Poll: Would you read a Young Justice and Hardy Boys crossover if I wrote one? Vote Now!
Author has written 257 stories for X-Men: Evolution, Ed, Edd n Eddy, Young Justice, Alice in Wonderland, 2010, Sisters Grimm, Doctor Who, Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew, Call of Duty, Supernatural, Sherlock, Merlin, Hannibal, and Radio Dramas.
If you're reading this, I'm looking for a fic. It can be yours, or a friend's, or one you just found one day, but I'm getting desperate. I want a Young Justice zombie world story. It can be the apocalypse, or just some villain whipping something up, or a simulation, but I want there to be zombies and I want the team (or just a few members) trying to survive. It doesn't even have to be good. I would prefer Dick and Wally to be close friends and working together for a good portion of it. If they're shipped together, bonus points. If there's no ships at all, still bonus points. Please.
As an incentive (I don't know if this makes it any more appealing but I'm desperate), I'll write a story for everyone who links me to one. You tell me what you want, vague or specific, and I'll write it. I don't care what ship, show, or plot you're looking for- I'll do it, and dedicate it to you, if you'd like.
I could write it better than you ever felt it.
Alright, my duckies, today we're going to talk about self-esteem.
If you've been around long enough, or simply bothered to travel back far enough through my stories, you'll probably have noticed that I didn't have much self-esteem to begin with. I was trapped in that fifth-grade-emo phase. But now, with a combination of "Girl Code" (MTV) and just some basic thinking, I've gone from absolutely despising myself to loving myself. I went from some moping, angsting teenager to one with a brilliant God Complex-- and I'm going to tell you how you can do it, too!
Right now, if you're able, move yourself in front of a mirror, or something with a reflective service. My dresser has a mirror, and I'm using that. Alright, now that you're in front of the mirror, look at yourself and remind yourself of all of the things you dislike about your appearance (if you do). I'll do it with you.
My left eyebrow is higher than my right, and my right eye is higher than my left. I have my dad's eyebrows that need some tending to more often than I'd like to admit. I still have the cheeks of a toddler. My lips are too small. My eyelids make make-up impossible because they smear things up to my eyebrows. My ears are puny (smaller than my glasses' frame). I'm a little on the pudgy side. I'm covered in red scars that make me seem like I have leprosy. My neck's a little too long. I have man shoulders. My teeth are a little yellow. My boobs are smaller than my friends. (I mean, I'm a B but Jesus Christ, talk about boob steroids). Soy muy baja.
Bit of a list, eh? Be completely honest with yourself here. Find everything. If you need to, write them down. Alright, now, let's find some good things! (if you can think of any. If not, skip this and come back to it afterwards). I'll do it with you.
My hair is fantastic. It's thick, it's smooth, it looks great in any color, it's always a little wavy so I can say that "not even my hair is straight!" on some occasions. I have the best eyelashes on the face of this planet. They're really long and thick without mascara, and I personally think they're beautiful. The scars on my arms make me a little 'exotic'. My body provides natural heat in the winter months, so I can go around in t-shirts comfortably while people are shivering in their hoodies. My neck looks really great when I'm in a tanktop-- them collarbones though! My eye color is beautiful-- as a close friend told me, I've got little Earths in my eyes. I have the best ugly-faces for snapchat. Seriously. You won't win that fight. My fingers are the cutest motherfuckers to exist. Kind of pudgy, but still all delicate-- love them. My feet are tiny and therefore less gross. I have a freckle on one of my toes that is the cutest little thing ever. I get freckles if I go out in the summertime. I tan like a Goddess.
If you didn't notice, my like list is a bit bigger than my dislike list, but the dislike list still exists. How can this be, if i have some sort of God Complex? Shouldn't I think that I'm perfect? You see, the word "perfect" in itself is "imperfect". As A Dose of Buckley pointed out, if we could change everything we hated about ourselves, we would just find more things to hate. It's this imperfection that I really find myself loving. To further explain this, here is a quote by Cecil Palmer of Welcome to Night Vale:
"Imperfections in our reality are the seams and cracks into which our outsized love can seep and pool, and sometimes we are annoyed, and disappointed. and that too, is a part of how love works."
I suppose my real love for myself rooted itself in my TV show obsession. The more I watched, the more it all made sense. Cecil Palmer told me how perfect imperfections are, and how we're all a beautiful kind of disturbing. The Doctor reminded me of how important I was, and as my friends tease me for overusing, how fantastic I am. Supernatural showed me that even the most unimportant of people can mean the very most to someone; even if you won't believe in yourself, somewhere, there's someone pressing their smile into their pillow with you on their mind in some plane of time. Sherlock showed me that it's perfectly okay to be stupid, and that even if I feel like I don't matter at all, I'll mean the very most to someone some day, and I may even set them right. The DC world showed me that anyone can grow up and follow their dreams, no matter how bad the tragedies are, and that I too can feel the aster. Gunnerkrigg taught me that we all have a little gift, and no matter how unimportant we think it to be, someone will think it's the most amazing thing ever. Pokemon helped me remember that this life is an adventure and that I dictate what I do with it-- if I'm going to be inactive and spend my life out-of-shape on the internet, I'll be damned if I don't do just that. Naruto told me that love is just a backdrop to the rest of my life and if I just follow my ninja way and believe, I can go from a little nobody to a face that everyone knows and appreciates. Hannibal showed me the distinct beauty in something that may be absolutely disgusting to someone, but amazing to me, and that we're all capable of doing what it is we fight to achieve. Adventure Time told me that I'm beautiful no matter what I look like, and whoever I love, as long as I'm happy, nothing can go wrong. The Legend of Zelda taught me that even if I am out of place and don't belong, I can be my own hero and shape my own world. Wicked reminded me that not everyone is who they seem, me included, and that's completely fine. Bo Burnham taught me that the world will always be bigoted, so I just need to take a deep breath every once in a while and just learn to nod my head and smile until I'm where I feel I belong. Fall Out Boy held my hand through the darkness and assured me that someone was always there, even when I'm there at the end of the alleyway staring up at a brick wall, because someone will be there on the other end facing the same predicament, so I just need to take that wall down. Harry Potter showed me that everyone, in all of their shapes and sizes, has a purpose here and discovering it can be a beautiful journey.
That's not even a start, but you get the point. They've shaped me to where I am today. It's okay to be a loser. Stay inside all day, curl up with your laptop, stress yourself out until three over having someone over. Accept the fact that you're your best on your own. People can be nice, but you know what? It's okay if you're nice, too. And, if you're the opposite and just need someone there, that's perfectly okay, too. A close friend of mine is the same way. Some people love people, and some don't. And that's all perfectly okay.
Now, back to the things you don't like about yourself. Think about them. I mean, honestly, think about them. Think about how dumb it is to get all worked up over stuff like that. It's how you look! Your friends, they like[d] you with these imperfections when you met. They didn't sit there and think, golly gee, let's be friend with that poor person with the big ears! I bet they're plenty lonely! No. No one thinks like that. They became your friends because of your inside stuff, whether it's a need for your organ meats or how fantastic you are.
And then, some more on the appearance thing. Let's go over to Google for this. Pick one quality, and google it. Here, I'll go with you.
Badly scarred arms. Hehe, that one looks like a scorpion! One eyebrow higher than the other. Oh hey, she's kind of like, really attractive. Small lips. Hermione can do it, so I guess I can, too. Small ears. Ahahaa, look at that baby, oh god. Yellowish teeth. OHTGOD JACKOLANTERN.
See what I mean? If they can rock it, you can too! If not, just smile because you are in no way alone in this.
Got some bad qualities? Shit, man, we all do! I can't do the monkey bars, cartwheel or somersault. I'm not strong enough. I can't do any pull-ups. I'm afraid of some slides because I have the biggest fear of heights. If I see any kind of dog (tiny puppy, rat thing, fur ball, disabled with no working legs, blind and deaf, tooth-less), I will scream and climb the nearest surface until it leaves. I have hid in a freezer to avoid my neighbor's puppy. It was later picked up and eaten by a hawk. I have a morbid fascination with the dead and I plan to become a forensic pathologist, even though my family constantly refers to me as a cannibal. I can't draw animals to save my life. Coloring and painting are impossibly hard. I can't roller skate, ski, or water ski. For a girl, I can't hit half of the tenor notes in choir. My music taste consists of Fall Out Boy and no one else. I'm extremely Atheist, but I go to church for the food. I'm a gay child in a hardcore Catholic family, and I've had girlfriends and 'girlfriends' over while my parents are in the next room. Let your mind play with that. I had a panic attack in WalMart because I couldn't fight marshmallow fluff, once. I used to puke when I got overly upset. I starved myself from seventh grade to the middle of freshman year and went from 160 to 120 (I think I'm back to 130 now). I can't jog for more than four minutes without collapsing.
Yeah, we're all a little... you know, imperfect. But that's completely okay. COMPLETELY OKAY. See, without this, I wouldn't be me. I don't think I'd be anyone. These imperfections got us our friends. These imperfections shaped us, and look at us now. Yeah, we're the worst, but we're the best at it.
So if you get to that point when you're at the bottom of the ninth and you're the only one out playing, come talk to me. Chances are, I'm right there with you, and I could use the interaction as much as you could.
Now, this right here, this part here, this is me writing a bit in the future. A few people have taken me up on this offer and came to talk to me, and I'm... so deeply... flattered, or maybe honored, or elated even to think that these words have gotten to someone. Talking to a few of you though, I realized that I left some things out, so I'm going to go on a bit farther with it today, if you don't mind.
You aren't always going to be feeling 100%. Right now, I'm about a solid 3%, maybe 6%, and that's absolutely okay. Let me tell you why.
We're allowed to feel sad.
We're allowed to get frustrated.
We're allowed to cry, and bawl into our pillows, and scream and kick because it's just not fair, or it's all too much, or you wanted so much more from all of this.
We're allowed to get angry.
We're allowed to be jealous.
We're allowed to hurt.
We're allowed to feel.
Right now, pause what you're doing. Put a hand to your neck and feel your pulse. Count it if you want. Do you feel that steady thrum?
That's you, right there.
Take your hand off your neck, or off your mouse, and rub your arm. Maybe it's soft, maybe it's hairy, maybe it's in memory. Did you see that?
That's you, right there.
Turn your hand over and look at your wrist, either one. Study your veins, trace them over, look at the little intricate pathways. There's blood in those, and it's all over your body. It's everywhere, always remaking, always circulating, always flowing.
That's you, right there.
Your eyes, moving over every word, giving me a voice as you take in what I have to say. Your thoughts, and the voice you give yourself when you think, as you think about this.
That's me, and then that's you, but it's mostly just you, right there.
My point is, you are one person. You aren't your friends, or your families, or your teachers, or your government. These people, in our lives... they influence us, and try to control us, but the truth is, the only person controlling you, truly, is yourself.
That anger you feel? That isn't Becca's, or John's. No, that anger is yours.
Those tears that make your face feel hot and sticky all the same and make your stomach turn? Those aren't the state senator's, or your math teacher's. No, those tears are yours.
You feel all of these things, and your response is to feel sorry. You've got it in your head that it's bad to do all of this, but it isn't. No, it's just you being you, and you're apologizing for being yourself.
My whole life, I've done just that. I apologized for everyone and everything, for things I didn't do, and couldn't have done, and things I did that I couldn't help, and I retract all of those the best I can.
I'm not sorry that I stutter when I'm scared. I'm not sorry that I always cry at the movies. I'm not sorry for talking too fast, or mumbling, or maybe spitting a little when I talk because my retainer takes up a lot of room. I'm not sorry for being in a bad mood, or getting frustrated with someone, or trying hard to keep it together so I can make it through the day. I'm just not.
I did nothing wrong. Those things? Those are me. My life is dictated by me, and if you don't like it, see your way out of it.
So, hear me out, if you're reading this. We aren't perfect. No, there's no way we ever could be. That being said, there's nothing wrong with us either. This person here, this is me, and you there, you're you. We are how we are meant to be, and we will always be ourselves, and we can never do that wrong.
Chin up, champ.
It's not your fault.
You don't have to be strong, and you don't have to feel sorry for being weak.
Please, my duckies, know that I believe in you. I believe in you, and I love you, and no matter what happens, we'll find a way through this.
Roses are red,
The TARDIS is blue,
He's lost all his friends
So the Doctor is too.
An old man went to the roof
And jumped from up high
With a smile on his face
'Cause he thought he could fly.
In this never ending cat-and-mouse chase, we are both the mouse in a world without cats.
John had always known Sherlock to be dedicated to the job, but as he lay on the wooden floor beside his flat mate with nothing but a throw pillow and a blanket, he came to realize just how dedicated he could be.
When Lestrade had called a week earlier with a quick cure to Sherlock's boredom- John didn't even consider them cases anymore- the two had set up to a private estate a few miles off from the Queen's summer home to investigate the whereabouts of a 'Mr. Digour' and the woman with who he'd fled. The two hadn't been ultimately interested until they'd heard the value over the woman's head that branched from the company she headed. Sherlock had insisted the case would be solved in a matter of a day as soon as they'd gotten down, but matters complicated and the two found themselves attempting to get comfortable on the old floor.
"We couldn't just stay at the hotel," the doctor grumbled angrily under his breath, hooking his arm under the throw pillow and turning onto his side.
Sherlock lay calmly on his back with his hands steepled together under his nose, only turning his gaze towards the blond for but a moment.
"And risk someone recognizing our presence here? Really, John, do think before you complain."
John offered an aggravated groan, using a hand to try and dim the brightness that came with Scotland's infamous midnight sun. Of course there wouldn't be curtains. Of course. Sherlock was fine staying up all night, in fact he had insisted on it which begged the question of why he was laying here, but John was human and humans needed sleep. An hour's worth of laying had not helped with that yet.
"What's troubling you?" the detective heaved an impatient sigh, parting his hands down and turning his head to look over his friend.
A small jerk of his head towards the window with its merciless glare offered a better deduction than the detective could've drawn out himself. Sherlock stared a moment, about to ask what he was to do about it when he worked it out for himself.
Getting to his feet with just as much as energy as a child on caffeine, the brunet took his own blanket over to the window and fastened it over the pane, securing it as snug as he could manage.
"Better?" he stayed beside the window and stared down at his friend, having to squint in the newly made darkness.
It wasn't a perfect pitch, the kind of darkness that Baker Street offered, but it was quite a bit better as confirmed by a grateful hum on John's part.
"Yes, thank you," the man got out, able to shut his eyes more confidently, realizing only as he pulled his blanket up over his shivering form of the problem that now laid before them, "Won't you be cold?"
Sherlock's lips gave a twitch, flattered that John cared before returning to his spot, returning his hands to their steeple.
"Irrelevant," he offered, giving the retired soldier an assured smile when he felt the eyes on his face, "Sleep well. We need to be moving before too long."
The blond's brow furrowed and he went as far as to lift the edge of his own blanket, offering some to the detective, only to be turned down.
"I'm fine, John, thank you. Now please, try to get some sleep."
Sherlock retreated to his mind palace and focused on the case the best he could to forget the temperature, patching together what he could with glue that didn't exist. He had at first been assuming the woman had been kidnapped and taken to a whole other continent to begin with, but now that he thought about it, it was quiet obvious that the two hadn't even left the UK. A new identity for the two, perhaps? Lovers escaping fate? Could it really be kidnapping? They'd have to stop and talk to that American fellow again, ask about the interactions. He had to be holding something back. He had noticed it then, but he hadn't been able to place it. Maybe he'd had relations with the woman? Wanted to? No, it couldn't be that. The look in his eyes was something else. Perhaps guilt, maybe he was to blame.
The thought had been miraculously broken by the start of a snore. Who was snoring? Was it him? John. John was asleep. Good. That was comforting. Unless that feeling was him slowly freezing to death. Maybe he should've accepted the blanket. Nevermind that last bit. He'd be fine. Totally fine.
Yes, the man might have arranged the kidnapping. He did work for the company, correct? Yes, but he was lower down. The callouses in his hands had been stained with oil. He was an actual worker instead of a higher up. Maybe it was something like that. A higher up arranging it to gain control of the company. But where would Mr. Digour fit in? He certainly didn't have the physique to kidnap a woman, unless drugs were involved. A sedative... The possibilities were a lot higher than he'd like them to be.
He opened his eyes and pulled up his phone to run some checks, train times and shops nearby that would sell sedatives to non-medical personnel. Non-medical. Sedatives could be used by vets too, he was sure of it. Wasn't his sister a vet? Possibly. Maybe she was involved too. All the more to check on.
Sherlock gave a little sigh, tensing to find a weight on his chest. Looking down, he was relieved to see it was a literal weight- John's head to be exact. That took a moment to set in. Shining his phone and using its light, he noted that John had curled, abandoning his pillow preferably for the warmth of a human body. His legs had drawn closer, the edge of his blanket gently overlapping the detective's legs. That would explain why he felt so much warmer. Giving a small shrug, he resumed his research, one hand gently setting to John's head. The contact visibly tensed the unconscious man before he relaxed further, cheek gently nuzzling the detective's ribs.
There was an investigation to carry out, but it could wait another four hours in the least. He knew how bad John needed this, and he had to admit, he didn't mind it that much either.
Sometimes, you just need to turn the world down and Fall Out Boy up.
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