Entropy

Entropy, they/them, adult

I'm a fanfic author who is too shy to attach my main to my ao3 account so I thought I'd be silly funny and try out having a fanfic writing blog!! :>

I write for the Life Series and Hermitcraft, primarily the ship Scarian - there will for sure be traffic/hermitshipping on this blog so if you're not a fan of that don't follow!

My Ao3 is EntropyHours !!!

My ask box and messages are very open and if you ask me about any of my AUs I will be sososososososo happy, so unbelievably ecstatic - i have many thoughts on all of them!! i also take lil writing requests for scenes/snippets from AUs if you have any :]

Tags wot I use:

entropy.pdf | for my published fics!

entropy.txt | for yapping! my thoughts! my textposts!

entropy.img | infrequently i post art

I'm an autistic adult with anxiety, which is kind of why I've gone with the making a whole gosh darn new account to separate my identities, so if you do know what my main is and my name shh no you don't, and please don't publicly associate the two, thanks! :>>

Fic/AU Masterlist Under-cut:

I've tried to keep vague and positive about this because I'd like my blog to focus on creative output and fandom stuff and not become a pit of misery because I'm having a bad time, but I'm really hitting my limit with this and I just want to get it all out somewhere.

So about two months ago I ended up with an emergency GP appointment, I'd reported I had spat out blood, I didn't think it was a big deal but the NHS (national healthcare service in the UK) website said you should report to your GP when it happens so I did, and then within a few hours my GP wanted an appointment. (which is crazy fast)

Did a bunch of tests at the emergency GP appointment and we concluded that the blood spitting was fine and possibly due to acid reflux (a symptom I have had pretty consistently for like 2-3 years now). When I described my acid reflux symptoms however, my GP wanted to take a look at my stomach and abdomen, something not a single medical professional has done up to this point in the 3 years since I reported digestion-related symptoms. I say yes and then she prods at my abdomen for a while with an increasingly concerned look on her face.

Anyway, she's convinced I'm pregnant. I'm not pregnant, I'm on the contraceptive implant and not sexually active, so it'd be pretty fucking impressive if I was pregnant. She does a test on me anyway, it comes out negative. She books me in for an urgent ultrasound, she's worried it's an ovarian cyst.

I'm like "okie dokie." and a couple weeks later I have an ultrasound. Turns out I do have an ovarian cyst. Turns out not only that I have a 20x20x5cm ovarian cyst containing 2 litres of fluid! Fucked up! Everyone does the same box gesture with their hands when I tell them this. You, reader, are also free to do the box gesture yourselves to work out the scale of that. There's a whole layer of my abdomen that's just cyst apparently.

Anyway. Scary! But I'm told it's unlikely to be cancerous as it's a simple cyst (only contains fluid and nothing else) and I should just get referred to a gyno for further investigation and to get it removed.

Unfortunately however, I'm moving. Imminently. Within the next month. To the other side of the country.

Luckily England is small so that's not as far as it could be but it's still an at minimum 3 hour journey, and well out of the catchment zone for my current GP surgery. So I tell my GP this and she goes "Oops. Well, probably worth switching GPs ASAP and getting on a waiting list in your new city as soon as you can!". I take this as a good sign as I lied to her and said I was moving in July when I was actually moving in June, which meant the situation wasn't serious enough that she thought I'd get an appointment within 2 months, so like. Probably fine.

Anyway fast forwards to now, I moved house about a week ago, I haven't switched my address yet because moving is stressful and I don't lose rent on my old place until the end of the month, but I'm planning to do it at the weekend. It's Friday afternoon and I get a phonecall from the GP.

Turns out the hospital is not happy to put me on a waiting list as they are actually very concerned! And they want to do a cancer screening! But this information was delayed by a month actually getting to my GP to get arranged. She's pissed. She wants to put me on a fast-track now that she has the information, especially since she knows I'm moving (but the hospital doesn't). I'm stressed because like. Ah, I was under the impression we thought cancer was super unlikely but I guess not anymore! Fuck! I get an appointment booked in for the 17th June.

I book a train ticket to travel the 3 hour journey today, with the plan of crashing at a friend's overnight and going to the appointment in the morning. Two hours before I get on that train I get an email telling me that actually my cancer screening has been cancelled, with no further information than they'll get in touch with me to rearrange it.

At some point.

I guess.

still gonna try for chapter on sunday but i ain't hopeful

Doing the unthinkable... updating the fic before two weeks have passed???

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60909115/chapters/227050611

Scar / Grian Multi-chap (57k words)

Chapter 6 / 9

Murder Mystery | AU - Halloween Monsters | Limited Life Inspired

Scar doesn't need sleep per se. He is dead. Well, undead. Dead enough to not need sleep anyway. Sleep is one of those living breathing people things, it's there to give all the squishy bits and pesky brain processes some well-deserved rest. It recharges them for the coming day, y'know? Scar's a wandering dead thing possessing a mannequin, there isn't much by way of physiological anything happening inside him. Let alone physiological things that need sleep to orient them. But he does like sleep. It's nice! It's cosy. It doesn't stop being pleasant to wrap up warm under some covers after a long day and just let yourself rest, especially once it no longer digs into the limited hours of a limited lifespan. He might not have a physical brain that needs it, but even the wandering long-dead imprint of a mind longs for its established habits. And interrupted sleep? Now, that's a bitch, dead or alive.