, your thighs are twitching and tensing as if you’ve already come undone, and your chest is heaving beneath Eddie’s fingers as he toys with your tits.

When you cum, Eddie becomes greedier than he’d been before, licking and slurping up every last drop you have to give until you’re twitching away from him and pressing a shaky hand to his shoulder. 

Eddie slinks up your body, sinking his fingers into his mouth to clean off your wetness before you slink an arm around his shoulders and pull him down to kiss you. Eddie’s fingers are wet as they cup the left side of your face, and the feeling of something wet on your face would usually have you cringing in distaste, but you only moan and press yourself further into Eddie.

You mumble for him to take his shirt off, and Eddie follows swiftly, too eager to go back to kissing you. He shivers when your hands meet his bare chest, fingertips exploring the vast expanse of untold stories in ink, hard yet plush muscles of his arms flexing beneath your touch. 

“I wasn’t done saying sorry.” Eddie pants against your lips, and you breathily laugh, “You can finish some other time; I want to feel you now.” You respond, busying your hands with trailing down his lower stomach, sinking past the waistband of his leather pants.

Eddie kisses his way down your neck to begin sucking pretty bruises into the skin, and your core clenches when you realize Eddie is wearing nothing beneath the leather pants— and you try hard not to imagine how he’s probably been pressed up against the rough fabric, achy tip undeniably receiving pleasure from the sinful ways he uses his hips when he’s on stage. 

Your shock doesn’t end there, however, because when you sink lower to wrap your hand around his cock, your body goes still at the feeling beneath your fingertips. Against the fiery skin of your cheek, you feel Eddie’s lips stretch into a smile and your heart races.

“What’s the matter, princess? Find something you like, hm?” Eddie can’t help the way his voice shakes near the end because you're giving his cock an experimental squeeze and running a finger over the sudden surprise.

You smile as you speak, “Is that a piercing?”

Eddie hums, turning his head, nose smashing against the side of yours as he presses a kiss to the side of your mouth, “Maybe..” He teasingly confirms.

And god, you might pass out.

Eddie’s dick is pierced. You’re not sure what more you’d expect from a rockstar, but you’re still shocked and ushering him to remove the annoying restriction of his pants.

When Eddie finally gets rid of his leather pants, you’ve shifted to sit on your knees in the middle of the bed, and Eddie stalks over to the edge of the bed, beckoning you over.

You don’t waste time crawling over to him, eyes stuck on the pretty sight before you. And sure, it’s not the first time you’ve seen a pierced dick (you’ve spent too much time working with rockstars), but it sure as hell is the first time you’ll be fucking one— not to mention his cock is perfect. It’s shaped and cut to perfection, something you’d expect from a pornstar, but Eddie is not a pornstar, and god, the sight of the metal barbell nestled right beneath the pink tip on the underside of his cock— it’s dizzying to see.

You peer up at Eddie, wrapping a hand around his cock and stroking him once, chest fluttering when he fails to hold back a moan. “It’s really pretty, Eddie.” You softly say, and Eddie sheepishly and breathlessly laughs as you squeeze at his tip. “Want you to fuck me with it.”

Eddie groans, muttering a curse as he leans forward to press his lips against yours, pushing you until you’re crawling back up the bed to lay beneath him.

“I’ve never been with someone with a piercing…” You admit, and Eddie smiles at you, and your stomach twists when he reaches down to gently guide your movement up and down the length of his cock.

“Really? You’ve never fucked a pierced cock before?” He manages to say through his pleasure. Your teeth dig into the inside of your cheek as you shake your head no, and Eddie snickers when you ask, “Have you?”

His lips quirk into a smile, “Honey, you think I got the piercing done without a test run on how it feels?” He jokes.

You snort at that, and Eddie beams at you. You swipe your thumb over his leaking tip, and Eddie curses, watching as you mindlessly bring the glistening pad of your finger up to your tongue and hum. 

“How’s it taste, sweetheart?” Eddie teases, and you hum as you respond, “Good. So good, wish I could taste more—” “No, no, no.” Eddie cuts you off with a shake of his head, reaching down to wrap a fist around himself.

“This isn’t about me. Plus, I’m losing my patience right now; I’ve been thinking about this since I fucking met you.” He presses himself flat against your pussy, and you gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders as he rolls his hips to slide himself up and down your wet cunt, the cool metal of the piercing catching onto your clit and sending shivers up your spine.

His gaze falls between your thighs to watch as your slick centers meet, cursing at the way your wet folds part around each drag of his cock. “You have such a pretty pussy, princess, fuck.” He rasps.

Your mind is spinning with the roll of Eddie’s hips, his dirty compliment, and his admission that he’s thought of fucking you before. You don’t dare to tell him you’ve thought of it too or that you’ve gotten off to the thought of it. You don’t even have to think about it because the tip of Eddie’s cock is catching the slickness of your entrance, and you’re gasping, body jerking in pleasure. Your lips accidentally smear against Eddie’s shoulder, and he hums, tilting his head and dipping to catch your lips in a sloppy kiss.

As he distracts you with his mouth, he slowly presses into you, and you lose your ability to keep up with Eddie’s lips because holy fuck— Eddie is bigger than you thought. Sure, you got a good look at him when he removed his pants to show you his surprise, but your mind must’ve been too muddled with lust to clock the size of him.

You can feel everything as he sinks into you, every vein running up the sides, and the mind-numbing sensation of the barbell as he presses into you. “Holy shit,” you breathlessly whisper against the skin of his shoulder, legs tightening around his waist as the burning yet toe-curling feeling settles in. Eddie snickers above you, “That good?”

You’re coherent enough to snap back at his cockiness, “No.”

Eddie laughs, and you want to make a snippy comeback, but it gets lost on your tongue when Eddie gives his hips one experimental roll.

Eddie is pathetically close to cumming.

Eddie’s cock has only been nestled within your warm, wet, pulsing walls for barely two minutes, and he’s about to blow like he’s a goddamn teenager— and it doesn’t help how heavenly you sound and look writhing beneath him.

Eddie’s not sure where to look; your face, your tits, or the hypnotizing sight of your cunt sucking him in over and over with each thrust he gives you. “Fuck,” he curses, “You’re taking me so well, princess.” He leans in the nose at your cheek before licking at the curve of your jaw, shivering at the wet moan you pant into his ear.

“Been hiding this pretty pussy from me?” Eddie hums, sucking a delicate bruise right below your ear. And god, Eddie could spend forever like this, drilling into you and marking you everywhere and pulling these pretty sounds from you. Eddie’s so close, oh god.

You mewl at his words, hips squirming as Eddie snaps his hips into you, “No,” you whine, “You’ve been mean to me.” And Eddie thinks you’re awfully cute when you’re blissed out and pouting. And your eyes are glossy, lips slick with spit and swollen from kissing.

Eddie wishes he had a photographic memory because he doesn’t want to forget a single detail of this moment. Eddie has one hand clutching the sheets beside your head as he lets the other hand coast up your side to land on your chest, thumb brushing over your nipple to pull a moan from you. “I know,” Eddie lowly replies, “I’m sorry, princess.” He kisses your chin, and you clench around him.

Eddie’s fist clenches around the sheet, fighting to hold himself back as he presses deep into you and stills, cock twitching within your walls. “Gonna let me show you how sorry I am?” He asks.

You're hazy and cockdrunk, and Eddie can’t wait to unpack the fact that you go braindead when you’re fucked good. Eddie nudges himself into you, although he’s pressed all the way into your cunt, and you whimper before eagerly nodding.

“Yeah?” Eddie teases. You nod again, fingers digging into Eddie’s arm as you speak, “Yes, Eddie— fuck. Yeah, show me, please.”

Eddie almost loses it.

It’s slightly scary how much Eddie likes this, how much he’s enjoying this— the feeling of you beneath him, the wetness, the heat, the sweat-sticky touches, and the sloppy smattering of kisses. God, Eddie’s in love with it.

The short five-second break Eddie managed to pull from questioning (teasing) you was enough for him to get ahold of himself. Eddie sits up and grasps the back of your knee, hauling your leg over his shoulder to get a better angle at fucking you, and you gasp when his cock rubs against your spot.

Eddie doesn’t waste time once he gets the position situated. He leaves one hand splayed beside your head to hold him up as the other hand grips the warm flesh of your thigh before resuming his thrusting, this time at a deeper and quicker pace.

The sound of skin meeting and the wet sloshing noise of sex echoes through the room amongst the mix of moans and sultry-soaked remarks. Eddie doesn’t notice his hand slipping from your thigh and slinking up to wrap around your neck, but he hesitates when you whimper. He almost removes his hand, but you wrap a shaky hand around his wrist and nod— and fuck, Eddie will never be the same man after this.

Eddie can feel the heat and the pulse of your heart as his fingers tighten around your neck. Your moans are becoming more and more frequent and higher in pitch, and Eddie can feel the way you’re fluttering around him more sporadically, and he can’t wait to feel it when you cum.

Eddie leans over you, lips brushing your parted ones as he encourages you to let go, “Come on, let me feel it. I’m not leaving until you soak my cock, princess.”

Your body is on fire.

It’s almost alarming how easily and well Eddie has unraveled you. His presence is nearly overwhelming with the way he’s hovering so close over you, but you love it— the tickle of his long curls on your shoulders and chest, the intoxicating smell of him, the dizzying hold he has around your neck— you preen for it.

You’re so close when Eddie tells you to cum, and you barely have enough time to prepare for the earth-shattering orgasm that ripples through you the second Eddie presses a thumb to your aching clit and rubs tight circles against it.

Your body tenses, and your moans crack upon the surface as you melt into him until you’re nothing but a quivering mess. Eddie talks you through it, tells you how pretty you sound and how good you feel wrapped around him. Your orgasm had hit you so hard that you barely registered the broken moan that came from Eddie before he pushed deep into you and emptied every last drop of himself into your pulsing heat.

Eddie curses, his cock pulsing within you, and you let out an exhausted yet satisfied sigh when he rolls his hips into you once more. You’re both silent for a long moment as you come back down to earth, Eddie’s forehead pressed against your shoulder as you subconsciously let your hand run up the side of his torso.

Eddie shifts to turn his head to where he can slightly see your face as he still hides against your shoulder, “Apology accepted?”

Saturday morning, the next day, you wake up and want to bury yourself under the hotel sheets.

Last night was… interesting, to say the least. It was good— mind-blowing— but you still have that lingering feeling in your chest that maybe you and Eddie shouldn’t have slept together. Maybe you let him in too quickly. Maybe it was all a lie, Eddie’s ‘apology’. All the gentle caresses and the passion-filled kisses with the heart flutter words. Maybe it was all for show, just to get you to let your walls down so he could have at you.

Eddie didn’t spend the night with you.

In fact, Eddie practically ran out the door after your extremities were over, and you were left with the aftermath of spinning thoughts and an aching chest. So much for sorry.

The dining room is buzzing with chatter and laughter of excitement— today is the last off day before the final show of the residency— but you’re too in your head to join in on the conversation because Eddie won’t even look at you.

Your throat feels tight, and you spend the majority of breakfast just pushing your food around the plate, and you manage to pull a smile and nod your head when Naomi asks if you’re okay. But fuck, you want to scream.

You should’ve never believed Eddie when he told you he’d change or when he practically spent the entire night worshipping your body and begging for your forgiveness. Eddie didn’t want forgiveness. He just wanted to fuck you, and you should’ve known that from the second he kissed you.

But Eddie’s kisses can tell a hell of a lie, and damn you for falling for them.

You’re spooked when you feel a hand rest on your shoulder, pulling you from your thoughts. It’s Richie, and he peers down at you and gives you a tight-lipped smile as he leans in and lowly speaks, “Can I speak with you outside?”

You nod, dropping your fork onto your plate and quietly rising from your chair. And for the first time today, Eddie looks at you. Your chest tightens, and you think it’s stupid that you’d been upset about this because it’s Eddie for fucks sake. He’s a rockstar, and he surely never made the mistake of presenting himself as if he was anything other than a man who fucks whoever they want and moves on the next day. Eddie’s jaw ticks, he looks away, and you bite your tongue as anger floods your body.

You ignore it as you turn around and follow Richie into the hallway.

You’re hardly paying attention when you both step out of the room, but the slamming of the door is the cue for Richie to start speaking. “Listen, Birdie,” he begins, “You know I adore you. I’m always in your corner, no matter what… But I have to put my boys first.”

It’s concerning, the way Richie is beginning this conversation, and it’s even worse when he can’t seem to look you in the eye for more than five seconds at a time. Your heart rate picks up, and you begin to think maybe…

No, Richie can’t know. There’s no way he’d know, right? Unless if someone told him. One of the band members, or James, or— fuck, there’s too many people that know at this rate. But you didn’t think it would reach Richie.

No, you’re just spinning out. Richie doesn’t know, and this is about something else; it has to be.

You shake your head, brows furrowed as you speak, “I’m not sure I understand.”

Richie glances around the corridor and shifts in his spot, scratching at the back of his neck as he speaks, “Listen, I uh,” he glances at you, and your heart drops because you now know why he’s pulled you aside. 

“I know about you and Eddie.”

————

part nine

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a/n: hiiii, you made it to the end !! IM SORRY FOR ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER FRIENDS, i promise there won't be anymore from here on out (i think hehe), BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS SMUTTY LITTLE PART, thank you for reading, ilysm and i appreciate all and any feedback <3

————

cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @jesssssmaybankk @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2

@daddyhetfield @s-u-t @hereforshmut @mmunson86 @welcometohellsock @lma1986 @birdsinmywalls @animechick555 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @spideydreams00 @lorosette @prestinalove @sirensleepingsoundly @nabiiturner @catherinnn

[obzessed]

HP characters : powerpoint presentation headcanon

This is so random but here is how I imagine marauders' era characters doing a powerpoint presentation

The Marauders

Do over the top presentations, (down to using costumes, yes) would make the wildest powerpoint (too many colors because they can’t agree on anything)

They make it really fun and entertaining tho

use the airplane (flying broom ??) transition, except the airplane is on fire for some reason

indian drama level of presentation

Will Not stop giggling and interrupting each other

Jocks in middle school vibe, but they’re actually really smart

here to clown and have a laugh

generally get a high grade but get points deducted for clarity and taking too damn long

Severus Snape (+bonus Lily Evans)

In a solo presentation, Severus would make perfect, pristine presentation

King of bullet points

University standards powerpoints

only uses peer reviewed articles

always criticizes said peer reviewed articles

Never uses notes, but doesn't look the audience in the eyes ever

Doesn't look at the audience period

He's not shy, he doesn't even do it consciously

Extremely complicated subjects, Will Not Dumb It Down For You

If anyone has a question, will look at them as if they’re the biggest idiot in the room

The type to explain by simply reformulating what he just said

If they still don’t understand either sighs dramatically and moves on, or sighs dramatically and start drawing on the board, speaking veeeryyyyy slowly, you let me know where I lost you idiot fellow classmate

Actually explains really well when he puts in some effort, has this clean cut way of decomposing each problem and detailing each point, then tying it all back together that makes it really easy to follow

writing on the board and drawing legitimately helps him lay out his thought process

the condescension is just a plus

Type of presentation that is objectively very good and interesting and well thought out but like. no one cares. bring back the airplane transitions.

For a few people sufficiently advanced and interested and who actually understand what he’s talking about, (and who are not rebuked by his style and general attitude), it’s a v good presentation

Positive : Always adds something new and generally brings really pertinent arguments, genuinely passionate about what he’s talking about

Teachers pick up on his fast out of the box thinking and surprising creativity

his powerpoint design is a little depresso, no colors except to highlight important words

very minimalist and to the point

Regulus argues every point of his presentation

Academic rivals to lovers frfr

Gets point deducted for his attitude and his “lack of enthusiasm”

NOW Severus + Lily = best of both worlds, get an O everytime

Lily always insists on using canva (their pwp designs are so cute)

overall they balance each other really well

I feel like Lily would get a little giggly if she fumbles

The marauders would def shout “boring” and giggle like middleschoolers at the back of the class during Snape's presentation

Snape's ability to remain unfazed in the face of bs stems from there

God help them all if they get paired up for a presentation

Marauders + Severus

Snape would have to settle for at least one airplane transition

It would become a war of adding and deleting each other's progress on the pwp design

they split it in two but they try to gain terrain on the other's part like in Clash of Clan

They are at WAR

“I am a commander in battle and your slides are but a village on a map” James Potter

“Fuck you” Severus Snape

“Go jump off an airplane if you like them so much”

Somehow the presentation is even more chaotic than the previous one

passive aggressively asks the other to click on the next slide

always takes the other's question just as they're about to speak

If Snape sees a single one of them look at their notes for too long it's on sight (RIP Pettigrew)

Bc Fuck if he's gonna lose points over this

best or worst grade

lots of brain cells

Teacher tried to make the braincells hold hands but the brain cells are Enemies

[fredwkong]

Alphaworld File 1: Oral History

The universe is multifarious, constantly diverging as new choices are made. Spinning away through time, these alternate realities become locked away from our own, so we can never know exactly what would have happened if a single choice was made differently.

Except, sometimes, two of those worlds, careening through the upper dimensions, happen to converge. As they slide past each other, they may line up just so, each leaving behind fragments as they continue their journey into their divergent futures. You’ve never heard of this, because the remnants, mostly data, are swiftly collected by various government agencies and collected into reports on the intercepted reality.

This report collects various scientific articles, personal journals, news reels, and even a documentary series from one such reality, codenamed Alphaworld. In this world, gay men have not only become the norm, but have seemingly replaced all other people. In this world, society is stratified into an apparently biological hierarchy of homosexual castes, based on men’s physical characteristics and psychologies. Upon finishing the following fragment from a peer-reviewed article that was a trace recovered from Alphaworld, please select the next fragment you would like to consume.

X

An Oral History of the Creation and Initial Spread of the Alpha Phenomenon, by Alpha Dr. Jose Martinez

Until recently, it was not known what sparked the spread of the Alpha Phenomenon which has wholly remade the world in recent years. This was until Alpha Joshua Dearfoot, who resides with his Betas in rural ex-Ontario, stated during a livestream on OnlyFans that he is the original Alpha.

Alpha Dearfoot does not interact with Betas from outside his harem unless they renounce their current Alpha. As this research team contains no unbonded Betas—Alpha Dr. Martinez says we can’t spend too much time with non-harem Betas—we investigated among those close to Alpha Dearfoot, conducting interviews and surveying in the local area to discover as much as we could.

Joshua, as he was known before the emergence of the Alpha Phenomenon, was a PhD candidate in nanotechnology, with a secondary focus in physiology. Photographs kept by his father (Beta to Alpha Sean Barehill) reveal that through his youth and young adulthood Joshua was physically unimpressive, with a physique not even reaching the base level expected of a Beta.

According to a classmate of Joshua’s from university (Beta to Alpha Liam Oliver), Joshua was studious but insecure: “I mean, I used to push him around all the time for being a fa— gay kid. Gay and a nerd? In the Old World, that was, like, the worst thing.” When asked about whether he has properly apologised, the Beta said, in a rapturous voice, “Oh, yeah, Alpha Dearfoot was my first. He disciplined me so well I could barely walk, I came like four times. Then he told me to come join Alpha Liam’s harem. I mean, he wasn’t Alpha Liam then, I was one of the first guys to go full Beta on campus.”

It appears that Alpha Dearfoot had a difficult youth, growing up unable to meet certain Old World expectations of manhood. The masculine stereotypes of Native Americans also seem to have weighed on him, as he was entirely unable to meet them. As his father told us, “Joshua was a sweet kid, but he got bullied for being too short and scrawny, not matching the image of an “Indian” in all these bigoted kids’ heads. He was obsessed with growing bigger, which is why he went into physio.” Remember, in some communities it is normal for a Beta father to continue to refer to his Alpha son by his first name.

According to Sigma Harrison White, a former lab partner of Dearfoot’s who fucked us on his lawn in exchange for this interview, Joshua was obsessed with creating some way to become more manly. “He spent some really long evenings in the lab,” said Harrison while one of us squealed in the grass beneath him. “One morning he came out with this manic grin on his face, said that he’d finally done it, and ran off. Two weeks later, he came back a full Alpha.” At this point, Harrison’s pace slowed down as he became contemplative. “It was only after he started hooking up with all the queer guys on campus that we started becoming Alphas and Sigmas and stuff, too.”

Did Alpha Dearfoot intend for the Alpha Phenomenon to be infectious? A Beta from his harem claims not. “He got home from school one morning all excited about some project he’d finished,” the Beta told us—it seems that he and Alpha Dearfoot were childhood friends. “The next day, he seemed a little different, a little more muscular, more assertive. He seemed really satisfied for about a week, then he got scared. He just kept getting bigger. The day he got taller than me and nearly broke a bar at the gym doing deadlifts, I started feeling the Beta change.

“I went to him and started telling him about my muscle gains and all the weird thoughts and sensations I was experiencing, and he got really scared,” the Beta continued, his eyes distant. “I started to comfort him, and that was when we felt the bond form. It felt so right for him to be my first, to finger me open and fill me with his still-growing dick.”

While we pressed for more details about what may have been the first Alpha/Beta bond in history, the Beta refused to disclose more information, claiming that it was private to him and his Alpha. For the reader’s imagination, see Figure A to find a picture of Alpha Dearfoot from his Instagram profile.

Alpha Dearfoot appears to have intended to create a nanomachine-based masculinity booster, and the transmissibility of the Alpha Phenomenon, as well as the behavioural and sexual changes it induces, were unintended side effects, perhaps introduced in the particles’ replication process. The effects of the Alpha Phenomenon on aging and physical fitness may also be unexpected consequences of Alpha Dearfoot's programming efforts.

According to Alpha Young Baek Hyeon, who lives in the former New York area with a mixed harem, he and Alpha Dearfoot attempted to “date,” an outmoded practice common in the Old World, during the early weeks of the Alpha Phenomenon’s spread. “Alpha DeWayne and I work well together,” Alpha Young told us by video call, “but we’re both pretty chill even since we changed. Alpha Dearfoot and I couldn’t even stand to be in the same room once I had transformed. He’s one of the most territorial Alphas I’ve ever met, he can barely stand to have another Alpha within a mile of him.” As Alpha Young spoke, we watched a well-trained Beta enter the room with a plate of apple slices and present them to his Alpha.

“He was really torn up about it, too. Even though we couldn’t stop yelling at each other in person or over the phone, he left me a ton of really sweet voice messages about how much he’d liked me before we became Alphas.” Alpha Young took a bite of apple and ruffled his Beta’s hair, causing all of us to shudder with phantom pleasure at the affection. With a contemplative expression, Alpha Young said, “No, I don’t think he meant for any of this to happen.”

While this study has yielded plenty of useful biographical information about the man apparently responsible for the Alpha Phenomenon that changed the world, we appear no closer to understanding the precise mechanism of that change. With better access to the programming of the nanomachines, perhaps it would be possible to reduce the natural aggressiveness of the Alphas, allowing Alphas like Dearfoot to return to their studies or jobs if they so wish. In the following section, we will propose potential opportunities for further research in the effort to isolate the Alpha Phenomenon.

Or vote on Strawpoll here: https://strawpoll.com/wby5A0vw8yA

This series is my way of celebrating reaching 2000 followers! I hope you enjoy this glimpse into Alphaworld and vote on what file you would like to see next. There is no strict update schedule, so you good boys better be on the lookout for a new chapter you can vote on ;)

[devotioncrater]

ed/stede + edizzy + edward's bipolar

oh man the first three episodes of season 2 are. wow. okay. much to unpack. more fuel for my Edward Has Bipolar Theory.

DISCLAIMER: i am not a clinician, nor do i hold any degree in the psychology field. this meta is purely drawn from my own experience with diagnosed bipolar i, alongside what i've learnt in years of therapy as well as reading bipolar books/articles and peer-reviewed research papers. above all, this meta is for fun; please do not use this as a self-diagnostic.

this meta is broken up into sections:

the intro section

the bipolar section

the codependency section

the season 2 speculation section

The Intro Section

right away, the admittance of edward hating himself & feeling unloveable recontextualizes everything. his dynamic with stede & the crew, his dynamic with his own crew, his dynamic with izzy.

because like. hi hello?? when izzy says "you know me better than anyone else, and i daresay the same is true for me to you" it's just. a nail in the coffin. one of many nails. here's why.

it took an insane amount of vulnerability for edward to open himself up to stede in season 1. it took a lot out of him to even accept stede's love, and then believe it to be real. he believed that just for one moment in his scarred life, he was someone worth loving, baggage and all. as he himself was. for who he was. stede saw him and loved him and accepted him. if edward had been there to hear when lucius said to stede that the time edward spent with stede was the best it'll ever be for him, edward probably would've agreed.

which is. oh man. it would be a bit of a thin ice situation, wouldn't it? that's fucking bleak.

before we get into that, we need to dissect the dysfunction in the edizzy dynamic. i mean it's all tragic, all toxicated, especially with the downward spiral edward's on. so why examine it? what is there to examine?

the downward spiral began in season 1, became abated by stede & the crew, only to jumpstart at the end thanks in part to izzy. so we need to examine why, because edizzy's dysfunction plays a role in all of this mess.

it's undeniable izzy triggered edward, yes, but look a little further. edward's irritability, his emptiness, his substance abuse, the sudden shift in gears between his erratic moods. the crew walk on eggshells around him, because his behavior in season 2 so far is reckless, dangerous, and suicidal. there's pressurized speech patterns and racing thoughts present and they intermingle alongside low-energetic periods when he isolates. above all, he feels hopeless. overwhelmed by a sea of loneliness. fang starts the season off being unable to recognize him.

on the flipside, in season 1, he's on the tail-end of a low when we meet him. listless, bored, passively suicidal before he swings the other way. with stede & the crew he's up in the clouds. he's affable, he's happy, he's social. there's hope for change. he tries new things, laughs, even falls in love. he imagines a life for himself outside of piracy. there's impulsive actions such as the act of grace and impulsive thoughts like sailing to china. even when stede leaves him, edward grieves at a healthy-looking level. in episode 5, when edward's mood first shifts, fang doesn't recognize him in the elevated state.

the point is, edward feels things in the extreme. he lacks emotional regulation. "uncharacteristic" high highs and low lows.

how he reacted to izzy's trigger — "this is blackbeard" — is disproportionate until you piece together two puzzle pieces:

edward likely has bipolar + his core beliefs (self-loathing/feeling unloveable) throw oxygen into the flame of his relationships.

The Bipolar Section

to get on the same page here, let me provide a few Basic Oversimplified Definitions (here is a pdf of the DSM-5 for a scientific understanding, scroll to page 168. please do not use this PDF or meta as a self-diagnostic. contact a clinician/psychiatrist if you have questions or feel you need an evaluation):

bipolar disorder: a chronic, lifelong mood disorder characterized by manic highs and depressive lows. fluctuations in moods are extreme and, depending on subtype, can inhibit functionality. it can be managed today with medication and psychotherapy.

manic episode: lasting one week or more, this is the high highs. the mood is elevated or irritable. if severe, it can include psychosis/psychotic features such as hallucinations, paranoia, and/or delusions. mania belongs to subtype Bipolar I.

hypomanic episode: lasting at minimum four days straight, this is a lesser high than manic. it does not include psychosis/psychotic features, nor does it inhibit functionality. hypomania belongs to subtypes Bipolar I and Bipolar II.

depressive episode: lasting two weeks or more, this is the low lows. anhedonia and major depression are hallmarks of a depressive episode. depression belongs to all three subtypes of bipolar (the third subtype being cyclothymia).

mixed episode: best of both worlds. a person experiencing one may possess high levels of energy — such as pressurized speech — while simultaneously feeling overwhelmingly low and suicidal. a mood may flip from elated to hopeless on a dime.

euthymia: a mood state that is stable, without (hypo)mania or depression. it is a neutral baseline which occurs between episodes.

IMPORTANT NOTE: bipolar disorder is more complex than "just a mood swing". mood swings are situational, while bipolar presents even without situational factors. think about how, in season 2, edward has got his hair in a messy updo, cleans his cabin, swears off drinking & drugs, and is smiling. he explains to frenchie that he's decided to change after a rough night. then it cuts to a flashback of him the night before lying on the floor bawling his eyes out. the scene is played for laughs, however that is a textbook bipolar mood fluctuation. you go to bed hopeless and you wake up on top of the world, or vice versa. edward's situation hadn't changed in the hours between him crying and his conversation with frenchie.

(it can be argued that he thought izzy had died, but i don't think he believed frenchie had truly finished the job. why else had he grilled frenchie? he was sweating frenchie out, testing frenchie's loyalty. "you don't think i know the smell of my rotting former first mate?" edward knew izzy was alive the entire time).

like with almost every disorder, bipolar disorder presents itself differently in different people. in my experience, when i am in either a depressive or manic episode, two different outlooks may occur:

it becomes hard to remember what life was like on the other emotional end. (i.e. when manic, i tend to downplay my prior depressive episode).

i become hyperaware of the other emotional end, so i try to either get it to happen or prevent it from happening. (i.e. not wanting to become depressed, so i'll do XYZ).

i mention these outlooks because they're common. when you're in it, you're in it; when you're out, you're out. the first outlook is something edward's actions point to him experiencing, too, as evidenced in season 2 with his extreme suicidal behavior. he's in it in it.

the ups and downs in bipolar are difficult for the person struggling with the disorder. often, it feels uncontrollable. the symptoms — especially the ones which risk becoming severe like hopelessness or distractibility — are a challenge to cope with. during the high highs, your brain feels like it's frying. during the low lows, your brain feels like dense fog. therefore it's common for people to turn to substances to help alleviate what they're experiencing, and/or they partake on an impulsive whim. drastic life changes also may occur in an attempt to "fix" or "control" the disorder. severe episodes, when left untreated, may ruin or end people's lives. people with bipolar disorder are 15x more likely to commit suicide than the general population.

people who do not have bipolar themselves yet are close to someone with bipolar may also experience related difficulty. it may feel overwhelming to witness episodes occur with little to no understanding or tools on how to help. it may also feel stressful to try and gauge what state the other person is in. "walking on eggshells" is a common descriptor for the experience when the bipolar is unmanaged. that does not mean the person with bipolar disorder is automatically bad/abusive/harmful, it just means the disorder is a disorder. it interferes with daily functioning, causes distress, and impacts interpersonal relationships.

at the end of season 1, izzy hit edward where it hurts (edward's self-loathing, intertwined with the role of blackbeard) while edward was in what i believe to be a euthymic state (calm). now with their recontextualized relationship, we also see the underlying message of: "i serve blackbeard, he is my captain." -> "edward isn't good enough for my love".

izzy loves edward, but he's made it clear in season 1 it was for edward's blackbeard persona. or was it? you see, i don't believe that claim to be entirely true anymore, not after the first three episodes of season 2.

i believe a more accurate reading would be that in season 1, izzy was concerned, jealous, and vindictive. all in that order. the above underlying message weaponizes edward's separation of Edward and Blackbeard against edward. more on this later.

in season 2, izzy is just plain concerned ("we're worried for you"). he tries a different approach at managing edward's unstable mood. he goes for a softer attempt ("i have...love for you") because maybe, maybe it could work. it worked with stede. when it backfires, he ditches it and goes right back to bluntness ("the atmosphere's fucked!"). he also refuses to kill edward despite everything edward's put him through.

both seasons' motives were not for blackbeard, but for edward.

when we meet them in season 1, their relationship is dysfunctional at best. their baseline dynamic before stede is best depicted during episode 4.

in the model ship scene, edward's excited about stede's stuff, restlessly moving, unable to focus, appearing happy even though he's a hair-trigger away from irritability. he purposefully avoids or dismisses izzy's concerns about dying. he feels bored and trapped ("is this all there is?"), then feels frustration over feeling trapped, citing that he's blackbeard and blackbeard shouldn't feel trapped.

later in the episode, izzy frustratingly points out that edward's moods are "increasingly erratic" and something that izzy himself has had to manage. izzy also states that he's followed edward's every whim for years, and smoothed over their crew for him. edward, again dismissive, says "sounds stressful, izzy". izzy says it is but he felt honored to do it all for blackbeard, who is the greatest sailor he's ever known. this ties into their codependency, which i'll go over later on.

at this point in time, "edward" and "blackbeard" are synonymous, the names are just different titles reserved for different settings. edward himself doesn't see a distinction until stede — a person he respects — consistently treats him like Edward and not like Blackbeard. edward's identity to Blackbeard separates because he opens himself up to the possibility that Edward is someone worth knowing. Blackbeard, once a healthy coping mechanism created to survive in the pirating world, had soured somewhere along the way into an unhealthy coping mechanism. it became more of a cage than a home.

but to izzy, "blackbeard" is a good thing to be because it's an accomplishment of edward's. they built their whole careers and lives around it. when izzy says he's honored to sail with blackbeard, the greatest sailor out there, he says it to try and bring edward back to himself. it's his botched attempt at grounding/helping edward. if edward can be reminded of how great he is, reinforced by his accomplishments under the name blackbeard, maybe he'll snap out of his funk. if edward values izzy, loves izzy how izzy thinks edward does, he'd see the weight behind the compliment. izzy doesn't sail for just anybody.

it's botched entirely because any time edward tries to voice how "blackbeard" really makes him feel, izzy dismisses/minimizes/mocks it. he isn't supportive to edward because he feels threatened in two parts: that edward finds stede fascinating, and that edward is making a drastic life change for both of them based on yet another mood whim.

to izzy, edward becoming Edward and ditching Blackbeard would mean izzy's lost control of the situation, which means izzy's lost control of edward, which means no one will have control of edward. not even edward himself. this is yet another facet of izzy's codependency.

side note: speaking of names, in the calico jack episode, we know "ed" is a nickname edward doesn't allow people to call him. the only two people who call him "ed" are stede and izzy.

so that begs the question: why did izzy call edward "eddy" in season 2? where the hell does that nickname come from? why does edward use it on himself when he was struggling in purgatory?

based on these two conversations in episode 4, we can glean both sides of the situation. on one side is edward, who is struggling mentally and whose work is deteriorating because of it. on the other side is izzy, who is equal parts concerned about edward and frustrated at him because he isn't functioning as well as he used to, leaving izzy to clean up his messes. since this has been a years-long tension point, they are both at the end of their ropes. about to snap.

that is how we meet them.

from then on, edward begins falling for stede, and his mood shifts. he begins functioning better. stede is genuinely good for him. stede, with his different view on life, provides emotional balance and radical acceptance and a general softness that edward's been missing. he is supportive, he is kind, and he treats edward like edward isn't broken.

but stede is not accustomed to pirate life or its reality. he's naive to the point of foolish. foolish to the point of fatality. and izzy sees those flaw points right away. it's a red flag to him because how can edward — passively suicidal edward — be trusted to not take advantage of stede's naivety and steer them all into a doomed situation?

edward's relationship with stede is also where izzy's jealousy kicks into gear, clouds his judgement.

i mean, shit, wouldn't anyone feel slighted? if you devote your life to a man, stick with him through thick & thin, feel responsible for both of your lives, go above and beyond, worry over his wellbeing, put him before yourself....just for him to run off with a wannabe pirate.

a wannabe pirate who has only known your man for a fraction of the time you and your man have been together. his weeks compared to your years. yet somehow he gets your man's good side, gets the love you desperately want.

of course izzy's seething. wouldn't anyone?

it makes sense for izzy to sell edward and stede out to the british navy. he's spiteful, vindictive. bet there's a bit of hurt pride to it, too. it's fucked! it's a terrible thing to do!

his motive here boils down to, once again, keeping edward alive. cleaning up what he perceives to be another mess. sell stede out, keep edward where he can see him. izzy hates spanish jackie's, he hates the navy, he doesn't enjoy any of it. this is his hail mary, his last ditch effort.

of course it backfires. royally. no one expected edward to call for an act of grace. to sign away his life. izzy tries to stop him, but edward goes where stede goes. and soon after that, edward returns without stede.

and soon after that, the situation deteriorates. edward's launched into a severe mixed episode, triggered by the compounded stress of stede leaving and izzy's rejection of Edward. pressurized speech, emptiness, irritability, suicidal behavior, increased goal-directed activity...he ping-pongs between mania and severe depression. this is more than a break-up.

edward struggles with emotional impermanence. when stede's right in front of him, kissing him, edward feels secure that stede loves him. but when stede doesn't meet him at the dock? Stede Never Loved Me.

another example: izzy. when izzy obeys edward's orders, edward feels secure that izzy loves him. but when izzy speaks up or disagrees? Izzy Never Loved Me.

"he was your friend," jim tells edward, in reference to edward's awful treatment of izzy. but edward, at this intersection of a severe mixed episode + emotional impermanence, can't see that.

he burns his bridges left and right. destroys everything because he's lashing out in pain and he doesn't think he deserves anything good. Blackbeard? sure, he'll be Blackbeard. Blackbeard is all he'll ever be anyways. a killer, a pirate, a crazy captain who does too much rhino horn.

edward hates himself so fiercely that he only finds relief during the storm, right before he believes he's going to die. "finally."

The Codependency Section

edward's relationship with izzy was always going to end in destruction.

they both love each other, we have canon confirmation of this. "i have...love for you" and "i loved you best i could".

edward's confession is critical here, because he did love izzy as best as he could. there exist moments between them that shine light into possible happier times. the way edward talks to izzy to placate him in season 1 when izzy packs a dinghy, even if manipulative at the time, requires intimate knowledge on what izzy would be receptive to. david jenkins mentioned that it was izzy who helped doll edward up for the season 1 ball, an offscreen act of intimacy. edward tries unsuccessfully to connect with izzy over stede's model ship and the clouds. the casual way edward says "i had a dream about you last night."

"best i could." if edward hated himself less, he could have loved izzy more. if he believed he was deserving of love, he could have accepted the fact izzy loves him.

so they both love each other, but love is not enough to combat self-hate. it just isn't. the only opponent to self-hate is self-compassion.

self-compassion is a process you have to choose for yourself. you must work on it yourself, hopefully with the aid of an external support system. self-compassion is separate from self-love and other forms of love because, oftentimes, people who operate under the core belief of Being Unloveable also operate under an assumption that love is conditional. "i'm not enough" / "i'll never be enough" / "i don't deserve love" / "i'm too much". it's unrealistic for someone to jump headfirst into healing when that healing is programmed with restrictions. we are our own worst critic. so to practice self-compassion is to soothe that inner, hater critic until we heal ourselves enough to get to a place where we can practice unconditional love on the neglected self.

the conditional love aspect is one that is modeled. edward grew up in an abusive household. abusers hold their victims out on a string of conditions. furthermore, his mother rejected his interest in fine things by saying that it's not "for people like us". it makes sense for edward to internalize an "i'm not [rich/nice/good/etc] enough" message, thereby shutting himself out.

he continues to shut himself out in the aftermath of killing his alcoholic father. he doesn't tell anyone about the traumatic event — an oscillation into "i'm too much" — until he opens up to stede.

so here you have an unloveable boy, the victim of domestic violence and the killer of his own father, going into the chaotic world of pirating. a world — put so eloquently by calico jack in season 1 — where everyone fucks each other over. where trust is a prized, rare currency.

and somewhere along the way, he and izzy find each other. and they stick together for years.

both edward and izzy bottle their emotions up and then blow up on each other. it's so completely different to how stede & the revenge crew operate. it's years of miscommunication and mutual resentment between them, caused in part due to their pirate enviornment. their pattern is hot and cold. reactive.

izzy smooths over things with the crew -> edward is dismissive of izzy -> izzy blows up on edward and resigns -> edward convinces izzy to stay -> edward begins falling for stede -> izzy and stede fight over edward's heart -> izzy gets exiled for losing, edward says nothing -> izzy goes vindictive mode and sells edward/stede out to the navy -> edward hates izzy's guts -> edward comes back without stede, depressed -> izzy smooths over things with the crew -> edward is dismissive of izzy -> izzy blows up on edward and triggers him -> edward convinces izzy to stay through violence

it's that one friend who keeps returning to their shitty partner — on again/off again —, only here they both are the shitty partner.

the thing about unhealthy relationships is that they provide a layer of comfort. it's known territory. which is why, when an unhealthy relationship morphs into a codependent one, it is incredibly difficult to break out of them.

codependency definition: excessive emotional or psychological reliance on a partner, typically one who requires support on account of an illness or addiction.

like conditional love, codependency is learned/modeled inside of a dysfunctional family setting.

it works a bit like an ouroboros in that it's an infinite loop. the codependent partner compulsively takes care of their struggling partner in the hopes they get better. this role of "caretaker" makes them feel needed/wanted, ergo filling their own low self-esteem void. however, all the rescuing does is enable the struggling partner further into self-destruction.

sound familiar?

izzy is edward's caretaker. izzy is codependent.

important note: no one feels good inside of a codependent relationship. there may be positive periods, yes, but codependency is primarily stressful for both parties involved.

in order to blossom, codependency relies on low self-esteem.

we know edward oscillates with his self-esteem, but we don't talk about how low izzy's self-esteem is.

izzy doesn't have an identity outside of edward, with the exception of being one of the best swordsmen in the pirating world. of course, this exception is taken from him when edward cuts his toes off.

izzy is high-strung with a compulsive need for control. things must be done when he orders them to, to the high standards he creates. do not question his authority. this compulsion is exasperated by edward's uncontrollable mood shifts.

izzy rolls with the punches, metaphorically and literally. he shuts down attempts at comfort, evidenced by his knee jerk reaction when fang hugs him in season 2. "i'm fine. unhand me. unhand me!" he doesn't allow himself to fully break down and cry. the tears only appear in this scene, and when edward attempts to get izzy to kill him.

loyal to a fault, izzy threatens to leave, goes to leave, but never leaves. he gets casted out, so he devises a plan to return instead of, i don't know, creating a new life for himself. even when edward maims him, he stays.

so is this loyalty? or is this a belief that this is what he deserves? or maybe it's loyalty born from the belief that this is all he's deserving of.

a hit dog will holler, and boy does izzy holler when questioned. about his role, about himself, about who he is to edward.

so who is izzy without edward?

"you know me better than anyone else and i daresay the same applies with me to you." is an insane thing to say because izzy does know edward, but only the version of edward he stitched his skin to. the unstable, erratic version that needs help, and who he subconsciously sabotages with enablement.

and edward does know izzy better than anyone else because izzy's consumed by him.

if edward could not accept izzy's love in a direct form, then the roles izzy inhabits are his only outlet. Caretaker, Punching Bag, First Mate. 50 ways to say I Love You and none of them are healthy.

they both are violent with each other, drag each other down, but can't quit even when they know that they function better separated. codependency is an addiction, and like an addiction, the only way for this to end was in rockbottom or death.

The S2 Speculation Section

going back to the very top, here's why i say this thing with ed/stede is on thin ice right now: without edward working on his self-compassion, their relationship runs the risk of devolving into yet another unhealthy dynamic.

stede has decent self-esteem, an identity outside of edward, so i don't think they'll ever become codependent. stede also doesn't try to fix or enable edward. again, stede is genuinely good for edward.

i think the Mer!Stede scene was amazing, vital in balancing the heavy topic of suicide/death with the overarching comedy genre of the show. love saves lives, without love the world is bleak. who are we as humans without connection?

that being said, i personally want to see edward heal before jumping into a full-blown romantic/sexual relationship with stede. he deserves to choose himself, nurture Edward, and figure out how to manage his moods. especially since his last relationship with izzy was so tumultuous.

speaking of izzy, i also want to see izzy find himself and heal, too. he needs to learn how to let go. i'm hoping he'll build up his self-esteem in his own way, doing something he's good at (maybe as a sword-fighting instructor?).

either way, i trust the direction this show will go in. they've done well so far in their depictions of mental health and the impact of mental health. it'll be interesting to see the rest unfold.

[grison-in-space]

You know, before I got bit, everyone told me that werewolves were uncontrollable killing machines. My Nana always said you shouldn't believe everything you hear, of course, but it's not like I was just taking the word of the creepy fortune teller lady at the traveling carnival or something. I've read the peer reviewed articles and the historical documentation. I've done my research.

I mean, it was three weeks after I got bitten by the werewolf that got loose. It's not as if I didn't have time. I understand that the first bite of lycanthropy always takes longer to heal, the slow virus of it crawling from muscle to neuron up to my spinal cord, making itself at home in my nervous system. For me, mostly that meant my field season was unceremoniously over. It's a shame, because I have to teach during the long semesters and therefore can't get time to collect samples and take recordings for my research over the regular school year, but shit happens. Remind me to tell you about what happened to Dimitri's first field season with the voles, one of these days.

Right. The werewolf.

I would have liked to ask the werewolf about the change ahead of time, but. Well. They shot her. Tranquilizers don't work well on werewolves — something about the warping of the opioid receptors, and the less said about ketamine the better — so protocol for an escapee is to aim for the center of mass with lethal ammunition, so that you can minimize the collateral damage. Yikes. No, thanks, I'll lock the bars on the cell that the nice people from the CDC came to install for me like a good little egghead. I'm still using the contents of my skull, thanks, and it's hard to do that if you get spattered across the wall by trigger-happy commando wannabes dying to get to take all their military LARPING gear out for a spin.

Anyway. So I had some time on my hands, waiting for my mangled calf to heal up. There's a vaccination for being a werewolf, but I didn't manage to stumble into town fast enough for it to be effective, so. Well, it's not like I haven't dealt with shit before. You get used to tucking things under your hat, you know? There's no room for weakness in this dog eat dog field.

Wolf eat dog? Dog eat wolf? Whatever, I'll workshop that one later. Anyway, if you're having a migraine day, there's nothing for it but grit your teeth and power on through if you want to get anything done. And I always want to get things done.

So I did a lot of reading while I waited for the moon to change. I wanted to be prepared and work according to best practices, you know? Fuck knows I've been around the block long enough not to trust an expert to actually be an expert on my body, so knowledge seemed like the best avenue for control.

Still, I wasn't entirely expecting it when I opened my eyes after the hair had finished coming in and my pelvis had cracked itself into a new shape and my hands curled into claws....

... And I still more or less just felt like me. Sure, I had one bear of a headache, and the raw meat I had carefully packed into a series of puzzle toys beforehand smelled considerably better than it had any right to, but look, that's not even close to the weirdest thing I've ever put up with.

I hadn't really expected to be bored, though. The next day I tucked a couple of journal printouts when I went downstairs to change, and then a couple more. Dissociation isn't that bad, as strategies to cope with suddenly having massively disoriented sensory signals go. I was able to puppet myself around the room just fine when I relaxed enough to try.

It turns out, by the way, that the finger oils people leave on the keypad make it really easy to tell which numbers go into a given pass code. Did you know that there are only 64 permutations of a four-digit password? Really made it easy to get out.

It turns out that you can cover quite a ways if you're eight foot tall and you can move equally well on two feet or four. It looks like I might get to finish that field season after all, tell you the truth...

"Oh no, this goofy monster virus mutates you into a gnarly beast with an insatiable hunger for human flesh" and then the goofy monster protagonist is able to master their cannibalistic impulses not because they have superhuman willpower or special genes, but because prior to being mutated they were the most repressed human being alive.

[ithisatanytime]

Ecco2k & bladee - Amygdala (Official Video)

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S001393512201982X?via%3Dihub

thats a peer reviewed study from a WORLD REKNOWNED epidemiologist now shows that before vaccines and lockdowns was in fact LESS lethal than the common flu! wow surprise surprise! i havent talked about covid in a while, its a foregone thing now, but whats important to understand intrinsically is the implications of the covid lockdowns for our political options moving forward. how many men bought into the covid fear mongering initially only later to be swayed by reason? was it as low as twenty percent of men? as high as fifty? i dont know for sure, but what i do know for sure is easily eighty percent of women believed it initially and i believe thats much too conservative an estimate, and whats worse is that due to being woman, they CANNOT be swayed by reason ever under any circumstances, in the history of time its never happened one time that a woman has been swayed by reason. this might sound like a joke or an exaggeration but i believe it to be true with every fiber of my being, i know it, you know it, and most importantly jews know it. lets go back to that question about how many men bought into or at least pretended to by into the hype, add that to virtually all women and you have yourself a tidy majority vote. now its come out in the mainstream media that YES the vacccine causes fucking myocarditis, i know of two people who were vaccinated and they both suffered strokes for the first times in their lives IMMEDIATELY! the only two people who i knew personally who got vaccinated, both suffered from strokes, near instantly within weeks of their vaccinations and it wasnt transient ischemic or that they just felt light headed, they went to the hospital and were diagnosed as having suffered from strokes. my point is that women will always do whatever jews tell them to do, they cannot fucking help it, they form their views based entirely on what they perceive the consensus to be, and thats fine i wouldnt have it any other way, but under no circumstances should they be voting lol. so what should we do? convince women to stop voting with facts and reason? we need to get rid of the jewish mafia thats killing the world. i dont care how crazy this sounds, you are a dumb fuck and you are wrong everytime you open your mouth where as most often the crazy shit i say turns out to be the plain truth. we cant vote our way out of this, it IS a matter of life and death, they are killing us.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Not One of Many - Chapter Fifteen.

Are you ready for this, guys? Because I don’t think you’re ready... ;) and thank you all for your lovely comments and continued interest. I have so much love for my devoted audience!! 

Previous chapters - Prologue  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen  Fourteen

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,590

Warnings - 18+ content, adult audience only. Minors DNI!

“Well, your face don’t half match the weather,” Magda began, she and Oliver viewing their friend where she sat across the table from them next to Kinga, looking up from her phone a little dazed.

“Hmm?”

“I’d say you were away with the fairies, but such magical little creatures so full of zest and cheer could never be responsible for a face like that, darling,” Oliver observed. “I don’t understand it either! You’re the talk of town with your article, you wrote an absolute bloody hit! Like Mags correctly identifies, your face exactly matches this bloody rain currently blighting our lovely day out!”

It had been two and a half weeks since she’d last seen the subject of her article, the piece published four days previous to then, earning Beth rave reviews from her peers, new work offers flooding in and the kind of publicity she usually wouldn’t have sniffed at whatsoever. None of it mattered without him.

“Hung up, ain’t she? I fucking told you, didn’t I?” Her reminder that she’d indeed told her so was delivered in her usual blunt fashion, but Magda softened then, sensing Beth’s need for it. “I’m so bloody proud of you, though, for not forsaking your morals, your pride. You did the right thing in walking away from him, sugar plum. You always said, you ain’t one of many, and you proved it. Hold your head up high for that, my precious. If he can’t see it, ain’t your problem.”

“Exactly this, because there aren’t many women who wouldn’t have had that strength, to realise their feelings and still walk away with their worth intact,” Oliver chimed, stroking her arm kindly. “You’re so strong, and I know it hurts, lovely, I know how much it must be weighing on you, but Mags is absolutely correct. You did the right thing.”

Kinga sighed then, sweeping a hand through her hair. “I feel responsible. I was nothing but on board and cheerleading your decision to go and sleep with him, and now look at you. Downcast and forlorn, when you should be celebrating your success.”  

“I’m not forlorn,” Beth began. “And it isn’t your fault either. You didn’t drive me there and kick me through the doors of The Pendulum against my will. I tried to hide how I felt for the sake of hot sex, and I was wrong to think that I could. I’m nearly thirty, I’m a big girl now, capable enough of making her own decisions and mistakes. I’ll be fine, honestly. I just need a little bit of time to pass, especially in the wake of the article being published. I’m so sorry for being glum, I’m such a bloody wet blanket.”

“No, you ain’t at all!”

“Oh, baby, don’t say that!”

“Darling, don’t be silly!”

They all separately chorused the above, reaching for her again, Oliver and Magda taking a hand each while Kinga wrapped her in a hug. She felt a little teary, excusing herself to go to the ladies, her friends all watching her walk away before they huddled in a little.  

“I want to go smack him in the mouth, truth be told, but I can’t cus’ it ain’t even the bloke's fault! He’s been honest with her, told her how it is and all, and I get it. He’s into polygamy and she ain’t. Isn’t anyone’s fault, although quietly I think he’s a bit mental, not seeing that wonderful girl is enough for any man all on her own.”

“I’m too sissy to hit people, but I could certainly go in for a bit of toe stomping and pushing him in stinging nettles!” Oliver chimed, Kinga laughing softly before she added her two pence worth.

“I hope he comes around. I hope he’s realising just how miserable life is without that vibrant, wonderful girl of ours. Then again, I always wish for the fairy tale.”

“And if it don’t happen, then we just have to keep her spirits up until she’s over it,” Magda sighed, picking up her cigarettes. “Back in a bit.”  

Being there for her was the main aim of their day out, starting with breakfast before hitting the shops and heading to a spa for some pampering treatment and lunch, before dinner and then onto a bar for drinks. It was the first day in weeks all four of them didn’t have other plans or work commitments, their catch up and luxuriate day rebranded a little bit as a cheer Beth up day.  

In the ladies' room, the lady herself dried her eyes, making sure her false eyelashes were still well-adhered, quickly lining her eyes again and taking a few deep breaths. Magda was right, it was his loss. But that didn’t stop it being hers as well. He’d never look at her again like he did when he’d perched her upon the sink, deep inside of her but still, staring at her in a way that made her insides catch fire. Never again, and she hated her principles for it as well, but she would not budge.  

She hated herself for that even more.  

“Come on, Beth. You’re made of tougher stuff than this. Time to pull yourself together, you’ve had your two weeks to be sad now.” Straightening her high waisted trousers a little, she smoothed the silk of the grey (which she guessed she did suit, finally relenting to Magda’s insistence) camisole she wore, fixed her smile in place and walked back out to her friends.  

“There’s that lovely smile I feared we wouldn’t see any time soon,” Oliver chimed happily as she sat, her breakfast waiting for her at the table.  

“I can but try, at least.” Kinga made a little fuss of her, rubbing her arm sweetly before she tucked into her turkey bacon and scrambled eggs, Magda arriving back with them.  

For the rest of the day, she immersed herself in the warmth of her friends, from parading outfits for Oliver, who critiqued or praised (as per his career as a fashion critic) to spending far too much money as a result of that due to her persisting emotional instability. What is a girl to do when she finds Agent Provocateur underwear for a third off, or a pair of Ralph Lauren jeans that weren’t, but she just had to have? With work coming her way left and right, a little splurge was in order. She definitely reminded herself of this after spending nine hundred and eighty-five pounds on a Balmain bag, and over two hundred pounds on a bottle of bath oil, candle and matching perfume. Jo Malone was a dangerous experience for her every time she entered the shop.  

An hour on and they were all lying in a line in the massage suite of the spa, being kneaded thoroughly by talented hands, the man pummelling Beth’s back working out a series of clicks that made her feel much better for the release of pressure. Now, perhaps next for that emotional release of tension. A cocktail out in the gardens, swathed in a fluffy robe afterwards saw to it somewhat, but beneath her cheer, the little tender spot still prickled.  

One swim, a facial and a manicure later and she was feeling fully restored, ready to head back into central London where they had reservations at their favourite bar and grill in Soho, seated at a window table, looking out at the sky.

“It’s going to bloody shit it down again soon, look at them clouds!” Magda exclaimed, the sky dark and foreboding, the break in rain giving way to the kind of heat that usually did stir up the sort of summer storm the four were anticipating as they gave the waiter their drinks orders, all deciding on the share grill platter pretty quickly.  

“Please keep the pork products separate from the rest, though. My friend here is Jewish,” Oliver asked the waiter, Beth smiling. She never had to speak such herself, her friends were always so quick to do so for her.  

“Oh, same as. You’re just the kind of girl my mother would be delighted if I brought home, too,” the waiter spoke with a little flourish of flirt, Beth smiling shyly. She just wasn’t ready to entertain anything of such a nature, though. “I’ll be right back with your drinks, guys.”  

They thanked him, Beth quickly checking her phone, smiling when she saw that the article she had written for The Times last week while in the depths of Alfie-related despair had actually been accepted, her prose being why women felt so pressured to have it all, and inevitably felt as if they’d fallen short, should they lack one out of the lovely home, good job and loving partner triangular goal.  

Her friends congratulated her warmly, Magda asking a passing waiter to bring them a bottle of Moet, Beth attempting to protest.  

“I won’t hear of it, duchess. This is The Times; it calls for a celebration!”

Duchess. He’d often called her that.  

With champagne proffered speedily, a cork popped, flutes filled and a toast to her success raised, she stuffed back down the little glimmering shard of remembrance of her lost love, sipping back a mouthful of pure indulgent bubbles and fixing her smile once more.  

“So, my wonderful lot. It’s the ELLE summer style party in three weeks on Saturday and I of course have guest privileges. Can I put you all down as attending?” Magda asked a time later as they all helped themselves to the scrumptious looking food before them, being met by three very enthusiastic nods. “Perfect! You’ll have to get your own clobber together, though, naturally. If my editor sees you in anything from our wardrobe, it’ll be my head on the bleedin’ chopping block!”

Beth was just thinking on what on earth she had in her summer wardrobe to wear when her phone began to ring, looking over at the display to see a number she recognised immediately. She’d deleted it after vowing to move on, but the fact Alfie’s mobile ended in three twos and three fives was instantly recognisable.  

She nearly brought back up her mouthful of chicken, staring at the screen a little wide eyed before cancelling the call. Ten minutes later, and he tried again.  

“Who keeps calling you, darling?” Kinga asked, grappling with a butter swathed segment of corn on the cob, trying her best to eat it somewhat neatly in an effort not to completely ruin her makeup.  

“Alfie.” Three pairs of eyes landed on her in stares of disbelief. “I’m not answering it.”  

“Aren’t you even a teeny little bit curious over what he could be calling for?” Kinga asked lightly, Magda snorting.  

“Unless it’s to say he’s chucked his girlfriends and finally come to his senses that our girl is the best bloody thing that’s ever happened to him, then it ain’t worth answering!”

“But she wouldn’t know that, unless she did answer,” Kinga reasoned, Oliver chiming in.

“This is very true. Beth might be a brilliant wordsmith, but a psychic, she is not.”

“I’m still not answering,” she vowed, her phone ringing again, Beth refusing the call once more. A few minutes passed, her chicken breast finished as she moved onto the coleslaw, before a message notification came through. Everyone bar her stared at her phone. “What? I’m finishing my meal, freshening up, enjoying a few more sips of my wine and then I shall see what the bloody hell he wants.”

“Spoilsport.” Magda muttered, bobbing her tongue out playfully, making her laugh softly. She made a point of not rushing the itinerary of what she’d pledged would come before reading the message, although the anticipation absolutely killed her. By the time she did open it to read, her heart was hammering, her mouth dry.  

‘I need to talk to you, Beth. Where are you? I came by your flat, but you obviously ain’t home.’

“So, what did he say?” Oliver asked, eyes wide.  

“He says he needs to talk and asks where I am. Apparently he went to my flat.”

“What are you going to tell him?” Kinga questioned, excited.

“Guys, give her breathing room, Christ on water skis!” Magda then exclaimed, holding out her hands.

“Give me a minute.” Picking up her phone, she left the table, heading outside, the distant rolls of thunder soft in the sky, the heat beginning to die down. Except within Beth Drake, who felt like she needed to go and stand in a meat fridge. There was only one way to discover what it was he wished to talk to her about.  

Holding the phone to her ear after pressing call, she felt her heart at the back of her throat, her hands tingling as she heard the phone ring out.  

“Hello, darlin’. Thanks for calling back.” Her stomach tingled and her heart did a little backflip, hearing his voice again.  

“What do you want, Alfie?” she asked coolly, chewing her lip with nerves.  

“As I said in my message, I need to talk to you. Where are you?”  

“Alfie, I said I was cutting ties with you,” she began, being swiftly interrupted.

“It’s about why you had to do that, that I have to talk to you. Where are you?”

She felt her throat tightening, trying to hold back the words that flew from her mouth before she’d had a chance to process. “Sophie’s in Soho.” Shit.  

“Gimme half hour and I’ll be there. This is important, I can’t do it over the phone. See ya in a bit.”

He hung up before Beth had time to answer, turning and heading back inside, striding to the bar.  

“Can I get two shots of gold Patron, please?” she asked the server, the girl nodding before placing the shot glasses on the table and dutifully filling them. One Apple Pay transaction later, two tequila shots were sunk, and Beth was only marginally calmer.  

“Well?” Magda asked as soon as she sat down.  

“He’s on his way over, said he’ll be half an hour.”

“What?” all three chorused.  

“He said he needed to talk to me, I told him that I said I was cutting ties with him and was about to continue with how I wanted for him to respect my wishes there, but before I got chance to, he said it was about why I did that, that he needed to see me,” she explained, her heart still hammering madly.  

“Well, if this is...” Kinga began.

“Nope! No! Nobody speak a word about it, nope! I need radio silence while I sit here and work myself into a panic while attempting to drown it in Soave.” Lifting her wine glass, she sank it, Oliver quick to top it up again.  

“Okay, change of subject. Did we all see that utter hatchet piece Alex Martin-Smith wrote on the AW 2022 Versace collection last week?” Magda offered, all four of them falling into conversation over how unfair they’d found it, such a blazing critique of Donatella’s work, of which they were all huge admirers. Even though the topic had changed, Beth felt sick with nerves within, continuing to drain her wine with such gusto, another bottle was ordered for the table.  

The minutes crept by, with her keeping one eye on the street, until she picked him out, her heart somersaulting. “He’s almost here. I’m going outside.”  

“Good luck, darling. We love you.” Kinga offered, kissing her arm, Oliver and Magda squeezing her hands.  

“No compromises unless he’s offering you all, baby,” Oliver reminded her.

“Any bullshit and tell him your feisty bestie will knock him out.” Magda vouched, giving her the little chuckle she needed as she walked away from the table, heading outside and waiting for him, spots of rain in the air. Looking down the street, she saw him look up and smile. Her heart did a somersault, her skin feeling hot and prickly as her temperature rose, mixing with the summer heat.  

A tempest of nerves whirled within her, her pulse flipping madly, summing up composure from her depths, her head an absolute mess as anticipation claimed her. Still, she would be cool and calm in the face of seeing him again, reminding herself of that when he finally stopped before her.  

“Hello, duchess.” Her knees felt weak, hearing him say that, his scent flooding her nose, her mind being transported back to when she’d first smelled him, how intoxicating she’d found it. “Look, I know I’m the last person you likely want to see, but I had to see ya, right? I need to talk.”

“About what?”

Seeing a group of people coming up behind her, he touched a hand to her arm to move her over, the spot tingling beneath his touch. “About us.”

She shook her head, her heart panging with sadness. “There is no us, Alfie. Not while you’re living the lifestyle you do. Like I said, I don’t expect you not to either, you just can’t have me, too.”

“Well, that’s the thing, darlin’,” he began, taking a breath, actually looking a little nervous. “I’m not living that lifestyle any longer. I’m single.”

She felt as if a firework had gone off in her chest at hearing those words, her hands shaking, her mouth going dry. “You... you finished with them?” she whispered, bewildered. It couldn’t be, could it? Was she about to get what she’d coveted so very much?

“Half and half. Mimi broke up with me, because she knew she wasn’t the one who made me truly happy any longer, and off the back of that, I ended my relationship with Amira.”

“Why?” she blurted, feeling like an idiot instantly, Alfie chuckling, taking her face in his hands.

“Because I’ve gone and fuckin’ fallen in fuckin’ love with you, ain’t I? Can’t fuckin’ bear to live another fuckin’ minute without you either!”

“Could you have crammed more F words in there?”  

He looked thoughtful, tickled by her witty retort. “Probably. So, what do you think? Think this foolish man who took way too long to admit to himself there was only one woman for him is worth it?”

There he was, Alfie Solomons, the man famed for his multiple girlfriends and unapologetic stance over dating them, single, having taken the steps he needed, all for her. Because he was in love with her.  

“Of course, you bloody are.” He beamed, leaning down to kiss her, the shrieking cheers of her friends from inside making her laugh a little into their kiss, before it deepened, her heart blooming. It never happened like this for her, it always went wrong somehow, until now. Until it went right.  

At that exact moment, overhead, a boom of thunder shook the sky, people all around beginning to exclaim as the rain duly pelted down.

“Alfie, it’s raining,” she breathed, his thumbs stroking her cheeks.

“Well, we’re getting wet then, ain’t we?” he kissed her again, a kiss unbreakable, unstoppable by even the raging storm that rendered London a wash from the furious cascade. It was a moment so perfect, right there, they were every romantic cliché in the world, the rain soaking them through, but their care over such non-existent as their love bloomed. As if it couldn’t get more complete, the opening bars to a song that made all the hairs on the back of Alfie’s neck stand up began to filter out from the bar.  

“Fuckin’ ‘ell!” he exclaimed, laughing, kissing her again. “She Sells Sancturary. How bloody apt. Because you do.”

“I like to think I give it freely rather than for a monetary exchange.”

“I’ll put me Amex away then, ay?”

She giggled, stroking his face, never witnessing him smile like he was right then, right at her. “I think we should go in, eventually. Besides, we have an expectant audience.” Turning, they saw Magda, Oliver and Kinga all at the window, applauding with huge grins.  

“Eventually.” He confirmed. They continued to kiss, not a care in the world, Ian Astbury’s lyrics reigning so true for Alfie as he lost himself fully to his heart’s desire.

The fire in your eyes keeps me alive And the fire in your eyes keeps me alive I'm sure in her you'll find sanctuary I'm sure in her you'll find sanctuary

At last. He’d found it, after looking in all the wrong places for so many years, he’d found his sanctuary, right there in her.  

“I love you,” she breathed, nuzzling her nose against his.  

“Good! Because I am lovable when I’m not being a stupid tosser. So, you gonna take me in to meet your friends after I’ve gone and rung me shirt out?”

“Yeah, come on.” Taking his hand, she led him out of the rain, Alfie heading to the toilets while Beth ran to the table, hugging her friends in triumph, giving them a very quick explanation before raiding her shopping bags for the lovely, black maxi dress she’d bought, figuring she needed to change. One long stay under the hand dryer later to dry her hair, and she was back at the table, a considerably dryer, but still damp Alfie joining them after a few minutes.  

“So, you’re the silly sod who took your bloody time with this one then, ay?” Magda asked, arching an eyebrow as he sat down, pulling Beth onto his lap.  

He took her hand, kissing it as he smiled at her, so in love, he felt like he was about to burst. “Guilty as charged.”

[thought-42]

Gym Buddies

Critical Role, 1500 words, Laerryn, Evandrin, now with formatting So this afternoon @stoppit-keepout and I were talking and: Thought: So how do we think Laerryn and Evandrin met each other? SK: at. the. gym. And naturally I had to write it. Laerryn's deep in her 'not like other wizards' phase -- which mostly involves talking shit about the people peer reviewing her journal articles, wearing jewelry made out of wires and broken gears, and flexing in sleeveless shirts in the vicinity of Patia Por'co whenever the opportunity presents itself – when she meets Evandrin. Laerryn's peers at the university don't understand her drive and her passion. They're still children, concerned with test scores and social drama and other things Laerryn has never cared about. But Patia understands her. They're on the same wavelength. Patia, too, wants to push the boundaries of what is possible, appreciates the dangers of a mind imprisoned by social and political barriers. She also has a lot of furniture she needs moved across her palatial fucking mansion, which Laerryn is more than happy to help with.

 She's determined to get into Patia's library and Patia's bed, in that order, which means she blows off her lectures to write scathing rebuttals to whatever papers Patia has been critical of in private, and spends her early mornings at the gym. She hasn't exercised more than frantic pacing, running from class to class, or inadvisable bar fights since she dropped out of 'punching-through-walls school upon claiming adulthood-- she is fully confident that Avalir needs an unparalleled arcane engineer far more than it needs yet another mediocre knight. This does mean that, while her form is excellent her actual strength is... not as ideal as it could be for hauling antique armoires across limestone floors in the robes she cut the sleeves off of.

So. The gym. It's actually kind of helpful to get some of her excess energy out, and she can still work on projects in her head. She's pretty sure she's getting stronger, too.

...as are the eighty other fucking people who think 6:00 AM is a great time to work out.

That's a problem. Her schedule is literally packed, between classes (attending and teaching), work (for grades and for money), and Patia, along with the various sundry meetings and events she's apparently expected to attend to boost her social reputation or network or make the university look good or what the fuck ever, she stopped listening. She's pretty sure 90% of the other people who crowd the gym in her preciously carved out block of time could fit it in in some other part of their day.

All this to say, when she starts to notice one dude who manages to create a thirty foot zone of empty mats and unused equipment around him whenever he shows up, she doesn't hesitate to take advantage. The other asshole bros who have mostly been ignoring her or offering to help with her (impeccable) form now stare at her like she's just punched a baby, but they don't come any closer, so honestly who's really winning here?

The dude doesn't seem to care. He smiles big and wide and unsettlingly shiny at her every time she shows up, but otherwise doesn't try to interact in any way. This is probably what friendship is.

This goes on for a good two months, until one night over expensive takeout Patia says "I know it's awful, but the value of some well-placed small talk cannot be overstated."

Which is about as blatant as Patia ever gets with her advice, so Laerryn writes down 'get better at talking about nothing' in bright red on her bathroom mirror so she'll remember every morning.

The next time she and her gym friend are working out in the same place she waits until they've both paused to drink water and walks over to him.

"Everybody else avoids you," she says. "Are you a known serial killer or somebody important's easily-offended nephew?"

He blinks slowly at her, and lifts a hand to brush his sweaty hair out of his eyes. "Well," he says, slowly. "If those are the only two options, I suppose I'm the former."

"Ok," she says, and, very proud of herself, goes back to her workout.

She's planning how she's going to tell Patia about her successful foray into implementing her wisdom when, instead of heading towards the door once he's finished his workout, her serial killer friend comes over to where she's paused to scribble down an equation on her arm. He stands politely until she's done, which just reinforces her confidence that they are definitely friends.

"So I feel like I should clarify," he says, "I have fought in a number of battles, so I guess I've killed many ...things. But I've thought about it and that definitely feels different than a serial killer. Not to be pedantic, but I wouldn't want to tarnish my image, you know?"

"Were the things people?"

"Some of them. They don't like it when we say that."

"I'm still leaning towards serial killer, then," she says. "Do a lot of people care about your image?"

He does the slow blink thing again. "In general... yes. I suppose they do."

"Huh," she says. "You should get out of that, it sounds stressful."

"I don't mind it, honestly. Comes with the territory. You have no idea who I am, do you?"

"Nor do I care," she says. "It's not like you know who I am. this is friendship, I'm pretty sure."

He laughs like it's startled out of him. His teeth are just. So shiny. He holds out a hand. "I'm Evandrin Alterra." She doesn't take his gross sweaty hand because she's not a fucking animal. "First Knight of Avalir."

He drops his hand after a long few seconds. "Oh," she says. "Did the Orc one finally bite it?"

He opens his mouth, then shuts it. "Lady gold Tusk? ...Yes. A few years ago, actually. The city was in mourning."

"I was busy," she says, because it has been her perpetual state of being in the decades since she left her parents' house.

And then, because Patia says it's very important to be honest with your friends when it's convenient, she says "Also I have a moderately irrational but otherwise justified disdain for Avalir's knights in general, so I try not to know anything about them ever."

"My apologies for breaking your streak, in that case," he says. "May I ask why? It's truly one of the most honourable institutions within the city."

"Two decades, my collarbone, and my respect for most of the trainers disagree," she says. "I electrocuted Master Bilsley once, that was ok I guess."

"The name isn't familiar," he says. "So ...congratulations?"

"Nice," she says. "Are we done now? This is a lot of small talk."

"I didn't catch your name," he says. Another flash of those teeth. They're perfectly straight, too.

"Laerryn," she says. "Coramar. Abjurist."

"A pleasure," he says. "Well, I regret to inform you that, given we're friends, a limited amount of small talk will probably happen every time we're here together now. You ought to prepare yourself accordingly."

"I should have never let you know we were friends," she says, darkly.

"I can prepare a list of conversation starters, if that helps," he says. "My parents used to have a whole box of them for uncomfortable dinner parties."

"Great," she says, relieved. "Can you let me know the night before so I can prepare?"

"For that I would need your address in order to send a messenger." He mimes writing on his own arm, raising an eyebrow.

"How about our first fucking topic is how you took six hours off from punching shit to learn Sending," she says, flatly.

His jaw actually hangs open for a couple seconds. Laerryn is already mourning this friendship. He's gonna have to find another gym, too, which is probably going to be a challenge for him, being so popular and all.

"I've never learned a single spell in my life," he says, finally.

She sighs. "You're what, like forty? Great time to start."

"I'm twenty-four, thank you," he says.

"An actual child," she says. "Yeah, yeah, I know, biology, but still. That’s fucking wild."

The sending stone on his belt crackles to life suddenly, and the smile drops from his face. He snatches it up, turning away. "This is Evandrin."

Laerryn decides she's done with her workout.

*

Four days later, she's attacking a student essay with her most aggressively red pen when a voice slides unobtrusively into her head. "Good evening, Laerryn! I just wanted to let you know our topic for tomorrow morning is: If you could only attend one networking function for the rest of your life, would you choose breakfasts or happy hours?"

"I'm canceling my subscription to this friendship," she sends back immediately.

"Sorry! I'm afraid you've signed up for the lifetime subscription. I'd be happy to direct you to one of our customer service reps if you have any concerns."

"I'm making a list," she says. "It'll be alphabetical. See you in the morning."

[homoose]

Weird is Good

Summary: A story about two people tryna make it through the age of COVID-19 in a country where people are fucking dumb lmao. My hc is that Spencer would be like wtf at all these science-denying anti-maskers. Also, two teachers just tryna make it through quarantine and remote teaching in a one bedroom apartment (this is taking place during a mandatory leave/lecture cycle).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: no warnings. reader is both a kindergarten teacher and a bruh girl with a pirate’s mouth. lots of Spencer x factz.

Word count: 3.1k

———

“We’re home for the next two weeks. ”

Spencer looked up from his desk to see Y/N kicking off her shoes, dropping her bag, and walking directly to the sink. “Starting when?”

“We get to go in on Monday to say goodbye to the kids and get any materials we might need. Then we’re home for two weeks. They’re calling it an early, extended spring break.” Y/N began her hand washing routine. As a kindergarten teacher, she’d always been a strict hand-washer. In the time of COVID, she had only become more zealous. She looked at Spencer. “Have you heard anything?”

“Since we’re so close to the end of the semester, the department head thinks they’ll try to finish out the year as normal.” He set down his pen. “I honestly don’t know. It will all depend on whether people follow the CDC guidelines. The spread of any virus is deducible mathematically, and SARS-COV2 is no different. Based on the outbreak in Italy prior to their lockdown, we can accurately describe its reproductive number, or Rt, to between 2.43 – 3.10.”

Y/N shut off the water and dried her hands on a paper towel. “In layman's terms, Dr. Reid.”

“The Rt tells how many people are infected by the contagious host,” he explained. “In the case of this strain, each infected person is infecting between two and three others. For comparison, the standard seasonal flu has an average Rt between 1.4 and 1.7.”

“So in other words, fucking yikes,” Y/N groaned. She moved to perch on the edge of Spencer’s desk.

“Indeed,” Spencer agreed. “We know how fast the flu can travel through an office or a classroom, so imagine if it was two times as transmissible. But it's also really important to understand that this number changes depending on the mitigations in place. Even prior to full lockdown, mask wearing and social distancing was somewhat common in Italy, so it’s likely the uncontrolled Rt is higher.”

“Jesus Christ.” Y/N scrubbed a hand over her face. “We’ll probably never go back.”

Spencer rubbed his hand up from her ankle to the inside of her knee. “The good news is there’s nothing special about this virus compared to others in terms of how it spreads— it’s just aerosols. So if everyone wears their mask, we’ll be able to keep the spread low.”

⧭⧭⧭

“It’s safe to say that everyone did not wear their fucking masks,” Y/N snapped. She watched from the couch as Mayor Bowser delivered the news that DC Public Schools would remain closed for the remainder of the year. “This is crazy. I mean, I knew it was coming because people in this country are absolute buffoons.” She looked at Spencer, fingers pressed to her temple. “But holy shit, are we ever going to be able to go outside again?”

“With schools and universities closed, people working remotely, and lockdown orders in place, the Rt in the US could stay low. But masks have to be worn at all times, and social distancing has to be strictly followed.” Spencer pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I just— I can’t believe people are refusing to wear masks. The empirical, peer-reviewed data clearly shows—”

“This is ‘Murica, boy.” Y/N mocked. “Ain’t no tyrannical government gonna tell me what to do!” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, your choice to abstain from social media is paying dividends to your sanity right now.”

Spencer looked truly dumbfounded, setting his newspaper down in his lap. “But that’s just it. It’s not just in social media circles.” He gestured to the article in front of him. “This economist just argued for ‘reopening’ the economy using the justification of herd immunity. Herd immunity can be a plausible option for less lethal diseases. But this virus is not like varicella—the chickenpox,” he clarified at Y/N’s raised eyebrow. He waved his hands around in exasperation. “Putting aside the fact that one facet of herd immunity is vaccinating as many people as possible, its success completely hinges on the Rt of a disease. If you model a population based on an Rt of 2.5, herd immunity wouldn’t be achieved until approximately sixty percent of the population has been infected. Consider that the US population is currently 328 million, and sixty percent of that is 196.8 million. The current mortality rate for SARS-COV2 is 3.06 percent. 196,800,000 multiplied by 0.0306 is 6,022,080. Over six million people would die. It's simple mathematics.”

Y/N let out an exasperated breath. “It used to be that simple math and facts were enough. Now you’ve got basement scientists who think they know better than actual, literal scientists who’ve spent their entire lives studying these things.” She ran a hand over her face and gestured at the news conference still playing. “How long do you think it’ll be before we’re both trying to teach from this tiny ass living room?”

⧭⧭⧭

“Goooooooood morning, kindergarten! It’s Friday, and no Friday is a bad Friday!” Spencer smiled. As he poured his first cup of coffee, he hummed along with Y/N and 23 six-year-olds as they sang their morning song. Observing fourteen days of remote kindergarten from across the living room had given Spencer a new appreciation for elementary school teachers, particularly Y/N. She sang, danced, conducted science experiments, held puppet shows, read stories, led art projects, and fielded questions for four hours a day— three hours less than when they were in the school building. He was exhausted by proxy.

But he was also grateful for the opportunity to watch Y/N in her element. Even though they were at home, she still got dressed every day in bright, patterned sweaters and dresses— her Ms. Frizzle attire, she’d told him once. She was able to channel her personality into a kid-friendly version that her students clearly adored, never afraid to be silly or strange to get their attention and keep them engaged during the long days. He worked from home whenever possible, strangely happy to have the background noise of kindergarten over his quiet university office.

...

“Okay, but where do I put the biiiiiiiiiiiig number?” Y/N made a wide gesture with her arms. “Ariah, where should I put it? In the big box, yes! But oh no, my small number needs a friend. My three is soooooo lonely!” Y/N drew her mouth into a pout. “DJ, how can I help my three not be so sad? You’re absolutely right, let’s put that two right next to him in our number bond.”

…

“I’ve been waitin’  for a girl to mute,” Y/N sang into the gold karaoke mic. “I said, muuuuuuuuuute, I’m blinded by loud sounds. No, I can’t hear the friend who’s tryin’ to talk.”

…

“Oh boy. Kev, honey, we can— we can see you. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. We can see all of you. I can’t turn your camera off, buddy. You gotta— there we go.”

…

“Mute please, I need— I need everybody to mute, please. Oh my goodness where is that music coming from?” Y/N frantically searched for her index card with the picture of the mute icon, as the sounds of a highly inappropriate song blared through the computer speaker. “I know it’s so loud, guys. Why is my mute power gone?! This is why we need to make sure we keep our mute button on, kindergarten.”

…

“No sweetie, it’s not time to log off yet. I’m sorry, I know it’s such a long day. We have about an hour left. Do you guys wanna do a countdown? It’s the fin-al count-down! Do-do doo dooooo. Do-do-d-do-dooo…”

…

“Annnnnd, I should see all my friends on mute. William, hang on just a second. All my friends need to look at my picture, it’s an oval with a line through it… Okay, William, what did you bring to show us?” Y/N leaned toward the computer screen. “Grandma Kathy? O-oh, she’s— she’s in the—“ Y/N’s eyes widened. “Is that— is that an urn? Oh wow. Um, well, wow. It’s beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing that with us, William. Grandma Kathy, may she rest in peace.”

⧭⧭⧭

A week into Y/N teaching kindergarten from their living room, the university had announced its transition to online coursework for the remainder of the academic year. Spencer had to host his first zoom lecture, and he was absolutely dreading it.

“Spence, it’s going to be fine. It’s not like you’ve never been on a video conference,” Y/N assured him. She sat cross-legged on the couch, waiting for him to let her in to his practice zoom.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t running those meetings. I just showed up.” He squinted at the computer screen. “Are you in?”

Y/N barely resisted the urge to make a joke, knowing that Spencer probably wouldn’t appreciate the innuendo. “No, you have to admit me.”

“What do you mean? How do I do that?”

“There should be a box with a button that says admit.”

Spencer gestured at the computer. “Well there’s a bunch of boxes— which one should I be looking at?”

Y/N sighed and got up from the couch. “IQ of 187 and can’t find the box.”

Spencer dragged a hand through his hair. “I know I shouldn’t find this so difficult. I’m sorry you have to waste your time on this.”

“Hey, it was a joke.” Y/N grabbed his hand from where he was frustratedly pulling on his frazzled curls. “I’m sorry. That was mean and you’re already stressed enough.” She used her free hand to smooth his hair back into place. She scrunched her nose. “I love you and your limited technology skills. And honestly it’s kind of nice to have one thing I can actually teach you about.” She squeezed his hand, leaning over him to peer at his computer screen. “All right, let’s find that elusive admit button.”

When the day of his lecture rolled around, Spencer thanked all the atoms in the observable universe that Y/N had a break during his class. Within the first ten minutes, he’d managed to accidentally kick himself out of his own meeting and then somehow lose track of the screenshare button.

“No one can see me and I don’t know what happened to the screenshare option. It was there and now it’s just… gone,” he told Y/N.

She leaned over his desk, eyes tracking over the screen and mouse clicking around the desktop. “How in the world did you manage to block your camera?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t even touch it!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t understand how it’s even possible to be this bad at this.”

Y/N bumped his knee with her own, pulling up his camera settings and preferences. “Relax. You can’t be good at everything. It’s a refreshing reminder that you’re a mere mortal like the rest of us.” With a few rapid clicks, Y/N unblocked his camera and located the screenshare bar. “There. Crisis averted. I’m just going to share your whole screen in case you want to toggle between application windows. So just be aware that they’ll be able to see everything. And then you just click here when you’re ready to stop sharing.”

When Y/N turned her head toward him to check that he understood, Spencer grabbed the side of her face and caught her lips in a kiss. Y/N smiled against his mouth, heart speeding up as he traced the seam of her mouth with his tongue.

“Um, Dr. Reid? Your um— your camera’s working now.”

Spencer nearly fell out of his chair, his cheeks about the color of the Leave Meeting icon. Y/N dropped her head, debating whether she wanted to laugh or let the earth open up and swallow her whole. She ultimately decided to compose herself, stepping back and giving a little wave to the sea of tiny, grinning zoom faces before slinking out of frame, miming sorry to one very mortified professor.

⧭⧭⧭

“Would you want to be our mystery reader next week?” Y/N asked, bookmarking the page of her novel and reclining back in bed. “You just have to pick a story to read. Oh, and think of four clues about your identity to give the kiddos.”

Spencer raised his eyebrow, continuing to read. “Any story?”

Y/N laughed. “Well they’re six, so maybe hold off on the Chaucer and Bradbury for now. A picture book would be preferable.”

“Did you know that the first picture book, Orbis Sensualium Pictus, or Visible World in Pictures, was published in 1658?” He looked up from his own book. “Czech educator John Amos Comenius wanted to create a book that would be accessible to children of all levels of ability. The educational theories he explored are actually still in practice in the field of early childhood education.” He turned toward her from his spot under the covers. “For example, when you have your students make a hissing sound and slither their arms when they produce the sound represented by the letter s? Comenius included an alphabet chart with various animal and human sounds representing each letter. He wanted to demonstrate that the incorporation of multiple senses could help increase learning.”

“I guess you don’t fix what isn’t broken,” Y/N mused. “300 years later, and we’re still using the same methods.”

“362, actually,” Spencer corrected.

She gave him a look. “Maybe we can save the Comenius for another time.”

“The genre of children’s literature encompasses some of the most profound and philosophical story telling of all time.” Spencer returned his attention to his reading.

“...So is that a yes?”

Spencer smiled. “I’ve got a book in mind.”

“And clues,” Y/N reminded him, snuggling down under the covers and reopening her book. “We need some fun clues, mystery reader.”

…

“Kindergarten, we have a very special mystery reader this week. Oh man, are you ready for the first clue? The mystery reader loves jell-o! Raise your little hand if you love jell-o, too. Okay, kindergarten, I see you! Lots of jell-o lovers in the house.”

…

“Okay, clue number two! Our mystery reader works as a community helper— remember we learned about all different kinds of community helpers; firefighters, nurses, police officers. But if the mystery reader could be anything, they’d want to be a cowboy! How cool is that?”

...

“Clue number three for our mystery reader!” Y/N sucked in a gasp. “You guys. The mystery reader can do magic. Oh my goodness, I am so excited for Friday,” she sing-songed. “Will they show us a trick? Hmmm, I don’t know. Maybe if you ask nicely.”

…

“Okay, my friends, the last clue. The mystery reader loves reading. They read every day, and they’ve been reading since 1983! Yes, that was a very long time ago.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Okay, any last guesses about who our mystery reader might be?” Y/N questioned.

“I think it’s your dad,” a little voice called out.

Spencer made a choking noise from where he sat, slightly off camera. Y/N laughed. “The mystery reader is decidedly not my dad, Keyshon. Remember I showed you guys the picture of him— my dad’s a farmer, so he’s kind of already a cowboy.” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, without further ado, drumroll please... Our mystery reader is…” Y/N pushed her desk chair out of frame to allow Spencer to roll in, holding her hands out. “Spencer!”

He gave a little wave, smoothing his hair, suddenly painfully self-aware and nervous about the opinions of two dozen six-year-olds. “Hi guys.”

“You’re the boy on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone.”

“Your hair is so fluffy!”

“Do you have a cowboy hat?”

“I like your sweater.”

“Can you really do magic?”

“What’s your favorite jell-o?”

“Whoa, okay, let’s remember our mute button,” Y/N, holding up her index card. “I promise you’ll get to ask Spencer all your questions after he reads the story.”

Spencer smiled at the excited faces beaming through the screen. “Yes, I’m on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone; I don’t own a cowboy hat, yet; yes, I really can do magic; and the red jell-o is my favorite.”

Y/N watched with interest as Spencer pulled out his book. He’d been secretive about his choice, so she was as curious as her students.

“This is one of my favorite stories. It’s written by Munro Leaf, and illustrated by Robert Lawson. It’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer held the cover up to the camera. “Ferdinand is the bull here on the cover. This story was written in 1935, which was a long time ago! Okay are you ready?” Spencer looked out on a sea of thumbs up, turning the page to the beginning of the story. “Once upon a time in Spain, there was a bull, and his name was Ferdinand.”

Y/N smiled as she listened to Spencer read each page, recounting the story of the peaceful bull. He was an excellent storyteller, changing the inflection and expression of his voice to match each sentence. He held each page up for just the right amount of time, panning it so her students could see each detail of the black and white pictures. He added his own wonderings and exclamations here and there, and her students were decidedly enthralled. Her heart ached at how comfortable he was, how natural this was for him. She rested her chin in her hand, trying to keep her mind in the present— ignoring the persistent little mental image of Spencer as a dad.

“So they had to take Ferdinand home. And for all I know, he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly. He is very happy… And that’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer closed the book with a soft smile. “I love this story. Ferdinand is a very special bull. What do you think makes him so special?”

“Ferdinand didn’t fight,” a little voice piped up.

“Yes!” Spencer agreed. “He practiced pacifism in the face of the persistent, ingrained militarism of his country’s culture.”

Y/N placed a hand on Spencer’s knee and gave a quick squeeze. “Right, Ferdinand chose not to fight, even though everybody else he knew wanted to.” Y/N winked at him before turning back to the screen full of kids. “All his friends thought he was kind of weird, but he just really wanted to hang out in the shade and smell the flowers, huh? Sounds pretty good to me.”

“He wasn’t bothered that the other bulls thought he was strange for wanting to be peaceful,” Spencer added. “Sometimes being different can be a good thing. The Story of Ferdinand reminds me that it’s okay to be yourself, even if other people think you’re weird.” His eyes met Y/N’s. “Because there will always be people who love and appreciate you for who you are.”

[doctorskeleton]

 Gordon Freeman’s thesis is titled Observation of Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen Entanglement on Supraquantum Structures by Induction Through Nonlinear Transuranic Crystal of Extremely Long Wavelength (ELW) Pulse from Mode-Locked Source Array in this essay i will pick it apart piece by piece to better understand what the fuck it means

Einsten-Podolsky-Rosen Entanglement This bit is one of the staples of Quantum Mechanics, called the EPR paradox/entanglement. We should already know that entanglement, as a basic part of quantum physics, is when two separate particles rely on each other on their positions. It's the idea that if you measure/observe one particle, you could accurately predict the other particle because the two are ~entangled~ The EPR paradox is a a thought experiment, like a lot of quantum physics is.

The thought experiment involves a pair of particles prepared in an entangled state (note that this terminology was invented only later). Einstein, Podolsky, and Rosen pointed out that, in this state, if the position of the first particle were measured, the result of measuring the position of the second particle could be predicted. If, instead, the momentum of the first particle were measured, then the result of measuring the momentum of the second particle could be predicted. They argued that no action taken on the first particle could instantaneously affect the other, since this would involve information being transmitted faster than light, which is forbidden by the theory of relativity. They invoked a principle, later known as the "EPR criterion of reality", positing that, "If, without in any way disturbing a system, we can predict with certainty (i.e., with probability equal to unity) the value of a physical quantity, then there exists an element of reality corresponding to that quantity". From this, they inferred that the second particle must have a definite value of position and of momentum prior to either being measured. This contradicted the view associated with Niels Bohr and Werner Heisenberg, according to which a quantum particle does not have a definite value of a property like momentum until the measurement takes place.

Supraquantum Structures I can't find any definitions nor anything in scientific papers that tell me what this is without me having to go down a rabbithole of terminology. So instead I'm going to look at the terminology itself to see what it means. Supra is a prefix meaning "above" or "beyond". The definition of quantum is "a discrete quantity of energy proportional in magnitude to the frequency of the radiation it represents." That's a little obtuse for a definition so let's just go witth this instead. "Quantum mechanics is a fundamental theory in physics that describes the physical properties of nature at small scales, of the order of atoms and subatomic particles."  If we take "quantum" to mean "atoms/subatomic particles" then Supraquatum would just mean something bigger than a particle, right? A supraquantum structure could be a single cell organism.

Now, lets put the first bit together, EPR Entanglement on supraquantum structures. These are observations on the entanglement of objects bigger than particles, which is hard to prove in it of itself, so the next bit must be important to the entire puzzle Induction through Nonlinear Transuranic Crystal of Extremely Long Wavelength Induction is a way of charging objects. In the induction process, a charged object is brought near but not touched to a neutral conducting object. The presence of a charged object near a neutral conductor will force (or induce) electrons within the conductor to move.Nonlinear dynamics is the branch of physics that studies systems governed by equations more complex than the linear, aX+b form. Nonlinear systems, such as the weather or neurons, often appear chaotic, unpredictable or counter-intuitive, and yet their behavior is not random. Transuranic just means any element with a higher atomic number than uranium (92) So i seemed to have glanced over the "pulse" bit in the thesis title because of the acronym throwing me off. so the ELW pulse from a mode-locked source array is the electric pulses coming from the test chamber's laser "source array", and its Mode-Locked. 

Mode-locking is a technique in optics by which a laser can be made to produce pulses of light of extremely short duration

I can't find any definition of souce array so im going to assume that's what the laser machine is. This bit was easy, but to go on about it; the electric pulses/lasers theyre using to induct the crystal is on the long part of the wavelength scale, which doesnt make much sense considering that it looks like electricity. It makes more sense once you consider what the scientists say before you enter the test chamber "I'm afraid we'll be deviating a bit from standard analysis procedures today, Gordon" "This is the purest sample we've seen yet, and potentially the most unstable" Now, the actual machine is called the Anti-Mass Spectrometer, and it only really exists in half-life. but if i pick apart the name i can figure out what it really does. A spectrometer is a scientific instrument used to separate and measure spectral components of a physical phenomenon. Spectrometer is a broad term often used to describe instruments that measure a continuous variable of a phenomenon where the spectral components are somehow mixed. Anti-mass is just another term for Negative Mass, something that also only really exists in theoretical physics, or at least is only referred to in a theoretical sense.

In theoretical physics, negative mass is a type of exotic matter whose mass is of opposite sign to the mass of normal matter, e.g. −1 kg. Such matter would violate one or more energy conditions and show some strange properties, stemming from the ambiguity as to whether attraction should refer to force or the oppositely oriented acceleration for negative mass. It is used in certain speculative hypotheses, such as on the construction of traversable wormholes and the Alcubierre drive. Currently, the closest known real representative of such exotic matter is a region of negative pressure density produced by the Casimir effect.

So this spectrometer would analyze negative mass. This is already getting into science fiction but you can also call theoretical physics "science fiction" itself, just with more math.

To go on, we must assume that the anti-mass spectrometer should be mode-locking an ELW to induct a transuranic crystal,  but in reality it's not an ELW at all. Long wavelengths are invisible, most wavelengths are. an extremely long wavelength would probably? be longer than radio waves, and this is going into the electromagnetic spectrum

"Extremely Long Wavelength" isn't even a real term, so we'll have to turn it into one. "Extremely Low Frequency" is the closest real term in name

Extremely low frequency (ELF) is the ITU designation for electromagnetic radiation (radio waves) with frequencies from 3 to 30 Hz, and corresponding wavelengths of 100,000 to 10,000 kilometers, respectively. In atmospheric science, an alternative definition is usually given, from 3 Hz to 3 kHz. In the related magnetosphere science, the lower frequency electromagnetic oscillations (pulsations occurring below ~3 Hz) are considered to lie in the ULF range, which is thus also defined differently from the ITU radio bands.

ELF's also have multiple definitions depending on who you ask.

ELF is a subradio frequency. Some medical peer reviewed journal articles refer to ELF in the context of "extremely low frequency (ELF) magnetic fields (MF)" with frequencies of 50 Hz and 50–80 Hz. United States Government agencies, such as NASA, describe ELF as non-ionizing radiation with frequencies between 0 and 300 Hz. The World Health Organization (WHO) have used ELF to refer to the concept of "extremely low frequency (ELF) electric and magnetic fields (EMF)" The WHO also stated that at frequencies between 0 and 300 Hz, "the wavelengths in air are very long (6000 km at 50 Hz and 5000 km at 60 Hz), and, in practical situations, the electric and magnetic fields act independently of one another and are measured separately."

A real life example of the usage of these electromagnetic frequencies is the US government using ELFs to communicate with deeply submerged submarines. If this is the type of wavelength Gordon plans on using to induct a transuranic crystal, then he wouldn't need to have a spectrometer do it, nor any mode-locked source array. So it couldn't be ELFs, right? let's forget this tangent and move on IF it is an electromagnetic wave he's using to induct a transuranic crystal, then it would more likely be above the visible light spectrum. The thing is, the electricity in the scene with the anti-mass spectrometer lands within the visible light spectrum. It's green, and green has a wavelength of 500–565 nm (frequency of 530–600 THz). thats 500 nanometers, not a long wavelength at all.

I'm sure whatever writer at valve decided to write out this thesis title didn't research these terms as much as i have just now, either that or they purposefully made it sound obtuse enough to fit into science fiction without it needing to make sense. But the fun of science fiction is that it's based on real science IMO. so lets forget that it says ELW and go the other direction. Extremely Short Wavelength.

Inducting anything with ionizing radiation of a gamma ray would definitely get you results, under any spectrometer. now, i want to go back to the tangent of the transuranic crystal. It's completely possible that there is no such thing and it was made up for the game with the in-game lore that it's from Xen or whatever, but i want to look into the possibility of using elements that exist.

The game implies that they found the crystal but it doesn't outright say it, which covers their ass on the fact that transuranic elements are synthetically made. Neptunium and Plutonium are made through decay chains in Uranium and can also be found in atmospheric tests after a nuclear explosion. So Neptunium and Plutonium can technically be "found".

So let's go through all the transuranic elements and see if any of them can become crystals! Since they all are unstable i'm also gonna list their half-lives  for fun. For reference, STP means standard temperature and pressure

Neptunium (93) - solid at stp, appears silvery and metallic. the most stable isotopes are Np-237 with a half-life of 2.14 million years; Np-236 with a half-life of 154,000 years; and Np-235 with a half-life of 396 days. it's also pyrophoric so not a contender. Plutonium (94) - solid at stp, appears silvery white but oxidizes into grey. it can turn into a pyrophoric powder. Pu-239 has a half-life of 24,100 years and Pu-241's half-life is 14.4 years. Amercium (95) - solid at stp, also a silvery white look, oxidizes. it's used in smoke detectors! half life of 432.2 years Curium (96) - solid stp, its a hard, dense silvery metal that glows purple in the dark. oxidizes very easily, half life ~162 days Berkelium (97) - solid stp. described as a soft silvery-white metal with a half-life of 330 days, but the previous elements would decay into elements with a lower atomic number, where as Berkelium decays into Californium Californium (98) - This one crystalizes under normal pressure, slowly tarnishes under air. silvery appearance. can be used to start up nuclear reactors. Has 20 known isotopes and all their half-lives vary, but its about 2.6 years. Einstienium (99) Silvery and glows blue in the dark, has a paramagnetic field and it's most common isotope has a half-life of 20.47 days Fermium (100) -  the last of the elements that can be created by bombarding lighter elements with neutrons. Longest lived half-life is 100 days, not much is known about it. Mendelevium (101) - can only be produced in particle accelerators, half life between 51 days and 1.17 hours Nobelium (102) - also only avalible through particle accelerators, half life between 58 minutes and 3.1 minutes. the shorter half-lifed isotope is easier to create and therefore used more often for research Lawrencium (103) - from here on out theres less and less information for each transuranic element, including this one. half-life of 11 hours. Rutherfordium (104) - half life of 1.3 hours Dubnium (105) - half life of 28 hours Seaborgium (106) - half life of 14 minutes Bohrium (107) - half life unconfirmed but its between 61 seconds and 690 seconds

I'm gonna go ahead and stop right there since they tend to follow a pattern. The lower the half-life, the less research there is on the element, and it only gets shorter and shorter. So it seems like Californium is the only possible element that could've been used in the experiment because it forms a crystallized structure under normal pressure, as well has having usage in modern nuclear science to start up nuclear reactors, as well as having pretty stable/long-lasting isotopes. the most stable isotope has a half-life of 898 years but the most commonly used isotope is 2.6 years. now, it should be noted that the lower the half-life the more radioactive an element is. all of the transuranic elements decay radioactively and Californium is no exception. Californium's radioactivity has a tendency to disrupt the formation of red blood cells by bio-accumulating in skeletal tissue.

Here's some more information on it's physical properties:

Californium is a silvery white actinide metal with a melting point of 900 ± 30 °C (1,650 ± 50 °F) and an estimated boiling point of 1,745 K (1,470 °C; 2,680 °F). The pure metal is malleable and is easily cut with a razor blade. Californium metal starts to vaporize above 300 °C (570 °F) when exposed to a vacuum. Below 51 K (−222 °C; −368 °F) californium metal is either ferromagnetic or ferrimagnetic (it acts like a magnet), between 48 and 66 K it is antiferromagnetic (an intermediate state), and above 160 K (−113 °C; −172 °F) it is paramagnetic (external magnetic fields can make it magnetic).

The element has two crystalline forms under 1 standard atmosphere of pressure: a double-hexagonal close-packed form dubbed alpha (α) and a face-centered cubic form designated beta (β).

This is a Californium-252 crystal, the one I predict would’ve been used in the test. It has a 2.6 year half-life.

That’s all the research i’ve got for you. 

TL;DR I predict that they’re using Gamma rays through the anti-mass spectrometer to induct Californium into making teleportation real with quantum entanglement.

[bookofmirth]

I haven't read ACOSF yet, and tbh I'm rather rusty with the characters but it was really interesting to read your opinion on Elain! I feel there's a lot of complexity to her. And how she presents herself as well because as you said we literally have no chapters from hers or Lucien's POV and I think that's the important point to note because right now we're all just guessing and assuming her to be like Feyre, but she's not. People deal/show their traumas in different way and l think people expect Elain to deal with it as Feyre did. But, Feyres trauma and Elains are very different!

I don't really know what I'm saying. But I read your answer and it made me go 'oh... Huh!' in a good way, it sparked my curiosity! So thank you! But I think Elain perhaps is the most complex person with their trauma. I know people say 'oh Nesta is so different' but (I specialised in drama therapy so I love psycho analysis) and what Nesta did is self destructive to prevent relationships to avoid hurt or more emotions that she doesn't want to acknowledge (in my opinion!)

Elain just shuts down. She doesn't drink, she doesn't screw, she just remains in her garden which in itself says a lot! That's a very grounding way to handle trauma and not a lot of people are aware of that side!

So yeah I don't know what I'm saying but I think it's a really interesting discussion!

I have so many thoughts about Elain! This took me a few days to get to because i knew I had a crapton of thoughts. So this is basically me using this ask to explain the way I see Elain post-acosf!

There are three important scenes in acosf off the top of my head: when Elain talks with Nesta and they fight, and then with Nesta and Feyre and she gets mad and leaves, and then Feyre and Rhys talk about her in their chapter. We’re getting a lot more information about her, and for me, it wasn’t so much about who she is, but why we don’t know who she is.

So far, what we’ve had is Feyre’s and Nesta’s POV. Even when Feyre and Lucien tried to help her in acowar, they were unable. So we’ve never had anything about Elain from someone who didn’t grow up with her and experience the same trauma (such as becoming destitute, their mother’s death, their father being beaten, the Cauldron, etc.)

The sisters do handle it very, very differently. And I think that at this point the fandom consensus is that Elain runs away from her problems, but I actually disagree, and partly because of what you mentioned - that she isn’t using those self-harming, destructive coping mechanisms. Nesta was avoiding her problems, hardcore. It’s absolutely possible that Elain avoids things, but I don’t think that she just runs from all of her problems because:

Elain grieves her father. Openly. She tries to accept the fact that it wasn’t her fault and that she couldn’t do anything about it. (See: her going to his grave in acofas, her first talk with Nesta in acosf.) Elain does not run from her grief, she doesn’t pretend it doesn’t exist, and she doesn’t hide it from others. As one of the most defining events we’ve seen her go through in the series, that’s a pretty big deal.

Elain does not cling to unhealthy coping mechanisms. There could be ways that she does this that we are unaware of. She does seem like the type who would be really, really good at making people think she’s okay, all while she’s silently imploding. But we don’t know that yet?

Elain does not isolate herself. 

However, Elain definitely needs to deal with some stuff! She definitely needs to deal with Lucien, and she needs to have an actual talk with Nesta because I don’t remember a single satisfying resolution between those two in acosf. Not like Nesta had with Feyre. 

I have this idea that is purely based on Elain’s line in acosf:

“I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow, all you think of is what my trauma did to you.” (pg. 233)

And then Feyre tells Nesta that yes, Elain was right. 

This is so so so sossosososos important. I cannot emphasize it enough. Elain is used to putting on a fake, smiling face because she doesn’t want the weight of her sisters’ concern. She has been pretending to cope for so long - and tbf, she seems to have been doing better than Nesta - that people not only forget that she has suffered, but she doesn’t feel like she can even express that suffering.

Emotional labor often means negating one’s own feelings in order to acknowledge or tend to someone else’s. And that is Elain’s major role, in the series. Feyre has been caring for everyone’s physical wellbeing (hunting), while Elain’s role has been to care for everyone’s emotional wellbeing. But, like with most emotional labor, it has gone unnoticed.

I’ve made posts about emotional labor in the past (four years ago!!!!) but I’m gonna spare you the link because a lot of it was about a ship that’s no longer a ship, so here is the relevant content:

What I am talking about is the regulation of emotion - any time that you give comfort, are especially attentive to someone’s needs, stop thinking about how you feel in order to focus on how someone else feels, try to cheer someone up, make sure that they are taking care of themselves, try to allay their insecurities, etc. Basically, helping them with any sort of emotional distress.

You know those posts you’ve seen, about women protecting men’s egos constantly? Or about making time for self-care? Or about recognizing toxic relationships? That tell you “if X is being demanded of you in a relationship, get out”? Those are ALL about emotional labor, broadly speaking. They are warning you not to do more than you can handle, more than you need to do, because it can be harmful to you.

If you have ever been expected to make a person or people feel better any time you are around each other (including when they are angry, upset, anxious, ill, frustrated, insecure, etc.), you have performed emotional labor. Pretty much everyone has done this at some point, unless you are a completely insensitive jerk.

Notice, though, that I said expected to and any time you are around them – this is where the problem comes in for YOU. This is not about just being there for a friend.

Making loved ones feel better is fantastic. Seeing people be polite and kind to one another makes my heart shine. That is not a problem in and of itself. That can be seen as emotional labor, but there are no requirements on you in those circumstances. This is something you are doing of your own free will.

The problem, again, is when this is expected, constantly, over time. Now, in my experience, the expectation is not necessarily coming from the other person. One of the problems with this type of labor is that not only do others expect women to perform these tasks, but women expect it of themselves.

It’s super easy to see this – who is expected to take care of a child when they fall? Who is expected to baby-sit? Who did you want when you were sick as a child, mom or dad? Who is expected to be sensitive and pay attention to others’ emotions?

For more info on this idea specifically, read Of Woman Born by Adrienne Rich. As a woman, I realized how much work I had been performing and how much it was harming me and I just… got real upset. She comes at this mostly from what a woman’s role is expected to be within the family, and might actually be a bit outdated in that respect because I feel like family structures and dynamics are shifting (that is a totally un-academic evaluation of the situation, don’t quote me on that), but still, it’s really informative.

While I was doing some research for this post I came across a peer-reviewed article about nursing and basically, high amounts of emotional labor led to anxiety and burn-out in those performing it. It literally will cost your mental health – not to mention your time, energy, attention, and it often requires you to ignore your own needs (this last part came from me, not the article). On the other hand, high levels of emotional intelligence (being able to recognize your own and others’ emotional states) meant less emotional labor (and therefore less anxiety & burn-out). One of the most important things to realize is that while you are taking care of someone else’s emotional needs, your own are frequently unmet. That is why it’s important to recognize this in yourself, not just in these characters.

So where does Elain fit in? Elain is the #1 emotional labor provider of the family, and she is about to freaking SNAP. I know, because once I realized how my trauma was hidden in order to spare someone else its consequences, I fucking SNAPPEd. I’ll also spare you the personal details, but Elain hasn’t been “okay”. She hasn’t been “boring”, or “nice”, or “chosen” Feyre over Nesta. She has literally been unable to express herself because (and I am NOT blaming Nesta or Feyre or her father one bit) her family’s emotional state has been so fragile, there hasn’t been room for Elain to feel or express her emotions in years. 

In the feysand short, Rhys says:

I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.

And that completely tracks. Everyone has gotten used to Elain being not just “nice”, but being the emotionally predictable one. The one they know they can go to for a smile. The one they can count on for never, ever making them realize that she has been through Some Shit Too. And being that person is exhausting.

When Feyre thinks about Elain not using Lucien’s gloves, 1) she still has them, otherwise she couldn’t think about Elain not using them, and 2) I like to see the gloves as something that she will come to use, once she realizes that she can feel and express those emotions without it causing a breakdown in the family. Right now, she just wants to feel. And she can’t do that emotionally, so she’s doing it physically. Once she heals and finds a better balance, she won’t need to resort to physical pain. (Which, lowkey has me thinking some other thoughts, but.... maybe later.) But anyway, once Elain does go through her very own special journey, I fully expect her to welcome those gloves. She won’t need physical pain to feel anymore.

Not to mention my completely unacademic and non-professional opinion that people will judge a nice women harshly for being rude once, but accept a woman with a history of rudeness for just “being that way”. It’s another way that Elain may feel trapped in her “nice girl” persona. I think she started out that way - kindness and light and generosity is 100% in Elain’s character in the first place. It’s not as if she went into the Court of Nightmares and suddenly Cassian thought, “wait, she fits right in to this shithole of depravity”. No, he still thought the literal opposite. It’s just that once people get used to you doing all their emotional labor, they will continue to take advantage of it, even if they don’t realize its cost.

[elinaline]

That video starts by stating something that is literally wrong. Postural sway is the movement of your center of mass when standing at rest. That's what the two articles in that screenshot above say, too.

It can be associated to proprioception or to hyperactivity issues, which is why it's found in higher quantities in ADHD adults. And it is indeed linked to a larger cerebellum.

Searching google scholars with keywords such as "development disorder collision avoidance walk" and other such combinations only gave me this article about autistic people crossing someone in the street which is loosely correlated to the subject on the video

But nothing about avoiding collision with obstacles in a house environment, if people have sources (that are not a random nurse of physician TikTok, but a primary peer reviewed source) I'd be happy to read them.

I personally would recommend strongly against getting any of your mental health information from TikTok, because of these videos showing things that maybe the people filming do in their everyday life, but associating it with broad strokes to an entire community because they misunderstood a technical term in journals. It fucking sucks when those people are medical professionals, but medical professionals are not researchers in medicine for the most part, and not all of them stay up to date with the latest findings. Be aware that many "neurodivergent content creators" on there are saying half true "facts" to build community out of people who are desperate to find others like them, and then earn money out of the views and goodies they sell. Be also aware that the TikTok algorithm works really well, and for each mental health video you interact with, it will give you more with increasingly serious issues, which can pull you into a deep isolation from anyone you think is neurotypical, and a deep depression (ask me how I know about it).

every once in a while i learn some wild new piece of information that explains years of behavior and reminds me that i will never truly understand everything about my ridiculous adhd brain

[jordanas-diary]

Seaspiracy

This documentary seems to be the talk of the time at the moment and I have to say that initially, I was super excited to see issues that I have been studying for the last four years, being brought to the forefront of people’s minds after having banged on about them for who knows how long. But boy oh boy was I disappointed in how the issues were being portrayed. Where to begin?

The first thing that frustrates me with this is the science/data/information these people are using. Or the lack of it. Sure it has sources for some of the data being used, but not once do I see the utilisation of a credible science journal with peer-reviewed articles. Nor do I see a lot of scientists providing input on the questions they are posing to ocean conservation organisations. With some googling, you will find a lot of the data isn’t backed up by scientists working in these areas of study in reports or in articles - so what’s the truth? The graphics in this documentary too ... a great white shark on coral reefs? Un-fucking-likely. Two heccing ridiculous claims were made in this documentary: 1. Dolphins are only killed bc they're pests; and 2. Ebola was caused by decreased fish stocks????? I will elaborate on these later. But anyways ...

This brings me to my next issue - the demonisation of ocean conservation organisations. Somehow BP oil came out looking like a good guy in comparison to these organisations. How in the world did that happen? These organisations provide funding for ocean conservation, research, clean up and education - if we stop funding these organisations, how can we continue to learn about the ocean and educate our younger generations?

What's more is the interview tactics used were shady as hell, and just aiming to paint the narrative they wanted. Now I was ok with this in the beginning, but the less they tried to paint a more balanced picture of the industry, the more frustrated I became. The narrative they were aiming for will have some detrimental impacts on these organisations as mentioned above.

Furthermore, this documentary is incredibly white-centric. Sure there are problematic practices across the world, but painting Asia as the worst? Have you ever wondered why? One of the key drivers for unsustainable fishing practices is the demand - but this demand is not only domestic, but international as well. Now, where internationally is the demand coming from? The West. It is our demand for more and more seafood, drives for the supply to become higher and higher CAUSING these businesses and countries to find more seafood in order to turn a profit.

I also had an issue with the spread and demographic of people contributing throughout the documentary. All of these people were white/white-passing, mostly male, majority activists/journalists, all bringing exceptionally similar perspectives and ideas as to what they see as the ideal future. But without diversity of thought - how can we create a truly encompassing and servicing society for all?

Back I will return to the "dolphins are pests" claim. This i n f u r i a t e d me to the absolute max. Why? Because not once did these people even THINK to acknowledge or even explore indigenous practices in the marine environment, or the significance these animals hold to these people culturally. Which then brings me to the intent of the documentary. 

This documentary was not created to explore sustainable modes of fishing - or even the idea of it for that matter - but to stop the consumption of fish. There are so many issues in this. I mean to unpack this from a science perspective - the lack of scientific backing of the majority of the claims this documentary made is laughable - but to go and completely disregard years of research and experiments and exploration is just plain ignorant. Why only tell one side of this complex issue? Where is the balance between science, governments and protection organisations? Heavily weighting this documentary to the side creates the misinformation that has scientists pressed from the get go fam. Science and technology have evolved [and will continue to evolve] to help us better understand fish stocks and populations, as well and feeding and breeding patterns. Genetics can be used to understand where fish are coming from and whether or not their capture was legal or not, making it harder for fishing vessels to lie about where and how stocks were caught. New Zealand is a good place to look at when exploring sustainable fisheries if you are interested in what this might look like. 

AND THEN from a cultural and social perspective - well if all fishing is banned then how do we put millions, if not billions of people into jobs to feed, clothe and house their families? What assistance will be given to these people from governments or international institutions? My guess? Very little. Most fisherman probably get paid dirt nothing and have skills for a specialised field - how can we ask them to go out and retrain? They most likely will not have the finds to do so. Many of these people will live in vulnerable communities, lacking infrastructure and opportunity to provide them with jobs if the fishing industry was to just ... stop. The expectation that Asian nations that make up a lot of international seafood trade will immediately have the capacity to if not give jobs, but provide assistance to millions of people without jobs and their families is so unrealistic that even on an international level this would be a huge ask. 

THEN we come to the question of what happens to indigenous people, coastal communities and island nations that literally r e l y on the ocean for everything? If we ask these people to stop relying on the ocean, not only will they lose their source of income and sustenance, but also lose their cultural practices and knowledge of the ocean that they can no longer pass on through action. Indigenous peoples and coastal communities have such a different relationship with the environment and the ocean, it is hard to comprehend let alone explain if you do not possess this. There is an inherent as well as learned intuition that is passed down between generations where you learn the right times of the year to harvest through the. understanding of the lifecycle and breeding patters, without specific scientific knowledge have the ability to know the difference between mature and juvenile species, and so much more. The knowledge that these people hold is integral to the survival of our oceans, yet not once was this mentioned throughout the documentary. 

Urging people to stop eating fish is incredibly ignorant. Some people many not be in a position to - whether that be culturally, socially, for health reasons - whatever. Sure reduce consumption, find an alternative if you have the ability and means to do so. Don’t do it just because a documentary told you to. The reason why a lot of organisations made no comment on this is because people deserve the right to choice of what they seat - and in some cases, seafood might be their main source of protein and energy. 

What this documentary did do right though, is raise all of these issues by bringing them to the front of public mind. Ghost fishing, overfishing, shark finning - all of these practices take an absolute toll on our oceans - without halting these specific practices, I cannot see how our oceans can survive, let alone sustain the human race.  

For me, Seaspiracy comes from a place of privilege and stubbornness. There is very little attempt to better educate themselves on these issues, lack of will/want to learn about cultural aspects in fisheries, and the spread of misinformation through data and “facts”. If this documentary has made some how emotionally charged you to do something to protect our oceans - WOOO!!! This issue has been so underrated for far too long. However, do not take this documentary as gospel - go and do some of your own research! Explore the topics raised! Educate yourself! Critically analyse every piece of information you come across, check if it can be backed/verified by other articles/reports released on the same/similar topics! 

Happy to answer any questions people might have on this. Hopefully this sheds more light on our ocean issues and that people think more critically about this documentary before, during and after watching it. 

Tagging: @lightacademiasworld