Do you have anyone to talk about stuff with? Or are you just raw dogging it? Are there more people out there like you or did they throw away the mould after they made you.. I ponder
this is the funniest ask i've ever gotten. your concern is charming, anon, i love you,, i'm going to assume that you mean if i have someone to talk to about my interests (and i do!) but if you mean my emotional state, not to worry, i also do ! the mold that was made to create me had to be destroyed afterwards in fear that i would cause too much worry to the general public. the entire field of psychology is actually made to figure out specially what is going on in my head.
this is also an invitation to anyone that would like to chat to message me ! or just continue doing anon, whatever is most comfortable to you guys ! <3
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Ok for some reason my brain is hyper focusing on Johnlock again like I won't regret it 2-3 business days from now when I come out of it with 5 new open AO3 tabs (out of my already 156 open AO3 tabs not counting other unfinished/unread fic/fic I've not caught up on, full disclosure) for fic that I probably won't finish reading and/or while being unable to find the. Very Specific. fic I want to read and just having like an open half-filtered tab... But Anyway.
Here's a Very Rare Johnlock Post from me lol
Imagine after all the seasons are over and Johnlock are old and have finally talked about their feelings and properly, actually, gotten officially together
(and subsequently gotten married in like 2 months cause Sherlock filled out the paperwork while John was not actually at home and then actually having a discussion about it when John finds out it happened cause Sherlock casually mentions it and actually agrees after Sherlock mentions (read: steamrolls over him, anxiously) them practically already being married by common law and just officialising it for the tax benefits... they only have a proper wedding, maybe on their/an anniversary when Mrs Hudson finds out probably 6 months later or sth and complains,, but I've gone on a tangent again)
Anyway Rosie is a teenager, with after-school activities and a phone.
I'm just imagining Sherlock dragging John out on a murder case (read: date) and deciding to feed him midway through (like always, tbh,, sth sth that post about feeding the depressed man that tends to forget to eat but I digress)
So Rosie gets a text and a voicemail from the two of them (cause Sherlock prefers to text and tell me John is not the sort to leave voicemails, like he would have put it on the voicemail machine if they had one he's so old man sometimes)
And it goes something like:
[Text from Papa]
Ragù Bolognese, Angelo's, 7pm. Hugs. -SH
[Voicemail from Dad]
"Hi honey, it's Dad.
Sorry we won't be able to make it to dinner with you, your father's got a case and you know how he gets...
Anyway, Mrs Hudson is going out tonight remember, so your Papa is booking the usual table at Angelo's for you... You still like the Spaghetti Bolognese right?
Don't worry about us, we'll eat before we get home. And the reservation is at 7, so don't be late. This will probably take a while so don't wait up either and go straight to bed young lady, you hear me?
Anyway I've got to go, loveyoubye."
Anyway I think it would be very cute, like they love and care about her, even if they're old men who laugh at crime scenes and whose ideal date is trying to catch a murderer together, and they show it by taking a moment to make sure she's fed with her favorite food even when they're busy solving crime, so yeah.
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Jonelias Week Day 1 (Which is definitely today I swear), for the prompt "No Powers AU"
This one... maybe got away from me. This is actually only the first half of what I've written so far, and probably the first third overall! I do plan to post this to Ao3 at some point (although I suspect I'll need to do a lengthy round of editing first lmao). It's some very self-indulgent nonsense, which is a lot of what I write, but now it's getting put in the main tags of a ship during said ship's event week. So. It may also be a little bit "aromantic dude tries to figure out what having a crush is supposed to be like." Also a lot of "dude who took Principals of Accounting once pretending it knows what office work is like." Anyway, quick warning before we begin, and the rest will be under the read-more:
Stalking (played for laughs) for most of the fic.
Just. A weird amount of obsession.
Ok that should be it I think. Fic under the cut.
Jon's new boss was, quite possibly, the most boring man in the world. He wore the same outfit every day (pale dress shirt with dark unpatterned tie and gray slacks and matching suit jacket). The only personal effect in his entire office was a potted plant on the windowsill (some sort of succulent, and definitely fake). He always arrived to work exactly half an hour early and left exactly half an hour late. The only hobby he appeared to show any interest in was scheduling, which he seemed to find both deeply engaging and remarkably irritating. In fact, he was apparently so opposed to the idea of mixing his work with his personal life that he might as well not have existed beyond the walls of their office. Jon had never been more fascinated by anyone else in his entire life.
It stared with the transfer to the accounting department. Elias had met with him personally to get him acclimated to his new role. He had been blandly polite, and blandly handsome, and Jon had stopped listening to him about five minutes into their conversation. It was probably bad form, really. The software Elias was droning on and on about sounded like it was about to become a central feature of his days. He really should've been paying attention to it. Instead, he pretended to make eye contact while zeroing in on the top of Bouchard's forehead (a very useful trick, really) and became inordinately focused on the small lock of hair that had fallen across it. It was terribly distracting, and Jon had wondered how he hadn't noticed it. And then he wondered how it had come to be there. And then he had built up an entire story involving a murder, an illicit affair with the assistant director of marketing, and the potted succulent. And then he had noticed Bouchard eying him with what could've been suspicion or amusement or irritation or nothing whatsoever, and had been forced to rapidly pretend to care about their company's bad debt expense policy.
Bouchard had indulged him, and had spoken with the calm authority of someone who knew what they were talking about, and had even managed to avoid being overtly condescending (a feat forever out of Jon's reach). At the end he had shaken Jon's hand (with a nice, firm grip), and had told him "I'm looking forward to working with you, I'm sure you'll make a wonderful member of our team."
Jon had left that meeting with a mind shrouded in a fog of boredom and a faint sensation of warmth which he decided was best attributed to curiosity and left otherwise unexamined.
Over the next few weeks, Jon had tried to subtly inquire into Bouchard's life. At the time, he had been naively under the impression that surely he must have let slip something about his life; some odd quirk or funny story or harmless bit of information which could justify Jon's blooming curiosity. Unfortunately;
"He lives in Chelsea, I'm pretty sure?" (Sasha)
"He's currently in a meeting. Honestly Jon, you'll be better off just sending an email. Now can I please get back to work?" (Rosie, probably lying about the meeting)
"He actually lives here in the office. Set up a cozy little home away from home in one of the storage closets and sneaks out at night to raid the canteen. And he's having an affair with the assistant director of marketing." (Tim, definitely lying (but maybe a mind reader? Also, full of brilliant ideas for places Jon could maybe set up a cot whenever he needs to stay overnight))
Clearly, Jon would have to take matters into his own hands if he wanted answers. That was fine. It could be his own private little research project.
Jon liked to think that the entire thing had actually been quite reasonable, and that he had acted within the bounds of their pre-established relationship as employee and supervisor. Surely any rational person had to realize that nobody could possibly be that uninteresting. Anyone would be curious as to what dark secrets Bouchard his behind his well-tailored suits and polite, professional demeanor.
… perhaps most rational persons would not meticulously record the movements, behavior, and daily appearance of their colleague in a discreet notebook (with annotations, color-coding, and graphs where appropriate), but Jon had always prided himself on his dedication to research and understanding.
So far Jon had collected frustratingly little data. If Bouchard was hiding anything, it wasn't apparent from his schedule (see pages 8-13, figure 2.b), his eating habits (see page 22), or his lone plant (see page five, figure 1.c). His breaks did seem specially timed to avoid other people (and he appeared not to engage in many social behaviors generally), but he never acted irritated or otherwise unhappy to encounter one of his subordinates, so Jon wasn't entirely sure if it was deliberate avoidance or simple coincidence. Really, the only truly odd thing about him was his inexplicable interest in Jon.
That very morning, for example, Bouchard had stopped by his cubicle for a fifteen minute discussion on the upcoming Annual Team Luncheon, an event Jon had never attended before (due to an annual migraine which coincidentally always happened to occur on the exact date of the luncheon), which Jon did not plan to attend, and which honestly sounded like some sort of violation of the Geneva Convention. The topic itself was not especially odd (small talk was an archaic tradition which had stubbornly clung on in every workplace Jon had ever set foot in), but Bouchard's low propensity for inter-office socialization combined with the fact that he had both chosen Jon specifically as his conversational partner was… highly suspicious. Most people who encountered Jon inevitably concluded that he was more effort than he was worth (an attitude Jon mostly appreciated).
And of course, there had also been their interaction two days ago, when Elias had paused briefly to inquire as to whether Jon would be staying late, and what he was working on, and if he might perhaps consider heading home soon because there was only so much overtime they could pay him. Or on Friday, when he had managed to hold two separate conversations with Jon where very little was said. Honestly, Jon somewhat suspected that Elias had spoken to him more in the past few weeks than he had spoken to any of their colleagues for the entire time Jon had been there to observe him.
Most of Jon's notes were now dedicated to their interactions. From his cot in the unused storage room (which was indeed a good place to stay overnight, thank you Tim), he could jot down everything he recalled about their interaction; it had begun at 8:32 and had concluded at 8:47; the weather was warm and slightly humid, although the office interior remained at a comfortable 21 °C. Bouchard's shirt had been a nice, cool gray, which complemented the silver of his eyes. Jon (who had been busy digging for his favorite pen (the ink was a lovely deep green color, and it was usually kept on the left side of the top desk drawer, and Jon had no idea where else it could have possibly gone)) had settled on "irritation" as his tone, which Bouchard either had not noticed or had not cared enough to acknowledge. He had easily dominated the conversation, and Jon could admit in the sanctity of his research journal that his voice had been soothing enough to cool away some of Jon's annoyance. He wrote his conclusion: Subject behaved near-identically in tone, posture, body language, and apparent mood as he has in all previous communications. Subject displayed no strong thoughts or opinions on subject of discussion nor conversational partner. Interaction was pleasant but slightly dull, no new information discovered.
It was almost exactly the same as every previous conclusion. Jon had to admit, so many months with so little progress was… discouraging.
He shifted on the narrow mattress and winced when his movements aggravated his backache (which was surely unrelated to his frequent occupancy of the cot). It was becoming more and more apparent that the only possible solution was to do some actual, direct investigation.
His first idea (break into Bouchard's office) seemed a tad far (also, he didn't know how to pick locks). His second idea (follow him home) seemed a stretch further than the previous one, and was perhaps best saved as a last resort. His third idea (something something computers? (perhaps "idea" was a bit generous)) would almost certainly require Sasha, who would have questions Jon couldn't answer. He flipped idly through his notes, half-skimming, half-thinking. It was only when his gaze landed on figure 2.b, Weekly Schedule of E. Bouchard, that he actually came up with something reasonable. Something actionable.
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