afewproblems

[afewproblems]

Are you and Shawn... an item?

Ha ha ha, no.

I think I see where you're all getting the very wrong idea. See, his "attraction" to me is him toying in service of some bit. And the pleasure I get from seeing him fail — that and my physical outbursts — have no bearing in the realms of romance. Or sex.

[afewproblems]

I think i just had a Jimmy Neutron level brain blast and figured out my ending

Ugh I've hit a huge wall with my Difficult Days resolution/final chapter. I know what I want to happen, but I'm not sure how to bridge the gap.

Anyone have tips on brainstorming or getting the creative juices flowing?

[afewproblems]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[afewproblems]

Dear video essay creators. A video analysis is when you analyze a piece of media. No no look at me. A summary, no matter how thorough, is not an analysis. An analysis requires you to draw conclusions about the media such as authorial intent, real-world parallels, discussion about themes/worldbuilding/character motivation, and so much more. You have to stop summarizing something and saying that’s analysis. The Gaylors are doing more critical analysis than you. Is that who you want to lose to? The gaylors?

[afewproblems]

his boyfriend. idk if its bad to post one thing right after another but oh well here he is my sweets.

[afewproblems]

friends ... it is with a very heavy heart that i have finally locked my ao3 fics to registered users only. i don't understand the exact mechanics of how ai scraping works, and my opinions on ai usage in the professional world are complex, but my discomfort at the idea that my creative work is being accessed and used without my knowledge has beaten my desire to make stories as available to everyone as possible. i'm happy to send ao3 invitations to those who want to make an account; otherwise i hope you guys can understand

[afewproblems]

Miss Congeniality (2000) dir. Donald Petrie

[afewproblems]

what it feels like being a psych fan that ships shawn and jules:

[afewproblems]

Ugh I've hit a huge wall with my Difficult Days resolution/final chapter. I know what I want to happen, but I'm not sure how to bridge the gap.

Anyone have tips on brainstorming or getting the creative juices flowing?

[afewproblems]

Every single fic update there is an author trying frantically to find the right balance between a nonchalant aside of "leave a comment if you enjoyed =)" and clinging desperately to the coat tails of a random stranger, dragging along behind them on the street wailing "Please, please! I have to know what you thought! I'm desperate to talk to people about this! Ask me about the alliterative repetition! Ask me about the symbolism!"

[afewproblems]

gus and juliet could have been SILLY in love, they could have had one of those nerd marriages, jules could have gone undercover and got way into character and gus could have told shawn "it's part of her craft, shawn, you have to let her work," and gus could have got taken out on safecrackring class dates, and they could have finished each other's sentences, and they could have been soooo princess (gus) and knight (jules) coded, and they would have been such dorks the whole way and devoted to each other and to shawn, and it could have been great!

[afewproblems]

Now I'm not saying that JD Vance killed the Pope, per se. I just think his actions raise some questions, like for example: Did JD Vance kill the Pope?

[afewproblems]

this is almost certainly not a novel take but

i do wonder how much of the derisive language you hear toward "resistlib winemoms" or whatever is just "people who grew up in Safely Blue Coastal Enclaves rebelling against ppl who remind them of their mom b/c they are emotionally stunted adults"

like, as A Child Of A Very Conservative Area, i have a very vivid recollection of the first time i encountered this type of person, and my reaction was mostly baffled delight. wait you're telling me this PTA mom with unassailable Wholesome Americana credentials is gassing up the cause of trans rights at her book club. you're telling me she's batting her eyelashes and "think of the children"-ing, except instead of doing that to promote some obnoxious "ban this book from the school curriculum" agenda, she's shaming her state representative into actually funding the damn schools? i do not care how cringe her UV-bleached "i'm with her" bumper sticker is or whatever, she is working extremely hard & successfully on shit i care about and i will brook no slander against her

[afewproblems]

i think one of the biggest problems about psych's later seasons was that juliet stopped being weird and started being responsible. i love when she was weird and intense and off-putting enough to make lassiter flinch. she and shawn should've been extremely weird together at the club and made everyone uncomfortable with the places their minds went. you agree

[afewproblems]

[afewproblems]

In hindsight, Shawn should have known better.

He should have told Gus he was heading back to the office, he should have told Lassie and Jules that he had a lead on Yin’s next victim.

Maybe if he had Shawn wouldn't have woken up, blindfolded and woozy from whatever drug had been injected into his neck. Maybe Gus would have noticed the man following him up the boardwalk.

Maybe Lassie and Juliet would have agreed to meet him at the office.

But, in for a pound and a nickel, or whatever the saying was, Shawn had gone it alone, which is exactly what brought him to this moment.

This old wet sock of a moment.

“In there,” Yin says, drawing out the words in his gravelly voice as he gestures at the barrel with the gun in his hand, “is life, whereas out here,” he trails off with a cold grin, teeth glinting in the Californian sun, “out here is death”.

“I think your choice, and it is important that it is your choice, Mr. Spencer, is clear”.

Shawn swallows, his head aches from the mixture of chemicals that had kept him floating between sleep and consciousness on the drive out of the city into the desert. He scans the horizon, hoping for some kind of recognition of their whereabouts, a road, or a sign, Hell even a weird rock would be helpful at this point, but there’s nothing. Just miles of dirt and sky and Shawn is stuck with an increasingly impatient serial killer. The only other object is a small black duffle bag that Yin had placed in his zip tied hands before shoving him into the trunk of a car hours earlier, blindfolded and woozy.

Yin reaches into the duffle bag, the gun still loosely trained on Shawn before pulling out a shiny metal plate.

Etched into the surface is his name and the dates, March 24th, 1977 - June 30th, 2011.

Today's date.

Shawn feels his heart hammer against his ribcage as Yin looks between him and the metal in his hands.

“Like it? I thought it only fitting to commemorate your final resting place”.

“You don't have to do this,” Shawn says, shaking his head as a wave of nausea crashes over him, “I know you’re--you’re upset we got your partner put away, Yang, She was important to you--”

“The barrel Mr. Spencer,” Yin says sharply, as he cocks the pistol before lazily pointing at the metal container once more.

Shawn hesitates, maybe he could make a run for it, but the lack of cover or visible landmarks puts him at a huge disadvantage. He tests the ties around his wrists, the blunt plastic edge digs into the skin as he gently pulls his hand away from each other, nothing. His father had given him lessons on breaking out of zip ties when he was ten, but with the gun trained on him he wouldn't even be able to lift his hands above his head before Yin would take the shot.

Even if he did manage to outrun Yin he had no idea where he was or what direction would get him back to the city.

Or if Jules, Gus, and Lassie were at all close to finding him.

God. Lassie.

There was so much he wanted to say to the other man, so much he'd been too chicken to admit to the person who had finally started to warm up to him. Not that Shawn really thought it would lead anywhere, but God would it have felt good to finally say to Lassie, I like you, I wanna climb you like a tall angry Irish tree--

“You're trying my patience Mr. Spencer,” Yin says as he takes a menacing step closer, “I won't tell you again”.

Shawn's breaths come fast and uneven as he takes a shaky step towards the barrel, gripping it with trembling hands.

God. Please hurry, Shawn thinks as he throws a leg over the opening and sinks down into the hot metal vessel.

He looks up in time to see Yin smile down at him, “let's hope your friends are as good at deciphering my clues as you were,” he hums, lifting the lid of the barrel before placing it down over Shawn, leaving him in darkness.

The sound of clamps sealing the lid echo loudly in the small space as Shawn tries to breathe shallowly. He yelps as the container tips, causing him to slam into the side, his head cracking hard against the wall of his prison.

The barrel rolls once before settling, at least he's still upright as near as he can tell in the pitch dark. The rolling motion and hit to the head does nothing for the ever present nausea that continues to climb up into his throat.

The sound of thundering above Shawn's head startles a gasp out of him, it roars in the metal coffin, the sound all encompassing as he lifts his bound hands to cover one ear while using his shoulder to try and protect the other.

The sound rages above him for what feels like an age before it finally stops. The smell of sun baked earth and dust fills his nose as he finally opens his eyes and lowers his bound hands, settling against the side of the barrel.

Shawn is quiet as reality finally hits him. That Yin beat him. That he's going to die out here, alone, in the desert.

He had been wrong about the victim that was next on Yin's list. Shawn had been the target the entire time, and he'd missed it.

He'd missed it.

A deafening roar fills the metal coffin once more as Shawn opens his mouth to scream.

[afewproblems]

In hindsight, Shawn should have known better.

He should have told Gus he was heading back to the office, he should have told Lassie and Jules that he had a lead on Yin’s next victim.

Maybe if he had Shawn wouldn't have woken up, blindfolded and woozy from whatever drug had been injected into his neck. Maybe Gus would have noticed the man following him up the boardwalk.

Maybe Lassie and Juliet would have agreed to meet him at the office.

But, in for a pound and a nickel, or whatever the saying was, Shawn had gone it alone, which is exactly what brought him to this moment.

This old wet sock of a moment.

“In there,” Yin says, drawing out the words in his gravelly voice as he gestures at the barrel with the gun in his hand, “is life, whereas out here,” he trails off with a cold grin, teeth glinting in the Californian sun, “out here is death”.

“I think your choice, and it is important that it is your choice, Mr. Spencer, is clear”.

Shawn swallows, his head aches from the mixture of chemicals that had kept him floating between sleep and consciousness on the drive out of the city into the desert. He scans the horizon, hoping for some kind of recognition of their whereabouts, a road, or a sign, Hell even a weird rock would be helpful at this point, but there’s nothing. Just miles of dirt and sky and Shawn is stuck with an increasingly impatient serial killer. The only other object is a small black duffle bag that Yin had placed in his zip tied hands before shoving him into the trunk of a car hours earlier, blindfolded and woozy.

Yin reaches into the duffle bag, the gun still loosely trained on Shawn before pulling out a shiny metal plate.

Etched into the surface is his name and the dates, March 24th, 1977 - June 30th, 2011.

Today's date.

Shawn feels his heart hammer against his ribcage as Yin looks between him and the metal in his hands.

“Like it? I thought it only fitting to commemorate your final resting place”.

“You don't have to do this,” Shawn says, shaking his head as a wave of nausea crashes over him, “I know you’re--you’re upset we got your partner put away, Yang, She was important to you--”

“The barrel Mr. Spencer,” Yin says sharply, as he cocks the pistol before lazily pointing at the metal container once more.

Shawn hesitates, maybe he could make a run for it, but the lack of cover or visible landmarks puts him at a huge disadvantage. He tests the ties around his wrists, the blunt plastic edge digs into the skin as he gently pulls his hand away from each other, nothing. His father had given him lessons on breaking out of zip ties when he was ten, but with the gun trained on him he wouldn't even be able to lift his hands above his head before Yin would take the shot.

Even if he did manage to outrun Yin he had no idea where he was or what direction would get him back to the city.

Or if Jules, Gus, and Lassie were at all close to finding him.

God. Lassie.

There was so much he wanted to say to the other man, so much he'd been too chicken to admit to the person who had finally started to warm up to him. Not that Shawn really thought it would lead anywhere, but God would it have felt good to finally say to Lassie, I like you, I wanna climb you like a tall angry Irish tree--

“You're trying my patience Mr. Spencer,” Yin says as he takes a menacing step closer, “I won't tell you again”.

Shawn's breaths come fast and uneven as he takes a shaky step towards the barrel, gripping it with trembling hands.

God. Please hurry, Shawn thinks as he throws a leg over the opening and sinks down into the hot metal vessel.

He looks up in time to see Yin smile down at him, “let's hope your friends are as good at deciphering my clues as you were,” he hums, lifting the lid of the barrel before placing it down over Shawn, leaving him in darkness.

The sound of clamps sealing the lid echo loudly in the small space as Shawn tries to breathe shallowly. He yelps as the container tips, causing him to slam into the side, his head cracking hard against the wall of his prison.

The barrel rolls once before settling, at least he's still upright as near as he can tell in the pitch dark. The rolling motion and hit to the head does nothing for the ever present nausea that continues to climb up into his throat.

The sound of thundering above Shawn's head startles a gasp out of him, it roars in the metal coffin, the sound all encompassing as he lifts his bound hands to cover one ear while using his shoulder to try and protect the other.

The sound rages above him for what feels like an age before it finally stops. The smell of sun baked earth and dust fills his nose as he finally opens his eyes and lowers his bound hands, settling against the side of the barrel.

Shawn is quiet as reality finally hits him. That Yin beat him. That he's going to die out here, alone, in the desert.

He had been wrong about the victim that was next on Yin's list. Shawn had been the target the entire time, and he'd missed it.

He'd missed it.

A deafening roar fills the metal coffin once more as Shawn opens his mouth to scream.