#which is ridiculous because it already has 20 million areas | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atzsslut · 4 years ago

Text

requested by @let-this-be-a-lesson from this, and this list.

chosen prompt(s) :

#1 - “Is that my sweater?”

#11 - “If you were my boyfriend/girlfriend/partner, I’d probably never stop staring at you.”

pairing : bang chan x fem ! reader

genre : fluff

warnings : long time best friends, very obvious crushing, kind of more than friends (unidentified relationship) to lovers, implied slow burn

word count : 2.4k words

You promised to meet Chan almost an hour ago.

The adrenaline coursed through your body as you ran out of the bathroom after a shower, which was relatively dangerous but you didn’t care, sprinting back to your room to get into some decent clothing.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you almost punched it from the frustration. But you didn’t, of course, as if you didn’t have enough bad luck already.

Are you that stupid to have fallen asleep on the couch? You thought to yourself. You were much too thankful that you already washed your hair in the morning, so it looked good enough now.

As you dropped your towel, you swore that you’ve never grabbed such a mismatched set of underwear and bra before, but it didn’t matter. You’d opt yourself to become quicksilver if it was for Chan.

Your hands let themselves skim through until your phone lit up on top of your cupboard and showed three notifications from the man himself. You froze in your spot reading the following messages.

chan: okay :( if u insist [5:02 PM]

chan: but since u seem tired [5:03 PM]

chan: i’ll pick u up since i’m only 10 mins away [5:03 PM]

Your mind went back to when you had woken up to three missed calls from Chan, various texts asking if you were alright since you never missed a ‘hangout’. At least, that’s what you two always called your frequent meets.

Your first instinct was to call him back, your voice rather nasally from the blocked nose you always got after sleeping. His kind voice kept replaying in your head;

“Chan, I’m so so sorry-”

“Oh, did you just wake up?”

“I.. yes. Yes I did. I’m so sorry, I fell asleep because I ran a million errands up until 3pm.”

“Hey, no. It’s okay. It’s not your fault. Do you want to move our hangout to some other day? I think I’m quite free this week.”

“No, no. I need to see you, honestly. My stress has piled up and it’ll be great to see you. You always cheer me up.”

“I try my best, Y/N. I’ll wait for you as long as you’d like. Go get ready!”

“Will do, Mr. Bang. Thank you so so much!”

The last thing you heard after the call ended was his farewell that was mixed in with his infectious laugh, and that was when you ran towards the shower to get the thin layer of sweat that always came after a nap in the living room.

Your fingers quickly typed away a ‘did god send u down to me as my angel or smthn THANK U BANG CHAN’ before going back to rushing to pick out a nicer outfit.

Because of him willing to pick you up, you had an extra ten minutes to get ready but your mind was still blank from the adrenaline rush. You had picked yourself out a cream-coloured pleated skirt, but you had no idea what to pair it with until you saw a familiar black sweater pushed to the back of the drawer.

You weren’t too sure why it was familiar to you, but it was nice enough for you to use with the skirt. For a reason you couldn’t pinpoint, it hugged your body well enough, but the area where you could see the stitch of the shoulders were clearly too broad for you, falling around the middle of your upper arms.

Strange, you thought, I don’t remember buying this but it’s so comfortable.

And just like he said, Chan was there in ten minutes, voice heard through your apartment intercom, asking you to come downstairs. Although you tried to ignore it, you were excited just from hearing his voice through that old system speaker.

Taking the elevator down to the lobby, you smiled seeing the boy standing around, clearly waiting for you to come down, as he kept shifting his feet.

It was music to his ears as well when he heard you call out his name. Although he would never admit it, or so he thinks, he swore that he heard a hymn whenever ‘Chan’ spilled from your lips. But he shook that away when he reached in for a side hug.

“Hey you.” he said, “You look awfully fresh for someone who just woke up.”

“I work my magic.” you boasted, not wanting to admit the fuss you made for him. Since Chan was a bit taller than you, not by too much (which you teased him about, but he only let it be because it was you), you held onto him as well by slinging your arm around his waist.

And as you both walked to the parking lot at the front, stuck together like two pieces of paper with a hefty amount of glue in the middle, that was when Chan stopped right in front of his car.

You looked at him with concern, thinking that he’d probably left something inside, “Did you forget something?��

He paused, looking at you with the face he’d make whenever Felix did something strange. That wasn’t new, but you felt flustered when he let you go and stood in front of you, arms crossed, eyes checking out your whole body.

You looked at him strange, not understanding what he was doing. Your hand only clutched your bag strap harder, not understanding the situation. But before you could say anything, he cut you off.

“Is that my sweater?”

And the realization hit you.

A few months ago, Chan had gone to your place to spend some time with you after not getting to meet you for three weeks. But of course, the two of you did not look at the weather forecast when a rainstorm dawned over the whole of Seoul.

You insisted that Chan should not be driving in this weather in fear of a accident, but he did have to get his car to the indoor parking lot incase it began to hail. However, once he had gotten back, the umbrella you had given him was soaked and so was he, the two of you getting into a hysterical laughing fit at the state he was in.

In all seriousness, you did quickly get him out of the clothes he was wearing and washed them, shyly looking away when he directly began to take his shirt off in the living room until you yelled “Chan! I have a bathroom!”

However, as the night passed, after he slept in the same bed as you, finding his arm around your waist in the morning to which he quickly pulled away in surprise— he left with only his jeans and socks that had been dry cleaned.

“Oh shit, this is your sweater!” you swore, the event having replayed itself in your forgetful mind, “I’ll clean it after this and give it back to you.”

“Oh, no. You look better in it than I do.” he complimented.

In between your reminiscing, he had clicked the car key, making the vehicle make the familiar unlocking sound and flashing lights. Running over to your side, he opened the door for you.

“M’lady.” he offered,

“M’Chan.” you joked, only to laugh for a bit then go in with a murmured, “Sorry that was cheesy.”

“It was!” he admitted, yelling so you could hear him through the car glass since you closed the door already. He did his little jog over to the drivers seat and went it rather smoothly, not that you were impressed by that.

“So, arcade?” he asked, smiling when you nodded and tapped excitedly on his dashboard.

Once again, in ten minutes, the two of you had reached the destination, quickly running out as if the both of you were six, and not in your early 20s.

As you ran into building, fluorescent hitting your eyes with a familiar nostalgia coming alongside them, much too familiar from the high school days of you and Chan going to another arcade that was already closed down now.

“So, what do you want to do first?” you asked, as if you didn’t guess the answer already.

Chan looked forward, scanning the place more and finally seeing a row of big, bulky, metal boxes that couldn’t be missed. He pointed at them, rather cutely to add, smiling down at you.

You gave him an excited grin back, happy that you guessed right in your head. You walked ahead, pleased to hear him tread behind you at a faster pace to catch up with you.

Drawing back the curtain, the two of you went inside and swiped the arcade card that you had because of several trips that were forced by your auntie with your little cousins. Luckily, there was still money inside.

The recognizable ‘twinkling’ sound of the photo booth rang in both your ears, opting you to choose the frame decor, etc.

And as the screen showed both your faces, a robotic voice was heard through the same speakers at the sides of the booth, stating ‘please move more towards the centre, thank you’

But if anyone were to look inside, you and Chan were already considerably close, especially since the bench space wasn’t wide at all. But you side-eyed the boy, scooting closer to him as he did the same to you.

You felt his arm squish against yours, feeling flustered at the sudden contact.

“Can..uh..” he trailed, “Can I put my arm around you? I.. I think it’ll make the pictures look less awkward, don’t you think?”

“Y-yeah!” you responded a bit too enthusiastically. Clearing your throat, you gave him the gentle smile that he could never hate, “Yeah. Go ahead, Chan.”

He did as he asked. Unlike the playful hug that you two had shared in your apartment lobby, this one felt more intimate, especially when you saw the screen reflecting the two of you.

You could feel his rings dig against his cotton sweater on your body, assuming now that it was yours, comfortable enough for you to feel secure— at home. Nevertheless, you always felt that Chan was your home.

Your eyes fixated on the screen as you moved forward to press the red button that would soon make you both take simultaneous pictures together.

We look good together, you thought to yourself, Wait what? Shut up.

But why did this feel different? You two had taken hundreds of photos together, varied with ridiculous, attractive, and unnecessary ones. But you swallowed that wondering lump in your throat, quickly dismissing it as you posed with Chan for each one, your vision rather blurry for a reason you couldn’t pinpoint.

And as the twelve clicks ended, Chan stood up first. You were quite upset about the absence of his embrace, but didn’t mind it when he smiled at you like he always did,

“Let’s see the pictures.” he held his hand out for you to take, which you graciously did, feeling the pit of your stomach drop as you, as per usual, questioned what your relationship with him was at this point.

The two pairs of feet, albeit the both of you were wearing matching shoes on accident, met their way towards the printing area. Looking at the screen which read 99% complete, Chan heard the sound of the photo paper hit the stopper that avoided the prints from falling on the ground.

He bent down and took it, showing it to you. Naturally, your arms went around his left bicep, hugging it to look closer. Chan sucked in his breath, knowing that if he was in a cartoon right now, his brown head of hair would be sticking up in all places as a silhouette of his heart pumped dramatically out of his chest.

It was ironic, as most of your friends would say; it was ironic how you two hugged often but got shy whenever your hands would simpy graze, it was ironic how you two were so affectionate yet were so resistant, and it was very ironic that your ‘hangouts’ weren’t dates at this point.

He watched as you pointed at his face from top to bottom, questioning,

“You’re not even facing the camera in most of these! Stop looking at me and look at the lens next time. Do you want to retake these?”

Your question wasn’t too hard, but you didn’t understand why Chan looked at you with such solemn eyes, his eyebrows knitted together as if he was frustrated. But the look was soon replaced with one that held adoration, but that only increased your confusion.

“I mean.. we don’t have to retake these, Chan. What do you want to do?”

“If you were my girlfriend, I’d probably never stop staring at you.”

He didn’t know why he said that. Not a bone in his body was willing to let that out but his mind decided to play a little game of “thinking out loud”. The impulsivity of the statement made the two of your freeze in front of the photo booth.

But there was something that the both of you knew, something that neither of you wanted to admit. You had been friends for too long, had been too close for too long, but what was different now?

Why, after more than ten years of being best friends, was now the best time for you two to be together?

But something resided within you, and in Chan as well. This was to atone for all the pain you two had experienced without one another. You and Chan always wondered why you’ve always loved, but never been in love truly. All this time, the person that was it from the start was right in front of your faces, but pent up denial never allowed it to happen.

Until now.

Somewhere, somehow, this was the universe’s way of telling you that today was that day. You woke up late, wore his sweater, and Chan had slipped up with his thoughts aloud. It made sense.

So, you took a small step forward.

It felt as if the gravity between your feet and floor was much heavier than before, especially watching Chan’s jaw clench out of nervousness, but you knew it was just you mustering up a ton of courage to finally ask,

“Who’s stopping you from asking?”

#stray kids #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids bang chan #skz bang chan #bang chan #bang chan fluff #christopher bang #bang chan x reader #bang chan x fem reader #bang chan x reader fluff #chan x reader fluff #chan x reader #chris bang fluff

280 notes · View notes

mdawritings · 4 years ago

Text

Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 12

II.I

Masterlist

Warnings: References to violence, canon-typical descriptions of violence, crime scenes, and death.

Song(s): "Bruises" by Lewis Capaldi and "I Almost Do" by Taylor Swift

It’s almost eight years until you hear the name Aaron Hotchner again.

You’re anxiously awaiting the call about your reassignment within the FBI. You had completed your year of mandated leave, gone through the required psych evaluations, gone through the training protocols. You’re ready to get back into the action, or, at least, you’re ready enough to get back to work. That’s when you receive the final message.

Your reinstatement was to be within the Quantico headquarters. This way, the brass could keep a close eye on you, while still utilizing your skills in the best possible way. So you flew into Quantico late Saturday night, moving into the cheapest apartment you could find. It was in a terrible area but being out of work for a year leaves you without much spare cash to live lavishly. Without your government-issued weapon, you check the deadlock every time you turn your back to the door for too long.

You have hardly any furniture in the apartment, most of the decor being the piles and piles of boxes in the center of your living room. You’re exhausted, in every possible way, so you settle for a fast shower, during which you’re entirely paranoid someone is going to break into your apartment. You collapse onto your bed, barely having the energy to even put the sheets on the bed to make it. The call comes through your phone shortly after you fall asleep, which means you don’t check your messages until early Sunday.

“This is Erin Strauss of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I’m calling to inform you that the council has processed your psych evaluation and administered a new gun registration and badge for you. You will now be working under me as a profiler within the BAU. It is my understanding that you’ve taken quite a few profiling classes in your training as a negotiator and you’re well equipped for this job. There will be a slight adjustment period but nothing that I do not believe you are capable of handling. You will start in your new position on Monday. Meet me at my office and I can brief you about the basics and then Agent Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, will take it from there.”

You practically drop the phone. Your hands shake slightly, as you click off the phone and place it back onto your bedside table. You write Strauss an email in response, apologizing for missing her call, accepting the position, thanking her for the opportunity, and expressing your immense gratitude for such an esteemed position with such a great team. But that’s a lie. For a split second, you believe it's possible that this Aaron Hotchner is a completely different one than your Aaron Hotchner. You’ve never been a believer in fate or destiny. But for this to be a coincidence is simply unbelievable. Isn’t he supposed to be tormenting more students, torturing more girls, breaking more hearts? How did he end up as the BAU Unit Chief within the FBI?

You’re in shock, Strauss only leaving you about 24 hours to process it all and prepare for a new job. There’s no way you could request reassignment to a different unit. You’ve already been given your second chance. It’s now or never to get back into the FBI.

You’ve been out of work for a year. For a year, you’ve been struggling to cope with the loss of coworkers and innocent people. A loss that’s completely on your shoulders. Blood that’s on your hands. It was enough of an adjustment to get back to normal. Well as close to normal as can be. Your government-issued therapist, as you like to call her, attempted to dismantle this idea. She tried her best to remove the guilt from your mind, but after the government aid for the sessions ran out, you abandoned all hope of restoring yourself to the mental state you were in before. Everything in your life now is the after. You can’t live in the before. It’s too painful.

But now? Now it feels like all the work you’ve done to heal, to move on, to continue your life is rapidly unraveling in front of you. How would you adjust to seeing Aaron Hotchner once again? You hope that by now, he won’t have as much of an impact on you. You’ve experienced so much life, so much living, so much loss since then.

You’ve had other relationships, loved other people, slept with other people, but the impact that Hotch had on your life is permanent. When you think about it too long it feels ridiculous, the fact that a silly little fling in your early 20s has managed to change you so much. So much so, that now, at 29, you can still sense remnants of his impact on your life. They’re small moments, in which you realize that your behavior has changed so drastically over the years because of him. Your tongue is sharper. You stand up for yourself more often, and you never ever let anyone walk all over you the way he did.

You spend the day worrying yourself sick about the new position. You can’t turn it down. This job is your last chance.

Monday morning, your alarm rings wildly next to you in bed, but your eyes are already open. You’ve been staring at the ceiling for the past hour unable to sleep. You’ve been tossing and turning restlessly, unable to focus on anything else but the last few memories you have of Aaron Hotchner. Your mind first goes to that last day of classes, thinking about the way he smiled at you from across his desk. The way that damn leather-bound book felt in your hands. The way that he kissed you. He made you feel so special. Your mind then travels to the rest of that weekend, one in which he managed to rip your heart out of your chest and tear it into a million little pieces.

You think of the last thing you heard from him. Those same words he had spoken to you once before, but spoken to someone else. At that moment, you realized that you were nothing special. You were just another girl Professor Hotchner used for sex.

You’re hopeful that you will be able to move forward with professionalism. There’s a second where you consider the possibility of becoming friends with Aaron Hotchner, but you know that’s impossible. You can’t look at him and ignore all the hurt he caused you. You can, however, be professional. You know you can work with him. It might just tear you up inside, but you can do it. You have to.

However, you wonder what kind of person he’s become in the past eight years. You know you’ve changed dramatically, but what has happened to him? How has his life gone? How did he end up in the FBI?

You wonder if he’s learned to love. The man that you knew was one who was seemingly incapable of ever loving anyone. It’s clear to you that back then he was too selfish, too wrapped up in his own head to dedicate anything real to anyone else. And if he ever did feel anything real for you, he was too emotionally damaged to handle it, work through it, or to tell you about it.

Your alarm rings again. You snooze it again. What will you say to him? What do you want your first words to be to him? Will you tell him off? Should you even acknowledge the past? Or should you just put on your best air of professionalism and approach this as you would any new job? It seems impossible to push aside the past and treat him as a new person. Because he’s not a new person. He’s a man who has shaped every decision you’ve made in your life since knowing him.

You eventually convince yourself to get out of bed, reminding yourself that it’s pointless to fight inevitables. You dig through the moving boxes, pulling out your coffee maker and a thermos, filling it up to the top, already expecting the Quantico office coffee to be bad. You haven’t worked in a year, but you do remember always having to make your own coffee before work.

While the coffee brews, you pack a go-bag, an item that Strauss heavily emphasized the importance of for this job. You would be traveling a lot for each case, and you have to be ready to leave at any moment. You’re not sure why your reassignment is with the BAU. Your therapist emphasized a lifestyle of structure and predictability. If there’s one thing you’ve heard about the life of these profilers, it’s that the hours are irregular.

You get dressed, slipping on a clean pressed, black pair of slacks and a white button-down blouse. You slide on a comfortable pair of boots, ones that look nice and professional but don’t hinder your movement in the event that you get called away on a case.

One benefit of the irregular hours is that your personal time is limited. If you can occupy your mind with work, you can avoid getting sucked up into your own head. Like right now. You grip your bag as it jostles against your side on the bus. You drink your coffee a little too fast, which doesn’t ease the unnatural level of fear coursing through you.

This shouldn’t scare you so much. But the old wounds that you fought so hard to turn to scar tissue are reopening and they hurt just as much as the day Hotch inflicted them upon you.

You get to the Quantico headquarters a few minutes early, giving you enough time to get your new ID from the front desk. You get into the elevator, rocking back and forth on your toes anxiously. He’s here. He could be anywhere. Every time the elevator doors open to a different floor, you fear that you’ll come face to face with him. You’re sure that he’s probably on the sixth floor. The BAU floor. He’s probably in his office waiting to welcome the new agent. Does he know that you’re the new agent? Does he know who you are? Does he know what’s happened to you this past year?

You were assured that most of the details of your ‘leave’ were kept confidential. All that was publicized was a tragic bombing. The bomber sacrificed himself for the cause. Only a few people were able to escape, but all with severe injuries. The FBI didn’t want to admit their involvement. Their failure to save those people. Your failure to save those people.

You get to Strauss’s office, struggling to pay attention as she walks you through the basics, hands you your new badge, and a new gun. You holster the weapon, pulling your go-bag onto your shoulder, fiddling with the straps nervously.

Strauss finishes her introductory speech and takes a moment to look you over, “Agent, are you sure you’re ready to get back to work?” It doesn’t take a profiler to notice your nerves. Ever since the start of your leave, nerves and anxiety aren’t an uncommon occurrence, but this is more than usual. Your body is practically vibrating.

Despite the sick feeling in your stomach, you manage a nod, “I’m sorry.” You apologize for appearing distracted, “Yes ma’am. I’m ready.”

You can tell she’s unconvinced. Strauss leads you through the relatively crowded bullpen. You spot an empty desk across from a woman with long black hair, who is too busy laughing with the blonde sitting on top of her desk to notice that the tall skinny one across from them has just spilled coffee all over himself and his paperwork. You assume that the empty one is to be your desk. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as you glance up at the two offices on the catwalk. One of them has the blinds tightly drawn and through the other, you can just barely see an older gentleman working on his laptop. David Rossi. You know him. You read just about every single one of his books on Sunday in preparation for this new job.

Your profiling skills are mediocre at best. Strauss argues that out of all possible candidates you had the most office experience and field experience. You’re really not sure how that helps. How could a traumatized and failed crisis negotiator who hasn’t been in the field in nearly a year provide anything helpful for the BAU?

Old habits resurfaced and you buried yourself in published literature and textbooks and research. You weren’t about to walk into a new job feeling unprepared, especially not one in which Aaron Hotchner would be your new boss. Now, at this moment, trailing behind Straus, as your body seems detached from your mind, dreading the moment that she opens that door to Aaron’s office, no amount of studying or preparation seems sufficient.

Rossi steps out of his office just as you and Strauss reach the top of the stairs. You lock eyes with him and despite not even knowing who you are, he gives you a reassuring nod. Damn profilers. Your body language is probably a dead giveaway. Strauss knocks on the door.

“Come in.” That voice. You could never forget it. Strauss reaches for the handle and you’re tempted to run away. Turn around and walk away. At least then you could leave with your sanity semi-intact. However, your curiosity has been piqued at this point. You have to know. You have to see him. You step through the doorway into the office and finally get a good look at the man.

He's hunched over, body turned slightly away from the desk. He has a phone pressed to his ear and he’s speaking in a gentle, hushed tone, "Yeah I know buddy." He glances over at you and Strauss. As if out of a movie, he does a double-take. It’s almost as if it takes a second for his eyes to really process what he’s really seeing. And what he’s really seeing is you. The look on his face tells you that he barely recognizes you, now eight years older, in professional clothes, and a face that’s just a little more weathered from all that you’ve been through.

Your memories of him are not faint as your eyes stay locked with his. They’re not just faded remnants of your moments together. Staring at him, eyes drinking in every inch of him, it all comes back more vivid than ever. You can practically feel his fluffy hair tangled in your fingers. From your position, you can just faintly smell his cologne. That’s a scent that hasn’t changed. The sensory memories are overwhelming. The passion, the secrecy, the pleasure. But that quickly changes, making the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach grow at an all-consuming rate. That night. That night he grabbed you by the front of your shirt, the way he snapped at you, the completely ice-cold manner in which you spoke those last few words to him, I’m done.

That Aaron Hotchner is not the man sitting in front of you. You barely recognize him. His hair is shorter, more strictly gelled in place. His white shirt is buttoned all the way up. He has a suit jacket on. His tie is done up perfectly. You can’t help but take note of the bags under his eyes, the increase of lines on his face. Obviously, he’s aged, but the way his face has changed, it’s not just age. You can see his eyes are dull, glossed over. For as neatly put together he is from the neck down, his face looks tired.

Hotch seems to forget he was just on the phone, entirely taken aback by the fact that you’re actually there, standing in front of him. "I’m sorry I can’t be with you right now but get a lot of rest and I’ll be home before you know it. I have to go. I love you too." He hangs up and you try to hide the shock on your face as those words come out of his mouth. Words you dreamt of him saying. Words that haunted you for months nearly a decade ago.

"Agent Hotchner, this is the crisis negotiation transfer I was discussing with you," Strauss nods at you, and Hotch stands up, smoothing out his tie, placing his hands flat on the desk. "This is Agent—"

"Y/N." His voice is firm. Hearing his name fall from your lips is enough to send you running in the opposite direction. Fear and anxiety overcome you, your legs going weak as he sticks out a hand to shake yours, but you can’t seem to get yourself to move forward to touch his hand, "I’m sorry, Agent Y/L/N." He corrects his mistake.

His hand hovers in the air for a moment, waiting for you to reach forward to shake it. Your shoes drag across the carpet, as you reach forward to shake his hand. His warm, rough hand envelops yours. At one point in your life, just the touch of his skin against yours would send sparks up and down your arm. Just that handshake would’ve been enough to ignite your skin and make you feel alive.

You feel nothing. Just a simple handshake. Your heart is attempting to jump out of your throat, beating rapidly and pounding against your ribcage so hard you think your chest visibly moves. However, his touch no longer thrills you. Maybe you are finally over Aaron Hotchner.

"You two know each other?” Strauss gestures between the two of you.

"No," You reply without missing a beat. You shake your head, finally able to get words out. You have to force your eyes off of Hotch and look at Strauss, "Well, yes. Agent Hotchner lectured at my law school a few times. When he was a federal prosecutor.”

Strauss gives a small nod of acknowledgment, “Agent Hotchner can show you the ropes from here. I expect updates from the field,” Her eyes shoot over to you. Updates about you, she means. In case you manage to fuck up again.

You watch as Strauss leaves the office not turning your eyes to Hotch at the desk in front of you. You look out the window, gesturing to the agents in the bullpen you passed, “I’m assuming the extra desk in the bullpen is mine?”

Hotch tilts his head down, letting out a small breath, “Yes. Agent Y/L/N—”

“And everyone in the bullpen, is that the whole team? I know Agent Rossi’s office is next to yours and I only saw three agents in the bullpen but I assume there are more?”

“Yes. We have a technical analyst and another member of the team. You’ll be introduced to them shortly, however–” that’s not what he really wants to talk to you about. Its clear that there’s so much he wants to say, but you don’t give him a chance to speak. You keep your mind focused on the important questions on there about the job. You know that a conversation with him about anything else just might break you.

“And in terms of training, you can see I passed my gun qualifications again. Are there any other evaluations or training protocols? Or will my time from the academy be sufficient preparation for this position?” You rattle off your questions. His face is a mixture of shock and frustration. He has his arms crossed against his chest. He tucks his bottom lip in, biting at it lightly.

“Y/N,” He places his hands firmly down on the desk. This time he doesn’t answer your questions. He’s tired of your avoidance, “What are you doing here?”

You take a pause at the sound of your first name, swallowing slowly, “I’m here on reassignment from crisis negotiation. I’m supposed to be working as a profiler on your team in the BAU.”

“You know what I mean,” Hotch presses the issue a little further.

“With all due respect, I’m not sure what you are searching for from me but if the implication is that I am here for anything other than the job then you are sorely mistaken,” You huff out and cross your arms against your chest, mirroring his closed-off body language. “Sir.”

“That’s not what I was implying,” Hotch places a hand on his forehead, rubbing roughly, trying to ease his frustration. You’re not quite sure where he gets off being so short and snippy with you. “I’m just… The last time I saw you, you were on track to be a lawyer and now you’re standing in front of me, in my office, joining my team. It just all seems very—”

“Sir?” You turn and see a different blonde standing in the doorway. She has a bright pink floral dress on, two large flowers in her hair, a file in her hands, and a pink fuzzy pen tucked behind her ear. “Sorry to interrupt,” She steps forward, stumbling a little in her high heels, sticking her hand out to shake yours, “Penelope Garcia, technical analyst, computer geek, and all-around wizard of the keyboard.”

You smile at her and stick your hand out to introduce yourself, “It’s great to meet you.”

“Sir, you remember that the Indiana PD contacted us about a possible serial?” She lets out a shaky breath, squinting her eyes and looking away as she opens the file, holding it out to Hotch, “Another body.”

Hotch has to reach past you to take the file and you audibly suck in your breath as his arm glides past your torso. “Same signature?” He looks over the photos.

Garcia lets out a small shudder, “Yeah the victim’s hands… the unsub he… don’t make me say it, sir.” She squeaks out.

“Gather the team,” He gives a nod before finally looking back at you, “You think you’re ready to get back to work?”

“Yes Sir,” You sigh, pull your go-bag further up your shoulder. You start to follow him out the door but he stops short in front of you.

“We’ll talk later,” He stumbles over his words a little. You’re making him nervous. You see his hand at his side. His fingers rubbing against one another. There’s one thing that hasn’t changed in years. He still has the same nervous behaviors.

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about,” You mumble under your breath as you follow him to the conference room. You speak quietly but from the way he tilts his head, stretches his neck, and takes a deep breath, you know your comment was loud enough for him to hear.

You take a seat at the roundtable, watching as the three agents from earlier are now joined by a tall, muscular black man who ruffles the top of the skinny kid’s head, messing up his hair, “I’m just teasing kid, I like the haircut. Makes you look young.”

“Yeah like I need anything to make me look younger. Everyone already thinks I’m a teenager,” The skinny one tries to smooth his hair back into place, but it doesn’t really help, leaving small strands sticking up in the air.

“Everyone this is Agent Y/L/N, she’s joining us from Crisis Negotiation,” Hotch pulls out his chair, right next to yours. You feel your whole body tense up, as the close proximity really allows you to smell his familiar cologne. Eight years and he still hasn’t bought a new one. Great.

“Joining us?” The muscular one stands just a bit behind you, making himself a cup of coffee but turns and walks to take a seat, giving you a slow once over. It’s not a flirtatious one, but a wary scan of your body. You’re becoming acutely aware of how exposed you feel in a room full of professional profilers.

“Strauss thinks we need the extra help, especially with the recent increase in requests for BAU help, and I don’t disagree with her,” Hotch looks around the table at his coworkers before looking to you, “Agents Prentiss, Morgan, Jareau, Rossi, and Dr. Reid.” Hotch points out each member, who all give you small nods and waves of acknowledgment as he introduces them.

“Crisis negotiation, huh?” Morgan continues to push the subject. You can tell he’s not really happy about a new addition to the team. You’re guessing it’s coming from a place of protectiveness of his team. You understand his hesitance. The team probably works well together, a new person is a whole new dynamic. If you could pick any other position you would, you have no specific interest in the BAU, but it’s a second chance and you’re not going to screw it up, no matter how much you wish that anyone else in the world besides Hotch was unit chief.

“I think the job took a small amount of profiling,” You shrug and give Agent Morgan a smile, hoping to get in his good graces soon, “Obviously not as much as this but it did take a level of interpretation of the behavior of criminals who take hostages in addition to a complex understanding of intergroup dynamics and how that might impact a situation.”

“There’ll be time to play nice and get to know each other later,” Hotch cuts the introductions short. “Garcia, the case?”

“Right,” She clicks on the monitor at the front while Hotch slides a tablet over to you. You take it from him, your fingertips just brushing against his. Everything about the interaction feels like eight years ago. He manages to keep his best poker face, all the while you feel the small sparks shoot across your skin. Those damn sparks. Except you’re very quickly realizing that the Hotch in front of you is nothing like eight years ago.

There’s something deeply broken about his eyes. You could never forget those eyes. When you first met him you thought they were deep brown. Then you spent enough time watching him, studying every detail of his face and learned that they were a beautiful light brown. Small golden flecks in his eyes become more pronounced in the sun. His eyes are different now. First of all, the deep undereye bags that frame them make him look years older than his actual age. His brow seems permanently set in that furrowed position. It’s a familiar expression of his. You had the joy of seeing that brow lift when the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. Smiling seems to be the last thing this current Aaron Hotchner wants to do.

You realize you’re staring a little bit too long and tune back into Garcia’s case briefing, “All three victims were undergraduate students. Indiana’s campus hosts both undergrad and grad students from the law school and med school.”

“Which means a huge suspect pool.” Hotch points out.

“How are we sure that the unsub is from inside the community?” You look around the table. You can see the way that Morgan’s brows raise at the question. How else are you going to learn without asking questions?

Rossi, however, swoops in to save you from embarrassment, “The first victim had mace in her backpack, however, she never used it. The second victim had no defensive wounds on her body. The third victim—”

“Was killed in an office meeting room. To gain access to that building you need a school ID,” You nod, filling in the gaps. “I forget that technology and security have dramatically improved since I was in school.”

“Come on, kid, at least you had cell phones in college,” Rossi gives a small smile, nudging your arm.

“And how do we know these are all connected?” Morgan gestures to his tablet in front of him.

You scoff slightly and look up at Morgan, “I’m sorry, I know it’s important to find common victimology, MO, or signature before connecting the crimes but how many violent crimes occur on college campuses in this short of a time? They have to be connected.”

“Statistically, some of the most dangerous and violent college campuses report that nearly 10 students for every 1000 will be a victim of violent crime. However, that statistic seems to include any form of violent crime meaning murder, negligent manslaughter, aggravated assault, robbery, but most prevalent on most college campuses is rape as a form of violent crime. In terms of how frequent—” The tall skinny one, Reid, rattles off a series of facts at you and you can’t help but smile. He’s cute. He looks about your age, “That was more of a rhetorical question, wasn’t it?”

You fight a smile at Reid’s confused face and nod. “All the victims had the same cuts on their hands,” Prentiss points up at the monitor.

“Weird,” You mumble under your breath.

“What?” JJ turns to you.

“Oh. Nothing it’s just… hands are a weird thing to mutilate. Damage to the face shows high levels of rage and a deep hatred for the victim, removal of eyes or ears or damage to the mouth could symbolize the removal of a sense in order to punish the victims for some misuse of those senses. But hands… hands are different.” You tip your pen back to your mouth, placing the end on your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly as you think. You can feel Hotch’s focus on you. If you turn, you’re sure you’ll just catch him as he looks away.

He’s profiling you. You don’t need to look at him to know that. He was always good at reading you, not that you did much to hide your feelings back then. You felt everything so openly. You were so full of passion, so determined to be the best at everything you set your mind to. Hotch made you realize that feeling everything so deeply, so freely, opens you up to a world of hurt. You put on your best poker face, keeping your body language neutral while you still feel his eyes on you.

“Hands are not inherently symbolic of one thing.” Reid agrees with you.

“So we have to try and decipher why this mutilation is a compulsion for the unsub,” Hotch nods, “Wheels up in 30.” Everyone tucks all their belongings away. Hotch is quick to stand up from his seat at the table, storm down the catwalk back to his office, closing the door loudly. You try to ignore the weird looks from the team as you introduce yourself to all of them.

You watch as Morgan is one of the first to leave the conference room, walking after him, “Hey, Agent Morgan!” You run to catch him at the top of the stairs, “Look I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off so rude in there.” You shake your head.

“No problem,” He states simply, intending to walk down the stairs.

“I get it, I’m new, I’m throwing off the team dynamic and you don’t seem like the type to trust me immediately.” You stick out a hand to shake his, “But I’m committed to this team and I want to earn your respect in time.”

He nods, giving you one of those judgmental once overs again, “From what I can tell, Hotch doesn’t seem too pleased about you being here. Now just because he’s my boss, doesn’t mean I have to always agree with him, but if he’s wary, then I’m wary.” He avoids shaking your hand. Your suspicions about Morgan seem to be proven before your eyes. He doesn’t trust easily. He’s been burned by someone he trusted in the past. You can relate to that. You’re not a very open or trustworthy person anymore either.

“Agent Hotchner and I knew each other a really long time ago. A lifetime ago. Way before his time at the BAU. I’m sure he’s just not thrilled about his past colliding with his present,” You nod taking a few steps back to let Morgan continue down the stairs, “I just hope… I hope you can learn to trust me, and I, you.” You smile softly. Morgan seems stuck in his place. You can’t tell whether or not he’s surprised by your manners, or if you’ve just driven further the wedge between you two.

“See you on the jet,” He speaks up as he walks down the stairs, scooping his go-bag from under his desk and disappearing around a corner down the hallway.

When you turn to walk back to the conference room, you catch Agent Hotchner’s eyeline through the blinds of his office. He’s watching you, studying you, trying to read you. However, he definitely does not get access to you anymore.

You’re determined to keep your animosity towards Hotch private. No reason for the team to detect that anything is wrong. But throughout the case, there are moments it slips. First, it was on the jet...

You step onto the jet, looking around, taking the entire environment in. You were never blessed with a private jet in your time in crisis negotiation, just stuck with driving from place to place. Morgan reaches across you, taking your bag and stowing it away in the back for you. It’s a simple gesture, but from the look in his eye as he does it, you can tell Morgan is already reevaluating his judgment of you.

You’re one of the last on the jet and you see everyone settled around the table and surrounding seats. The only available seat is the one next to Hotch by the window. You’d have to ask him to get up… or squeeze past him. You try to cover it up but nearly everyone notices the way that you eye the seat before deciding against it. You end up leaning against the arm of the sofa that JJ is sitting on. Once again, Hotch’s gaze lingers on you as you do. He’s taking note of the way you’re actively avoiding him, and he’s right. You’re actively avoiding any alone time with him. Minimize the alone time, minimize the pain.

You run through the facts of the case again, Reid rambling on about the significance of hands throughout different cultures, the importance of sensory neurons on the skin of your hands, and how hand size is an indicator for a lot of things. You share a small smirk with Morgan, who is clearly warming up to you because you both know the one thing that hand size is rumored to correlate with.

Morgan shoots you a small smirk before saying what you were both thinking, “That’s interesting and all kid, but any knowledge in that big brain of yours about whether hand size is related to—”

Hotch cuts off Morgan, “Focus, please.” He gestures with his hand to stop the conversation and you have to hide your smile. It’s nice to smile. You weren’t expecting to feel anything but pain today. Hotch puts a fast end to that feeling of happiness.

“When we land, JJ and Rossi head to the local police and talk to the families of the victims. Prentiss and Morgan, you’ll head to the ME, get a better evaluation of the state of the body,” Hotch pauses for a second. He takes in a slow breath as if preparing himself for what he’s about to say. Once he says what’s coming next, it’s all official. You start your first case. He’s your boss, you’re his subordinate. You’re in each other's lives again whether you like it or not. “Y/L/N, Reid, and I will go to the most recent crime scene,” Hotch nods and you feel the blood drain from your face, that sick and twisty knot growing in the pit of your stomach. You knew you’d have to work with him, that’s part of the job, but he’s already keeping you close to him. Maybe he doesn’t trust you.

From the way he spoke to you in his office, it’s clear he thinks you’re here as some sort of revenge. Some convoluted vindictive scheme to ruin his life.

“You look terrified,” Prentiss tries to tease you.

You look around at the team and shake your head, “College campuses,” You scrunch up your face in disgust and shake your head, “Undergrad sucked because I was younger than everyone, so I missed out on all the fun.”

“Damn, we got another kid genius on our hands, don’t we?” Morgan reaches out a hand to high-five you. “Like our own female Einstein.” Your eyes immediately flick to Hotch. That nickname. No one’s called you any form of that nickname since him. “Watch out Reid, you’ve got competition.”

“I was 14 when I was in college,” Reid states in an attempt to one-up you, but it’s clear that he’s just joking. He knows he’s smart but he doesn’t seem like the cocky type, at least what you can tell so far.

“Don’t worry, brainiac,” You laugh at him, “You are the only genius on this team.”

“And grad school?” JJ pipes up, catching onto the way you dropped the sentence.

“I dropped out of law school after my first year,” You clear your throat uncomfortably, “Wasn’t for me I guess.” The air seems suffocating. Your face is burning hot. You feign extreme interest in the crime scene photos on your tablet, knowing that if you look up, your face will give you away to Hotch. The last thing you want is for him to know how much he affected you.

He said it himself: So in 10 years from now, when you're at the top of your career, know that it's all because of me. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Everything that has happened for the past eight years happened because of his impact on your life.

You remind yourself yet again to try and keep the conversations focused on the case. The team wants to get to know you, but every personal conversation seems to lead back to Hotch.

The second slip-up comes when you arrive at the crime scene...

“She told her roommate she was coming here to study, that she had booked the meeting room just for herself.” Reid lifts up the crime scene tape, holding it up for you to slip under. You give a small smile at the gesture.

“But she told her friends she was meeting with her professor here for extra help.” Hotch shakes his head, pulling on a pair of gloves. You glance over at Reid as he does the same.

He looks at you for a second before he raises his brows in realization, letting out a small ‘oh.’ He digs into his pocket and hands you a pair of gloves. “I usually grab them from the crime scene team,” He nods.

You take them from him, “Thank you.” You like Reid. He’s kind and smart and polite. He’s your age, but you can see that he’s worlds ahead of you in terms of knowledge. You wonder just how much is going on inside that brain of his. When you look at him you can see the gears constantly turning, he’s always working over something in his brain, forming theories, or running through facts.

“She was stabbed in the back and the back of the head, correct?” You glance over at Hotch for confirmation.

“Yes.” He plays with the fingertips of his gloves, paying more attention to you rather than the scene. Without the body, there’s not much to go on, it’s your average office space. You see a log on the wall with the names of who has scheduled the room. They haven’t wiped away the victim’s work from the whiteboard. It looks like some form of math.

“Linear algebra,” Reid speaks up as he sorts through some of the papers left on the table in the center of the room.

You nod and smile, “Math never was my strong suit in school. I was definitely more entranced by a book rather than formulas and numbers.”

Reid’s face lights up with joy, “If you ever want any book recommendations, please do ask. I just finished an absolutely amazing biography about Albert Einstein. It’s not that long of a read. It’s only about 1200 pages. You know I’m sure that I have a copy…” He catches sight of Hotch’s stern expression, stopping himself mid-sentence.

You both go silent as you skim through the pages of work scattered on the floor. You then analyze the writing on the whiteboard, leaning in close. Hotch speaks up again tilting his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in confusion at your behavior, “What are you thinking?”

“It wasn’t random. This was planned out. The unsub specifically sought out her.”

“How do you figure that?” Hotch questions you, but not in the hostile accusatory way you’re expecting.

You hesitate, losing your train of thought the longer you look at Hotch, so you look back to the whiteboard, “When you’re waiting to meet someone, you expect someone to come in, right? So if she had her back turned, writing up equations on this whiteboard, she wouldn’t think twice of the door opening. If you’re not expecting someone and you hear the door open.” You point at the whiteboard.

“You would turn around to see who it is,” Hotch finishes your sentence.

“That’s why all her wounds were to the back,” You fall into a rhythm with Hotch. He’s following your train of thought.

“So the unsub had to know she would be here ahead of time,” Hotch sighs and digs in his pocket for his phone, “Garcia, I need your help.” He clicks his phone onto the speaker and places it down on the table.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Her chipper voice comes through the phone. You can picture her office probably matches her appearance. Probably bright, full of color. For a technical analyst, she probably still has a hefty collection of colorful and funky pens. You remember the octopus mug she was holding when she walked into Hotch’s office this morning.

“This building has a key card access system. Can you access the log of everyone who swiped into this building on the day and around the time of the third murder?”

“Sir, it’s not a matter of can or can’t. You know I can,” Her voice is laced with a smile.

“Check that list for the professor that she claimed she was meeting with,” Hotch adds.

“He…” She trails and you hear the ambient sounds of her rapid typing and clicking. There’s a pause. Her voice grows small, “He accessed the building around the time of her death.”

“He’s our prime suspect. We need to bring him in,” Hotch concludes, “Garcia, you’re the best.”

“Aw I know,” She giggles softly, “PG out!”

“Imagine that,” You chuckle bitterly, “She comes in here to meet her professor, someone she trusts, and she gets stabbed in the back.” You shake your head, the words slipping out before you even realize the weight of what you’ve implied.

Reid doesn’t catch on to the look that you and Hotch exchange. Hotch looks as if he’s seen a ghost. He’s not shocked by what you’ve said, but by the fact that you even said anything. It’s the first sign of hostility towards him. The first crumb or clue into how you feel about him after all these years. The answer is betrayed. You still feel betrayed.

“We should deliver the profile.” Hotch leaves the crime scene at a brisk pace, leaving Reid clueless, and you and that damned twisting knot of anxiety in your stomach.

The rest of your interactions with Hotch are limited for most of the case, restricted to only group discussions that are entirely professional. No more slip-ups, no more sideways glances. What all your interactions were rife in, was that intrusive look of his eyes. Every few minutes you can feel his eyes on you, scanning your posture, your facial expressions, searching for any idea of what you might be thinking or feeling.

You try your best to avoid it, opting to go check out every lead, just for the opportunity to get some space from him. You feel smothered and suffocated. You’re so on edge, you’ve torn your nail beds to shreds. He is seemingly unfazed by your presence. That is if you don’t consider how often you catch him rubbing his fingers at his side or up by his face or biting his bottom lip. Every time you catch him, however, he stops.

You’re having a difficult time reading how he feels about you being here. You just want to know how he feels about you after all these years. Does he still harbor feelings for you? Does he still care about you? The sleep deprivation from working so hard and the excess caffeine you’ve consumed don’t help to slow down your thoughts which seem to be moving at a million miles a minute. At least while you’re working you can put all your energy into solving the case, helping the team, and parsing through evidence.

It gets worse at night when you’re alone in the hotel room. You try to bring the case file back into the room, working on it in bed until you can barely keep your eyes open, but you find that you don’t get any work done, your brain a continuous stream of questions.

You’ve been able to profile every member of the team pretty efficiently. You have a good understanding of how Reid’s brain works. The comfort that he has with numbers and facts. He uses his intelligence to cover up for his social insecurities. Morgan puts on a tough exterior, but really he’s hesitant to let people in and trust them. Prentiss, similar to Morgan, seems to keep everyone at arm's length, preferring to be the confidant rather than the one doing the confiding in someone else. JJ struggles to separate her emotions from the work, a quality that is not in and of itself a flaw, but you can tell it weighs on her heavily. Rossi has the most experience and constantly feels inclined to be a figure, a leader while trying to balance cooperation rather than individualism. He’s used to being a lone wolf, doing the job on his own.

This new Aaron Hotchner is a mystery. He’s closed off. He is entirely business. Even when Garcia cracks a joke or embarrasses herself. You all laugh and smirk at her, but his face never changes. When you all get off track, he sternly reminds you of the importance of the case at hand. That’s his job, but there’s something more to it that you can’t quite figure out. There’s a sense of urgency, as there usually is with these cases, but almost this feeling that he’s constantly running out of time.

Even his office provided you with very little to profile. You remember a few photos from Hotch’s office. One of him and a small boy. A son, possibly? There was another of him and a blonde woman hugging the little boy. Your first guess is wife, but you don’t remember him wearing a ring.

You can’t profile him. He’s closed himself off to that. Yet you find yourself coming back to the same question over and over again, does he still care about you? You get a glimpse at the answer as you and the team track down the location of your unsub, three days into the case.

You lean forward from the backseat of the SUV, looking between Morgan and Hotch in the front, “What does the profile say about this kind of unsub’s behavior once faced with police and authority like us?”

The two men exchange knowing looks. You have your suspicions but you really just want them to vocalize what you’re thinking, “He won’t let us take him in without a fight.”

“Suicide by cop,” You mutter frustratedly, “Great.”

“It’s likely, but that doesn’t mean we don’t try to talk him out of it.” Hotch clarifies, gesturing with an outstretched palm that he takes off the wheel temporarily. He pulls up to the small house, sirens off. “A big show will just scare him into making sudden moves to get us to shoot to kill. Morgan, you head around the back. Y/L/N and I will take the front.”

You nod, knowing the rest of the team isn’t far behind you all, but they’ve all been instructed to try and appear as discreetly as possible. You get out of the SUV, watching as Morgan runs around back. Both you and Hotch approach the door. Hotch kicks the door down. The unsub sits casually in an armchair, holding a gun that he twirls in his fingers. He knew you were coming.

Then Hotch does something that complicates your questions about him. It’s subtle but you notice it immediately. He instinctively moves a little in front of you. He doesn’t block your line of fire, but he blocks the unsubs. He’s shielding you with his body.

Your profile is right, the unsub doesn’t want to be taken in peacefully, resulting in Morgan putting two bullets in him from behind when he raises his gun to you and Hotch. AT first, you think Hotch put his body in front of yours by accident.

It wasn’t an accident. He gave a small look over his shoulder at your location before taking a few steps right, to block you. Then you assume it was purely because of his status as team leader. He doesn’t want the members of his team to get hurt. That also doesn’t seem to make sense to you. No matter how much he wants the team to be protected he wouldn’t do that. He would trust Morgan to get the shot if you two couldn’t.

So why would he shield you?

Almost everyone but you, Rossi, and Hotch are sleeping on the jet home. You have a book out in front of you, but you’re barely reading, just attempting to look deeply enchanted by the novel to avoid any awkward eye contact or conversation with Hotch. The only sounds in the plane are the whirring of the engines, the wind outside, and Hotch’s typing on his computer as he finishes up the report for the case.

Rossi sits down across from you on the jet, placing down a small glass of some amber liquid, which you assume is whiskey, in front of you.

“Trying to get me drunk, Agent Rossi?” You tease him, tearing your eyes away from the book you weren’t reading.

He laughs heartily, taking a sip from his own glass, “I thought I’d welcome you with something from my own personal stash.”

“Where do you keep it hidden in here? You know… just in case I’m curious,” You smirk and reach for the glass. It’s nice of Rossi to sit with you and talk to you.

Rossi just smiles, shaking his head a little, “You did well out there, kid,” He puts the glass down, to roll his ring around his finger. You’ve noticed he does it a lot when he’s thinking. “You can read all the books in the world, but profiling in the field, thinking on your feet, analyzing a crime scene, it’s all much different than the words on a page.”

“I’m realizing that,” You trail your finger around the rim of the glass, “My previous position incorporated a lot of what you guys do here.”

“I’m sure that makes this job a lot harder. You probably want to put the past behind you.” Your head snaps up to look at him. No one told the team where you came from. Even Hotch doesn’t know. “I remember hearing about the incident.”

“The FBI tried to bury their involvement,” You sigh and finish off the glass, noting how smooth the alcohol goes down. You’ve learned how to handle alcohol really well this past year. “They keep all the details top secret. However, that didn’t stop them from throwing me under the bus.”

“What happened in New York was not your fault.” Rossi’s voice drops in volume as he leans closer, keeping your conversation more private, “The brass has a habit of blaming agents instead of criminals. You couldn’t have stopped it. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

You exhale loudly, air rushing over your teeth as you give a little shake of your head in disagreement, “Agent Rossi, I’m sure you’re experienced enough to know this, but as reassuring and comforting it is to hear you say those words it doesn’t necessarily—”

“It doesn’t change how you feel. I know. I understand,” He pauses, “Don’t let it consume you. All of us have been where you are right now. Some of us are currently where you are right now, constantly consumed by guilt over something that wasn’t even our fault.” You get the sense that he isn’t talking about himself. You don't need to reply. The both of you sit in silence for a while.

You start up a conversation again, this time about Virginia and DC, where you’re living, when you moved, what you studied in school, where you grew up. Rossi loves to tease you and every few sentences he’ll simply reply, ‘I already knew that’ acting as if he could profile every fact about you.

You like him a lot. You like everyone a lot. Just as the jet lands and you’re all packing up your desks back at Quantico, Rossi offers to drive you home.

“Let me just check in with Agent Hotchner before I leave,” You glance up at the office. You know you have to check in with him, it’s your first case finished, you’re new, he’s your new boss, but so far, you’ve managed to avoid being alone with him and you’d like to keep it that way as long as possible.

You knock lightly on the open door, to which Hotch responds, “Come in.”

“I just wanted to check-in, you know, with it being my first case and everything,” You nod, taking just a few steps into the office, leaving as much distance between you and Hotch. He stands at his desk, focusing intently on your face. You know he’s trying to read your intentions. He’s searching for the hidden meaning behind your words. And for once, in the past few days, you don’t have any meaning behind your words. You have had enough small slip-ups and double meanings. This time, you truly just mean to check-in.

“You did really good work out there, Agent. You’re a fast learner, you pay attention to details, you work well with the team,” He rattles off a series of compliments, “Strauss is going to request a formal evaluation with me and I’ll be sure to report how quickly you’ve adapted.”

“Thank you, sir,” You try your best to function with the utmost composure.

“Hotch,” He corrects you.

You ignore the correction, “Is that all, sir?”

“If you need anything… I mean I’ve read through your psych evaluations and I know the details are classified but–“ Hotch is struggling with his words. You know what he’s trying to say. He wants to tell you he’s here for you. Funny. Really, it is. Funny that he doesn’t realize the one thing that might send you spiraling is being around him. “I just mean if it all gets to be too much, it’s okay to take a step back. I… I understand.”

“You do?” Your words come out more bitter than intended. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this. You had gone this whole case without snapping. It’s childish and immature. You can be professional. But right now, you can only see one thing: boiling hot rage at Hotch. How could he possibly understand how you feel? You pause to take a breath, “Thank you, but I’m okay. Goodnight, sir.” You walk to the door, wanting to get away from him as fast as possible.

“Y/N—” Hotch calls out, his voice softer, less firm, less professional. “Please,” You beg, finally breaking. Your voice is raw with emotion. You’ve been holding all the pain in for the past three days and your plea comes out sounding more broken than you intend to. You don’t turn around but place a hand on the doorframe. “Please… don’t make this harder than it already is.” You wait for a moment, hoping, praying, that he doesn’t try to talk to you anymore. A moment of silence serves as confirmation that he isn’t going to keep pushing you to talk.

You get down the stairs, meeting Rossi at the elevators. “Thank you… for driving me home.” You try and hide your face from him, hoping he doesn't see the sheen in your eyes as you fight away the tears that have been fighting their way out for the past three days.

“Anytime,” He nods, holding an arm over the elevator doors for you as they open. You think he can sense something is wrong. He’s probably been able to sense something is wrong between you and Hotch since the minute you made eye contact with him your first morning. If he does, however, he also knows not to ask or press the issue.

You flick the lights on in your apartment. You look over the boxes, still left unpacked. Not much of a home yet. You have no place of safety, of comfort yet. You feel like a guest in your own place. However, the thought of unpacking all the boxes right now is way too intimidating.

Deep steady breath in. Shaky breath out. You bite at your lip harshly. You haven’t cried over Aaron Hotchner in years. You drop your bag by the door, kicking your shoes off. You turn to close the door and everything starts to bubble up inside you. The anger, frustration, sadness, heartbreak. It’s all too much. You’ve been through so much these past eight years. This shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. But fuck. It hurts.

You let out a frustrated yell. It’s a scream that feels good to let out but ends up scratching your throat. You slam your fist against the door, ignoring the way it sears your knuckles. You pace your apartment, trying to steady your breathing.

You’ve been suffocating the past three days. Three long days of close quarters with Aaron Hotchner. Even after all these years, he manages to suck all the oxygen out of the room, leaving you breathless. In another life, you remember thinking how much you loved suffocating around him, but now, it tears you up inside. Your chest burns and aches, your head is fuzzy, and his presence is dizzying. It’s not exhilarating. It’s not exciting. It’s not all-consuming in the way you remember. You’re just trying to keep your head above water, but the current is strong and the rapids are relentless. You’re sinking under the surface quickly and you don’t know how to pull yourself up out of it.

You walk over to the stack of boxes, pushing them aside until you find the exact one you’re looking for. You rip open the top, tearing the tape off. The box is full of books, one of many that you brought with you. It’s organized perfectly so that when you unpack it you can set up your personal library just the way you had it back home in New York. So it doesn’t take you long to find that book. That damned book. The cover is faded. The dark brown leather is weathered and much lighter. The spine has lost all structure and the pages have changed color.

You sit down exactly where you stand, cross-legged on the floor, you open to that first page. You look at the all-too-familiar note. You were tempted, over the years, to burn the book, tear that first page out, cross out every one of his notes. But you never could do it. Deep down, no matter how bad he had hurt you, the book seemed to remain separate from that.

Maybe it’s because it’s a constant reminder that you weren’t some naive, foolish, young child. You hadn’t deluded yourself into thinking Hotch cared for you. He did. There was some sense of care and attention to detail. The book is evidence of that. However, it forces you to hold on to an image of Hotch that clearly is not the prevailing personality. Looking at the book reminds you of the bashful, almost embarrassed, man who handed it to you in his office so long ago. The careful way he traced your jawline, the way he tangled his fingers in your hair, pushing it out of the way to really get a good look at your face. That image of him sometimes wins out when you think of Aaron Hotchner. You want to remember him that way, but that only seems to prolong your pain. It makes you want him back.

You lay down on the floor pressing the book close to your heart. You could simply pick up the phone. You could just call him, tell him you want to start all over. But you can’t start all over. Being with Aaron Hotchner was a lifetime ago. That doesn’t change how vividly you can remember being with him. For the first few years, you hated him with every fiber of your being. You thought about what would happen if you ever saw him again. You would scream at him. Tell him off, curse him out. But as the years passed, you stopped hating him. There’s a fine line between love and hate. And as you know, Aaron Hotchner has always been good at keeping lines blurry.

Everything in you is screaming at you to pick up the phone. You’ve dreamed of hearing his voice tell you, “Let’s try again... please.” But you fight the urge. You close your eyes, the cold floor of your apartment sending a chill through you, enough to keep your wits about you.

——

Hotch runs a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes forcing himself to stay awake, forcing his attention back to the case report. His attempts to work fail, his mind always traveling back to you. He knew you would be a different person. It’s been eight years. He’s a different person. What he didn’t expect was how much of you is still the same.

That bright look in your eyes while discussing the case was one he had seen so many times while you poured over a novel in his office. You still talk with your hands, punctuating every sentence with a little shake or gesture of your fingers. You crack your knuckles when you’re thinking.

The differences are clear to him too. You don’t hold your tongue. You’re blunt. Brutally honest, almost to a fault. You seem to have pushed aside any attempt at politeness, or social niceties. You no longer feel so openly. He finds it much harder to read your face and body language. Your thoughts are not as clear to him as they used to be. He used to know exactly what you were thinking. He can tell you’ve practiced your poker face. He tried his best the past three days to get a read on how you feel about him. He doesn’t want to dwell on the past. All of that was before Haley. And indulging in thoughts of before is just simply too painful for him.

He walks to the window, looking out at the city. He wonders where you are tonight. Are you thinking about him? Are you hurting? Or has it been so long that he’s unimportant to you? Is someone holding you close to them, pressing soft kisses to your lips, whispering comforting words?

He could just pick up the phone and call you. He could profusely apologize. Not that his apology would mean anything, but it’s a speech he’s been rehearsing for years. He loved Haley with his whole heart. She was his whole world, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t regret how he treated you. Haley showed him a world of love, yet he managed to ruin that as well. He prioritized the job over her. Look where that got him.

Hotch knows you will never forgive him. He has never forgiven himself, but he can’t help but think about what would happen if he showed up on your doorstep. Would you immediately turn him away? Or would you let him in? Would you hear him out?

He shakes his head, tearing his eyes away from the lights of DC. He walks to the kitchen, pouring a fresh mug of coffee. He can’t call you. Too much has happened. He thinks about the sleeping little boy upstairs. Every night he’s tormented by memories. He can still remember what it felt like to hold Haley’s lifeless body in his arms. When he does get sleep, visions of Haley’s dead eyes, his bloodied clothes, Foyet’s knife, invade his dreams. He frequently wakes up coated in sweat, the scars on his chest and stomach stinging with the same intensity as the day Foyet inflicted the stab wounds.

Which is why he feels immense guilt over the fact that three days ago, he shook your hand to welcome you to the team, and it ignited every nerve in his body. Everything has changed, but your hand in his made him feel alive.

Chapter 13: II.II →

#aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #wanna be yours fanfic #hotch #hotchner #hotch x reader

50 notes · View notes

alovevigilante · 4 years ago

Text

Belief in one’s ability to create is the key to actually generating and experiencing it in 3D form. The brain creates the energy around the desire you feel. It’s a symbiotic relationship.

The reason why you may not be seeing your desires come to fruition in your three dimensional reality is because in some way, shape or form you, yourself, are holding it back in some capacity. How? And why? It could be one of a myriad of reasons.

One reason may be because although you may think you want it, you’re not really feeling it completely. You may be afraid to change into the new reality, and tend to lean towards the older, less desired, but easier because already established one. Like, for example not switching jobs because you are comfortable where you are. You can’t stand your boss, cause he/she/they are an ass, and ask ludicrous things of you daily that are ridiculous and no one should comply with, but, you’re used to it, and you like your cubicle and the hot lunch in the cafeteria, that serves meatloaf on Thursdays, and that’s pretty ok. So, you choose to stay in a situation you aren’t fully down with. And you know what?! The pay blows, and you feel under appreciated, but yet you still continue to hang out in that ass place regardless, cause you know how to get there, even though it’s a 2 hr commute there and back. And that’s cool and all, but not really a reason to stay, but for you, it may be. You may be afraid to navigate the city, to a new location, because Mapquest sent you on a wild goose chase one time, and you ended up in an industrial area with no outlet, when you were trying to get to an important meeting. That can happen. I know, it’s happened to me. And that’s why google maps trounced mapquest. And waze did too. I don’t even know if people use mapquest anymore, because yes, it sends you on a quest alright, but not necessarily the one you signed up for in advance. And that can upset your apple cart greatly, cause you already had the plan! The plan was set! But you are lost now, in an unestablished, incomplete part of town with no one there to guide you out, ok?! And you call where you want to be, and say, “I’m not there! I’m here! And here is ass! Ok!?” But no one answers, cause they’re busy being there, and not in the abandoned, desolate crap area, where you are, by no fault of your own. And you have to call someone yelling, because lost, and where the hell are you?! And it takes you fifty two minutes later, and a tangible map and live navigator, like Keith Richards in pirates of the Caribbean, but on land, not see, and not him, cause he’d probably lead you on a disastrous seafaring mission where you would develop scurvy, but at least you’d get to listen to a decent guitar lick before you die of dysentery, when really wanted to do was to get out of the craziest wilderness that has been given up on, in an urban area.

Cause you found a place, much like Christopher Columbus the director didn’t, that hasn’t been discovered on the map yet, and there you are! And people are counting on you to be in their place at a certain time, and not this barren place, with construction all over creation and tumble weeds that aren’t there cause it’s the city. So what do you do?! I said, what is it that you do?!?!?? You stay, in your tried and true, marginally ok place, and don’t try to move. It can happen...

Another reason may be because some things that you are choosing to partake in, in your 3D life are contradictory to the desire you believe you want. For example, you may want to be an exotic birdwatcher for a living. But you don’t live near anywhere near the exotic birds. You don’t even own a pith helmet or a pair of binoculars. And you don’t have any link to anyone that will hire you to do that, nor do you have any experience or association that would appreciate and hire you for said experience, who would also, in addition to that if you did, fly you to where the exotic birds you want to study, reside. And you refuse to buy the plane ticket yourself! So you mope, and you pout, and you say, “you know what?! I didn’t like those ole exotic birds anyway! Who do those birds think they are? With their feathers and pretty colors?! Screw them!” I mean, how’s a bird supposed to know you’re interested in them?! They can’t go to you, nutball! They’re busy being birds! So, you’re SOL, and it sucks, cause all you want to do is look at and engage in some exotic birds action. But again, you are choosing not to take steps to get near one.

And the third reason may be, because you don’t really believe you’re worthy of being happy. And that’s just ass thinking, cause everyone, is entitled and worthy of that.

All of these things, are bs. You are a creator of your own life with your feelings. So make, deliberate choices to feel good. And by that I don’t mean to mask the feelings by something that may placate the feelings of lack you decided to focus on, and feel better just in the moment, then worse later. I mean, make a conscious choice to feel better than you do right now. And do that, as much as humanly possible, and not the other crap choices that just hinder you in the end.

Creating your reality is a constant, and needs attention to detail, and clarity. The universe refuses to outright give you what it knows won’t light you up, but if you continue to contradict your own desires, it’ll throw up its hands and allows you to experience your own chosen ass flow or, in this case your resistance to your own desires, to be your reality you see through your perception, and that’s what you will experience daily. And I must definitely have have a dragging defiance to a lot of things, because here I sit, discussing all of it, and there’s still things in my life I’d like to see happen, and not just ruminate around in my head as “what if’s”. Like, for example, I’d like a few millions of dollars, a lot of few, like at least over 20, so I can help a ton of people, and myself to things I enjoy, like creative freedom, and the ability to choose my own path in life. I’d also like to pay for my boob lift, no. Ahahaha! Cause they’re ok, and I’ve decided to be cool with them, as they lower themselves down to belly button level, to defend it from countertops and other things that I may lean on from time to time... and other important things like that.

So my long winded and long boobed point is this; being you is great, no matter what your situation. You know why? Cause you’re literally making your life what it is with how you see it, and how you choose to feel about it. And yes, you can switch it up! What an awesome place to be! You’ve made your life, terrible! Which means you’re In the drivers seat of your own life! You did that! You decided, my life sucks! And you see it, in everything and in everyone you talk too! Then you open a window and yell outside, “Yes!!!!! I did that!!!!!! I made my life blow like joe!” Which means to you that you can decide every decision you make from here on out differently with a better, more positive energy. To others, they may witness that and think you’re ready for the booby hatch, cause they won’t know the context of your exclamation. But that’s none of your concern. You did it! You figured out that you can decide closer, or farther away from what you want. And the more you move towards you truth, the better you’ll feel. And that feeling will take you all kinds of places and put you in front of all kinds of fun people doing amazing things you never thought possible! And you, are the one feeling, and thinking and doing your way to it! You choose better and better, and before you know it, your ok life has turned pretty damn good, to super great! And so on, and so forth. And on and on and on we go, experiencing exactly how we want to feel minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day, month by month, and year by year, happier and better, and healthier and wealthier and wiser and more crazy and fun and silly and artsier and more and more creative and in the love til poof! You explode into another higher dimension because you’re so happy with everyone everywhere, and it’s all due to your thoughts. 🙌💕

That’s life. Pretty cool.... But you gotta believe it. Then from there it’s all about the inspired action, Jackson... 🤷‍♀️😉😆💪💕

#choose love #love matters #love manifestation #self reflection #self love #self esteem #selfworth #self improvement #self care #self development #selfie #selfie love #me #a love vigilante #life #life blogger #life choices #life is what you make it #keith richards

20 notes · View notes

fvrxdrm · 4 years ago

Text

City of the Living Dead

Chapter 6

"September 28, 2:30 am... It's down to just me and 3 others. No weapons...no ammo...and too many skirmishes have drained us mentally and physically. We're not gonna make it... Officer Phillips once suggested we escape through the sewers. Apparently, there's a secret tunnel under this place left over from its museum days. I brushed her idea off before, but now, it's not sounding all that bad. Yeah, there's no proof there's even a tunnel or that the sewers aren't infested with zombies, but I don't wanna sit here and wait to die, either. It's a long shot, but I'm gonna try to find out what I can about that tunnel... Elliot Edward," you read, "Shit. Rest in peace, buddy." You placed the transcript back to where you found it and proceeded in scanning the room you and Leon were in.

It was an office of some sort with mahogany desks occupying the center, swivel chairs pointing towards every direction, some paperworks piled in a stack and some (or rather most) cluttered all over the tables and floor. It looked like a hurricane together with an earthquake and a tsunami clashed and crashed in the area.

"Leon, w-" your head twisted and turned as you looked for best friend and even called out to him when you found him just staring at something on the ceiling, his trembling lips pinned in between pearly-white teeth, eyebrows furrowed upwards, and eyes looking like a dam was about to breakdown because of too much pressure. You went towards where he was standing and followed his gaze. You gasped. He was looking at stringed triangle banners with letters printed out on each of them

WEL COME LEON

Your face began to mirror Leon's but a pained smile differentiated yours from his as a sudden rush of memory enlightened your brain. "Hey, look, the design's the same as the banner I surprised you with when we were 15," you said, raising an arm to point at the triangular flags.

Leon chuckled softly at what you said and nodded while a sneaky tear flowed down his cheek in a tiny stream. "Yeah."

"Come on, Leon! I worked hard for this." You hauled on your friend's wrist and led him towards his room with a strain as Leon's languor held him back.

"This better be good, Y/N. You fucking woke me up and I'm really close to fucking strangling you." His voice was a little hoarse from having just woken up right before you pulled him off of the couch and he was still lowkey tired because of the three-hour rest he had last night, but as much as he wanted to throw you out of his house and fall into a well-deserved slumber again, he was into surprises and was curious as to what you had in store. So, he went along with it even though he was pretty much a sloth still.

"I promise you'll love it." You chortled.

Leon sighed in defeat before loosening up and letting you pull him towards where you wanted to take him for this so-called surprise with a rub of his crusty eyes.

When a familiar door came into view in front of you, you covered Leon's eyes with one of your hands and twisted the door knob, revealing a bedroom with a banner hovering over Leon's messy bed, before lightly pushing him inside.

"All right, here we are," you spoke as you removed your hand from your face, moving right beside him to watch Leon's face as it shifted from being enraptured to crestfallen real quick. You guffawed in a boisterous way at his reaction and plummeted down to the ground whilst clutching your stomach in a joyful pain.

YOU SUCK LEON

"Really, Y/N? This-this is what you wanted to show me?"

"It's true though, you actually suck!"

"Come on, you know you only won in Street Fighter because I let you," he whined. You stood up from being laid on the floor before clutching onto Leon's shoulder for dear life.

"For 20 times? Really?" You laughed again, "nah, you just suck, bro."

Leon narrowed his eyes at you with lips pressing tightly in a thin line and turned towards you, his feet moving slowly in tandem as he approach you with a spurious anger, his hands closing into fists.

"What?" You asked with a nervous chuckle and feet backing up in rhythm with his laggard advances.

"You think I suck?" His voice imitated a dark tone. Had you not been slightly scared - which you hated to admit - you would've busted a gut at how ridiculous it sounded.

"I mean, yeah, it's already said in the banner, dimwitt."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Well, let's see who sucks now!"

Welp, that's my cue!

You dodged Leon's attack by the skin of your teeth, stumbling on a stupid pencil for a bit, before proceeding to run around the house to avoid Leon's "spider fingers" as you call it and making a tiny bit of a mess. However, your luck has gone away and he eventually caught you when you accidentally tripped over the leg of a chair, throwing you into his bed and tickling each spot that would make you squirm and and laugh.

"I still suck, huh?"

"N-no, fine...y-you don't...s-suck," you cried in between heavy breaths and hysterics. Satisfied with your remark, Leon stopped his fingers from moving and plopped down beside you, taking a moment to catch his breath before he pulled you closer to his body and spooned you. "You still couldn't win yesterday though."

"Yeah, well, I know a million ways to win your heart though."

"Fuck off, Le-le." Leon tsked at the nickname.

"Y/N, that sounds awful as fuck."

"Whatever." You felt his lashes kiss the nape of your neck as he closed his eyes to give them another four hours of rest, your own following afterwards when you heard Leon's muffled voice vibrate against your shirt.

"Hey, you wanna be my date for homecoming?"

"I thought you already asked Lexee to be your date."

"Dante already asked her out, so..."

"Okay, fine, I'll be your date." You squeezed his hand before intertwining your fingers with his and smiling when you felt him kiss your hair.

"Thanks, Y/N. Good night."

"It's 10 in the morning, dumba-"

"Shh... Rock-a-bye baby..."

"You do suck though." You light-heartedly nudged Leon's side and wrinkled your eyes in a grin, chuckling when he returned the gesture with a titter.

"I really don't," he retorted back.

"Sure." You took his hand in yours and gently squeezed it in a comforting way to ease the two of you before placing a feather's kiss on the back of it. "Come on, we still have a job to do."

*****

Leon S. Kennedy, we're putting you on a very special case for your first assignment. Your mission is...to unlock your desk! The key to your success is in the initials of our first names. Input the letters in order of our desks. There are 2 locks- 1 on each side of your desk. Make sure you get them both. Basically, your first task is to remember your fellow officers' names, but you figured that much out, right? Good luck, Leon. By the way, it might take a little work to get Scott to give you a straight answer.

Lieutenant Branagh

Scrawled in a corner between drops of blood on the paper was an additional note the lieutenant had written while he and his fellow officers were isolated and trapped, and it read:

Be glad you're not here, rookie.

"Remember your fellow officers' names..."

"I think that means the initials of my supposedly co-workers' names should be the password to open these locks on my desk." Leon stood up from where he was knelt down on the floor and casted around from desk to desk, unlocking the padlocks on his table and claiming the prize after accomplishing his "first assignment" - a magazine for his beloved Matilda.

You smiled when Leon pulled out the gun he's had since the beginning of his adult years, another retention reminding you of the peaceful days you once had before you started walking right into confusion.

Matilda was a gift Leon's father had given him on his 18th birthday, a few months before he died of cancer. He was happy about it, and knowing how his family had supported his decision on him becoming a cop, his heart fluttered inside and he couldn't be more grateful about it. Leon held onto it everyday, even becoming a bit hesitant about leaving it behind whenever he went to school. And when his father passed away because of said illness, he grasped onto the weapon the same way he did when his dad was still alive, if not more.

"Happy birthday, Leon. Happy birthday, Leon. Happy birthday, happy birthday... Happy birthday, Leon... HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LEON!"

Leon's cheeks stretched in an almost painful way as everyone erupted into cheers and confetti fell from the ceiling. Each person was wearing cone-shaped hats and the living room was decorated with different ornaments colored in his favorite hues. His family was there and so were his friends, and oh, how could he almost forget...

It was his 18th birthday!

"So, what do you think?" You spoke from behind him. He turned around to see you smiling like an idiot and tugging on the string of a party you picked up from the floor.

"This," he began. "This is amazing! Wh-"

"Well, son, the candle's almost melting. Wanna make a wish?" Leon's dad emerged from behind the small crowd with a three-layered cake balanced on top of his palms. The icing of the pastry was blue, edible police-related finishing touches garnished it with such perfection he almost didn't want to eat it for the sake of admiring and staring at the cake, and a single candle formed into the number 18 as an emphasis to his recent age was placed on top with a tiny flame dancing around in the air. Leon closed his eyes and wished for the best before blowing the candle, watching as the fire disappeared into a swirling smoke. Everyone rejoiced once again.

When voices had began dying down one by one, Leon's father called his name and picked up a box from underneath the table after placing the cake down where it wouldn't fall down.

"Leon, you're going to be attending the police academy soon and in the next few years you'll be the cop you always wanted. So, as a gift, I give you this gun." He opened the rectangular cardboard box where a gun laid and presented it to his child, Leon's eyes sparkling in delight at his very own weapon. "I know you'll be taking good care of Matilda."

"Matilda?" Leon asked in confusion.

"You know, like, Mathilda from Leon: The Professional," his dad replied. Leon chuckled in response before he carefully took the gun out of its container, still a bit iffy about touching it.

"I'll be taking good care of this, dad."

"I know you will."

"You still have that gun?" You spoke as you gestured towards his firearm.

"Yep, she still looks good as new. I didn't want to break my promise," Leon responded. He turned his gun around to show you just how much he kept it safe like a mother would to a child. Your E/C orbs twinkled in admiration, a feeling in your heart you had kept for a very long time flittering in a joyous manner for the first time since you last saw him.

"Nothing's really changed, huh?"

"I don't want to change anything for now...especially now that you're back here with me."

*****

So, I found this image on google and an idea suddenly popped into my head lmao.

Anyway, WE'RE BACK! I was busy in school blah blah blah. I think yall know that already.

#leonkennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagines #leon s kennedy x reader #leonxreader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil #residentevil2 #resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic

22 notes · View notes

elsanna-shenanigans · 4 years ago

Text

April Contest Submission #20: Waves and Wonders

Words: ca. 2,500 Setting: mAU Lemon: no CW: mentions of drinking, minor injury

After two years of moving thousands of miles away from home, Elsa learned only one thing about herself: that she would never be able to avoid the love she has for her sister. She couldn’t get rid of the sinful feelings, no matter how far the distance she tries to put in between them. The yearning Elsa has for her sister, Anna, grows stronger with each passing day, and it terrifies her beyond measure. Nevertheless, she is determined to not let her fear ruin what she’s got planned for her sister’s birthday. She asked Anna what she would like for her twenty-first birthday, and Anna’s response was to spend time with her, so Elsa has been busy planning this mini-vacation for the two of them.

Elsa checks her phone for the hundredth time to see if there’s a new message from Anna. She offered to meet Anna at the airport, but her sister had insisted that she’s an adult now and can get to the hotel all by herself.

After staring at her phone intently for a few seconds or minutes, she doesn’t know anymore, a text from Anna finally arrives: Be there in 5!

The text makes her feel both nervous and excited. It’s silly but knowing that she will see her sister again after two years makes her ridiculously happy, and she smiles to herself. She slips her phone into her back pocket and heads down to the lobby to wait for Anna.

The first thing Elsa notices as she steps out of the elevator is how busy it is at the hotel today. She had suggested a less touristy spot like a cabin in the wood where they could enjoy playing board games and catching up on their favorite shows, but Anna emphasized that she wants to spend her vacation near a beach with lots of sunshine and ice cream, so they settled for San Diego, which was only a 2-hour drive for Elsa, and a 6-hour plane ride for Anna.

Elsa makes her way across the lobby, and just as she got to the front desk area, she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Startled, she turned around. And there she is, her little sister is beaming at her, that cheerful, infectious grin Anna seems to reserve only for her.

“Boo!” said Anna, still grinning.

“You know, giving your sister a heart attack at the start of a vacation isn’t the smartest idea,” Elsa said teasingly.

“Oh, come here you.”

Anna pulls her in for a hug she didn’t know she’d miss so much. Elsa hugs her back tightly.

“I miss you so much, sis,” said Anna.

“I miss you too, Anna,” Elsa whispers.

They continue their embrace for another minute or so before Elsa pulls back and reaches for Anna’s luggage.

“Wanna check out the room before we head out for some tacos and soft-serve ice cream?”

Anna gives her the biggest smile. “Yes!”

The taco shack that Elsa had found through Yelp only took the girls a ten minutes walk to get there. They settled for the table tucked at the very corner of the restaurant so they could be further away from the noises and have some quality time to catch up and enjoy their lunch.

“So, how’s work, Elsa?” Anna asks before taking a bite of the fish taco.

“It’s fine,” Elsa responds with a shrug.

Anna gave her a skeptical look. “Huh… that’s an interesting response. I was definitely expecting something more positive than it’s fine.”

“What do you mean?” she asks quietly, dreading where this conversation is heading.

Anna didn’t give her a response right away. Instead, she took a sip of soda and another bite before she mumbles through a mouthful, “Well, you did leave us for this job two years ago; it was so out of the blue, I thought that this is your dream job or something.”

“Anna, I—” Her response was interrupted by a young brunette with an apologetic look on her face.

“Sorry to interrupt your conversation,” said the brunette. “Would it be okay if my friend and I share this table with the two of you? All the other tables are taken, and we see there are two spots left here.”

Elsa looks at Anna, who gave her a shrug, and back at the brunette. “Yes, of course.”

“Thank you so much,” the woman takes a seat next to Elsa, and her friend takes the last seat next to Anna. “I’m Rapunzel, and this is Meg,” said the brunette.

The sisters gave the women a polite smile before they continued with their food in silence.

After a couple minutes of awkward silence, Elsa reminds herself that this isn’t the time for any weirdness and that the goal of this vacation is to enjoy their time together. “So, what do you want to do next?”

“Hm… I’ve always wanted to try beach volleyball,” Anna tells her.

“We need four people for beach volleyball… what about—”

“Rapunzel and I are looking for another pair for beach volleyball if the two of you would like to join,” Meg cuts in.

Elsa closes her eyes and exhales slowly; she could feel her irritation slowly forming, questioning why these strangers kept interrupting them. Still, she pushes her annoyance aside for the time being. “What do you think, Anna?” she asks instead. “We’ve got enough people now.”

When her sister gave her a smile and nodded excitedly, she almost forgot why she was annoyed in the first place.

The four of them make their way to the beach after lunch and split up into two teams. Elsa doesn’t like the idea that Meg gets to decide the teams, and she especially does not like that Meg had paired herself with Anna.

Rapunzel, to Elsa’s surprise, possesses exceptional quickness and agility in her movements. For each time she missed the ball, Rapunzel would spring up from behind her, returning the ball to the other team with force.

“Ready, Elsa?” ask Rapunzel as she picks up the volleyball as it’s their turn to serve.

Elsa gives her partner a nod, feeling guilty that her focus is not on the game at all. Instead, her focus is set on the other side of the net. She couldn’t stop the irritation that spread through her when she saw Meg giving Anna a high five and saying things that made Anna smile. She wishes she could be on the other side and be the one to put a smile on her sister’s face.

Gosh, she really needs to shake off these unhealthy thoughts and set her focus back into the game, she thought to herself.

“Elsa, look out!” she heard Anna yell out before she was knocked to the ground by the damn volleyball.

She must have blacked out for some moments because when she could finally feel her surroundings again and open her eyes, Anna is already beside her.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re okay,” said Anna before she turns to Meg, “It’s not nice to aim the ball at people!”

Meg takes a step back and puts her hands above her head, “Wow, I promise that was not intentional,” said Meg. “I’m sorry, Elsa, are you okay?”

Elsa nods as she slowly gets up from the ground. She catches the concerned look in Anna’s eyes. “I’m okay. Really,” she says with a smile. “It wasn’t Meg’s fault. I really shouldn’t have spaced out so much during such an intense game.”

“And the award for Spaced out Queen goes to… Miss Elsa.” Rapunzel teases.

The sisters bid their farewell after thanking Rapunzel and Meg for spending the afternoon with them and headed back to the hotel.

They spend the rest of their afternoon catching each other up on the events that happened since Elsa left. Anna did most of the talking, of course, but Elsa doesn’t mind it at all. Her stories were more interesting than Elsa’s anyway.

Later that evening, Anna suggests that they head down to the bar for some drinks so she could make good use of her ID now that she’s twenty-one.

When the bartender approaches them for their drink orders and asks to see their ID, Anna was happy to comply.

Elsa chuckles at her sister’s silliness. Oh, how much she’s missed this, Elsa thought to herself. She couldn’t help but wonder how different things would be if they are not sisters. Or better yet, if she could crush this feeling of guilt into a million pieces every time it makes its way through Elsa’s head when she thinks about Anna.

She must have spaced out for some time because she notices two familiar faces at their table when she snaps out of it. God damnit! These people are like cockroaches, Elsa thought to herself.

“You really are the Queen of Spacing Out,” Rapunzel comments as she takes a sip of her drink.

“Oh, hi,” Elsa mumbles.

“So, Anna, you were saying something about computer viruses?” asks Meg.

“Oh yes, did you know that you’re more likely to get a computer virus from visiting religious sites than porn sites?” Anna said proudly. “I learned it from my computer science class.”

“I call bullshit; that can’t be true,” Meg chuckles.

Elsa watches the interaction between the two, finding it harder to ignore the distress she feels with every passing moment.

“So Anna, do you have any plans for tomorrow night?” Meg asks.

This is too much for her. Elsa could sense her anxiety bubbling up, and she must get away before she breaks down in public, worst of all, in front of her sister.

“I got to go,” she announced before rushing out of the bar.

She heard Anna calling after her, but she didn’t stop. She can’t stop. But she wasn’t fast enough, because Anna caught up to her.

Stepping in front of her, Anna reached for her hands and held on to them tightly.

“Elsa, what’s wrong?”

Feeling a lump forming in her throat, not trusting her own voice, she shakes her head instead.

“You’re shaking,” Anna noted, “Was it something I said? Are you okay?”

“No,” she whispers, looking down at the ground to avoid making eye contact with her sister.

Without another word, Anna pulls her away from the lobby area, out the nearest door, and towards the beach, which was just across the street from the hotel.

She notices the beach has gotten less populated with the dawn of the early evening as Anna continues to lead them towards the east side of the beach. Anna stops once they’re far away enough from the tourists. She lets go of her hand then as they turn to face the beach. They remain silent for some time.

After watching the steady rhythm of the ocean waves hitting the sand repeatedly for what seems like forever, Elsa feels herself calm down a bit.

Few more moments pass by before Anna grabs her shoulder, turning her around so they could face each other, forcing her to make eye contact she’s been avoiding.

“What is it, Elsa? Why are you shutting me out again?” Anna asks quietly.

“I… I’m not,” she began, finding it difficult to speak. “I’m a messed up person,” she whispers.

Anna remains quiet, so she continues.

“I’m so sorry, Anna,”

“Why are you sorry?”

She takes a deep breath and continues, “You’re my sister, I can’t—” her voice broke. “I thought by putting some distance between us would make it disappear, and I really believed that it had worked. But when you gave me that hug in the lobby this morning, when I saw Meg getting close to you and her asking you out…” she let out a shaky sigh. “I can’t have feelings toward my own sister. It is wrong, but I can’t help it, no matter how I try to conceal these wicked feelings. I just can’t…” She looks down at the sand, getting overwhelmed by her feelings.

“But I can,” Anna said softly. “And maybe… maybe that’s enough for now.”

Elsa met her sister’s eyes, giving her a confused look.

“Let me start over,” Anna suggests. “I’m going to ask you some simple yes or no questions. You don’t even have to speak— just nod or shake your head, okay?”

Elsa nods slightly.

“Is this about what happened at your birthday party two years ago?”

She nods.

“You didn’t move across the country because you found your dream job, but because you want to run away from your feelings, right?”

She nods again.

“Feelings you know are wrong to have for your own sister, but you couldn’t stop it from developing?”

She let out a shaky breath and nod again.

“So… if I deduced this correctly, you’re… in love with me,” Anna asks quietly.

“God, yes, I—” she whispers, feeling a lump forming in her throat again.

“I told you, Anna. I’m a messed up person. I should be the older sister who would be there for you through all life events, but I can’t, because I realized that I… I want to be more than just your sister. Which is why I had to run. I had to keep my distance.”

“You were acting all weird around Meg because you were jealous of her?” Anna continues with her questioning.

Elsa nodded. “I was,” she said. “I couldn’t help but envy her because I want to be able to openly flirt with you, to be able to ask you out on a date. And be able to take you to that fancy restaurant down the street that serves really delicious maple bars that are even better than the chocolate bars you love so much. And after that, we would take a walk around the park, and you could continue to talk about all things you encountered that day while I would enjoy listening to you.”

“And then?” Anna whispers as she takes a step closer.

“And then… I would…” she paused for a few seconds. “wait for the right moment to lean in and kiss you,” Elsa said shyly. She can feel the heat spread from her cheeks.

Anna takes another step towards her. “And I would say yes,” Anna grins. “To everything on your list.”

“But what about—”

Anna cuts her off quickly before she starts going on the spiral path of incest guilt again. “Let’s just take a little break from being sisters for the rest of this vacation, a break from what’s right and what’s wrong; we could deal with the rest later on,” she smiles softly. “But for now, maybe… we could go through the items on your list because they sound pretty good to me.”

Elsa stares at her sister in disbelief. She couldn’t believe what was happening, but if this was her only chance to be with Anna, then she’ll take it.

“I like this idea very much,” said Elsa, feeling a sense of happiness radiating through her veins. Maybe this feeling isn’t so terrifying after all, she thought to herself before reaching out for her sister’s hand.

#elsanna #submission #April 2021 contest #prompt: break

5 notes · View notes

coldcolourchords · 3 years ago

Text

Turning 21 - an unwanted landmark

It happened an hour and 20 minutes ago, as the clock hit midnight CEST and the date changed so seamlessly to the 12th, without any hesitation, uneventfully and in complete silence, just as expected. The day I've been negatively anticipating for the better half of the past one year has come, and it caught me sitting at my computer alone in the living room, drinking hot tea on a summer night in a sweater and doing my silly little tasks that I call "work" (because despite my best efforts, middle of the night is still the only time of the day I can function as intended).

I remember ever since I was a child I always used to start mentally preparing myself for my birthday from New Year's Day. Even my mother used to say, "now that it's 2010, you're already 10 to me", even though August was still nowhere to be seen. But that felt good at the time. The beginning of a new year and my birthday approaching meant hope and progress, as the only thing I wanted as a child and as a teen was to grow up and not have to be a child anymore. I didn't like going to school, I didn't like being told to do things, I didn't like not being taken seriously, as I'm sure no one does. But by "didn't like", I mean it caused me severe emotional distress, the stuff that happened to me every single day without my control. It's hard to tell now in retrospect what caused what, but I have memories of developing my two most prominent and persistent mental disorders at around 6 years old (social anxiety and a BFRB) which have isolated me and often subjected me to cooler kids poking fun at me, shortly followed by starting school in the middle of my parent's divorce and moving houses. One of our last dinners in my father's comforting family home at the dinner table, I remember being visibly sad and my mum asking me what was wrong. My slightly belated answer ("everything") did not quite get the desired reception, as she and my little brother went on to have a little giggle over making assumptions about what that must include ("I'm sure she's sad over dinosaurs going extinct too..."). And, from then on, it's pretty much been downhill. I didn't like being home and I didn't like being at school (or at any of the million extracurricular activities my mum had picked out for me falsely thinking they could stop me from hurting myself and not just accelerate it). The ever-present social anxiety, bottled up frustration, high academic expectations and confusion about the nature of my very own self-destructive behaviours did not make for an enjoyable time in any of my 12 years at school. So, obviously, all I could do was anticipate the end. The end of being vulnerable to the very systems that were meant to nurture me and protect me.

I think that was my way of thinking all the way until I turned 19. Two years ago. At 19, I had graduated high school, I was about to start university studying something I was interested in, I had a semi-stable student job I liked and I was ready to move in with my boyfriend (a former classmate), separate from our parents. I had an artistic goal that I was ready to work for in my free time, and living away from home I was finally going to get the capacity to do so as well. And then when all of this happened and my thoughts became occupied with the new kind of responsibilities that came with "adulting", I started getting this overwhelming feeling of "what now?". A couple months have passed in the blink of an eye, it was November and I wasn't happy. I was making virtually no progress on my creative goals, my flat was a smelly mess, I didn't see my friends and I wasn't making new ones, and I found university to be draining and incompatible with my brain. I wasn't enjoying anything. I thought, "is this how I'm going to have to spend another 3 years?".

And then a miracle happened. I had to give a presentation at uni with a couple of other girls, and one of them suggested a book to do it based on. Reading my part of the book to prepare for the presentation has unlocked something in me - it was a book about the way people manage to feel like hostages due to their own decisions and thoughts. First it hurt to read because I had to face the truth: I wasn't really a hostage of expectations, university or responsibilities, I was a hostage of myself and my own attitude. I even wrote a song about this (my ultimate way of being honest with myself), and that's when I've felt ready to start working on myself in order to take back control over my life. And hell, I have done it. In a couple of weeks, I was feeling the best I've ever felt and I went into exam season thinking I was capable of the impossible at this point. Who knew I had it in me? I had gotten through a couple of exams and assignments and I was thinking soon I was going to start improving in other areas of my life as well. I was going to make art, see my friends again, go out, have fun, maybe learn to cook and be a better girlfriend too. Not a lot of that has happened. Came the end of exams and the second half of January and I was already exhausted. My job was at a halt and uni wasn't back on until mid February, so I spent a few shallow weeks at home just thinking "why am I doing this again?". It was difficult, suddenly having too much space for negative thoughts and rumination.

But it was only the start of the pandemic when my race with time has really begun. Which is ironic, because when the restrictions were first announced in my country, I really saw a lot of opportunity in them to grow for myself (and I mean this is in the least "this deadly virus is a blessing in disguise" way possible). University moving online and social gatherings being nothing short of illegal all of a sudden felt more than convenient for my social (but very luckily not health) anxiety ridden brain, and I had imagined this was going to be the most prosperous phase in my life, in terms of moving forward with my goals.

Ever since I was little, I had dreamed of becoming a musical artist. No one ever encouraged me - maybe for a good reason - and I tried to keep quiet about it as well. I was so ashamed of desiring something that was so "unlike me" according to everyone who knew me. I never had a good voice and everyone perceived me as shy, on top of being seen as more of a "STEM girl" (until I went to high school for maths and ended up not understanding any of it anymore). I'd been writing lyrics into my phone since 14 and attempting to turn them into actual songs on my laptop since 17. At 18, I even took a beginner's course in Ableton. Still, I just never felt like anything I wrote was of any worth or that I had a single ounce of talent in any part of the process. But I kept on dreaming and pushing because I thought "if I don't try, how will I know?". My work ethic was awful too, I was an inconsistent writer and an even more inconsistent producer. I never got anything finished because I got lost in the details and gave up due to my perfectionism. Plus, and this is what I perceived to be the biggest problem at the time, I could only record music at home, and my family were home all the time. Moving out, I thought I was going to prosper, then I didn't prosper for a bit, told myself it was okay because uni was making me depressed, then I continued to not prosper, told myself it was okay because I had to rest up after exams. And then it's like the universe said "Stop. You're just making excuses. Stay home and produce those songs now because there will NOT be another opportunity like this".

I put so much pressure on myself then to get stuff done. It felt like my time - all my adolescence I was looking at teenage popstars rising to fame and each year they were just getting younger and all I did was compare myself to them and worry. Worry that I was running late, that no one was going to ever care about me because I am late, but growing up I excused it every time. I was home with my family and stressed because of school all the time, duh, how could I have made good art? But right there, at the beginning of "quarantining", it was just me and my willpower. No school, no job, no impromptu social plans. And who knew how long it was going to last? Some people said only four weeks, some others said months, some the rest of the year. All I knew was I was 19, still young and practically a teenager, and I had to act. And I did. I made two of the worst songs you've heard in your life and I put them both out in the summer under my own name. Like proper released them on streaming services and all. Looking back now, holy hell, how desperate was I, posting it on my social media that people I actually knew followed? With my fear of being ridiculed? I was setting myself up for an emotional disaster. Shock horror: my songs didn't blow up (although I have had a few friends say lovely things about them, at least to me). By the time of scheduling the second one for release (mid July) I was already feeling burnt out. Yes, there was another exam season in the meantime, and the unexpectedness of the elongated pandemic has definitely been a factor as well, but generally I was just so let down by the overall underwhelming experience. I made such bad decisions - why my own full name? Why did I have to let people know and thereby handicap myself? Of course I wasn't going to promote my songs now or even speak of them positively because I feared coming off ridiculous. So I just let the whole thing pass without a sound and made myself sad. By last August, I was back to "what now?".

Needless to say, there were no festivals last summer. Festivals used to be my ultimate summer happy place and I always celebrated my birthday at a specific one (the biggest one in my city to be exact) starting with the 15th. Concerts and festivals were somehow simultaneously an adventurous escape from all my worries and the root of a lot of my confidence issues and anxiety. I dreamed of being on stage and presenting my art to the world, pouring my heart out to even just one person who will listen, the same way that I listen to my favourite artists and what they have to say. Some nights were emotional, some nights were energising, some nights were spent worrying about the people who surrounded me and some nights were just pure jealousy and feeling far away from my goals - you never knew what you were going to get at a gig. I think that overall most gigs were bittersweet experiences for me, but that's how I liked them to be. The whole point was just to feel something. But there were no festivals last year. There were concerts, though, put on by local bands, but lord do I wish there hadn't been any. I went to two of those last summer - one I went to alone and walked away feeling like shit, another I went to with my friends and felt extremely guilty and anxious about the virus after. This second one happened to be two days before my 20th birthday. I spent my birthday worried to death that I got the virus (even though numbers were extremely low at the time in my country and going to small gigs was perfectly legal and deemed not dangerous) and that I was going to infect my elderly relatives who I was going to meet with later. That didn't happen, but I haven't been to a single show since then, and it's been a year. So that's how my first non-festival birthday worked out.

Turning 20 didn't feel good and my birthday aligned with the onset of a bunch of new problems as well as old ones accelerated. I began to think deeply about everything. What was the point of anything I was doing? Was any of it going to get me anywhere? Was any of it causing me joy, even? I didn't know what to do about my musical efforts - should I keep trying to put out songs or admit defeat? I still had that creative drive in me and I worried so much about my role in the world - "I'm not a good friend, not a good girlfriend and not a good daughter, and I certainly will never become a good psychologist directly helping people with their problems. I need to give something to the world - I need to find a purpose". I didn't do stuff because I was anxious, and then I was anxious because I didn't do stuff. But I think at that point I also realised I didn't only want to succeed and produce. I also wanted to live. Having fun was missing from my life too. I rarely saw or talked to friends and my relationship wasn't going well either. Every day I tortured myself looking at other people live their lives on social media and thinking to myself I wanted what they had. I wanted to be someone. I wanted to create, to connect and to matter, but all of these things have only ever caused me anxiety in my life and I didn't know where to go from there.

With the virus getting worse again and the start of another online semester, there was one silver lining to locking myself in again though. During the pandemic, I have been playing a lot of video games, possibly even more than before. They weren't only a nice way to numb my brain and relax - no, the opposite, they were actively giving me a temporary sense of direction and progress with each gaming session. I have always loved The Sims for this reason, I had spent so many years building and perfecting my little worlds to my liking and practicing full control over my characters' lives, but this time I began to feel like it was something bigger. I discovered the Sims side of the internet, something I had not really done before, and the amount of content, help, info and Sims-related entertainment has blown me away. Whole new levels of playing have been unlocked for me and I began to dive deeper than ever. I wanted to be part of the community, so in the autumn I started streaming the game on Twitch and this time I knew better than to tell anyone I already knew about it. That didn't quite turn out as I expected, and my streamer phase was cut short in January by someone I knew from high school accidentally finding my stream. Before that, I would only get moderately anxious before streams, not worried much about what viewers were going to think of me (if they find me annoying they'll just leave and I'll never have to hear from them again), but then that unexpected turn of events ruined everything in my head. All my confidence I had built up was suddenly gone. I never streamed again after that. It wasn't really for me anyway, I told myself.

Instead, insistent on further pursuing the only thing that was giving me joy at the time, I started my YouTube channel initially uploading Sims tutorials, because I thought I had useful stuff to show people that has a greater chance of making someone happy than just watching me try to put together a sentence for 5 minutes straight while my Sims struggle to get in the shower by themselves. And much to my surprise, it was gaining decent traction, although I put a lot of it down to luck even today. But either way, it's been growing more or less consistently ever since, and beginning of the summer I stopped to think "could I not just be doing this for a living now?". "Could this be my new creative ambition?". As much as I would have liked to say yes based on my progress and how I managed to earn the same amount I would have earned in a month at my part-time retail job (we're talking Eastern European sums kids!), it wasn't that simple. Thoughts around this have of course been puzzling me for months now. I like to think of myself as a natural talker, just because I am anxious I am NOT quiet or shy. I can even make small talk very well, it's just that because I'm mortified by the possibility of an awkward silence I tend to avoid situations where it might be required. And I talk to myself all the time. So on paper, talking to a camera should not be an issue. And yet every time I record a video I feel my soul being sucked out of my body because I need to make sure I say every sentence correctly and that ends up in draining 4 hour recording sessions. Editing videos, on the other hand, is a rewarding process, a kind of flow-experience I have not really known before, though extremely long and usually detrimental to my sleep schedule (which is far from being rosy by default). Maybe I just put too much effort into everything, but it really makes you question - is it worth it? Can I really be doing this on the long run without destroying myself? And will I ever get used to the social interactions that come with it?

It's weird, suddenly getting recognition for something, people giving me positive feedback on the daily. This certainly happened more suddenly than I thought it would and I don't think I was prepared. Naturally, people taking the effort to leave me nice comments and messages makes me want to reply, appreciate their kindness and return the favour but the trinity of little demons inside me - social anxiety, impostor syndrome and a chronically low self-esteem - makes this a difficult task to complete. To combat the overwhelming weight of responsibility that comes with making sure I appreciate everyone who appreciates me enough, as well as to shut out the fear that what I have now can be taken away from me any second, I have built up a mental wall between me and my relative success. This wasn't a conscious choice, it's just the way my brain has started dealing with this new situation. I do not allow myself to internalise the rewards of what I work so hard for and that contributes to why, when I look back on 2021 so far, all I see is depression despite having "gotten what I wanted". My YouTube channel has been the only thing bringing hope and the only thing I've got going for me and yet I am incapable of embracing it.

The past one year has been enlightening. It has enlightened me that there must be something deeply wrong with me because I have not been able to enjoy life even at times I had all the reasons to. The times I am capable of letting go and feeling happy for short periods come exactly based on that - short periods. I'm drifting into states of bliss only when I know the situation is temporary and doesn't come with commitment and responsibility. Some of these moments of calmness come to me while walking to the store by myself after dark, getting invested in my video games, meeting up with my friends for an evening every once in a while and writing a therapeutic song just for myself using the simplest chords on the piano. The feeling usually doesn't last and disappears at the first attempt to get back to any kind of organised schedule (that attempt on most days is the simple act of trying to force myself to go to bed). Isn't that ironic? I wanted purpose. I wanted to get it together. And yet... every day is a struggle. I know now, I am the problem. Whether it's a chemical imbalance or another anomaly in my brain or my own fault somehow, it's not my circumstances, it's me. I wanted to be free and to make my life my own, and now I just can't. Every day I worry about running out of time, rapidly approaching death and not being able to say that I have lived. This is why turning 21 fills me with so much panic. I am no longer a child and I'll never be again, although I wouldn't even like to be. I just can't help thinking that I wasted so many opportunities to enjoy myself and to push for my goals. But it's gone now and there's no point regretting how I used to think about life back then. If I look back on my life so far I see a lot of stuff that happened that made half of my brain temporarily happy, but the other half was always filled with anxiety, anticipation to get out or dissatisfaction. It was just never fully right and I keep hoping that there will come a time when it will feel fully right. Before turning 19, I thought independence was going to give me that. Now at 21, I'm not quite sure there's anything that's going to give me that if I don't also start to work through every single one of my issues (although part of me still likes to cling onto the idea that once I'm done with my first and last degree, a lot of underlying stress and guilt will be taken off my shoulders and I'll see everything in a different light). So for a start, I just finally signed up for psychological counselling. I don't know if it will help but it's something and I've done it for myself. I need to do more for myself.

There is so much more I could talk about. Like the pandemic, how I've turned into a hermit, my relationship, struggling to be honest with myself and slowly losing touch with my all time number one passion because of it. I could talk about how I know that society has been deliberately making us (especially women) feel scared of aging and yet I still file it under personal issues, how I've been trying to fix my sleep schedule for a year and a half straight now, the guilt I feel from my family and friends all the time, my inability to concentrate and how I fall into despair concerning the future and present of humanity every time I read the news and people's opinions on social media. I could talk about how I want to cry every time I see a picture of somewhere beautiful in the world - a street in Japan, a lake in the Alps or the trees in the Mediterranean - because I feel a longing that is almost nostalgic for places I've never even visited. There is always so much to still be told to complete the story, but why do I want people I'll never fully know to understand me that well? I need to let go of compulsions like these.

Deep down I just hope that I'm not the only one terrified of growing old.

#21 #happy birthday to me #long story long #welcome to my brain #aging #depression #anxiety #growing up #growing old #young adulthood

6 notes · View notes

kokujin-josei-simmer · 3 years ago

Photo

THIS IS A LONG POST NOT RELATED TO THE SIMS, SORRY BUT I JUST NEED AN OUTLET. THIS POST IS ABOUT JAPAN.

1st picture is of Norihisa Tamura, Japan’s Minister of Health, Labor & Welfare on tv with no mask and what’s supposed to be a face shield. That man went on national TV looking that ridiculous.

The other photo is in Kabukicho, Tokyo after 8PM...when all the bars/restaurants are supposed to close but 40% of them are ignoring the request (yes, the government keeps asking them to close because the law limits them) mainly because they can’t afford to close.

More about that here:

https://mainichi.jp/english/articles/20210817/p2a/00m/0na/023000c

And the last picture is rush hour in Tokyo, ALL of those people are getting on/off the train and all during Tokyo’s 4th (yes FOUR) State of Emergency. The pictures highlight the incompetence of Japan’s leaders & the slow/ineffective measures they’ve taken to fight the spread of the virus. Allowing The Olympics to go forward was pretty much the point of no return *the 2 photos of the crowds were taken last month, Aug 2021*

I’m talking about Japan because my bf is leaving soon (Saturday) to visit Japan.

Don’t mistake this post for any sort of travel advice: don’t try to book a trip there if you have no business going there, besides...you’ll be banned from entering the country. Even folks who have business in Japan (foreign students/employees who already have their visas) are still banned from entering the country.

He’s going back because he has a relative in the hospital whose condition was worsening (it seems their condition has slightly improved) and it’s unrelated to COVID-19. He wouldn’t jump on a plane to Japan, during a pandemic, if he had any other choice. He’s fully vaccinated and always wears a mask (double mask) when out in public.

I know a lot of weebs on here who probably think Japan is “doing well” because the numbers are much lower than the US (always the constant comparison to the US but never mind the fact that the US pop is 360M compared to Japan’s 126M) but the reality is: Japan still, to this day, doesn’t have mass testing sites meaning lower number of people are being tested daily. No lockdowns, extremely slow vaccine rollout, and they just threw out over a million doses of Moderna due to contamination.

The hospitals cannot handle the number of infections and many people have been turned away from the hospital which has lead to deadly consequences for some, like the pregnant woman who was forced to give birth at home which resulted in her newborn baby dying. A woman in her 70′s who had diabetes was denied a hospital room, she too died as a result. Now I’m just reading about the actress, Haruka Ayase, who has pneumonia due to COVID-19 yet the hospital made room for her. I’m not saying she deserved to die but Japan is clearly picking & choosing who is more important.

I think the only upside to this is the fact that my bf will have to quarantine at his parents home for 2 weeks in Osaka (not Tokyo, which is good since the biggest outbreak is of course in the largest city, Tokyo) so (hopefully) he won’t be exposed to the virus if he stays at home. Plus he has to quarantine, the government requires anyone returning to Japan to install an app that allows them to call you at home (video-calls) to verify that you are your quarantine location. I read one woman’s account, she’s a permanent resident, about how they video-called her twice in the same day: within 30 minutes actually. They most likely won’t do that to my bf because he isn’t a “scary foreigner” since quite a few Japanese folks (including racist, ultra right-wing politicians) are still lying & blaming foreigners for all the cases in Japan.

Oh and a FYI: from the folks I follow on Twitter (foreigners living in Japan), they’ve stated that lots of folks in Japan, especially Tokyo, are ignoring the State of Emergency. They continue to go out to bars, restaurants which increases the spread and the risk of infecting their loved ones at home/coworkers/classmates/etc.

It’s irritating knowing all this and reading posts from people who have no ties to Japan, don’t know anyone from Japan and can’t even be bothered to read posts from people who actually live there claiming “they defeated the virus” or still denying that it’s actually a hell of a lot worse than they’re letting on.

We can compare cities, we can compare Tokyo to NYC and see how the response to the virus has been. NYC had a lockdown, rent relief for its residents ($2.7B available but the payout has been disastrous, the new Governor is trying to speed it up), workers & students were allowed to work/attend classes from home meaning no crowded mass transit. We had mask mandates & even now NYC requires proof of vaccination to go to most places like restaurants, gyms, etc.

Tokyo is not allowing workers/students to work/attend class from home so their mass transit (a city of 13 MILLION, 37 MILLION in the metro area, quite a few more than here in NYC) is PACKED. There was no real lockdown because the government is limited in its power, they’re just now *over a year later* trying to vote to change that. I haven’t heard anything about any rent relief just the ¥100000 paid out once, that’s about $930 USD, to adults and a one-time stimulus payment to businesses that was less than $20K USD. There’s no mass testing site meaning testing throughout the country is still limited.

Tokyo set up a “lottery” the other day in Shibuya which required people to go the location to try and earn a spot for a vaccine. They could’ve had this lottery online but Japan is so behind the times they clearly didn’t think this was a problem...to have a large number of people moving around during a pandemic. Of course it was a mess and the governor of Tokyo (Koike) had the nerve to try to blame the staff for the large crowds.

My bf has to get a PCR test document (in Japanese) & it has to be SIGNED by someone at the clinic. Fortunately he’s able to get it in one day (day before his flight) but it’s just the fact that Japan is the only country in the world pulling this nonsense. If we didn’t find out about the handwritten/signed document he would’ve flew all the way there and been denied entry into the country.

He’ll be there for 3 weeks, the other positive side of this trip (other than being able to see his family/relative in the hospital & not having to be in Tokyo) is that he is, of course, picking up some stuff for me. But only if it’s safe to do so though, I don’t want him going to jam-packed stores, since he has a week to look around it should be less crowded at the stores during business hours when most people are at work/school.

My list:

Famima socks & imabari towel *I think it’s actually a handkerchief ( ファミリーマート (Family Mart) convenience store has a clothing line)

Some donuts from Mister Donut (I’m not joking, as long as there’s no cream they’ll last outside of the fridge for 2-3 days before getting stale)

Muji cotton headbands (they no longer sell them at the NYC locations)

Baton d’or (fancier alternative to Pocky, they cost almost $10 a box)

Amanatto (look up natto, it’s a candied version of that)

Some little knicknacks from Osaka like fridge magnets, he thinks a hoodie/sweater with Osaka on it might be too cheesy/touristy

Maybe Melano CC, it’s cheaper than ordering online ($11 vs $20+)

Probably some other food/snacks

Etc. - still thinking if I need/want anything else

He’s also giving me a video tour of Osaka (大阪) so I can see places like his parents town Izumi ( 和泉市) & places he used to hang out in like Amemura ( アメリカ村 - full name is Amerikamura Village) so I’m just trying to get into the positive side of this and enjoy seeing Osaka beyond G.Map.

So to wrap this up, it’s already too long but I just wanted folks to know that things aren’t so peachy in Nippon, and it won’t be for a while. Hopefully, with more people getting sick of Suga’s (Prime Minister) inaction over the pandemic they’ll be more motivated to vote out the useless, racist LDP (Liberal Democratic Party: don’t be fooled by the Democratic part, they’re quite right wing and conservative) party. He’s already suffered several embarrassing setbacks from recent elections such as an LDP candidate losing the Yokohama mayoral race to an opponent, very embarrassing since Yokohama is Suga’s hometown.

So I’m hoping for a better future for Japan (for everyone, but I’m actually hoping for the imperialist, oligarchy of the US to collapse) and for safe travels for my bf and anyone else who has to travel during this pandemic.

#non-sims #japan #japan state emergency #osaka #大阪 #日本 #japan pandemic #COVID-19 vaccine #stfu weebs #ファミリーマート #family mart #famima #アメリカ村 #和泉市

1 note · View note

the-firebird69 · 2 years ago

Text

We have now passed the mark in sales and it is not the American Eagle although their sales are phenomenal and they're number two for all time highest sales for motorcycle company. Number one is Freedom Motorcycle, and we put up the website about 10 minutes we had 100 trillion hits in 20 minutes we had 100 octillion and in 30 minutes we had 10,000 octillion and now we have millions of octillions of hits and we have about 1,000 octillion orders no we have 400,000 octillion orders so I built 3-50s and I added a fourth this morning cuz he told me how many the other company is about 100,000 octillion and we haven't even found a name yet until today early on for Freedom motorcycles which is a subsidiary of American Eagle. It's a huge company and she's happy with it massive company okay this company is so huge now it's ridiculous but seriously there's a lot of bikes that sold ahead of it but they're not EMP proof and people having trouble with every single one of them and they're retrofitting them and they're changing out the stupid fuses and the seals suck and they fry it's just horrible so we're going to have to put EMP proof stuff on all of them and both items and I added that to the factory design I'm going ahead and do it all of this work today and between the two companies it's going to be almost a million octillion now and the sales are going up and he says do we have any ready and I said yes so we can increase sales and get more people hired to go over overseas and two areas that are up all night like Miami and New York City unless they're down because of war or something and they are still up and we know where to go and we know how to say it and we'll bring both bikes and they both have emblems on them and they say what they are and we're going to go in there with some of the gear and I'm probably not real big huge stuff and we did that before it turns out and off and we'll ride around say we just bought them we can get them out there tonight and we'll be looking for an outlet... he's asking around and Mr Abercrombie said maybe but he thinks he's drawing Lord and he is so you can't do that he needs the idiot to laid him off. He didn't figure it out yet and I did a little bit they're having them do it and setting him up. They have the antidote then they want to threaten him in a time schedule with the renovations all. All sorts of things like that and their son says probably can't hold it and we agree has to be like a consortium like a whole bunch of warehouses with a whole bunch of you guys the same side the same place and be educational and he says I've got to tell you something that's pretty smart and we have that so maybe you can call around if you want to get the you know the nudge or wink or whatever it is if you're out there okay that sounds good

So he's waiting for it and we're going to tell him what to do and where to go and move them all in and we'll have an outlet and we know where to go and drive around it is up north of that area and downtown LA and there's a certain part of it that's up all night. And Eagle motorcycle be there too and some of you converted to light cycles and we want to show them them they're really inexpensive and you buy them already converted they go very fast just above the speed limit if you don't have a limiter

Hera

You said the up top part and this is great we got a place I'm going to move it on out there they're made in America and there's a game and they all like it they're getting mad and stuff but the max they don't want to do business with them and they don't want to do business with Randall textcom's former company it's kind of eerie in this case I think it's awesome and they wanted to be involved in it and use our stuff to do the job to try and use it against us and they also are exhausted by the Hard knock kicker 5150 stuff it doesn't really do much for them. Did some other a real issues. It's from Britain and they don't want to deal with the max they just don't want to hand the money it's a pain in the ass and we don't use money like code like that they say so we're going to go ahead and do this and tons of this white bikes so we're going to sell them to theirs and use the warehouse and he said we're going to make a deal and stuff so we're going to go ahead and do that. My son says everyone has to pay for electricity and stuff so he says you're right and how we going to get your son out there with his people move her vehicle let's call that is a security specialist and his father is back says you hear that Douglas you got respect from the top. But you always wanted every single day of your life and never got we're going for coffee away from you because this place is not secure in any way now you know that was fun how long can we continue doing it. Biggest decaf what do you think oh here comes Samuel Jackson and the other small of yours.

So if you got what he's talking about I'm going to start doing that all over and we can at night New York city has an obvious place is all sorts of part of yours there it's down the street from Times square and her son knows that's the business area they're not there so Ghost Town. So going there and we cut it up and we are going to have a good time in a positive note he had Jason make up a coffee name and coffee company and he's safe he's going to grow coffee he says I'm going to use kelp and you have to use a special bug poisonous decomposable and non-toxic and you have to like get rid of all the bug stuff in the top layer first and you have to spray and you have to have bug zappers what does she do all that s*** you're good you know you and interference the fair you so he says okay I get that it's absolutely necessary cuz the capital attraction but someone said if you compost it right it doesn't attract him as much so he starts studying it now it's going to be wonderful coffee if he makes it out of that and it's going to sell everywhere and combined with the soil out there which is Rich already it's going to be like number one coffee on Earth if the beans are taking it the right time and roasted right so he knows how to do it and he says you use a machine and use a factory you don't do it on the ground and you also clean so he's right on top of that and we're going to head with it with the dirt bikes that he wanted any order he ordered a ton of the fat bear not wanted and we were sending those too these people love that and yeah clone went flying

Thor Freya

0 notes

toonpunk-game · 4 years ago

Text

Fluff Updates 4: Some Core Concepts

Well, it’s time for another one of these. We’re going to do a little housekeeping, first and foremost: we’re going to show you the currency of the world--the rainbow-colored Chromatic Dollar; the inkbloods, whose condition of is spoken of seldomly and somberly; and, rather belatedly, Toonpunks themselves! What is a ‘toonpunk’, how is it different from a ‘cyberpunk’ or a ‘steampunk’, and why would anyone want to be one? Read on and find out!

The Chromatic Dollar

If you’ve been in the open population for any length of time, you’ve probably seen or heard about the Chromatic Dollar—usually called “CDs” or “Hands”. This is the currency of the world today—not the only one, of course, but definitely the most important one. Almost everywhere you’ll ever go, hands are the preferred legal tender: you’re going to get paid in them, and odds are you are going to steal quite a few. So, for those of you who don’t already know, time to get yourselves learnt!

The CD is an asset-backed currency—which means that in theory, each bill represents a fixed quantity of ink. However, it’s not quite so simple as that (get used to that phrase, newcomers). Rather than being directly traded at a depository for ink, most CDs contains ink in themselves: each dollar is woven out of fabric, and tinted by being immersed a watered-down mixture of colored ink. When submerged in cold water, this ink can be drawn out of the bill, leaving it blank. As you may recall, inkish life needs a regular infusion of ink to survive. What this means is that chromatic dollars are, in fact, literal meal tickets: normal civilians can immerse them in cold water to bleed the ink out of them, creating a mixture that is substantial enough to maintain an inkish life form, but is not strong enough to be classified as a hazardous material.

Of course, even that is not quite so simple. Of the 7 CD denominations of CD—White, Yellow, Green, Blue, Purple, Red, and Black—only 5 actually contain ink within them. The white and black CDs do not actually contain any ink at all, due to respectively being worth very little and being worth a really great big bunch. White bills are the “single unit” denomination—they represent precisely one “CD”. They are not actually dyed, and are simply desaturated colored bills. Their value comes from the fact that they can be traded in bulk to the Morbux cartel reclamation facilities in exchange for bills of greater worth. They are often used as a baseline currency for small transactions—specifically as tips in retail or service industries.

Yellow bills are the smallest denomination which actually contain ink. They each contain approximately 1/1000 of a milliliter of ink, and are worth 500 CDs. Other denominations are Green (1000 CDs, or 1/200 of a milliliter); blue (5000 CDs, 1/100); purple (10000 CDs, or .2 milliliters); and red (50000 CDs, or .5 milliliters). Black bills, like white bills, do not contain any ink in themselves; but unlike white bills, are worth such a ridiculously high amount that it is actually impossible to store that much ink in a single bill. Specifically, a black bill is worth an entire liter of ink, or 200,000 green bills—a whopping50 million CDs. Black bills are basically never put into circulation—they were only invented so that governments and mega-corporations would have an easier time arranging bulk ink transfers between each other. Instead of physically procuring and delivering ink en masse, they could simply transfer bills (or credit for a bill, more accurately) and redeem them with their bank of choice.

History of the Chromatic Dollar

The Chromatic dollar was introduced into circulation by Black Sea Banking in 2090, 2 months after the Frontier Development Bill permitted the production and exchange of company-owned currencies. While frontier companies were the primary beneficiaries of this provision (since it allowed them to reestablish the “company store” of bygone eras) BSB was the first major company to introduce private bills for widespread circulation. A limited run of black, red, and (now-defunct) orange bills were distributed to several of BSB’s partners in lieu of liquid ink; and then, after this initial success, BSB allowed its inkish employees to receive a portion of their salary in CDs instead of their normal currencies. The option proved enormously popular, since it allowed inkish persons to sustain themselves without making trips to dedicated ink depositories. Demand steadily grew, until an inordinately successful write-in campaign garnered 16.5 million signatures imploring BSB to introduce the CD into public circulation. After drafting the exchange rates, BSB began printing chromatic dollars for public use in 2092—and it was all uphill from there.

Now, just over 200 years later, the CD is the most common currency in local space. It’s traded on all civilized worlds, and a number of the uncivil ones as well. Wherever electronic infrastructure exists, the CD will soon follow—even to places as remote as Pluto. The only place it has not found purchase is on the frontier worlds, where efforts at civilization are often bowled over by six-pack wars, or other even more unpleasant things…

Inkbloods

In most materials, elemental ink is sparse—less than 0.002% of the total composition. In the Saskatoon municipal area, this number can go as high as 0.006. In human beings, this number skyrockets to 0.65%—the highest concentration outside of ink-based life forms. While this might not sound like much at a glance, it must be understood that even a small amount of ink carries enormous potential: differences of as little as .05% blood-ink-concentration have been shown to increase life span, muscle growth, and cognitive capacity by tremendous amounts—upwards of 20%, in many cases. Naturally, there is a tremendous temptation to use it as a performance enhancer—and it is here that inkbloods enter the equation.

An “inkblood” is any meatman who has a BIC of 2% or higher; and has maintained such for longer than 24 hours. The human liver can filter out small quantities of ink, much as it can filter out alcohol or other substances; but there are some people who deliberately maintain a high BIC for an extended period of time, for several reasons: at a glance, inkbloods are more physically able than most humans—the ink within their bodies swells their muscle mass to considerable proportions, and they often enjoy sharpened senses and longer lives. Furthermore, they often display an enhanced aptitude for illustration and inktek. However, there is a damning dark side to this: all inkbloods will, with time, invariably descend into utter raving insanity.

First among the inkblood degenerations, both in severity and in order of onset, is an immutable compulsion towards self-flagellation. Over the course of their derangement this will increase from such relatively benign things as discomfort with their hairstyle, to the wholesale removal of fingers, limbs, and eyes. While these compulsions never drive the inkblood to suicide, they will leave them hideously disfigured: while the ink will regenerate small portions of their bodies over time, any limbs or large internal organs removed will usually have to be replaced.

As of writing, no medical consensus explaining this phenomenon has yet been reached. Potential explanations range from acute derangement resulting from over-acuity of the senses, to a form of cognitive decline no more remarkable than mercury poisoning; but there are others on the fringe of the medical community, who whisper of a spiritual dimension to the ink--one which reacts poorly to prolonged observation...

Toonpunks

What is a “Toonpunk”? Most of you reading this will already know—but those of you from very isolated areas, or those of you who have just incarnated, may be unfamiliar. The word shows up often enough to return billions of search engine results; and it’s such a common talking point that a whole 3.5% of all current news articles feature it as their primary subject (according to Billiun analytics from 2302). It is a recognized word in over 500 languages as disparate as Russian, Urdu, Japanese, Quenya, and English.

Vernon Vernacular’s Living Dictionary defines Toonpunk thusly: 1. Noun. A person, most commonly young and/or of inky description, who commits criminal actions including theft, assault, vandalism, arson, murder, and jaywalking, as a form of protest or self-expression. 2.Adj. Slang. Of or referring to anger or disdain towards large corporations, incumbent governments, The Inkquisition, capitalism, or functioning society as a whole.

“Toonpunk” is a stylistic movement that began in the year 2045, though its roots trace back to a year earlier. During The Rabbit’s I-day gag spree, billions of people were astonished to learn just how much devastation had been wrought by one animal in the name of slapstick. Among them were numerous working-class meatmen, many of whom were disillusioned with the dehumanizing day-to-day existence of a late-stage capitalist world. Knowing that the single greatest act of vandalism and destruction in history was committed “because I wanted to” captured the imaginations of people who had very little power of their own.

As Bloody March carried on, the tension very rapidly became unmanageable. Nearly every country on Earth was struggling under the weight of an unprecedented refugee crisis, and a slew of freak environmental disasters. Many governments employed violent and reactionary measures which often only compounded the issues—most famously during the P-K massacre in Russia. By the end of the month, wide-scale riots were commonplace throughout most of the civilized world, and would not simmer down again for almost 3 years.

It was during this period that the first Toonpunks began appearing. Shortly after The Rabbit disappeared, a number of disparate gangs began emulating his unique brand of terrorism: prioritizing vandalism, property destruction, and public visibility over material gain. This form of high-risk-low-reward crime was described by many of its practitioners as a form of rebellion or self-expression against an increasingly bizarre and stifling world. This was most notably espoused by High Noon and the Longcoat Gang on April 1, when they defaced the side of the Thunder Tower Office Plaza and publicly lynched Thomas Thunder’s 2 youngest sons.

Toonpunk didn’t become a popular movement for almost 3 decades. After the Thunder Tower incident, it was generally regarded as a form of neo-terrorism; and it did not receive its Robin-Hood-Style grassroots support until 2084, when the new meatman generation spawned a vocal anti-Inkquisition counterculture. Nostalgic for their forefathers’ liberty of expression, the Confederacy of Classic Culture lead a brief but eventful series of public demonstrations. When the Ministry forcibly disbanded them three months later, its supporters were forced to adopt a more unconventional and direct form of protest—and so the modern Toonpunk mythos was born.

Today, Toonpunks are often regarded in the same way that hacktivists were in the 21st century, and beekeepers were in the 22nd—as a small minority working outside the law for the good of the people; and they are often romanticized in movies, television, and music. In the common parlance, “Toonpunk” is often mistakenly used to refer to any inkman criminal or gang, regardless of their ideology—much to the chagrin of its devoted supporters.

That’s enough about the philosophy side of things, though—how does this affect you? If you’re reading this, you are most likely a Toonpunk—or one of your friends is, or you stole this from one. Judging by the company you keep, we here at Electric Eye can tell a few things about you:

-You’re probably broke. According to our own research from 2300, 65% of self-identified Toonpunks and Toonpunk sympathizers exist within or just above the poverty band—with the remainder primarily coming from middle-class arcology families. 25% of those polled reportedly spent between 1500 and 2700 hands a month on food, with most of the rest going towards rent; and 70% reportedly have no form of personal motorized transportation. A small but notable minority of toonpunks exist within the upper strata of society—most having identified their lifestyle as a “gilded cage”.

-Your job is probably terrible. Most lower or middle class toonpunks in our poll were working temporary or menial jobs—usually as factory hands, miners, construction workers, data entry clerks, personal assistants, or retail employees. 60% were working part-time, while another 34% were working as day laborers; and 43% were additionally pursuing higher education on top of their job and illegal enterprises. Many from the upper salary bands described themselves as “not in employment, education, or training”—which has by itself lead to the stereotyping of upper-class toonpunks as either spoiled, bored sociopaths; or misguided activists.

-You could be doing this for basically any reason. When we asked our subjects what originally drew them to the toonpunk lifestyle, we received numerous different answers. Most of these fell into one of a few categories. 24% of those polled stated that they had been laid off or fired from their legitimate employment during a time of financial stress—commonly cited reasons were mortgage, children, or medical care. 22% did it for themselves, stating they liked it, they were good at it, and they truly felt alive. 16% stated that it was simply the way of life they had always known; and a further 16% maintained that they had no additional attraction to the toonpunk life, and were merely lashing out at a corrupt and unjust world.

8% were pursuing some form of revenge against an estranged friend, family member, or co-worker; and 7% took it on as a “one-time-thing” needed to pay a debt of gratitude, blood, or actual debt. 6% cited an intense criminal compulsion due to mental illness, or that they were simply drawn that way. 3.7% maintained that they were victims of one or more shadowy and malevolent conspiracies with city/world/solar-system-changing implications; and finally, 1.3% stated the belief that they were the pawns of extra-dimensional beings, for whom the whole of our universe is a work of simulated misery they created for their own twisted entertainment.

#cyberpunk writing #Cartoons #cyberpunk #worldbuilding #scifi writing

1 note · View note

watchonlinewds · 4 years ago

Text

Watch The Boys Season 2 Episode 8 Free S02E08 HD Online

2 sec ago - Lets can you Watch The Boys Season 2 Episode 8 Online Free Trial Access.The Boys Season 2 Episode 8 | What I Know | Amazon | 60 Min | Crime, Drama

watch The Boys Season 2 Episode 8 Online for free and high quality video and no buffering

Watch Here :: https://crackleflix.com/tv/76479/the-boys/2/8

The Boys Season 2 Episode 8 Online Free Streaming, The Boys Season 2 Episode 8 Online Full Streaming In HD Quality, Let’s go to watch the latest episodes of Power Book II: Ghost favorite series. come on join us!!

What happened in this episode?

***SUPER VILLAIN ALERT*** YOU ARE RECEIVING THIS NOTIFICATION FROM THE DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY. A SUPER VILLAIN ALERT HAS BEEN ISSUED FOR YOUR AREA. PLEASE BE VIGILANT AND REPORT ANY SUSPICIOUS PERSONS OR ACTIVITY. IF YOU BELIEVE YOU HAVE SEEN A SUPER VILLAIN, DO NOT APPROACH OR ATTEMPT TO APPREHEND THEM. CONTACT LAW ENFORCEMENT IMMEDIATELY

#123 Movies ~ Watch Online The Boys Season 2 Episode 8: Complete Episodes Free Online Strengthens CrAMCders and mountan Moorish commanders rebelled against the corrupt British crown.

Following her battle with the Commission of Judicial Performance, Lola questions her own brand of creative justice; Benner assigns Lola a politically charged ecoterrorism trial that involves a senator's son.

The Boys Season 2 Episode 8 WEB-DL Episodes This is losing less lame files from streaming The Boys Season 2 Episode 8, like Netflix, Amazon Video.

Hulu, Crunchy roll, DiscoveryGO, BBC iPlayer, etc. These are also episodes or TV shows that are downloaded through online distribution sites, such as iTunes.

The quality is quite good because it is not re-encoded. Video streams (H.255 or H.255) and audio (AC6 / The Boys Season 2 Episode 8) are usually extracted from iTunes or Amazon Video and then reinstalled into the MKV container without sacrificing quality. Download Euphoria Episode Season 166 Episode 17 One of the streaming episodes.

The Boys Season 2 Episode 8 Miles Morales conjures his life between being a middle school student and becoming The Boys Season 2 Episode 8.

However, when Wilson “Kingpin” Fiskuses as a super collider, another Captive State from another dimension, Peter Parker, accidentally ended up in the Miles dimension.

When Peter trained the Miles to get better, Spider-Man, they soon joined four other The Boys Season 2 Episode 8 from across the “Spider-Verse”. Because all these conflicting dimensions begin to destroy Brooklyn, Miles must help others stop Fisk and return everyone to their own dimensions.

the industry’s biggest impact is on the DVD industry, which effectively met its destruction by mass popularizing online content. The Greys Anatomy of streaming media has caused the fall of many DVD rental companies such as Blockbuster. In July 2019, an article from the New York Times published an article about Netflix DVD, No Manches Frida 2s. It was stated that Netflix was continuing their DVD No. No Frida 2s with 5.6 million customers, which was a significant decrease from the previous year. On the other hand, their streaming, No Manches Frida 2s, has 55 million members. In a March 2019 study that assessed “The Impact of Episodes of Streaming on Traditional DVD Episode Rentals” it was found that respondents did not buy DVD episodes nearly as much, if ever, because streaming had taken over the market.

So we get more space adventures, more original story material and more about what will make this 21st MCU movie different from the previous 20 MCU films.

The Boys Season 2 Episode 8, viewers don’t consider the quality of Episodes to differ significantly between DVDs and online streaming. Problems that according to respondents need to be improved by streaming Episodes including fast forwarding or rewinding functions, and search functions. This article highlights that streaming quality Episodes as an industry will only increase in time, because advertising revenues continue to soar on an annual basis across industries, providing incentives for the production of quality content.

He is someone we don’t Greys Anatomy happening. Still, Brie Larson’s resume is impressive. The actress has been playing on TV and film sets since she was 11 years old. One of those confused with Swedish player Alicia Vikander (Tomb Raider) won an Oscar in 2017. She was the first Marvel movie star with a female leader. . And soon, he will play a CIA agent in a series commissioned by Apple for his future platform. The series he produced together.

Unknown to the general public in 2019, this “neighbor girl” won an Academy Award for best actress for her poignant appearance in the “Room”, the true story of a woman who was exiled with her child by predators. He had overtaken Cate Blanchett and Jennifer Lawrence, both of them had run out of statues, but also Charlotte Rampling and Saoirse Ronan.

The Boys Season 2 Episode 8 Episode Online Blu-rayor Bluray rips directly from Blu-ray discs to 580p or 120p (depending on source), and uses the x255 codec. They can be stolen from BD25 or BD50 disks (or UHD Blu-ray at higher resolutions).

BDRips comes from Blu-ray discs and are encoded to lower resolution sources (ie 580p to120p / 517p / 580p). BRRip is a video that has been encoded at HD resolution (usually 580p) which is then transcribed to SD resolution. The Boys Season 2 Episode 8 The BD / BRRip episode in DVDRip resolution looks better, however, because the encoding is from a higher quality source.

BRRips only from HD resolution to SD resolution while BDRips can switch from 2170p to 580p, etc., as long as they drop in the source disc resolution. The Boys Season 2 Episode 8 Episode Full BDRip is not transcode and can move down for encryption, but BRRip can only go down to SD resolution because they are transcribed.

At the age of 25, on the night of this Oscar, where he appeared in a steamy blue gauze dress, the reddish-haired actress gained access to Hollywood’s hottest actress club.

BD / BRRips in DVDRip resolution can vary between XviD orx255codecs (generally measuring 120MB and 1.5GB and the size of DVD5 or DVD9: 5.5GB or 8.5GB) which is larger, the size fluctuates depending on the length and quality of release, but increasingly the higher the size, the more likely they are to use the x255 codec.

With its classic and secret beauty, this Californian from Sacramento has won the Summit. He was Greys Anatomyn on “21 Jump Street” with Channing Tatum, and “Crazy Amy” by Judd Apatow. And against more prominent actresses like Jennifer Lawrence, Gal Gadot or Scarlett Johansson, Brie Larson signed a seven-contract deal with Marvel.

There is nothing like that with Watch The Curse of La Llorona Free Online, which is signed mainly by women. And it feels. When he’s not in a combination of full-featured superheroes, Carol Danvers runs Nirvana as greedy anti-erotic as possible and proves to be very independent. This is even the key to his strength: if the super hero is so unique, we are told, it is thanks to his ability since childhood, despite being ridiculed masculine, to stand alone. Too bad it’s not enough to make a film that stands up completely … Errors in scenarios and realization are complicated and impossible to be inspired.

There is no sequence of actions that are truly shocking and actress Brie Larson failed to make her character charming. Spending his time displaying scorn and ridicule, his courageous attitude continually weakens empathy and prevents the audience from shuddering at the danger and changes facing the hero. Too bad, because the tape offers very good things to the person including the red cat and Greys Anatomyng Nick Fury and both eyes (the film took place in the 1990s). In this case, if Samuel Jackson’s rejuvenation by digital technology is impressive, the illusion is only for his face. Once the actor moves or starts the sequence of actions, the stiffness of his movements is clear and reminds of his true age. Details but it shows that digital is fortunately still at a limit. As for Goose, the cat, we will not say more about his role not to “express”.

Already the 21st film for stable Marvel Cinema was launched 5 years ago, and while waiting for the sequel to The 50 Season 16 Episode war infinity (The 50 Season 16 Episode, released April 25 home), this new work is a suitable drink but struggles to hold back for the body and to be really refreshing. Let’s hope that following the adventures of the strongest heroes, Marvel managed to increase levels and prove better.

He is someone we don’t see happening. Still, Brie Larson’s resume is impressive. The actress has been playing on TV and film sets since she was 11 years old. One of those confused with Swedish player Alicia Vikander (Tomb Raider) won an Oscar in 2011. She was the first Marvel movie star with a female leader. . And soon, he will play a CIA agent in a series commissioned by Apple for his future platform. The series he produced together.

Eps.01to the general public in 2011, this “neigVikingsr girl” won an Academy Award for best actress for her poignant appearance in the “Room”, the true story of a woman who was exiled with her child by predators. He had overtaken Cate Blanchett and Jennifer Lawrence, both of them had run out of statues, but also Charlotte Rampling and Saoirse Ronan.

Watch Vikings Season 16 Episode 17 Episode Online Blu-rayor Bluray rips directly from Blu-ray discs to 680p or 720p (depending on source), and uses the x211 codec. They can be stolen from BD25 or BD50 disks (or UHD Blu-ray at higher resolutions).

BDRips comes from Blu-ray discs and are encoded to lower resolution sources (ie 680p to720p / 571p / 180p). BRRip is a video that has been encoded at HD resolution (usually 680p) which is then transcribed to SD resolution. Watch Vikings Season 16 Episode 17 The BD / BRRip episode in DVDRip resolution looks better, however, because the encoding is from a higher quality source.

BRRips only from HD resolution to SD resolution while BDRips can switch from 21p to 680p, etc., as long as they drop in the source disc resolution. Watch Vikings Season 16 Episode 17 Episode Full BDRip is not transcode and can move down for encryption, but BRRip can only go down to SD resolution because they are transcribed.

At the age of 21, on the night of this Oscar, where he appeared in a steamy blue gauze dress, the reddish-haired actress gained access to Hollywood’s hottest actress club.

BD / BRRips in DVDRip resolution can vary between XviD orx211codecs (generally measuring 700MB and 1.5GB and the size of DVD5 or DVD9: 1.5GB or 8.1GB) which is larger, the size fluctuates depending on the length and quality of release, but increasingly the higher the size, the more likely they are to use the x211 codec.

With its classic and secret beauty, this Californian from Sacramento has won the Summit. He was seen on “21 Jump Street” with Channing Tatum, and “Crazy Amy” by Judd Apatow. And against more prominent actresses like Jennifer Lawrence, Gal Gadot or Scarlett Johansson, Brie Larson signed a seven-contract deal with Marvel.

There is no sequence of actions that are truly shocking and actress Brie Larson failed to make her character charming. Spending his time displaying scorn and ridicule, his courageous attitude continually weakens empathy and prevents the audience from ITVing at the danger and changes facing the hero. Too bad, because the tape offers very good things to the person including the red cat and young Nick Fury and both eyes (the film took place in the 1990s). In this case, if Samuel Jackson’s rejuvenation by digital technology is impressive, the illusion is only for his face. Once the actor moves or starts the sequence of actions, the stiffness of his movements is clear and reminds of his true age. Details but it shows that digital is fortunately still at a limit. As for Goose, the cat, we will not say more about his role not to “express”.

Already the 21st film for stable Marvel Cinema was launched 5 years ago, and while waiting for the sequel to The 50 Season 16 Episode 17 war infinity (The 50 Season 16 Episode, released April 25 home), this new work is a suitable drink but struggles to hold back for the body and to be really refreshing. Let’s hope that following the adventures of the strongest heroes, Marvel managed to increase levels and prove better.

#theboys #theboysseason2

1 note · View note

sciencespies · 4 years ago

Text

What Neuroscientists Are Discovering About Stuttering

https://sciencespies.com/nature/what-neuroscientists-are-discovering-about-stuttering/

What Neuroscientists Are Discovering About Stuttering

Gerald Maguire has stuttered since childhood, but you might not guess it from talking to him. For the past 25 years, Maguire — a psychiatrist at the University of California, Riverside — has been treating his disorder with antipsychotic medications not officially approved for the condition. Only with careful attention might you discern his occasional stumble on multisyllabic words like “statistically” and “pharmaceutical.”

Maguire has plenty of company: More than 70 million people worldwide, including about 3 million Americans, stutter — that is, they have difficulty with the starting and timing of speech, resulting in halting and repetition. That number includes approximately 5 percent of children, many of whom outgrow the condition, and 1 percent of adults. Their numbers include presidential candidate Joe Biden, deep-voiced actor James Earl Jones and actress Emily Blunt. Though those people and many others, including Maguire, have achieved career success, stuttering can contribute to social anxiety and draw ridicule or discrimination by others.

Maguire has been treating people who stutter, and researching potential treatments, for decades. He receives daily emails from people who want to try medications, join his trials, or even donate their brains to his university when they die. He’s now embarking on a clinical trial of a new medication, called ecopipam, that streamlined speech and improved quality of life in a small pilot study in 2019.

Many famous people have a stutter or did so as a child, including (left to right) presidential candidate Joe Biden, actor James Earl Jones and actor Emily Blunt.

(Left to Right: Michael Stokes; U.S. Embassy photo by S.J. Mayhew; Gage Skidmore)

Others, meanwhile, are delving into the root causes of stuttering, which also may point to novel treatments. In past decades, therapists mistakenly attributed stuttering to defects of the tongue and voice box, to anxiety, trauma or even poor parenting — and some still do. Yet others have long suspected that neurological problems might underlie stuttering, says J. Scott Yaruss, a speech-language pathologist at Michigan State University in East Lansing. The first data to back up that hunch came in 1991, Yaruss says, when researchers reported altered blood flow in the brains of people who stuttered. Over the past two decades, continuing research has made it more apparent that stuttering is all in the brain.

“We are in the middle of an absolute explosion of knowledge being developed about stuttering,” Yaruss says.

There’s still a lot to figure out, though. Neuroscientists have observed subtle differences in the brains of people who stutter, but they can’t be certain if those differences are the cause or a result of the stutter. Geneticists are identifying variations in certain genes that predispose a person to stutter, but the genes themselves are puzzling: Only recently have their links to brain anatomy become apparent.

Maguire, meanwhile, is pursuing treatments based on dopamine, a chemical messenger in the brain that helps to regulate emotions and movement (precise muscle movements, of course, are needed for intelligible speech). Scientists are just beginning to braid these disparate threads together, even as they forge ahead with early testing for treatments based on their discoveries.

Slowed circuitry

Looking at a standard brain scan of someone who stutters, a radiologist won’t notice anything amiss. It’s only when experts look closely, with specialized technology that shows the brain’s in-depth structure and activity during speech, that subtle differences between groups who do and don’t stutter become apparent.

The problem isn’t confined to one part of the brain. Rather, it’s all about connections between different parts, says speech-language pathologist and neuroscientist Soo-Eun Chang of the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. For example, in the brain’s left hemisphere, people who stutter often appear to have slightly weaker connections between the areas responsible for hearing and for the movements that generate speech. Chang has also observed structural differences in the corpus callosum, the big bundle of nerve fibers that links the left and right hemispheres of the brain.

These findings hint that stuttering might result from slight delays in communication between parts of the brain. Speech, Chang suggests, would be particularly susceptible to such delays because it must be coordinated at lightning speed.

Chang has been trying to understand why about 80 percent of kids who stutter grow up to have normal speech patterns, while the other 20 percent continue to stutter into adulthood. Stuttering typically begins when children first start stringing words together into simple sentences, around age 2. Chang studies children for up to four years, starting as early as possible, looking for changing patterns in brain scans.

It’s no easy feat to convince such young children to hold still in a giant, thumping, brain-imaging machine. The team has embellished the scanner with decorations that hide all the scary parts. (“It looks like an ocean adventure,” Chang says.) In kids who lose their stutter, Chang’s team has observed that the connections between areas involved in hearing and ones involved in speech movements get stronger over time. But that doesn’t happen in children who continue to stutter.

In another study, Chang’s group looked at how the different parts of the brain work simultaneously, or don’t, using blood flow as a proxy for activity. They found a link between stuttering and a brain circuit called the default mode network, which has roles in ruminating over one’s past or future activities, as well as daydreaming. In children who stutter, the default mode network seems to insert itself — like a third person butting in on a romantic date — into the conversation between networks responsible for focusing attention and creating movements. That could also slow speech production, she says.

These changes to brain development or structure might be rooted in a person’s genes, but an understanding of this part of the problem has also taken time to mature.

All in the family

In early 2001, geneticist Dennis Drayna received a surprising email: “I am from Cameroon, West Africa. My father was a chief. He had three wives and I have 21 full and half siblings. Almost all of us stutter,” Drayna recalls it saying. “Do you suppose there could be something genetic in my family?”

Drayna, who worked at the National Institute on Deafness and Other Communication Disorders, already had a longstanding interest in the inheritance of stuttering. His uncle and elder brother stuttered, and his twin sons did so as children. But he was reluctant to make a transatlantic journey based on an email, and wary that his clinical skills weren’t up to analyzing the family’s symptoms. He mentioned the email to current National Institutes of Health director Francis Collins (director of the National Human Genome Research Institute at that time), who encouraged him to check it out, so he booked a ticket to Africa. He has also traveled to Pakistan, where intermarriage of cousins can reveal gene variants linked to genetic disorders in their children.

Even with those families, finding the genes was slow going: Stuttering isn’t inherited in simple patterns like blood types or freckles are. But eventually, Drayna’s team identified mutations in four genes — GNPTAB, GNPTG and NAGPA from the Pakistan studies, and AP4E1 from the clan in Cameroon — that he estimates may underlie as many as one in five cases of stuttering.

Oddly, none of the genes that Drayna identified have an obvious connection to speech. Rather, they all are involved in sending cellular materials to the waste-recycling compartment called the lysosome. It took more work before Drayna’s team linked the genes to brain activity.

They started by engineering mice to have one of the mutations they’d observed in people, in the mouse version of GNPTAB, to see if it affected the mice’s vocalizations . Mice can be quite chatty, but much of their conversation takes place in an ultrasonic range that people can’t hear. Recording the ultrasonic calls of pups, the team observed patterns similar to human stuttering. “They have all these gaps and pauses in their train of vocalizations,” says Drayna, who cowrote an overview of genetics research on speech and language disorders for the Annual Review of Genomics and Human Genetics.

Still, the team struggled to spot any clear defect in the animals’ brains — until one determined researcher found that there were fewer of the cells called astrocytes in the corpus callosum. Astrocytes do big jobs that are essential for nerve activity: providing the nerves with fuel, for example, and collecting wastes. Perhaps, Drayna muses, the limited astrocyte population slows down communication between the brain hemispheres by a tiny bit, only noticeable in speech.

Researchers created mice with a mutation in a gene that, in people, is linked to stuttering. The mutant mice vocalized haltingly, with longer pauses between syllables, similar to what’s seen in human stuttering.

(Adapted from T.D. Barnes et al./Current Biology 2016; T.Han et al./PNAS 2019; Knowable Magazine)

Drayna’s research has received mixed reviews. “It’s really been the pioneering work in the field,” says Angela Morgan, a speech-language pathologist at the University of Melbourne and Murdoch Children’s Research Institute in Australia. On the other hand, Maguire has long doubted that mutations in such important genes, used in nearly all cells, could cause defects only in the corpus callosum, and only in speech. He also finds it difficult to compare mouse squeaks to human speech. “That’s a bit of a stretch,” he says.

Scientists are sure there are more stuttering genes to find. Drayna has retired, but Morgan and collaborators are initiating a large-scale study in the hopes of identifying additional genetic contributors in more than 10,000 people.

The dopamine connection

Maguire has been tackling stuttering from a very different angle: investigating the role of dopamine, a key signaling molecule in the brain. Dopamine can ramp up or down the activity of neurons, depending on the brain location and the nerve receptors it sticks to. There are five different dopamine receptors (named D1, D2, and so on) that pick up the signal and respond.

During the 1990s, Maguire and colleagues were among the first to use a certain kind of brain scan, positron emission tomography, on people who stutter. They found too much dopamine activity in these people’s brains. That extra dopamine seems to stifle the activity of some of the brain regions that Chang and others have linked to stuttering.

Backing up the dopamine connection, other researchers reported in 2009 that people with a certain version of the D2 receptor gene, one that indirectly enhances dopamine activity, are more likely to stutter.

So Maguire wondered: Could blocking dopamine be the answer? Conveniently, antipsychotic drugs do just that. Over the years, Maguire has conducted small, successful clinical studies with these medications including risperidone, olanzapine and lurasidone. (Personally, he prefers the last because it doesn’t cause as much weight gain as the others.) The result: “Your stuttering won’t completely go away, but we can treat it,” he says.

None of those medications are approved for stuttering by the US Food and Drug Administration, and they can cause unpleasant side effects, not just weight gain but also muscle stiffness and impaired movement. In part, that’s because they act on the D2 version of the dopamine receptor. Maguire’s new medication, ecopipam, works on the D1 version, which he expects will diminish some side effects — though he’ll have to watch for others, such as weight loss and depression.

In a small study of 10 volunteers, Maguire, Yaruss and colleagues found that people who took ecopipam stuttered less than they did pre-treatment. Quality-of-life scores, related to feelings such as helplessness or acceptance of their stutter, also improved for some participants.

Ten adult volunteers who stuttered were given ecopipam, a drug that blocks one version of the dopamine receptor, for 8 weeks. They stuttered significantly less when they were on the drug than they had before the treatment.

(G.A. Maguire et al./Annals of Clinical Psychiatry 2019/Knowable Magazine)

Ecopipam isn’t the only treatment under consideration. Back in Michigan, Chang hopes that stimulation of specific parts of the brain during speech could improve fluency. The team uses electrodes on the scalp to gently stimulate a segment of the hearing area, aiming to strengthen connections between that spot and the one that manages speech movements. (This causes a brief tickle sensation before fading, Chang says.) The researchers stimulate the brain while the person undergoes traditional speech therapy, hoping to enhance the therapy’s effects. Because of the Covid-19 pandemic, the team had to stop the study with 24 subjects out of a planned 50. They’re analyzing the data now.

Connecting the dots

Dopamine, cellular waste disposal, neural connectivity — how do they fit together? Chang notes that one of the brain’s circuits involved in stuttering includes two areas that make and use dopamine, which might help explain why dopamine is important in the disorder.

She hopes that neuroimaging can unite the different ideas. As a first stab, she and collaborators compared the problem areas identified by her brain scans to maps of where various genes are active in the brain. Two of Drayna’s genes, GNPTG and NAGPA, were active at high levels in the speech and hearing network in the brains of non-stutterers, she saw. That suggests those genes are really needed in those areas, bolstering Drayna’s hypothesis that defects in the genes would interfere with speech.

The team also observed something novel: Genes involved in energy processing were active in the speech and hearing areas. There’s a big rise in brain activity during the preschool years, when stuttering tends to start, Chang says. Perhaps, she theorizes, those speech-processing regions don’t get all the energy they need at a time when they really need to be cranking at maximum power. With that in mind, she plans to look for mutations in those energy-control genes in children who stutter. “There are obviously a lot of dots that need to be connected,” she says.

Maguire is also connecting dots: He says he’s working on a theory to unite his work with Drayna’s genetic findings. Meanwhile, after struggling through med school interviews and choosing a career in talk therapy despite his difficulties with speech, he’s hopeful about ecopipam: With colleagues, he’s starting a new study that will compare 34 people on ecopipam with 34 on placebo. If that treatment ever becomes part of the standard stuttering tool kit, he will have realized a lifelong dream.

Knowable Magazine is an independent journalistic endeavor from Annual Reviews.

#Nature

1 note · View note

retail-hell · 5 years ago

Text

Short stories of working at Jo-Ann’s.

• I’m a crafter, and I’m not 100% familiar with all of our fabrics and sewing items. Which by proxy means I don’t know how to sew in any way except for how to make a pillowcase like I learned in 8th grade. I had a lady come in and I’m back up register so I’m available to help so I offered help when she said she had a question. She proceeded to badger me on how to make a dress. I told her I’m not familiar with how, but one of my managers (who does drag and makes BEAUTIFUL dresses) is. “I saw him earlier but I don’t know if he’s still here. You make go back to the cutting counter to see or ask.” She’s huffy I won’t follow her (I’m clearly doing an important project). She comes back to ask when he works next. I saw I don’t know, I don’t know his schedule. She turns red and leaves.

• Around the start of Black Friday sales ( the first time around, I just made it one year) I was put to train on the cut counter. I’ve done a couple simple cuts before to help out. But I was only trained for less than an hour before I was needed at the register. SM scheduled me for counter my next shift and I was immediately overwhelmed by the line, what people wanted cut, I literally didn’t know what I was doing, it was just me and one other person who was already cutting so she couldn’t teach me, no one could, and I was eventually sent to the back to take care of my first massive panic attack in years. I’m still a little traumatized and have refused to cut since.

• Our store doesn’t sell sewing machines. Instead we have an independent stored that rents floor space from us to sell sewing machines and their other various items. They close at 6, it is 6:10, they are gone, and a lady comes to the register with three of their items and one of ours. Here’s how the conversation went:

ME: Sorry ma’am, I can’t sell you these three items. They are not ours.

LADY: What do you mean? They’re in your store and I need them.

ME: They belong to the independent store in the carpeted area. Their barcodes are made clearly different, and we cannot sell them. You can come back tomorrow to get them. They unfortunately closed at 6.

LADY: You don’t understand, I need them for a project I have to finish tonight. Can I just give you money in and envelope to leave for them.

ME: Logically and morally I cannot do that, ma’am. It would be categorized as stealing as I can’t sell another store’s items.

LADY: You know what? I’ll find someone else to help me.

She proceeds to take all items. Throws the one that was ours onto a random shelf as I watched. Screaming that it was terrible customer service for not doing what she asked. (And as I learned after she left) Yelled at my manager for saying the exact same thing I did, angry that she too wouldn’t steal from another store for her. Then power walked out in a huff. That same manager asked me if she bought anything else, worried she’d leave a stupid survey that would hurt our scores. I simply said no she only wanted those.

• All the customers that complain that our fabrics is a mess and our store is a “mess” are the same ones doing it because we all watched them.

• Bless the few mothers that actually control their kids, instead of letting them run around the store using anything and everything as a toy. Such as the family that let their kids break a big glass vase and proceeded to tell no one. But said “oh at that was us” when a manager found them still looking in that area.

• I had a woman tell me that all of our gift cards were disgusting and that she was super mad that we didn’t have birthday themed ones, nor did we have envelopes for them.

• Customers that say “Oh it was this way not too long ago” and roll their eyes when I say “oh well it’s been like this since before I started working here over year ago and when I shopped here before then”

• “The packaging is a little damaged, can I get a discount?

• All of the empty packaging hidden and plainly visible we see all over the store. Clearance, regular, and sometimes empty bolts stuffed into fabric clearance.

• (I was here this day but I know the story) One day, receiving a large truck load, there was a woman looking for an item that wasn’t on the shelf. She then took it upon herself to go into our freight room to look through boxes and totes for her item. One of the managers eventually yelled at her, threw the tote the lady was looking in at that moment out the door, and slammed it shut when she had followed it.

• One lady was looking for an extremely large sized pillow. And was mad that I told her we don’t carry it instead of looking for it. (I was the only one on register are pillows are in the back.) She said she would call back later to ask again. She never did.

• One much older gentleman (who seemed to have a ferret up his but the moment he came into the store) was first angry that he had to take a number to ask for help because it was busy at the counter. It was empty at the register I really don’t know why he didn’t ask me. He refused to have our female manager help him. He turned the male manager, who was cutting for someone else, to ask him for a pattern for a robe. He was told where and how to find them, as my managers were too busy to leave the counter. The gentleman proceeds to just come up to the register. At the same time counter person came back from lunch. MM ran to help me at the register since there was now a rush. The gentleman comes to me and asks if I’m the manager. I say “no it’s the gentleman next m-”. MM interrupting “yes me and the woman in the back.” The gentleman decided to ignore my manager and complain to me like I’m the manager and can do anything about it. Then asks if I can help him find the pattern. I tell him the exact same thing and apologized that I could not leave as we don’t have the people to cover the line. He turns around, fuming, but following my directions. We get through the line and I’m sent to lunch just as the gentleman comes back and he stares at me as I come out from behind the counter, turning as I went around him. “I’m terribly sorry sir but I have to go lunch now as we behind”. His response was to huff and slam the pattern book he had on the register counter my manager was at. Yelling at him to find it. He did, the gentleman then left.

• One time I was trying to get to the register to help out. But I was stuck behind a gaggle of later 20-early 30s women moving two steps at time, blocking the whole walkway between the aisle. They scoffed at me as I said “pardon me” and squeezed between them.

• Hearing “do you work here?” ten times a day, wearing the bright green apron, having all the gear, and doing my job.

• “I found this on your website, why can’t I find it here?!” Clearly says online only or not available in my store.

• Over Christmas a lady tried to return a Christmas light necklace without a receipt, that was clearly different in design and packaging of what we had on display right next to us, claiming she bought it last week. No you didn’t honey.

• We’re still working on a mega huge yarn reset, and there is nothing but complaints about the boxes in the aisles when they should know by now that we obviously don’t have a back room based on the up stock shelves and that we don’t have enough people because they definitely would’ve been working on getting the yarn out.

There’s more than just customer stories though.

• we had 8 stackout fixtures, they took away four, ands expect us to have 20 set

Be creative!

•magazines were moved to right in front of registers, dropping magazine sales, queue item sales, and causing traffic jams when we busy and people are shopping the magazines.

Be creative!

• we are literally drowning in clearance, we have to have it throughout the store including on queue panels, even though they started wanted us to set 11 queue panels months ago with us only really having 10

Be creative!

• they sent over 50 planograms to be done in one week and as I far as I’ve heard that was legit and not an accident which is ridiculous. Being as hours has been cut so much there had only been one or two people able to work in planograms in general

Be creative!

• sending a million sequin ty animals of all sizes to be set in a tiny display and a million boxes of each type of seasonal candy and only giving tiny sections put it. Such as the Easter candy stackout that had three different peeps in one two foot basket and sending five boxes of each one

Be creative!

I don’t understand how much more creative we can get when it feels like our store is getting smaller and smaller as fixtures are taken away or filled and boxes of overstock just keep coming. I love my job, it’s just extremely frustrating how the uppers and customers are treating us.

#joanns is a special kind of hell #retail worker #working retail #retail hell #retail stories #retail #submission

36 notes · View notes

aquarianwisp · 6 years ago

Text

Everyday things you can do to build your witchy supplies and cheap ways to do it

Burning to get your witchy supplies started but have no idea where to start? My suggestion- start anywhere and with everyday things! Herbs To get a herb collection started, you do not have to have homegrown herbs or herbs from metaphysical stores which can be pricey. You can start a simple herb collection with just herbs available from your grocery store. If you are not a green thumb or you live in an apartment with no space for a garden, this is a really good option for getting a collection started. Just because something came from the grocery store doesn’t make it any less magical, and many people are under the impression that due to the mundane nature of how the herbs were obtained they are therefore less effective. This is not true at all! If you like doing the whole drying process yourself, you can go to the fresh food sections and pick up bunches of basil, parsley, mint, peppermint, rosemary, sage, dill, lemongrass, coriander, tarragon, oregano etc very cheap and usually already in a perfect bundle ready to be dried! You just need to take them home and hang them up somewhere dry for a few days to a week or so before they will be all dried and ready to use. If you are lazy and can’t be bothered or don’t have time to do the drying process, you can go to the spice section and find many of these same herbs already chopped up and dried out. If the packaging on the product makes you feel a bit “meh”, just take them home and place them in a jar or other similar container where they can remain dry, and the look of the container makes you feel inspired.

Gathering herbs and flowers is another really great option. Of course, if you are not experienced in recognizing wild herbs and flowers, I recommend you practice gathering a bit differently. Try gathering with the help of your community. Some of your neighbours might be green thumbs and be willing to share some of their plants with you. I used to live near someone who hedged their garden with basil, and every time their basil hedges grew out of control they would trim them. They were happy to give me the trimmings of their basil plants. They also gave me the rosehips that they had on their rose bushes, and if they had roses or lavender growing I would always ask for some trimmings if they were willing to share. People are actually more generous with their gardens than you think! A lot of avid gardeners are always willing to share cuttings as well, so if you know how to grow from a cutting this is a really good way to also build a herb collection. Any dandelions I see around my home I like to gather for drying, and any other flowers I can easily recognize such as hibiscus, daisies, frangipani, marigolds, chrysanthemum, cherry blossom, magnolia etc I will always try to gather a bit here and there. Another really cool option is to go to community gardens and gather the plants there that you can use, where they are labelled and everyone is free to take what they need! Save your orange or citrus peels for drying as well, as you can use these to emit the smell of their essential oils when placed over a heat source! Herbal teas are another really great option to safely consume herbs. Of course, check with your medical practitioner as some herbs contained in teas may cause issues with medications etc, (You can never be too safe when it comes to things you choose to eat/drink) however, herbal teas are a really great way to enjoy the benefits of the herbs in a safer manner than say, walking onto the street, picking up what you think is a certain type of herb and then making a tea out of it. Jars Jars are simple to obtain, and you do not have to start buying a million jars from your local dollar store just to have that witchy aesthetic that everyone seems to want. Recycle the jars from your food to store herbs or to use in spells. Pasta sauces, mayonnaise, anchovies, preserved foods, peanut butter, etc etc, anything that comes in a jar. Not only is this a great way to reduce waste, but glass is a safer option for storing things as you will not have the nasty toxins from plastic leaching into your herbs, oils, moon water, floral waters etc, and they look so much more attractive than plastic. And having all sorts of types of jars in different sizes and shapes makes for a very rustic witchy aesthetic look anyway. Collect natural objects Homeware stores have started selling bits of driftwood, false flowers, shells, pinecones, pebbles etc for ridiculous prices so that rich people can look fashionable and “rustic”. There is no point in buying these things when you can go to the beach and pick up a piece of driftwood or some shells for free. Objects picked up in their natural environment also seem to retain their energies more so than those objects that have been commercialised. Scour your local nature strips or parks for pretty looking dried leaves, pine cones, nice shaped rocks and anything else that inspires your witchiness. Make sure that you respect the spirits of these areas. Do not take more than what you need, and ensure that you ask permission from the spirits before taking. It is always good to leave an offering in its place- usually something organic such as fruit, seeds or nuts which can feed the local ants or birds.

Collect ribbons and coloured paper Every time it’s Christmas or you are given a gift, save the ribbons or wrapping. String has so many uses in witchcraft, and different colours have different meanings that can be used in all sorts of rituals. You can reuse them as well if you don’t end up burning them. Coloured paper can also take on meanings if you will it so. Tell people you want candles for Christmas Tell everyone who asks what you want for Christmas or your birthday that you really want to decorate your space and you love candles and you are dying to get some. Then watch as all your friends and family give you tons of different types of candles. Trust me, you can never go wrong with this. Candles are often so cheap that people will buy heaps of them for you in different colours and fragrances. The other good thing about this is that if people know you are a witch and they want to buy you a witchy type present they will often have no idea what to get you and will default to a candle. Buy candles from the lighting/electrical/barbeque section of a grocery store. Buying candles from a speciality metaphysical store, a homewares store, or even a dollar store can be expensive. But many grocery stores sell candles to be used in emergency blackouts or power outages, and some have started selling these types of candles in different colours as well. They often come in bulk packs and work just as well for half the price. You can also buy birthday candles and use those for your spells, especially if you need to do a quick spell. If you are after some really beautiful white candles, buy candles listed as “church candles”. These are sold cheaper than other white candles, probably because churches get all sorts of discounts. But they often are moulded in a really classical shape so they can look sometimes more beautiful than just your plain ol’ white candle. You do not have to burn your entire candle down for a spell to be effective. If you don’t write your own spells you will often see spell instructions telling you to allow the candle to completely finish burning. This is a waste of time and a waste of the precious candles that you conned every one of your family members into buying you last Christmas. It is also ridiculous- some candles burn for 18 hours or more, and it is totally unsafe to leave candles unattended. Do you have 18 hours to monitor a candle? Nope. You can cheaply make your own specialised spell candles, you do not have to waste 20 dollars on one from a metaphysical store. Yes, that’s right, with a microwave and a cheap candle you can carefully melt the wax down, add a wick in one of those jars you saved and then add all the herbs and fragrant oils, flowers, or whatever you want to the melted wax before allowing it to dry. There is a lot of tutorials for this on the internet, but please make sure you go for candles that do not have a foil or aluminium wick holder on the bottom as these will catch fire in your microwave. Candlesticks with nothing but wax and a wick at the top are best for this. Please take precautions with hot wax. Otherwise, there is no reason why you need that fancy candle for triple the price. You do not need a fancy obsidian scrying bowl, a kitchen bowl with water works fine! That’s right! Those metaphysical stores who try and make you buy an expensive obsidian plate for scrying seem to have forgotten that water scrying is an art that has existed for centuries! Any reflective surface can be used for scrying, it doesn’t have to be a fancy looking crystal object. Learn to read playing cards for divination You do not need to spend on tarot if you cannot afford it. Pick up some playing cards and use the power of the internet to learn how to read them for divination! If you are a closet witch as well, no one will suspect a deck of playing cards either. Print pictures of deities at a photo store. Never before has it been cheaper to print pictures now that digital has taken over. My local department store has a photo printing station where you can buy photo prints for 5 cents. I take a USB of pictures I like of my deities that I found online and print them off as photos. Then I frame them in dollar store frames. BAM! You have an altar set up for a few dollars.

Buy festive decorations after the season has passed If it’s yule time and you are dying to decorate your house with holly, red and green, pine etc, wait until the next year to decorate (I know, it sucks, but if you’re frugal you can dig this). Go to a dollar store and buy up big after the Christmas period has ended in preparation for the next year. Holidays such as Christmas, Easter and Halloween have become so commercialised that there is a serious overproduction of decorations each year and after the season has passed the stores just want to get rid of stuff as fast as possible. This is when you can jump in and get some witchy looking objects for a really cheap price. What’s great is that a lot of dollar stores sell some very witchy looking decorations during these typically Christian festivals- Bunnies, eggs, chickens, skeletons, pine branches, holly, cauldrons, etc without realising. Splurge on expensive incense when you can. 20 dollar packet on incense? Get it. My advice here is- quality really shows when it comes to incense. I am a massive incense fan, but whenever I can afford it (which is not always, sometimes I too have to go for the two dollar packets) and I find a really nice packet of pricey incense I go for it. Why? The cheaper the incense, the faster the burn time and the less resin it contains. One of the reasons that incense gets that burnt smell is because it contains sawdust to help it burn. Cheaper incenses smell less fragrant and burn faster because most of the resins coating the sticks are substituted with more sawdust. That way, the manufacturer keeps the costs of production down. More expensive incense sticks often have a ton more resin in their coating, smell more potent, and burn slower with a more beautiful smoke colour. They are well worth their price, and when you experience it you will want to always try and get the pricier sticks. The more expensive sticks also tend to have more of the real resins in them. Sandalwood, for example, is actually an endangered species and has become very expensive to buy. So manufacturers who create cheap incenses often substitute with sandalwood smelling substances but never really use the real thing. If you can afford it, go for incense sticks manufactured with real Australian sandalwood. Australian sandalwood smells extremely similar to Indian sandalwood and is specifically farmed for incense production. Thus you are getting the real thing but you are not contributing to the endangerment of Indian sandalwood which is a culturally sacred species that needs to be protected. That being said, my point here is quality and a long lasting product will save money over time when it comes to incense.

Anyway, that’s all for my witchy money saving tips for now! I hope this helped you!

#witchcraft #witch #spells #spellcraft

404 notes · View notes