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incomingalbatross · 3 years

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GF Fic: (Insert Time-Related Pun Here)

Having a birthday on the last day of summer was great when you were a kid.

When you were in college and vacation ended somewhere in the last third of August? Not so much.

“Grunkle Ford, I...I don’t think Mabel and I can make it to Gravity Falls,” Dipper confessed, the day before his twenty-second birthday.

“Is it the travel time?” Ford asked from the other end of the phone. “If your usual transportation is too slow, we can call in a favor or two for you kids—I know plenty of entities that would be happy to give you a lift as a birthday present—”

“No, I know, I know,” Dipper said, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “And I really appreciate that, Grunkle Ford, I just...it’s not the travel, it’s being there. The other years we’ve been in college, our birthday was always on a weekend—last year was a Monday, but we spent that year with you guys instead of in school—”

“Thank goodness that seer tipped us off about her vision of 2020!” Ford agreed. “Taking a gap year to sail the Arctic with us was definitely the right decision for you two.”

“Right? Half a semester of online classes was more than enough. But—I mean, maybe it’s being back in school after being gone for a year, maybe it’s just early-semester problems, but...” Dipper sighed. “It’s just, I’m taking five classes, and I’ve got a TA job this year, and I’m getting back into the DD&MD group again and maybe planning to DM a oneshot as a Halloween event, and...” He sighed again. “It all looked much more manageable on my schedule. It was color-coded and everything!”

Grunkle Ford hummed noncommittally.

“Yeah, I know,” Dipper admitted. “Not the first time I’ve overbooked myself.”

“Not quite, perhaps. But it’s very good that you’re learning to recognize it and take steps to take care of yourself—when I was in college, I burned out routinely.”

“Mabel would sic the ‘Self-Care Fairy’ on me again if I didn’t learn.” The “Self-Care Fairy” was a truly terrifying onslaught of Mabelness, complete with costume and character voice, and would not go away until its subject had reached an acceptable level of well-being and had examined their mistakes. “Which is why...I have to cancel. If I came to Gravity Falls, even with instant travel, I’d only be able to get there around like 5:00 PM and I’d be stressed and anxious the whole time. And then I’d get back here exhausted and with no homework done and with class tomorrow, and...I just don’t think I can afford that.” Dipper paused, a knot twisting in his stomach. “I’m really sorry, I wish we could come...”

“Of course, Dipper, we know you do!” Grunkle Ford hastened to assure him. “Don’t feel sorry for us—of course we’d love to see you, but we just had the summer together. I’m just sorry you’re so short on time.” There was a moment’s silence.

“But how is Mabel doing? Is she facing the same challenges?”

“I mean, sort of.” Dipper smiled ruefully. “She kept trying to figure out some solution so that we could have our usual birthday and everything would work out, but...neither of us could come up with anything that would actually work. And she’s really busy too. She jumped back into school full steam ahead, and she’s got her Etsy store, and all her social groups to keep up with—you know she’s better at managing her energy than I am, but it’s still a lot.”

“I understand that,” Ford said. “You both do what you need to to keep up with your responsibilities, okay? We’re very proud of you both, you know.”

Dipper swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I know, Grunkle Ford.”

“Well, then, I’ll let you go—I imagine you have plenty to do right now! We’ll get in touch with you tomorrow, even if only by text.”

“Thank you, Grunkle Ford! Mabel and I are going to video-call at some point, we think, so there’s that. Say hi to Stan and Soos and Melody and the kids and everyone for me?”

“Of course, my boy. Have a good evening.”

“You too.”

The call disconnected, and Dipper sighed, throwing himself down on his bed. After a minute, he picked up his phone again and texted Mabel.

Just called Ford and canceled plans. He said to take care of ourselves and that he and Stan are proud of us.

Then he pushed himself into the homework for tomorrow until his phone buzzed.

Aww, of course he did. <3 Thanks for calling, brobro. I wish we could go, but you were right--I’ve got WAY too much booked. Why didn’t we check what weekday our birthday was FIRST???

Dipper snorted. Maybe we’re dumb :/

IMPOSSIBLE, Mabel sent back. Clearly an evil College Schedule Gremlin messed with our brains

Is that the same guy who makes it so you can never take the prereqs you need when you need them?

Yep!! And the one who fogs your brain so you THINK you’ve filled all your requirements until it’s too late to patch up the holes in your plan. His phone buzzed a second time after that text. ...Ugh, maybe there ARE gremlins in all the college systems

It would explain Blackboard, Dipper agreed with a frown. Huh, maybe they should look into that...

Anyway, though, u good for Zoom tomorrow?

Dipper huffed, reminded of the fact that they had no time for a paranormal investigation right now. Yeah, he typed, I can do an hour or so anytime after 5:30.

Cool, I will figure out a time and let you know!! Can’t wait to see your 22-year-old face!! :) Even if it sucks that we can’t party :(

Same, same. TTYL :)

Dipper tossed his phone aside again, shutting his eyes for a minute. It wasn’t just the party that had him down—though he would miss the bash that Gravity Falls usually threw on their birthday. It was...everything.

It was having a birthday without Mabel.

Oh, sure, they would talk, but they wouldn’t be in the same place. That was why, really, he’d hung onto their plans until the very last minute. He’d made it work on paper—taking an evening to travel to Gravity Falls, have a party, and be back in time for the next class—and it just felt wrong to admit defeat, to compromise on something this important. Their birthday meant the two of them celebrating together, having a good time, acknowledging that it was important.

This year wasn’t going to feel like a birthday at all, Dipper thought glumly.

But no, that was quitter talk. They were going to do their best anyway, because they were the Mystery Twins! Even if the situation was lame. Even if he was going to spend his time on the call with Mabel tomorrow doing homework and/or bursting with stress.

He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. “Why do I always overfill my schedule?” he asked plaintively.

The ceiling didn’t answer.

---

Dipper dropped his backpack with a thud on his dorm room floor, hastily unzipping it and digging out his laptop. He was late—he’d left his thermos in his last classroom, and been halfway across campus before he realized and turned around to go get it. He blamed his sleep deprivation (a week in, and his body still hadn’t readjusted to the rhythm of morning classes).

Now, though, he could finally pull up Zoom. He plugged in his headphones as he waited for it to connect (stupid dorm wifi), and was rewarded with an ear-splitting squeal.

“Happy birthday, Dipper!”

He grinned at her beaming face. “Happy birthday, Mabel!”

“Did you get a birthday cupcake?” she demanded. “Or at least a birthday cookie?”

He grimaced. “I got ice cream at the cafeteria, but I had to eat it there,” he confessed. “Here, I’ve got...a birthday candy bar?”

“Hmph.” Mabel looked crestfallen, but plastered a smile on anyway. “It’ll have to do! We can sing Happy Birthday, anyway. One, two, thr—”

Before they could launch into an inevitably out-of-sync rendition of “Happy Birthday,” Dipper heard a loud knock. Judging by Mabel’s startled turn towards her door, she heard it too—

Wait, what?

The knocking repeated. On both their doors.

“..Huh,” Mabel said thoughtfully. With a wordless glance between them, they both unplugged their headphones and went to their respective doors.

“Happy birthday, slugger!” Stan said, grinning, the instant he saw Dipper. Over the internet, Ford’s voice was greeting Mabel at the same time.

Dipper’s jaw dropped.

“Ha!” Grunkle Stan shoved past him into the room. Waving to the camera, he added, “Happy birthday, sweetie!”

Ford peered past Mabel into the screen. “Happy birthday, Dipper, my boy!”

“But—what—”

“Grunkles!” Mabel cried. “...But wait, why not just video call us? Not that we’re not happy to see your wrinkly faces, but you came such a long way!”

“Yeah, exactly,” Dipper said, waving his arm in confusion. “You guys—you know we can’t really visit, right? Even with you with us? We don’t have time. I dont want you guys to waste a trip—”

“But we didn’t,” Ford said smugly. “We came to bring your birthday presents.”

With a flourish, Stan produced something and handed it to Dipper. It looked like...a piggy bank, but with a clock face set into the side?

Mabel gasped. “It’s so CUTE!”

“But what is it, Grunkle Ford?” Dipper asked.

“Simply put, my boy...it’s time.”

“It’s a Time-Savings Bank,” Stan said proudly. “Got our hands on these babies a few months ago, on a little side trip. See, when you’ve got some extra time—like, at night, or when you’re waiting for a pot to boil, or whatever—you can use these gizmos to store it up instead! Then when you need more time, you use the clock to take it back out. Whammo! You squeeze in a few extra hours between the normal ones.”

“Like Daylight Saving Time without the false advertising,” Ford added. “We know you two are short on time right now, but...if you’d like, there’s enough in here to give you and everyone currently at the Mystery Shack a good few hours of spare time. What do you say, kids? Still up for a party?”

“Are we!” Mabel crowed.

Dipper stared at this miraculous device. “But...that’s a lot of hours,” he said. “Where did you get the time?”

Stan barked out a laugh. “You kiddin’, Dipper? We figured from the start that at least one of you would burn out when you went back to school. We’ve been putting time aside in these things for months.”

“...Really?” Dipper said. Somehow, he found himself blinking rapidly, and swallowing down some obstruction in his throat.

Stan coughed uncomfortably, looking away. “I mean, it’s not like we gave you any time we had a use for. Just some odds and ends here and there...every day... Anyway! You kids wanna get this show on the road?”

“YES!” Mabel shouted.

Dipper beamed. “Definitely,” he said. “Absolutely.”

And a few minutes later, when they all found themselves in the Shack (courtesy of one of those “favors” Ford had mentioned yesterday), and Dipper had piled into the inevitable group hug with his twin and his grunkles—and with hours of birthday celebration in front of them all—he had to add, “Best present ever.”

#did i neglect my college homework to write this? yes. yes i did #anyway #happy birthday dipper and mabel!#belated in my timezone but NOT ON THE WEST COAST so it WORKS #gravity falls #mystery twins #dipper pines #mabel pines #pines family #my fic #i did not proofread this At All so...there may be glaring errors #i'll find out later

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auncyen · 3 years

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Ok ok so I'd been idly thinking about updating "Chats with Joker in Mementos" for Royal for a while, except as far as I know there aren't any transcriptions for the Royal Mementos chats like there is for Vanilla...

So...after some questionable use of my time, I now have a list of a good chunk of the starters in Royal. Only starters, not responses, since the point of the fic is having Joker be the one to respond, and I didn't transcribe ones I didn't think would be interesting for him to respond to, but still, if anyone does ever look to do a complete transcription, this might be helpful as a start? Or just interesting if you want to see what some characters talk about. Spoilers for third semester below cut.

Ryuji: Man, we really bust our asses to get stronger in here. I wish it meant we got stronger in the real world too.

Ryuji: Man, I had this horrible dream last night… Can’t remember a thing about it, though.

Ryuji: Ya know what? I guess Mona does have a mask, technically.

Ryuji: Yo, the way he jumps behind Shadows is so sick!

Ryuji: Yo, is it just me, or is fallin’ asleep getting tougher every night? At this point, I’m outta ideas of what to do.

Ryuji: Kinda fiendin’ for some ramen right about now… Maybe I’ll hit up Ogikubo when we get back.

RyujI: So lately, I’ve been tryin’ to work some training into my nightly routine before bed.

Ryuji: Hey, is it just me, or is Morgana’s sword basically the same size as Joker’s knife?

Ryuji: My mom made gyudon last night! My fave! Now I’ve got, like, fifty times more energy than usual!

Ryuji: This phantom thief stuff feels real as hell whenever he’s flyin’ around with that grappling hook.

Ryuji: Dude, that grappling hook is awesome! He looks like a freakin’ superhero with that thing!

Ryuji: Aww man, I just can’t get enough of those Akihabara maids…

Ryuji: Aren’t knives kinda hard to use ‘cause of their shortness? I definitely prefer my own shit.

Ryuji: I always thought darts looked easy—just aim for the board, y’know? But, it’s waaay harder than that.

Ryuji: Every try the monja in Tsukishima? That stuff is LEGIT.

Ryuji: Yo, does this outfit really make me look like I’m part of some biker gang?

Morgana: Listen, it’s not that I look like a cat. Cats just happen to look like me.

Morgana: I repeat: I am not a cat. To prove it, I took an actual bath yesterday.

Morgana: So, cats love to chase mice, right? I don’t get it—where’s the fun in that?

Morgana: I’m always so entranced by Panther’s whip technique!

Morgana: Panther, we have matching tails!

Morgana: You know, I’ve never actually been in a car before. Is it anything like I am now?

Morgana: I definitely made the right decision giving him the code name “Joker.”

Morgana: I’m willing to bet Joker’s skilled enough to use throwing knives.

Morgana: Anime, books, movies… Phantom thieves sure are popular.

Morgana: Last night I dreamt that Phantom Thieves were kicking some serious butt—let’s bring that dream to life!

Morgana: I can teach you everything you need to know about being a phantom thief. Relax—you’re in good hands!

Morgana: *yawn* I didn’t get enough sleep…

Morgana: I couldn’t fall asleep at all last night. I just laid there with my eyes open…

Morgana: I like Yongen-Jaya; it’s a great place for a stroll.

Morgana: Is Shujin Academy the only thing in Aoyama?

Morgana: I was vegetating in front of the TV last night, and I have to say, there are some pretty decent shows on now.

Ann: The bakery had a sale yesterday and I ended up buying everything they had!

Ann: The Ferris wheel is a must for me at theme parks, every time. I love being able to just relax.

Ann: I have an upcoming shoot at a theme park, but what sucks is how I can’t go on any of the rides.

Ann: Last night I dreamt I was eating a chocolate bar, then all of a sudden, it got mad and started chasing me!

Ann: Every once in a while I have a dream where I get chased by a Shadow…

Ann: I’ve been sleeping really well since I started getting all this exercise.

Ann: I was up late watching TV last night, so I might be a little sleep deprived…

Ann: I tend to do my clothes shopping in Kichijoji—it’s fun looking through all the resale shops.

Ann: I hate when people ask me to say stuff in English just ‘cause I lived overseas.

Ann: It always bothers me when foreign movie subtitles leave stuff out or take too many liberties.

Ann: I was talking to my overseas friend the other day—her straightforward attitude was really refreshing!

Ann: I was talking to Shiho on the phone and before I knew it, three whole hours had passed!

Ann: Joker seems like he’d make a good cook, doesn’t he? I mean, he’s great with his knife and all…

Ann: It’s actually quite exhilarating to attack with a whip. I wonder why that is…

Ann: Whenever my foreign relatives come to Japan, they always rave about how much they love Japanese food!

Ann: Do you think there’s anything I can do about my outfit? I feel like I stand out too much in this…

Ann: Is there a difference between a whip and a grappling hook?

Ann: Ya know, Skull’s always been into skull designs and stuff.

Ann: Wouldn’t a grappling hook be awfully handy in the real world?

Yusuke: I wish to paint the world as only I see it. The best way to succeed at this is through practice.

Yusuke: It’s fun to walk around and inspect different temples and shrines. The architecture is always impressive.

Yusuke: If Shadows are sentient, do you think their being moved by a painting would invoke a change of heart?

Yusuke: There have been times where I was compelled to create three-dimensional art.

Yusuke: I’m quite curious about Mona’s Western-style sword…

Yusuke: I hear whips are quite difficult to use. Where did you learn how to wield one?

Yusuke: Joker using a grappling hook…. That would make for a picture-perfect composition.

Yusuke: Mona, what exactly do you have in those pouches?

Yusuke: Creating a piece of art is pointless unless I can convey the full essence of the subject.

Yusuke: Art museums stimulate my creativity like no other place—I wish I could live inside one.

Yusuke: Skull and I both use long melee weapons, but they’re total opposites of one another.

Yusuke: Why does my outfit have a tail? I don’t understand…

Yusuke: I considered growing my own bean sprouts, but it seems to be more expensive than buying them grown.

Yusuke: I once had a dream that I washed up on a deserted island. I painted as much as I pleased… So wonderful.

Yusuke: I may specialize in Japanese-style painting, but I’d like to learn some Western techniques as well.

Yusuke: That grappling hook is very useful. I should find a way to utilize one in my daily life.

Yusuke: The other day, I went into the mountains to gather vegetables so I could cut back on food expenses.

Yusuke: I tried to paint a landscape of the starry sky once, but it’s quite difficult to do so from within the city.

Yusuke: India ink isn’t my specialty, but I’ve been experimenting with it in some recent work, just for fun.

Makoto: I may have stopped being a doormat for adults, but people are still calling me a “teacher’s pet.”

Makoto: A phantom thief’s body is their most vital asset. We need to make sure we eat balanced, nutritious meals.

Makoto: Do you enjoy visiting theme parks? I’ve rarely been to one myself.

Makoto: Fox looks cooler using his katana than I had originally imagined.

Makoto: I had the weirdest dream… I was at school, but I was wearing my phantom thief outfit.

Makoto: Would anyone care to learn how to drive, while we’re here? This place seems as good as any for practice.

Makoto: I know it’s not very healthy, but I do enjoy eating ramen from time to time.

Makoto: Once I’ve graduated, I’m going to buy a motorcycle and go on a road trip.

Makoto: I’ve been working on my grades because I still want to attend college, despite being a phantom thief.

Makoto: I want to read a certain book, but it’s out of print. Where do you suppose I could find a copy?

Makoto: Maybe I’m just burned out, but waking up has grown awfully difficult lately.

Makoto: The grappling hook’s cable seems pretty strong, but it’s scary to think what could happen if it snapped.

Makoto: Once my sister brought home some sushi for me. It was indescribably good…

Futaba: I heard rhythm’s an important part of fighting, sooo… I started playing a rhythm game!

Futaba: There’s going to be an event tonight in the MMO I play. I can’t wait!

Futaba: This MMO I’m hooked on is really cool. Do you wanna play with me? Oh—it’s in English, though.

Futaba: I’m about to beat the game I’ve been playing. Wonder what I should play next?

Futaba: I’ve been going outside a lot more, so now I’m sleeping way better than I did when I was a shut-in.

Futaba: Guess what? I’m making a game called “Hungry Hungry Mona”!

Futaba: You know who’s a really good driver, is Sojiro. He can parallel park with his eyes closed!

Futaba: If you could shoot grappling hooks from your hands, you’d probably be able to get around just using those!

Futaba: Ya know, I’ve thought about workin’ out and fighting alongside you guys.

Futaba: You guys should try playing shooters! It could help you improve your gun skills.

Futaba: Last night I had a dream my hard drive failed… That was scary.

Futaba: Wouldn’t it be cool if you could mod the grappling hook so it was electrified?

Futaba: Sure, the internet’s convenient, but it’s not like it can do everything. Don’t overestimate its capabilities.

Futaba: I wonder if I’d be okay going to some place by myself if it wasn’t crowded. Inokashira Park seems nice.

Futaba: Yesterday Sojiro bought me my favorite instant yakisoba!

Futaba: Maybe I should get a gun too, just for self-defense… Nah, my hands need to be empty.

Haru: I found this cafe in Kichioji with phenomenal tea—would you care to try it sometime?

Haru: I ordered kusaya but they refused to make it—they said they couldn’t get the smell out of the kitchen.

Haru: I feel like I need to learn more about the world, but I’m not sure how to best go about it.

Haru: Recently, I’ve been finding rare delicacies rather enticing…

Haru: Even lately, I sometimes dream about doing phantom thief things with Mona.

Haru: If you’re having trouble getting yourself to relax, I recommend herbal tea.

Haru: Asakusa is a wonderful area—I love how it’s this blend of the old and the new.

Haru: Ever since I started high school I’ve been taking the train in the morning, but I’m still not used to it…

Haru: Queen, your mask looks like it’s made of iron. Doesn’t it get heavy?

Haru: Joker’s so acrobatic! He’s really got the hang of that grappling hook.

Haru: I don’t think I’ve gotten this much exercise since I was in ballet.

Haru: Let me know if you ever get a tear in your clothing—I’m good at sewing, so I could most likely fix it.

Haru: I dreamt that the vegetables I’d been growing all died… I was so sad.

Haru: Your weapon seems fun, Skull. Do you want to swap sometime?

Haru: Sometimes it’s impossible for me to fall asleep on days that we’ve been to Palaces, no matter how tired I am.

Haru: You know, before this, I’d never considered using an axe for anything other than chopping firewood…

Haru: My hands have gotten all calloused… I supposed it comes with the territory in gardening.

Akechi: I have no intention of changing my stance on matters, no matter what anyone may say.

Akechi: Pancakes... I don’t want to hear that word again for a long, long time.

Akechi: We don’t have much time left. Please do what you can to avoid getting sick.

Akechi: The enemies are stronger than ever. Don’t let your guard down.

Akechi: A world that panders to your every whim is so mundane. Where’s the thrill if there’s no competition?

Akechi: Do you prefer my previous outfit or this one? Moving around’s become much easier for me.

Akechi: This place is immense. If there weren’t train tracks everywhere, I’d bring my bike here.

Akechi: We’re working under the constraints of a time limit, so I’d appreciate it if you could be more efficient.

Akechi: If you’re looking for a way to train both your mind and your body, I highly recommend bouldering.

Akechi: You think I’m frightening when I fight? Well, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to accept it.

Akechi: I meant to tell you, regarding Shido… Thank you for keeping your promise.

Akechi: You may not like working with me, but I’m counting on your assistance until our goal is achieved.

Akechi: When we’re riding in the car like this, it’s easy to forget that we’re actually inside Mona.

Akechi: The Shadows here behave differently from the ones in the Palaces, don’t they?

Akechi: I’m getting a bit hungry. I should’ve eaten beforehand.

Akechi: I enjoy spending time in Kichijoji. It’s not very big, but there are plenty of trendy shops.

Akechi: Riding in the car may beat walking, but it doesn’t stop my legs from growing stiff and sore��

Sumire: I have a few different superstitions for good luck in my routines… They get sort of hard to drop.

Sumire: It was already hard for me to believe Palaces existed, but to think there’s such a massive one under Shibuya…

Sumire: It’s a bit cramped in here with this many people…

Sumire: I get stiff all over from just sitting in the car.

Sumire: Why is the one desert you get to eat during the week so delicious?

Sumire: A phantom thief outfit represents a person’s image of their rebellion, right?

Sumire: I wonder if I should try incorporating another sport into my gymnastics training.

Sumire: I wonder what I could use as inspiration for my performances…

Sumire: Swords are actually pretty hard to wield.

Sumire: Whenever I travel, I always end up buying some sort of good luck charm.

Sumire: Your outfits are all so unique. I can see coordinating them wasn’t a priority.

Sumire: This time of year, a heating pad’s an absolute must for keeping warm.

Sumire: Sometimes people will just walk up to me and ask me to show them a standing split.

Sumire: I’m in top shape today! Let’s keep going.

Sumire: Do you all stretch beforehand? You could pull a muscle if you don’t.

Sumire: It’s too bad gymnastics competitions aren’t on TV more often.

Sumire: Fighting makes for a pretty good workout, doesn’t it?

while I didn't transcribe responses, I did notice something a bit disappointing: neither Sumire nor Akechi seemed to have responses for anyone else. It's possible I missed one?? But not being able to remember any, they must not have many if they do have some. A bit odd.

#persona 5 #p5r #p5r spoilers #to pick from later

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jamaiskookie · 4 years

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How To Ask Your Crush Out: A Guide For Dummies [knj x reader]

⚖ warnings: intense amount of crack and very very trashy writing

⚖ word count: 3.3k (very smol boi today, just wanted to get this little drabble out)

⚖ genre: crackity fluff; my specialty :-)

⚖ A/N: been preparing for halloween so forgive me for the short fic, i’ve been pUMPING out content for you guys recently.

masterlist asks

⚖ synopsis: Prof. Kim Namjoon is pleased and delighted to present his new class: How To Ask Your Crush Out For Dummies; A comprehensive, follow-along six step guide for the introverted and shy.

A triumphant Kim Namjoon jumps into frame in front of the huge chalkboard in a huge lecture hall, holding a piece of white chalk in one hand and a pointer in the other, with a slightly maniacal grin stretched on his face. His black thick rimmed glasses are crooked and skewed, sitting on the bridge of his nose, completely lopsided. He’s been awake for- oh he doesn’t keep count. Possibly 28 hours by now.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” (It’s 6 in the morning, and nobody is in the audience.) He stretches out the long, metal chalkboard pointer, who he has named Bertha, and smacks it against the chalkboard. It echoes through the empty hall. He secretly loves the sound the long pointer makes. It’s so satisfying, and the fact that he got it on Amazon Prime for only like 2 dollars makes the sound so much better.

“Welcome to today’s class!” He’s still talking to an empty room. It might be the desperation in him, or just his good ole’ friend sleep deprivation fueling his somewhat insane behaviour. “Today I am completely focused on solving the greatest mystery I have ever encountered in my lifetime. Arguably, this is the most scrutinised cold case ever seen in the world. Today we’ll be tackling: How To Ask Your Crush Out. Would anybody like to start off by introducing themselves, their crush, and how long you’ve been infatuated? Hm?” Crickets.

“Ah, there’s nobody here!” Namjoon exclaims cheerfully, as if he only just realised. He swings back, turning to the chalkboard and continues teaching. “My name is Kim Namjoon, or Professor Kim to you,” Again, completely empty room. “And I have had a crush on Y/N L/N for almost two years now.” His smile falters when he realises it really has been two whole years. Clearing his throat, he smacks an A3 sized picture of a pretty girl onto the chalkboard.

You are wearing a long cardigan sweater in the photo, candidly reading with headphones wrapped around your neck. Namjoon has written a barely visible small ‘Y/N, October 4th’ on the top corner of the picture. He’s always had a bit of a photography hobby, but his pictures always seem to turn out better when you are the subject.

It’s a bit odd how you look so much better when you don’t know he’s taking a photo. All the selfies and old pictures from university he has of you are just as beautiful, but there’s something ethereal about you in your natural state. Sitting down and reading a book in a library. That photo is miles better than any of the stupidly extensive photo-ops you plan out for your Instagram pictures. He stares at the photo before turning back to the (imaginary) class.

“Let me introduce the- as the kids say- lomél. I believe this is an abbreviation for Love Of My Life. L-O-M-L, if anybody wants to write the spelling down.” He swerves Bertha around to point at your picture. “This,” He says, seriously. “Is Y/N L/N, my… my friend since freshman year of university. I have never confessed my feelings to her, despite trying many, many times. Today, we’re going to trouble-shoot and hopefully solve this problem, while examining a shy person’s abilities to socialise and freely have a love life.” Namjoon ignores the small voice in his head that mentions how a successful Philosophy professor who speaks in front of hundreds of students every day such as himself should be able to say ‘I like you’ to the girl he’s had a painfully obvious crush on for the past two years.

“Step ONE:” Namjoon yells, writing a big ‘1’ on the chalkboard. “Do not start off a confession by mentioning a Confucius quote if your crush is not in the philosophy or ethics community! They will not understand no matter how obvious it is!” On the chalkboard, he draws an old man with droopy eyebrows and huge beard- Confucius. Then he draws a huge circle around it and crosses it out with a line using so much force he almost breaks the piece of chalk in his hand.

“In fact, just don’t mention anything about philosophers! And don’t try to confess to them through a math problem, they will not understand!” Namjoon winces. He learned that one the hard way. (He asked you to isolate ‘1’ in ⅓ < 3, which is a seventh-grade level inequality. You had pushed him away and yelled at him for making you do math. The answer to the inequality equation would have been 1 < 3u.) ((1 < 3u = I <3 you. He thought it was pretty obvious.))

He draws a subtraction and addition sign and draws another circle, crossing through it.

“Step TWO!” Namjoon shouts, cringing at the horrible scratchy noise the chalk makes against the board. “If you do get the chance to confess to them and manage to get through without substantially embarrassing yourself, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT laugh and agree if they ask if you are joking! They will! Laugh along with you! While you try! To hide your pain!”

“I cannot emphasise this enough!” Namjoon is basically screaming by now. He hopes nobody from campus comes in to complain. The picture of you on the board with the symbols that he’s drawn along with the big ‘FLIRTING AND DATING 101’ written on the top of the board could lead to some severe misunderstandings. “Do not laugh if that ever happens again- I mean, if it ever happens to you! It’s more likely than you would think if you are in love with a dumbass! It will happen! Misinterpretations and concerns will happen! Learn from them!” Namjoon writes a huge ‘laughing to hide the pain = bad ❌’ onto the board.

“Does anybody have any questions?” More crickets.

“Okay then, moving on!” Namjoon writes a ‘3’ below the notes for step 2. “Step THREE: Confessing via call, facetime, or handwritten letter would be optimal for the average introvert. I suggest a handwritten letter would be best for this kind of confession. Still not ideal, but it gets the job done. Can someone tell me why a handwritten letter would be better than a call, facetime, or anything on the internet?” Without waiting for his non-existent introvert class to respond, he snaps his fingers, a satisfied look on his face. “That’s right! Facetiming or hearing your crush’s voice would be too nerve wracking and inevitably, you’ll mess up and say something like ‘Did you know that Barbie’s real name is Barbara Millicent Roberts’ instead of ‘I’ve liked you for two years’... I do not speak from experience.”

Awkwardly, he clears his throat again, averting his eyes from literally nobody. “Texting would not be good! Texting is considered insensitive and is not a good way to confess your feelings. If the idea of a face to face confession is too intimidating or not ideal in your introverted situation, the aforementioned options would be your best choices. I strongly advise you to stick to those three. In order of a likelihood for a successful confession, it goes: Letter, facetime, then call.” He writes ‘letter > facetime > call > speaking in real life (?)’ on the board.

“hoWEVER,” He says, pointing at the large ‘3’ he wrote with Bertha. “If you do end up choosing to write a handwritten letter- write this down, this is an important note- do NOT forget to sign your name! Your crush will end up throwing it away thinking it’s a random admirer or a prank. MAKE SURE TO WRITE THIS DOWN!” On the board, he writes down ‘My name → Kim Namjoon.’ He nods thoughtfully. “Yes,” He says. “It’s important to write your name.” He mutters it over and over, staring glazed at the words written on the board.

Close to bursting into tears, he grabs a hold of his hair and cradles his head in his hands. “Why didn’t you write your fucking name, Namjoon?” He frustratingly mutters to himself. Sighing, he puts his hands on his waist, marvelling at what he’d written so far. The peaceful silence doesn’t last for very long.

“STEP NUMBER FOUR!” It’s not like him to be so loud. It’s probably a good, balanced combination of his lack of sleep and being alone with his inner thoughts. He’s pretty sure he has an alternate personality who thinks he’s Freud. Freud occasionally throws in some pretty deep psychoanalysis prompts for him to consider when he can’t sleep.

“If… And only if you build up the courage to ask her out in person-! Well, firstly, congratulations, we’re all very proud of you. Secondly, do it in public! You might be thinking, Professor Kim, why on earth would I want to do it in public? Getting rejected in public is so much more horrible!? Well, BELIEVE ME, UNBELIEVERS- Getting rejected in public is sO much better than getting rejected in private! Due to our tendency to not draw attention to ourselves and the way we like to shrink in public, it’s much more likely that we won’t break down in tears if we get rejected in public! Well, once you get back home, you might start breaking down, so maybe this is just a temporary solution, but it’s still better than sobbing in front of your crush when you devastatingly get rejected!”

Knitting his brows together, Namjoon corrects himself. “Not when you get devastatingly rejected, sorry. If. If. Yes, if. If you get devastatingly rejected. Come to think of it, in a purely logical way, you have a 50/50 chance of succeeding in your confession. ‘I like you, do you like me?’ That’s a yes or no question, isn’t it? A confession is exactly the same as flipping a coin! You have a 50% chance of getting heads, 50% chance of getting tails. Either way, you get on with your life despite getting heads or tails. So… the odds are kinda in your favour!”

“Except when you flip a coin, you wouldn’t get nervous to the point where you accidentally push the coin into a mud filled pond where the coin’s favourite shirt got ruined so then the coin proceeded to ignore you for the next two weeks, making it the most miserable two weeks of your entire life… But that probably won’t happen again.” Namjoon mutters underneath his breath. “Coins don’t wear shirts anyways.” Somehow, that seemed to comfort him. He writes down ‘coins can’t wear shirts’ on the chalkboard.

“Step number FIVE!” Namjoon shakes his head, taking a sip of the espresso that’s been sitting on his desk for hours. “What was step number five agai- oh right. Step number five: look your best!” Namjoon catches sight of his reflection and winces. “Okay, maybe I don’t have a great example right now.” He reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair, almost puking when he feels the amount of grease and gunk buried in his scalp. He should probably shower. And get some sleep. His eye bags do not look very attractive right now. Maybe he should get a haircut too, it’s kinda getting wild up there. In his own defence, he’s been standing in this exact pair of sweatpants and glasses for the past couple hours, so he smells a tiny bit. Don’t girls like it when guys wear grey sweatpants? Frowning, Namjoon makes a mental note to do some research later on.

“Shower, change, put in contacts, cologne, flowers…” Namjoon starts writing a to-do list onto his small notebook. “Would she like flowers, actually? Is it misogynistic of a guy to bring flowers or is it just a cute, nice gesture? Am I overthinking this?” His phone vibrates in the middle of his feminism breakdown, and he pats his back pockets before realising his phone was across the table. He grunts as he leans over to pick it up, and thoughtlessly, he accepts the call and brings it up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Your voice is both a comfort and a shock to hear so early in the morning. He can already see you sighing aloud and scrunching up your nose cutely, a habit you picked up from him himself. He does it when he’s embarrassed, but you do it when you’re angry. It doesn’t really work because now whenever you get mad he just swoons and gushes over your cute nose and chubby cheeks.

“aH- Um… What time is it?” Namjoon fumbles around, jumping up.

“It’s like 7 in the morning? Hello, you promised to come workout with me today? Come open your door, I’ve been ringing your doorbell for forever, but I think it’s broken. I’ll call the repair guy for you later.” Namjoon lets out a nervous laugh, guiltily looking at his shoes even though he knows you can’t even see what he’s doing right now.

“It’s already seven? Wow, time flies really fast. I’m- ” He yawns, bringing the phone away from his ear for a moment. “- really tired.” A beat passes by. How is it possible that he can hear you get angry at him from here?

“Namjoon.” Another awkward laugh rings through the lecture hall.

“Ahahha. - Yes?”

“Are you at work right now?” You ask, voice suddenly turning stone cold.

“Um, well, that’s a debatable question. See, is it really, honestly my work if I love doing it? Sure, it makes me a living, but of course I don’t consider it to be my workplace, you know? Like, I get to come in and do what I love every single day, educating the next generation. It’s actually a really bad mindset because once you refer to your job as ‘work’ you don’t-”

“Namjoon.”

“Okay yes, I’m at work.” He relents, pushing his glasses up and sighing.

“Joon, it’s seven! Like, seven in the morning! Have you been in there since you clocked in yesterday morning?” You ask worriedly.

“Uhh, I think so?” To be honest, he’s been here for two nights already, crashing out on a beanbag and brushing his teeth in the staff bathroom when he needs to.

“Namjoon!” He mumbles out an apology. “What the hell could you have been doing in there? You don’t even have that many classes this week!” Namjoon lets his eyes trail over to the chalkboard, then back down to his notebook.

“Uh… it’s kinda complicated?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll come home now, don’t worry!” He says, even before you can demand he take care of himself. Sometimes, you’re just a teensy bit overbearing. It’s a messed up miracle he managed to fall in love with you in the first place.

“Be careful, okay? It’s flu season, too, so you really can’t be this reckless! You’re literally going to drive me into an early grave, for fuck’s sakes. You’re always fussing over how overworked I am, so how could you not take care of yourself? That’s so hippo- hypo- ugh, what’s the word?”

“Hypocritical.” Namjoon says into the phone while packing up his things.

“Hypocritical, yes. You better be here in ten minutes or less, Kim. Come home, take a shower and then sleep. I’m guessing you have done neither of those things since yesterday.” Namjoon doesn’t have the decency or humility to give you an honest answer, so he just stays silent. His eyes are still fixed on the chalkboard. Where was he at when your phone call interrupted? Ah, yes. Step number six: ‘I love you.’ Step number six was a piece of advice he had gotten from Min Yoongi, a music theory professor who taught just a couple minutes away from Namjoon’s office. He’s been dating Jung Hoseok, another mutual friend of Namjoon’s, for a few years now.

“What do you mean?” Yoongi just blinked when Namjoon asked him, stared blankly at him, lips threatening to pull up into a smirk.

“What do you mean, ‘What do you mean’?” Namjoon said, huffing. “How did you confess to Hobi?”

“Bro,” Yoongi said, now freely laughing at Namjoon. “If you can’t confess to her, just wait until you get around to thinking about proposing. Never been more nervous in my life, swear to god.” Namjoon had never been a violent type. Up until he met Yoongi.

“Just- tell me how you did it, would you?” Yoongi gave a rare, small smile and beckoned him closer. He leaned in, about to tell Namjoon a big secret.

“Just say it.” He whispered into Namjoon’s ear. Namjoon rolled his eyes, pulled away and rested his head on the sofa.

“That’s the most useless thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No it’s not!” Yoongi also leaned back into his seat. “Just say it. ‘I love you.’ It’s nothing difficult. Just say it!” Namjoon scoffed and left, but Yoongi called something out while he was walking away. “Hey, you’re going to lose her if you don’t do anything.” Namjoon froze, but continued to walk. Yoongi watched, two seconds later, amused as Namjoon came rushing back in, sat himself down on the sofa and demanded Yoongi tell him everything he needed to know.

Thus, his six steps were born.

If Min Yoongi, a person who is possibly even more shy and even more introverted than Namjoon, (Which is a big feat) can ‘just say it’, he should be able to do it easily. Namjoon nods to himself, rolling his head back and cracking a neck bone.

Taking a deep breath, he speaks into the phone.

“Hey, I have something to tell you.”

“It can wait,” You say. It’s so like you to ruin a love confession, Namjoon thinks, laughing. “Come home, go sleep for a couple hours, then we can talk. It’s not important, is it?” He stares at the chalkboard, letting out a satisfied exhale.

“Nope.” He says. “Not that important. I’ll tell you later.”

“Okay,” He hears you grunt from the other side of the phone, shuffling around. “Hey, I’m gonna hang up first, I’ll wait for you to get here. Where’s your spare key again?”

“Underneath the compartment in the hanging plant. Yeah- the one above the front door.” He hears the familiar jingle of his keys and your adorable ‘a-ha!’ from the phone, and his smile stretches wider.

“Ohh, okay, got it. Thanks! You don’t mind if I go in first, right?”

“Nah.”

“Okay, bye!” Before he says it back, you hang up, and he’s left with an annoying beeping sound that repeats in his ear. He misses you, Namjoon muses to himself. He hasn’t seen you for much too long. Happily, he skips to the back of the lecture hall. (which he then immediately regrets when he finds out his legs don’t work properly after staying in the exact same position for hours without end.) He doesn’t even mind that you’ll see him in this horrendous state if he gets to see you fuss over him again. Your soft side coming out is like spotting a rare bonsai tree on sale in a run-down store- extremely special and only happens once in a while.

Okay, that analogy was really bad, he just really wanted to mention his bonsai trees.

He spares one last glance to the filled chalkboard. With good luck, nobody will walk in and see that mess all over the board. He’d probably get fired.

“I love you.” He says to himself. Maybe Yoongi was right. It does sound pretty easy. Namjoon walks out of the lecture hall, switching off the lights and running off to see you.

Kim Namjoon’s Six Steps Towards Confessing Your Love: Introvert Edition

Do not refer to anything academic or clever in your confession.

Do not laugh when they ask if you are joking once you confess.

Letter > facetime > call

Confess in public.

Look your best!

Just say it.

⚖ wanna talk to professor!joon? or add yourself to the taglist?

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z-007 · 3 years

Text

A Journey of Sadism (mental and physical)

I was born in the 21st of April 1992, in Jableh-Latakia. But, since my father was an employee for Total French company in Syria, I grew up in Damascus. At the age of 4, I was diagnosed with Diabetes type 1. It was very hard for me at the beginning when I was a child, and my mother suffered a lot, giving me insulin injections, which I found painful at that time, and analyzing my blood sugar to inspect what did I eat if the result was soaring sky high. I hated her at the beginning, simply because as a child, I didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. At 8 years old I went to a school that is Sunni Islamic Pre-Historic School in Dummar called -Young Scientists- something that I discovered later on to be ironic. In Syria, If you weren’t good at school, you were cursed, you became like a Boxing Heavybag. They also used Falakas, the art of whipping feet. It didn’t stop at that, simply because parents became part of this process too, using any tool at their disposal in beating their child, chair, water hose, hammer, clothes hanger, electric cables, let alone being slapped on the face in a way that I started feeling my bones were shaking, and my eyes will throw fire, or kicked in your head and started bleeding. All of this, was because my marks in Arabic, mathematics, history and geography were not good except in English. It was the best language to understand for me, and the subject in which I saw myself to be a good student. As a consequence of that, I started losing control and cause trouble to my so-called teachers at that time. Luckily in 2001, I found my sanctuary that took to a completely different world. It was the first time I saw James Bond in GoldenEye. I was so thrilled by the action sequence, the theme of betrayal and everything about it was cool. This was a turning point in my life to become a Bond fan. I also learnt how to sing rap songs like Faint for Linkin Park, and Bleed It Out. And all of my father’s friends who were French, British and Americans were impressed. It was something that I remember with a loving memory to those people. Later I watched the rest of the Bond films and the happiest moment in my life was when I found the complete DVD set in Tartus. Simply because no DVD store in Damascus had the complete set except one who was also our neighbor. The curse of buying films in Syria was that they were badly used CDs at the bloody beginning. It was very rare to have a CD converted from an original DVD. This greatest franchise in the whole world has sealed my internal wounds for not being a good student. Ironically, the mental case of mine came back to me when I was at High School, especially it was a time that determined who I am, luckily it passed with no harm to me, because a single mark changed future to some students .I forgot to mention, that the school principle when I was at the ninth grade, didn’t stop calling my parents and telling them not to spend a single penny on me, because he thought I will never be successful. But I brought a mark that was better than his children’s. In 2010, I became a student of English Literature in Damascus University, I remembered that I was not a bad student at that time with an average of 80 percent. But the Syrian Crisis began in 2011, the press was already screaming for blood and the political unrest escalated to the extent that we had to change residence. This was the bane of my existence to open my eyes and find myself in Latakia. I was simply cursed and hostile, because I didn’t speak like Alawaits, their accent felt like starving dogs, in other words, they bark. They are trivial, shallow minded wankers who had nothing inside their heads except clothes, mobile phones and narrating a fairytale about themselves having sex with girls and a horny 40-year-old women they come across and imagining penetrating their vaginas and sucking their nipples. I registered in Tishreen University at third year, I managed to transfer my documents to that platonic place. The professors didn’t like me, simply for participating in their lectures, and the fact that I spoke French, Spanish and a little bit Russian. As a consequence, I kept failing at University over and over. Moreover, I had different ideas, and University Professors are bigots and snobbish. Their opinion was the only one that matters. The impact of the mentioned earlier, had made my pain started with breakdowns, screaming my head off and security gathering around me like” what happened to you?”. Added to that, emotionally speaking, I had a horse sex drive in that Mohammadian society. Girls dressed in a way that said to male students, “come to me.”. The majority of women at that city showed their breasts, waist, legs, and what attracts me most their feet, especially, high heels, that gave them a very elegant look. For my good fortune, all I had in front of me was Pornographic DVDs and websites, so I kept masturbating from 11:30 pm until 10:00 am from night to daylight. Still wondering, how men attracted them, I didn’t have any idea, and the question kept circulating. I also hated the idea of marriage, especially that I always loved to live my life the way I fathomed. I didn’t like the idea of getting buried alive by being a bloody father and spend the rest of my life with only one Angry Factory, aka, one woman. The psychological problem kept increasing and started with depression; taking anti-depressants for a while and go back to my normal life when soothed down. I kept taking them every now and then. Students were not allowed to know about their mistakes at any cost, this was a University rule. Self-doubt has caused me to go to a neurologist who started doing me brain scans, simply, I just wanted to know why am I that stupid, for failing continuously and still I didn’t get an answer. I was always deprived of sleep, studying my arse off and my professors didn’t care seeing their students DIE and SUFFER in front of them. Everybody panicked from me, always avoided seeing me, treated as unusual man. At that time, due to the fact that I kept taking anti-depressants, they became ineffective and stopped giving me relief. Part of what killed me thousands of time when I’m still alive was realizing that I cannot become an MI6 agent at any cost. I simply wanted to do 1 % of what James Bond did, take notice, that I was not pursuing women, I was looking for action and suspense. I wanted to be stationed in the heart of ISIS or Spectre and operate in the shadows to protect Queen and Country. I didn’t like Hasan Nasrullah, Vladimir Putin who looked like a Bond villain or Ayatollah bloody Khomeini, even Ali Bin Abi Talib himself, and that’s why I was also crucified for being a James Bond fan. Family and friends made a laughing stock out of me. I started dinking excessively, and suicidal thoughts kept recurring to me. They didn’t stop driving me to bring a razor and wound myself to death, it wasn’t the MI6 job that destroyed me the most. It was self-doubt. Doubting my brain efficiency and abilities, and especially that I saw students whom I thought less capable to express themselves in English than I am. My family tried to see the professors in Tishreen University-Latakia, unsuccessfully. I simply couldn’t have any idea what is the main reason I kept failing over and over. How could I develop myself without knowing my mistakes?!!, I later told some people that I wanted to be an MI6 operative, I thought that might sooth my tension, however, it got things worse. I started attacking the professors while giving their lectures orally and physically. I also broke the classroom washbasin, and the entire classroom windows, then security staff gathered around me after 3 minutes, they were about to send me to an unknown destiny, later, everything stopped after the head of the English department told them not to take any action. The last problem I did was with World Literature professor, whose name is Noor AL Araby, she was a real bitch, I remembered studying her syllabus for a month, she told us that Virginia is not required for the exam, and she brought it. As a result of that, I wrote her three pornographic stories on the exam paper. Stories people see in Brazzers and Naughty America (Porn films companies). Everybody got pissed off, the story was about to be dragged from my house to a security branch for torture. Luckily, my uncle who was a Colonel in the Republican Guard he had connection to the President of the University, told the professor to drop out the case, but she was persistent to have my balls for Christmas decoration. She spread what I wrote her on the internet and about to send them to newspapers. My parents begged her not to and we had medical reports that proved that I had neurological and mental case. Then I was suspended from the University for years, from 2016, till now. She did all she could to destroy me to the utmost level. I was happy when I realized she got very agitated. Especially, there were students confirming that exam questions were paradoxical to the things she lectures about.

Suspension Time

At the time I was suspended it was a slow killer for me. Literary, I realized that I was the worst student in the history of the planet. I decided to follow Boxing, I remembered that I was fit enough for the game. I found out that I did well at round bouts on the ring. I could do sparring sessions, shadowboxing…etc. I was able to run at least 10kms per day, 300 sit-ups, 80 press ups and 20 pull-ups. I tried to be a champion but every time I kept persevering, in addition to that my left palm was broken and my right eye was wounded. I got cold and sick, and I realized that I had to spend at least 2 months with vaporizers, fertilizers and strong meds. I kept striving in Boxing with no success. I lost confidence in myself and felt humiliated. I said to myself, why didn’t I choose to work for the Syrian Secret Service, I went to the branches, and when they saw that I was discharged from the military because of diabetes type 1, they asked me to get lost. I was surprised when I found out that my dentist was an officer in the Ariel Intelligence in Syria, I told him the story, he said “this is not your fight, you might think that you can do well in the field, but your enemies are smarter than you, they know how they can take you down and destroy you once and for all. Second, we had people who kill targets, who can do silent killings, detonate and sabotage, whether male, or female, but they have nothing to lose, their parents are killed and very poor, working to make money, and you are a discharged, rich bastard and you want to join us. I’m surprised when you told me that. I was a James Bond fan like you, but believe me my friend, that the real intelligence work will never come up to your expectations. Once the film you watch finishes and the novel ends, go back to reality, what you look for does not exist. I realized that I couldn’t become an asset for MI6, or any spy agency in this world, I felt that I was under surveillance by my country. I knew that they could look at my messages, trace my location any time they wanted. That was not the real problem, suicidal thoughts and self-punishment ideas didn’t leave me. So, I talked to my uncle to send me to the Special Forces, or any Military Barracks to become a martyr, to take the bullets to my chest. I remembered when I drank wine bottle on my own, I told my parents that I wanted to wear a C4 charge belt and blow myself up inside ISIS. They were horrified, then I was unconscious and within minutes, I found myself inside the clinic, after I told my problem to the psychiatrist, about MI6 dream and the doubt that I’m under surveillance. He told my mother that I’m a Psychotic. I was injected with needles and medications that made me feel like cutting my head off. He also sent me to Damascus for electro-therapy (to take electricity directly to my brain). I also became a field of therapy by my Doctor, he was testing medications on me like Invega that made me shake while standing up. Hence, he decided to give me Zeldox 60 mg, second generation anti-psychotic. My only comfort was when I slept. Waking up to life while taking those meds was a curse. I lost my sexual drive (libido), I remember feeling dizzy all the time, I remember calling the doctor every time when I tell him about the side-effects concerning dizziness and loss of sexual drive, he kept telling me that what you say is incorrect and that it didn’t have any symptoms. By miracle, my father brought me lower dosage medication, life changed for me. I knew cat-houses in my city, every money woman I went to for an intercourse, they took a lot of money. They were abusing me. The sluts didn’t make me enjoy the intercourse the way I wanted. They were controlling me as well, and this is why I left them. After I told my psychiatrist that I reduced the dosage, he said that my condition will deteriorate. He confirmed to me that Chemistry in my brain was not right, then I told him to screw himself. Reducing the dosage had an effect as well. I remembered at a certain time that painkillers were like a bag of peanuts for me. And when night came I felt incredible fever in my head. I felt like being boiled alive. And I kept seeing nightmare afterwards, voices telling me that I will pay the price of reducing the medication dosage. Complete terror and horror kept chasing me for a very long time. After recovery, I logged into the James Bond groups on Facebook, they made me trivia to answer, did me a test about the James Bond 24 films from Dr.No 1962 to Spectre 2015. After I answered them all correctly, they called me Agent 00Zein. Made me an admin, and I had many friends from all around the world. In the 5th of October the global James Bond day , I celebrated with millions of the franchise fans. My great father, brought me a modern computer and IPhone X to follow up with these groups.

Nowadays, I’m not looking for immigration, nor women or anything else in this world. I have chosen to help my parents when they grow old, and help them. This is the best way I can pay them back. I decided to watch films about espionage world, read books, imagining the events and enjoy it fully and get my arse back to reality.

This is the only way; I cannot be punished.

I can imagine myself a soldier of 30 Assault Unit in Ian Fleming’s room 39 in WW2, or talking with Sir Alex Younger about my mission in VX or Whitehall. If not Sir Alex Younger, it could be Admiral Miles Messervy, Admiral Hargreaves, Madame Olivia Mansfield, or Lieutenant Colonel Gareth Mallory. And realize that” It was a matter of pride that the 00 Section has been chosen for this test. This painful experience kept coming back sometimes, notwithstanding, I have chosen to take with a pinch of salt, lol.

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jasbethso · 5 years

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A Year of Bittersweet Capstone

This school year has been extra challenging for us. Not just because it is our last year in high school but because of our capstone subject. Every time I hear that word, it seems very daunting and bothering at some point. Knowing that I have a few knowledge about wirings and how it works, I have already prepared myself on the amount of stress capstone may bring. As I am writing this personal blog, it amazes me on how I can look back at some of the hardest part of this school year and how I can finally say 'Salamat God kay tapos na'. My biggest achievement is finally relating to Aristotle's 'The roots of education are bitter, but the fruit is sweet.' This is truly hard yet rewarding task for all of us. I am very glad we are able to make our project as we have envisioned it to be.

Imagine if we were given the whole school year just to work on this project without other tasks, it would be the ultimate dream. Flying agricultural drones and robots equipped with artificial intelligence? If only we were given enough time for it, it would not be impossible. Of course, in reality, there are a lot more to do and accomplish in school. We had to juggle our time between doing school works for the whole day and going to a group activity for this project after school.

To be honest, I think our school is not ready for this subject and so are the students. The school is introducing robotics in the subject but there are only few teachers who are knowledgeable on programming. We cannot just solely rely on those Indian people on YouTube to teach us all of these things. Programming is new to us, especially we haven't had any computer-related subjects. We only had ICT subject when we were in 7th grade and nothing else. I also know some students in previous school years having the same subject who had the same struggle. However, since this is part of the new curriculum of K to 12, we cannot do anything but to bear with it. Also, as a student, we also wanted to do our best for the project but we lack support. It is ironic that the school is not even initiating a seminar or a workshop for programming but is having a subject for robotics. This is our struggle. I would not be shocked if other students would encounter this problem too in the next coming years. Unless the school would really take it seriously in coming up with ways on how to make students be ready and equipped for this subject and the so-called 'Industry 4.0', everything would be fine.

I salute all those programmers in YouTube who are very willing to share their innovative ideas to their subscribers. This allowed us to at least have an overview on how to properly connect and wire all the sensors. Following the instructions in YouTube was somewhat easy but programming was the hardest part since some were not willing to share their codes for the Arduino. Although they also film their codes but sometimes it is just 2 seconds of the whole instructional video. It's funny how we were so desperate to know the code that we had to screenshot some clips of the video and zoom in just to get an idea of it. We were totally clueless at the start of the year.

During our second semester, we were thankful that we had the subject Empowerment Technology. This subject was not a burden to us like how other subjects would feel like. It even made things easier for us by guiding us what to do in our projects. Calling it a blessing in disguise? I'd say yes. Our subject teacher, Sir Rae John Arango, was very willing to help us finish our project. He even set a target date for the project. I can clearly remember when he said 'Dapat before kayo magbakasyon tapos na 'yang mga projects niyo para pag Christmas wala nang problema'. Who would not want to enjoy the holidays, right? But of course, knowing that we are procrastinators, we did not meet that target date. Sir Arango still helped us program our projects despite being busy with his Continuous Improvement Project. Even if there were 11 groups for Capstone, he managed to help us all. I truly admire how he was very passionate in helping us one group at a time. To be honest, our capstone subject was only making us knowledgeable on the proper ways in conducting the research but not on how to do the actual project itself, on how to program and build the actual robot. I bet we are all very grateful that the Empowerment Technology subject are able to do this. Doing the project was somehow a lot easier for us by since our teacher was guided us on what we need to download, search for and other sensors to buy. Sir Arango is an angel sent from heaven to us struggling students or what I prefer to call 'frustrated programmers'. We owe the success of our projects to you Sir. (Sir Arango, if by any chance you are reading this, beke nemen)

We were on our track, fully confident that we are going to be able to at least start programming our project, AgriCop. When we thought everything is going in our favor, Typhoon Tisoy came. There was a blackout in our whole province. When we thought things couldn't get any worse, we were all wrong. There was no signal for us to communicate with other groupmates and to even just search in YouTube for the project. The scariest part of it is that I even had to charge our laptop using the generator while knowing the risks of the fluctuating current. I just needed to start doing the codes but then there was no internet to search for reference. We ended up doing nothing for the whole month of December. A month away from Capstone and a month before cramming and stress because of it.

Working in a group of five made it a lot easier. Although other groups have more members in their team, I mostly prefer to work in small groups. We are the only group with all girls which made it quite difficult since when need to immerse ourselves in mechanical and electronics. We are quite good in making arts and crafts, designing things, doing calligraphies and other artworks. However, this is the complete opposite of what we are used of doing. We had to let go of the paint brushes, scissors and color palettes. Instead, we learned how to properly handle screwdrivers, how to use a grinder and most especially how to solder. It was an intimidating task for all of us but we were open to learning new things. I am also grateful to my brother who taught us how to do all of these things. We did not know what tools to use but he was there to let us borrow all of the things that we needed for the project which allowed us to save a lot of money instead of buying new tools. I am so proud of what we have learned and achieved.

We were already warned by our teacher at the start of the school year that this capstone project would really be worth a lot of money. We had to save money from what my parents give as our allowance in school because sometimes it is quite embarrassing to ask extra money from my parents for this. Also, we had to buy the most basic parts first since our group did not have enough money to buy all things at once. Capstone even tested our negotiating skills since we have figured out that some of the things we have ordered were not useful for the mechatronic system of AgriCop. So, we had to sell it to other groups who needed extra relay drivers and arduino board. We were also lucky since one of our groupmates have vouchers and her shipping fee for her orders is always 50 pesos only. We also had to wait for Shopee's promo such as during 11.11 and 12.12 Christmas sale for us to get discounts. We also asked for scrap materials like aluminum tubes to reduce our expenses. Overall, we spent about 6 thousand for this robot. For me, that is already a large amount of money since it is like the salary of a normal government employee for a month of work. I am very thankful that our parents were very supportive and would understand us if sometimes we go home late just for this project. Seeing how the AgriCop works and operates is worth the amount of money that we have invested for it.

Last week has been the most tiring week in my entire existence. It was the very first time that I have experienced studying the whole day in school, going straight to our classmate's house, eating at around 8:30 or 9:00 in the evening, losing track of time, staying awake until 4 o' clock in the morning and going to school at 7:30 AM. We have gone through this cycle every day last week. It was physically and mentally draining. We also had different summative tests and projects to pass aside from the AgriCop. We did not even have the time to review or even do requirements in other subjects. Staying up late was the most challenging part of it. My father would always remind us to get enough hours of sleep but at that time we just cannot. We were deprived of sleep. The schedule of final defense was moved a week earlier than the planned date. Every single day we were required to pass different outputs in capstone. At that time there was no room for 8 hours of sleep but more space for eye bags and eye strain. We already divided the tasks for each of us. I was assigned to work on the write-up. There was this one time that I can't really handle my sleepiness anymore that I took a nap for an hour not minding how many mosquitoes were already buzzing in my ears and biting my arm. Four o' clock in the morning is our usual 'dismissal' in the group activity. We are so blessed that the father of one of our groupmates would drive each us to our houses even if it is already early in the morning. My father also does the same thing when we decided to do group activity for the last few days in our house. We are very grateful and blessed.

We have invested so much in this project, our effort, money, sleep and sacrificing time for other subjects. At some point, we felt like we were the underdog out of all the groups but I am glad that each of us did not let go of that little hope that we can pull this through. We were all tired. I saw it in the eyes of my classmates and even in my own groupmates' as we go to school in the morning after probably not getting enough rest at all. I heard their voices saying 'Di ko na aram ang uunahon', 'Papano na ini', 'Di pa ngani ako nangarigo nan nagmahaw'. We were all going through the toughest part of our life as graduating students. I always believe that the only way to overcome a situation is not to run away from it but to get through it with high hope. I am very thankful that I have groupmates who would always lift each other up and still laugh at the dumbest things that we would do at 2 AM. The perfect term to describe all of us is 'sabaw'.

We were nervous and at the same time excited during the poster presentation of our project. This was the time that we did not have any practice of our script. We just had the time to read the lines once and then the first judge already stood in front of us. We were glad that they get to appreciate our projects and made suggestions for the design of AgriCop. There was this one science teacher which was part of the judges who made me teary-eyed. Not because I was scared or intimated but because she understands what we have gone through and she was really listening and paying attention to every detail that we are saying. She told us that she really appreciates the Mechatronic System of AgriCop that is not complicated compared to other groups. She also mentioned about how it could help farmers to easily replicate our study using mechatronics. She appreciates how we put into consideration the situation of the farmers and the knowledge that they have when it comes to programming. In every word that she mentioned, I could sincerely feel her genuine appreciation to our project and how we, girls, are able to come up with AgriCop. Finally, there was at least this one teacher who can relate to all of our struggles and how hard research is. She understands our situation and acknowledges all the efforts that we have put in this project. We needed that extra boost of support at those moments. I would forever cherish all the kind words that she said to us.

The day of the final defense came. At this same day, we were also preparing for the awards in school so it made it extra hassle for us. We were practicing the script at around 10 AM and also writing down all the possible questions of the panel. I remember how nervous we were entering the STEM B room to present our project. We weren't able to finish our presentation since we exceeded the time limit and the panel already told us to show the remaining slides. The teachers were very kind to us which is the complete opposite of what we were expecting. I guess they already knew the amount of effort, money and sleepless nights we have invested for this. They commended and congratulated us for the project. They also mentioned that they witnessed how our research studies have evolved from simple studies in junior high to a research product with quality. We feel blessed that the AgriCop functioned properly and cooperated well with us. Leaving that room made us all sigh in relief. Finally, our capstone project is done. After a whole school year of working on it, it is already finished. I remember how we were all jumping around outside the room saying 'Tapos na!'. We also had a mini celebration and ate sotanghon and puto which was the food left for the panels. I can still feel that relief we all felt at that moment. A truly rewarding moment.

Capstone has been a very tough subject for all of us. We weren't prepared for it, especially in programming but we are thankful that our Empowerment Technology teacher guided us all the way. Being in a group of all girls did not became our weakness, instead Capstone allowed us to work even harder and build stronger friendship. I will leave all of the stress, rants, negative emotions, will and hopes that I have had doing this project here in my blog. As I venture more on robotics in college or in my future job, I'll look back at this and remember how we all started. I'd remind myself of a struggling student without any idea of robotics but manages to overcome it and finish strong.

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realitiesinpurple · 5 years

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Entry #1

It’s ridiculous how uneasy I feel writing here again. I have to convince myself this is just a medium, it has no power over me, and all the negative feelings I used to have won’t come back to the surface just because they’re attached to memories of Tumblr.

Because I used to have a Tumblr, I used to have several actually, and used to be here all the time, everyday. It consumed me.

I grew here, healed wounds, understood the world and met myself for the first time in what felt like centuries. I was still a child, and I grew up with the belief each and every one of us seem to have: I am special.

And the truth is that, yes, we are special. All of us. We’re unique and similar in so many ways. We’ve all been broken and judged. We are valid.

I think, in many ways, Tumblr, or the community at least, made me feel like I belonged. Like I wasn’t as messed up as everyone had me believe. But I crossed a line here as well, which is why I left: I allowed myself to believe I couldn’t be held accountable for my misfortunes.

Because it’s so easy to blame that one friend who betrayed you, or the dad that abandoned you, or the boy who broke your heart. It was really comforting to come here and have others validate my victim-hood and tell me that it was okay to continue to self destruct instead of grow up. It was also really easy to ignore those who told me I did, indeed, need to grow up, because a stranger on the internet agreed with me, so I must be right. But if someone criticized me, I was being oppressed, and they didn’t understand because they had never walked a day in my shoes.

And to be completely fair, I needed that. I needed to hate the world to stop hating myself. Sometimes, I still do, because, again, it’s so easy. You see, seeing the bright side is hard. Getting up every day being grateful that you’re alive is hard. But it does get easier with practice.

Before Tumblr, I was under the belief that I was not worthy of love. That all the bad things in my life were my fault and that I sometimes did not even deserve to be alive. My little sister is the age I was when I used to have these thoughts, and the thought of someone so young feeling this way breaks my heart. I look back at my younger self and I want to promise her everything is going to be okay (spoiler alert: everything turns out fine, and she’s happy!). But I suppose, I wouldn’t be where I am today if I hadn’t been that person to begin with. That sad little girl in too much pain for her little body to handle.

Then Tumblr came along and I was... I was real. I don’t know how to explain it, but meeting all of you, reading your stories, watching your shows, laughing at your jokes... I felt alive. Better yet, I felt worthy of being alive. And it wasn’t instantaneous. It took me a while to get there, and look at myself in the mirror and realize I was beautiful. It took some convincing to realize it’s okay to like girls AND boys?? My mind was blown.

But you see, I still had a lot of hatred and a lot of pain and a lot of bitterness. And I had to forbid myself from hating myself if I wanted to survive. So instead I hated all the people who had contributed to my pain. And the people who had contributed to other people’s pain! I had so much hate to share with the world, I bullied complete strangers because they had somehow hurt my friend’s feelings, instead of letting my friend fight her own battles.

And when someone was depressed, like I was, instead of encouraging them to fight through it, to get better, I approved of their self destruction. Sleep deprivation and unhealthy habits were just coping mechanisms, right? It’s funny because we’re all depressed here! Haha!

Because admitting they needed help meant I needed to admit... I needed help.

It was so much better to romanticize the toxicity I shared with the world. Forgiveness and love were weakness. Punching your way through life was the right way to go.

And don’t get me wrong, I needed to punch as hard as I could. I had no agency in my life and I needed to feel something, and if it was anger and resentment, so be it. It was better than being numb or depressed.

But then I grew up. I know, shocking. Suddenly I was an adult. I still can’t believe it. I had to leave Tumblr when I realized not only was I surrounding myself with toxic people. I was a toxic person.

No longer was this a place to empower myself. It was a place to excuse my behavior. It was an open door to hate.

And to be completely honest with y’all, hate is exhausting! No wonder I was tired all the time!

And yes, I still have depression, I’m not neurotypical at all lol

But I’m better. I’m not 100% and I’m not earning gold medals for being the greatest human to ever live. But I apologize when I mess up and I try not to mess up. I’ve found “judgy” friends who call me out on my bullshit and I love them so much for taking care of me in such a sassy way instead of telling me the world needs to revolve around me.

I’ve realized love is not something to be disgusted at or to fear and it’s honestly not as scary as I thought it could be.

I realized I can be funny without hurting others in the process. And that sometimes it’s okay to be a little “offensive”, too. (Yes, little sister, you are correct in saying you shouldn’t have bleached your hair and I’m not gonna tiptoe around the subject trying not to hurt your feelings. If you don’t like it, find a way to fix it. And I agree, I don’t like it neither!)

I also learned that after having a really negative experience with one religion, later becoming a stubborn atheist, and slowly starting to become a little more spiritual, it’s really not that silly to believe in something you can’t see if it makes you happy and helps you get through your day.

I learned to tell the difference between needing a mental health day and being lazy. Yes, I still take mental health days! But I also work my ass off on days when I have the potential to have high energy. I force myself to do one dish and end up cleaning the whole house and feel so proud of myself! But I don’t belittle myself when I can’t get out of bed, because I know that if I really can’t get out of bed, I need to stay in bed and recover, so the next day I can get shit done.

Also I flirt now, which is weird/new. Sometimes just for fun, sometimes with a purpose. Sometimes I flirt with myself, which I highly recommend everyone do because it is incredibly empowering!

I pay my bills on time and I treat myself without feeling guilty. Though to be completely honest with you, I was blessed with a job that I love, that pays me more than enough and rewards my hard work and competitiveness, so I’m always making extra when I earn it. But I know when to stop taking those extra shifts to have a family day, or go out, or simply lie in bed and read. Yes, I don’t have it as hard as most of you. But if I look back at 3 years ago, I was begging for Paypal donations just to survive. So I have to say, it does get better.

I live in an apartment I could have never even dreamed of, and it’s still a little empty, but I get excited over the smallest things. Like getting a new dish rack! Or new purple towels!

And against all odds, I’m actually happy going back where it all started. I visit my family and I tell them that I love them, but I don’t let them hurt me anymore.

I say no when I need to. And encourage myself to say yes to trying new things.

I wear colors now, even if they don’t match, and I wear sneakers on high heel days. I follow a skincare routine, even though I was one of those girls who would judge and envy girls with skincare routines. And I’m trying to eat healthier.

I lost weight and I cook now. I sing at the top of my lungs to the great disappointment of my next door neighbor. And I dance in my underwear even though my other neighbors can see me from the building across the balcony (I still haven’t bought curtains). Seriously, no regrets.

So, Victoria, you may ask, now that you’re doing better, why are you back? Nostalgia? Regret? To rub your stupid happiness in our faces?

To be completely honest, I’m here because it’s where I have to be. It was part of my journey all along. And I owe it to my younger self.

Do y’all remember that famous post about that person saying that when everything was okay, they would bake a cherry pie? And then they posted a photo of the cherry pie?

This is my cherry pie, I guess. This is me telling myself and any of you who may feel the way I used to, that it gets better. And I know younger me used to get so tired of hearing it. “Believe in yourself! It gets better! You’ll get there!” And it sounded like the biggest bullshit in the whole world. I had never actually met anyone who got better, to be honest. All the people who were saying it gets better were people who were just as depressed or worse than I was. We were all just trying to convince each other to believe in something none of us believed in.

Well, you know what? I’m glad you guys told me it would get better. I’m glad you pushed and pushed until I believed it. Because it’s the friggin truth. I’m the living proof that it gets better. And the more you believe that you can somehow tell the universe that you are ready to get better, to be better, to feel better, and that the universe will listen, the more it listens. I kid you not.

And I’m not even done getting better. I’m just getting started...

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blueyesandleatherjacket · 6 years

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Ghost of you, 9/?

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 9/?.

Pairings: Human!Nine x Rose; Human!Ten x Jack; Clara Oswald x Olivia Baxter (OC).

Synopsis: "Maybe had they done a mistake by giving Maxence a sedative."

A/N: I've started writing this fiction last year after I had a particularly weird dream (as usual) and after I wrote the prologue, I've put it aside to work on other stuff. I've gone back to it not so long ago and decided that it would be the fiction I would post next, after not posting anything for a while. I must have watched I am legend and Game of thrones way too much to come out with something like this but I hope you will like it. I am not a scientist, nor did I have a particular knowledge of sciences. I do my researches on the internet like everyone to make sure everything is as close to the reality as possible. I have a literature degree only. Writing is what I do and it makes me explore next fields, and learn new things.

“It is safer and wiser to cure unhealthy rivalry than to suppress it.” - Obafemi Awolowo.

CHAPTER 9:

Rose was back to her previous spot: in the cage with the shadow of her husband. He was still asleep. The sedative Liv had given him must have been a really strong one or it was just that he needed that sleep. The rats and even Peggy showed no sign of needing sleep. They barely ever lay down and got some rest. They were always going round and round in their cages. Only the sane rats were getting sleep. The infected ones who weren’t showing symptoms were sleeping too. Maybe had they done a mistake by giving Maxence a sedative. She approached the interactive glass wall and checked his vital signs. Another invention from Zachary: inject tiny self-destructive sensors connected to the lab system in the blood of the subject. It was easier than sticking sensors on every inch of skin. Sensors that could be torn off whenever that subject was angry. The negative point of those sensors was that they were less economical because you had to renew them every week. It was already a miracle that they could survive so long in a hostile system and Zachary was doing his best for them to last longer. Anyway, this was a great evolution for their work. It made things a lot easier. Especially since they could see what a nightwalker was able to do. Rose observed the details displayed on the wall. Maxence’s vital signs were different from usual, more human like. Nightwalkers had a very high blood pressure and so their heartbeats were faster than normal. But at this precise moment, Maxence was showing almost normal vital signs. Was it the sedative? Like an after effect or something? She glanced at Maxence. His skin was still translucid with blue tentacles and yet, she could see through this ghostly appearance. Rose opened a video recording software. She was gonna do her new video log here. It wasn’t like she had anyone to talk to. Maxence was just asleep from the drugs and Zachary was himself napping behind the control panels. He had done his job perfectly and could get some rest. No one was gonna report him to Tegan. Just like no one was gonna report Rose because she was being too close of an infected person. They were a family and a family stuck together whenever they were facing a hard time. Sixth day of October 2017. Day 1750 since the infection. Rose Spitz video log. A few hours have barely passed by since the arrival of our first and only living specimen but we’re already working hard to improve and correct our attempts of a cure. It’s too early to have any real result but some differences already show up between humans and animals. If our current patient suffers from the same symptoms the rats and Peggy have, he’s also distinguishing himself by having different reactions. We know for sure that infected people are deprived of all the primary needs: they don’t feel the thirst, the hunger or the need for sleep. That’s what we think at least because that’s what we’ve seen so far but our patient number one shows us another side of this disease. A more human side of it. At 5:33am, he was given a sedative, a normal dose for a normal human since we didn’t know what dose would work on him. He has fallen asleep in a few seconds. His system has recognised the sedative and reacted positively to it. Right now, it’s 6:43am and the patient is still asleep. He almost seemed normal like this, if it wasn’t for the translucent skin and blue tentacles. His system is also reacting to the sedative, calming down his vital signs. 72 beats every minute, blood pressure at 130/85mmHg, PaO2 at 78mmHg and pulse ox at 92 percent. Still out of the normal rates but close enough. The sedative forced the system to a more human pace. The patient hasn’t woken up yet. We may have another hour before he does. Unless it goes wrong. Rose swallowed and shut the video recording. She sent the file to her computer and shut the interactive screen. She pressed her forehead against the cold glass. It was hard to speak of her husband that way but it was her job and she had to do it, to tell all the small details that could lead them to that cure. She didn’t have any idea of where they were going at the moment. She just had the feeling of going nowhere, of losing everything, and she hated this. She hated feeling so powerless while everyone around her was falling. She didn’t even have her job to keep her mind distracted because her job reminded her of Maxence, of all the time he had spoken to her about sciences, about all the things he had taught her, about all the moments they had had together until now. She turned around and looked at the sleeping form of her formerly husband. She imagined him outside of this cage, outside of this lab. She imagined him in their bed, at home. He wouldn’t wear these awful grey pyjamas. Instead, he would be in his boxers, or even naked. She had photographed him many times while he was asleep and completely unaware. The pictures did justice to him only when he wasn’t posing for them. Her fingers would brush over his naked skin and he would smile as his body would cover in gooseflesh. His voice would be husky from the sleep he would wake up from slowly. He would wrap his arms around her and press his lips to hers. And he would make love to her softly. A repetitive beeping interrupted her daydreaming and she quickly wiped the single tear rolling on her cheek. Well, tried too. Her hand met with the plastic of her suit protecting her from the virus. How she wanted to rip it away! But she wasn’t Maxence, she wouldn’t accept being a science subject. It meant they would have to kill her or throw her out of this place. And she wouldn’t bear being away from Maxence even if she was losing herself to the noctiagus. His love for her was stronger than his love for science. She was convinced that it was that love he had for her that forced him back here to serve as a science subject. He had wanted to stay by her side, he had known she would take care of him and his first reactions to her presence had made her certain of it. She looked at the wall. The beeping wasn’t coming from it. She had shut the interactive functions. She glanced around her. Nothing was susceptible of making that beeping sound in there and she couldn’t hear sounds from the outside as long as the intercom was off. Then, she realised that it came from her jeans pocket. Her phone was beeping. Probably out of battery. It would shut off soon enough and she would have to charge it to have access to her pictures with Maxence. This sudden thought gave her an idea. She reactivated the interactive wall and logged in her personal cloud. She picked some of the best pictures she had of Maxence and herself, of him and his friends, of him and his colleagues. Once she had all the pictures she needed, no more than ten, she logged out of her cloud. When Maxence would be awake, she would try something with him. She shut the interactive wall again and walked to her husband. His vital signs were almost normal, human. She delicately lifted one of his eyelids. His eyes were as black as when he had arrived here but she could see a pale blue circle in the middle. The ghost of the blue eyes she couldn’t see before. Did it mean that the true Maxence was coming back to her? She could only hope for it. Her hand softly stroked his hairy cheek. He hadn’t shaved in a while. It didn’t bother her. She liked when he was a bit hairy. It was making him sexier. He always laughed whenever she said it. He was refusing to think of himself as handsome. Gargoyle was the word he used. Rose jumped when he suddenly opened his eyes and stared at her with those black frightening eyes. The blue ring was still there. He blinked a couple times, something she had seen him do more than once since he was a nightwalker. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to check his sight. No one had thought of it so far. She stayed still and observed him. He raised a hand and placed it over hers on his cheek. A smile crossed his lips and he tried to speak. A reflex he was supposed to have lost. Nothing came out of his throat but Rose could see the word. Her name. It was her name. “Yes, my love. I’m here.” She gave him a kind reassuring smile but she could see his fear of facing his wife in a cosmonaut suit. He could not even touch her or kiss her. That was frustrating him. He tried to speak again but words remained stuck. He choked on them. “Shh, it’s okay. You can’t speak, honey. Your brain doesn’t know what it is anymore.” But the fact he could think of precise words was a good thing. It meant part of his brain was still working and thinking quite clearly. She had to write it down in her report. “You’re home. In the lab. We’re taking great care of you.” Maxence sat up slowly. He wished Rose wasn’t wearing this suit. He wanted to touch her. He was dying to touch her. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to contaminate her and force her to live in one of those cages. He scratched his neck and his fingers met the bandage covering the bite. He frowned. Rose took his hand in hers. “Do you remember how it happened?” It was a bit blurry at first, but the memories came back to him. The mission outside, the kid, the bite, Allegro dragging him away from the nightwalkers, being locked in a bunker, and the crate. Allegro had put him in the crate and brought him back here. He acquiesced. “You’re healing well. The wound wasn’t pretty but it’s better now. I’ll change the bandage later.” The memories were haunting his mind now and it was making him nervous. Rose could feel it. Her hand found his face again and forced him to look up at her. The light circle of blue was already fading away and it saddened her. She was about to hug him, to comfort him, when she saw movements in the cage next to Maxence’s. It had been activated and Zachary was checking all the settings to be sure it was okay to welcome another infected person. Rose walked to the intercom. “Zach? What is going on?” “Liv has Allegro’s results. He’s infected. No symptoms on him. But the virus is in him.” “Damn it.” On the bed, Maxence had grabbed his head in his hands. That was entirely his fault if Allegro was infected, if Xavier was dead. For a nightwalker, he was experiencing a lot of feelings. This part of his brain was supposed to shut down with the virus. Was it because he was struggling not to lose his humanity? “T is working on the scans you’ve made. He wants you to go and work on the samples you have. Adam is already done with the blood.” Rose was ignoring Zachary. She was too focused on her husband. She walked back to him. He was too anxious. Definitely something that only Maxence, the real Maxence, could do. She cupped his cheeks. “Look at me. Maxence, look at me. This is not your fault. Alright? You were given that order. It was his fault. He threw you on the lion’s den and I promise you we’ll find that cure and save you and Allegro. And then, we’ll kick their fucking asses. They have to pay for this. They will pay for this.” Maxence blinked. The blue rings were gone. He was gone. “I love you, Maxence. I’ll never let you down.” He tilted his head. He had understood what she was saying to him but he couldn’t answer to her, or feel something. His feelings were gone and he wanted them back. He wanted to feel what love was, what loving someone and being loved by this special someone felt like. And what did it mean, be strong? He watched her leave the cage. He could still see her – well, her silhouette – as she made her way to the other cage. He got up and went to the wall his cage shared with the other one. He saw three persons coming in. They put down the crate and opened it. Allegro was a much better patient than Maxence but they were different patients. The virus was acting differently on them but unfortunately, it was turning them into study objects. Rose didn’t stay with them for too long. Liv could perfectly handle the situation with Mickey and Kyle. She walked to Tegan’s office. The man was working on the scans. Markers were scattered all over his desk and the scans were full of notes. Rose knocked on the door. Tegan started and turned to face the door. When he saw her, he came to open the door. She stepped on and the door was closed behind her. “I guess you haven’t started working on the samples.” His tone was lightly blaming her for not working on their cure when it was getting more urgent than ever. “He needed me.” “He needs the cure.” “Speaking of this…” “You’ve found something?” “It’s more an observation that I’ve made by being around him. That sedative we gave him had some interesting side effects. I’ve recorded some of them on my video log but you might hear it now.” “Go on.” “The sedative makes him more human. His system is coming back to normal when he’s asleep. Heartbeats, breathing, blood pressure were back to the latest results we have from his medical visit. I’ve also noticed that his iris was visible in the black.” “Anything else?” “He tried to speak to me, and he was struggling against his feelings. Guilt, fear, confusion. It disappeared when the sedative stopped having an effect on him.” “Hm.” Tegan turned back to his scans and Rose raised an eyebrow. She was angry that he was ignoring her and considering these remarks as her undying hope to see something human in Maxence. She had seen it and it was on the video recording of the day. It wasn’t her imagination. It was real. “Come here.” He was bent over the scans once again and he made her a sign to come closer when she didn’t react. He wanted to show her something. She stepped closer and looked at all the scans, deciphering some of the writing on them. “Do you see it?” The difference between the three scans? She sure was seeing it for how clear it was. The first one was marked with a “before infection” note. It was Maxence’s results from the last checkup that had been made in him. The second was wearing the inscription “after infection – before the sedative”. The scan wasn’t one of the best since Maxence kept moving but it was clear enough to see that the brain wasn’t working like it should. On the third one – “after infection – after the sedative” – it was a mix between the two first ones. The areas controlling dreams and feelings were active when they were totally off when Maxence was awake. “The nigtwalkers are deprived from the primary needs that make us human: sleep, hunger, thirst, feelings. But if you force their system into one of those needs, like sleep, it appears that they can come back to their normal self. You’re not the only one to have noticed it, Rose.” “But it’s only temporary. Once the effects of the sedative wear off, he was that… he wasn’t himself anymore.” “Yes, but it’s another clue given to us. We just have to work on that new lead. Write your report and send it to me. I’ll transfer it to Martha with my own conclusions.” “Alright.” “And do your job before going back to him.” “Yes.” Tegan had made it sound like a suggestion but Rose was taking it as an order. After all, he was the boss now and she was just his second in command. And he was right, Maxence needed the cure more than he needed her. She was the one who needed him around, just to know that he was still there somehow. On that thought, she went to her lab to work on the samples she had taken from Maxence earlier.

Colin had managed to get his hands on Maxence’s blood. He had knocked Adam out for that one purpose. It had also been to give that little prat a little lesson he wouldn’t forget so easily. While he was counting the stars above his head, Colin had opened the cold room and had stolen some of the blood that was kept there. Only two tubs so no one would suspect anything. It wasn’t much to work with but it would do for now. Until Adam gave in and became his spy. He was working with precaution not to lose any drop of blood. It wasn’t easy to work with so little but he was still managing to get better results than that team of losers. They were gonna regret their decision to have put him aside when he would have found the solution. CBC with Differential/Platelet White blood cells: 12,8/ul. 4,0 – 10,5. Red blood cells: 4,5/ul. 4,10 – 5,60. Haemoglobin: 12,5/g/dL. 12,5 – 17,0. Haematocrit: 40%. 36,0 – 50. MCV: 84fL. 80 – 98. MCH: 27,2pg. 27,0 – 34,0. MCHC: 32,9g/dL. 32,0 – 36,0. RDW: 12%. 11,7 – 15,0. Platelets: 260/uL. 140 – 415. Neutrophils: 65%. 40 – 74. Lymphs: 46%. 14 – 46. Monocytes: 5%. 4 – 13. Eos: 3%. 0 – 7. Basos: 1%. 0 – 3. Neutrophils (Absolute): 7/uL. 1,8 – 7,8. Lymphs (Absolute): 4/uL. 0,7 – 4,5. Monocytes (Absolute): 0,4/uL 0,1 – 1,0. Eos (Absolute): 0,3/uL. 0,0 – 0,4. Baso (Absolute): 0,2/uL. 0,0 – 0,2. Immature Granulocytes: 0,5%. 0 – 1. Immature Gran (Abs): 0,1/uL. 0,0 – 0,1. Colin read the results of the test he had just done on Maxence’s blood. A simple complete blood formula to see where the troubles were. The results seemed pretty normal to him despite the current condition of the man. His body was fighting an infection which wasn’t surprising and it was trying to heal the bite and burns while fighting the virus. His immune system was overwhelmed with work and the fact that he wasn’t eating or sleeping wasn’t helping it to be stronger. So Maxence was suffering from a certain anaemia. Adam had noticed the presence of leukocytes in his own notes and he hadn’t made a conclusion of that, but Colin did. Those leukocytes, it meant the fool was fighting the virus as if he had any chance to heal himself with just his will. Something was forcing him to fight, to come back to his real self. His wife obviously. How cliché of him. For a friend of Maxence, these results would be alarming. If the man kept struggling against the virus, he would kill himself. His own body would work against him and slowly kill him. Good thing he was in a bubble completely sterile. His system could only fight one virus at a time and the noctiagus was the top priority. If he was to catch even a simple cold, he would suffer from it longer than normal. Or he would die from this. The two options were quite nice for Colin. He had stopped being Maxence’s friend a long time ago. They used to be rivals but Maxence getting it all had caused Colin to get envious and jealous and that was why they were the best enemies now. The world would be boring without an adversary as clever as Maxence. That was why Colin was working on this cure instead of watching everything happen. He would be the saviour for once. He was doing the work of many men and women all alone but he didn’t mind. He preferred working alone. Everyone was thinking he was a sociopath because of it, and because he liked seeing the others around him in pain. He wasn’t refuting those rumours. He liked hearing them here and now whenever he was walking in a corridor. He would rather be feared than loved. All the contrary of that good old Maxence. Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven once wrote Milton and Colin had made this quote his motto. The world was hell and he was forming his realm slowly. The first step was this: healing Maxence Spitz and showing him who was the best of them both. Colin considered himself as the best. After all, he wouldn’t have had the bad idea of getting infected and giving his body to sciences. He wasn’t so idiot, nor generous. He put a drop of blood on a small glass plate and sealed it. Then, he placed it under his microscope. The usual cells appeared under his eyes when he looked through the magnifying glass. He changed the settings of his work utensil to have a better sight on that unusual behaviour the cells were having. He found the usual lymphocytes – a great lot of them – monocytes, eosinophils, basophils, neutrophils and platelets. He also found the virus, a spiky ball of green and violet attacking the other cells and eating them. No mercy in there. The lymphocytes were producing antibodies to fight but the noctiagus was stronger than Maxence’s blood cells. It was winning and leaving bodies in its wake. This thing was worse than any existing cancer and Colin was fascinated by it. Whoever or whatever had created it was a real genius. He wished he was that genius. He put the small glass plate away and wrote some more notes on the cells behaviour. He had an idea of how he was gonna process to mix another cure. He wrote down the formula he had mixed previously for Rose and Clara. He grabbed another pen of another colour and corrected what was wrong in it. He replaced those false data with the ones he was deducing from his observations. It didn’t take him long before he could find a new formula that was more elaborate and more precise than the former one. Creating it was the hardest part. He took his time. He didn’t fear to be double-crossed by Tegan’s team. They were all a bunch of losers. Jack only thought about having sex with the whole building, Rose was too devastated by the loss of her husband to be efficient, Martha was far behind him, Tegan… Tegan was just a weak idiot who had been given power. And that power would destroy him. His new cure was done. The day had gone by very quickly and it was night again. He hadn’t slept in more than two days and yet, he was still good at what he was doing. He filled a small vial with a dark green fluid and put a cork on it. He made sure that it was well-sealed and stuck a label on it. He didn’t write the formula, just the number of the cure: #344. Then, he slipped it in his pocket and put away his notes. No one needed to know what he was doing in there. He left his lab when he was done. Now that his cure was done, he had to find a way to make sure it would be given to the idiot Maxence was. He went to the dormitories. He knew he would find Adam there. Liv must have examined him and sent him to rest. He couldn’t work with the headache he supposedly had now. But he could pretend he needed to see Maxence for a test. “I said I didn’t want to be a part of your plans.” Colin smirked and turned around. He hadn’t even had to go to the room Adam was sharing with his colleagues to find him. The young man came out of the small kitchen they had while Colin was walking down the corridor. He turned around. Except for them, the corridor was empty. “You also said you wanted to be the best.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “We both know you have no chance of finding a cure to this virus, pretty boy. You might be clever and manipulative, you don’t have the right knowledge to mix something as intricate as this cure.” He put his hand to his pocket and pulled out the vial he showed to Adam. “I do.” “How did you…” “It doesn’t matter. I’ve mixed a new cure and you’re the only one to know.” “Well, great for you. But you can’t get any close to Maxence.” “But you do.” “I won’t do that.” “And if that’s the right cure, Adam? You would leave your boss into the claws of death?” Adam hesitated. He was nervously picking at his fingers, thinking about he best way to do things. Colin was right: he couldn’t mix a cure on his own but Colin definitely could and he was real good at it. If the vial he had in hand was the solution to that virus and Adam refused to test it then, he was condemning Maxence. As ambitious as he was, Adam didn’t want anyone to die. So he had to give in and accept that cure. Colin was winning again. “What do you want?” “A copy of everything they will send to you. All the results of all the tests. I can’t have access to it but you do. I need them to do a better work. If the one I’ve done here isn’t good enough.” Colin lightly shook the vial and the dark green colour caught Adam’s eyes. He had no choice: he accepted and Colin gave him the new cure. Now, Adam had to find a way to give it to Maxence. Knowing the man wasn’t trusting anyone anymore, it wouldn’t be an easy task…

To be continued...

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In the next chapter:

Jack was highlighting the most important data from the results given by Tegan. He was remarking the same details that Colin had noted earlier – details he wouldn’t share – and came to the same conclusions. He was alarmed by the risks there were for Maxence to die from the virus so he sent a message to Liv and Zach for them to keep a closer eye on him and be sure he wouldn’t get in any trouble, more than he already was. This done, he worked on the DNA data he had gathered. Maxence’s results were similar to Peggy’s but his genetic code was presenting some interesting particularities that needed to be studied to find the reason why it was so different.

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aleatoryalarmalligator · 7 years

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Life Story Part 86

As my mother was driving through Clarkston, we looked out the window, and there we saw a clearly strung out woman walking down the road, walking sloppily and screaming into a phone. She didn't look all there. Her eyes were both dead and livid with rage. It was my sister Roxanne. My mother stopped by the road and we let her in to the back of the van. Roxanne didn't stop to say anything, just got in, continuing her phone babble as if nothing had changed and we weren't there. I am not entirely sure she even knew who's van it was she was getting into. It was getting to a point where we couldn't ignore it. We were all worried. Wes was put back into the hospital at this point and Roxanne, being that she was destitute, came to stay for a few weeks in the small upstairs bedroom – under the conditions that she had to stay clean. Nobody trusted her though – but she was supposed to be getting some help at some point.

Shortly after losing her daughter Meliah, she had been caught shoplifting from K-Mart and was awaiting charges for it. Her emotions were unstable. A lot had gone wrong. I had gone to the store one day, and upon my return I found that she had let herself in. Inside, I found her babbling on the phone again (this seemed to be a habit), with no breaks in her sentences, no indication to me entirely that she was even talking to anyone. I struggled to imagine who would subject themselves to this kind of phone call? Who would listen to this babbling? I had never seen her this frantic or frenzied in my entire life as I did this evening. I thought about calling the police, but I knew it wouldn't help. In her hysteria, she was going between manic laughing and sobbing. She strung along this way no coherent thoughts or sentences but a word salad of paranoia, unstable emotions and rageful vengeance against whoever it was she had chosen to hate in that one instance, only to move on to the next a moment later. I was a little bit afraid of her.

The house was set up in a way so that you could go in circles upstairs between three rooms, the living room, kitchen and dining room area, and as she was yelling into the phone, racing between these three rooms in circles. She seemed to believe someone was out to get her. When she finally got off the phone, I asked her what I could. She believed there was a biker gang that was looking for her. She believed Jeremy Frye had a gun and was driving around our house. After ending the conversation, she continued on, only to herself. Her eyes were wild, and turned her conversation towards me. She seemed to have no idea that she was acting strange – and almost seemed to think that it was all me. She believed in a conspiracy against her, that there were people waiting for her all around the house. I knew better than to tell her otherwise, so instead I listened.

After Roxanne began screaming in a blood curdling red scream, I swiftly looked out, only to see that despite her insistence, there was no ax welding hell's angel in the back yard. I told her I could see nothing, but she told me he had ran off somewhere. I asked her how. We looked all around the house. I decided and hoped that giving her paranoia some consideration might make her less paranoid – I might be able to take her through the steps to understand and feel safer. I looked around for the supposed clad leather biker with the bloody ax outside the house and down the street, but he was nowhere to be seen out there – as I sort of predicted, only the distant sound of a lawn mower – that I had to try and convince her wasn't Jeremy feeding body parts into like Fargo.

I was mildly concerned that there could be something to her paranoia. Jeremy would stalk her if he knew where she was. She might have stolen from the wrong people. The house was at the dead end of a very slummy area of Lewiston. Our house itself wasn't bad, but there was a home for elderly mentally unstable and violence prone tenants next door, and the area looked very run down. If we went into our own backyard, one woman who lived there would begin to shout at us delusionally, claiming that the home we were living in was hers and to get off the property. We learned to ignore her and she never followed through with her statements. Down the road there was a house that cooked meth. But honestly most of these people were alright – some of the houses were even fixed up and quaint in their own way – with elderly couples. I felt comfortable in this kind of neighborhood despite the problems it may have had. I looked out onto the cold rainy winter roads, hearing water splash under the tires as people drove down the main road. There were no biker gangs out there, no Jeremy. Only the big old world that I rarely stepped out to see.

She hadn't slept in three days and she had been doing drugs for days and had lost her mind. Sleep deprivation is a part of the methamphetamines ordeal – it can create all kinds of delusions and hallucinations. Eventually she passed out from exhaustion. But then she woke up in the morning and one of her 'friends' came to get her and she was off again looking for another hit. She threw this unnecessary fit before she left that came from the house. She couldn't find her shoe and it made her mad. Out of the complete blue – as my mother was sitting and playing Mahjong Champion on the computer and drinking her morning coffee and my siblings and myself were all still half asleep – peaking through the blankets at her confused, she began shouting and ranting wildly that all of us that we were on drugs. Then she was out the door with a hard slam. A few days later and she was arrested again, this time with Sagen, for shoplifting together Daughter mother duo. Sagen was sent down to Boise to some all girls teen drug addiction recovery camp, and Roxanne was sent to rehab in Wenatchee Washington for a month. We all hoped it would make a difference.

In the mean time, my Uncle Rick's hard work of remodeling the basement took place, and we all had to sleep in very uncomfortable places upstairs. The house was relatively small, so it was hard to not be in his way. When my uncle Rick worked, he always seemed angry and terse, and soon he came to realize, like we had, that my mom was actually going to sort of try to create problems with him doing the job he was supposed to get done – just for the sake of being a problem. I remember these days for the dreary uncertain times that they were – but there was some validation in seeing the look on an older person's face as he recognized fully the state of our well being. I also remember waking up one morning and finding out that Captain Beefheart died. I always associated the days of his death as if the times we were dealing with were mutually tied to his passing. I don't believe it, but the two ideas seem connected in the lucid plausibility of my psyche.

Allison wrote more songs when she could, locking herself away in a room when she could. But then there was some kind of ghost in the house, or at least she believed there was. When she went into rooms by herself the ghost would try to grab her. David remained quiet and angsty – sometimes in a terrible mood, sometimes not. I lost myself further in waves of euphoria and terror and confusion – waiting for the end of whatever this was to pass, for something new to swallow me up for better or worse. I had started this year off like a new ship ready to sail across a great ocean to explore new worlds. Now it felt like I had lost course, and was headed straight into no-man's land, perhaps getting ready to fall off the edge of the world completely.

Uncle Rick was staying in a cheap hotel at the end of Clarkston. After my mother refused to let him walk down some steps to get to the basement as she was sitting on those steps and in the middle of some farmville related activity and didn't want to let him get down with some heavy stuff he was bringing down for the job, and when a myriad of things about how we were struggling became apparent, that we were all lacking in basic goods – our diets weren't exactly nutritious, our ability to bathe was limited, we barely saw any sunlight, we were stuck with this crazy lady, and when we had to use the bathroom we had to travel to do it, he felt terrible, and he let us stay in his hotel for a few days. He also gave us money to eat at the nearby Subway. Given how truly minimalist we had been living, I remember all three of us, sitting in our appointed places, taking turns picking out old movies to watch, as well as history channel series and feeling like pampered royalty. I have always loved hotel rooms.

Rick thought it was best that we go up to our grandma's to stay until he could get the remodeling done. It was all very spur of the moment. I didn't get to bring very much as we left. I didn't have a book to read, only a few changes of clothing I could find, and my cheap mp3 players. Grandma Marie came and got us from our mothers and from there we headed back to her place, where we spent a very mindbogglingly boring three weeks – the most boring weeks of my life. There were only about three movies, The first being Conan the Barbarian, this sort of obscure TV Movie called The Magical Legend of the Leprechauns that had O'Brien from Star Trek in it, and District Nine. Since we all deemed Conan the Barbarian the best of the lot, not that it was saying much, I feel like we probably watched this movie twenty times in a row. I can still remember the more memorable scenes with a distinct nauseating clarity – particularly the scene where Arnold is having sex with the witch and she like, starts screaming and explodes or something. There was no cable else we would have watched that instead – my grandmother had gotten angry after Obama won and had ended it, and she rarely let us use the internet because she believed that since we were young we were going to fill her computer with viruses.

If we could have left the house it might have helped, but there was three feet of snow outside and rising. It wasn't easy for her to get into or out of the driveway. I had no money, and none of us had decent winter wear either so roughing it was out of the question. We were trapped in the house only with each other – and our grandma overlooking our conversations which limited our ability to speak freely. Most of the books I could find to read were either Hindu related or religious texts – which I wasn't feeling religious texts at the time, and books about how to 'harness your psychic potential', which didn't appeal very much. Mostly I just pet the dogs and slept. I would listen through my entire Nick Cave discography, only to listen to it again once it was over. I did this until I got mercifully tired enough to finally pass out. We were all given about forty minutes a day to be on the computer each and we had to make the best of it. I used this time to talk to Sarah and tell her what was happening – to boost my own morale, and to not give up. I felt this need to give up. She was still trying desperately to get me a job at Zany's as a dishwasher though. She wanted me to look for more work just as soon as I could get back into Lewiston.

On Christmas, my mother called and let us know that my father had come by Wes's and left Christmas gifts. According to her, he was a sobbing wreck. I didn't look forward to receiving the gifts – I knew they were soaked in his self pity. I knew him too well. Wes was also back home from the hospital and wanted to have another Christmas at the house in celebration of his return. The roads were just clear enough to drive miraculously so we all got into my grandma's car and drove the three slow hours back to the house. To all three of us Sanborn children, that ride back to my mother's was the grossest car trip we had ever taken. The heater was turned way up. She drove very slowly and took the most windiest way there. Just thinking back to that trip makes all of our stomachs hurt. She put on this loud cheesy Christmas music that was on the radio. I don't like Christmas music, and this was the worst. A lot of it were these horrific 80's ballads, which would have been something worth a chuckle in the store if I heard them while shopping, but quite another thing when we all felt acute carsickness and had barely any room in the hot car to breath and it went on and on.

And w were only there for about four hours before we got back into the car again. The main gift for all three of us that our dear old dad wanted us to have were these gold plated rings. Personally, this tied into the fact that he has a ring he generally always wore that came from his great grandfather. He had passed it down to David as a male heirloom for Christmas. It was his way of creating some kind of symbolic significance that we shared the same blood – that we could run but we could not hide. That this was the final Christmas gift. It was morbid. He was in a bad place. Then he had bought these other two somewhat cheap gold plated rings for Allison and I. This whole ring business was just a way to remind us all that it was 'he' who created us, maybe a way to make us feel guilty. And it did linger in my thoughts, which only really created a deeper bridge. I resented having to feel ashamed of myself. A reminder that, by all of us leaving him, we were forsaking our bloodline and we would be sorry when he died. I knew him too well, and I knew how he felt about his ring on his finger. The rings in and of themselves were fine enough gifts, though helping us get shoes that didn't have holes at the bottom might have been more thoughtful. It was the context of that gift that was miserable.

Wes gave us fifty dollars each and a lot of candy, which was nice. Manny, just like many a Christmas before was drunk and asleep on the same chair. There weren't any bikers over this year, though a few questionable sorts showed up at the house here and there asking Wes for money. Wes gave a lot of weird unsavory sorts money sometimes, I think because it made him feel needed when his health was otherwise deteriorating and nobody wanted to be around him. They made him feel valid. There was this one dude, Fast Eddie as he was called – who would always stop at the house, and start looking through Wes's cupboards looking for pills. You had to make sure you were subtly in the room with him at all times. When stuff went missing, we often times blamed Fast Eddie, though to be fair there was a chance Roxanne had stopped by too. There was also this other lady – whom we don't remember the name of. She was an old barfly, and we all suspected that she did loosely sexual favors for Wes for money, though we could never be sure and didn't want to be. One time she was walking in front of David as they were both outside, and she flew around with a coy seductive smile on her face accused David of having the hots for her, saying something along the lines 'you can looky but don't touchy' or something equally as cringeworthy, as she wagged her finger at him like he was naughty. David obviously hadn't been looking at her – was baffled and grossed out.

We drove back and suffered for two more weeks at my grandma's in utter boredom. My grandma found out Allison wanted to be a musician and singer and she started pressuring Allison that she needed to play something for her. She was skeptical and limited in her understanding of music, and we all knew she wasn't going to get it. My grandma Marie has this archaic idea about how music is supposed to be. She like two kinds of music – Enya and country western. She still believed that you made it big by sending your demo tapes to local radio stations in hopes they would play it like how it was done in the 40's. And she believed that new musicians used 'robotics' to make their voices sound different then there speaking voices. She couldn't tell the difference between techno rave music and neutral milk hotel. She accused heavily acoustic Wilco songs of being made by pushing buttons, not believing even that Jeff Tweedy's voice could be real and assumed he was generated via computers. She claimed songs weren't 'really' songs.

Allison eventually got brave one evening and performed in front of our grandma. To me, Allison's voice was lovely and haunting. I thought she was getting a lot better and had come a long way, she wrote most of her songs herself. There was so much good to be said for what she was doing. But surely enough, our bitter old grandma wasn't enthused at all. As Allison sang self consciously, my grandma literally scowled at Allison judgmentally for the whole thing – making everyone in the room uncomfortable, and when the song was over, she said something half-handedly insulting about the song and about Allison's voice and about how she shouldn't even want to make music or art ever again. She couldn't even pretend to be nice. I think I love my grandma most of the time – she helped me when I needed it. But I kind of didn't. How can you afford to love people who drag you down? We had so very little to look forward to. Allison's music was such a special thing – maybe one of only things she had to hold on to that was hers alone. And somehow this caused a very hostile reaction in the people around us.

My grandma had gone to bed, and I had sneakily hopped on facebook one night, and I noticed that Zack was on. Sarah was on as well. For whatever reason, out of all the times that we had seen but not particularly cared, we took note of it enough to mention him together in our conversation. Sarah expressed the wish that we could have him as a friend still. I told Sarah that we should try to reach out to him again. It suddenly made sense to the both of us. Maybe it was due to the guilt that when Jason had died, we hadn't really known him by that time and now he was dead and gone forever. Sarah then sort of told me that, according to her cousin – Zack was on meth in a very big way. Privately, I had misgivings about this, though Sarah didn't seem to grasp the whole addiction thing. Given what Roxanne was going through at the time, I felt a pang of regret in my heart though, and perhaps this is why I didn't try to explain much to Sarah. I felt maybe that perhaps I had failed him by not being his friend – and now look at him. He was on drugs – because he was alone. I wasn't in love with him anymore – and I felt pretty confident about that, but aside from everything that had gone on – I felt a strong nostalgic kinship with him still, and the idea of him being on meth made me very sad, it sat awkwardly with me, like a bowl of food just about to fall off a counter that you know will fall with the slightest breeze so you want to push it back in place. If I ignored him, if we ignored him I would always think about it for the rest of my life. I wondered if there was anything Sarah or I could have done.

We came to some conclusions that night. We were going to try again, at least halfheartedly, and by unconventional means to bring him back to us. We were like two witches concocting some kind of slow working spell that would bind us to him and what we mostly intended on was to get his attention subconsciously. We couldn't trap him – we knew that. If we set up a meeting he wasn't going to show up for it. I wanted to see if we could draw him in using some strange consciousness trick if we tried it together. Maybe this is what the universe was trying to tell me. Sarah and I both felt we could draw things and ideas towards us. I had had huge strides in my ability to shift the world around me – and I saw my having lost sixty pounds in a year a manifestation of that much deeper shift. And with every surreal factor that was happening to me emotionally/psychologically/philosophically, I wanted to see what it might be able to do for me other than make me feel crazy. I wanted to know if he would react organically without any kind of direct communication or physical contact. Perhaps he wouldn't. But perhaps he would.

And perhaps I was distracting myself because I felt lost. I was now realizing that goals were hard. Goals are hard to keep when your mind changes a lot. Goals are hard to maintain the clarity of. Goals are hard to remember when something new comes along. It's hard for a goal not to change when you are changing. It's hard to even have a goal to begin with. And when you meet a goal, what next? There is a sad after affect, a realization that death is creeping up on you. And with how uncomfortable my life had become, with the psychological shifts, everything was off balance. I needed a goal to center myself. It tied me closer to Sarah. I needed something to think about that wasn't my life at the moment.

And if we could make this happen, if he did come to us, then Sarah and I together were a force and I could know I wasn't crazy, and we could take that energy and manifest other things for ourselves. If I could just keep lofty goals coming I would never again have to feel the acceptance that one thing was over without another even bigger idea taking hold. Getting a job, though it was the goal in my life at that point by default and something Sarah seemed to focus on more than even me, didn't interest me or make me want to be alive. Getting a job was for me, more of a means to avoid the pain of living with my parents any longer – certainly a motivational goal, but what then and to what end would this really help me spiritually? It didn't give my heart something to reach out to. But there was something pleasing about Sarah and I being able to use our connection to manipulate someone into our lives, like Zack, and that seemed intriguing to me and exciting. It had mystery to it, and was a compelling enough distraction.

We set everything up as soon as we got back to my mother's. The basement was now completely remodeled, though all in all nothing really changed. My mother was talking to this young guy in India named Jaz who was eighteen, and according to what she told us, he became obsessed with her and wanted to fly out to our house and meet her in person. My mother never used an honest picture of herself as her profile picture – though he knew she was fifty, so in some level I had to either wonder if this was some kind of scam, or if this guy wasn't totally nuts. Jaz believed him and my mother were soulmates who had been together in a past life, and my mother went right along with this narrative wholeheartedly, recalling memories of them together on Himalayan peaks, a tear welling up in the corner of her eye as she remembered it all in vivid detail, but out of fear of having her fantasies dashed, she refused to give him her address as hard as he tried to get it from her.

According to what I was told, Jaz was betrothed to someone his parents had picked for him to marry, and he didn't want to marry her. This was a big deal for him, and it was some kind of bizarre retelling of Romeo and Juliette for the both of them. For about three weeks, all my mother could talk or think about. She wasn't sleeping. She just sat there at the computer playing farmville, waiting for Jaz to get on. She told us all that she fucking hated us. She swore that as soon as she lost the weight and got surgery to look young again, she was going to fly out to India to be with Jaz, and 'our free ride was over'. She said it as a threat to all of us, as though being born had all been our idea to begin with.

Then, Jaz's mother got involved and wrote my mom telling her that she had found out about the affair Jaz was having and to leave her son alone, you sick old lady - essentially. My mother, stricken with embarrassment and maybe some level of self realization and immediately ceased speaking with Jaz, like his mother had demanded. Conveniently, those memories of her previous life with Jaz began to slip away, only for her to be taken in and smitten with some other guy from India whom she remembered sharing a past life with. I didn't bother to remember these guys names. Some of them were more like sons to her, and she never tried to convince herself she was in love with any of the young ones. She continued sending money though. And on and on it went for several years. It was sort of like my father's experience dating online, only far weirder.

I couldn't wait forever to get a job, so I began putting out other applications. All in all, I ended up with four interviews that late winter. The first one was a call back from Jack in the Box which wasn't far from where Wes's house was at. I didn't want to work at Jack in the Box at all. This one in particular was trashed and dingy. The people always got your order wrong, were hostile, probably underpaid and in a bad place. Sarah and I had gone there one morning for a cheap coffee to talk and stay grounded – a way for me to escape the bleakness in and among bleakness of the place we were having coffee, as well as to look out at the bleak mindless rush of cars on the highway as they headed out to work.

Sarah and I overheard a manager walking around complaining that someone hadn't shown up for a shift and they would have to look into the new applications. Sarah gave me a look, kicked me and had to psychically pry me out of my seat with her eyes to go up to this manager and ask if there were any positions open. He was impressed and told me to get an application and be sure to come in that Sunday night for an interview.

I was nervous. This was sort of my first real interview with anyone (I really just don't count that experience at McDonald's). I made sure to straighten my hair – as people tended to trust me less with curls. I found a black dress jacket, wore a decent shirt, decent pants and shoes. I was nervous but ready to take on this interview for whatever it was worth. My mother pulled her van out and waited for me in the parking lot. Everyone wished me the best of luck, as I anxiously wormed up to the door. There is nothing more ugly to me then walking in for an interview. I hate interviews. The feeling I get when walking into an interview is on par with being sick with the flu, and no matter if I practice or not, I have no idea what I am going to say to the interviewer when they ask me stuff. I've come to the conclusion that there is no true way to prepare and calibrate yourself for a new experience. I try to remind myself as I enter those business doors that life is one big game, and that I could just as easily have been born in some war torn part of the world, I could be dead. I could have been born in the middle ages. I try to remind myself that even if I went in dressed like a clown and danced about the room theatrically, in the end life would be what it was. And life just wasn't that long. There aren't rules to life. Mercury is on fire right now. I am a fragment of a fragment of a fragment of a fragment. And nothing helps. I still feel like I have to manually remind myself to breath. I am still drowning in mysterious turmoil I don't understand.

I walked in, and the building was empty, which might be totally predictable on a Sunday night. There was this blonde pudgy man at the counter – not the one I had talked to earlier that week. He asked me what I wanted to eat, and I told him I was there for an interview. He didn't know anything about the interview but reluctantly agreed to conduct one. We sat down at the table, and he began asking me questions about, 'why I wanted to work at Jack in the Box.' I tried to be honest – because I wanted a job. Because I liked having a grounded sense of purpose. Because I needed money.' He looked at me and said nothing. And then he began explaining to me that he wasn't looking for someone who was 'looking for 'a job'' he was looking for someone who was passionate about food service. I smiled politely, though I was melting inside.

He didn't just explain this to me though, he went on a five minute explanation as to why my answer was wrong. He asked me to pick between quality and quantity, and I picked one (don't remember which), and he then smiled at me and began explaining how I was wrong again. After three or four questions, the interview was beginning to go on for twenty minutes, and every time he asked me something, I would meekly try to assert a sensible response, but he would shoot me down. Then he started talking about my appearance. He told me I looked like someone who would do better if I went to art school' instead of working at a fast food joint. He meant it as an insult. I was frustrated. Because of course I would love to go to art school, but I wasn't in any position to be going to art school and it was really none of his business. I knew he was breaking really weird boundaries by talking like this to me, but I felt like I had to give in to his assessment of me, and I was really beginning to internally crumble. It's true, I didn't want this job, I just needed it terribly. To go into this place and ask for work was already putting me in a situation where I felt like I was whoring myself as a product, and now I was being told I wasn't a good enough for even Jack in the Box.

He finally began to explain to me, that they were only looking for the perfect person, someone who would go 'above and beyond'. It was here where the interview got weirder. He started asking me if I would do any 'favors' for him in order to get the job. I looked at him blankly, not understanding. He explained that he didn't waste his time with employees who didn't give him special incentive to hire them. I blinked confused. Eventually, he told me we were done. I didn't even turn around to shake his hand. I was shaking too hard by this time. He had been essentially mentally fucking with me for half an hour, putting me down in these clever professional ways, and I had to just sit there and take it. I felt used and worthless. And as soon as I got to the van, I started to cry. It was hard to explain to everyone what he had been doing to me. I felt even more ashamed of myself for crying at all. Sarah wouldn't ever cry. How many cool people did I know that would cry over a bad interview?

I learned years later that this same guy, Ben – was hiring women based on if they would let him touch their breasts and go down on him and stuff. He had been putting me down so that I would feel vulnerable and weak and would do what he wanted. And, he had thoroughly enjoyed just making me feel terrible and confused. He had spent his merry time breaking me down till I didn't know up from down. He was high on his power in that Jack in the Box. Two weeks after that interview, he was fired for sexual misconduct with one of his employees. It was an ugly experience, but I guess if I could say I took anything from the interview, it was that this is extremely common. I walked into that building having no skin at all, and what he had thrown at me was far more than I could deal with. I would have walked out now. I would rather be homeless than blow some gross supervisor for a fucking job serving bad meat to people. I would be meeting Ben again a few years ahead.

The second one was at a successful bar/Italian dining restaurant owned by the same chain that owned Zany's, the Happy Day Corporation. My mother was being impossible to us that morning, and ended up bothering me and being so horrendous that on the way to the interview I snapped and started crying and called her a bitch. It was a very poor choice for me to let her get to me, but I was feeling extremely vulnerable and antsy. She might have been hoping to sabotage my interview, not for any reason other than she could. We were almost there, and it was almost time for me to go in. I didn't want to now at all. My emotions were off balance. My make up had smeared. I was angry and feeling nihilistic about doing anything after that. But I looked at myself in the mirror, wiped away the make up that had smeared, and I decided that I would go in anyway. Yes, I might look crazy. It might all be one big joke. But what was life anyway but one big joke?

Strangely enough, I suddenly felt, in my more emotionally unstable position – more confident to go in to the interview. I don't know why that was. I walked in, which still killed me, and I met with and sat down with the manager to have an interview. He could absolutely not believe I was twenty-one. He looked me over with disbelief, and kept saying I didn't look a day over fifteen. He probably meant that. I have always been confused with being six or more years younger than I am. It might be the round face. I look in my eyes and I see a two hundred year old forest hag, but apparently it isn't as noticeable if you aren't me.

His questions made a bit more sense than Ben's had, but at the end of the interview he told me that even though he really wanted to hire me, he wasn't going to because I was from Kendrick, and people who come from those little towns often times move back to the towns because the big ol' town of Lewiston is just too big for them and they have boyfriends and stuff in their hometowns and small town inertia always brings them back. I politely tried to explain that I didn't have anything holding me there, no family or friends to speak of (which was a half-lie, but I was learning that apparently you are supposed to lie for some reason – and besides I was never going to Kendrick). He still didn't want to give me the opportunity though, and it was fine. I walked out slightly recovering from the ordeal at Jack in the Box. At least he had been respectful to me, and had accepted my answers. Also, I had gone in mentally unbalanced, and it had actually worked for me rather than against me for some reason. That seemed counter intuitive, but I guess turmoil brought out the best in me. Which was a strange and confusing thing to realize about myself.

It felt weird to be rejected. I had come such a long way from that previous year. While Sarah walked me through some of it, she really didn't for most of it, and couldn't have had she wanted to. I had lost so much weight, had pulled myself from some apathetic fatalistic fog, had reached for goals and considering what an introverted nervous and at times antiperson I could be, I had reached out to the world and decided to try and live in it despite all odds, despite having severe anxiety and self doubt. It was all a lot. And yet, I still went out into the world and got rejected on these arbitrary merits and standards that didn't quite make sense to me at all. It was at times disheartening to know I had worked this far out of my cocoon only to discover that the world didn't want to see my wings and at times I wasn't sure I wanted to spread them in this world. The world couldn't see my strengths and I wasn't socially charming (or phony) enough to present myself in a fashion that seemed to work. And yet, I just had to pull myself through this mud. It was hard to remind myself why – but it was too late to turn back now.

PART 85 - https://tinyurl.com/y73j3s9z

PART 84 - https://tinyurl.com/y8chr6hw

PART 83 - https://tinyurl.com/yasrxfkj

PART 82 - https://tinyurl.com/y9wvecz3

PART 81 - https://tinyurl.com/yc7bm62r

My Life Story in Chapters, PARTS 1-80 (this link below will lead you to a list of all the chapters i have written thus far).

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/168782771574/life-story-sections-1-8

#text #life story #writing #long text

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princessparadoxical · 7 years

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The livestream kept cutting out due to shoddy Australian internet (curse you, Malcolm Turnbull) but I honestly lost track of the number of times Dirk was tempting fate? Saying the universe doesn’t work a certain way only for the universe to actually come through when he least expected or wanted it?

I never thought one of my fondest wishes would be for Dirk to be able to finish a diner meal without something needlessly dramatic happening, and yet. Please. Let him drink a milkshake or eat some pancakes without getting metaphorically twatted in the face by the cosmos. He’s useless as a detective if he’s malnourished and sleep-deprived, lordy may.

“I stopped existing a while ago” is morbidly funny, but even then I just wanted to cry. Psychic vampire banter at its best and most heartbreaking. But at least there’s light down there, because I’d been having nightmare visions of them all spending two months in complete darkness and silence and it was doing a number on my personal sanity.

I know that we’d already established Susie’s villain status but christ, selling out her own son to the police and then trying to use him as an excuse to not kill someone is some pretty brutal whiplash. “But what if someone gets hurt” isn’t going to fool anyone, Susie. You’re attractive but also you killed a dog and also some people so eh, please leave town now.

Dirk trading away police evidence for the #aesthetic is the most hilarious thing ever, but also can we please have a minute silence for the loss of the collarbone shirt. Samuel Barnett looked fine as hell in it. I’m going to miss it deeply. The end of an era. Let the mourning begin. Get the twitter trend happening.

Collarbones.

I didn’t like Todd agreeing with Dirk when he called his powers “stupid flighty bullshit” but I’m willing to cut them both a bit of slack, it’s been a long and stressful week, there are dead bodies everywhere. But this is a version of Dirk Gently that I can imagine standing on the roof screaming “you utter bastard” while shaking his fist at the night sky (like in the novels). It’s a tragic development.

Why am I so charmed by Panto calling her “Bartine” though?

Farah’s phone has to be bugged. It’s the only thing that makes sense with this particular storyline.

I’m assuming that the water cleaned Amanda’s face because she’s suddenly 35% less eyeliner and it’s taking a while for me to come to terms with being able to see her face again. Her “I am the consciousness?” conversation sounded like it should’ve been taking place when they were both getting stoned after a first-year college philosophy class. She’s trying to roll with the punches but they just won’t fucking stop coming.

... but also the Moloch symbol was clearly visible and I’m now a deeply concerned bean. Does this mean that Bergsberg is in danger? Wendimoor? Blackwing? What has been woken?

... but also I’m here for Amanda being the new Forest Witch.

I fully understand why Panto is beginning to crack, even if I’m worried about what it means for the holistic detective squad. He’s in a world he doesn’t understand, with people who have locked him up, trying his best to save his world even when it’s full of people who want him dead. His only friend is a piranha in the stream of creation. This has been a rough week for him, all things considered. He and Bart need a million more doughnuts and another dance party.

Dirk’s impression of himself was simultaneously the best and the worst thing ever, and we already know that his current accent isn’t the one he was born with so I’m assuming that it took a long time to develop from 1940s Gay British Pantomime to what he has now. But oh hello cracks, you keep getting bigger and bigger and I keep getting more and more worried. Is he sleeping yet? Eating properly?

The boy confirming that “at first the dreams were a gift” makes me so much more suspicious of Mona. I still adore her but the actress confirmed that the character is easily manipulated and I’m wondering whether she’s acting of her own accord or if she’s serving a higher purpose.

Hobbs’ concerned face when they were loading the boy into the ambulance was pure enough to cure cancer and also world hunger. Why can’t I just like assholes? Why do I always fall for the nice ones?

Someone needs to do a video edit of the Rowdy 3 coming through the portal set to The Boys Are Back In Town.

The fact that the Mage was so out of his depth in the scene with the wall mural throws out a lot of my previous theories? He looked threatened and actually scared and I’m not sympathetic in the slightest because he’s the major villain of the season. But I hate it when villains are unsettled because it always makes them 100% less predictable and more dangerous. That’s the exact opposite of what I wanted.

“I wanna fuck everybody here” oh man, I have never related so much to a single line in my entire life, how are they all so dang attractive?

And that’s why it was important that Hobbs deputized Farah, because he’s going to be out of commission for a few episodes (living in denial is a blast and a half, I can highly recommend it) and Farah’s finally going to show the world what she’s made of. Which is sugar and spice and fucking guns.

Rule one of questing, you guys: DON’T SPLIT THE FUCKING PARTY. Have none of you played Dungeons & Dragons?

I adored the Todd/Farah interactions and I’ll fight anyone to defend them.

Dirk on the dance floor looked like a cat having static balloons rubbed all over it, he was that uncomfortable. But also that conversation on the dancefloor was like someone went onto AO3 and pulled out everything we ever wanted, it was so nice to see them all having a nice time even if it took actual fucking sorcery to get them there. Max confirmed that it was indeed a love spell and oh, you beautiful tropical fish, it’s almost enough to make up for that final scene.

You could tattoo “it’s a lot of moving pieces and I’m getting overwhelmed” to my face and I’d thank you at this stage. But I’m fully here for Farah trying to explain away the boy’s violence with “he’s had a traumatic time” and Dirk rolling his eyes so hard they could be seen from space. Dirk’s had a lifetime of experimentation and trauma and christ, his coping mechanisms aren’t the best but you don’t see him trying to strangle anyone. Give the sunshine bean some more credit, guys.

The only thing giving me comfort right now is the thought of Friedkin’s face when he discovers that yet more subjects have disappeared into thin air.

Get wrecked, Friedkin. You weren’t even in that episode and I’m pissed at you.

#dirk gently #dghda #my contributions #I'll have more thoughts later but holy shit

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lothricshopsathottopic · 4 years

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I really need to get something off my chest. This is really, really long, so forgive me, in advance.

Please, keep in mind I'll be talking about mental illness here - specifically, anxiety and depression - and that might be triggering for you. If so, please, PLEASE skip this post (and if you're having suicidal thoughts, I've compiled a list of hotlines at the end of this post that you can call; skip to the bottom.) I don't want you to hurt yourself by reading this. Go look at some fanart, or watch funny videos, or something. I want you to be well. You deserve to be well, no matter what your mind may tell you; it's lying through its fucking teeth. Trust me.

That having been said: ya'll really need to start tagging posts with triggering subjects appropriately.

I'm saying this because I have been diagnosed with GAD and depression around 8 years ago. For 8 years, my mind was a fucking hellscape; I hated myself, every part of me. I felt like no one really gave a shit about me, like no one would care if I died or disappeared, and that I deserved to die anyway because I was such a shit person.

I've lost count of how many nights I cried myself to sleep; that was just something that happened to me, then. It became routine, just as routine as brushing your teeth is for most people. Speaking of which, I'd spend several days in bed, too, without showering, without brushing my teeth, without changing clothes, without getting up to do anything but go to the bathroom. Some days, I'd eat nothing.

I contemplated suicide several times. I researched ways to make it as painless as possible, the quickest way I could kill myself. I never self-harmed by cutting, or drugs, or alcohol, but I did it in other ways. I deprived myself of food, of water, of sleep, of showering. I beat myself up mentally, as much as possible, as often I could. I didn't want to talk to my friends; I was convinced they all only tolerated me. Whenever I did talk to them, I hid my state of mind so well they always convinced themselves I was fine. I was convinced I was ugly, undesireable and unlovable. This all was despite having been on meds and seeing a psychiatrist regularly.

But worst than the depression, in my opinion, was the goddamn fucking anxiety. Feeling afraid of everything all the time takes an enormous toll on you; it cripples you and stops you from doing things that are normal to most people; sometimes even initiating a conversation was, for me, a mountain impossible to climb. The anxiety made me want to kill myself just as much - if not more - than the depression, because, surely, death couldn't possibly be worse than what my fears turned into likely possibilities in my mind. I was convinced dying would hurt less. Death scared me less than the shit in my head 24/7.

The reasons I held on, were my parents, whom I logically knew love me dearly - even if my mind made me feel like they didn't - and the things I still wanted to experience. I wanted to go to Vegas, and Japan, and Germany, and Norway, and Mexico; I wanted to see the world. I wanted to play all of the games I was excited for, finish all of the ongoing shows and fics I was watching and reading, as well as revisit old media I used to love. I wanted to reread my favorite books. I wanted to have a girlfriend. I wanted to finish my fics in progress, as well as start the ones I'd been thinking about. I wanted to perfect my drawing techniques. I wanted to learn other languages. I wanted to listen to my favorite songs again. I wanted to go swimming again; I've always loved swimming. My parents, my hobbies and entertainment were what made me hold on despite how much I was screaming at myself to give up, and no matter how much people told me my hobbies and passions were worthless. I looked at childhood pictures of myself and saw how happy I was in them; I longed to be happy again. I thought about how sad that little kid would be if she knew her future self would be contemplating suicide. I wanted to believe being this happy again was possible, so I kept going.

Thankfully, I changed psychiatrists. I changed my meds. I got a therapist. Things started to look up again for me. Over two years, I managed to recover from a 8-year long crippling depression. I'm no longer suicidal. I no longer despise every bone in my body. Of course, I have bad days; depression never really goes 100% away. You just end up finding a way to deal with it and make it hurt much less. Meds and therapy are only two of the things that help you with that (though they are crucial.)

One thing that didn't really get better, though, was the anxiety. No matter how much I tried, I was never able to turn my catastrophic thoughts off. The meds suppress them a bit, but depending on the day, they're still way too overwhelming. Meditation doesn't help. Videos and games don't help. The thoughts are always screaming at me, gnawing at the back of my mind, and once they break through and make me notice them, it takes days for them to leave - and even then, they don't leave completely. It's especially worse because you can't control what other people say or do around you; a lot of them know you have an illness, and say triggering stuff anyway, because people don't really understand how debilitating a mental illness can be. I won't lie; sometimes there's still that little bitch at the back of my mind whispering, "if you killed yourself you'd be able to avoid all this scary shit, you know," but I manage to stomp it into nothing most of the time. Still, unfortunately, you can't avoid seeing or hearing triggering things all of the time.

Which brings me to the reason I'm writing this in the first place.

See, you can't control what people say around you, but you can control most of what you see on the internet. Tumblr has a tag filter. I myself use it a lot; to filter out NOTPs or topics I'm not interested in, but mostly, I use it to filter things that'll take away my sleep at night (I actually think there should be an option to completely hide posts containing filtered tags and pretend they don't even exist in the first place, instead of simply showing a message saying that they were blocked, since seeing the message alone already will make me anxious about what the post might contain, but I digress.)

So why is it that I'm still coming across a lot of triggering things on here?

I understand some things might slip. It's not as if I haven't failed to properly tag posts before; I get that you'll sometimes look at something you don't find triggering, and so it won't even cross your mind that it might trigger someone else; sometimes it's something that's, to you, so mundane or banal you can't fathom how it might send someone into an episode or a downward spiral. But mental illness is like that. Different things trigger different people.

I am BEGGING you: PLEASE tag your posts appropriately. It doesn't matter how minor a thing you think it is; if it's a dog post, put the tag "dog" in there. If it's a post about politics, tag it as "politics." If it contains insects, tag it as such. Even if it's a humor-centered post. Tag it anyway.

I know people need to stay informed about important things. That doesn't matter. A lot of people on Tumblr come here to relax or have some fun, and from my personal experience, a lot of us have a history with mental illness, or are struggling with it to this day; a lot of the time it's debilitating. I see a shit ton of suicidal people on here, venting. I used to be one of them.

I use Tumblr to distract myself, to see funny and cute shit. Most of the triggering things here are stuff people already know about anyway; in fact, they're probably bombarded with them everywhere else on the internet. You don't have the right to shove stuff down mentally ill people's throats because you think they need to know it and spread the word, no matter if you're mentally ill yourself. People have the right to choose what they want to see on social media during their leisure time. We know what we can and can't handle. And a lot of us can't handle the news right now. I never could, to be honest, so I always filtered my exposure to it very heavily, but now I find myself avoiding it entirely, because it just sends me into a fit and takes away my sleep. You're not doing us a favor by making us see this shit; you're making our illness worse. There's NOTHING wrong with us deciding that something is too much for us to deal with; we are not ignorant, we are not naive and we are not blissful. In fact, we're very aware of these issues; painfully so. They're probably already eating away at us, and are the reason we try to distract ourselves in the first place. We're avoiding this kind of shit to avoid harming ourselves even further than our mind already harms us. Some of us do this to avoid suicidal urges, even. You cannot take this right from people. You don't get to decide what we should and shouldn't see online; we do. And you don't get to scream at us when we decide not to look at something we KNOW will destroy us.

Of course I'm not saying you SHOULDN'T post and reblog these things; it's your blog. You have the right to post and reblog whatever you want, as long as it doesn't violate the terms of service (i.e. p*rn, gore, bigotry, etc.) But PLEASE have the mindfulness to tag your posts appropriately. It's hard enough for all of us to deal with all this shit every day, let alone right now, let alone during a year that has been, for the most part, a complete shitshow. You never know how many more straws it'll take to break the camel's back. And for the love of Christ, DO NOT yell at us if we decide to focus on the positive and ignore the negative on Tumblr. You never know what a person is going through; focusing on the positive on their social media might be the only way someone's found to fight suicidal urges.

I, unfortunately, felt forced to unfollow people I've followed for years, because the onslaught of posts - a lot of them untagged - that I found triggering, this year, were starting to become overwhelming for me. If any of you are reading this, please don't take it personally. You've done nothing wrong, and you're all wonderful people. I unfollowed you because I thought it best for my mental health and wellbeing, during such a trying time. I really don't have the mental or emotional strength to deal with bad news anymore. I just got better, and I intend to keep myself that way. Seeing all of that is just gonna make me fall into that old hole again, and I don't know if I'll be able to climb back out if that happens. I'll do what I can whenever I can, and, on Tumblr, I'll signal boost donation pages, awareness posts about racism, LGBTQphobia and privilege, and petitions, but when it comes to everything else, I'm focusing on the positive, and my goal with reblogs is to brighten my followers' day if only a little, and signal boost posts asking for help to those who need it. Regardless, I hope you all are doing wonderful, and I wish you all the best.

TL;DR: please, PLEASE tag all of your posts appropriately if you think there might be anything even remotely potentially triggering to someone in them. Mental illness is a very insidious, irrational thing and the smallest crap can send us into a downward spiral that can last days or even weeks. Despite how the term "trigger" has become a meme, triggers are something very real and very debilitating to the vast majority of us who struggle with mental illness. There's nothing funny about real triggers. Please, take your followers' well-being and safety into consideration.

Finally, I feel like I really need to say this: if you're having suicidal thoughts of any kind, PLEASE do not hesitate to call for help. Below is a list of hotlines you can call if you're thinking about killing yourself. Please do not do it, I promise your death would negatively impact someone, and you would be missed. You are loved, you are valid, and you deserve to live and be happy. I know you're probably really fucking tired of hearing this, but it does get better. I thought it never would, but it did, for me. It will for you, too.

Algeria: 0021 3983 2000 58

Argentina: (54-11) 4758-2554

Armenia: (2) 538194

Australia: 131114

Austria: Telefonseelsorge 24/7 : 142 Rat auf Draht 24/7 : 147 (youth)

Bahamas: (2) 322-2763

Barbados: Suicide Hotline: Samaritan Barbados (246) 4299999

Belgium: Suicide Hotline: Stichting Zelfmoordlijn 1813

Bolivia: 3911270

Bosnia & Herzegovina: 080 05 03 05

Botswana: National Lifeline: 3911270

Brazil: 188

Bulgaria: 0035 9249 17 223

Canada: 1 (833) 456 4566

China: 800-810-1117

Colombia: 24/7 Helpline in Baranquilla: 1(00 57 5) 372 27 27 24/7 Hotline Bogota: (57-1) 323 24 25

Cyprus: 8000 7773

Denmark:4570201201

Estonia: 3726558088; in Russian: 3726555688

Finland: 010 195 202

France: 0145394000

Germany: 08001810771

Ghana: 2332 444 71279

Guyana: 223-0001

Holland: 09000767

Hong Kong: 852 2382 0000

Hungary: 116123

India: 8888817666

Indonesia: 1-800-273-8255

Iran: 1480

Ireland: +4408457909090

Israel: 1201

Italy: 800860022

Jamaica: 1-888-429-KARE (5273)

Japan: 810352869090

Jordan: 110

Latvia: 371 67222922

Lebanon: 1564

Liberia: 6534308

Luxembourg: 352 45 45 45

Malaysia: (06) 2842500

Malta: 179

Mauritius: +230 800 93 93

Mexico: 5255102550

Netherlands: 900 0113

New Zealand : 1737

Nigeria: 234 8092106493

Norway: +4781533300

Philippines: 028969191

Poland: 5270000

Portugal: 21 854 07 40 and 8 96 898 21 50

Romania: 0800 801200

Russia: 0078202577577

Saint Vincent and the Grenadines: (9784) 456 1044

Serbia: (+381) 21-6623-393

Singapore: 1 800 2214444

Spain: 914590050

South Africa: 0514445691

South Korea: (02) 7158600

Sri Lanka: 011 057 2222662

Sudan: (249) 11-555-253

Sweden: 46317112400

Switzerland: 143

Thailand: (02) 713-6793

Tonga: 23000

Trinidad and Tobago: (868) 645 2800

United Arab Emirates: 800 46342

United Kingdom: 08457909090

United States: (800) 273-8255

If you know of any I've forgotten, please don't be afraid to let me know. I'll add it to the list.

Stay safe, everyone.

#vent #long #personal #trigger warning #tw #triggers #tw: suicide #tw: depression #tw: mental illness #mental health #tags #tw: self-harm #tw: GAD #actually depressed #actually suicidal #actually anxious #Tumblr posts #serious #hotlines

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sapphicscholar · 7 years

Note

Ok I know you're busy but please please please write whatever pairing you want for the post of the person who is advertising their services as being a terrible date to your family Thanksgiving dinner. No rush. Whenever you want. IF you want. Your life things absolutely come first

This has now been posted to AO3 here!

-Refers to this post (text is there, but I changed to better match the situation/add in a joke or two)

A/N: This is set before the sort of reconciliation we get between Eliza and Alex (for reasons, even though other things have already happened that canonically take place post-reconciliation and really the timeline is all sorts of fucked but I’m beyond sleep-deprived), and since I’m writing from Alex’s POV, their relationship will sound pretty shitty, though it’s not the focus here. Also, this is pure crack–probably fairly terrible crack. In case anyone worried it would be serious….

Chapter Text

Knitting her eyebrows together in confusion, Alex reread at the vague subject line in her inbox: “Saw this, thought of you.” Knowing it was from Lucy already had her on high alert—the last time she’d unthinkingly opened a link from one of her emails at work, she’d ended up with the video for “Dick in a Box” playing at full volume to the surprise (and amusement) of her DEO recruits. But, since she was at home and more than a little curious, she clicked on the link, finding herself on a Craigslist ad that read:

“It’s Thanksgiving. Want to skip that long, insulting conversation about how youre still single? About how your parents really want more grand children? Well, look no further!

I am a 29 year old ex-con (long story, don’t worry, I’m plenty friendly!) with no family to worry about and a dirty pickup truck one year younger than me painted with some Scissor Sisters album cover artwork (there when I got it, but I like it too much to change it). I can play anywhere between the ages of 25 and 35 depending on hair and makeup. I’m a bartender and work late nights. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Thanksgiving, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game.

I can do these things, at your request: • Openly hit on other female guests while you act like you don’t notice• Start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion (I prefer to play the flaming liberal atheist, but can adapt depending on how promising the dessert selection will be and how much it would piss off your shitty family)• Propose to you in front of everyone (I’ve got a cheap ring and all)• Pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on (sorry, I don’t really drink much anymore, but I used to. A lot. too much in fact… I know the drill)• Start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see (I require advance warning if I’m not to harm them in any real way or leave marks)

I require no pay but the free meal I will receive as a guest!”

Scowling, Alex switched over to email and sent back: “What the hell, Lane?”

Mere seconds later a reply came back in: “Morning to you too, Alex! You said you didn’t want to deal with your mom and your sister’s shitty boyfriend alone again so… voila! A solution—and it’s free.”

“I’m not going to hire an escort service,” Alex shot back.

“She says ‘strictly platonic,’ so it’s really not an escort service. And you’re not paying her, just feeding her. C’mon, think of all the joy those stories could bring to me, your dear friend, your oldest friend.”

“You arrested me for treason.”

“Hey look! Something you two have in common. You could totally bond about being ex-cons together.”

“Fuck off.”

“Do it!”

“No.”

Alex was ready to leave the conversation at that, but when she made it into the DEO, she found Lucy, a wide grin on her face and an extra coffee in her hand waiting for her in her lab. “So, I know you think it’s a bad idea, but here’s why you should do it.” She paused, waiting for Alex’s objections. When the woman just arched an eyebrow and glared, she kept going. “First of all, Eliza always wants to know why you don’t bring anyone home. You get the speech about how you went through all that effort to come out, and now you’re still single, Alexandra. Why? Second, Vas’s parents had to cancel last minute, so we’re gonna come crash the Danvers Thanksgiving extravaganza and would love to have some front row seats to this. Third, you know you’ve wanted to punch Mike since the moment he and Kara got together, and now someone is willing to do it for free. Do you understand how few things in life are genuinely free?”

“It won’t be free because you know the consequences will haunt me forever.”

“Danvers. Have I ever asked you for anything in my life?”

“So many things.”

“Hmm, I don’t recall those things. So you should say yes to this one.”

“Why are you so adamant?”

“No reason,” Lucy shrugged, a smirk playing at her lips as she feigned nonchalance, examining her perfectly manicured nails.

“Lucy,” Alex growled. “What did you do?”

“Nothing…I just, well, maybe I emailed her.”

“To say hello?”

“Yep, just emailed her to say hey.” A beat. “She can’t wait to meet you on Thursday!”

“Lucy!” Alex yelled, taking off after Lucy who had high-tailed it out of the lab. “Get your ass back in here!”

“Agent Danvers, is there a problem?” J’onn asked when Alex nearly collided with him.

“No, sir, nothing at all. I just have a few…follow up questions for Lucy.”

“It will have to wait. Supergirl just called in for backup on a situation developing downtown.”

With a nod, Alex resigned herself to waiting to exact her revenge on Lucy and cancel on whatever ex-con she’d found her for Thanksgiving. Of course, she reasoned, it might be amusing to see how her mother would react… Sure, she might not be able to compete with Kara, who could seemingly do no wrong, but surely she could be better than this internet chick. And bringing her would most definitely piss off her mother…

—

With a tumbler of top-shelf whiskey in front of her (courtesy of Lucy), Alex tilted her head to the side. “You’ll be there if anything goes horribly wrong?”

“I think you, Agent Badass, can more than handle it.” Lucy grinned at Alex over the rim of her own glass, far too excited about the prospect of her actually taking this mystery Craigslist woman to Thanksgiving dinner.

“Ah, but you forget I don’t really do family holidays sober. Still have a mean right hook, but it’d be nice to have backup.”

“Fine, yes, Vas and I will be there for you the whole day.”

“And you’ll take the blame if it goes horrifically wrong?”

“What? That wasn’t part of the agreement.”

“It is if you want me to actually agree this time.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Lucy finally nodded. “Alright, Danvers, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Fine,” Alex sighed, resigning herself to her fate. If nothing else, it would at least provide her with stories for years to come (and, if she were lucky, maybe even get her disinvited from future family holidays).

“Perfect, she’ll pick you up at 3.”

“Wait, you gave her my address?”

“Love ya too, Alex!” Lucy yelled, grabbing for her coat and making for the entrance before Alex could change her mind yet again.

—

2:50pm on Thanksgiving found Alex pacing back and forth in the lobby of her building. She hadn’t even wanted this woman—Maggie, apparently—to know where she lived, but since Lucy had already given up that information she was at least going to keep her from getting all the way up to her apartment. A ping from her phone finally drew her attention away from the door.

“Almost here. Is family there? Should I be a real dick and honk from the street?”

Smiling in spite of herself, Alex sent back: “No, just me. I’ll come outside.” Her smile soon vanished and her jaw dropped when she caught sight of Maggie’s truck rolling down her street. True to her word (though Alex might have conveniently forgotten that detail), it was emblazoned with a pair of women’s legs that morphed into scissors, a beam of light refracting through it and splitting off into a rainbow Pink Floyd-style.

“Your chariot awaits, m’lady!” the woman yelled after cranking down her windows, a smirk adorning her face that brought out dimples Alex might have fallen for if she didn’t know they belonged to some weirdo who would advertise her services on Craigslist.

With a nod and grunt of acknowledgment, Alex pulled herself up into the truck, rolling the window back up before turning to face her “girlfriend” for the day.

“So…you always this quiet?” Maggie asked, peeking over at Alex as they crawled their way through holiday traffic.

“No.”

“Cool, cool.” Eventually, tired of the quiet, Maggie spoke up again. “Anything you want me to do or not do today? Who all will be there?”

“Mom—Eliza. My sister Kara—technically foster sister, though she’s obviously the favorite child. Her jackass boyfriend, Mike, and her best friend Winn. I don’t think James is coming this year. Then Lucy and her girlfriend Vasquez.”

“Ah, yes, Lucy’s the one who wrote to me for you!”

“Mm, the very one,” Alex grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling at the traffic as though the sheer force of her glare could make it move faster.

“If you don’t mind my asking, why did you do this? You seem kinda…miserable about the whole ordeal.”

“Lucy.”

“If you’re really not up for it, I can just drop you off and head back home. I mean, okay, yeah, I don’t get my Thanksgiving meal, but I’m not gonna force my delightful company on you.”

“Thanks.” Maggie couldn’t help but notice it was the first time Alex had sounded sincere, and she almost seemed to relax—not quite, but a little. “I’m okay though.”

“Alright, well, you’ve got until the front door to make that decision.”

“No, no. You were promised a Thanksgiving meal, and you’ll get one.” She’d even warned Kara to cook the turkey beforehand lest she accidentally out herself as an alien to yet another person.

“Well, I appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” Alex dismissed the thanks with a shrug and a wave of her hand.

“So, what’s our deal for the day?”

“Oh, um, maybe we’ve been dating for a couple of months—wasn’t super serious at first and didn’t want to say anything just yet?”

“Okay, that works. So no proposal?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Roger that. Now, do you want me to be a total d-bag? Hit on your sister?”

“No! No, there’s no need to remind mom just how much better Kara is than me at everything, including, apparently, attracting my fake girlfriend’s attention.”

Maggie cocked her head to the side, wondering how in the world the gorgeous woman sitting next to her thought she would ever fail to hold someone’s attention. Sure, she could be a little bit of an ass, according to Lucy, but who wasn’t?

“Okay, so, eyes on you and only you. Want me to talk politics? Religion? My former conviction? My lack of career mobility?”

“I don’t know,” Alex sighed, rubbing at her temples and trying to remember why she had agreed to this. Perhaps she thought this woman might deflect attention away from her—be so unsuccessful that Alex’s failure to become a proper medical doctor might be overlooked for a change, be so unappealing as a date that her mom would stop pushing her into relationships, figuring singledom was better than the lowlifes Alex picked up. But this woman was…not quite what she had expected. Sure, she was loud and a little brash—and her pickup truck took both of those to the extreme—but she also seemed fairly considerate, and she was cuter than Alex had expected all dressed up in her holigay best plaid.

“How about we play it by ear? I’m very good at reading people, I’ll have you know.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. For instance you are feeling very stressed and wondering why you got into my truck and why you’re bringing some internet stranger to Thanksgiving dinner. I’d put money on the fact that you’re already thinking about how much you’ll regret it and planning ways to exact some revenge on Lucy.”

Alex just pursed her lips, unwilling to admit that it was all rather true.

Grinning at Alex’s silence, which she took as confirmation, Maggie pushed her luck. “Now you’re wondering, ‘However did she get so good at reading people?’ And how is such a gorgeous woman still single, without a line of women to go home with for the holidays.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“She speaks!” Maggie crowed, cackling at the scowl directed her way. “C’mon the whole point of this stunt is to have some fun. Family holidays suck more than just about anything. And this is my irreverent way of saying fuck you to the whole ordeal. Everyone knows the holidays are all about pushing your dirty laundry and your box of vibrators deep into the closet and pretending like you don’t hate each other and everything your conservative uncles stand for while you eat until you can’t taste the bitterness of regret for your life choices anymore, right?”

“That got really bleak, really fast.”

“It’s dark humor, get used to it.”

“Remind me where the joke is.”

“Because you’ll know that everything about today is fake. Having the fake girlfriend there just helps remind you that everyone else’s perfection is a big goddam charade too.”

Alex made a vague noise, still unsure about how she felt about all of this. Rather than contemplate any longer, she turned to Maggie. “So, tell me something about you.”

“Not like I know that much about you.”

“I’m a scientist; that’s all you need to know.” It wasn’t totally true, but it would be fine.

“I doubt it.”

“I like whiskey. And dogs, not that I have time for one. I’m a scientist, not the doctor my mother hoped for. Better?”

“A little. I prefer scotch myself on the rare occasion I splurge. Dogs are clearly superior to cats, so we’re in agreement there for our future dog, ya know, even though it’s only been a couple of months. And I hate doctors, so it’s better this way.”

“All doctors?”

“Doctors, dentists, orthodontists—all the sadists, ya know.”

“Mm, right, right.”

“Yep. So, according to Lucy’s directions, we’re getting close. Any last minute instructions or questions?”

“Uh…no?”

“You don’t sound so certain.”

“Sorry, I just, I hate family things. I know in theory that she loves me, but I just—god, I can’t do another one.”

“Want me to take you home? You can blame me—tell her I let my car insurance expire or something and we got pulled over. Or I got sent to prison again.”

“That’s sweet,” Alex said, “but no, I need to go.”

“Well, at least this year you have an ex-con on your arm.”

“Speak of which…what did you do?”

“Honest answer or the fun answer?”

“Why aren’t they the same?”

“Because it’s more fun for me if I let you think I killed a man and gave all of his money to charitable causes like a veritable 21st century Robin Hood.”

“So you didn’t kill a man?”

“Tragically, no.”

“You gonna tell me what you did?”

“Protesting mainly. So disturbing the peace, disorderly conduct, that kind of shit. Not like I’ve got any felonies on the record. But I can if you want to freak out your mom. Or your sister’s boyfriend.”

“Well, if you don’t mind risking another arrest, by all means, please feel free to punch him in the face.”

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

“Yikes.”

Alex just nodded, wrapping her head around the slightly different image of Maggie that was emerging as she learned more and more about the woman. Of course, nothing excused the fact that she was in a tacky pickup truck—not even the dimples and the charm and the deep misanthropy that rivaled her own.

“We’re here,” Alex murmured, taking a deep breath and steeling herself for the inevitable shitshow.

—

“Alex!” Kara squealed, pulling her sister into a big hug like she hadn’t seen her just yesterday.

“Hey, Kara,” Alex laughed, squeezing her once before pulling back. “Maggie, this is my sister Kara. Kara, this is my girlfriend Maggie.”

The theatrical wink Kara shot in her direction had Alex ready to drop her head into her hands, but as her mom strolled across the room she realized it was too late to back out now.

“Did you say girlfriend, Alexandra? Why haven’t I heard anything?”

“Mom, this is Maggie. Maggie, this is my mom, Eliza Danvers.”

“Very nice to meet you—”

“Eliza is fine,” Eliza interjected, sensing the hesitation. “Alex, is it too much to ask that you call me every once in a while? I shouldn’t have to find out about a partner only because I happened to be in town.”

“I’ll do better,” Alex sighed, setting her coat down as her eyes scanned the apartment, looking for where Kara had hidden the good whiskey.

“Well hello there,” Lucy greeted from the doorway, grinning broadly at the sight of Alex standing next to the mystery Craigslist woman looking beyond uncomfortable under Eliza’s scrutiny.

“Lucy! Vasquez!” Kara yelled, running forward to take the mashed potatoes and rolls from their hands.

“I’m beginning to think the excitement was for the food and not for us,” Lucy pouted.

“Aww, you know I love you both equally.”

Rolling her eyes, Lucy turned her attention to Maggie. “Hey, Maggie, how’s it going?”

“So your friends have not only heard about her but met her too?” Eliza asked pointedly.

“Oh, that’s my fault. I’m not always so great at meeting the parents, so I asked her to hold off on saying something.”

Alex tried not to look surprised at the way Maggie had been so quick to stand up for her, forcing herself to nod along with the sentiment while Eliza eyed her curiously.

“Hey, Lucy,” Maggie waved, hoping to break the tension—or, better yet, ignore it entirely.

“This is Vasquez,” Lucy introduced, kicking the door shut behind them as they finally made their way into the apartment. “She really enjoyed your pickup truck—helps the neighborhood aesthetic so much,” Lucy teased.

Figuring Lucy could deal with Maggie now, Alex made her way into the kitchen to find the wine, already anticipating her mother’s comments about how much “fun” she was having.

“She’s cuter than I expected,” Kara whispered, cutting in with a glass before Alex could abscond with the whole bottle.

Alex let out a noncommittal noise while focusing her attention on pouring herself a generous glass.

“I’m just saying—it’s been a while since you dated anyone…”

“I am not going to pick someone up off of Craigslist,” Alex hissed, shaking her head and finally taking a sip of the wine she’d been eying since they walked in the door. “Much better. Now you can deal with mom and the ‘best pie in the galaxy’ while I go have an intimate moment alone with a glass of red.”

“Why don’t you wait for dinner to start drinking, Alex,” came Eliza’s voice. Alex gritted her teeth as she spun around.

“I was under the impression that dinner would be starting soon.”

“Mike’s just running a little late,” Kara explained, shooting Alex an apologetic glance as she made her way back toward the oven where they were keeping the turkey hot.

“So let’s wait to have your fun until then, hmm?”

“Aww, we always have fun, don’t we, babe,” Maggie chimed in, throwing an arm around Alex’s waist and beaming at her as though she hadn’t just stepped into the first of many tense moments to come between mother and daughter. Then again, Alex realized, she had signed up for exactly that. “C’mon, why don’t you give me the grand tour?”

“Yeah, okay,” Alex shrugged, letting herself be guided away from the kitchen and into the living room where Winn and Vasquez had set up some multi-player video game and were currently shoving at each other as they competed both in and out of the game.

“Um, this is the living room…” Alex gestured awkwardly around them before guiding Maggie off to the side. “There’s the bathroom. And through here is Kara’s bedroom.”

“It’s a nice room,” Maggie declared loudly, chuckling at Alex’s startled expression. “Gotta make sure everyone knows we’re just doing a tour, not sneaking off to fuck, ya know.”

Alex glared and shushed Maggie. “Why would anyone think that?”

“Um, cause we’re dating. And it’s boring. And there’s a bed right there.”

“And a room full of people right out there!”

“You hired me to piss off your mom or be the asshole that makes you look good. Do you really have room to judge?”

“Ugh, stop reminding me of what a failure I am.”

“Hey, no, I don’t think you’re a failure at all—that’s not what I said. In fact, I bet you’re anything but. You’re pretty, and you’ve gotta be smart and driven to be a scientist. Your sister looks at you like you’re her goddam hero. And you had a friend concerned enough about your well-being to reach out to some stranger on the internet and subject me to a rather thorough vetting before sending me your address.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, Lucy and Vasquez double-teamed me for some interrogation thing. I mean…I won’t lie, it was kinda hot. But also I felt like if I didn’t pass I maybe would’ve disappeared without a trace. I don’t know why, but I feel like they could do that…”

Alex shrugged; she wasn’t wrong. “How’d you get all of that in just a few moments?”

“I’m a bartender. I read people for a living.”

“I guess…”

“So, why don’t you fill in the details I missed?”

“Um, Kara works for CatCo as Cat Grant’s assistant.” Maggie whistled, looking impressed. “My mom’s a scientist as well, Dr. Danvers. So was my dad.”

“Divorce?” Maggie asked.

“Um, no, he died when I was younger.”

“Fuck, Alex, I’m sorry—I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine. Not caring about family is your whole schtick, right?”

“Not caring about my family is my thing. That’s—that’s different.”

“What happened to the whole families suck act from the truck?” Alex teased, trying to move away from the topic of her dad.

“Ah, well, most years I’ve done this, I’ve gone to families as shitty as mine. Sometimes with shitty people as my fake date too, so there’s that.”

“So how do I compare?”

“Significantly less shitty. I mean, your mom’s a little judge-y, but she did pull me aside to ask what my intentions were with you, so she clearly cares.”

“Got a funny way of showing it,” Alex snorted.

“Yeah, but at least she’s showing it at all.”

“What’s the deal with your family?” Alex asked, suddenly curious.

“I don’t have one. Got an aunt I go visit when I can afford it, but otherwise it’s just me.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Better off without them.” Seeing the clench to Maggie’s jaw, Alex didn’t push the issue, though she couldn’t help the instinctive anger she felt toward whatever kind of person had left the woman that jaded. She might not get along with her mother, but at the end of the day, at least she knew she was loved, even if it never seemed to come in the way she needed it.

A loud knock on the door pulled their attention away, and Alex sighed loudly as Mike waltzed in, pulling Kara in for a kiss that just seemed inappropriate in front of their friends, but Eliza looked pleased enough to see Kara giggling, so of course now it would be acceptable.

“The boyfriend?” Maggie checked.

“Yep.”

“Should we have put on a show like that?”

“What happened to platonic only?”

“That’s the rule. But I already dislike him enough that I think I could make an exception for a bit of one-upsmanship.”

Alex snickered. “You’re not so bad, you know that?”

“High praise.”

—

The group eventually settled into dinner after an awkward round of toasts that included Mike speaking at great length about what an excellent person he’d become knowing Kara, Alex refusing to speak, Kara attempting to keep the peace, and Maggie giving an effusive speech about how perfect Alex was, including the line: “Best yet, not only is she smokin’ hot, but she’s also really fucking smart,” that had Lucy choking on her wine as she let out a bark of a laugh.

“So, Mark, tell me about yourself,” Maggie said, turning to look at him.

“It’s Mike.”

“Right.”

“Um, I work as an intern at CatCo.”

“Hey, look, babe! Maggie called, patting at Alex’s hand. “I’m not the least impressive person at the table anymore! At least I have a salary!”

“I will have a salary,” Mike protested.

“Yeah, yeah, Matt, whatever you say.”

“It’s not Matt.”

“Right, sorry! Mark—I’ve got it now. Locked in my memory—good as a vault. Mark. Mark, Mark, Mark.” Kara glared. Vasquez bit back a laugh. Lucy snorted into her wine. And Alex slung an arm around the back of Maggie’s chair, thinking this might just be the best idea Lucy ever had. She was definitely enjoying Thanksgiving more than she ever thought was possible.

“So, Mark the intern, tell me more.”

Looking over to Kara for guidance, Mike finally turned back and rolled with it. “Well, I work with Kara.”

“Are you her intern?”

“No, I am not.”

“Gotcha. So is that how you met Kara.”

“Why don’t we talk about you instead,” Kara chimed in, glaring at Alex. She’d been willing to play along but didn’t need to see her boyfriend being attacked all dinner.

“Ah, yes, well, I’m a bartender.”

Kara looked at her expectantly, but Maggie just smiled.

“So how did you two meet?” Mike asked, glad to have the attention off of himself.

“Do you want to tell it or should I, babe?” Maggie asked, looking over at Alex. The panicked glance she got in return was all the answer she needed. “I’ll tell it this time. So, it’s a funny story, right. Cause the first time I see her isn’t quite how we started dating. But I’m driving downtown, and I see this one walking down the sidewalk looking fine as hell in a leather jacket. And I swear, I nearly rear-ended the guy in front of me she had me so love-struck at first sight. But I managed to hit the brakes—couldn’t bear it if something had happened to Gertie—that’s my truck, in case you didn’t get that. She’s a real beauty; you’ll all have to come see her before the night’s over. Anyhow, she probably could’ve survived the crash—really, I could probably hit pretty much anything and you’d never know it. Not that I do,” she added with an exaggerated wink. Alex finished her glass of wine, nearly tipping it completely upside down, while Vasquez dug her nails into Lucy’s thigh to keep her from bursting out in laughter.

“Anyway, I see that she’s going to this coffee shop, so I start popping in just in case—and boom, like an angel, she appears.” But as Maggie got ready to reach the high point of her story—it was gonna be a good one, she could just feel it—a bright flash appeared in the living room, bringing with it a new person, though Alex would bet money he wasn’t human.

Within a moment, the majority of the room had produced guns, batons, and knives from nowhere and stood at the ready, weapons drawn, badges held high, and questions on their lips.

“I come in peace!” the creature yelled, looking beyond intimidated at the less than warm welcome. “But I bring a warning for Kara Zor-El, daughter of Krypton.”

As he turned to look at Kara, Alex swore under her breath, realizing she’d now have to get some random stranger willing to trade fake-dating services for free food on Craigslist to sign extensive nondisclosure agreements. But when she turned she found the woman pointing a gun and holding up a badge of her own.

“NCPD?” Alex hissed, while Kara and Mike moved with the visitor to the living room.

“Well who the hell is gonna let a Craigslist cop crash their Thanksgiving? That sounds like a sting operation if I’ve ever heard one. Besides, you’re not exactly the scientist you told me you were,” Maggie added, gesturing at the baton Alex had pulled from somewhere—where she was keeping it in jeans that skinny, she didn’t even want to guess.

“You’re gonna have some paperwork to fill out,” Alex grumbled.

“Is that about your sister being Supergirl?”

“How in the fuck—?”

“I’m a detective; I detect.”

“So you’re not just a bartender that’s great at reading people?”

“Nah, that was my gig in college, though, if it makes you feel any better.”

“It does not.”

“Fair enough. Anyway, if I’m gonna have to do paperwork, can I at least bring some of this dessert to go? I was promised a free meal…”

#sanvers #crack #alex x maggie #alex danvers #maggie sawyer #lucy lane #thanskgiving #fake dating #susan vasquez #kara danvers #eliza danvers #prompt fill #fanfic #ao3feed #did i mention this was crack

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angeltriestoblog · 4 years

Text

Unnecessary life update

I have officially made it to the halfway point of this quarter. And I don’t mean to sound morbid but I didn’t expect to at all!

It’s just that I’ve recently learned that chronic sleep deprivation actually does lead to premature death and I’ve slept at three in the morning everyday since I started online schooling. (Though actual scientific evidence has always been available on the Internet, I found it easier to believe that this was a hoax.) But concerning as it may be, the past two weeks have been so demanding of my time and energy, resting didn’t seem like an option.

ii.

Much to the dismay of Freshman Angel, most organizations in Ateneo require an interview as part of the application process. I remember signing up for three departments in my home org back then: I sweated my way through one screening, completely flunked the other, and ghosted the last. I also applied to be part of our hosting pool and made a run for it at the last minute: despite having spent only two weeks on campus, I easily found a secret passageway leading to the nearest exit just so that I wouldn’t have to run into the officer in charge of my audition.

Given the unfortunate display of cowardice, it’s hard to believe that this year, I found myself on the other side. I conducted several ICs (rebranded to individual conversations) in an attempt to welcome freshmen, give them a picture of what awaits them in ACTM, and hopefully serve as one of their first friends, if I built enough rapport with them.

The week after, I had to conduct interviews and screen all hopefuls who wanted to make it into my department. I only spoke with 13 of them through a screen but I had to go through three times more application forms, interview footage, and assessments to determine who would make it to our final line-up. One night, I binge-watched the recordings of all the interviews I conducted in chronological order and I didn’t know if I found my waning energy levels depressing or funny. Toward the last few, I refused to turn on my camera because I had gotten a sudden allergy attack.

iii.

And as if the load I bear as an associate vice president in ACTM wasn’t heavy enough, I joined five other orgs last recruitment week. I wouldn’t go and call the quarantine a blessing because I’m not an asshole but these past few months have made me realize that I want to do and be so many things in life and I missed the opportunity to start on them earlier, since I spent the first few years of college hanging around with no end goal in mind. So in a fit of impulsiveness, I signed up for:

The Development Society of the Ateneo, where I will be working either as an advocacy or consultancy trainee under the research and development department (depends on how my interview this Thursday fares);

Ateneo Education Geared Towards Empowerment, where I will be gathering data from our partner communities to help the organization provide quality education given the online setting;

Ateneo Association of Communication Majors, where I will be under the research and development department yet again of MIRLab, their documentary production house;

Ateneo PEERS, where I will be part of a peer support program intended to help in my self-improvement, and that of others as well;

Project Kabuhayan, where I will be participating in initiatives geared towards empowering micro, small, and medium enterprises

I had general assemblies for most of them: had to ditch two for a midterm, and will be watching the recordings tomorrow. I didn’t even have to talk in any of them; simply watch the officers speak about their projects for the year then head on over to my designated breakout room. But the mere idea of being perceived by hundreds of Zoom call participants was already enough to drain my social battery.

iv.

To top it all off, my major tasks for all three subjects I’m taking this quarter were due last Friday. I had a group podcast for Philosophy class which we had to shoot twice on the busiest day of my week. I wanted nothing more than to get it over with, so when we wrapped up our first attempt, we were ready to let it go through some rushed post-production and submit it without giving it a second look. But I couldn’t stomach the thought of submitting subpar work when the task is supposed to be easy, given enough discipline.

Another group I was a part of had a marketing plan (you’ll never guess which subject it was for) that proposed the rebranding of Adidas Originals to cater to an older target market, or “the active ageing”, as we liked to call it. We only found out a couple of hours before the deadline that our professor was not accepting anything over 10 pages just when we had hit the 40-page mark. All of our well-researched, comprehensive parts had to be cut down significantly, which was the equivalent of flushing many sleepless nights down the drain.

And of course, I had a case study and midterm to accomplish for Law. The minute I received the message confirming the submission of my answers, I plopped down on my bed and napped. Later on that night, I released all the pent-up tension in me by going on my first ever e-numan. I never got the logic behind drinking alcohol in front of my computer: I always thought it was a sad attempt to replicate the bustling nightlife of Katip or the intimate energy of barkada chillnumans in condominiums. But I guess all I needed was the right company, and some sweet-tasting Novellino.

Anyway, before this turns into a full-on advert for a brand that isn’t even sponsoring this post, let me move on.

Reading that probably exhausted you. As the one who had to live through all that, I can tell you: it was even more hectic than you think. Before this pandemic was a thing, my schedule was clear-cut. I could tell the days of the week apart, and appreciate the endless possibility brought by Friday evenings. I could wake up at eight on Saturday morning, smile to myself because of how early it is, and go back to sleep without any feelings of guilt.

Now, the line that separates work and home has been completely obliterated. The Internet promotes that I have to be at the top of my game all the time. Every moment spent in rest and recreation is a moment wasted when there’s so much to do, always somewhere to be even if I’m technically not allowed to leave the comfort of my own home.

I would sometimes report to my friends that I threw my circadian rhythm out the window, which would be met with the same well-meaning outcries. “What the hell! Drop all your commitments! Pace yourself! Sleep early!”. I think they know by now that this often falls on deaf ears. Ironically, whenever I observe or hear of friends falling into the same patterns as me, I’m often one of the first to reprimand. I sentence them to early bedtime like a stressed suburban mother of two, and check in on them constantly to see if they’re doing alright. I tell them not to pressure themselves to perform at their very best, while working myself to the bone, writing this ~2,000 word essay at half past two in the morning.

But one conversation I had with one of my friends stood out. He told me how proud he was of me: that even if I’m so busy juggling so many things, it all pays off in the end because I’m genuinely happy and fulfilled. I get to see the fruits of my labor and share it with the world.

Which is so true. I honestly enjoy the success that comes from this hyperproductivity, and take pride in the output that I manage to churn out. I’m willing to give up hours of sleep if it means getting to do what will help me make my pipe dreams a reality, or create something that sets my soul on fire.I don’t mind going out of my comfort zone if it’s to talk to new people who have the potential of being some of my greatest friends in the future, or advocating for causes that I’m passionate about.

In fact, I am so willing to prolong my period of working to welcome the new members of my department or create even more articles to talk about pressing cultural phenomena. It will be hard as hell while the sacrifice is still ongoing but I always know that it will lead to something greater and bigger than I am.

Besides, when I feel like I can no longer take it, I don’t think I’ll have it in me to force myself. It might not look like it but I am afraid of the serious health risks and will try to slot in more time for sleep if need be. But I have no plans of backing out of anything right now since I’m still on top of everything. Guess I’m fueled by a genuine desire to give/be/do as much as I can, while I still can.

Where did this post even go, honestly… This was supposed to be a simple life update, complete with a pop culture recommendation to supplement my experiences. I did not expect it to spiral the way it did so now I have no idea how to transition from one part to the next in a way that isn’t entirely awkward. Oh well.

I managed to preserve my sanity these past two weeks by listening to only one artist. Anyone who follows me on Spotify must think that their Friend Activity tab is glitching but the rumors are indeed true: I have been listening to chosen songs from The Boyz’ discography on a constant loop, like an actual zombie. Count on me to get into a new K-Pop group during the busiest week of the quarter as a coping mechanism.

I was an anti of this group when they first debuted because they are home to a former Produce 101 contestant whom I hated. (Still do, up to now. Don’t know how to reconcile my conflicting feelings.) So you could say I was heavily biased from the start and refused to give them a chance. Thankfully, one of my best friends recently converted after watching them on Road to Kingdom and sent me some of their performances to reel me in. Since I am a girl with a working brain and pair of eyes, I was easily impressed. When they came back recently with The Stealer, I officially fell and made no active efforts to get up.

If there are any Deobis reading, (1) congrats, you are a person of taste; (2) please be my friend. My current favorite songs other than their latest title track are No Air, I’m Your Boy, and Break Your Rules. I’ve also started most mornings with their Danger live stage. Who needs caffeine when you have acrobatic stunts and good-looking men?

I also have a lot of exciting things coming up, which I just felt the need to share:

I’m going to be a panelist at a talk for Developh, an organization I’m a part of which leverages technology for social good. This Friday, October 16th, I’ll be joining three brilliant go-getters from different fields to talk about my internship at makesense Philippines (which warrants another blog post) as well as my experience as a freelance writer.

I have a couple of published pieces in the pipeline right now that I absolutely cannot wait to share! I honestly think they’re some of my favorites. Over the past few weeks, I have written about Internet study communities, the Subtle Asian Dating Facebook group, and unpaid internships. I’ve also pitched a couple more to my bosses and they’ve given me the green light at the same time so yes, once again, I am running on tight deadlines.

I’ll be applying for internships once this quarter is over and I’m already considering a couple of start-ups as good prospects. I’m making my personalized CVs for each company and saving the contact details of the designated point people in a neat little Notion spread for easy access.

Feels weird to end this post with stay safe and healthy, and don’t forget to rest. Maybe I’ll just make that a note to self.

Love and light,

Angel

#angeltriestoblog #life updates

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