#yeah I found a few on like Reddit but they didn’t really GET the assignment you know?

[notebookqueenofnarnia]

I have searched high and low and no where can I find satisfying

Book Recs for Percabeth fans

please I’m begging you

Is it because no other book couple can compare to Percabeth?? Is their five book long slow burn the key??? Or is it the whole ‘yeah I’ll go to hell for you no hesitation, what about it’ thing??? Are you telling me middle age white man uncle rick is the only one who understands Romance??? Is it because I’m just used to all the Reylo-esque books getting published and my expectations are that precise????

please

I just wanna feel like I’m reading fanfic without reading fanfic

Does anyone get that?

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 5

More people said yes to Hannigram, which is good because Will is already involved in the plot and it would be awkward to have him just disappear. Also, I had someone request a Hannigram x reader in my asks. Apologies to the one person who voted no; I promise there will be more solo Hannibal x reader content in the future.

Hannibal decides to that y/n could do with some extra protection, but doesn’t anticipate what she has to tell him.

I have no idea how to make a proper tag list but @deadman-inc-bikeshop and @dovahdokren here you go 

Trigger warnings: discussions of alcohol, victim blaming

“When I saw his face, I immediately knew he had never once experienced the touch of his own hand, let alone that of a woman.” Charissa read out loud to everyone on staff. “Or, that he was buried so deep in the closet he found Narnia, but those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.” 

It was expected to be a slow night, as was normal for an ordinary Tuesday. On nights like those, you could get away with more, like reading a tabloid article out loud for everyone to hear. 

“I can’t believe [F/N] actually went public.” One of the new busboys commented. “What an absolute madlad.”  

“Did you just unironically use reddit terminology in an actual conversation?” You narrowed your eyes at the kid. 

“[F/N], you are making a very dangerous enemy.” An older waitress said, cryptically, from the corner of the room. 

“Who, Jason?” You gestured to the busboy. “What’s he gonna do? Make me cringe myself to death?” 

“You know that’s not who I mean.” She frowned. “I’m talking about Chase Mulvaney.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You shook your head. “He’s not stupid enough to come back here.” 

Charissa made a noise that denoted her doubt. “I dunno, [F/N]. You’d have to be pretty stupid to start stabbing people at a crowded restaurant in broad daylight.” 

“But he was smart enough to get away, right?” Jason asked. “That’s gotta count for something!” 

You and Charissa exchanged glances. Neither of you had the emotional bandwidth to explain white privilege again. Instead, you just humored him. 

“Yeah.” Charissa lied. “He was smart enough to get away, meaning he probably knows better than to come back.”

"You're kidding yourself." A third waitress, who's name you couldn't seem to place, added. "People always say that killers are these galaxy-brained superhumans, but they're not. Mulvaney believes he's divinely ordained, so any thought that pops into his coked-out head is a sign from god."

And so shattered your thin firmament of denial. You made a point to never learn this person's name just out of spite.

“Oh, shit.” You said, trying to hide your genuine fear with a sarcastic voice. “Maybe he is coming back for me.” 

Charissa glared at the two other waitresses, equally pissed at them for scaring you.

"And it'll be your own fault for provoking him with that article." The older waitress said.

"Holy victim-blaming, batman." You mumbled.

“Alright, listen up, y’all.” Matthew announced to the group. “In ten minutes we open for dinner. Remember, if you want to switch shifts with another person, you have to run it by me first. I don’t want to see anybody but [F/N] at the bar tonight, capiche?”

“Yessir.” You saluted him and made your way over to the bar. You’d been doling out your bartending shifts left and right to avoid even the possibility of being cornered by another Freddie Lounds. You were only prolonging the inevitable, though. Eventually, you needed to return to the bar.

You passed the hostess's stand, where Charissa was stationed. Suddenly, you felt someone grab at your arm.

"Fucking hell, dude?!" You flinched violently and your heart rate jumped. "Don't do that!"

"Shit, sorry!" Charissa looked immediately regretful. "But, look!"

You followed her gaze through the window where a fancy car was parked. He leaned against the door, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt.

Now your heart was beating fast for a completely different reason. You squeezed Charissa's hand, trying to keep a lid on your nervous excitement.

"I think your luck's starting to turn." She said in a sing-songy voice.

"Yeah, I bet he'll protect me from the Baltimore Butcher." You whispered, trying not to giggle like an elementary school girl.

"Oh, could you imagine those arms around you?" She sighed deeply, her hand firmly against her chest. "I would die."

"Not until he sinks his teeth into your neck." You smirked, gnashing your teeth together.

"I would let him." She rested her chin on her hand.

"Yeah, me too." You agreed.

"I would give anything to trade shifts with you." Charissa groaned.

"Well, you heard the boss." You shrugged, suddenly feeling much better about your assignment. "I gotta stay behind the bar."

"Oh, pobrecita." Charissa rolled her eyes. Underneath the stand, she put up her middle finger in your direction. "Suck a dick, [L/N]."

You walked backwards towards the bar, keeping your eyes on your friend. "That's the plan, baby."

You tried to make yourself look busy. You dared not look at him as he entered the restaurant.

He exchanged pleasantries with Charissa then took his seat at the bar. You pretended not to notice him right away, only to give you an extra second to compose yourself.

"Hi there." You greeted, knowing you'd feel stupid no matter what you said. "Er- good evening."

"[F/N] [L/N], I assume?" He asked.

Fuck, you thought. His voice was dark, low and made your insides tremble. Even though part of you knew he was going to know your name, it still felt so sensual passing his lips.

You realized you had waved to him with your bandaged hand. That's how he was about to identify you so quickly. "Yes, I am she. I mean- her. Me."

Way to go, dumbass. You thought. Now he knows you're nervous and he's going to wonder why.

“God, I need to stop wearing this damn thing.” You said, clearing your throat. “What can I get for you tonight?” 

He was quiet for a moment. "What do you recommend?"

"Well, that depends." You said, pulling your gaze from him and grabbing a few wine glasses down from a high shelf. It was the only way you could maintain your composure.

"On?"

"What you're having for dinner, for one." You said. "And whether or not you're a vulpine tabloid journalist trying to corner me into a dubiously ethical interview. That's also a factor."

"So that's how Miss Lounds wore you down?" He concluded. "With wine?"

You rested your elbows on the bar, filled with an intoxicating confidence. "She tried wine first. Then she tried to get me fired because she asked for chardonnay and I brought her chablis. And when that didn't work, she siphoned my gas."

"I wish I could say that was out of character for her." He looked at you, apologetically.

"I take it you've had your own run-ins with Freddie?" You smiled.

"She's tried to infiltrate my practice multiple times." He sighed. "She's entered my office under a fake name with a recording device in her purse."

"What a sick fuck." You said, before remembering you really weren't supposed to curse in front of customers. You covered your mouth. "Sorry."

The corners of his mouth turned up into an amused smile. "Don't apologize. You're right."

“So you’re a doctor?” You asked, hoping he wasn’t the type to be offended by questions. 

“I’m a psychiatrist.” He nodded. “I used to work as a surgeon, but I find the mind much more compelling.” 

"Seriously, though." You pushed yourself back to your feet. "What can I get for you?"

He eyed the wine menu and then looked back at you. "What is your favorite red?"

"My favorite red?" You placed your hand on your collarbones. "On a night like this, I enjoy a nice, dry Argentinean Malbec."

"In that case," he thumbed through the list once more. "I'll have a bottle of Cobos Chañares from 2016, please."

You smiled. You wouldn't mind taking a sip of that if he offered. "Right away."

You carefully pulled the solid black bottle from its crevice and placed it on the bar. You removed the plastic seal and reached for the corkscrew. The bottle opened with a satisfying pop, filling the air around you with the strong, complex and seemingly contradictory aromas.

You poured a bit of this criminally expensive wine into his glass. He smelled it, then swirled it for a moment before taking a sip.

"Redcurrants and vanilla," he began. "With floral notes that operate with the precision of interlocking gears in a clock. Everything in its place."

"So you're a sommelier and a poet?" You tilted your head and filled his glass. "I'll bet you make women swoon at every corner."

You never had the best grasp on flirting, but even you knew that line was awful.

“Are you flirting with me, Miss [L/N]?” He asked, clearly not too worried about the consequences and enjoying the flattery. “Or are you just trying to get a taste of this Malbec?” 

“Little bit of column A, little bit of column B.” You shrugged. “Though you are as handsome as everyone says, I’ve had my eyes on that wine for slightly longer.” 

You fought the urge to slap your hand over your mouth. You had just broken the cardinal rule of workplace gossip. Panic reverberated through your body as you tried to break down his unreadable expression. 

Once again, he just looked amused. “I’ve seen those lingering glances, the way you all whisper and giggle. It’s flattering.” 

You felt your cheeks growing hot. “...I see.” 

“If you tell me what they say about me, I’ll let you have a taste.” His eyes bored into yours. 

You paused, trying to decipher exactly what he was offering. Then it hit you. 

“Oh!” You interjected. “The wine.” 

“Yes, that’s what I meant.” He said. “Dare I ask where your mind went?” 

Your cheeks stung from all the uncomfortable smiling. “I’d really like to keep my job, thanks.” 

“Have you never heard of bartender-client confidentiality?” His voice lowered and his eyes found your lips. “Nothing we say tonight has to leave these four walls.” 

Your insides turned to jelly. He rested the wine glass in his hand and offered it to you. Your hands shaking, you cradled the glass like an 18th century French village prostitute being offered a mug of hot soup. You brought the glass to your lips, the strong, overwhelming smells assaulting your orifices.

You let the wine grace your tongue. You had taught yourself to overcome the sting of the alcohol and focus on the undertones. Your eyes rolled back in to your head and you let out a little noise of pleasure. 

“Christ on a bike, that’s decadent.” You said, gasping for air a little bit. You quickly passed the glass back to him before Matthew could see you. “Thank you.” 

“Now, indulge me.” He instructed, glancing at the fresh pink lipstick mark on his glass. “What do the lovely women of Terroir whisper while I’m just out of earshot?” 

You rested your elbows on the bar and leaned in close. “They say you’re a vampire.” 

Judging by his unchanging neutral expression, it clearly wasn’t the first time someone had made that connection. “Perhaps they’re on to something.” 

“One of our line cooks used to say you were the devil.” You informed him, hoping that was one he hadn’t heard before.

“Used to?” He raised his eyebrows. 

“Until Chase Mulvaney came around.” You instinctively ran your fingers over your bandages, as if to make sure they were still there. It was a nervous tick you’d developed anytime someone brought up that day. “He’s stopped talking about, like, anything having to do with his religion ever since.” 

“It takes a lot to get an evangelist to stop evangelizing.” He refilled his glass. “Do you think he lost his faith?” 

“I heard someone say in passing that it was because he and Chase Mulvaney went to the same church.” You whispered. “But I can’t verify that.” 

“I’d say it’s more likely than a regular customer being a vampire, wouldn’t you?” 

“I wouldn’t trust their word because they made a regular customer into a vampire.” You corrected, hoping he would overlook the fact that you were one of them. “Secrets may stay within these four walls, but they tend to bounce around. It’s only a matter of time before one escapes, and you’d better hope it’s not one of yours.” 

This man must have been an exceptional therapist, because, there you were, baring your soul to him after fifteen minutes and one sip of wine. Occasionally, you were pulled away from the conversation by another customer who had the audacity to also want a drink. But, very few people came to you with the sole intent of drinking on a Tuesday evening. You and the sommelier talked until closing time. 

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Miss [L/N].” He said pulling out his wallet. “You are as delightful in person as you are on paper.” 

“Thank you, but I never caught-” you said, but stopped yourself. “I mean, you never gave me your name.” 

He signed his name on the paper check, then pulled out a fifty and unceremoniously handed it to you. “Now why would you want to ruin the mystery?” 

“Nothing we say tonight has to leave these four walls, remember?” You grinned and crossed your arms. “Come on, I won’t tell anyone.” 

He took the customer copy of the receipt and scribbled something down on it. He the folded it in half and slid it in your direction as if it contained nuclear launch codes. 

“Join me for dinner someday.” He ordered. “I’ll supply the Malbec.” 

[the-paris-of-people]

For the fic requests? I just love Ben and Devi when they're bantering! Maybe something with that? I need something light and happy until season 3 lol

“Boom! I finished my homework in record time, suck on that, Gross!”

“You’re kidding yourself, Devi,” Ben smirked. “I already finished my homework thirty minutes ago.”

“Joke’s on you,” Devi folded her arms and leaned back onto his headboard. “I finished my English extra credit assignment too.”

“Damnit,” Ben curses under his breath, then exhales to calm himself down. Not to brag, but he learned mindfulness techniques from an exclusive Zoom workshop by… Oh, wait. This was his narration. He didn’t need to brag. “Well whatever, I beat you in the debate tournament today so technically, I was just letting you catch up.”

“You’re just jealous because you know I’m more efficient than you.” Devi turns up her cute little nose triumphantly, and Ben’s heart bursts in his chest.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to watch a few episodes of Keeping Up with the Kardashians to reward myself for a job well done.”

“Again, Devi?” Ben groans. He usually found her reality TV obsession and colorful commentary endearing, but this was her fourth rewatch of the week. Vanderpump Rules was way better, but she refused to watch it because of how much he mentioned he’d been to her restaurant. (Whoops, here he was mentioning it again. Maybe he did bring it up too much) “You know, Khloe’s not that great. She ate way too many crab puffs at my dad’s holiday party for his clients.”

“You housed two double doubles right after school today.”

“Hey, I need that protein to stay jacked!”

“Whatever, dude. Anyway, can I watch here on my laptop while you scroll Rick and Morty theories?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Ben blinks. Why didn’t Devi want to watch with him? Coming up with Rick and Morty theories was something he did when he got lonely, and well… he wasn’t alone right now. He didn’t want peruse Reddit by himself when he could have been hanging out with her, babbling about how Kris Jenner was the ideal businesswoman. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you wanted to watch alone, I can get out of your hair if you need…” He turns over to get his laptop and leave when Devi senses his hurt and rests her hand on his arm.

“Ben, you don’t have to leave,” Devi softens a bit as she sits up in bed. Her eyes widen as she speaks, her voice fluctuating up and down. As annoying as she could be, Ben loved listening to her talk. Whether she was angry, sad, happy, or annoyed, she was always vibrant and lively. Ben, a quiet, lonely kid most of the time, loved being around that energy. “I just thought you wouldn’t want to watch because you don’t like it.”

“I’ll still watch with you, Devi,” A wave of affection comes over him as he watches her blush. He seizes onto his emotions, weaves his hands in Devi’s hair and presses a deep kiss into her forehead. She stutters after, and he’s happy and embarrassed at the same time. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. He’d never been so affectionate with Shira, but then again, he didn’t have the same level of feelings he held for Devi. He’d known her all his life and he never expected to like her the way he’d started to in the past couple months, even though she made some, dare we say, questionable decisions. Now even with all her shenanigans, he couldn’t even imagine life with her when she left for India in a couple weeks. “Who else will I go to for colorful commentary on Kim’s social media presence when you move at the end of the semester?”

“Why are you so nice to me?” Devi’s voice cracks as she plays with the corner of his silk pillowcase. Ben conceals his surprise as tears gush out her eyes. It’s okay, he rationalized, calming his initial worry down. She was probably going through a lot, with spreading her dad’s ashes and moving to India and leaving everything she knew behind. Ben wouldn’t be handling it the news well if he was her, too. “All I do is trash your In N Out order and rub my homework efficiency skills in your face.”

“Devi, you deserve someone who’s nice to you.” He assures, and he really means it. She could be difficult and capricious, but she was kind, caring, and felt deeply, just like he did. She deserved to be with someone who treated her well. Ben couldn’t wait to be that person, even as she moved across the world. He was already ordering going away gifts for things she couldn’t get in India and learned how to make the Meat Lover’s Omelet for her and had Patty set up care packages he could send her the first week she was there. He wanted to be a good boyfriend to her. “And honestly… I like that we challenge each other the way we do. Remember how many trash bags we filled up yesterday?”

“Honestly we turned that damn park into Walden Pond,” Devi sniffled and wiped her tears with her sweater sleeve. Ben pats away the rest as more come and smiles softly at her. “But I definitely filled up more than you.”

“Eh, I’ll let you have it. Although there’s no way all those headshots could’ve filled up an entire trash bag.”

“Shut up, Ben you know I beat you,” Devi laughs hoarsely through her snot and punches him in the arm. She calms down for a moment, then leans forward and kisses him again through her damp eyes. Ben holds her closely to him and gives her another kiss on the forehead . Devi lets out a little noise of happiness and pulls up the Kardashians on her laptop. He loved holding her like this, and wanted to cherish every moment of their time before she left- that is, until he sees he’s trying to convert her to a Kardashian lover.

“Seriously, Devi? We’re going back to season one?”

“You need to understand their origin stories!”

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The Breakdown Ch2

genre: supernatural gay ghost story

rated: M

words: 4.2K

summary: What do you get when you combine an urban legend turned real, a psychic hick, and bunch of ghost hunting Yankees? A bad time.

All Kevin Lampton wants to do with his summer is stop The Lady in White from killing anymore road trippers in the middle of nowhere Kentucky. Unfortunately, a group of ghost hunters looking for answers makes his job a lot more complicated.

Chapters: One, Two

Website⭐Ko-Fi ⭐Patreon ⭐ WordPress⭐Twitter

89 More Days

The sun was slowly leaking in through plastic blinds and striping the thin motel carpet with light and half the single bed in the center of the room. It was bare and rustic and cleaned with something quietly made of bleach and something more than bleach. Kevin flopped down on the bed without looking and reminded himself he had homework, milk to throw out, nails to cut, and a haircut to get.

It was sometime in the morning, a summer morning that didn’t need any definition or permission to exist. A time undomesticated by human concepts of time, it was just early and would be early for a while.

Kevin had homework to do.

He fell dreamlessly into deep musty sleep and didn’t wake again for 8 hours.

It was evening again when he blinked into consciousness, groaning and reaching for a half-filled water bottle and his laptop. He rolled onto his back and traced the ‘K’ on the ceiling with his eyes, written in cracks and imagination. He did the math in his head: he’d have approximately five hours of “Kevin-Time” now.

He indulged in several more moments of moping before stacking himself upright like a new game of jenga and unfolding. He forced himself to the shower, letting the lukewarm water work its way into his clenched muscles.

He closed his eyes, but not for long. There were hands in there, hands and eyes and a pale bruised gaze.

He sighed from deep inside himself and staggered to wipe the sleep out of his eyes and stand in front of the mirror. Kevin Lampton was lean, not tall, but the leanness gave the impression of at least a couple more inches of height.

He was springy in the way of wound-up corkscrews, sunburnt in an offhand way and long in a compact sort of way. He had a long face, almond-shaped, and a sloping jawline that was the opposite of the Hollywood box; those were his father’s features: soft and bordering on strange.

His nose was his own but only by way of being small and aligned with his ears.

His eyes were not his own, suspicious things with long dusty eyelashes and shifty movements, always breaking and starting and breaking again.

His teeth belonged to no one and he was lucky they weren’t more crooked, but they still overlapped here and there enough to dispel any wide smiles on his part in school pictures. His hair was the color of damp sand, not yellow, but a grainy brown that was lost to him in the way sand was. It was too long right now. It crept down his neck and hung over his eyes in wavy stiff tufts.

He’d have to get that taken care of, especially before class started again at the end of August. He sighed, August.

He was ready for August.

He gave himself another push and dug out his busted Lenovo computer and a Snickers bar from the back pocket of his other pair of pants. Four and a half hours.

He got to work and munched quietly.

89 more days on Sumpter Road, six more semesters of school, five if he got his shit together, one year at an internship, two years as any sort of underling and then… time spread out before him in a red jagged roadmap and he traced it with his eyes unblinkingly.

He looked back down at his online econ homework and typed as quickly as he could without his laptop limply falling backward in it’s continual over dramatic death throes. Bastard.

Four more hours.

A family pulled into the motel parking lot and he heard a shower turn on from somewhere beside him and rancorous yelling from somewhere above him. He imagined himself in a woody green forest, throwing up thick bark and leafy branches so the tiny waves didn’t hit from either location.

Someone was angry. Someone was having a very successful journey of self-exploration in a grungy motel shower. Kevin wasn’t really interested in either and frowned until the forest grew roots and blocked everything out.

The sun sank down in a bloody red bath outside and Kevin stuffed his pockets with more purified rock salt and packets of lamb's blood. He slipped his expression into something more than “tired and constantly terrified” for his cars sake and went out the door.

89 more monotonous days of trying to not let strangers die on a haunted road.

------------------

Kevin expected three things: that the elastic of his lucky boxers was probably going to snap soon. He was going to graduate college with full marks or die trying. He was going to meet a lot of strangers on Sumpter Road and then never see them again.

Some of the strangers may or may not piss themselves and it was his job to both stop them from being murdered and graciously look away from the aforementioned soiled pants.

He drove fifteen minutes from the highway motel back toward his night watch. His phone buzzed five times before he flipped it open.

“Hello?” He answered flatly, he was good at flat, he had a lot of practice.

“Kevin, me boy,” A smiling voice addressed him, Kevin glanced at the car visor and back down. “What do you want me to do with your shit?” Kevin twisted his mouth to the side, “Can I get someone to pick it up? I can get someone.” He lied easily and panicked quietly.

“Sure, sure,” Stevie said carelessly, “but you sure you don’t want us to keep it here? It’s only 3 months dude, don’t make us get a new roommate for next semester, I can already tell the Freshman are gonna fucking suck.” Kevin breathed out easily, “I’ll figure something out.” He said, which wasn’t really an answer. “Can’t do the summer though, I’ll get someone to get my things soon.” The ‘someone’ was whoever he could bribe to drive his few personal items from Lexington to his dad’s place in Frankfort.

“God, dude, please tell me you’re at least on some sort of vacation. Like, with a mimosa, a beach, and a girlfriend that isn’t your damn right hand.” Stevie tossed something across the room with a tin sound and gentle crash. Kevin rolled his eyes, “Yeah, she’s a real livewire, way more hands than me.” He said dryly. In fact, she had three more hands than him, five, six, seven sometimes.

“Whatever man, I’m telling you one of these days you’re gonna pop with that stick shoved so far up your stress hole that not eve-” Kevin paused, his eyes went wide, he approached the part of Sumpter road just outside of Reginald. “I have to call you back Stevie.” He cut off whatever new romantic metaphor his roommate was going to plunge into. “Somethings come up.”

“Fine, fine, avoid my damn point. But yeah, come get your shit.” “See you.” Stevie Johnson was a “friend,” but Kevin did not have friends that he couldn’t immediately hang up on. He hung up.

Kevin’s knuckles bleached on the steering wheel; the crickets chorused mockingly around him as he slowed down. The last bits of sun reflected, shiny and angry against the side of something very big and very black. A sore thumb in the dust, the type that wasn’t so much a bruise itself in this place but something about to bruise everything else.

Kevin’s nostrils flared; he wasn’t the type of psychic that could predict the future. He couldn’t pick out numbers from thin air or tell you the description of your true love. He couldn’t sell you your destiny or the identity of your true love for $4.99 a minute. 

He considered himself a pretty shitty psychic, but even he could tell this didn’t mean anything good. There was a big black van.

A big black van sat in the middle of the road, not off to the side, not in the grass, but on the very center ridge. Kevin narrowed his eyes so hard at it that he expected they might just become slitted peak holes. Officially, Sumpter didn’t have two lanes, but that didn’t mean sitting in the very center of it was not an absolute asshole move.

Kevin slowed to a stop in front of it to point out just how much of an asshole move it was. The windows were tinted completely black, the sides faceless, body high off the ground, and something was blinking green on the dashboard.

No, he swallowed thickly and wished he go back to dealing with that hippy couple who were convinced the ghost was an angel trying to contact them. They were babbling about that right up until the Lady on the Road started strangling them.

He would take the car of flower children smelling of skunk and rosemary over this any day.

He had a stare-off with the big black van and didn’t seem to be winning.

He glanced back at the blinking green light on the dashboard and Kevin parked close enough to recognize it as a black box and he had a feeling a little red arrow was on the other side. 

Both the driver and passenger seats were empty, but he could see the occasional movements behind the seats in the back. He knew what this was.

No, Kevin had a sudden sneaking suspicion this was retribution for his last job. He had watched, just watched, in his little visor and bright red shirt as a teenage girl had put ketchup in her milkshake. She put it directly in her milkshake without an ounce of shame. He just stood there and did nothing.

This was what happened to people who didn’t stop crimes, even after saving a considerable number of other drivers from a supernatural death.

He put his forehead on the center of his wheel and sighed, big and gusty and quite frankly one of his more impressive ones.

Maybe he should have expected this. People talked, online forums talked. The devil lived on the “Supernatural and Alien Experiences” reddit boards. Kevin watched the van until the sun succumb to a soft and hematic death on the horizon, and the black box blinked green.

He had found a new least favorite part his self-assigned job.

Kevin finished a burger he bought from a corner shop near his motel and his big gulp filled with shitty coffee he made himself. It tasted like dirt and grit, and he probably deserved that too.

The van looked new.

Kevin took his time checking his pockets, thinking about his homework, his hair, and then getting out of the car. The moon was a low half-coin in the sky, and he couldn’t put this off for any longer.

The night cast long shadows over everything like a paint brush that only knew two colors: silver and grey. Silver light licked up across the grass to the point you forgot they were ever yellow, and Kevin swore he saw more imaginary lightning bugs again.

A rusted white shack sat in the difference with small bent trees dotting the area around them; Kevin put his hands in his back-pockets and approached the big black van. His stomach sank as he saw his own reflection in the shiny surface.

His tank top was now upgraded to grey one instead of white, but his skin was still ruddy with summer heat and expression less than authoritative, mouth pinched and jawline obstinately soft. Throwing lambs blood was easier than this.

He trained his expression into something unflinching and private. He knocked on the side of the slide door with his knuckles and roved his brain for appropriate accompanying sentences. A stillness followed and he knocked again.

“Jesus,” a breathy voice said from within, “is that her?” The van shifted slightly, the sound of footsteps on metal, “Ghosts don’t knock.” Answered a much less breathy voice.

Kevin inhaled deeply, “Can I have a talk with you folks?” His voice sounded small and flat against the flat landscape.

Another thoughtful pause followed.

“Do ghosts usually ask to be let in?” “Smart ones do.” Kevin blew air out of his nose, “I’m not a ghost.” “That’s exactly what a ghost wo-” “Shut up Collie.” The door slid open and a blast of cool air rolled out and Kevin blinked into it for a moment. He looked up from two brown men’s oxford’s and confirmed his own worst fears.

There was a whole slew of wires and blinking lights and screens on the inside of the van. Electronics were stacked and piled and obviously not part of an FBI headquarters- or if it was FBI then the government was in far more trouble than anyone suspected.

Three people were inside. A girl was cross legged, another was stooped over a monitor, and one young man hung over Kevin like a loose bent tree. The whole group was dressed in black t-shirts and black pants, leather belts and heavy boots, a match set. Some sort of massive green goggles held one of the girl’s curly hair back and the young man had thick sunglasses with a similar green sheen to them. At night.

Kevin ran a hand through his hair and tried not to yank it, “Don’t mean to intrude.” He began, just as his grandma would have liked. “But I thought I should pay you a visit.” The three ghost-hunters exchanged a long look between them. The two young women had strikingly similar features, tan skin and darker brown hair tied up in wavy buns. They were both on the short side and had mouse-like noses in Kevin’s opinion.

Their eyes were similarly bright and curious, sisters? He didn’t have time to place it. 

Kevin was trying not to look directly at the young man in his terrible oxfords above him. 

“Well,” the man, boy? spoke first, breaking the silence, “We were just debating on the same thing when we saw you.” Kevin raised his eyebrows, “Oh?”

“That’s you, right man?” The guy pointed to his tiny hatchback and it somehow felt like a slight.

Kevin forced himself to look up, “Yeah.” The young man was broad-shouldered and annoyingly upright, the type of upright money could buy. He had a stretching expanse of neck, square jaw, and his face was easy in all regards. Roman straight nose, mouth that was far too satisfied with itself, and diamond shaped features. 

His hair was carefully curled at the top, a whip cream swirl on a professionally made cafe drink, brown and thick and very obviously never exposed to shampoo that stripped the roots.

Kevin employed a very small and very squiggly frown. The young man smiled, his teeth were straight, boxy, and streak-less, also the type money could buy. “Yeah, you should be careful,” he spoke with a flattened accentless-accent, not from here but from anywhere at all. “This road is haunted.” Kevin refused the temptation to roll his eyes. He cleared his throat instead and began carefully, briefly debating if he should shave off his local accent or soak his vowels in it like making backwoods rum pudding.

“Reckon everyone should stay away from it then,” he said pointedly, “must be dangerous.” He decided on rum pudding. The young man regarded Kevin through green-tinted glasses, unpolite and clearly not playing this game. He smiled with wicked delight, “Who are you?” It was asked in the way someone confirms a surprise purchase or family secret from a gossipy aunt. Unsurprised and yet ever so pleased about it.

Kevin took a deep breath and refused to duck down or look away, “Nobody. Just thought I should warn you as out-of-towners.” 

The young man took the time to squat, a quick and accusatory movement. “And what are you doing here, Nobody Man?” He was poking at something and Kevin thought a bit of lamb’s blood on his cheeks might improve his very smug appearance.

“Woah, woah, have you seen anything?” One of the girls asked, but the young man was still leering over him in a way that made him much more of a priority.

“Trying to stop anyone from getting hurt,” he said truthfully, “You should get out of here before,” he coughed into his hand, “Anything.” He didn’t need to give them any hints. The young man’s smile widened like a length of rope a magician kept pulling out of his sleeve. There just seemed to be more and more. “My name is Nathan Calvin,” he put his hand out to shake, “Those are the Alvarez sisters.” One of the sisters gave in a slight salute and the other one turned to him with an unhappy eyebrow twitch.

“How would you like to come up here, Nobody Man?” Nathan Calvin’s hand was still dangling in front of him, “You’re letting the cold air out here man and you came over to talk, right?”

The snake was wiggling its way in front of him in a very slick dance that meant very little to him.

Kevin hunched slightly, “I think it would be better if you considered hurrying on,” he gestured up the road, “this isn’t really a populated area. The highway is that way. And the nearest hospital is even further.” He stated without inflection. Nathan Calvin retracted his hand, but he didn’t seem any less pleased. “Come on up, come chat with us.” He boomed, “I’ll make it worth your while.” Kevin shoved his hand through his hair again, tired of this. “This isn’t the type of ghost you want to hunt.” You’re making my job harder.

Nathan cheered, “Somebody knows things!” He sang with a laugh, “what about some beer for your troubles? Money? Heck, Diana might give you kiss.” “That would take more beer than even you can afford Nathan.” Diana, the sharp-looking sister, said without looking up.

“Alright,” he chuckled, “no kisses, but I don’t think that’s what you’re here for anyway.” Kevin elegantly rolled his eyes this time, “If I talk to you will you leave?” Nathan Calvin just kept smiling. Kevin closed his eyes for a moment and then slipped his phone out to look at the time, 10:10.

“You have thirty minutes.” He climbed into the stupid shiny black van, “And then I’m escorting you out of here.”

Idiots.

They move aside and close the door behind him.

-------------

Belly of the Beast

Kevin was regularly uncomfortable- it was more of the jacket he wore for the possibility of rain and forgot to take off. His discomfort spiked as the light of the summer moon cut off as they shut the door, a pulled plug plunging him into a cavern of beeps and blinking things.

The sisters were curious, the boy was anticipatory, none of them were afraid in the slightest. Idiots.

Nathan Calvin took a seat cross-legged next to one of the sisters and patted the floor of the van in invitation. “Tell me your thoughts!” He yelled far too loudly in the echoey dark van.

Kevin narrowed his eyes at him, “Ghosts. Danger. Dying.” The boy laughed in answer. “Somebody take notes ladies.” One of the sisters, the one with the goggles looked up. “Have you seen her kill anyone?” Kevin’s frown became a tightening black hole on his face. Nathan put a hand up, “Hey now Collie,” he stopped her, “Let’s start with the small stuff.” He tilted his chin up, “Has she ever tried to kill you?” Collie, the goggles sister, was taking notes now. “No.” Kevin said truthfully, “But she will go after you,” he looked up at the ceiling, “It’s harder the more people there are.” Idiots.

Kevin discerned the groups feelings, not the fresh ones, but the dangling roots that burrowed deep and colored their every movement. There was a shimmering veil of glittering silver and gold guarding them. It was thick and glorious, their mothers had no doubt swaddled them in it from birth and let them walk out into the world armored, invincible, and foolish. It was the type money could buy. Nathan Calvin threw his arms in the arm, “Elaborate!” He was enjoying himself like a polo-shirted boy at a private swimming pool that was already two margarita's in.

“You’re making my job harder.” Kevin only had so much room in himself for elusiveness, “I’m trying to help, what will it take to leave this road, money? Beer?” He turned Nathan’s words on him brashly, “I’m sure we could find someone to kiss you.” Nathan Calvin became somehow more delighted.

The other sister, goggle-less, tilted her chin up proudly, “We’re prepared,” she said simply, “Though this is a nice confirmation that she’s really here.” Alright, well maybe it’s time to leave them to their fate, he could use some more sleep and less animal blood on his hands. Haircut, milk, homework.

He closed his eyes for a moment and let the fantasy wash over him- the one where he left here and sank into a nice long nap. Then he opened his eyes again, “Tell you what,” he spread out his own smile, more brittle, less careless, but fireproof all the same. “I’ll tell you everything I know, we could do it over a burger, there’s a 24-hour diner at least fifteen minutes away.” It was more like thirty, but they didn’t need to know that.

Nathan Calvin drenched his smile in lighter fluid, “When does she usually show up?” 

Kevin clenched his hands by his side and narrowed his eyes, “When your guard is down.” “Our guard won’t be down,” said the stony-faced sister.

“We could let it down,” Nathan Calvin contributed and for all of his easy smiles he was very difficult.

Kevin blew air out of his nose, “Fine.” He sat down heavily on the floor, “Damn yankees.” He muttered that last part to himself. Nathan leaned back, “you’re local then, right?” “Do you like, protect this road?” Collie asked quickly. “You’re not dead, right?” “We’d know if he was dead.” “Speak for yourself,” Collie waved a hand dismissively at her sister.

“How’d you find her?” Nathan asked next.

“And what should we expect?” The other Alvarez sister wasn’t looking directly at him, but she was looking all around the van anyway, alert. Alert was something at least.

Kevin waved a hand in front of his face; they were lucky Kevin didn’t only save people that he liked. Kevin growled, “I’m sure she’ll be here and answer your questions.” “Does she talk?” The goggles sister, Collie, buzzed. She had a heart-shaped face, soft round cheeks, and an exceptionally soft mouth; Kevin looked away. “That would be perfect.”

“No, no talking. And I’m Kevin,” he finally said. “Who are you?”

“She doesn’t talk?” The alert sister noted.

“What else does she do?” “Tries to murder you,” Kevin responded tartly.

Nathan shifted, putting his arms on his cross knees and leaning forward, “but not you.” Kevin looked up at the ceiling, “look, I don’t know what y’all are doing here but-” “Isn’t that obvious?” The alert sister said, who he was also now classifying as the ‘Mean Sister.’ “-but this isn’t a joyride,” he finished bitterly, “I don’t want anyone getting hurt on my watch.” He looked down at his phone clock, 10:31. It’s still early, he reminded himself with even breaths. “On your watch?” Nathan repeated his words with relish, “God, look at this Diana,” he looked back to Alert Mean sister, Diana. “And Misty said this would be a bust.” He laughed.

Collie crawled closer to Kevin, “What’s up then? Are you not a ghost hunter too? You’re just like, a grumpy guy on this road?” Kevin pinched his brow together, “No.” He said ruefully, “I’m not a ghost hunter.” Nathan stretched his long neck back, “This is going to be fucking amazing. Anything on the instruments, Di?” Diana checked the instruments, she rose one eyebrow and shook her head curtly.

“Do you want to die?” Kevin burst out, sitting up straight and trying to hold their leader’s gaze through his tinted sunglasses.

Nathan chuckled, “Tell me,” he clucked, “What do you do with this ghost then, Nobody Man?” Kevin groaned, he felt like he was having several conversations at once and no conversations at all. “Kevin.” Was all he said, a stony tone that hung in the air long enough to settle into burnt quiet.

“Well, I’m Colleen Alvarez. You can call me Collie,” Collie broke the silence, “That’s my sister Diana.” “Older,” Diana added as if to explain something. “Right, I’m Nathan and you can call me Nathan.”

“I know. You said,” Kevin glared at all of them, “and have you all ever met a ghost before, ghost hunters?” Nathan and the Alvarez sisters all exchanged a poignant look. And then something started beeping.

Diana turned on her heel, “The EMF is picking up on something.”

“Woah!” Collie chirped as well. “The digital thermometer is shitting itself.” The temperature in the van rapidly sank.

Kevin ignored them and checked his clock, 10:37, she was early, but ghosts were rarely reliable. “Shit.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and a growl rumbled through the small space like a rolling thunder storm.

Here she came.

<===== Previous Chapter                                                   Next Chapter =====>

————–

Hey! Being a writer is a tough business and I could use some help so if you enjoyed the story please consider donating to my ko-fi or subscribing to my website or patreon

[ofmurphys]

✰ –– hero coffee roasters. 2pm, on a tuesday.

this bitch wants a frappu-fuckin’-ccino. murphy blinks and pastes on a smile. jesus. fake-owning this shithole’s getting real old these days. “ oh, hun, of course i can improvise that sugar rush for you. don’t even fret it. we totally keep vats of that fake java just lying around. ”  honestly, murph can’t tell what’s worse –– the fact that this cardboard cutout vsco girl even asked, or the fact that she actually believes her.

hero coffee roasters loses a customer that day. as the doorbell jingles shut with the force of the girl’s slam, murphy pops a redhot into her mouth and chews. does nothing to hide her growing smirk. yeah, yeah. 

good riddance.

or alternatively :  hey demons, it’s me, ya gurl !  back at it again with my very snakey shadow gorl. click that read more to learn about this gorgeous amoral piece of ass. i’m trying out a new intro format, so... bear with me !  i hope y’all enjoy, and pls hmu on discord for plots !  

murph is... straight up trouble. so if you want drama ?  you want bullshit & compulsive lies ?  you want ill-founded rage with no apologies later ?  you’ve come to the right place .

this is the story of a girl who cried a river and drowned the whole world . . .   just kidding. murphy berman doesn’t shed tears for shit.

— && guests may mistake me as ( zoe kravitz ), but really i am ( murphy berman + cisfemale + she/her ) and my DOB is ( 11/7/1994 ). i am a ( “ coffee shop owner ” ) and would like to stay in suite ( 306 ). i won’t be much of a bother because i am ( + cunning & fierce ), but i can also be ( - acetous & cutthroat ) at times. personally, i like to ( code, flick gum wrappers at pigeons, bring my pet turtle to the movies, sit back and watch shit burn ) when i have the time to relax, and my favorite snack is ( those purple doritos, y'know. chili or whatever the fuck  ) to have in my suite. thank you for checking in !

i n s p o .

coffee shop –– hero coffee roasters.

pinterest.

soundcloud –– soul sounds.

soul anthem.

b a c k d r o p .  ( tw: drug mentions, alcoholic tendencies, alcohol, crime, allusions to domestic violence, violence, murder. )

2am, bar’s closed. but braids still sits, forearms draped atop the counter, shades askew. as you restock new handles, she raises a finger, like she might say something, then pours herself another bourbon. cutting her off is the least of your worries –– it doesn’t take a genius to tell this cookie can handle her own. and the shit she’s spewing ?  something tells you this has never been aired before.

“ so picture the fuck outta this, bub. ”  a swig.  “ you’re born and before you even got the wherewithal to speak, you’re shipped off to some graham cracker family in the  ‘ burbs. you start leapfrogging –– my term, tee-em –– ”  a tattooed finger traces the symbol into the air accordingly. “ and after a while, it’s a game. hop a house, stay a while, see how much of their shit you can pocket. ”  nostalgic sighs accompany a litany of stolen goods :  cash. jewelry. first edition tetris game, hand-fuckin’-held. the hoopers’ prized gold kazoo.

don’t believe her ?  onto black marble slides proof. 

“ then you land. hard. the fuckin’ landry’s. ”  a scornful chuckle. “ miss me with that white picket fence ass shit. but they get you your first comp, so... when they ask to adopt you, you’re like. i dunno, man. sure, i guess ?  and guess wrong. ”  turns out the landry’s aren’t as warm or welcoming as they claim. their youngest kid dies, freak accident. monkey bars. “ family falls apart worse than that time you tried to make a ball from fresh cigarette ash. you were eleven. ”  tattooed over the scar.

braids tells you ‘bout the party being over. the bruising. but she laughs through it, rolls her eyes like she’s talking ‘bout silly old friends instead of terrible old people.

her birth mother finds her. they meet up a few times in a local park, whisks her away when she’s twelve. is it kidnapping ?  technically, who gives a fuck. they lived low. under the radar. in apartments above dive bars. spent a summer breaking into parked cars. finally landed with j.j., who turned out to just be a glorified drug mule.

“ new york was fine to me. y’know, fucked off in school. kid shit. ”  she shrugs. you won’t know it, but she’ll astutely sidestep the fact that she hacked her first global system at 14. she won’t mention she started accepting paypal offers from obscure reddit threads two weeks later. by 17, she was contracting independently –– a business venture, she’d tell her high school counselor, assigned to keep her from winding up on the streets. 

matty, her best friend since the move to new york, decided to kiss her silly after trying shrooms. she liked it. told him maybe he could do that more often.

“ he cleaned up, ”  braids purses her lips. “ after high school. stopped messing with his crowd. our crowd. ”  she grabs two stirrers from a container dangerously close to your hand. taps ‘em on the counter like she’s stomping out mini fires. “ let him put a ring on me. y’know make bey proud. ”

she won’t mention that while matty gets a job as a cook at a bougie french restaurant, she continued to deal with devils. woman in her high castle. under the guise of cpu-based tetris and a whole lot of freelance web design.

but then roosevelt savings bank gets robbed. and they somehow trace the ip back to her.

it’s an easy mishap to shake. showed ‘em the websites. the code. the computer usage logs. the blues believe her, but matty...

“ trust issues. sad, huh ?  thought i was fucking around behind his back. ”  with criminals.

“ and then shit gets good, homie. we’re tasting stupid fucking cake. red velvet... ”  cue a laugh. bitter. the stirrers stop tapping. “ then i meet aamina and everything goes to shit. i brought it up, you know. like. hey, your fiancée might be a little bit into pussy. ”

for the first time all night, her eyes meet yours. and it’s only then you realize... there’s some heavy fuckin’ sadness swimming in those baby browns. worlds pass through them. alternative stories –– where matty wasn’t high. where he didn’t reach for the knife.

“ he lost it. ”  silence. she looks away. “ anyway. ”  she launches into why chicago –– why she studied pre-law for two years before tossing in the towel. because “ fuck a judge, man. ” and she’s into the finer things in life.  ( she struck you as an arts type. what with the glasses. the vintage band tee worn like a dress. maybe you get a glimmer of pride knowing you were right. she won’t mention that the whole thing’s a farce. )

she launches into why a coffee shop. she’ll tell you the beautiful thing about coffee is it takes no shit. she’ll tell you owning a place gets fuckin’ wild, but she’s in it for the free java and coffee-themed booze. a perk all hourly baristas like her enjoy.  “ and we made that top list or whatever. of fly places here.  an honor. i’d like to thank god, and also jesus. which i hope you know are my boys bazzi and frank ocean. ”  

you’ll google hero coffee roasters later. and find its registered owner goes by brian tubolino. but hey, maybe she’s married.

when braids finally decides it’s time to go, sunlight’s nipping at chicago’s heels.

“ you chill if i ... ? ”  before you can answer, she’s takin’ a swig straight from the half-finished bottle of bourbon. picks it up and cradles it under one arm, precious cargo. 

“ souvenir, man. in remembrance of you. ” 

[missingverse]

Missing Chapter Nine

The people you found in true crime communities could almost all be neatly sorted into three categories. It was usually clear within the first few forum posts, first created thread or podcast comment, so that Arnold found himself filing them away as 'ignore' or 'engage' just by looking at their usernames.

The most pleasant to deal with were the ones that had a scholarly interest in true crime. They were clever, thorough, usually respectful. A lot of stay-at-home mothers or particularly bright college students, the occasional retired detective. Arnold suspected Officer Plaskett was going by the username OldDogNewTricks on three of the forums he was a member of.

The ghouls were mostly easy to spot, they typically weren't too bright. Lots of edgy teenagers that hero-worshiped serial killers and mass shooters, emotional vampires feeding off of grief, deranged romantics that blamed the deceased for having the audacity to die at the hands of the poor, misunderstood murderer. Some of them were very good at faking sincerity until their probing for messy details gave them away.

The last category was the one Arnold had put himself in after much deliberation. The people the deceased had left behind, family, friends, loved ones, former teachers and co-workers, people who saw that person all the time until one day they were gone. Full of bewildered hurt, good-natured, sometimes angry, mostly just incredibly sad. There was a sense that the postings they made online were an effort to preserve their loved one in people's memories, in that immortal way of the Black Dahlia or Jonbenet Ramsey or Amber Hagerman.

Arnold's first step into the community came with a thinkpiece. He'd been mindlessly surfing the internet, finished with household chores but too mentally drained to start his seventh grade assignments, and it was well past midnight so nobody was awake.

SLIPPING THROUGH THE CRACKS: Does America's school system need to take more responsibility?

The picture at the head of the article was one that would become famous; the one with Helga and Phoebe building a snow fortress, Helga sporting the black eye that would set curious fingers typing all over the internet. The article itself was a mess, barely-there sources, typos and the author went off on an odd tangent about some teacher that had been mean to her back in grade school. But it brought Arnold to the comment section.

The school is definitely to blame, but let's not let CPS off the hook here. They had buckets of evidence even without the school reporting, but they left her there anyway.

Kids get bumps and bruises all the time, how is an underpaid, overworked public servant supposed to tell the difference? Where was this kid's doctor?

Ugh, just looking at that picture of Papa Pataki gives me chills.

He found himself scouring Reddit threads, which lead to blogs, which lead to podcasts and back again, in a circle. He was exhausted, but he kept going until the sun started creeping up the sky. He feigned illness to stay in bed, scrolling through post after post on his phone.

A lot of people had opinions on Helga's disappearance. Reading through them was compelling, they filled the vacuum she left behind her at least a little. And for Arnold, whose life was held taut between the boarding house and his schoolwork, it was something other than the everyday drudge to focus on.

…..

Arnold was buzzing with excitement (could it be called excitement? it was something, anyway) as they left the forest. He escorted Phoebe home, and left her with a promise that he would tell her what was on the memory stick once he saw it.

Only after, cycling back to the boarding house with her in the basket, did he realize that Helga had been oddly subdued. She'd been quiet in the woods, and hadn't entered her old hideout with them, and as they approached home she started rubbing her head, just under the wound.

“You okay?” he asked. Had something in the woods triggered something for her...?

“Yeah, I'm just really tired,” she mumbled back. “My head hurts.”

He had shown her the memory stick, but she hadn't shown any recognition or interest in it.

“Maybe we took you out too far today,” he mused. “I don't know, maybe the further you are from the house, the weaker you get, or something?”

“Maybe,” she agreed with a worn-out sigh.

He helped her out of the basket and brought her upstairs, and she was asleep before her head touched the pillow. He tucked her in and left her there to rest before joining his grandparents and the boarders for dinner. The chili was watery and the rice gritty (Gertie's cooking was going downhill rapidly, but no-one could convince her not to let someone else take over) but he swallowed it down fast.

The police never found the stick. She was going to give it to Officer Plaskett. It's evidence, important evidence. Crucial.

A tremor passed over Arnold as he slid the USB stick into the port, and his initial excitement paled in the face of dread. If it was evidence, it couldn't be pleasant. He glanced over at Helga, sleeping peacefully under the blankets. He was glad she was asleep.

The drive appeared on the screen, containing a folder. No name, just a sequence of random-looking letters and numbers. He opened the folder. It was full of pictures, thumbnails. He scrolled through them, leaning close to the computer screen, squinting. Was he missing something?

The first few images were of an empty room. Taken from some high-up corner. The room was mostly bare, just a single bed and a small rug and a few furnishings. Then he spotted the ragdoll, half-hiding under the bed. Helga's room. Without Helga in it.

And then, twenty or so images in, Helga appeared. It was unmistakably her, as this was unmistakably her room. But she was wrapped in a towel, another one wound around her head, as the series of images documented second by second. A sickness started to burn in Arnold's stomach, as the much-younger Helga on the screen took the towel down from her head and rubbed her hair dry. When she stood up and undid the towel wrapped around her body, Arnold hit the keyboard hard, flinching away.

That was an even bigger mistake. If the first pictures could be explained away as someone's paranoid surveillance, the set he accidentally scrolled down to couldn't be anything but what they appeared to be. He looked at them through his fingers, too sickened to look on them fully but too desperate to find something, anything, to explain away what he was seeing.

It was a mercy that Helga was asleep in these pictures. It was an unnatural sleep, clearly drug-induced, because nobody could have been propped up (displayed) the way she was without waking up. It was still her room, her pillow that her head was lolling against, her ragdoll that was lying beside her as a tawny male hand moved her bare limbs around. One hand fisted a handful of blonde hair, holding her up in a way that should have woken even the deepest sleeper, while the other presumably held the camera under her face.

There was her blackened eye. There were bruises in the shape of fingerprints on her legs, her torso, her barely-there chest.

Arnold managed to close the folder and yank the USB from the drive before he ran to the bathroom to be violently sick.

…..

MarkFisaTwat says:

What did you think of her dad? You get any creepy vibes from him?

TweenageDirtbag:

Not really...he was an asshole to her, but he was kind of an asshole in general. She definitely got the worst of it though.

MrsKirbyEdmonton:

I always thought he was more of an underprotective father than an overprotective one. Those don't really fit the profile for killers of that type. I'm still thinking suicide.

MarkFisaTwat says:

That's kind of blunt.

MrsKirbyEdmonton:

So, what, you think it's not a possibility?

MarkFisaTwat says:

Well, Dirtbag would know best....what do you think @TweenageDirtbag

TweenageDirtbag:

Honestly? I don't think she was the type. I mean, I know all kinds of people kill themselves but I can't see her taking that way out. I'd believe she would commit homicide before suicide, iykwim.

MrsKirbyEdmonton:

You never know, though, do you? Nobody really knows what went on in that house, except the people that lived there. There are things that make even the strongest of us want to die.

…..

Arnold shivered in the bathroom for over an hour before he could go back to his room. The images were burned into his brain.

She said she had stomach pains.

She was really tired in the mornings.

Stomach pain was a common side effect of certain sedatives, he knew that from managing his grandparents' meds.

She didn't want to go home.

Probably because when she slept in her own home she woke up with mysterious bruises and and stomach pains.

His phone chimed as he shakily slumped across his bed. He ignored it, and concentrated on the sound of Helga's breathing from across the room. It chimed again.

She found the pictures. She found them and was going to bring them to Officer Plaskett.

Back then, on that crime forum, he thought there was no way she could have killed herself and said so. Now, he wasn't so sure. If Arnold had found pictures like that of himself, he could say with certainty that he would want to die. Just seeing them made him desperate to find some way, any way, to block it out.

His phone chimed. Again.

And again.

He picked it up. Phoebe.

Did you look at the USB stick yet?

Officer Plaskett called my house while we were gone. We can see him at 2pm tomorrow.

Arnold? Hello?

You said you'd message me. I'm waiting.

If you make me wait til tomorrow about this I'll skin you alive.

He almost raised a smile. Phoebe had a fire under her again. Which just made it harder to tell her.

I looked inside it.

….and?

Phoebe, it's really bad. I can't talk about it right now.

How bad? She had it when she was alive...

I'm serious. I can't tell you. Not while she's here. I can't let her see this.

I'm coming over.

What?

No, don't, it's getting late.

I don't care. I want to see.

No, you don't. Trust me on this.

Fuck you, Arnold. This is solid evidence and you're not telling me what it is? Who the fuck do you think you are?

Phoebe, please. I wish I hadn't seen it. I'm giving it to Plaskett tomorrow. Let him tell you about it.

He stared at his phone, willing Phoebe to respond. If he had to open that folder again....

Fine. But if Plaskett won't tell me anything, you have to.

I will.

Helga made a soft noise in her sleep, turned a little under her blankets. Arnold glanced over at her. She looked peaceful.

Maybe this was why her ghost had no memory. Even after death, she had forcefully blocked it from her mind.

[booksbroadwaybbc]

Idk what’s going on in my life via /r/selfimprovement

Idk what’s going on in my life

Hey everyone! My brain is literally the most annoying thing on the planet I swear to god.

Basically, I feel like I’m hella smart. But I’m not sure.

One big thing is school. In first and second grade I sat in the back of class reading 8th grade level books while the rest of the class was learning how to read. I was in all those stupid side classes for the smart kids and I’d always get all the chocolate cuz I legit read at like a 12th grade level in third grade.

Then, in like third grade, maybe second, I started faking sick. I started going to the office saying I had a stomach ache so I could go home. I did it a lot. Like, they started to realize and check my temperature and if I didn’t have a fever they’d send me back to class. I don’t even have a problem with school, it’s easy asf for me, but I just don’t care that much. The problem persisted btw.

I got kicked out of 7th and grade like three times cuz I missed so much dang school. Again, I wasn’t getting bullied or hating school I just didn’t feel like going. Now I just finished 9th grade (yeah lol I’m young I know but please help me) and I barely made it through the school year because I missed so much. Also when I did go I fucked off the whole time and literally had like 80 missing assignments. I legit just didn’t care. I knew it was probably gonna ruin my future and make jobs harder to get and colleges not accept me but it doesn’t matter to me.

I started looking into why I might be doing this to myself and fucking up my future and I found something that made me really think. It was called existential depression, and it really stuck with me. Idk if I have it or what but it definitely seems like it could be the issue.

Basically, it’s when someone is so smart they realize nothing matters and we are all gonna die no matter what, life is so short in the grand scheme of things I could go kill myself right now my family and friends would be sad for a couple years then when they all died nobody would even remember who I was or what I did. I don’t consider suicide, btw. My point is that in 70-80 years maybe sooner it’s gonna happen anyway. Why does it matter when? Why does anything I do matter? That’s why I’m also obsessed with the idea of people remembering me. I want to be the most known name on earth. My sister tells me I’m obsessed with the idea of having a following lol. Looking out and seeing how many people are on earth makes me sad because I’m going to be forgotten just like everyone else. None of that sentimental “well I just want to really matter to a few people” bullshit matters to me at all. I mean this in the least scary way possible, I could talk myself out of caring about anything and I do it regularly. When someone close to me dies I don’t feel it. My grandma died when I was like 10 and while my whole family was crying I walked to my room and read a book. Felt no sadness. Idk man freaky stuff

Also, I’m antisocial as fuck. I have friends at school mostly because it makes school less boring but I go out of my way to NOT see anyone I know when I’m home. I literally play video games all day. When I go hang out w people (I get a bunch of invites to lol) I come home feeling emotionally drained and never want to go out again. I just don’t feel benefit from social interaction. Parties make me want to jump off a building.

I stay up all night. I feel best when I sleep when the sun comes up. I legitimately feel like I’m smarter than everyone around me and I have to dumb myself down to maintain conversations with people. I don’t wanna kill people or enjoy other people’s pain btw, besides what I listed I’m a pretty normal guy. Also, if it matters, if I concentrate on something I care about/am interested in, it’s insane. In group projects I could get done with the entire thing in a fraction of the time that my group does. Maybe I’ll be a scientist that discovers time travel or something cuz if I get my mind set on something, there’s no stopping me.

I think that’s all there is to it, thanks for reading this far if you did. Not gonna put a TL:DR cuz if you didn’t read it it’s fine but I can’t really summarize it. Well I could but it’s 4:30 AM and I have work in 4 hours but as usual, even if I’m on my sleeping pills for insomnia I can’t fall asleep till the sun comes up :D #woohoo #pleasehelpme lol

Submitted July 30, 2018 at 02:35PM by wegowego288 via reddit https://ift.tt/2mQC18a

[irenenorth]

New Post has been published on Irene North

New Post has been published on http://www.irenenorth.com/writings/2017/12/my-2017-movie-list/

My 2017 movie list

With 2017 near it’s end, here is another list compiled by me of the movies I watched this year. They are listed mostly in the order I viewed them throughout the year.

Predestination

For his final assignment, a top temporal agent must pursue the one criminal that has eluded him throughout time. The chase turns into a unique, surprising and mind-bending exploration of love, fate, identity and time travel taboos.

I’m not going to tell you more. Go see it. You’ll thank me. The less you know about the movie going in, the better.

Don’t get caught up in the twists and turns and trying to figure out where it’s going to go next. You’ll be disappointed. Instead, hold on for the ride, the storytelling, and the fine acting from everyone involved.

The movie does not get the recognition it deserves. It’s original and creative within the science fiction genre. Even if you don’t like science fiction, you find yourself entangled in the story line, waiting for each moment.

Ghost in the Shell

I like Scarlett Johannsen. I like Ghost in the Shell. The movie was average. If you haven’t followed Ghost in the Shell over the years, you’re probably going to walk away liking the film. It doesn’t compare to the long history of Ghost in the Shell. While it was decent, I didn’t feel it quite captured the world like Dredd did. It’s difficult to capture an entire world with a history into one film, so it’s not the worst film in the world, but I probably won’t watch it again. In the end, it felt like another in a long line of action flicks.

The Lost City of Z

The Lost City of Z is a true-life drama, centering on British explorer Col. Percival Fawcett, who disappeared while searching for a mysterious city in the Amazon in the 1920s. It was an interesting movie that got bogged down by being boring in certain parts.

Charlie Hunnam did a great job with the character, as did most of the other actors, but I felt myself just watching because I felt obligated to continue. I usually like these kinds of movies, the slow pace made it feel like the movie was dragging me along. At 141 minutes, it shouldn’t have felt that way.

Churchill

Absolute shit. I didn’t make it through the entire movie. Inaccurate, messy, and a pile of garbage.

Wonder Woman

I didn’t want to get my hopes up since Wonder Woman had so much potential and I was afraid it was going to get screwed up. I should have gotten my hopes up. There is no doubt, it is one of the best movies of the year.

Gal Gadot nailed it as Wonder Woman and I can’t think of anyone else who could perform the role better. My only quibble with the movie is setting it in World War I when the Wonder Woman I grew up with lived during World War II. It’s a small quibble and it doesn’t detract from the awesomeness of the movie. I’m looking forward to more.

Dunkirk

The opening scene was gripping. It got me to sit up and pay attention. I thought, “If these first few minutes are indicative of the entire film, this is going to be a fantastic movie.”

Dunkirk is fantastic if you are only watching it for the cinematography. I went in to the movie knowing the basic facts about Dunkirk and what happened. I left the movie no wiser. If the plot had been more than paper thin, that would have been fine. The movie jumped around, had weird cuts, cuts in the middle of things happening, and nothing really is explained. If the breaks between the three story lines were done properly, it might have worked. Instead, I saw repetitive scenes from different angles.

I didn’t care about a single character. I did not find myself emotionally invested in any part of the plot or a character. The times I started to be immersed in the story, I was ripped out to shift to some other scene.

What I did like was the reliance on actual things – boats, planes, tanks, etc. – instead of CGI. That’s what makes the cinematography so good. But even here, it didn’t capture the scale of the evacuation and CGI could have been helpful in this case.

The movie is overrated. Christopher Nolan will always please you with visuals. The plot this time, I think it got lost in the mail.

One IMDB reviewer summed it up well:

“Trapped on a beach awaiting rescue but the ships keep getting destroyed by dive bombers with only 3 planes to protect those ships. Ends with Hardy finally revealing his face when he is captured after landing his plane which has run out of fuel.”

That’s it. Everything else in between is just noise.

Yep. That’s about it.

Blade Runner 2049

Ryan Gosling in Blade Runner 2049 in association with Columbia Pictures, domestic distribution by Warner Bros. Pictures and international distribution by Sony Pictures Releasing International.

A sequel to a classic movie. I feared it would be screwed up, but it was so well done, it’s hard to find fault with the movie. Don’t go see Blade Runner 2049 if you don’t like to think. This is the kind of movie that is rarely made anymore. the plot, the mood, the visuals all keep you entrenched in the movie until the end. I can’t really say much else without spoiling the movie and I don’t want to do that for anyone who might go see it. It is a worthy successor to Blade Runner. This was a big gamble and it paid off in so many ways.

Monsturd

It’s as bad as you think it would be. I found the link somewhere on Reddit. I knew it would be bad, but I just had to watch it.

The story is about serial killer Jack Schmitt who has escaped prison, but dies mysteriously inside the city’s sewage treatment facility. Naturally, a horrific accident a a genetic research lab causes a chemical to be dumped. Schmitt is resurrected and uses the county sewer system as his lair while he goes about killing people.

The acting is bad, usually over the top bad. The music is crap meant to make you scared. I either laughed or rolled my eyes through most of the movie.

The song that plays during the ends credits is awesome.

The movie is really terrible.

Kedi

Kedi is a delightful documentary about the thousands of street cats who roam the streets in Istanbul, Turkey and the people who take care of them. The film focuses on seven cats and does some filming from their point of view. If you like cats, watch it.

Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets

A beautiful looking movie that sucked. The two leads sucked. There was no chemistry between, just a couple of people reading lines to get paid, and we’re supposed to believe they like each other enough to get married.

The plot was all over the place. If you want a fun sci-fi movie, just go pop in The Fifth Element. It, too, was made by Luc Besson and is so much better.

The Mummy

Go watch The Mummy and The Mummy Returns with Brendan Frasier and Rachel Weisz. You’ll thank me.

Victoria and Abdul

Victoria and Abdul tells of the friendship between Queen Victoria and her Munshie, Abdul Karim, a young clerk, who traveled from India to participate in the Queen’s Golden Jubilee. As their friendship develops, the household’s inner circle is determined to destroy it. The queen, however, sees the world in a new way through Abdul’s eyes.

Judi Dench is brilliant in her portrayal of Queen Victoria. The movie is worth seeing for her alone. The movie is charming, but it is difficult to gauge how true to real life events it is since the royal household burned all letters and documents between Victoria and Abdul. There has to be some poetic license given the time period and lack of documentation, but it’s a pleasant film nonetheless. Just don’t consider it absolute British history.

Alien: Covenant

I had hoped the movie would pick up where Prometheus left off, but when we see the two survivors, Shaw and David, again, Shaw is now dead. We only get cursory details of what happened to her. I would have liked this Alien installment to cover that story either as a whole movie or at least see what happened. But that is not this movie. This movie explores the character of David and what he has turned into, which is why his line was discontinued/upgraded to begin with.

One nitpick I do have is that, while trapped in the quarantine room, a baby alien pops out of a dude’s back. The woman just screams, grabs a knife and sits on the floor. Meanwhile, the baby plops on the floor and doesn’t yet know what is happening. This is the perfect time to stomp on that thing and kill it. Yeah, she deserved to die for being stupid. Yes, I laughed when the baby alien literally ripped her to shreds.

Alien and Aliens are classics. If you come to accept that these new movies by Ridley Scott are more popcorn movie than thriller, you’ll have a much more enjoyable time watching the movies. I know I do.

Anthropoid

Anthropoid is based on the extraordinary true story of “Operation Anthropoid,” the code name for the Czechoslovakian operatives’ mission to assassinate SS officer Reinhard Heydrich.

Heydrich, the main architect behind the Final Solution, was the Reich’s third in command behind Hitler and Himmler and the leader of Nazi forces in Czechoslovakia. The film follows two soldiers from the Czechoslovakian army-in-exile, Josef Gabčík (Cillian Murphy) and Jan Kubiš (Jamie Dornan), who are parachuted into their occupied homeland in December 1941. With limited intelligence and little equipment in a city under lock down, they must find a way to assassinate Heydrich, an operation that would change the face of Europe forever.

The movie was shot entirely in Prague, where the actual events too place. Whenever it was possible, filming took place at the exact locations for authenticity. The film was praised for its realism and being committed to recounting the events.

Cillian Murphy and Jamie Dornan excel in their performances. The plot is tense and gripping. Though the assassination of Heydrich takes place midway through the movie, the aftermath will have you on the edge of your seat.

Atomic Blonde

To say Charlize Theron is a badass action heroine is an understatement. Based on the graphic novel The Coldest City, Atomic Blonde is a blast. It’s one of my favorite movies of the year.

The music is perfect. The story line is great. One of the best things about the movie is, when they call the main character by her name, Lorraine, I think of my grandma kicking ass and killing bad guys with her shoe.

The action scenes are phenomenal. It’s part Bond, part Bourne, and more. It’s violent and Theron kicks a lot of ass. Is it going to win any awards? No. But it’s some damned good fun.

Seed: the Untold Story

Genetic diversity is the hedge between us and global famine.

The film looks at seed keepers who are trying to protect our 12,000 year-old food legacy. It discusses how seeds, such as corn, transformed villages into empires as it spread across the Americas. Corn is so elastic and adaptive that it is now grown on every continent of the world.

Seed discusses how 94 percent of our seed varieties disappeared in the last century and the role biotech chemical companies have played in controlling the majority of our seeds. This is the story of farmers, scientists, lawyers, and indigenous seed keepers fighting to defend the future of our food.

There are 300,000 species of plants on the planet. We came down to 30,000 edible plants. Of that, 120 are used on a regular basis. Most of humanity subsists on 10 – beans, corn, wheat, barley, and rice. We need to pay attention to the seeds of wild plants and how to put them into cultivation because they are the biodiversity heritage will feed the world.

The Hopi see the seed as life. “When you lose the seeds, you lose your traditional way of eating.” Seeds are living embroyos and they do have a lifespan. If we lose these seed banks, like the seed bank we blew up in Iraq, how vulnerable do we become?

Climate change is also having an impact on saving our seed culture. It is more difficult to plant in drought-stricken areas. A food bank that wasn’t backed up was destroyed in 2006 due to a typhoon in the Philippines.

The story tells how these seed keepers are helping to rekindle a lost connection to our most important resource and revive our connection to seed. This is a heartwarming and sad story of how we are slowly destroying ourselves.

Logan

Logan was a great ending to a comic book superhero. Some argue that it is is the best comic book movie of 2017, but I would argue that Atomic Blonde could hold that place as well.

One refreshing aspect of the film is that, although we don’t know exactly why Logan has aged so much, this movie is aimed 100 percent at adults. It’s violent the way Logan should have been throughout all the X-Men movies, but it is also much more human.

The film is set in 2029. The world has fallen apart. There are virtually no mutants left. The film is gritty and realistic. Hugh Jackman and Patrick Stewart’s acting is top notch throughout the several dilemmas they get themselves into.

The film is a fitting end to an iconic character.

Star Wars: The Last Jedi

If you haven’t seen this yet and you don’t want any spoilers, stop reading now.

The latest installment of the Star Wars saga was meh. It was okay. It was better than The Force Awakens, but that’s only because it didn’t try to retread what was already done.

While I’m a fan of the series and have seen every one in a theater, the film didn’t do much for me. There were several clunky moment in the movie, including Poe Dameron’s stupid prank phone call, Finn waking up from a coma and then runs around in a clear suit leaking fluid, and when Leia was blown out into space and floated herself back inside long after she should have been dead. It was cheesy and cringe-worthy. Several of the jokes were done for cheap laughs. They weren’t witty. There were just…there.

Rey is our protagonist, but we have yet to really learn anything about her. A protagonist is supposed to be the focus, not the ensemble cast.

Why was the scene of Luke getting and drinking milk from the beast necessary? What is the point of Porgs other than to sell toys?

The film has too many characters and the plot is cluttered with bullshit. The formerly smart characters are now dumb and make stupid mistakes.

The entire plot line with Finn, Rose and whoever Benicio Del Toro was is unnecessary.

Kylo Ren is still the bad guy, but there doesn’t seem to be a reason why in The Last Jedi. He’s just there to move the plot along. Dialogue between Ren, Snoke, and Rey is sometimes too reminiscent of the conversation between Vader, the Emperor, and Luke in Return of the the Jedi. Moments like those took me out of the movie. I rolled my eyes and sighed.

There are some good parts. I wanted to see more of Rey in the dark hole in Ireland. The battle on the salt planet was visually spectacular. But that’s it. The movie was battles, explosions, and dumb plot points. I mean, really? What is the point of Luke dying?

I’m going to watch Rogue One again. Much better movie.

There are some good movies on the way in 2018. Hopefully I will get to see them all. And, hopefully, Solo: A Star Wars Story will be a better Star Wars movie.

[justmegawatt]

Journal Day 171 – 172 WPM, 176 WPM and First Place Twice

Wednesday, April 12th 2017

Pretty awesome start to a good day so far. I got first place on typeracer this morning after a few attempts. It’s been forever since I last went on this website. However, I wanted to troll a bit, and get more views on my YouTube channel, so I went ahead and recorded a video of me becoming first place at something I knew I was good at. I also put “Vegan” next to my name to represent veganism. The fastest person on the website right now as I type this, is me, and I am a vegan.

I wasn’t even trying when I got 172 words per minute. My fingers felt slow, I felt slow. And yet, I got first place beating the hundreds if not thousands of other people online on that same website at that same moment. People that were trying their best to beat me, but couldn’t.

Alright so I am really good at typing. Can I earn money from this? I’m not sure, but it’s probably a lot better to be the ‘best’ at something, rather than be a normal person at something. And everyone types. I just happen to be one of the fastest typists in the entire world. I mean yeah, I can play Tetris, I can play a video game like Warcraft 3 and become a pro, but in terms of worldwide attention, typing is something everyone does and it is something everyone can relate to. Not many can relate to a Tetris pro or a Warcraft 3 pro.

I would like to thank DurianRider for inspiring me to make a YouTube video about this and to troll in the video a bit. DurianRider is one of the best cyclists on the planet, he got first place on a lot of different tournaments and competitions many times, and he himself is a vegan. So that inspired me. I am one of the fastest typists on the planet, why don’t I make a YouTube video series about this very topic?

I haven’t uploaded the video yet so I have no idea if it will pick up steam or not. But the recording is done, I just have to do some editing work and then upload. I’m getting excited.

--

I don’t have unlimited time to just dedicate everything to typing and YouTubing. Unfortunately I have a full-time job. Unfortunately I am studying at a university. Unfortunately I am paying $300 a month for online computer lessons (separate from the university). Unfortunately I have a life, and I can only dedicate so much time to typing.

I try to exercise every day (except I rarely do), I try to update my journal every day, I try to get straight A’s in my courses, I try to do my best at work which can get stressful sometimes, I try. I’m also writing a book with Obs. I just texted her actually to wish her well this morning, because I’m grateful for having met her. I hope she doesn’t see that as weird or anything. I wrote a pretty weird entry last night because I was extremely sleepy, and I made a pretty weird video to go along with it, she has every reason to dislike me now.

So anyway, my point is that I don’t just have unlimited time in this world to dedicate to typing. I’m a normal person going through normal things, and I just happen to be one of the best in the world at something. That doesn’t mean that I’m good at anything else. I’m not as great in art, I’m not as great in video editing, or audio production. I’m just ‘good’ at this one thing.

--

I’m pumped and excited. I’ve just spent the past hour or so listening to DurianRider YouTube advice and tips. Man. He makes it sound so easy. I think I can do it. Right now I have 7 subscribers in the channel that I’m going to upload my videos to, and a total of 214 views. Right now I have 13 videos that are publicly displayed. 4 of those videos have less than 5 views, like 2 or 3 views, I mean, wtf. I’m planning on privatizing those videos since no one watches them anyway and they’re not all that great.

Okay so here’s my YouTube to-do list for tonight: - Update YouTube wallpaper background - Create new ‘outro’ video that I will use in all my videos - Edit and create YouTube video from typing footage this morning - Create thumbnail for the above video - Get 1st place again on TypeRacer (gonna be freaking hard at night time) - Upload first video again trolling everyone on TypeRacer

Hell yeah. I can’t wait. Freaking DurianRider is the man. He gave me the tips, I will use those tips. My videos will be focused around computers, mainly typing, programming, and so on. I can’t wait to troll and wreck it online. I’m still at work at the moment, pretty much done with everything that needs to be done.

--

I have a ton of things that I need to work on outside of work though. I have a few homework assignments due tonight, some more due tomorrow. I am nearly 100 journal entries behind on my Tumblr, my Medium, my blog website, and my livejournal. Fuck. How am I going to catch up? Do I need to ask someone a favor if they can manually upload 100 of my entries to each one of those websites…? Sigh.

Someone new at work apparently found out that I had a website today, she said that was cool. There are actually quite a few people at work that know I have a website, I think pretty much everyone does, I think. I’m not too sure. But on this website, I also keep my journal entries on there. But so far I have only uploaded until journal entry day 70. Shit. So I am actually over 100 entries behind, as of today. Today is day 171.

I always thought that LG2MT would finish the task for me and catch me up to date, but I haven’t worked on LG2MT in a while. Instead, I have spent a lot of my time and hours trolling around on YouTube, Reddit, Imgur, and other websites. Who really cares about those things? I don’t need to reply to every comment poster or person that replies to me on YouTube when I have a life to live. I made a mistake of taking chunks out of my life to reply to people and that was one of the biggest mistakes of all.

--

Alright I’m home now. It’s 5:34 PM. Let’s get cranking on that YouTube to do list. First up, the YouTube wallpaper background. Mine is blank right now, so let me go ahead and make one.

Done. The time right now is 5:45 PM. I also used the bathroom for a bit, so yeah. Not bad, and it didn’t take much time at all.

Next up is to create the ‘outro’ for my videos. Okay. Okay. This one is a bit more complicated.

54 minutes later…

Alright the time right now is 6:39 PM. It was 6:39 PM when I finished and started rendering the video, and then after a while I also started to upload the video. The time right now is 6:53 PM after I finished all of that. The video can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GhhyPzwdScs

Freaking awesome!

Time right now is 7:02 PM and the next step is to edit and upload the footage of me getting rank #1 to YouTube. Alright.

22 minutes later…

Alright, I just finished the video! It’s rendering now which will take a while. This video is super awesome. I freaking love it. Next task is to create a thumbnail for it… Oh man, that is going to be tough.

6 minutes later…

Wow it took me 6 minutes? Geez. I thought it took like 2 seconds, but apparently it took 6 minutes. Anyway, the thumbnail is done, and it wasn’t that hard at all. The video is still not done rendering, and the time right now is 7:28 PM. The video is at 42% rendering, so nowhere close. The next step is… Oh shit, get first place on TypeRacer… Fuck me.

If there is some guy with like 180 WPM or above, then I stand little chance. Okay. First place is 217 WPM, the second place person is 192 WPM. Kathy Florentine is destroying it with freaking 217 WPM. Shit. Cameron is next with 192 WPM. Third place is by some random guy that has a Star as a symbol with 163 WPM, and 4th place is 155 WPM.

I can probably get to 3rd place with difficulty, but to get 2nd or 1st, that is a near impossibility. I’ll go for 3rd as my most, and then give up afterwards. I don’t want to even try to get more than that.

Time right now is 7:41 PM, I have been trying, but the fastest speed I have gotten so far is 140 WPM.

2 minutes later…

153 WPM. Not even close. Kathy is now at 222 WPM, and Cameron is at 210 WPM. I have never breached 200, so this is already an impossibility for me to get 1st or 2nd. I can get third, yes, but not first or second. Not at this level. Fuck. My fingers are getting confused.

This is why I’m fine with watching high performers perform, but doing it myself? That’s really difficult. I can’t reliably rely on myself to not screw up. Typing is one of those skills where you have to have full control of every single finger movement, and at really fast speeds, it’s hard to grab control of them, so typos are abound. I think it’s because it’s late in the day right now, which is why my fingers are having a much harder time than this morning. I don’t know exactly what it is, it’s just that I am having more typos right now for some reason.

I uploaded the video, keep in mind I curse a few times since I’m roleplaying a controversial character: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tfCyJse8NO0

--

However many minutes later…

The time right now is 8:22 PM and a low level league of people just appeared. The 1st place person right now is 135 WPM, the second place is 111 WPM, and the fourth place is 108 WPM, the 4th place downward have not even gotten anywhere. Holy shit. This is going to be really easy. I still want to get a really high score though, nothing below 160 WPM.

Finally. Some dude just got 160 WPM. I thought that low level of skill was going to be around for a while.

A long time later!

The time right now is 8:43 PM and I finally got first place again.

--

I recorded another video doing commentary while I got 176 WPM. So before I set my record for the night, some other guy got 175 WPM. I bet he was disappointed I beat his score after just 4 minutes. Well 4 minutes after I beat his score, another person beat me. Then 4 minutes after that person, another person beat that person. And then 3 minutes later, the person I beat originally, he came out of nowhere and became first place again.

So my final position right now is 4th place. Oh well. I actually went online to one of the people’s livestreams, and it turns out they were only doing 1 line typeraces. Wow. Just one liners. The one I did 172 with was 3 lines, and the 176 one was also 3 lines. That’s probably why I have never gotten over 200 WPM, because I have never consistently stayed at 1 line for that long. This guy just kept on doing it and doing it. I don’t think you get better at typing that way. You set records, but you don’t improve.

I think that is the first time I have completed all the tasks in my to-do list that I write here. That is the first time. Impressive.

 Selfie for the day