#I had to pay for a fucking research paper to be done on my chosen name

[schnuffel-danny]

I cannot stress enough that as an USAmerican you need foreign friends who barely speak English, because that's the only way for you to realize that half the discourse that happens online only matters to a very small percentage of human population, and all of those people are chronically online USAmericans

[everything-laito]

the FBI agent looking at my computer must be so incredibly concerned. Here’s Laito and Cordelia analysis, Part II

Hiya, Corn here! This is Part II of this analysis series! Part one’s here! 

Not getting into the trauma part of it yet. Just explaining abusive power dynamics and how incestuous relationships work. As well as Stockholm syndrome. Lovely! Lovely combo! Fuck!!!

Same trigger warnings as last time still apply!

As always, rant under the cuuuuut!

Ok, from last time, we’ve established the elements that were set in place for Cordelia to do this to Laito, when Laito’s trauma began, and the possible fact that he was groomed as a child for sexual exploitation. Wow. Yay. Amazing. This is so gross!!! Thanks, I hate it!!!! I know I usually cary these topics with just an informational tone but I just can’t with this ;lskfjklsajf But I’m here typing this, you’re here reading this, so let’s just get on with the grossness!

Section 3: Legal Definitions of Incest and Power Dynamics 

Now we’re gonna get into the flesh of the problem, and what we know happened. From last time, and common DL knowledge, Laito was coerced into having sex with Cordelia. I say coerced, rather than forced, because it’s not like Laito seemed to resist it. He seems to “willingly” give Cordelia that. Is dubious consent, consent? Oh fuck no, and dubious or coerced consent shouldn’t even count in here considering it’s straight up incest. Any type of incest, most especially between a parent and a child, is not considered consensual, even if it “technically is.” That’s how it’s handled in a court of law, at least in America (where I’m from and reside in), and I do agree with that morally as well. A “romantic” and sexual relationship between a parent (or adult family member; aunt, grandfather, etc) and a child (is just gross) preys upon the power dynamic between them. This isn’t any consensual BDSM power dynamic (obviously), or a constructive power dynamic in the workplace; it’s just a power dynamic already instilled into the relationship where it is taken advantage of. That’s not just fucked up incest, that’s an example of a toxic relationship from the get go. Also, there’s a power dynamic usually between a parent and child, but that doesn’t mean it’s always toxic. It just needs to be done responsibly, which good parents (or any adult in power) know how to maneuver around it and not take advantage of it for manipulation etc. 

In healthy relationships, you both start on equal ground. It usually never works out if you don’t see the other as an equal, whether you have a predisposed power dynamic at the beginning or not. I’m talking any relationship; family relationships, friendships, romantic, sexual, etc. Although you older folks might know about BDSM and how there’s a “power dynamic” instilled in the relationship, a chosen and consensual “power dynamic” still involves both parties seeing the other one as an equal––intrinsically. It’s just very different than a predisposed power dynamic. That even goes with friendship too! Or any kind of healthy, nontoxic social interaction! Taken directly from Psychology Today, “Shared power creates happy individuals and satisfying interactions.” People need to be on equal ground in order to have a healthy relationship. Which,,,, we know does not happen with Cordelia and Laito (and Laito and Yui for that matter, but that’s during another part of this series). An article I saw during the research of this explains further about how power dynamics can be constructive. This focuses more on the workplace, but it applies to this because it’s looking at the other person as another person (an equal) but uses that predisposed power for encouragement, empowerment, and constructiveness (like a good parent or adult role model would do). I hope this makes sense!

Basically Cordelia is abusing her power in order to do all this to Laito. That’s why grooming would make a lot of sense in this as well, because we know it’s definitely not the first time Cordelia has taken advantage of a power imbalance to her own selfish benefit. That’s why incest isn’t really explained with the same science as pedophilia. I forget if I’ve mentioned it before, but one way pedophilia can occur in a person if their brain was originally biologically wired in a way that sees children as sexual objects. With incest, it could also work like that as well, but it is mainly power abuse, like most sexual exploitation, harassment, assault, etc is. 

Section 4: Incest (I’d make a sweet home Alabama joke but that’s low hanging fruit)

Ok so now that we’ve gone over the legality of incest, and how power dynamics can be taken advantage of, we’re gonna look into the type of incest (yes apparently there are types) that Cordelia and Laito fits into. Also if this already wasn’t clear or anything, hi incest and pedophilia etc are forms of abuse, there is no justifying it at all. It’s abuse, no matter what’s said. I know these are fictional characters but I sometimes see Ayato x Cordelia and Laito x Cordelia etc posts and I kinda just wanna commit heinous crimes whenever I see that. Just the idea of that absolutely sickens me (on top of the abuse shown in DL already). Anyways, after all of that out of the way, let’s go into this. 

Since Laito is biologically 17, I’d say that he’s considered as a child (teenager) by demon world standards. We don’t know his age when Cordelia first physically exploited him, but we do know that his same “teenage” sprite is used during the flashbacks. Since his trauma fits so well with the aftermath definition of parent/child incest, I’m just gonna give y’all information on that. This is also called “child incestuous abuse,” which is also a form of child sexual abuse. 

I learned an interesting factoid researching this, and that is in Japan, the most commonly believed incestuous relationship was between mothers and sons. In the West, we think of fathers/daughters. In Japan, the media covers more on mother/son incestuous acts; while statistically, more father/daughter incestuous acts are taken place. Just something interesting(?) I found, and probably why DL chose that for storytelling too. 

In this Wikipedia article, taken from a scientific paper (I’d take it directly from the source but you need an account to get in and I think you need to pay for it), it says this:

A study of victims of father–daughter incest in the 1970s showed that there were "common features" within families before the occurrence of incest: estrangement between the mother and the daughter, extreme paternal dominance, and reassignment of some of the mother's traditional major family responsibility to the daughter.

Sure, this talks about father/daughter incestuous relationships, but if we take this and reverse most of the roles, it shows Laito’s situation to a T:

Estrangement between Karlheinz and Laito 

Extreme maternal dominance (aka Cordelia being very abusive/manipulative)

Reassignment of some of the parental responsibility to Laito (there’s many examples of “big bro Laito,” and Ayato and Kanato considers that they used Laito as a “sacrifice”––as a “shield” for the both of them. Sure this isn’t explicit parental responsibility shown through Laito but I’d say he acts more like a family member to Ayato and Kanato too)

Section 5: Stockholm syndrome? With parental figures? 

Laito had some interesting situations occur during this whole thing with Cordelia. One of the most infamous scenes from the game (that’s also illustrated in the HDB manga) is a flashback Laito has where he’s locked up, forced to see Cordelia and Richter have sex. He’s appalled by the fact at first, but then attempts to convince himself that he’s into it. However, I won’t get into the effects until the next part. 

I didn’t find much about Stockholm syndrome being in this specific case with incest and kidnapping a child etc. When you look up Stockholm syndrome related to parents you get quite the sexist “article” that definitely mocks the whole Stockholm syndrome thing and makes fun of guys being into Glee and such,,,, so that wasn’t a very helpful article. However, I’m just gonna mish mash and put a lot of concepts that we’ve learned together. But first, a look into Stockholm syndrome.

Stockholm syndrome occurs when an abuse victim develops empathy or even intimate feelings for their abuser or captor. This happens because any bit of kindness the abuser enacts towards their victim is taken so positively, that the victim “forgets” all the negative actions, and focuses on the positive ones. This isn’t some sort of “oh ya gotta think positive!” kind of thing, it’s how abusers get away with their bullshit and how someone can be so trapped in a relationship with them. It’s also called traumatic bonding or victim brainwashing (source). This doesn’t always happen with people who are held hostage, like in Stockholm syndrome’s name origin.

A parent’s influence can be a strong one. Doesn’t even have to be related to by blood. But a figure that is supposed to be nurturing—whether they are or not—still has power over the “child.” He definitely went through Stockholm Syndrome himself with Cordelia, considering the grooming and the “love”/hate relationship he has with Cordelia. I did some more digging, and apparently Stockholm Syndrome can still occur more commonly with sexually abused victims. Which we all know he is. With the possible grooming, on top of the power abuse and sexual abuse, creates an incredibly toxic concoction. Here we go. The (rotten) cherry on top. Directly from my HDB notes, here’s a snippet from his Maniac Prologue: 

Cordelia: Nnn…Hey, Laito. You are a good boy. Laito: …!! Cordelia: Right, Laito? Laito: Yeah, that’s right. I’m…I’m a good boy after all.  ーー Besides, I’m the type of person who only get more aroused from this kind of thing.

(from my notes:) Basically Laito convinces himself to be a “cuckhold.” It’s definitely implied how he just wants approval from Cordelia; this is how this abuse prolongs. 

(Also, if I ever said that Laito was locked up by Cordelia, my bad; it was Karlheinz who gave that order. I’m unsure where I ever said this, but I feel like I said it before, so I’m gonna clarify that right now too, oops! My memory hath failed me.)

Cordelia’s praise effects Laito in such a visceral way that he tries so hard to cope with the trauma in her favor. It’s incredibly messed up. But that’s the defining factor in this. From this, I do believe Laito has Stockholm syndrome on top of all of his issues. 

I think I’m gonna end it here for now. Didn’t expect to be this long, oops. Stay tuned for next time, where I’m gonna go over Laito’s trauma and how he’s been effected by it. Thanks for reading, FBI agent! And oh, you as well, dear reader! 

If you’ve read this far holy fuck I commend you -Corn

[sweeethinny]

Reputation - Don’t Blame Me (Chapter 3)

okay, I know the third track on the album is '' I Did Something Bad '', but, I would have to write something sad about DH or the Battle, and I'm already sad because my phone broke and anxious because today it opens the inscriptions for my entrance exam, so please have mercy and let's pretend this is the third track, and enjoy this cute and slightly naughty chapter. thanks, and sorry for any mistake

AO3

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

Don't blame me, love made me crazy If it doesn't, you ain't doing it right

Ginny was feeling jealous, which was a stupid thing to feel.

You see that she had been warned, and had seen, about all this persecution on top of Harry, and had already said a few times about how she was not intimidated by the shit Rita was writing, definitely, but when that cow does a ''Search The Chosen One, for The Chosen One'' you can't help but curse her.

Harry's picture had been taken in the middle of his training, while he was all sweaty and shirtless, making bars focused on the action, with his hair all messed up and his eyes determined, each time he forces himself up and down, taking the his chest close to the iron bar, his biceps appeared in all his glory, and his abdomen was spotted too. Even that V-line that gave directly to what was rightfully hers! - since when he asked her to date, at least.

Okay, they haven't taken over the world, but who cared? They thought that no one would gossip much about Potter and his romance with a Weasley .. Of course, they didn't expect that!

'Harry Potter, The Chosen One, is single and up to date!

As you can see (page 10), Harry Potter has been working out like never before, devoting himself entirely to his Auror training, seeming to want to be up to date for any girl - or boy, who knows - who is ready to warm up his lonely nights. Now that he left Hogwarts and the whole war is over, who could say that our darling Chosen One would be so willing to stay in shape? It's almost like he are doing this to someone, but the Daily Prophet has already done his research, and girls - or boys - rest easy, there's no one in our wizard's life- '

"Hey!" She growled irritably, trying to pull that newspaper out again, ready to get a reason to send a badly created letter to that witch.

''No, you're going crazy'' Hermione sat on top of the paper, in front of her at the coffee table and looking a little bit angry too

'' Is she looking for some opportunist to warm up my boyfriend's cold nights ?! How can I not be crazy about this? Would you be calm if you were Ron on this page? Looking like a prostitute? ''

Lord, save me, my drug is my baby I'll be using for the rest of my life

’'Of course not. But I doubt Harry knows that, he wouldn't let any of that happen if he did.'' Her chest burned, imagining all the most beautiful girls sending letters to him, sending pictures, inviting him to dinner. Ginny was not insecure most of the time, but looking at herself, in a small and slightly dull body, and imagining a tall older woman with evolved breasts was torture.

''I hate that woman ... Didn't you fix her?'' She almost snarled, thinking of all the scenarios in which Harry betrayed her. It was unfair to think that, he would never do any of those things, but it was impossible not to think. If that had come a week ago, she would have been calm, but when she hasn't received a letter from him in eight days and is close to menstruating, Ginny feels that maybe she is bursting with hormones.

''She's not lying, technically, nobody knows about you.'' That made things worse. Would they have to shout to the seven winds they were dating for Rita not to turn him into a product?

The girl could have said something about it, but then she felt vulnerable in a way that she hadn't allowed herself since she was eleven, trying not to pollute her mind with theories that explained it; 'Harry didn't want to be seen with her.' 'Harry preferred other girls' 'Karma was finally working and she would get back the hearts she had broken'

I've been breaking hearts a long time And toying with them older guys Just playthings for me to use

As if it could read her mind, the brown owl entered the Hall, still half empty, too early for it to be flying, stopping a little irritated in front of it while waiting to be released. Ginny took the parchment off her leg and let it fly to the owlery as it looked like.

'I'll be investigating a situation at Hogwarts at nine o'clock in the History room. They said something about someone being in trouble. Just warning you :)

With love, Harry '

''What did he send?'' Hermione was still sitting on top of her Prophet, but she snuck as if she wanted to read, so curious that it looked like Ron

''Nothing, just talking about being fine'' Lied, because the friend would not love the idea of ​​Potter making excuses while she should be studying - and he too - to date in the castle with her.

She had loved him, for a long time, and ever since they were together again, Ginny had been feeling really happy, smiling at every clandestine conversation in Flu, or in the mirror they shared, even in those little moments when he appeared with a false call to be taken care of, just to grab it in an empty room. But it was disappointing to think of more beautiful girls paying attention.

The redhead hated that damn Rita, made her think of that shit about her boy.

Something happened for the first timeIn the darkest little paradise Shaking, pacing, I just need you

[...]

When it was ten minutes to nine, and Ginny had already cursed (mentally) some people who insisted on commenting on Harry's body and how they wanted to be able to send his letter to the Prophet - apparently, the best letter would compete for the chance to go out with '' The Chosen One '', which she found very stupid, since Potter was so much more than that fucking title - the girl got tired of walking back and forth in the common room, pretending to study and review Transfiguration, and in a moment Hermione's distraction, she ran away.

Sneaking up to the correct floor, listening intently not to be caught by Filch or anyone else, Ginny managed to get into the room, looking twice into the hall before entering, the pitch formed from the closed windows and the extinguished candles consuming her.

'' You arrived early '' Of course, her stupid boyfriend was already there, hiding somewhere in the cloak, as if he were a murderer.

'' I thought I'd hurry up a few moments '' The candles around her were lit, while the door seemed to lock behind her, and she saw him after almost two months - live, at least. Harry had really stopped being that slender teenager, now his broad shoulders had gained strong, turned arms, and his dark blue shirt was tight around his chest. She could see a ripple or other in the abdomen, the narrow hips holding the black pants, while his thighs also appeared slightly. It was nothing exaggerated, but she understood a little, that obsession of the Prophet. Besides, now he wore a beard - which Ginny always supported - and as much as his hair was still that rebellious mess, he was lower on the sides after the cut Molly had made, making him look less like a frightened teenager, and more like a man.

'' Hello '' Harry smiled, as she approached the teacher's desk and leaned there, crossing her legs and watching him approach, smiling from ear to ear '' I missed you '' He held her face between the hands, giving a loving and calm kiss, nothing much, while the redhead melted in a puddle

'' If Hermione realizes that I'm gone-- ''

'' --Ron is also here '' Harry lowered his hands to her waist, pulling her closer, while looking into her eyes, the emerald green looking much more beautiful live ''I hope I'm not disturbing anything '' Ginny she shrugged, wrapping her arms around his neck, feeling pushed to sit on the edge of the table, which she did promptly

''I already said. I can waste half an hour with you ''

For you, I would cross the line I would waste my time

'' How are we with suitors? Too many letters? '' She let go, letting sarcasm drip into the sentence, trying hard not to look too crazy

'' Some, but I've made my choice. '' His strong, callused hands tightened on her skin, slowly pulling her shirt out of the skirt. And Ginny's chest widened, her heart beating fast and that jealousy burning inside her stomach like erupting lava.

"Hm. And who's the lucky one? '' She was happy with the effort she had made not to roll her eyes at the thought of a second Fleur - much more irritating and beautiful - beside him

'' You Gin '' Harry commented as if he said the sky is blue '' The last time I checked, I was still your boyfriend'' The man smiled a little hesitantly, raising an eyebrow and seeming to analyze it in the best way Auror possible ''Did you really think I would prefer someone else? '' She shrugged, feeling too unsure to speak. It was silly, wasn't it? There was Harry, her Harry.

''Just hormones '' Blame it on her cycle ''And the fact that you're gone for a week. I don’t know, it doesn’t matter” But that didn’t take his attention away, in fact, it only got worse

''Ginny .. I'm with you, and no matter what the fuck that rat writes, the only person who will '' take advantage of my body '' 'He rolled his eyes ''It's the lady here'' His finger lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him

'' I know, I don't know why to think about it '' Lied, pulling him closer and locking him between her legs ''How much time do we have? ''

'' Not much, unfortunately'' His hands went back to work on her waist, going up inside the shirt and touching her warm skin, causing goosebumps that made her crazy, just like anything else he did ''Sorry for the disappearance, we had some training problems'' He shrugged ''Someone fought with someone for making a comment about his girlfriend, I don't know'' Ginny laughed, holding her boyfriend's face in her hands and leaving her insecurities aside, happy that he was there

''You're crazy'' Harry kissed the tip of her nose, smiling affectionately

''They said something like that, along with, 'You lost your mind, Potter!' Not that I care, anyway. ''

I would lose my mind They say: She's gone too far this time

'' You look hot in that outfit .. I had some wet dreams about it, in my sixth year '' Harry kissed her cheek, down her jaw and disappearing into her neck, making her throw her head back and grunt a little while she carried her breasts forward, almost fainting at the touch.

Finally the buttons on the shirt were opened, leaving her creamy, freckled skin on display, and the purple bras she had bought just for a moment like this.

"Did you like it?" She bit the man's soft skin, moaning when the hand went down to her thigh and squeezed there, under her skirt and very close to her panties

''Damn. That memory will be my company on lonely nights.'' The girl laughed, lifting her chin and pulling him closer

'' I'm glad I'm still moving your head '' Harry rolled his eyes

'' You always move Gin, and please don't stop. '' The two of them kissed fervently this time. Her hand hunted the hem of that blue blouse, moving it out of the way quickly, being able to explore the new undulations of his body. It didn't take long before she had her skirts crammed around her waist and no bra and her shirt, moaning as she felt Harry's lips graze her skin, her hormones exploding in ecstasy with that attention, making her clit ache with lust.

'' Oh Harry .. oh '' She lost her strength when a hand touched her wet panties, caressing them lightly, in the way he knew was making her delirious.

A reminder that he still knew her tastes, her secrets, that he was still her

My name is whatever you decide And I'm just gonna call you mine

'' I dreamed of it every day, '' he whispered into her warm skin, pushing the soft fabric aside and opening it, as if looking for the way home on a well-known map. Ginny saw stars behind her eyelids when she finally got the attention she wanted, throwing her head back as she arched and straddled her boyfriend's hand, calling out his name as if it were her last prayer. "Fuck, Gin"

'' That's the idea '' Managed to gather enough strength to say, the lust of the forbidden to hit her hard

His fingers disappeared inside her, which for Harry was the most beautiful sight after his dick did that, and he couldn't stop the moan from coming out of his mouth, while kneeling in front of the table and rolling up the thighs of that libertine redhead, bringing her closer to the edge and smiling like a predator when he saw her so close, hot, wet, perfect.

'' OHMERLIM '' Ginny screamed as soon as she felt her hot lips around her most sensitive spot, trembling with the erupting heat that rose up her belly and hit her face, pressing her fingers into the wood for fear of collapsing. Harry's beard scraped deliciously on it, his fingers still doing a delicious job massaging that particular spot, and his lips being wonderful as always. It was surprising that she didn't come right away.

She loved him, Merlin help her, because Ginny was hopelessly in love with that man.

I'm insane, but I'm your baby Echoes of your name inside my mind

Harry smiled and moaned every time her strong thighs tightened, the fabric of her skirt kind of hiding him there, and it was like living an eternal teenage dream, with Ginny in her uniform moaning his name as he hid in her midst . When the redhead arched her back to the max, screaming and squeezing him as if she wanted to kill him right there, Potter almost came along, watching her wet his fingers and hand, running like a beautiful waterfall, making him feel triumphant for the feat.

He stood up, all pompous, sucking his fingers like he was one of HoneyDukes best sweets

"Hm .. even better than Molasses Pie" "He smiled devilishly, raising an eyebrow and winking cheeky at her" "Looks like someone missed me"

'' It's just because I have a high libido '' She shrugged, biting a smile and trying to look disinterested

'' I'm sure you did, Gin '' And he approached, holding his hands beside her and looking at her still hungry

'' Do you really like these clothes? '' Joked, holding the question of whether it was the clothes on her, or any other would do, too.

'' I like it, you look absurd wearing a skirt '' One arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, making his erection touch her '' You look beautiful in everything, actually, but something perverse in me always liked you like that ''

'' It's because it's forbidden '' His eyes got darker in those lights, shining with lust '' Inside the school, with a teacher nearby ... those things '' Harry nodded, biting her chin before speaking;

'' It may be, but only if you exist, it drives me crazy '' Ginny laughed, blushing at that declaration like a passionate fool, pulling his face so that the two looked at each other, and blaming her need for it

'' You leave me too. Just today, I wanted to hex some three people who wanted to send you letters with photos to get The Chosen One '' She revealed, perhaps because with Harry, these little secrets seemed too silly to be kept, perhaps because she just wanted to hear the confirmation that there was some Chosen, even if she is an idiot, would be her.

'' Well, they would all be heavily ignored '' His thumb caressed her creamy, freckled cheek, his green eyes staring at her as if unraveling all her secrets ''In case it's not clear yet, I'm kind of in love with you, to the point of getting into fights when someone talks shit about you, or faking a call by McGonagall, just to see you ... just to be clear ''

Halo, hiding my obsession I once was poison ivy, but now I'm your daisy

'' It's just shit that went through my head. Rita should blow herself up '' Ginny felt too naked then, admitting her jealousy and being irrational, looking sideways as if looking for something to face

'' Should'' They were both silent ''Tucker commented on you romantic background and I attacked him so hard, I think his lineage is lost '' She managed to laugh a little, still a little shy and disconcerted, but at least looking on your face ''I don't want to hear someone say something about you and what you've done in the past. And if it's worth talking about, he definitely had a lot more than three boyfriends in his life, so I think it was a valid fight, even though some don't seem to agree.'' He also smiled, looking back at her as if he expected her confession. Harry would never pressure her to do anything, especially talking, no matter how hard he was and she was half naked in front of him. Ginny wanted to kiss him even more

'' Thank you, but I didn't have to defend myself ''

'' I know, but I wanted to '' shrugged '’I would do anything for you, Gin ''

'' Even burn pictures of tall, prettier women than Fleur?’' Harry laughed, giving his lips a long peck on her lips

'' I don't even have to think twice ... now, if you want to send me a picture '' Ginny tapped his shoulder, laughing and feeling relieved, as if she could breathe in peace

''As long as you don't run away anymore...'' He denied, kissing her tenderly, as if they had all the time in the world and it wasn't in a classroom that the two were about to have sex

"I would never survive without you"

And, baby, for you, I would fall from grace Just to touch your face If you walk away I'd beg you on my knees to stay 

And then they kissed again, not seeming able to talk, especially when she opened his fly and held his hard cock, giving him the affection he deserved, while she heard him moan inside her mouth, seeming to be lost in the senses.

'' I need you, '' Harry whimpered, pulling her close again, dropping his pants and underwear as Ginny spread her legs wider, waiting for that glorious moment that would make her thank him for being alive.

The two of them moaned silently with every inch of Harry entering, she contracted with each little thrust just to see him throw his head and lock his teeth groaning, getting deeper and deeper until his pelvis touched.

It was majestic. The best moment.

'' My fingers don't get to the feet of this, '' She moaned, kissing his boyfriend so hard that they barely knew how not to get hurt. She sucked on his tongue and bit his bottom lip when thrust as formalized, at first slow, as if it were a preview of what was to come next

I get so high (oh) Every time you're, every time you're loving me You're loving me Trip of my life (oh) Every time you're, every time you're touching me

'' More '' Ginny sharpened her nails on her boyfriend's shoulders, losing consciousness whenever he rolled his hips and touched her in the right place, one hand still working in her midst, making her moan louder and louder

''Bloody hell, woman '' He increased the pace, pounding hard, taking them into that abyss where they both loved to be, kissing every part of her that he could find free; her creamy neck, her mouth, her cheeks, her breasts, any part was worth it.

They groaned together, trying to hold on to the rest of their strength to keep from giving in, trying their best to make it last a few more seconds, as if spending a few more months away was as terrifying as being sentenced to go to Askaban.

'' I don't ... ohh Harry, I need to ... '' Ginny barely knew how to finish her sentences

'' Come Gin, come for me '' He didn't need to speak twice, feeling that familiar tightness around him as the redhead seemed to want to drain him entirely, shouting his name and looking him in the eye as she broke up. Which made him go too, hitting her even harder as he came hard, grunting and clasping his hands on her ass, as if to keep her from moving away.

Ginny felt her chest ache with the sea of ​​those feelings, thinking that there was, and never was, anyone who could do it as well as that man.

'' I love you '' he whispered, foreheads glued and eyes heavy, chest rising and falling hard

'' Me too '' She smiled, so beautiful he could come again '' How much time do we have? '' Looking at the watch on his wrist, he assessed the time he had made with Ron

''Half an hour''

"Time for one more, don't you think?" Harry felt hot, laughing at that hell beast he had beside him. Not that he ever complained. For her, he would easily die.

"Give me five minutes and I'm all yours"

'' You're getting better '' The brown eyes shone dark with desire

'' Training has helped me ... I have to spend that energy somewhere '' Ginny raised her eyebrow, looking at him a little menacingly

'' Keep spending it at the gym, thank you very much '' He laughed, amused by that jealousy, because for him, no woman made his heart beat so fast and his balls hurt as much as that angry, hard redhead in the fall. No, not even the most beautiful of Veela would make him so happy.

And as if confirming the thoughts that already came round, Harry knew that he wanted her for the rest of their lives.

I get so high (oh) Every time you're, every time you're loving me You're loving me Oh, Lord, save me, my drug is my baby I'll be using for the rest of my life

[admiralty-xfd]

the whole truth

The epic Diana Fowley saga is here! 

I’ve posted the first chapter here, but you can read the entire thing on AO3. PLEASE read my author’s notes if you’re skeptical about this story. I promise, it’s all about the MSR.

“I have lived with a fragile faith built on the ether of vague memories from an experience that I can neither prove nor explain. 

When I was twelve, my sister was taken from me, taken from our home by a force that I came to believe was extraterrestrial. This belief sustained me, fueling a quest for truths that were as elusive as the memory itself. 

To believe as passionately as I did was not without sacrifice, but I always accepted the risks… to my career, my reputation, my relationships… to life itself.”

-Fox Mulder, “The Blessing Way”

prologue

She should have known from the moment she first saw them together that she never stood a chance.

She’d suspected it for a while. Call it women’s intuition. She hadn’t let many men into her life over the years but she knew Fox Mulder well, and from the moment she met that other woman she felt a cold chill wrap around her heart; a sense of inevitability, a sense of doom.

A sense of loss.

Knowing that loss intuitively was very different than witnessing it with her own eyes. She’d once again been losing the man she already lost years ago, piece by piece, ever since he came back into her life. Seeing him with the woman she now knew he truly loved only dug the knife in deeper.

On every other occasion she’d seen them together they tried to hide it; from each other, from themselves. But here and now, alone in this corridor where they thought no one was watching, she watched. And she saw.

She saw Agent Scully’s hand on the back of his neck, her other on his stomach, and she saw Fox’s arm around her waist. She saw her struggling to support his weight; a woman so petite she had to use every ounce of her strength to keep him upright. They were grasping onto one another like actual, physical lifelines. She saw love. She saw devotion.

And she saw trust.

It might not have been simple from the inside, as these things rarely are. But from the outside looking in, she’d never in her life seen two people so wholly immersed in one another.

Her own relationship with Fox had never been clean or simple. But she now realized it had never mattered. She now knew the one thing he’d needed from her above anything else was the one thing he never had: trust. And she could never truly give him that, because no matter what either of them wanted, no matter how much she loved him, everything between them began as a lie and now he could be absolutely certain of that; he’d read her thoughts. He knew the truth. Neither of them had much choice in the matter.

The grainy surveillance photographs in her hands were visual confirmation that her chickens had indeed come home to roost, that everything she’d struggled for over the past decade had been worth nothing in the end, nothing at all. Her own moral compass had been out of whack for so long it was hard for her to know which way was up anymore, what she was doing for herself, for Fox, for the project, for the world. She’d fought for a way out of this existence, but failed. In doing so she had chosen Fox’s fate, all the while believing he’d have chosen the same.

Would Fox have chosen this? She’d hoped it was true; she’d hoped that the truth they’d both sought for so long was worth all of this, worth everything. 

But she’d been wrong. He was worth more to Agent Scully than proof, than truth, than answers... than any of it in the end, and that made all the difference. 

Diana Fowley felt the tight grip of strong fingers curl around her shoulders, forcing her to look at the photographs of Agents Mulder and Scully escaping the facility with the keycard she had provided. Forcing her to feel her heart breaking all over again. 

What she’d done in the end for Fox was right, she knew that much. But it was too late for her now. And she would pay dearly this time.

Chapter 1: The Lie

THE MAJESTIC

ALEXANDRIA, VA

DECEMBER 1987

She spied him across the bar, two, maybe three drinks deep already. Twirling a long strand of dark brown hair around her finger, she sipped her Manhattan and formulated a plan of attack.

She got up and moved until she was two seats down from him, not glancing in his direction, and asked the bartender for another drink. She didn’t budge until she was certain the young man’s eyes were on her, and that task didn’t take long.

Her head swiveled and she smiled, her eyelids at half-mast. He grinned back. Works every time. Men were so insanely easy to work, it was a fucking marvel women weren’t running the world by now. 

It was the first time she was seeing this one’s face clearly. He looked slightly drunk; his hair was mussed, and his tie was undone. His sleeves were rolled up to the crooks of his elbows and she pegged him as a lonely man who didn’t spend much quality time in the company of women, at least, not much of the kind of quality time she was seeking this evening.

It had been a few weeks since she’d gone out looking for this kind of company, but he seemed to fit the bill nicely. He was a few years younger than her, and she could tell by his eyes that he was intelligent. It was a talent of hers; looking into another person’s eyes told her pretty much everything she wanted to know. 

Most importantly for her purposes, she noticed, he was drop dead gorgeous.

“Hi,” he said. She smiled. 

It was her favorite opening line.

“Rough day?” she asked. It felt apropos. 

He turned back to his drink, which was clear, whatever it was, and picked up the glass, shaking it. The ice jangled like an alarm bell.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he replied. 

The bartender set a fresh drink in front of her and she lifted it to her lips. “You’re right, I wouldn’t know. I’m only here for the scenery,” she smirked.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t a ‘thing’ for me, typically. I’m not much of a drinker.” He smiled warmly at her. 

She felt comfortable, she felt safe. She figured he was being honest; he didn’t seem like your typical drunk in a bar.

“Me neither, it’s just… been a day.”

“Oh yeah, you too?” he grinned. “What’s a woman like you doing in…” he trailed off, gesturing around.

“... The nicest bar in the city?” she finished, smirking again.

“Well, yeah,” he chuckled, a bit abashed. It was a nice establishment, nicer than most. Alexandria wasn’t the worst place to go to a bar alone.

“Um… you know. Work… stuff.” She rarely elaborated on her work with men at bars. Quite frankly, most of them were too stupid to understand any of it. The more attractive they were, the less interested they seemed. She was here tonight for only one reason.

“What is it you do?” He looked genuinely interested and she liked him instantly.

“Mostly research,” she lied, smoothly. She wasn’t about to tell a stranger she actually worked for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. “I study criminology, and other social sciences.”

“Criminology?” He looked surprised. “Are you a detective?”

“No,” she answered quickly. It wasn’t technically a lie, but she still felt guilty for misleading him. “Just research. Studying human behaviors and such.”

“That sounds… very interesting.” He narrowed his eyes at her. She believed he meant it.

“Can I buy you another drink?” she asked him.

“A modern woman,” he said. “I like it.”

She grinned and scooted over until she was next to him. She gestured to the bartender, who obliged, setting another glass of whatever it was he was drinking in front of him.

“How about you? What’s made your day rough?” she inquired.

“I’d actually rather not say, if it’s all the same to you,” he said, making a face and holding his glass up. She didn’t mind at all. The less personal stuff she knew about him, the better.

“Fine by me,” she replied and clinked his glass.

“Maybe we can talk some more about you,” he said with a smile that made her melt a little bit. Just a little bit. Everything was going exactly the way she’d planned. The only hiccup was that, for some reason that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, she kind of liked him. Maybe too much.

She grinned, taking a sip of her drink. “If you say so.”

She hooked her toe behind his calf and eyed him, not wanting her intentions to be misunderstood. It was brazen, but so was she. He was attractive and he liked her; she had no reason to look any further tonight. And his own eyes locked onto hers as he wordlessly agreed.

***

The door flew open in a flurry of activity; her mouth pressed against his and his keys falling to the floor. Pieces of their clothing were discarded one by one and through her mind ran the mantra this is not smart, this is not smart. It had only taken an hour for her to realize how much she had already developed a fondness for him. Even though she was here to do exactly what she came to do, she was worried. 

“I don’t usually bring strangers home with me from bars, I think you should know,” he murmured against her neck. 

She looked past him into his apartment, taking note of what she saw. It appeared to be a typical ‘single guy’ apartment, the difference being the clutter. Most men she let take her back to their places had very few possessions, either a remnant of some bad breakup or a product of limited imagination. This guy’s living room was absolutely full of books, papers, and a plethora of materials that surely crowded every corner of his mind as much as they did the room. It didn’t look unclean, just untidy. She smiled at the knowledge she’d pegged him right: he was smart. And lonely.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” he suddenly said, pulling back and looking around, his hand going to the back of his neck. He glanced behind him. “I wasn’t expecting company. To be honest, I rarely have… company.”

She took his face in her hands, regarding him. She already knew he was attractive, but there was something in his eyes that drew her in deeper. She was entranced by his intellect; she had been all evening. He’d listened to her and responded with genuine curiosity. He wasn’t like the other men she typically met in bars. It was strange and captivating and she knew she should resist but she could not.

It was for this reason she reminded herself tonight had to be about sex. Just about sex.

“I don’t know your name,” he said. “I’m Fox-”

“Don’t,” she shook her head. Names would make it harder. But then she had to ask. “Fox? Really?” For some reason this strange name only made him more attractive to her. “How’d you end up with that one?”

“Wish I knew,” he laughed. 

“I like it,” she admitted. She did. “Fox.”

And with that, he led her into the bedroom. There were no more words. It felt as if they had an unspoken agreement this would be about tonight, about right now. It was the way she wanted it, the way she always preferred it. 

Usually she would leave right afterwards. But this time, after it was over, he pulled her into him close and she let him. She felt oddly compelled to stay next to him all night. It was probably a mistake, as nearly every part of her was telling her, but she didn’t listen.

When she awoke he was lying on the other side of the bed, sprawled comfortably, and she watched him sleep. She wondered if perhaps she’d sold this one short. Their bodies had agreed, and he fascinated her, he aroused her own intellect. She softly ran her hand across his brow and his eyelids twitched. 

This could be something, really something.

But then her thoughts turned back to her work. It was where she defaulted when things got too difficult, too personal. She had her reasons for keeping things simple.

She slid out of the bed and gathered her clothes, putting them on piece by piece, completely unashamed of this particular walk of shame. But before she could reach the front door he appeared in his bedroom doorway.

“Leaving already?”

She sighed. “I have to get home.” He approached her, pulling on some sweatpants.

“Did I… do something to offend you?”

Poor thing, she thought. He hasn’t done this before.

“No, I had a great time,” she replied. “I just… have to go now, okay?”

“Can I at least have your name?” He looked so disappointed, standing there. Hair tousled, his naïveté dangling on the sleeve he wasn’t wearing. She’d feel sorry for him if he weren’t so goddamn attractive. Surely he’d bounce back.

It was harder to leave than she wanted it to be. And for that reason, she opened the door, looked back over her shoulder, and before closing it again she smiled at him, offering just two parting words. 

“Goodbye, Fox.” 

WASHINGTON, D.C. FIELD OFFICE (WFO)

601 4TH ST NW

FEBRUARY 1988

Weeks passed, and Diana poured herself into her work. Losing herself in the world of the fantastic was the best escape possible and she felt fortunate she had the freedom to do so. 

She had a degree in psychology and had completed her FBI training, trying her hand in both instructing at Quantico and working in the field. But she soon realized her talents and expertise could be better utilized in other ways; so she became an Intelligence Analyst. 

Luckily, this was the perfect job for her to explore the things that interested her most, namely the human brain and its many mysteries. Generous donors had supplied her the means to do so where many others at the Bureau could not. She was a self-admitted workaholic, and although she enjoyed her work immensely, it was quite stressful and filled her life to the brim.

Time passed and she filled her days with the work and her nights with thoughts of the work. Most of the time these thoughts were undisturbed. But snippets of a one night stand that had ended too abruptly would occasionally resurface. 

After she left that apartment he’d been reduced to two words: the fox. And at the back of her mind there existed a burrow, a small space that was dark and deep and dangerous. It was where the fox lived and held on. 

She thought about that night with him a lot. Too much. She hadn’t been affected this way by a man in a long time and it bothered her that she couldn’t let this one go. 

She told herself it was ridiculous; that even if she had space in her life for a relationship, the timing couldn’t be worse. And it wasn’t as if she could find him again anyway, even if she wanted to. She felt a bit guilty for leaving him alone that morning and she certainly didn’t enjoy thinking of that sad puppy dog face he wore as she walked out the door.

His name rolled over and over again through her mind, however, and she clung to that. Fox. She wondered about him, and wondered if he ever wondered about her. 

One afternoon in her office, as if her thoughts were somehow being projected out into the universe, as if some cosmic force were thrusting destiny into her path, she heard a somewhat familiar voice.

“Well, well, well. I guess this must be fate.” 

She was sitting at her desk reading an article and looked up to find the very last person she expected to see. Fox looked more put together in a suit and tie, and his hair was tidy. He cleaned up nicely. A Bureau badge was attached to his lapel and he wore glasses this time, which she found oddly arousing.

Of course. What were the odds of her finding another FBI agent to sleep with near downtown DC? Higher than she realized, obviously. 

“The fox returns,” she said, trying not to smile. “So you work for the Bureau, too?”

“Afraid so.” He didn’t sound upset she hadn’t told him, just a bit confused.

“Are you stalking me?” she asked him playfully, at least as playful as she got. 

“It’s a lot less romantic than that,” he explained, holding up a case file. Her name was written on a post-it note attached to the front. He gestured to her own badge. “I guess you’re my consult.”

“It really is fate, then,” she said, pleased to see him in spite of herself. 

“How long have you worked at the field office? Shame we’ve never bumped into one another.” 

She shrugged. “I’m a private person,” she said by way of explanation. “And besides, who says we haven’t?”

“I think I’d have remembered you,” he grinned. “You really know how to hurt a man’s self esteem, by the way.” 

She could tell he was joking, that she hadn’t really insulted him when she’d left him that morning. Judging by his behavior, he hadn’t been pining away or anything. It made him even more attractive to her; which was extremely inconvenient.

“I’m sorry about that, it wasn’t anything personal,” she explained quickly. “I just… I don’t do relationships.”

“I get it,” he said. “I’m the same way. Married to the Bureau?”

“You could say that.” 

“It’s okay,” he said coolly. “Anyway, I got what I wanted.”

His comment took her aback. She glared at him, but his eyes softened. “I meant your name,” he clarified, pointing to the post-it note, flashing his thousand watt smile. “Sorry, that came out wrong. Would it be all right if we introduced ourselves properly?”

She sighed, remembering how quickly he’d made her feel at ease in their prior encounter. She felt powerless against his rampant charm. “I’m Diana. Fowley. And you’re Fox.” She enunciated the name slowly, deliberately. She liked the way it felt on her tongue.

“Fox Mulder,” he told her. He extended his hand and she shook it. 

God, he was handsome. It struck her that it was the first time she’d shaken a man’s hand after that same hand had been so intimate with her body. 

“So, that really is your name?” she asked, glancing down at his badge.

“It’s not something I’d lie about.” He wandered slowly around the desk towards her. “Chopin?” he asked, noting the calming piano concerto spouting forth from her cassette deck.

“It helps me concentrate.”

He grinned. “I’ve always been partial to Bach.”

She knew what he was doing. He was trying to have the date they didn’t really have last time. She wanted to put a stop to it but she didn’t. She couldn’t help herself.

“How is it you came to know so much about classical music, Fox?” 

“You can call me Mulder,” he said. “I actually prefer it.”

She didn’t.

“I went to school at Oxford,” he explained. “I used to go… well, my ex used to take me to concerts at the Sheldonian. It grew on me.”

“Handsome and Oxford educated? You’ve got quite the list of credentials.”

He shrugged. “I don't usually put out all my credentials on the first date. But I think you and I are past that.” He grinned at her and his eyes sparkled; the same eyes that had drawn her in last time and she knew she was treading in dangerous waters.

“We aren’t on a date.”

“You’re right, we’re not,” he conceded. “But we could be.”

“So what did you come for a consult on, Fox?” she asked, pushing past his proposition and finally facing him, arms crossed in front of her.

“I’m a profiler with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We have a convict being re-evaluated for mental competency, due to some claims he’s made that defy explanation.”

“Such as?” She was intrigued. Things that defied explanation were her weakness. Handsome men talking to her about the subject were even better.

“I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” she smirked.

He shrugged. “Psychic abilities. How does that grab ya?”

She removed her glasses and folded them, placing them in her coat pocket. She leaned back in her chair. “I’ve seen some patients display remarkable aptitude for clairvoyance, precognitive behaviors, even psychokinesis. There have been extensive studies on the phenomenon. While it’s still considered pseudoscience, it seems to be within the realm of possibility.”

Fox gaped at her, a small grin curving up either side of his mouth.

“You… believe in that kind of thing?” he asked.

“I’ve seen too much not to believe it.”

He looked at her in wonder, his eyes bright and engaged, seemingly speechless at her revelation. “I guess they sent me to the right person, then. How do you know about all this stuff?”

She raised an eyebrow at him and he quickly retracted. “I don’t mean- I just mean, they sent me to see an Intelligence Analyst that specializes in psych. I’m just surprised you’re even interested in the paranormal.”

“I have a background in parascience,” she explained. “It’s not something the Bureau utilizes much, but it comes in handy from time to time, I suppose… Whenever all your other avenues have been exhausted.” 

Again, he seemed at a loss for words. “I find the subject fascinating, actually,” he said, that same tone he’d used in the bar creeping back into his voice.

“Do you?” She’d never had a man claim an interest in the paranormal to get into her pants. It was oddly refreshing.

“I do,” he replied. “It isn’t often I run into someone who would entertain such possibilities. It’s… refreshing.”

She interpreted his wording as yet another sign this man was somehow meant to be in her life. She believed in lots of things, including fate, and she was starting to believe in him as well.

“I know what you mean,” she agreed. “It’s frustrating when all the people around you refuse to have an open mind.”

“I was actually just reading about a theory that claims prehistoric evidence of alien astronauts that landed here on earth.” He looked at her expectantly and she wasn’t sure if he was putting her on or not. 

Her eyes widened. “Wow. Do you open with that at parties?”

“Not ones I’m invited back to,” he chuckled. “I was just curious about your thoughts.”

“I’ve read about that, too. I’m honestly not sure how I feel about it. It’s a long held theory, but…” she trailed off.

“...Wildly unpopular?” he asked.

“Exactly.”

“Sounds right up my alley,” he grinned. 

“Mine too, actually,” she admitted.

She smiled back and they looked at each other for a moment. The attraction she’d felt for him before was only growing exponentially, and it unnerved her. Before the feeling could continue for too long she interrupted it by holding her hand out for his file. “Well. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He handed her the file and she flipped through it. “Did you do MRIs? Ah,” she removed them and stood, inserting them into the light box on the wall. She scanned them carefully and then pointed to a small section of the scan.

“This is what we look for in these types of cases, here in the temporal lobe,” she explained. “It’s rare, but it seems to be the common denominator. If you look closely, you can actually see faint activity here.”

Fox leaned in next to her so they were shoulder to shoulder. She wanted to feel uncomfortable, a feeling that was comfortable to her, but instead felt overwhelming contentment. Not to mention he smelled incredible.

“And this is… unusual?”

She nodded. “It’s called the God Module. We rarely see any activity at all here. But sometimes there’s a faint hint of something in patients who demonstrate precognition, or advanced intelligence. It sometimes even shows up during extreme religious experiences.”

“Sounds like science fiction to me,” he winked, but she could tell he was being playful. “You’ve actually seen this demonstrated?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she explained. “Many in my field believe great leaps in science and other achievements were accomplished by individuals with access to this part of the brain. Galileo, Newton, Einstein. All corollaries to this theory.” She indicated the scans on the wall. “Looks like your guy could be one of them.” She leaned closer to the scans. “Luther Lee Boggs,” she read. “If you’d like, I could run a psych eval on him for you.”

She wasn’t sure why she’d offered. She told herself it was because this kind of brain activity was rare and she was lucky to have this case dropped into her lap. But the truth was she really just wanted to see the fox again.

His eyes went dark as he looked at her, predatory. It was then she knew for sure she hadn’t had the upper hand this entire time; that she was indeed his prey, and she was completely helpless. She wanted his case and he knew it. He liked her, and she knew it. 

“Have dinner with me,” he said.

She crossed her arms and her eyes narrowed. “This sounds a lot like extortion.”

“It’s dinner.”

“I told you, I don’t do relationships.”

“You mentioned that,” he said. “But you do eat, right?”

She sighed and shook her head, smiling. “You sure are stubborn, aren’t you?”

“Only when it’s important,” he said. “One dinner. Then I’ll take you to see Boggs.”

Fate, he’d said. Maybe it was fate. As a man, he hit every one of the boxes on her checklist. Physically, she had zero complaints. He was interested in her work, not put off by it. And he was definitely interested in her. 

She looked into his eyes, saw them actively changing color as he watched and waited for her answer, and she knew she was done for. Maybe this could be fun. Maybe he was exactly what she needed. Maybe he could help relieve some of the stress she’d been under.

Maybe just for a while.

“Dinner. Okay,” she agreed.

CAPITOL HILL

WASHINGTON, D.C.

JUNE 1988

Dinner turned into sex, which turned into more dinners, until several months had passed and Diana Fowley found herself in a relationship with Fox Mulder. 

He was everything she’d ever wanted in a partner, whenever she’d allowed herself to imagine one. And although she’d resigned herself to a life alone, she was walking back her preconceived notions. She wanted to be with him, she enjoyed it. They were so alike in so many ways. Maybe they could actually make this work. 

Snapping herself out of thoughts of the fox, she turned her attention to the task at hand. Today was an important day. She was standing in the hallway of the Capitol building, a stack of all her latest research carefully organized inside her briefcase. 

It had been several months since she’d attended a meeting like this one and she was a bit nervous. She wasn’t certain to whom exactly she’d be presenting today, but her grant was due for review and she hadn’t been this anxious since those first few weeks back at the academy years ago, when she knew she was being observed closely.

The freedom to pursue her interests in parascience hadn’t come easily. It wasn’t the kind of subject discussed much among her peers at work. Fortunately, her research had been noticed by people outside the Bureau who mattered. 

She took the stairwell down to the lower levels of the Capitol, to a hideaway office. It wasn’t the Senator’s typical meeting spot, and she was certain it was for the benefit of whomever they were meeting with today. She’d barely been sitting outside the unmarked office door for one minute when it opened and a woman poked her head out.

“Miss Fowley? The Senator will see you now.”

She stood and entered, a bit apprehensive. The office was much bigger than it had a right to be, considering where it was situated. The ceilings were vaulted and the adornments were breathtaking. 

The Senator got up from his chair and leaned over the desk, extending his hand. “Diana, so nice to see you again.”

“Senator Matheson.” She shook his hand, settling down in the chair across from his desk. Behind him was a man she’d never seen before, leaning against the wall with an inscrutable expression on his face and a cigarette in his hand. 

The senator was tall and his hair was graying. When she’d met him a year ago, there’d been an immediate attraction between them and she thought there might have been some expectation of a quid pro quo. It wasn’t anything she considered beneath her; Diana wasn’t one to dismiss using every attribute available to her to get where she needed to go. But the expectation never became reality. Matheson was genuinely interested in her work, always had been, and the funding she received from him had been gratefully accepted. Without his patronage she’d never have had the ability to pursue her work in parascience through official FBI channels.

“I’ve brought some progress reports for you to see,” she said, fumbling inside her briefcase. “I think you’ll be very pleased. I have some new research focused on not only what we know of the brain, but the parts of the brain we know practically nothing about.”

Ever since she began seeing Fox, the God Module theory had been at the top of her research priority list. They’d begun to see psych patients together that exhibited precognitive behaviors, and while Fox found them interesting on a more visceral level, what she often found most exciting was the potential; not only for her own discoveries but for the great leaps in knowledge they presented. 

Senator Matheson raised his hand to stop her presentation. “No need, I’m sure your work has been exemplary.” He smiled, and she was confused.

“Sir? I’m sorry, I was under the impression that this was an evaluation.”

“No, I’ve asked you here because there’s been… a development.”

Diana looked behind him at the stranger, who was eyeing her carefully as he puffed on his cigarette. Something about him put her off balance. She glanced at Matheson, expecting an introduction that wasn’t forthcoming. 

“What kind of development?”

Matheson sat back into his chair. “There’s a group I’m involved with, scientists and researchers in the private sector who are working on projects… experiments, really, that are pushing the boundaries of modern science, psychology… amazing things, Diana. I’ve told them about you, and they’ve taken an interest in your work.”

Diana was surprised, but intrigued. “Oh?”

Matheson leaned forward in his chair. “They’re willing to double the yearly amount of the grant I’ve offered you.”

Double? Diana was floored. Rarely was her field of expertise taken seriously by anyone. Her work was barely tolerated, much less encouraged. “That’s… that’s wonderful, sir. I’m thrilled to hear that.”

“If you accept, you’ll be under a private exclusivity contract with them for the next five years. It means you’ll get to continue your work while at the Bureau just as you have been, only they will direct your research, fund it, and retain the rights to your findings.”

This concerned Diana, as she worked hard for the discoveries she made. Passing off the credit wasn’t something she was eager to do. But it seemed a small price to pay for her to have the resources to push ahead. “I think that...sounds acceptable.”

“Things will be a bit different, however, Diana,” Matheson continued. “You’ll no longer be reporting to me.”

The man behind Matheson stood and moved behind the senator, placing a hand on his shoulder. He reached around to put his cigarette out in the ashtray, took a long look at Diana, and exited the room. She watched the door close behind him. 

“Who was that?”

Matheson ignored her question. “You’ll be contacted by someone soon. But Diana-” she looked back at her benefactor. “I cannot stress to you enough the importance of the secrecy of this work. It’s highly classified.”

She nodded, even more intrigued. 

“You’ll be able to tell no one, not family, friends. No one.”

She hesitated, knowing keeping this from Fox would be difficult. But their relationship was still relatively new, and this opportunity seemed once in a lifetime. Her curiosity won out. 

“That won’t be a problem, sir,” she promised.  “Can I ask… about the nature of these experiments?” 

“The Company will explain what they can. There are limits to your access, at least for the time being.” He pinned her with a look, that look he got whenever he was speaking wistfully of space exploration or American history. She liked Matheson, they shared a certain simpatico. “But I think doors will be opened for you, Diana. Doors you’ve probably been knocking at for years.”

In spite of the strange nature of this meeting, of this entire situation, she felt a flutter in her stomach that could only be the galvanizing excitement of discovery. It was even better than sex. And few things were.

Matheson stood and extended his hand. “It’s a shame to see you go, Diana, but I’ll rest easy in the knowledge you’re in good hands. I only hope someday I find another protogé as worthwhile as yourself.”

She reached for his hand and shook it. “Thank you, sir, for the opportunity you’ve given me in the first place. I’ll always be grateful.” She turned and walked out of the room, determined her life was about to change, that she could be making a real difference someday.

That night when she saw Fox, he asked her how her day was. She said it was good. 

It didn’t feel like a lie.

[main-to-card-games-and-pain]

Like A Strike of Lightning

I actually had so much fun writing this. It’s my first IronDad story ever (first Marvel for that matter, as well), so please tell me what you guys think of it. :) I’m new to the Tumblr scene, so if anyone has any tips for me please share them, I’m already loving this site, it’s such an open and accepting community.

Rhodey watched as Tony added his third spoon of sugar into the coffee with an incredulous eyebrow. 

“Tones.” No answer. “Hey, Tones!” 

The engineer blinked a few times and focused his eyes onto Rhodey with a disgruntled sigh.

“You don’t take sugar in your coffee dude,” Rhodey reminded the literal mess of a human being he’d chosen as his best friend. Tony blinked a few more times before falling into his regular casual suave. 

“I know how I take my coffee Rhodes, but I’m flattered you pay such acute attention to my actions. I’m trying new things, broadening my horizons, discovering a new age-” 

“Not sleeping in favour of staying downstairs all hours of the night?” 

“And maybe a bit of that too, yeah,” Tony admitted sheepishly, his impish grin never fading. 

Rhodey shook his head fondly despite his ever-concerned eyes doing a once-over over Tony’s whole body. He looked…fine; better than he’d seen him before, (which wasn’t saying much,) but worse than he’d looked in the past month or so. 

He didn’t smell like booze, he rarely had since Peter had started to come over on an almost daily basis (bubbly, and kind and alive), and he looked surprisingly well fed, so Rhodey decided he had no need for his Stern Rhodey to make an appearance today. This was just normal Tony stuff, as soon as his next project was finished he’d sleep for a day and be right as rain again.

“Take care of yourself, man. You’re a frickin nuisance to look after sometimes.” The colonel said this with all the fondness in his heart. 

“But I’m your nuisance, Honeybear!” Tony called behind his back, scooping up his coffee mug and walking out of the kitchen.  

Rhodey rolled his eyes and poured himself a cup of coffee. 

“Tony, stop being a child and get your butt to this meeting.” Pepper was furiously whispering into the phone, her fingers stiff against the cell in frustration. 

“Pep, I could, but I really don’t want to. I have important business at the lab.” 

“What could you possibly be doing that’s more important than meeting with the most prominent potential investor of the new medical research facility?” 

“A lot of things, I’m Tony Stark; genius, playboy, billionaire, philanthropist.” Pepper rolled her eyes, she honestly didn’t get paid enough to deal with this. 

“Playboy? Really?” 

“You can take the player out of the game, but you can’t take the game out of the player.”

She scoffed, “Well, unless you get here in the next five minutes, Hugh Hefner, you can have dinner alone tonight. Do not ruin this opportunity for the company, Tony.” She hung up before her stupid fiancé could reply. 

Tony, to his credit, did show up to the meeting. He even had a bouquet of flowers to offer Pepper upon his arrival. This time, Pepper scoffed in appreciation. 

“How did you get these so fast?” 

“I know a guy who knows a guy,” he pecked her on the cheek before taking his place at the head of the table, “I’m sorry for my tardiness, gentlemen, let’s get this over with shall we?” 

Pepper made a face, surprised. Tony must have realized how paper-fucking-thin the ice he was walking on was. Or he wanted to score tonight. 

Both sounded a bit like Tony, but ice doesn’t harden that fast. 

Happy was going to regret asking but, “Hey, Tony, you’re uh- you’re in the back of the car.” 

The billionaire looked down at his seat and then back up to the bodyguard, as if just now realizing his position. 

“I am, yes.” 

“Is there a reason…?” 

“Well, you’re my driver, aren’t you? I think driving’s your job Bud.” 

Happy couldn’t contain the surprised grunt he let out, Tony never let him drive (except when the kid was in the car). Even when he was his driver, which was pretty annoying to be honest. Now that he was officially not the driver anymore, Tony wants to be a passenger? That was also pretty annoying, which is why Tony was doing it, Happy was pretty sure. Well, he wouldn’t let him win at this little game. If Tony Stark wanted to sit in the back like a proper snob he could do so at his leisure. 

“O-okay… That’s new, but sure. And I’m your Head of Security, not your driver.” 

“Same difference.” Happy huffed in annoyance and slid into the driver’s seat. 

“Want me to pick up the kid?” Happy asked nonchalantly, already getting ready to put the signal on and pull to the right to exit to Midtown. 

“Nah, this is a grown-up type of excursion I think, Haps.” 

Happy almost crashed the car. Since when did Tony ever not want to be with Peter? Any chance he got he was spending time with the high-schooler. 

“You sure…? We’re just going to the shipyard aren’t we?” 

“Yeah, it’s not my day today anyways, right?” 

Happy chuckled, “‘Your day?’ What, you get formal custody of him?” 

“Keep wisecracking and I’ll be in a different type of custody real soon Old Boy, shut up and drive.” 

Tony smirked into his hand, shaking his head as if offended. Happy knew he meant no harm, he never does. And ever since he’d started letting the kid spend a bit more time with him he’d been generally better natured. It was nice to see him happy. 

Happy put his hands up defensively, appeasing Tony with the silence. The billionaire slouched against the leather of his seat, massaging his temples gently and sighing. Serves him right getting a headache; follies of fatherhood. He chuckled again, unbeknownst to the man in the back. 

Secretly, in a deep dark corner of Happy’s heart, he kind of wished they were going to pick up Peter. He was kind of warming up to his company. Not that he’d ever admit that. 

The alleged ‘Tony’s Day’ came along, as it did every Friday through Monday, unofficial as it may be. That meant Happy was spared the task of picking Peter up from school, as Tony enjoyed doing that himself. 

At exactly 3:16 pm, just as it was every other week they’d done this, Peter bounced towards the black Bentley, curls pushed from his face with the breeze and his excitement. In a whirlwind of limbs and a backpack and a flurry of curls and essays and just Peter, he was in the car. 

“Hi Mr.Stark, I got an A on my essay in Philosophy, look!” Baby browns met Tony’s dark chocolate eyes, excited and trusting. 

“That’s great Peter, mind shutting the car door?” 

“Oh… sure,” Peter’s volume died, his face crumpling in rejection that Tony couldn’t place. The teen reached out the car and pulled the door closed. 

Tony and Peter had a routine. When Peter got into the car he had to tell his mentor one good thing he’d achieved that day. Sometimes it was big things, like an A on an essay, sometimes it was small, like he’d been called on in class and had answered perfectly. (Tony knew that it helped with Peter’s anxiety, but never explicitly said that that was the reason he’d made the rule.) With big things, Tony was supposed to reach across and ‘close the car door’ like he had right after Germany. 

They were always ‘not there yet’ (except they totally were and Tony did it to hug Peter). 

The car pulled away from the school and started its descent back towards the Tower. It was relatively silent for a few moments, Peter kept glancing at Tony. 

“So what do you want to do when we get back to the tower, kid?” 

“We aren’t going to pick something up to eat?” Peter’s eyes didn’t look as trusting anymore. 

“Of course we are, I meant after that, unless you want to play a game of roulette with my cooking?” 

The kid huffed out a laugh and shook his head, feigning casualness while tensing up. “I would rather play roulette with a Russian, you can’t even call what you cook food.” 

“So that settles it, where we going Peter?” 

Peter watched as Tony’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. He hadn’t blasted AC/DC either, and forgot about the food, and the hug, and he never called Peter by his actual name. 

Something was wrong. Peter felt a jolt of his Ned-named Spidey-sense trigger the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. Tony just felt wrong.

“Actually… I totally spaced Mr.Stark, and forgot that my aunt wants me home tonight. Her night-shift got moved to Monday, and she won’t be able to see me until then so she meant to call you and ask if we can change dates. I’m so sorry I forgot, Mr.Stark, you can just pull over and I’ll walk it.”

Tony’s grip tightened again, his jaw clenched and under the sunglasses Peter saw his eyes harden. 

“You don’t want to come over?” 

“No, I do!” Peter assured, his eyes widening and voice hitching up a semi-tone. “Just, we can hang out another day, right?” 

“Something wrong Peter?” 

The superhero flinched at the name, it just sounded so harsh and wrong coming out of Mr.Stark’s mouth. He only called him Peter when he was angry or worried. 

“I don’t think so,” he mumbled in reply, “Are you feeling okay Mr.Stark?” 

“I’m fine kid, just worried about you, you’re acting a bit weird.”

Peter knew something was wrong with the mechanic, he felt it. This just… wasn’t Tony. He knew it was horrible and he knew he shouldn’t, just on the chance that he was just having a panic attack or something, but he could feel it. 

“Mr.Stark… I don’t feel so good.” The man didn’t even twitch. 

Once, after the Snap had been undone, Peter had said it right before he was going to hurl. It was a stupid stomach flu, and he didn’t think of the last time he’d said that phrase until Tony had lost all the blood in his face and his eyes had gone all wide and haunted. He made sure he never said it again.

This wasn’t Tony. Holyshitholyshitholyshit he needed to get out of here. 

“Pull over,” the boy demanded, fear beginning to tinge his voice. “Pull over, now, I don’t feel good.” 

“Yeah, you don’t look so good, you can rest in the tower.” 

“N-no, just pull over, I want to go to the apartment. May’s there, she wants me home anyways.” 

“You sure, kiddo?” Peter might have been slightly reassured by the nickname, if he didn’t feel the metal of a repulser digging into his side. Tony was wearing his gauntlet, poised and ready to fire into Peter’s gut at any moment. 

It’d started a week ago. 

Tony heard an alarm go off upstairs; nothing major, just some motion sensors that were supposed to detect anything larger than a sizeable rat. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y what’s up there girl?” The mechanic stopped his tinkering to listen to her reply, wiping the sweat from his brow heavily. 

“I do not have a camera positioned in a place where I can determine what the life form is. From heat signatures I would guess that it was from Earth.” 

“Thanks Fri, real big help.” 

“I might remind you that it was not I who placed the cameras,” the AI retorted, causing the faintest of smiles to grace Tony’s lips. “I can send someone from maintenance to check it out, if you wish.” 

“Nah,” Tony threw down his tools, “I think I’ll just pop up and see for myself. There’s only so many times you can replace a parachute before it gets a bit boring.” 

The billionaire strolled through the hallways, tone casual as he chatted with his AI. 

“Perhaps if Mr.Parker would refrain from falling from such large heights on such a regular basis, the task would not seem so mundane.” 

“If I could get the kid to stop trying to make a Spider-Pancake I would Fri, now lets go see what’s been tripping those pesky sensors.” 

The mechanic threw the door to the roof open, taking a deep breath of the fresh air and Manhattan lights. The darkness shrouded all of the corners on the roof, leaving Tony to squint past the dim glow of the lights around him.

“Man, I really hope you’re just a particularly talented racoon,” he mumbled to himself. Something rustled behind a ventilation opening, catching the man’s attention. “Well, screw your courage to the sticking place, right? That worked out for Macbeth…” `

Tony took a breath and inched forward, letting the door shut behind him with a slam. 

“Why am I afraid to check on this? I’m an Avenger, I can deal with a racoon.” He punctuated his statement by confidently striding forward towards the sound, only to jump two feet in the air  when something banged against the ventilation. A large owl fluttered its wings and took to the sky, completely uncaring of the shaken inventor it left behind. “Bloody owls,” said inventor huffed, turning back towards the door. 

He didn’t notice the thick black smog that had begun to roll towards him. Like a snake striking its pray, the smoke attacked. 

It filled Tony’s eyes, mouth, ears, nose; his eyes widened in panic and he went to scream, only to find he couldn’t draw in any air. The smoke was suffocating him, smothering and invading him. It was unlike any pain he’d ever experienced before, profoundly physical but also excruciatingly mental. 

His memories were this thing’s to play with, and it was tearing his brain in half.

Flashes of his happiest moments, Pepper smiling as she presented him his own gifted arc reactor, Rhodey smacking his arm playfully while the two of them trained together, his mother, singing gently to him, they were running at breakneck speeds in front of his eyes and this thing was tainting them. Tony could feel it, like it was rubbing its evil all over his memories and taking them for itself. 

It was absolute agony. 

Then, the flash of a dimpled smile appeared, followed by a childlike laugh and the sound of tools as they tinkered with a suit. 

No! You don’t get those! They’re mine, you can’t touch them! He screamed in his mind, clutching his fingertips into his hair as the smoke continued coming, coming, coming, invading his body without relent. 

But the mind and body can only fight for so long, and this was a fight that even Iron Man couldn’t win. 

When the man lost consciousness the only thing he could be glad about was a reprieve from the pain.

When Tony woke up he couldn’t move. 

This, in itself, is a startling way to start your day, but what made it worse was his complete lack of ability to speak, or even open his eyes. What’s more, there was an awful pounding in his head, like a pressure that wouldn’t let up, a presence in his head that was as disturbing as it was powerful. 

Don’t fight me, Stark. You belong to me now. 

Tony would have gasped had he had control of his body. He couldn’t even quicken his breathing, try as he might to stave off panic, for his body wouldn’t respond. 

I control your entire being, Stark, this will all be much easier if you just concede to my power. 

What have you done to me?

I claimed you. You’re mine now; all you’ll be able to do from now on is watch as I live your life. 

Why are you doing this? 

Too many questions; I’d like you to be quiet now. 

You can fuck right off if you think I’m going to take this without a fight. You can’t just invade somebody’s body and expect them-

Tony, do be quiet. I’d hate to have to do something drastic. You’ve got a cute little fiancée, what was her name? Pepper? 

Don’t you touch her-

It wouldn’t be me, Tony, it would be you. Shame if anything happened to her. 

Tony mentally thrashed against the creature’s hold, but found there was no give in its control. 

Calm down Stark. I won’t do anything, so long as you sit down and shut up. 

Disgusted with himself, Tony Stark complied. 

I’ve seen your memories, I will adopt how you act and speak. No one will know about me being here, they will think I am you.

They’ll notice; my friends, Pepper…

Will they? 

“You’re a frickin nuisance to look after sometimes.” Rhodey, I’m here, that isn’t me! You’ve known me since college buddy, c’mon, notice something isn’t okay! 

Shut up Stark. 

“But I’m your nuisance Honeybear!” 

Rhodey, please. Please, help me.

The trapped superhero felt his captor’s satisfaction at his pleading, like it spurred it on, like it enjoyed his cries. 

“Want me to pick up the kid?” No, no, no, no, no, please, we don’t need to get Peter. 

Are you sure? I’d rather like to meet this young one for myself… You’ve been surprisingly resistant about letting me see him in your memories. If you won’t let me know him I’ll just have to meet him myself, right? 

Tony had long since succumbed to his fate, long had he stopped trying to get his family to notice something was amiss with the inventor. Now he pled for small mercies from this thing, like keeping Peter far away from it. 

I get him every Friday through the weekend, please, don’t. 

There was silence and Tony felt his conscious heart beat faster. (He’d discovered around Day Three that even though his actual body wasn’t reacting as he did, his conscious remembered fear, and remembered how it felt.) 

“Nah, this is a grown-up type of excursion I think, Haps.” Thank you.

You can’t keep him from me forever. 

Admittedly, since this thing had taken him Tony had been scared. But, on Friday afternoon he was terrified. 

He kept watching the clock as it inched closer and closer to 3:16. 

Right on time, like always, Peter was there. Tony could feel the thing’s elation. 

I’m anxious to meet your son. 

He isn’t my son. 

Blood doesn’t matter to me. 

“Hi Mr.Stark, I got an A on my essay in Philosophy, look!” That’s great Bud, I knew you had that one down. 

“That’s great Peter, mind shutting the door?” 

Tony saw the disappointment, saw the hurt in Peter’s eyes and heard it in his voice. It hurt, almost as much as when he lost him. (He was losing him again.) 

Cute kid. 

You don’t know him. You don’t know the half of it. 

Tony could barely hear what the thing and Peter were saying, he was so focussed on Peter’s face. He watched his kid like he’d never seen him before. 

His eyes shifted, he was scared; could he… tell? 

Sure, there were little things the creature was getting wrong, but no one else had noticed. Everyone had put it off as Tony going through a weird patch, but Peter never looked at Tony the way he was now. 

Then he tried to leave. 

Tony could feel his captor’s anger. It terrified him. 

What have you done to make him afraid of me?

I haven’t done anything! You would know if I had. 

You’ve shrouded the child from me; how do I know there is not something you have done? 

The creature sent a jolt of pain through Tony’s mind causing the man to scream out in agony. He ‘breathed’ in and out, trying to control the lingering flashes of pain. 

“Are you feeling okay Mr.Stark?” God, Peter, jump out of the car if you don’t feel safe, please. 

“I’m fine kid, just worried about you, you’re acting a bit weird.” 

“Mr.Stark… I don’t feel so good.” The sentence hit Tony like a truck, and it sickened him that he could feel the creature’s indifference because how can he possibly be so unaffected when Tony lost everything in that moment? 

But when the creature didn’t react Tony saw the panic settle in his eyes. He knows. 

“Pull over. Pull over, now, I don’t feel good.” 

Let him go. Please, he does this sometimes, just pull over. 

He knows. He is going to be a thorn in my side; I will deal with him.

“Yeah, you don’t look so good, you can rest at the tower.” 

“N-no, just pull over, I want to go to the apartment. May’s there, she wants me home anyways.” 

“You sure, kiddo?” Tony realized the repulser was out the same time Peter did. No! His voice was thick with desperation, guttural and instinctive. No, don’t hurt him, please don’t! 

Keep annoying me and I’ll blend his insides. 

“You’re not Mr.Stark.” Clever kid Stark, it’s too bad I’ll have to kill him when this is over.

Tony fought harder than he’d ever fought the control. His begging had descended into inarticulate howls. 

“He’s here, like an annoying wasp in my ear most of the time, but nevertheless here. An unfortunate side effect of my occupancy, I’m afraid, is that I can never shut my host up. But I’m sure I don’t need to remind him what I’ll do if he doesn’t quiet down.” Not-Tony hissed and dug the repulser further into Peter’s side, letting the nanites form a small blade. It cut the teen, the dotting of blood beginning to show through his school shirt like blooming rose petals. 

Stop hurting him! I’ll be quiet! Please stop! 

Shut up.

…

“Blessed mercies, he’s quiet.” 

“What did you do to him?” Peter’s voice was tight and angry as he watched whatever this monster was control his mentor’s body. 

It looked like him, sounded like him, but it was so very not Mr.Stark that Peter was sure this experience and all the other’s he’d had with Mr.Stark wouldn’t cross themselves in his mind at all. 

“You humans are a fickle bunch; it doesn’t take much for me to get into your vulnerable minds but once I’m there, God help me if I try and make it my own. You all just stay there, yelling at me. I wanted this body for myself; I took it, but I can’t have all of it. Your ‘Mr.Stark’ hid you from me, as much as he could.” 

Peter ignored the tirade, focussing instead on the passing buildings from the car window. The sun was blaring down at him and the buildings were passing by in a blur. Like a slap in the face Peter suddenly realized-  They were leaving the city.

“Where are you taking me?” 

“That isn’t your concern. Tony needs to make a phone call now, and you’re going to do your part in it.” Peter glared at the man. “I don’t even need to threaten you do I? Because all it takes is this,” Tony took the repulser away from Peter’s side and put it against his own, “and you’ll do what I say, won’t you?” 

Even the creature noticed the shift in the boy, how his expression changed from anger to fear. Peter nodded stiffly. “I won’t do anything.” 

Tony nodded, pressing the button on the steering wheel to make a call. The dial tone rang twice before Ms.Pott’s voice filled the car. “Tony? What’s up, I thought you were picking Peter up from school?” 

“Hi Babe, yeah, I picked him up but we’re not going to go back to the tower, gonna spend a little mentor-mentee bonding time.” 

“Oh, alright. I’ll see you later tonight then, hi Peter!” 

Peter went to answer but found the words stuck in his throat, he cleared the blockage and answered in a squeak. “Hi Ms.Pott’s!” 

She chuckled and replied, “I’ll see you two later, don’t burn the city down.” 

The phone call clicked off and so did Peter’s last chance of communication. 

“Can I talk to Mr.Stark?” 

“No. If it is any comfort to you, know that he is being more of a nuisance than usual because you are here.” 

The blade had returned to Peter’s side, cold and threatening. Peter assumed Mr.Stark was saying something. His Spidey-senses flared again, getting dangerously close to a sensory overload. 

There were so few cars on the road now, this creature had taken them onto some industrial backroad, and it made Peter nervous. The sun was beginning to set by now, Peter hadn’t realized hours had gone by. Everything pointed to the terrifying realization that this thing wasn’t planning on letting Peter go. 

It must have shown on his face because Not-Tony smirked at him, “You must understand why I cannot let you go, you would ruin everything.” Something flickered on his face, just for a moment, but Peter saw it. He could only pray that it was Mr.Stark. 

“Mr.Stark?” The teenager hated how afraid and how young he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. “Mr.Stark I know you’re in there, please, fight it.” 

The blade dug further into his side, “Shut up kid, you are making him agitate me.” 

“Please,” a tear fell onto Peter’s cheek, surprising the young hero. “Please Mr.Stark, I know you can do it…” 

But he didn’t, not really. Peter trusted Tony unconditionally, loved him like a son loved a father, but he didn’t know if it was even possible to shake whatever this was off; plus, it may be too late if he does. 

“But if you can’t, just - just remember that I don’t blame you, okay? This isn’t you.” He shuttered in a shaky breath, eyes filling with unshed tears again. “Thank you for bringing me back, and for being the best, well, everything I could I ask for. I love you.” 

And that was it, because the tingling had become full on tremors of danger reception, and it hurt, and it meant something was coming. 

“That’s enough of that, time’s up ki-” Peter watched half in horror half in hope as Tony’s face scrunched up in pain and he grunted, after a few pained breaths the man looked up and Peter almost cried because it was familiar. “Peter?” 

“Mr.Stark!” Peter gasped in relief, shifting towards his mentor excitedly. “I knew you could do it-”

Tony grunted in pain, yelling in frustration as he began to lose control. 

“Peter, Peter, baby,” his voice was rushed but gentle, “I’m go-going to undo your seatbelt Bud, okay? And then when I slow the car down you’re going to jump out and run as fast as those spider legs can take you okay? I nee-need you to do this, I don’t have much time.” Tony’s frantic fingers clicked the release of his kid’s seatbelt, while Peter pulled the lock of the car door, nodding numbly. 

The car gave a sudden jerk as Tony lost control, the billionaire’s arm flailed and sliced deeply into the teen’s side. Peter wailed in surprise and pain, watching with wide eyes as the bed of rose petals quickly became solid red. 

No! Kid! I’m so sorry… Jesus Christ, he’s a child! 

I am ending this now. 

No! I am begging you. Please! 

Now that he knew it was possible Tony Stark fought like mad to take over his body’s movements. He was flashing in and out of control, in absolute agony the entire time. His body was yelling in pain, jerking like a madman as the two fought for control. 

Peter was clutching his side, hissing through the pain. “Mr.Stark?” 

The man slammed his foot onto the brake. 

Peter, having no seatbelt on, went through the windshield. 

“Peter!” 

Tony was wrong.

When he had first been attacked by this thing he had thought that there was no worse pain than that; he was wrong. 

This, this, right now, was worse than anything he could have imagined. Seeing his - god dammit - his kid go through the windshield and knowing it was his own fucking fault because he was the one who’d undone Peter’s seatbelt. 

It may have been the creature in control when the brake was hit, but if he was dead it was Tony’s fault.

How could you? Let me go to him. 

There is no point in that. 

The thing sounded so pleased with itself. Tony was crying, a profound spiritual pain radiating through his core. He wailed, because he could see Peter on the side of the road, and he wasn’t moving. 

He looked so broken. 

No! You know what? Fuck this and fuck you, that is my kid and you hurt him. I am done with this. I have been controlled my whole life asshole, I am not letting you control me anymore. Not when my kid is at stake. 

And Tony fought. He fought through the pain the creature sent his way, and the muscle spasms, and even when he felt himself regain control of his body’s movements he kept fighting. He fought until he felt himself retching, mouthful after mouthful of the black smog pouring away. 

His body was verging on collapse, like it had when it’d taken him, but he had to be stronger this time, because this was Peter they were betting.

Like the crack of lightning, it stopped. 

Tony was left clutching the steering wheel of the Bentley, breaths coming heavy, and the dull memories of the pain seeping into his bones. 

He won. 

But he only basked in it for a moment before he was scrambling out of the car. He hit the pavement on all fours, making a mad dash for the prone form sprawled against the pavement.

Tony crashed to the ground beside him, taking in all the injuries. Peter’s face was a bruised and bleeding mess, his side sodden with his blood, and his chest was just a black splotch. He broke ribs when he went through the windshield; he could be bleeding internally. Cuts littered the entirety of his body, and Tony knew from experience that Peter would have severe road burn if he turned him over.  

“F.R.I.D.A.Y?” Tony sounded lost. He didn’t know what to do. “Please tell me you have help on the way.” 

“Approximate time of arrival is 15 minutes sir,” the AI replied. 

“That isn’t fast enough!” The mechanic cried, pulling the teenager into his arms. “Hey Petey, you’ve got to wake up now. C’mon, wake up.” There was blood everywhere. Tony desperately pressed his hand against the wound in Peter’s side, he didn’t even twitch. “You’ve gotta use those superpowers now Bud, show me how amazing you are at healing yourself. Show me your eyes, just please, show me something.” 

Some of the bruising was fading already, that had to be a good sign, right? He was so small. 

Tony could hear the sound of a suit coming towards them. “Hear that kid? That’s help, they’re going to fix you up so you’re perfect again alright? And then you can tell me about that Philosophy paper yeah? I’m so proud that you got an A, but I’m not surprised at all. You’re so smart Peter, please.” 

“Tony.” Heavy footfalls followed the colonel’s concerned voice as he ran to the pair. 

“Rhodey, please! He needs help…” Tony had long passed the mark of sobbing. He offered the boy in his arms to his best friend, looking up at him with all the trust in the world that he could save him. 

“Okay, alright, we need to get you help too though, alright?” 

“No, just him, just take him.” 

“Tony I need to make sure you’re sa-”

“He’s dying Rhodey, I’m okay, but he’s running out of time! Take him and stop wasting the precious few minutes we have!” 

Rhodey looked conflicted until his military instincts kicked in and he nodded tersely. “Okay, but another suit is on its way I want you back and in the Medbay as soon as possible, got it?” 

Tony nodded, exhausted. Rhodey cradled his package gently and launched himself back into the air. Tony nearly sobbed with relief because it was finally over.

When the suit came, it was encasing an unconscious man. 

When Peter woke up he was warm, and his blankets were soft, and a weight had settled against his arm and it soothed him even more. 

Medbay his brain supplied. 

He hadn’t been in here for a while, was probably some kind of record. 

The weight on his arm shifted, and Peter realized it was a person. In fact, it was Mr.Stark. The events of the past few hours came back to him in a flash and involuntarily he jerked up with a gasp. 

Mr.Stark was immediately awake, carding his hands through his hair and making shushing noises. This left Peter deeply confused. 

“M’ster Stark?” He grumbled, letting his head lull into his hand. 

“Oh, hey Petey, you’re awake this time.” The hand stopped, but didn’t remove itself from his hair. Peter liked it, it made him feel safe. 

“Mm?” Mr.Stark knew what he meant. 

“You were really hurt kid, you’ve been sleeping for the past two days.” Peter could hear the guilt in his mentor’s voice, the self-loathing and the worry. 

“I’m okay.” 

“Yeah, you are now Buddy. Your healing factor did a lot of the work for us, and Dr.Cho did the rest.” 

“Car.” Pain flashed over Tony’s face, Peter didn’t mean to do that. The hand removed itself from his hair, the teen instantly missed it.

“God, I’m so sorry Peter. I never should have- Christ.” 

“Not your fault.” 

“I took off your seatbelt; I was so stupid.” 

“Trynna save me. You always take care of me,” Peter’s voice was drugged and mumbly but he knew the inventor could understand him.  

“Doing a piss-poor job of it, but I’ll keep trying. You saved me though, undoubtedly. You’re the only one who noticed something was up.” 

Peter smiled and Tony almost teared up, “Not Mr.Stark, Mr.Stark doesn’t forget food.” 

“No, I don’t Buddy,” Tony chuckled, “You should rest. I’ll see you later, alright?” 

Tony was about to turn his back on the hospital bed when a hand clasped his suddenly. 

“Never got to tell you about m’essay.” Tony heard the statement for what it was, Peter asking him to stay. 

“Oh yeah, I heard you got an A, I’m proud of you. Why don’t you tell me about it?” Tony reclaimed his chair beside Peter’s bed, not letting go of his hand. 

Peter smiled, relaxing back into the sheets, “The topic was on if death was evil, so I said for my thesis…” 

tag list: @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @ur-a-lizard-hairy @enter-the-melon @miraculous-mermaid03 @baloobird

[personinneedofmusic]

We need to have this conversation

I want to start off by saying that, while I was reading the petition, from the  time, I was worried. I was concerned about the procedures and the operations required to be able to complete this. That's aside from the fact: how are we going to establish this law unanimously across 50 states and the FUNDING holy shit! We trying to defund the police but when you wanna bring this in "Fuggett uh bowit"! 

Try to imagine how to explain all that in a petition. How would it look? You'd lose the message. This is not a Bill or an Act. This is the way citizens make Congress pay attention to our needs to pass those laws.

Let's forget about the single incident that brought this link in our hands. You says "you don't believe such measures are required". Why is that? When we have a current law enforcement system set in place for a set of local organizations to uphold and enforce laws that we have all agreed to pass through our constitution. But the law is not being upheld fairly (and "fairly" is an understatement).

Justice is not being equally distributed across our land. Just because our system is not functioning as intended does not permit the allowance of it to continue.  Let's bring a better solution not just talk down and reject ANY suggestion. For anyone who talks so much about trying to improve the problems we face, whether it be a fat guy going to the gym or the office job with shitty employees, what are these complainers doing to make the situation better? Absolutely nothing.

Let's go back, though to the George Floyd video. Anyone would agree that those cops had no reason to pin this man down the way they did. Anyone watching would of loved to shoot those bastards and you're right they did not carry firearms so a standoff would of worked against the officers. But like you stated in your opinion about this petition, this is unreasonable. To have all citizens in America carry a firearm is wishful thinking. It is not and has not been a easy thing to possess (I'm not talking about purchasing the firearm that's a whole other story. I'm referring to maintaining dominion). Look at the news articles reporting underage children killing themselves or killing others because these children got their hands on their guardians weapons. This was one of the biggest reasons for the school mass shootings we were experiencing everyday in 2019. The first 60 days of that year had more shootings than days. I remember seeing it on the news. Now checking, The Gun Violence Archive organization has recorded 417 mass shootings all over the U.S. in 2019.

People want want to stick to their statement that everyone should be strapped up? This includes children and students? Going to work or going to school, nobody should be forced to have to know how to operate or shoot a firearm. It's fun AF but it is not and should not be an all-time waking moment requirement, I'll tell you why.

This is a country of consumption and entertainment not a military state, we are not the middle east for christ sakes we've only had one war on this land and that was caused by the same bigotry and inequality we see today. That's the point of this being a free country, we have systems set in place to have to regulate the violence that's the direction that the people have chosen. Both the government and citizens don't agree with carrying guns everywhere they go.

Evidence of this is seen by big data companies and major organizations shoving advertisements of products, films, food, services but not guns not weapons. I'm not talking shit about guns cause I feel we all need one and I fully support the 2nd amendment. But carrying a firearm does NOT mean they decrease the chances of danger and for SURE do not eliminate it. I'll explain shortly.

Angel was right, anyone trying to forcefully stop these prejudice assholes  know their lives are in danger when all they were expected to do that day was go to the liquor store lol (No one owes you shit) You or I cannot expect anyone to step in to interrupt such a cruel act because we all know the outcome. This ain't talking about "what ifs" we know it would take dozens of unarmed people swarming those cops just to save that one life. I can't speak about the "what if" of creating a stand off against those cops because we do not live in that reality. In this dilemma, in the real world we live in I can say that my heart would break watching this in person and I may act irrationally by attempting to forcefully remove them from George's neck and almost certainly get killed in the process. But I would rather die than allow others to continue to watch and act out a murder. "treat others the way you would like to be treated."

If you received news that your loved one was murdered for a courageous and illogical act, you would only have your "what if he had a firearm" statement and it would do you no good. "Legally a cop can't shoot you if you stop being a lethal threat... Many terrorists do that so they don't get shot" -_-  A terrorist is considered a threat to the sovereignty of our home country. We are not the same threat. The fact that you bring that into the conversation is irrelevant because we're speaking about unarmed black civilians who are murdered in cold blood while they beg for their life.

The courts rule in favor of their law enforcement officers and white privileged citizens against minorities and please don't make me research this for you because this should be common knowledge. Once you can accept this common knowledge I can continue to tell you. Rioters fuck up the community, the stores even other people as we've seen in this last month. To the viewer of the organized media (narrow truth) it is narrated that this is hurting the message of the peaceful protesters. Just like every other person stuck at home you believe peaceful protesting is the way to get your voice heard because it's so amazing in getting the job done. Do you know how many peaceful protests have walked down the streets of our country for the killings and unjust verdicts slammed on our brothers and sisters since the 60's? Hundreds recorded and non recorded with absolutely no change.

Martin Luther King Jr. made the following statement: Riots are the language of the unheard. This is not a new statement, therefore not a new perspective, how can I verify this is not a new perspective? Because he stated this before his death in 1968. Who killed him? The CIA. The exact people who you just claimed have the jurisdiction to enforce the law/ protect its people against breaking the law and causing violence. What violence did MLK bring? Please tell me. I'll wait a thousand years for this answer and never get it. So why did they kill him?... Think about it.

The United States government killed Malcolm X because he was an obvious violent threat for his belief to overthrow their racial OPPRESSORS. The generational descendants of the people in power were slave owners and they are making sure they remain in power while the people under this federal system continue to build their wealth.

They ensure that these same "citizens" fight the wars against anyone who does not comply with their wishes. The murderous capital knows no bounds from extending their arms to developing defenseless countries (like Britain from 1400's to 1800's) to its own "citizens" it claims to protect. They see it easier to attack and influence small countries and if they had the chance they will overthrow another country they see as a competitor. But when you pay attention to how they attack the people who threaten their livelihood you will realize this is not for the greater good of the country. This is only serving the needs of greed from the wealthy politicians and business who profit from the dismantling and manipulation of others. ( I digress)

Let's go back to the U.S. in the 60's. They killed Malcolm & Martin to kill positive leaders who inspired self development. They symbolized the future of a race that was self-sufficient so this government that you've served saw it in their right to cut that class of minority's resources and leave people feeling lost & dependant. Apparently the department of self defense has also defended the previous verdict of the CIA killing MLK saying that there wasn't enough evidence in 2000. On paper they are not repsonsible for his murder, but logically speaking, the judicial system could not be forced to make such a monumental mistake in citing themselves as guilty. You can't just believe what others tell you, you need to dig deep and search for the truth.

Have you heard of what happened in 1920's the city called Tulsa?

Rioters have no other option to bring justice so they fuck shit up and will always continue to do so as long as we are oppressed and not treated fairly by our own so called brothers & sisters. Whether you are religious or not, look at the evidence and you will see we are all from the same family tree. So, how would you be able to claim to run a just country while it's representatives constantly put down and prosecute the disenfranchised who already have nothing and continue to take and take from them? Every bit of success or progress is highly praised within our community’s poor kids but women and men of color still experience prejudice & racism on all levels of our society.

What happened to LaVena Johnson (read up please)?

Watching someone drown is one fucked up immoral thing to do, but to purposely hold them down to watch the last bubble of air leave their lungs, it's beyond twisted. It's not just dispicable it is systematic corruption. So to say there are a "few bad apples" is not just wrong. Not just a few bad apples... watching all local law enforcements and national guard being deployed spray tear gas and shoot NON VIOLENT PROTESTORS in the face with rubber bullets (some dying from these so called "non-lethal" methods), this is a muthafuckkin INFESTATION BRUH! You don't see it?! That's called privilege. Because they haven't shined their spotlight on you don't mean you ain't subject to these methods of punishment.

These riots are not sprouting out of the blue just because they felt like it. Rodney King was not the only time between then and now that we had killings and beatings of unarmed minorities.Knowing our history is the reason for the hatred of our federal government (Govern = Control -/- Ment = Mind)

Our mind controllers have been doing a fine job at keeping us asleep for long periods of time, but when you threaten our basic civil rights we can't allow them to continue for the love of our children... for a better world.

I personally cannot loot. And I laughed when a looter was being dragged across the pavement from being stuck under the Semi truck they were trying to rob. Because looting is for the desperate. But focus on why they are desperate. Do you think you'll see rich people looting? You think these people are poor only because they spend money on alcohol? It's because the resources to become richer are made out of reach. Then we have these stock market bubble crashes that not only make people want to commit suicide from being systematically robbed but they widen the gap between poverty and wealth. The rich are not losing, they winning during every period of despair caused within this monopoly game and not sharing. They stock up and keep their resources away from everyone and get fat. Trust me dude, “when these fat muthafukkers get heavy enough, the ground of the people they walk on gonna open up and the hungry gon' EAT!”

You mention that these store owners may become depressed to commit suicide or become a shooter. That's a pretty big "what if" dude, and your whole essay was created based off the fact that you hate "what ifs". Based off my actual experience from speaking to the bankrupt, these people look for another way, they don't lose their composure and take their anger out on others. They could be turned to crime like drug dealing or other illegal services. But that's not because of the looters and rioters, that's specifically because their country's economic system has failed them. Everyone stuck in poverty is just trying to make ends meet.

The right thing like you say is the best procedure where no one gets hurt. But desperacy and greed is a bitch. It's a human element we all possess from top to bottom. Your short story of a sad business owner is heartbreaking but does not apply to every person.

So you agree an officer should be properly equipped to handle a dangerous situation as peacefully as possible. But we have CONSTANT monthly evidence of this not being executed correctly (correctly is an understatement). The petition doesn't even talk about changing police officers physical real world training. It's simply pushing for a Psychological evaluation of the people who have a deadly weapon in their fucking hands. SWAT team killed 7 year old Aiyana Jones performing a Flashbang while she was asleep bro! Where was the value of life? Where the fuck was the rationality? Where the fuck is the justice? Check on her killers and you'll see they're still walking "free" on this land. Flashbangs were made for wartime raids. I know you and I can both agree that this career will break your spirit. But these stories are beyond fucked up. Which is why we need to check on these people and maybe even get them the help they need. We don't know yet cause we're just trying to bring this shit to conversation.

You may feel personally attacked by this request because this may include your career, but we have a secret group of officers called the grim reapers (roughtly 2000 members) mainly white supremacists who KNOW the law they KNOW how to hide from the light so a social media evaluation aint SHIT on the people who could exercise their 1st amendment but against biased, racist and lethal internal terrorist is taking power AWAY from them. Tell me, where are these detectives that you speak of to prosecute these hate groups? "What sounds good to them"? These suggestions are not random dawg. Where is your solution?

If you followed your own advice to educate yourself you'll see throughout history the oppressors have brutally forced their way into a community and into another person's personal property for their own taking. These same oppressors now follow the same procedures to hold the highest power of dominance under this stolen land.

The "why the rules for law enforcement are set in place" is because they are ENFORCING their power over the masses. They created the monsters that you're scared of in the prison cells. These people (remember, these are fucking people) are compressed and compressed with hate, bigotry and systematic abuse throughout bloodlines. Stop looking at this from an individual perspective and within one generation. This has been specified abuse and re-designed slavery for generations almost 500 years now. Slavery has not ended homie. You & I are forced into it when we are forced to comply with actions against our health or will.

No, the law is NOT black & white. Because it should be the people who run the body of the system who decide what right and wrong is and perspectives change over time. Slavery used to be right. Public lynching or beheading throughout history was a public activity. So law is grey and the way we use law to seek justice is grey. That's why we symbolize Lady Justice to be blind. Because we begin our search for truth in square 1/ zero evidence. We gather our verdict, our decision of right and what is true from the evidence provided or there the lack of.  What I was telling Will yesterday about "perceived truth" is that it is not to be confused with total reality. Truth is defined as- in accordance with fact or reality. But reality is PERCEIVED through the eyes of the beholder. "Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence". That's the grey area. That's why Jerome gets a different sentence compared to Chad: same age, same crime, same points, same judge, same courtroom even on the same goddamn day. Just because you have not experienced this horrendous atrocity of having your life threatened by an ominous hierarchy, does not mean it does not exist. It for sure does not mean you should leave it alone just because it's already in place and it seems to be working. It's not working, that's why we are trying anything we can think of to make a change and stop the menacing slaughtering of a certain people.

This is discouraging to see every bit of progress being undermined and pushed back. This is why people say their vote doesn't count and ignore politics, but that's exactly what the wealthy want you to believe. We are the masses not the minorities. The illusion of power is theirs. The real power is ours and we've just been tricked to hand our ability over to the money hungry power hungry FEW! Many different countries attach the representation of law enforcement as pigs. You ever wonder why they all have similar analysis? The characteristics of swine are they are consistently eating and eating without even thinking despite their great intelligence.

Law enforcement has been consistently eating more salary and more power gaining more rights over people and you think this kind of person should not be required to have an Associates degree. You know elementary school teachers are required to have a bachelors degree (4 years of college). I'm not even gonna ask you and give you the chance to ponder whether or not a kids school teacher should have a higher education than the officer who can carry a deadly weapon and interact with full grown adults from all walks of life and still get paid SHIT compared to them. That's not right, sir. And if you don't believe that's fucked up, I now know you prefer to be in a militant state and not a free state. Abuse of power is not within a few, it is within the very core of every powerful government.

Cali gaining more gun laws is still only directing the narrative to the scenery where people all agreed to carry firearms... Again, we do not live in that reality.

Peep this action. When someone hates & dislikes someone or something, you'll notice that these are products of misunderstanding.

There has not been sufficient compromise from the law for a comfortable life because these same issues lawmakers and congress have promised to look into and consider have been thrown in the backburner to suffocate just like the lives of the innocent our so called heroes have taken.

So, I know I mentioned defunding would be difficult to do if we continue with this but I am for defunding the police. Not abolishing but re-allocating their funds. One great way is removing the pension plan to those many fuckers who have a trackrecord of violence on the clock especially the murderers. You want more details about what qualifies or disqualifies someone to receive pension? I could continue but because I'm not a legislator and we're just speaking of a petition, I feel like it's a waste of time right now. Let's see this pass and then we'll dive in.

Defunding does not mean that we're creating an anarchist state. This does mean our heroes will be left on the streets. We can optimize the funds if necessary, but we can't allow the department of self defense to take so much away while it's own people are starving and living in motels or on the brink of losing their homes. This bullshit of lack of healthcare insurance coverage is a whole completely different ball game but also affects poverty and could also use assistance not in providing the government coverage but (for example) regulating these private physicians and hospitals on how they charge different prices for mediations or services in different countries.

Other services that drastically need that re-allocation funding (not overfunding past the law enforcement, remember that): Public housing, mental health services, public education & department of unemployment. Cutting after school programs and defunding your society's children is detrimental to our future and we've been allowing that (not just to continue) to progress for years. We are currently in a crisis of unemployment not caused by a typical economic downturn but nevertheless we've had problems within this public service for years that needs reform in it's method to assist people with finding a job like creating relations with employers for different job classes.

Sarcastically suggesting to fund the weed program because you can't think of any other programs that desperately need reform just shows your disconnect with our society. This is a direct statement to you but this is not a personal attack to you, I just want you to understand that there are many problems that need fixing and throwing money at it is not the solution. That goes for any of the public or federal departments that I've mentioned in this message.

The exponentially growing debt is NOT going to its citizens. Going back to the main topic, we as a body of people are not equipped with the right resources to equally seek liberty and pursuit of happiness. Also, we cannot fully blame anyone else for the decisions we make ourselves so don't expect people to be panhandling. We all just want an equal shot.

Taxes- Are a financial charge or levy imposed by a governmental organization in order to fund government spending and various public expenditures. This means that the people are constantly being depended on to increase the salary of every government funded worker and it's supplies and other expenses to supposedly run properly. But throwing MORE money at something is not going to always fix a problem. As a country that has always found the need to be in debt and constantly spend on the wrong things this is my reason for validating that we need to re-allocate from dangerous or unnecessary spending.

People have argued that the standard technique to privatization will incur by: first defunding, then MAKING sure the facilities will not work which make the people even more angry until those facilities are shifted to the private capital. That's how we began seeing charter schools. You can't feed or educate the people of this country properly and the house of administration wants to defund NASA unless we all agree to work towards building a space station. get THAT shit out of here. The heirs of the Trump family were just recently cited to use taxpayer dollars to fund a trip to another country for a hunting game against the largest sheep in the world (reminds me of the novel, The Most Dangerous Game ;-) hunting their own supporters). TAX PAYER money, for fun! Defund whatever the FUCK they think they can do with our money. The department of defense claims it knows what's best for another country  and so it decides to train that other country's military in an act of diplomacy in hopes to gain a new ally and drain that other country of its resources. Put THAT country in debt so that they help this country with it's spending problem. (This happened multiple times) Get THAT FUCKIN SHIT out of here. Then the U.S wanna act surprised when the threatened country starts to shove the U.S. away when they begin digging their finger in their ass and so we (yes, we. You and I allow this) attack them while creating a narrative here at home that they are savages with no organized government and therefore a broken community with immoral culture (sounds like a male's narrow perspective here in the states that gets butt hurt when they get rejected by a fine ass hyna "fuck you! Slut! You dirty ho". You know there are connotations of this). But the most dangerous areas with these so-called immoral cultures are claimed to be the countries we are at war with. And that does not always mean our home's narrative is accurate. So stop looking to the taxpayer again to bail out the wall street corps and lawmakers who want to infiltrate a new country for its dependence on us. Fix THAT trillions of dollars of spending and we don't have to increase taxes.

People want to have so much faith in the judicial system of this country saying all will be resolved with jury and judges. Do yourself a favor and read up on George Stinney and then Breonna Taylor. Then let me know what kind of rationality you create for that.

QR Codes? I'll admit this had me chuckle. I don't carry a QR scanner on me but I think it's creative and smart to have a bargaining chip you're willing to lose in this conversation.

I feel I have already addressed all bullet points previously mentioned in your response, but one more thing about the re-hire: You can't be serious to think that the main focus of a rehire banning will significantly attack those heroic officers who willingly quit. This petition is specifically calling out for the group of officers who abused their power and had to be fired. Some departments will silently suggest to those officers to quit voluntarily after their post verdict of an abuse of power. But that's another loophole that we need to address possibly in another petition or when this one is passed.

You stated "we can't cookie cutter it, people are all different...". I agree with you. If certain states have a law where an officer can be fired simply because "their captain does not like them", that sounds like another piece of bullshit that deserves a different petition to gain attention. But you fail to acknowledge the cookie cut systematic oppression. El Che (Simón Bolívar) & Pancho Villas did not rise to power for rebellion against a fair system or just for the fuck of it. Neither are we and we're not even as radical. We're still civil. No longer asking, demanding equal rights still after centuries of racial violence.

You may be completely okay with a few bad doctors, lawyers, pilots or cops because it's minuscule to associate them with the term "bad apples". But these are not just only a few bad apples that create a little bit of a sad story here in America. You can't condone an attempt to pass legislation for a petition based on too many "what ifs". But that little girl has to grow up without a father now. Your abundance of what if's are leaving her with the most traumatizing “what if's” at an early age as well as others in all communities for the colored. What if George wasn't murdered? What if he was just tried and sent to years (I don’t doubt they would of found a way to make it years) of incarceration still unable to raise his child for passing an illegal tender that HE WAS NOT GIVEN THE RIGHT TO A FAIR TRIAL FOR? So to this day remains innocent based on the views of this judicial system. And now what if this same system will eradicate this little girl's life? I will not ask you if a human's life is worth less than the security of our fellow "heroes" because it is not. They took an oath to protect and serve, and all they've been protecting and serving is the interest of the wealthy. The wealthy made from the base of the citizens, the taxpayers so we are the hand that feeds them. And they are threatening us.

[ayma-nidiot]

In the White Light - Prideshipping fic chapter 4

Chapter 4 – My Blackened Heart, Scorched by Flames

“Kaiba…”

“Huh?” Kaiba had remembered being in his duel with a weirdo named Alister a mere few seconds ago. So why the hell was he floating in a spacious room with two ice sculptures? “I must be hallucinating. Why else would the Dark Magician Girl be talking to me in a room that doesn’t really exist?”

“Kaiba, you have been chosen to awaken the might dragon Critias… All you have to do is remove the sword.”

“Excuse me?” Kaiba gave up trying to understand what he was doing there and simply did as he was told. He soon learned that these were not ice sculptures, but dragons encased in ice, as Critias broke free of his prison.

“Now join forces with the dragon.”

“Anything to shut you up. …There. Now can you please awaken me from this dream?”

Kaiba’s hand lingered on the top card of his deck as he simply stared into space. In the real world, he still floated – but this time, it was on the Seal of Orichalcos.

“What’s wrong, Kaiba?” Alister, Kaiba’s opponent in this match, waited impatiently at the other end of the Seal. “Are you going to play your card or not?”

Kaiba said nothing, but merely scowled at Alister as he drew his next card. Am I still dreaming? I never put this card in my deck! …Still, it looks exactly like the dragon from my dream. I just pray to all that is good that it’s not another one of Alister’s tricks.

No! Dark Magician Girl’s voice played in Kaiba’s head again. You must use that card! It’s the only way to beat Alister!

“I now play Fang of Critias!”

“What? You can’t play that card!”

“Ah, but I can!” Kaiba slammed the card on his Duel Disk, revealing a face-down card at the same time. “Now I’ll fuse my Fang of Critias with my Crush card to create a new monster! Behold!”

“Seto, I wish you would stop saying ‘behold’ every time you played a good card…” Mokuba would have frowned, had he not believed his brother now had the upper hand.

“Shut up, Mokuba,” Kaiba scolded as Critias began to fuse with the trap card.

“What the hell? You can’t fuse a trap card with a monster!”

“Looks to me like I just did, Alister! Hahaha!” Now that the fusion was complete, Kaiba ordered, “Rise up, Doom Virus Dragon!”

“Hah! Big deal. My monsters are way stronger than yours!”

“This game isn’t just about attack points. Doom Virus Dragon also has a special ability: it can destroy all monsters on the field with attack strength of 1500 or more! And now that your monsters are gone… My dragon, attack Alister’s life points directly!”

“Oh, you haven’t beaten me yet, Kaiba. Reveal my face-down card, Contagion of Madness! So while I lose 1900 Life Points, you also lose 950 thanks to my magic card!”

As the Doom Virus Dragon fell to the Contagion of Madness, Alister lost the remainder of his LP – and so did Kaiba. “It’s a draw!”

Mokuba refrained from trying to get close to his brother – that was, until the Seal of Orichalcos stopped shaking, and disappeared along with Alister, knocking Kaiba backwards. “He’s gone!”

“This isn’t over, Kaiba!” Alister’s voice temporarily remained. “I’ll be back to make sure you pay for what your father did to me!”

After Alister had disappeared for good, Mokuba asked, “Seto, what does he mean ‘what your father did to me?’”

“…It’s a long story. Apparently, Father had destroyed his village to expand KaibaCorp’s influence, and in the process his kid brother was killed. What it has to do with me, I don’t know and I don’t really care.”

“That’s mean! His little brother is dead, and you’re saying ‘I don’t care?’ So what then, do you not care about me?”

“Does not giving you all your food, clothes, and toys not count as ‘caring about you,’ ingrate?” Kaiba yelled.

“…Seto…” Mokuba instantly started crying. “I’m sorry… I’m a terrible brother.”

“No, Mokuba, I should be the one apologizing… Still, I can’t say I fully understand what’s going on, so I think I need to do some research into this ‘Seal of Orichalcos’ and ‘guardian dragon’ business. If Alister really is going to try to duel me again, then I need to learn all I can about him and what his agenda is.”

As Kaiba motioned to leave, Mokuba asked, “Can I help you, Brother? Please?”

“If you’re aware of the danger, then okay. …And again, I apologize.”

______

Kaiba had spent the week calling everyone he knew to get information and researching on the Internet. Unfortunately, half of the people he tried to call “had their souls stolen (whatever that meant)” and the other half were more useless than wet paper. Maximillion Pegasus, to whom he now spoke over video phone in his office, was definitely the latter. “So you mean to tell me you’ve never created a card called ‘Fang of Critias’ or ‘Seal of Orichalcos?’”

“That’s right,” Pegasus answered from the other end of the phone. “Just like those ‘Pyramid of Light’ and ‘Blue-Eyes Shining Dragon’ cards. I think you’ve got yourself a new enemy, Kaiba boy.”

“Ya’ think?”

“Hey now, don’t get mad at me for something that’s not my fault… It’s just the truth.”

“I don’t think I have anything else to say to you… Bye.” Kaiba dropped the phone into the cradle and rolled back in his seat. Just as he wanted to take a nap, Mokuba let himself in the office. “Mokuba, what is it?”

Mokuba offered Kaiba tea and biscuits before asking, “So did you learn anything?”

Kaiba took a sip of the tea. “Nothing, except that Pegasus is a useless son of a bi- son of a gun. Apparently, the Seal of Orichalcos isn’t one of his original cards.”

“You think some big scary god… monster… thing might be behind it?”

“Probably. But I don’t even know where to start looking! What if that smug Alister comes knocking at my door?” Kaiba gritted a tea biscuit between his teeth.

“Why don’t you try asking Yugi and his friends!”

“No. Anything but that.”

“But they’re really good at finding trouble! Especially that… um… really tall version of Yugi. I think the pharaoh dude.”

Kaiba hid his blush behind the teapot at the mention of Yami Yugi. “Hmm… You may be on to something, Mokuba. Doesn’t make me any more excited to see the Dweeb Patrol again. Anyway, thanks for the tea and biscuits. Guards!”

“Yes?” Two German men entered the office.

Kaiba gave Mokuba a few ¥10000 bills before instructing his employees, “Take Mokuba into town and get him something nice. He deserves it for being such a good brother.”

Mokuba’s face beamed. “Th-Thank you, Seto! Bye!”

When Mokuba and Kaiba’s employees left, Kaiba put his head down on his desk. The pharaoh… Why didn’t I try calling him?

________

“Kaiba… Why are you here again?”

Kaiba had awakened to the chamber in which he met Dark Magician Girl – and the last dragon was no longer there. “That’s what I should ask you. Can I have a… I don’t know, a more typical dream?”

“You’re troubled. I can tell.”

“And that’s your business because?”

“I think that helping save the world is very much my business.”

“So why should it be mine?”

“Because your company would probably be at stake if something bad happened to the world in which it resides.”

“Okay, now you have my attention. Can you tell me what I need to know?”

“Your enemy is a man name Dartz, and Alister is one of his henchmen. He’s interested in taking your company over… And if he succeeds, the fate of the world could-”

“Oh, that does it! I’m going to give that bastard Dartz a piece of my mind! Thank you, Dark Magician Girl.”

“You’re welcome! But please… Find the other two chosen ones…”

_____

Kaiba felt no grogginess as he stood right up and motioned to arise from his desk. “All right, Dartz, just wait until I- Hm?”

The video phone on his desk rang, prompting Kaiba to sit back down.

“KaibaCorp, this is the man who’s about to kill you for interrupting my otherwise great day speaking- Oh. If it isn’t the blondie of the Dweeb Patrol.”

“My name’s Joey Wheeler, you jerk, and don’t you forget it!”

“Hey, Joey, you’re supposed to be nice to him, remember?” Téa whined.

“Shit, I forgot…” Joey quickly changed his demeanour. “I… don’t suppose you could lend us one of your private jets?”

“And what makes you think I would lend you something you don’t deserve?”

“Please, Kaiba!” Tristan showed himself and begged. “We’re stuck in the middle of the desert and we don’t even know where the nearest grocery store is!”

“You made your bed, so sleep in it.”

“But we need to find Dartz’s other henchmen! Yug’s already found his guardian dragon, Timaeus… And get this, I got a dragon called Hermos!”

“Did you say ‘Dartz?’ And ‘guardian dragon?’”

“Yeah! But… um… There’s something else I gotta tell you. Yug got his soul stolen by Rafael, one of the henchmen, after he lost a duel to him.”

Kaiba remained silent for a few seconds before saying, “Did you say… Yugi lost?” He took a look around the video, and noticed Yami Yugi in the corner, looking down in shame. The dweebs must be talking about the Yugi who’s half my height. But the pharaoh… Why… did he lose?

“Joey, dammit all, you weren’t supposed to tell him that!” Duke smacked Joey upside the head. “Uh… Yeah. That’s the long and short of it, Kaiba. So pretty please?”

“Go to hell, all of you!” And with that, Kaiba slammed the phone into the cradle. “Yugi… he lost!”

Mokuba had just come back from his shopping trip and had already put his purchases back in his room. Coming back to Kaiba’s office, he asked, “Seto? What just happened?”

“That fucking Yugi lost against some fucking nobody!” Kaiba arose sharply, knocking over everything on his desk.

“H-Hey, calm down!”

In the span of ten seconds, Kaiba’s back began to burn, and he could feel strong butterflies in his stomach. “Yugi…”

“Seto!” Mokuba didn’t care that Kaiba looked ready to kill him, he approached him anyway. “Snap out of it!”

“Rafael!” A giant sapphire appeared on Kaiba’s forehead as the windows overseeing much of Domino City shattered. “You are going to pay for what you have done!”

“Brother, what’s happening to you?” Mokuba simply fell to his knees in fear of what his brother had become – a wondrous but fearsome dragon that he knew well. “Why did you turn into the Blue-Eyes Shining Dragon?”

“Raaaaawr!” In this form, Kaiba couldn’t speak – and instead he whipped Mokuba with his heavy tail, throwing the boy against the wall so hard that it shook the furniture.

“Ouch!” Mokuba began crying – loud enough for five of Kaiba’s employees to hear.

“Mokuba!” One of them led the other four to Mokuba’s side before pursuing Kaiba. “You monster! You’re not getting away with this!”

Kaiba ignored this declaration and merely flew out of the building at breakneck speed.

[controloffandoms]

My Captain Pt. 3 (P.P./S.M.)

Prompt: I’ve been holding out on this idea because I didn’t know if it would be well taken...but it kinda ties in perfectly to what I was planning before.

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Words: 2451

Warnings: Past!death, cursing, science-crazy reader, guilt, anger, emotional reader

Notes: I’m very insecure of this part...but we’re gonna roll with it.

Part 1    Part 2

Breaking into OSCORP was the easiest part of your day. 

The start of the day had been filled with letting Matt and company know about you and your past. It was filled with Tony Stark screaming through a phone that he was personally going to kill you and Peter for the shit you’d pulled. It was filled with a lot of anxiety. You and Peter had deactivated your trackers on the suits and had set out for OSCORP right after lunch. You couldn’t wait for night to fall...you needed to figure everything out and fast, before Tony could track you both down. 

It was laughable how easy it was to get into OSCORP without the workers knowing you were there. What was even more laughable was the fact that you and Peter were in the room with another scientist who was doing experiments of his own and he didn’t seem to mind that both of you were in the lab with him. The downside at breaking in during the day is that none of the labs were vacant, so you both had chosen the lab with the least amount of people.

You both were running tests on the blood you’d gotten from Goblin in your struggle with him the previous night. If you could find a way to cure Norman, you could stop blaming yourself for the colossal mess you’d made yesterday. 

You looked over Peter’s shoulder, at the other scientist, to make sure the man was none the wiser to what you were doing. If he had a change of pace and began to call for security, you’d need to be ready to knock him out. After getting to OSCORP, you’d both decided that you should probably be in civilian clothes. After an impromptu stop at a Walmart, you were in casual business clothes so that you would blend in more. This also meant that your faces were uncovered...there was no hiding behind a mask.

“Check out the nucleotide bonding in his DNA,” Peter called softly. You walked over, peering over his shoulder.

“But they shouldn’t be attached like that. Adenine pairs with Thymine and Guanine pairs with Cytosine. Adenine doesn’t pair with Guanine-ever, same goes for Thymine and Cytosine...the serum shouldn’t have been able to change human base pairs,” you furrowed your eyebrows and went back to your analysis. 

“The blood clotting and oxygenation is also different. From my scans his blood doesn’t clot. As for Oxygenation, each blood cell is only able to carry half the amount of hemoglobin than a normal human should be able to carry. The other half is filled with a green substance...I guess that’s his ‘Goblin’ DNA,” you sighed quietly.

“This is more intricate than we previously thought,” Peter’s lips formed a thin line. “Wait, wait...the RNA, it transcribed perfectly to human standards. There was no change in the base pairs to suggest that they are going to pair with anything but the original base pairs that are supposed to go together. So whatever is changing the AT-GC pairing has to happen outside of the nucleus. If we isolate the process in the nucleus and then transcribe the replicating DNA ourselves, we should, theoretically, be able to clone enough of the regular DNA to at least bring Norman back to normal for the time being before finding a permanent cure,” his excited whisper brought a smile to your face.

“Then let’s do that, Pete. We should be able to isolate the DNA and transcribe it into RNA and still have enough of the sample to analyze later to get a permanent cure.”

________________

“How’d it go,” Matt asked as he sat on the couch with a glass of water in his hands. Karen and Foggy were working on laptops, but stopped to see you both walk in.

“Nothing permanent yet, but we may have a temporary cure for Norman,” Peter sighed, a smile taking over his face. 

“We didn’t come to the root of his becoming the Goblin, but we found anomalies in his DNA that were definite red flags. With more time and probably a couple of more samples from Norman, we should be able to come up with a permanent cure,” you added.

“Wait, you’re and alien-in the nicest way possible, I say this-how do you know about human DNA and all of that,” Foggy asked. 

You rose an eyebrow and rolled your eyes. “I am what you guys call a genius. The intellect that I was injected with has the ability to understand things your brains could never comprehend. It was not too hard to figure out your biology.”

“What’s next,” Karen asked. 

“Well, we need to get Norman injected with this semi-cure and get more blood samples from him. We also need to stop Fisk and Ock from going ahead with their plans,” Peter sat in the armchair across from the couch while you went to fix both of you glasses of water. 

“Speaking of Ock and plans, I need to borrow a laptop. That information we got off of Ock last night isn’t going to read itself.”

Karen offered her laptop to you and you set it up on the counter in front of you as Peter came up to you. He took the glass you offered to him and handed you the USB he’d downloaded the information onto. You both watched as documents started to fill the screen rapidly. “Learn to organize,” Peter muttered. 

As files stopped filling the screen, you pulled up the last one to come up. “Plan 14-R-T-P-94.” You skimmed over it, stopping on a drawing that summed up what you had skimmed. “No fucking way,” you muttered, continuing to scroll down and read more into the plan. “That’s not-how,” you asked, stopping on another drawing. Continuing down, you swore your heart stopped beating. 

You closed out all of the files at one, giving the laptop back to Karen, and tucking the USB into your pocket. You were talking to yourself as you went over it in your head. Had Ock actually figured it out? You grabbed your suit, still paying no mind to the others in the room. You hadn’t seen plans that drawn out and high on the intellect chain since you snuck into the Capitol building on your home planet and gained access to the Intellect Library. 

A hand stopped you from moving any further. “Tell me what’s going on,” Peter’s eyes begged you. 

You stuttered before coming up with something to say to him. “I need to do more research. I need to understand how Ock came to his conclusions on Plan 14-R-T-P-94. If he is right, then it could spell world disaster...or-or better the world, depending on who uses it. The library on my planet, assuming it hasn’t been destroyed, will have the research I need to verify his assumptions.”

Your mind was half focused on the person in front of you, half running through the bit of information you’d read. A shake to your shoulders caused you to turn back to Peter. “Do you really think this is a good idea with everything that’s going on? I couldn’t understand half of the gibberish that was on that file, are you sure it means anything?”

You moved out of his grip, a small glare on your face. “It is in a language you do not understand. It is using methods that no meer mortal man would ever understand. Only and intellect as high as those on Tehnoloģiju Pasaule have the knowledge to pull what Ock wants off. I will return once I have looked into the matter.”

Peter could only watch as you left, a pit in the bottom of his stomach. He didn’t know why, but he had a feeling that whatever you found from your research would only end up hurting you or others around you. He only hoped you wouldn’t take too long to come back.

______________

True to your word, within a couple of days you were back, carrying a large sack of books. Upon entering Matt’s apartment, you were met with silence. Peter was probably out trying to figure out Fisk’s next move. Matt, Foggy, and Karen had actual jobs to attend to...you hoped that you’d be able to crack exactly what Ock was hoping to accomplish...you also needed to know how he’d learned of your language...your long lost language. 

______________

Six Hours Later

The scene that everyone walked in on was messy. There were books and sheets of paper strewn everywhere. There were multiple papers attached to the wall with yarn connecting them. In the middle of it all, was you. Your hair looked like you had been running a hand through it every couple of seconds for the last however long you’d been working on this project.

You didn’t even acknowledge their entrance. You were too caught up in your own world. Taking the paper you had been writing on, you flew to the ceiling, a string of yarn following you as you stuck them both to the ceiling and connected the other end of the yarn to a piece of paper on the other side of the ceiling before bringing the yarn back to the middle where a 3-D model of something sat. 

You pulled up a hologram from your suit with the file from Ock’s computer on it, before nodding to yourself. So far you had every step in his process to get Thanos back. You’d even paired it back with research you’d done on his individual steps. Now was time for the practicality of it. With another sheet of paper, you wrote out equation after equation, solving it with ease.

An astonished laugh escaped your mouth as you went still. It could actually work. You could actually go back in time to the exact moment where things went to shit and change it all. With a few modifications to the idea and a few parameters to ensure that the universe wouldn’t fold in on itself, it was totally possible to go back in time to save Carol and bring her to your time. “He actually figured it out,” you stated amazed. 

The clearing of a throat broke you from your thoughts. Your head snapped to the doorway. Four pairs of eyes stared back at you before looking around the room. “What did ‘he’ figure out,” Matt asked.

“He figured out what we all want to figure out. A way to change past events without the universe folding in on itself. With a few changes and additions, it’s almost perfect. Think-think of what we could accomplish with this technology. You could go back to the first war with Thanos and stop him from ever snapping his fingers. You could go back to the 1940s and stop World War II from ever starting. You could go back to the first World War and stop that. You could bring World Peace...you-you could see your loved ones again. Save planets and others. The possibilities are endless!”

“(Y/N), what you’re talking about could also go horribly wrong. What if we do cause the universe or the timeline to fold in on itself? It was all written by a deranged scientist, (Y/N)-”

“With-with the modifications I made, it could work. There’s only a nine percent chance that it doesn’t. Ninety-one percent chance that it works. We could-we could change the world as we know it. We could make everything for the better! My planet, I could save them! I could-I could save Carol. Peter, this is-this is what I’ve been waiting for!” 

A look passed over Peter’s face...it wasn’t pleasant and you realized that it was because he wanted everything you said to be true, but knew that you couldn’t risk the chance of causing the end of the universe as you both knew it. “You know we can’t let Ock use this machine. You know we have to destroy it...we have to get rid of everything Ock has on it.”

You shook your head, he couldn’t expect you to just let it go. Why couldn’t he see the endless possibilities? He could have his parents and his uncle back. You could have Carol and your planet...your parents, your friends, your siblings. You backed away from Peter as he stepped closer, still shaking your head, tears threatening to fall. 

“No. Why do you think they have those weapons? I got to looking at the schematics of them and they are meant to pull from other dimensions. When focused on a certain thing they can either push you to another dimension or pull something into this one. Multiple dimensions to choose from. Each one of them having a different event of what happened with Thanos. We can merge dimensions and make life for the better. The knowledge of that dimension’s you becomes your knowledge. Peter...we can fix everything.”

“Not that way. We can’t fix it that way. We’d be taking a whole other dimension’s lives by doing that. Not to mention how unstable it could be. We can fix things here without a whole other problem from trying an untested theory out. Look, I gave the semi-cure to Norman and got more samples. I’m almost certain I have a cure for him. We can fix that. We can stop Ock and Fisk from further fucking up the world. We can fix that. The research you’ve done, we can continue to do after we fix the current problems. We don’t want to rush into something this big, yeah,” Peter asked, hands out in a non-threatening manner.

“Peter’s right,” Matt spoke from behind Peter. “You’ll have plenty of time to look over your research and come up with a plan to possibly change events. If you rush into this, if you miscalculate, you could end us all.”

You bit your lip, looking between the two. Part of your brain was telling you that you should go along with your plan. You had the power of the intellect. You had the highest amount of knowledge in the room. You wouldn’t make a mistake or miscalculation. The other part of your brain acknowledged their concerns...you would have given any of them the same advice they were giving you. “I am not dropping the idea.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“I have an eidetic memory, even if your destroy all of the research, I still have it in my head.”

“I know.” 

“I am going to save Carol, whatever it takes.” A tear fell down your cheek.

“I don’t doubt that.” Peter reached you and pulled you into a hug. “We’ll figure something out.”

Forever Tags

@miraclesoflove​ @san-penedo​ @gracearchives​ @avengersss-assembleee​ @way-ward-whale​ @nocturnalherb16​ @just4muggles​

Spidey Fans

@darktwistydiamond @laic2299 @fun-sized-widow-bites

[captain-ed-tucker]

The True Maniac

You are the chosen one, they say. You are meant to be the savior of the world, they say. All those words, they are my company every day, day after day, they follow me, stalk me, haunt me everyday of my life, it's almost insane. Wait...it IS  insane. Funny you should say that really cause ya know, I knew this gal the other day who had a hot ass and gosh she was cute and I could go on and on...oh...oops...I went on one of my rants again. I'm sorry. I'm rude. I should start again. My name is Johnny Lawrence and you are probably one of the voices and people that come through my head each and every day, you all keep me company, it's kinda sweet, but in a creepy way. But I'm the step son of Sid Weinburg, he's the CEO of Texaco and Time Warner, yes, that guy on TV that asks you for more subscriptions, that creepy greasy guy is my step dad, funny you should ask why the bloody hell am I related to that guy in the first place. Ah, it's a long story really, I hope you have patience cause I'm probably gonna ramble and ramble and go off on maniac induced episodes where my thoughts might not connect with my words and my stories may seem more fantastical than usual, it's all up to you to whether to believe me or not, I don't care if you don't, nobody has believed me in a long while.

You still here? Wow. I'm suprised, most voices and people tend to go away after awhile, you are creepy as hell, after my imaginary dead brother York, who by the way never existed, nor was ever born. I hope for the sake of my story, no York was ever born in San Francisco, it's highly unlikely, but hey, you never know.

Oh and by the way, I lost my girlfriend becuase of a BLIP, lost my title for the All Valley Championship cause I was concussed and dizzy and hallucinating, only to be fucking crane kicked in the face. But hey, at least I have a job as a Rad Tech and am living on my own, so ha! You can't call me a basement dweller since I live in a apartment all by myself overlooking the ocean and ninety percent of the time, I see tourists hanging out there taking selfies and making out like it is some sort of lover's nest. Ugh, I guess I get what I pay for...literally...I got this place on the cheap side with the help of AdBuddy since I could barely afford it on my own and rent is fucking up my savings, like C'mon, stop fucking me up here damn it! And not to mention the fact that my REAL step brother's trial Ryan Weinberg, who has been accused of sexual harassment at the workplace and I was named as a witness, my step dad wants me to lie on the stand...can I do that? I mean... that just feels so wrong, very wrong. Tell me I'm not the only one that I'm feeling this way, cause I have no idea what to do next.

Oh...great Jed is here, wait just a minute while I talk to him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh Johnny, just here to deliver your latest mission, the details will be soon revealed as you go."

"Don't you think this is not the right time?"

"Oh but it is."

"Oh and by the way, you will have a handler, she has a certain Jai sais ne qoui about her. You will know her when you see her...DON'T FUCK THIS UP!"

Okay...now Jed has left and I'm still stuck with you. You have this intense, scruffy look about you...I can tell you really are a curious person, you aren't like the others before...that's interesting. Most have tried to change me, give me orders or tell me that I'm chosen or some bullshit...some of those days I'm convinced of that bullshit and actually believing it, the scariest part is not hearing a lie, it's believing the lie and perpetuating the lie. I get up and head to my apartment and flick all my pills that are there to "fix" me...you can't fix what is broken and I am broken.

I also find the package for Neberdine Pharmaceuticals and Biotechnology. Odd...they never send me anything, I haven't even heard of them at all. It is scary and creepy though, I wonder if the FBI is watching me, I might close the curtains and I should...you think I could be watched...right? I...I feel like everything has eyes and cameras and ears and mics and all the tech in the world to enhance interrogate me before I have a chance to defend myself...wait...the phone is ringing...I have to pick it up, just wait here ok?

"He...hello? Who is this?"

"This is Neberdine Pharmaceuticals and Biotechnology research institute inc. Speaking, we are here to speak to you becuase you have been chosen as a "Hero" Candidate"

"Well...what DOES a hero candidate do?"

"Well we have them do experiments that others normally do not do and we treat all sorts of problems, including prostate problems"

"Popcorn problems?"

"Yes popcorn problems."

"Thank you...I'll consider it."

I hang up the phone in utter confusion and now you are looking at me like I'm an idiot! STOP STARING AT ME JOHN KREESE! STOP!

END OF PART ONE

I get up and, oh...fuck, you are there again, well done you asshole, you are still with me. Oh well, I don't have time to yell and holler at you, I have to get ready and go to work and then head over to my parents house, my brother is celebrating his engagement to Adelade and they are going to announce a wedding date and it all is amongst this scandal of his sexual harassment of a clerk. I have no ideas what I feel or where I stand anymore.

Work is a boring affair as you can tell, you're already doing your kiyakis and forward thrust punches and I'm busy as hell scanning patients and I have lots of paperwork, not to mention the decontamination process I have to go through every day just for health purposes so I'm not literally emitting X Rays by the time I leave the hospital.

Getting rides on the tube to my parent's mansion is very expensive for now since my budget has been tightened becuase I went on a mania induced spending spree and I racked up so many charges and fees from gambling with the furries and casinos are never happy to see me, I never understood why that was the case.

Regardless, I have to call on an AdBuddy and he soon comes over and inserts funds into my account, but in exchange, I have to view a bunch of ads that are read aloud by the AdBuddy and one of them is about Neberdine Pharmaceuticals and Biotechnology. Neberdine is everywhere...the pattern is the pattern, there is a larger force at work here and I'm sure of it. I know it, I can feel it at work, it's a bit mysterious to others, but not me, I'm the only one who understands how this works at all.

I can see you have cleaned up real nicely for the occasion and I thank you for that, I have to admit Sensei, you really look handsome in a suit, it really suits you...get it? Hahaha! Oh...I see you don't get the joke? Oh...ok, oh well then. I then go in and hand my coat to the butler and head up the stairs through the foyer and then meet my parents, my step mom and my step dad, both are looking regal tonight since their oldest firstborn is celebrating his engagement again since my "Incident". I hate to admit it but the nieces and nephews are the only reason I even bother show up to family functions at all, I hate this fake, plastic family filled with Barbies and Ken's, I want something more than this Kreese...but what is it I want?

Soon my brother Ryan is busy singing and wooing Adelade and she's smiling and tearing up and all that sappy shit, I wonder if she's marrying him for the money, I would hate for that to happen to Ryan, I had my own experience with Ali Mills and it didn't end well at all.

Soon the adults want to play balderdash but honestly, I feel suffocated and I wanted out of here as soon as possible, the fakeness was getting to me and I can hear them begging me

"Aw cmon! You used to love balderdash"

"Balderdash is fun!"

"Really? What's wrong, play with us!"

"Please play with us! Just one round! I promise!"

At that, I just can't stand it anymore, there is a roaring fury in me that explodes and I yell at the top of my lungs

"BALDERDASH IS STUPID! IT'S BULLSHIT!"

One of my nieces burst out in tears and I can only look on in guilt as as my other brother Andrew glares at me angrily, great...another brother that hates me...fun. I storm out and I see you following me, why do you follow me? Leave me alone, just let me get a smoke, at that moment I can see one of the dog shit cleaners whirr by, it's a small machine the height of my ankle and it sucks in the shit and sprays the sidewalk clean and I walk past and go home...I have to do this, this is everything I will do, to sign up for the trial and to cast you out for good, you had a great run but you need to fuck off.

I arrive at a grey concrete bulding with narrow Rainbow stripes running up the side and I can see the sign of the bulding is in Japanese and I enter and a Japanese woman coldly greets me and hands me a clipboard filled with paperwork, judging on the amount I have, I'm gonna be here a long time just filling out papers. Fuck my life. Another guy next to me adds "Ooo five bombs eh? See that? That's where the money comes from." Sure enough, there are five bomb logos printed on it and I add

"Is it safe?"

"Hell no! The more dangerous, the more money! That is usually how it goes."

I look down at the form and then sign it and turn it in and the intercom says

"Johnny Lawrence to intake exam room four"

The Asian woman bows before me and I bow back and I sit down in the chair, I'm apparently going to be strapped to a lie detector machine. The blood pressure cuff is slipped on my arm and a pulse ox device is placed on my finger and a galvanic skin response device is placed across my chest, she then asks me to tell her how I feel when I see a series of photos. I can hear the clicking of the machine as the metal needles move up and down the paper, leaving trails of red, recording my reactions and my responses and she starts with the first photo which is a bottle of pills and I reply

"Poisoned"

The next picture is of a family, sitting around a table and enjoying a meal and I reply

"Suffocated"

I then see a ink blot and I reply

"Confused."

The test goes on and soon she says "I want you to turn your attention towards me as I ask you this final question." And I look up into her expressionless eyes and I hear a ding and the green light next to me lights up and she said "Congratulations, you have passed the test, you are now in the ULP Phase III trial." She bowed at me and I bowed one last time and I left the exam room, perplexed at what was the final question. I sit down, holding my badge that is labeled with the number 1 on it and as I look up, I see a man I never thought I would ever see again in the flesh, Daniel LaRusso and he is yelling at a test protocor screaming "This is bullshit and you know it! PATRICIA LUGO!" And he storms off after the woman that handed me the clipboard, I don't know what does he want with her but FUCKK!!! HE WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE! DAMMIT!

End of part Two

I get up for the day and I stretch the kinks and massage my knee, fuck, that knee has been giving me so much chronic pain for so long, I have resorted to opiates to at least bring the edge down, it doesn't help much with my life, I don't have a job becuase I'm labeled a "Drug addict."

I'm a drug addict for trying to relive chronic, never ending pain from the shattered knee, it's the same knee that suffered a devastating injury at the tournament and yet I managed to defeat Lawrence, Chozen worsened the injury and when I worked in construction, an accident shattered the knee and now I have to put it in a brace so it doesn't cave in on the weight that I put on my knee.

I slip on the brace and grab a stack of magazines and some cash and walk to the nearby store and ask for some cigarettes, the clerk asks me how I am going to pay and I snap

"I'm gonna pay with an AdBuddy."

"No AdBuddy payments accepted here."

I groan and pull out what little change I have and I slam it on the countertop and then he hands me my cigars and I light them, soon I feel a bliss sink over me as I limp back to the shared apartment I have with the others and I run to my room...I NEED THAT PILL! I want to suffer in a way that my knee can never give me suffering, this is the suffering that makes me scream and want to tear out my soul and I have begged for death so many times, but really, I am alone.

San Francisco is a boring as hell city, I moved here when my mom died seven years ago, I gave up hoping for healing, my opioids and my cigarettes were all I ever needed now a days. I swipe the drawer open and open the bottle. The pill is shaped in the letter "A" and I sigh, this is my last pill. I say

"This is it, you are my last pill, then it's fuck you forever."

I then sit on the couch in the cramped and messy living room and I grab the remote control and mash the pill up and snort it all up and gosh...I'm in it.

I wake up hours later, I'm in tears yes, but I am alive, this pain reminds me that I am alive, that I am breathing and that I am fighting, that I'm still awake and that I'm still ok. But I have to pay someone a visit, someone I haven't visited in forever, someone that I haven't spoken to in forever.

I then go to my wallet and yell at my roommate

"Who stole my money?"

"Well you haven't paid your share of the rent in two months!"

"MAYBE IT'S BECUASE I HAVE CHRONIC PAIN AND I CAN'T WORK! I'M ON DISABILITY!"

Oh wow...way to go you son of a bitch, you had to screw that up. Well then, let's try another tactic, the puppy brown eyes and some pleasing.

"Well can I at least have twenty bucks?"

"Well then, fine take some. Calm down junkie!"

Oh Fuck you bitch, like you had your knee kicked in and your knee crushed by some careless truck driver who was high on No-Doze to realize you were nearly under the fucking truck.

I snatch the bill from her hand and I go to my cousin Louie's home, as usual, he is in his A-Void pod, that antisocial idiot hates everybody, well I need his money and I need it now, I'm a man on a mission and nothing is going to stop me. One problem, he changed the combination to the safe and I grunt and I head out to the backyard and i find the pod and press the button and say

"Hey Cousin? How are you?"

A mechanical click and then he replies

"Fine."

I snort

"Your yard looks like a fucking mess."

And it literally is a fucking mess.

"Oh um...what's the combination to the safe."

Another click and a whirr and he replies

"I changed the combination to the safe."

"Thanks for the information Captain Obvious. So what is it?"

"Your birthday."

Really? Fuck you.

"I brought you something to eat."

"Applejacks?"

"Yea."

I slam the cereal on the table top in the dining room which looks like it has seen better days, I step over rubbish and junk from the good old days and I then enter the combination and then I grab the money and then leave, funny how my cousin used to be married until his wife was shot to death while coming back to work, I guess in a way, he can't move on from his loss like I can't move on from mine.

I stand at the bus station, ready to buy the bus ticket to Newark, but as soon as I want to enter the bus station, I want the A pill, I want it so badly, I can't resist the urge and I mutter a "Fuck you" and run off. I'm so ashamed and angry, I am weak and pathetic, that's all I'll ever be.

I approach my friend Kamreon who is playing chess with a foul mouthed furrie and the man is winning and Kameron is my source of these pills, I know that he can get me to them, I know so. I approach him and I ask

"I need more A pills."

"I can't, these pills are really hard to procure! These are from my dad's work!"

"Then how do I get into Neberdine?"

"Sign up for a study, help my dad make millions, for all I know, you could be testing deodorant for a week."

Fuck no, I am NOT going that route, to just end up testing deodorant, no way!

"Gimme a name Kameron! Any name!"

I slide over a one hundred dollar bill and he sighs and gives in before replying

"Patricia Lugo, and can I say something as your friend?"

"Yeah?"

"You sound like a junkie."

I roll my eyes and reply

"I am NOT a junkie!"

And I run off to a store that can dox that woman and give me something to work with.

End of part three

I soon arrive at the doxxing shop and a bored Asian man looks up at me and asks

"What can I do?"

I look to the side before scribbling onto a notepad and hold it up to the Plexar glass barrier and the unamused looking man adds

"Can't read your shit writing."

I roll my eyes before adding

"Lugo. Patricia Lugo of Neberdine Pharmaceuticals and Biotechnology."

A few clicks of the keyboard later and a click of a mouse and he continues

"Patricia Lugo was arrested for disorderly conduct and public intoxication, had her arrest records wiped by ZipDox in order to get the job at Neberdine. But, ZipDox's records can be easily unscrubbed and that's why I call ZipDox, ShitDox. If you want more, you gotta pay us more than she paid ShitDox to get her records scrubbed. I'll say...500 dollars, and you get a free calendar as a frequent customer."

I sigh and slip the Bill's under the glass partition and he hands the calendar over and then adds further

"Patricia Lugo lost custody of her daughter Usnavy after the arrest and her daughter goes to Hunter College. I could have her daughter kidnapped, I know a few guys with a white van."

I shake my head, I don't want anybody hurt, that's the last thing I want, for anybody to get hurt in my search, my quest for the A pill. Nobody should get caught up in my quest for me to drown myself in self-misery and self-pity. He then adds

"It also says she has a FriendProxy appointment at the Bonsai Gardens."

"I'll be there."

"Ooo interception. Sneaky I see."

He smiles snidely and I pay up and leave and then I cancel her FriendProxy appointment and get a lapel pin with a FriendProxy logo on it and then I stride over to the gardens, they remind me again of someone I lost, someone I cared about, someone who meant so much to me in a fatherly way, the bonsai trees remind of him so much, it is really painful, and suddenly, she comes over and embraces me, breaking me from my thoughts and she says without a second thought.

"Remember when we met here? At this same place?"

"Oh yeah...oh yeah, all the beautiful Bonsai trees. They remind me of so much."

"I wonder what are you talking about? I was talking about the moment we met? Remember when we also went to Chinatown and we went over the Golden Gate Bridge?"

"Oh yeah, and I remember when we went to see my uncle Liam."

"Now who the fuck is Uncle Liam?"

That question brings my thoughts to a screeching halt as she continues:

"Honey? Are you ok? What are your ratings? You do not seem compatible at all."

I'm fucking pissed off, I'm not compatible with anyone and to hell with that bullshit talking lady! All she seems to do is yammer off on a tangent that I sure as hell do not talk about. Before I can stop myself, I cut her off and say:

"Listen up, I'm here to fuck your life up, I canceled your FriendProxy appointment and I'm here to ruin you forever."

She is taken aback and shocked, she seemed a bit stunned by what I was saying and I'm not sure how to react to that as she slowly digests the information and she adds

"What are you talking about."

And what am I talking about? I haven't a fucking clue at all. Perhaps it's the drugs or the energy that's fizzling out but I feel so ashamed and embarrassed, I have no idea how the hell am I supposed to get her to funnel me at all, I quickly walk away to a hall overlooking a pond where koi fish swim around and I see her again and she says

"You know, you remind me of my daughter. She's just like you. Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why are so you desperate to join Neberdine?"

[schnuffel-danny]

every day I think about the time I had to be diagnosed with the Transgenderism Disorder, in order to get a written permission to legally change my name to a gender neutral one (you cannot have a gendered name change unless you are medically sterilized first), and the doctor made me take an IQ test 😭 what if I fucking failed lmao "diagnosis: too fucking stupid to be trans, kill it immediately"

[sketchesofsam]

The Illustration Master Class - A First Timer's Journal

This is a long blog post. It's mostly for my own purposes, but also for those who want an in-depth look at what being at the IMC is like. I have some pointers for first timers, things you might not think of and things to consider in advance. They'll be at the end of the article. I want to thank Dave Palumbo for allowing me to use a couple of his amazing photos too, he's a talented SOB. 

probably won't forget the moment my Facebook messages suddenly started pinging off. 'Congrats Sam!' 'Hey Sam, you won!' I distinctly remember thinking, hmm, what did I win? Did I enter another twitter giveaway or something? Then someone followed up with 'you won the scholarship!' It took me a moment. Then the chat I was in the middle of with my other half suddenly filled with lots of expletives and capitals on my end. Holy shit. I'd won the Muddy Colors scholarship to the IMC, something that had been a long-term wish of mine since I'd found out about it 5 or 6 years prior but hadn't ever had the funds to attend. So to find out that my entry to their scholarship program - through the generous donations of the Muddy Colors Patreon - submitted on a 'what have I got to lose' mentality that was still shadowed by the fuzzy sting of not getting into Spectrum, had scored me the full cost of the course. I'd honestly forgotten I'd applied. Let that be a lesson to those of you who hold back on submitting to things, especially the things that are free. It's always worth a punt. 

So what's it like to go to the IMC? I can tell you that winning the scholarship made the pre-IMC thumbnail assignment a lot more stressful than if I'd paid for it. The weight of imagining disappointing the people who had seen my work and voted for it - artistic heroes of mine -  was pretty heavy. It made me feel like I couldn't just go and do the same thing I'd always done, even if it had won me the scholarship. Before I started drawing, I reconsidered my influences. I'd started a secret pinterest board a few months back simply called 'Ho Fuck That's Good.' Stuff that gave me a gut punch when I looked at it. I spent a lot of time looking at those images and a lot of the others I had pinned. I stopped paying attention to work that I simply found technically impressive, that had awesome composition or great values. I looked for what moved me. Why it moved me. I started making notes about themes I found compelling or that cropped up a lot in my own work. I decided I wasn't going to do just a straight up realistic narrative Whaler Girl piece, I was going to try and make my own work be more like that which moved me. A risky, and perhaps somewhat dumb move, given those same realistic, narrative images had won me the scholarship. 

We were asked to provide 4 or 5 thumbnails, either of our own choosing, or from an assignment provided, such as an illustration to accompany a short story, the likes of which are often published on Tor.com. With themes like duality, death, grief and love in relationships crowding my brain, I created a lot of thumbnails. I wasn't going to take the first 3 or 4 that came out. I did about 20 in total and narrowed it down to the 6 I felt most attached to. Some of them even had hints back to The Whaler Girl in a very asbtract way. They'd come out better than I'd hoped for and I could see a tiny glimpse of the sort of painting I might get out of it. It made me excited to put them in front of my chosen faculty member. 

We were asked to pick a top 5 from the vertiable smorgasbord of faculty. That was hard. It turned out that most people got grouped with their top pick and that dictated who the other faculty were that would give you feedback. I suspect my pick would have surprised a few people. Kent Williams was actually the instructor I was least familiar with, but researching his work, especially his most recent work, it hit the same kind of buttons that my inspiration board had. His work felt emotionally personal and while I knew I didn't want to necessarily paint like he did, I felt he might be able to give good feedback on how to tap into that sense of the personal. Perhaps someone who could help keep me on track with the first wibbly steps I was taking with my own work. I count myself lucky to have landed in the group with Rebecca, Kent and Tara (McPherson). 

I wanted to make a good first impression, but there were so many approaches to the dreaded 'crit day'. Some folks brought only one or two finished colour thumbs, some folks just had small, traditionally drawn thumbnails, occasionally done on arrival the night before. Some brought photo mockups of the exact piece they wanted to work on. All approaches got good feedback. I'd been forewarned that crit day could be rough, but I think the Studio 201 guys were pretty chill. I did peek my head in on the other two rooms briefly. Donato, Greg Ruth and Scott Fischer were all highly animated and I've been told often argued with each other's feedback. Dan Dos Santos, Irene Gallo and Greg Manchess were part of the group that, from chatting to folks, seemed to get the most direct feedback.

I was a little surprised when there was no tracing paper used during my crit. All three faculty members responded favourably to what had been my favourite thumbnail, despite its weirdness. No direct suggestions other than resolving the shapes in my minimal, non-figurative space (that minor bit of feedback would come to haunt me by The Thursday of DOOM, but I'll get to that later). Inspirations like Inka Essenhigh, Hope Gangloff and Dorothea Tanning were thrown my way, I loved all three for very different reasons. It was safe to say inspiration was running high and I had a tonne of positive energy to run with. 

I felt like I was well prepped going into the IMC, but I wasn't. Choosing to go full traditional when having to fly internationally was a pain. I didn't have a lot of the stuff I needed and had to rely on the infinite kindness of my fellow students and faculty to see me through. Stephen, Annie, Chris, Julia, you were all lovely, I can't thank you enough. 

My Tuesday started with James Gurney sat at my breakfast table. That was surreal but awesome. He and his wife Jeanette are as lovely two people as you could hope to meet, full of insight and always taking notes. The previous day's lecture on photo reference was flowing through my mind and I dreaded having to ask fellow students. My figures were both nudes and that wasn't something I was comfortable with, though I thought perhaps I could take individual legs and arms and use a little online ref to fill in the rest. I wish I'd drummed up the courage to ask my fellow students, but that particular social step eluded me the whole week. I spent the day instead with many sheets of tracing paper, figuring out What marks were what. I had discussions with Greg Ruth and Donato Giancola about how to find those shapes and make them fit in my piece. You have to figure out who to listen to, and whose advice to stash for a later date. You get bombarded with advice if you go in as open-minded as I did. I'd thrown myself into a pool I should have been paddling in first, pretty much at the very public deep end. I'll admit I found ways to put off getting to painting, as it was only the 2nd oil painting I'd done in the last 20 years and the company I had in the room was stellar and a little overwhelming. Eventually, I chose to redraw via a grid so I could edit as I went along and I used some reference I shot of my own limbs to help flesh the drawing out. I left Tuesday feeling reasonably positive about the work.

Wednesday was a full day with faculty feedback, up to the first 5 pm lecture. Dan Dos Santos, who is perfectly lovely, but also very honest with feedback, stopped by my easel. Overall, very complimentary, he pulled me on a bit of weird anatomy, that after using a lot more photo ref with the rest of the piece, had begun to stand out. He suggested I grab Rebecca after our discussion. I'd responded best to her feedback, as she seemed to understand what I was trying to do, so I grabbed her after lunch. She immediately told me the leg and anatomy I'd had in the thumbnail had been working, and that if I liked the weirdness (which I did) to go weird with the rest of the piece to make the leg fit. Literally the opposite of Dan's feedback. Feedback is such a personal thing, every instructor has their own view of art and own journey. I'd probably tried to take a little bit of everyone who'd stopped by and given feedback and every little bit had nudged me slightly off the course I'd intended to take. Dan's feedback was spot on, if I'd been after something with a solid grounding in realism, but I wasn't. I was after an emotional feeling rather than muscles that looked like they fit where they were supposed to go. Rebecca suggested I just print the thumbnail out, mount it to masonite and paint on that. But resolve my shapes first. 

That led me to ask Tara for advice and after some back and forth, I thought I knew where I was going, and decided rather than be tied to the values I'd got in the thumbnail to start with, I'd trace down the printed thumbnail and resolve my shapes. All went well, I got the drawing on the board, and aware of the ever-ticking clock and my ability to get feedback on my painting process, I was keen to get started the following day.

I nick-named Thursday 'Thursday of DOOOOOOOM' in my sketchbook notes. With that many 'O's'. It started well, with my sketch on my illustration board, I figured I'd use acrylic underpainting to speed up the process, then seal with matte medium and start on top in oils. I'd brought a lovely lime green and violet with me, my underpainting was done in warm purple-reds as a counterpoint, and I was winging it. It felt good. I stepped away for a bit before lunch and came back after to the horror of a C-shaped warped board. A brand I'd not used before, I hadn't been heavy with it at all. I threw some matte medium on the back in the hopes it would pull itself out of the curve, but it only stiffened. I think panic set in at this point, I knew there was no point in doing more on the board, but I'd been stubborn over mounting the printouts I'd done. Old dog, new tricks and all that.

Distraught, I knew I had no choice. I slunk off to the back of the studio and tried not to blub my eyes out as I tried a totally new method of mounting with less than perfect tools. Flustered, my hair constantly got stuck in the medium, making me even more panicked that the whole thing would be a disaster and that I'd missed the last supply run and would have to face the very public shame of asking someone for actual help. If there's one thing I hate, it's not being self-sufficient. My fellow students would have happily helped out, but shame is a pretty powerful emotion, it tends to rule what you do. I prayed the mounted paper wouldn't need a 2nd sheet mounting on the back to counter the drawing mounted on the front. At best, in the blazing sun, this stuff would take a couple of hours to dry to the point I could paint on it. The wind did its best to prevent me from stacking the board outside and in my hours of deepest bleakness, I figured that maybe if it blew over into the dirt and insects, I'd say fuck it and make them part of the fucking thing too. It was also at this point I realised the printouts had cropped the two thumbnails I'd chosen to work with, altering their composition drastically. My own dumb fault for not setting the page size up properly in the printer. One more shame I'd suck up and live with. I wish I'd asked for help. I think knowing the pieces weren't what I'd initially intended broke my ability to give them my full attention and killed my mojo for the next couple of days. My anxiety rats, as Rebecca delightfully referred to them, were in full swing. 

While I waited for it to dry, I headed back into the studio and mentioned to Rebecca I'd given in with the curved board and mounted the thumbnail and would she have a look over what I'd chosen to do with the background. Rebecca is gracious and lovely and patiently listens to me explain what I've done. Then she points to some of the graphic elements I'd put in and gently says that they still feel too literal and forced, that the motifs I choose should be something I relate to closely and that it doesn't quite live up to the right hand, figurative side of the painting. I suggest a couple of other ideas, feeling a scrabbling panic bulding in me, only to hear her tell me everything still feels too literal. My logic brain knows she's right, but after a distraught morning, I'm clasping at any straw I have to salvage the situation. I don't know if it showed, and she saw that I was struggling with it or if it was just honest feedback for the moment, but at that point, she looked at me and said 'maybe this piece is a step too far for you right now, maybe you should do the other piece, if that's something that's more comfortable for you.' I think I agreed with her, nodded and extolled the virtues of taking a step back into my comfort zone, getting a painting I knew how to do done was a good thing, yes? But damn if that wasn't a kick to the gut at that very moment. 

She was absolutely right, though. I'd throw myself into a deep pool, with people who were olympic athletes at diving its depths, and in the course of a week expected to be able to at least dive a good distance with them. I'd been able to get my head underwater with my well-planned thumbnails, but in this overwhelming, information packed, inspiring, public test of artistic mettle, I'd punched above my depth, so to speak. Trying to shift gears artistically when you have your own space and the time to find your journey is one thing, I don't know if it can be done in a week, no matter how much amazing input you get from your artistic heroes. Chris, Erin, Annie, I'm sorry if my energy those next 48 hours was a bummer, it wasn't a place I was familiar with being. 

Kent Williams came to the rescue of my very bruised ego that evening with a talk about his personal journey through art. Indirectly, seeing the bredth and depth of his work over such a long time span, I confess to feeling a little idiotic that I'd expected to be able to make that leap in a week. Every faculty member who gave a talk like that had shown me that their journeys were long, and often fraught with failed ventures or periods of doing artistic things they didn't want to. I left the lecture with my tail between my legs, but a renewed sense that I would do my best with the hand I'd given myself. I did a couple of colour studies that evening, traditionally, inspired by seeing James Gurney's master studies in his lecture. I loved doing them, and wish I'd had more time to do more. But I found a piece online that had a palette I liked and did a couple of explorations of a similar theme. I finally, finally, 4 days into the escapade, managed to put down some oil paint. 

Friday and Saturday I painted as much as I could, but tentatively, I was making marks I'd never made before. I listened to the feedback being given around me and let anyone who wanted to stop and give me feedback, do so. I'm not sure I actively asked for it. I struggled as the ladies around me with their amazinly characterful pieces drew the attention of everyone who went past. I wondered if I was so far off the mark and weird that no one knew what to say about my piece. Maybe it was so bland that they couldn't praise or crit it. In retrospect, I recognise that my mood and lack of decent sleep was tinting my mood heavily, and I suspect I was giving off the same vibe, which is enough to make folks give you a bit of a wide berth. 

The theme of finding your niche and doing what you love came up in more than one lecture over those days. I went to bed at 2 am both nights, in an attempt to get as much done as I could. I socialised a little more, realising that was as much a part of the experience as the painting. If not more. I'm hugely thankful for the bonds I forged during that week, something I couldn't have done at home, no matter how much I painted. Those bonds were worth much more to me than the painting I half finished. I think I came to accept that what I wanted to do was going to be a journey that needed a little longer than a week to take. I wish there had been more 'round table' lectures with all the faculty, seeing them interact together on the business lecture was amazing. 

Sunday was chill. I'd had the intention of painting more, but clearing up took a while, and I felt good being relaxed. So I socialised more instead. Our final lecture with Donato was the perfect note to end the experience on and the open house was a chance to take in everyone's work, the standard of which was amazing. After a super tasty mexican dinner and strawberry margherita, the bar beckoned. After drawing I don't know how much hentai in people's sketchbooks and getting a badass Bill Nighy sketch from the awesome Bud Cook in my own sketchbook, alongside the weirdest pseudonyms and animal drawings ever, I crashed and burned as being under the influence after a week of mental stress and lack of sleep took its toll on me. Conan, thank you for making sure I got back safely that night, I really appreciate it, I suspect I'd have passed out in a dark corner of the bar otherwise. Sad I missed out on the late night partying that ensued, but damn, did I need that night's sleep. 

So there's one woman's view of what it's like to go to the IMC, to throw yourself at the mercy of the faculty and your own desires. To fail and not deal with it well, to realise that the painting was never the important thing. IMC was amazing. I can only hope this gives those of you who haven't been a teensy insight. I'm not going to cover what the lectures were or what faculty shared with us, that's a very specific IMC experience, that you really have to go to appreciate. I will say I am hugely thankful to Dan, Rebecca and all of those on Muddy Colors who made that experience real for me. It has enriched me in ways I suspect I'll only realise as my journey continues. Thank you to everyone who gave me kind words and praise and to those who tried to guide me on my way. If ever the opportunity arises for you to attend, I would say grab it with both hands and run with it. Even if your experience doesn't run as profound as mine, and it simply lets you have some time to paint whatever the hell you want, being in a huge room full of people going through the same thing is well worth the price, not to mention watching faculty paint in real time is invaluable. 

So, what if you've taken that leap, some months from now and you're going to the IMC? Here's a few pointers from someone who thought they were prepared and was woefully not. 

1 -  THE DORMS Are basic AF. I was somewhat prepared, but when the FAQ says the beds are firm, they mean it. Think springs wrapped in a bit of plastic tarp. The sheets are functional, but the blanket looked like someone had put used dog bedding through a shredder and mushed it out into a rectangle. I bought a spare blanket at the CVS store, cause no way was that thing touching my skin. I may be a little sensitive though. I affectionately referred to the whole set up as my prison bed, cause honestly, that's all I could think of. If you can bring your own bedding, I'd recommend it.

The dorm bathrooms are gender neutral, which means anyone can use them. I was fine with it, but it's odd the first time you wander into the bathroom and find the opposite sex brushing their teeth. I never had any problems taking a shower, though, they were pretty quiet. 

Morris Pratt Dorm was definitely the more social, I was very thankful to be on the 3rd floor, as a light sleeper, the partying into the wee hours would have kept me awake had I been on the lower floors. The box fans helped with white noise, but the doors are all pretty heavy, so unless folks are very delicate with how they close them, expect some noise. I found the box fan enough without the AC, even when it got pretty warm on the last couple of days. 

2 - FOOD. Having never been to a large educational establishment in the US, I wasn't sure what to expect with the food. Would I have to venture into Amherst to find healthy stuff, would there be much choice? The food was surprisingly decent. It's still a large facility, so it's never going to be amazing restaurant quality, but there were a few choices every day and a well-stocked salad bar. They even had a soft serve ice cream machine, that I managed to avoid until Sunday. I'm not a coffee drinker, but I had it on good authority that the coffee in the dining hall wasn't great. It might be an idea to bring a drinks container with you, as mealtimes are the only time you can get drinks on campus, outside of water fountains. Amherst is only a 10-minute walk down the road, though. 

3 - ART SUPPLIES AND STUDIO SAFETY. I brought paints, brushes and surfaces with me, with the knowledge I'd ordered a couple extra things for while I was there and that there was a supply run. If you work on specific surfaces, it's best to bring those with, Michael's wasn't super well stocked, and more speciality things like large clayboard weren't available. A lot of people bring extras and are happy to share, thankfully. I would have brought more old rags or kitchen towels and some tape. People often used walls to tape up thumbnails or other pieces of art.

The university runs a very strict number of safety policies surrounding paints, water and mediums. Bring some lidded jars with you for mediums and water. Everything has to be labelled clearly and remained closed when not in use. Even water used for rinsing acrylic and watercolours. All have to be disposed of carefully too. Same with anything you wipe paint or mediums on, so using something a bit more disposable like kitchen towel might do you better. They ask you to cover your oil paints when not in use, though that can be with a simple piece of palette paper. 

If you choose an easel, if you have space for a little extra table, you'll likely make good use of it. The chairs they supply are also very basic and not comfortable for long periods, so bringing a cushion is definitely a good idea.  Oh, and they say the studio opens at 8 am on Monday but I got there at 8 am and a lot of the spaces had already been taken, so if you want prime real estate, get there early! 

4 - SELF PROMOTION This sounds like a no-brainer. I brought business cards for the faculty and my portfolio review with Irene Gallo. I thought I'd sorted my work out reasonably well, but actually, my website would have been a better place to show off my work. I also wish I'd brought a physical portfolio to leave out for students and faculty to flick through, perhaps an example of finished work that was either nicely printed if I was doing digital, or one of my traditional pieces. The latter is tricky when flying. My business cards were on the pricey side so I wish I'd had some decent postcards or stickers, printed for the open studio, where folks were picking stuff up. You never know who's going to pick one up! The internet can be spotty in the building, so unless you have some 4G going on, it can be tricky to show off folios digitally. 

You might also be lucky enough to score a second portfolio review if the guests have enough time, I am so glad I could put my work in front of WotC's Jeremy Jarvis. It cheered my Saturday up no end! Make sure you check the lists when they go up and bag your second spot early. And don't puss out. 

5 - DON'T BE AFRAID TO ASK FOR HELP I'm stubborn and British, so asking for help is the worst, but everyone there will gladly help you out if they can. Especially the assistant team, Daneen, Julia and Stephen and the 'honored easels' who've been in your situation. Take advantage of them, they are all lovely people.

And that sums it up! An amazing, tiring, exhausting, mentally demanding, inspiring, overwhelming experience that I wouldn't change for the world. I hope to repeat it in the next year or two. I count myself lucky to be part of the alumni and perhaps if you're reading this, I might see you there too. 

[penrosestudies]

unedited, wrote in one sitting so = almost crap PT3 tips

Alright, I'm in form 4 this year so I'm probs not entitled to give advice for SPM but hopefully, I can help with PT3.

THE PROCRASTINATOR'S GUIDE TO PT3 TLDR; PT3 sucks, ace your folios and oral assessments and bust your ass for science and maths.

I'm going to make it in list form, so based on my opinion on the difficulty on getting an A. Easy to hard.

1. FOLIOS Please for your own sake, ace your folios. The is the easiest thing you'll encounter in the whole year. Starting from 2017, (ahem the year I had the exams) the schema for the folios are only getting tougher. So, I'll talk about sejarah first. Sejarah needs to be lengthy, no peribahasa please because it doesn't help, at all.

*Do your research. I cannot stress how important this is. Ask your teacher for their criteria, it's almost the same for every year but sometimes it differs so you have to be informed. For example, in the previous years, presentations were not required for the folios, but since it was an easy A for most students, KPM decided to throw in the presentations. You have to note that invigilators will come over and judge some of the selected student's presentations and the marks allocated would be 10, so don't half-ass it.

secondly, ask your seniors on how they wrote their folios. Research on previous topics and make sure you grasp and comprehend what the topic requires you to write. Here's a vital tip, you can ask your teacher after you finish a topic for comments and on where should you improve. ( it's allowed but if your teacher is an ass then :( )

*Finish your topics on time Don't spend too much time or too little time on the parts. Follow the time your teacher allocates for you. If you manage to mess that up, be prepared to cram out a massive paper 3 like essays that will make you regret your whole month. ( My tablemate and I took it to the last minute to write out out kesan, ikhtibar and some other crap and I'm telling you, it ain't pretty. But I aced it because I wrote the drafts in advance and copied it at school. You're not supposed to know the marks but I got a 95 ;0 )

*FUCK// FHCI You need to follow the FCUK/FUCK rule and the FHCI rule. Which are faktor, usaha, cara/ cabaran and kesan rule and the faktor, huraian, contoh and inferens rule.

It's best that you make each faktor a paragraph.

* follow the format Really. FOLLOW IT. If you're not sure about it, ASK. The format's what giving you the marks esp in the first few pages.

Conclusion- This applies to geography too, but in geo. it's much harder. You have to draw maPS and use very specific keywords. I won't elaborate but you're welcomed to ask.

2. ORAL ASSESSMENT Practice makes perfect. Memorize ungkapan menarik and listen to podcasts when you can. Some final ungkapan like menyusun sepuluh jari and meminta maaf jika tersilap kata dan terkasar bahasa may seem a HASSLE, but it does score some sweet marks.

Also, READ READ READ. The topics for the oral asses. will mostly come from popular essay questions (for BM) and current issues.

3. SCIENCE and MATHS You really have to wade within the syllabus to ace this.

Reread your texts from Form 1. Do a shit load of worksheets and past years. The hard work will pay off. Reading will prove to be useful for science and the worksheets will make your PT3 maths less painful.

For science, revising some concepts out of your syllabus will help. Besides, KBAT questions can be accessed from the net so give that a lookup yeah?

4. LANGUAGES BI Get your marks at the error identification, literature components and information transfer.

Essay's a done deal if you've been procrastinating. If not, just reading constantly and brushing up your vocab will do you a lot of good since the english standard here is extremely low. No offence, Singapore PLSE's writing standards are identical to what SPM marking teacher's want to see.

BM NOVEL NOVEL NOVEL. The most beloved part of the exam, KOMSAS.  WHY? because if you understand it, you don't need to memorize it. Persoalan can be used for nilai and tema and pengajaran and etc.

Reading a lot applies to all languages really, so... yeah. Having an arsenal of peribahasa also is very useful.

Tatabahasa is kinda okay, because there will be one sure question concerning bahasa istana so go brush up on that.

I forgot about the rest.

BC ahahHAHAHA I have never received any mark higher than 65 for this damned subject but got an A for PT3. SLAVE FOR BC. PLEASE MEMORIZE YOUR MINGJU LIKE THE BACK OF YOUR HAND There are alot of tips for the pemahaman part but I'll have to explain them in every detail so ask away if curious.

and for the guwen texts..... there are a set of vocabs you have to know, and if you read the question you can get the gist of the story ( super advised) then you can start dissecting the text from there.

5. KHB I choose perdagangan because I wanted to die.

The only way out of this is to STUDY, make notes and charts and flashcards. There's a lot of ground to cover so it's best that you are familiar with your sukatan and your chosen bidang.

[cerullos]

Hi! I'm not sure if anyone's asked you this before, but I was wondering if you'd be willing to talk about your experience with the disney college program, like the application process and the role you were in and everything? I'm really interested in applying for next year but it's all a little overwhelming and it would be really awesome to hear from someone who's actually gone through it! Thanks so much!!

i had a college program tag, so if i had it would be in there but i think that tag ended up being mostly…casual day-to-day text posts rather than useful information about the program lmao. but yeah! i’m actually planning to apply again soon (applications for spring 2018 drop in mid-late august). there’s the application for the general disney college program, the culinary program and then various applications for professional internships. the regular college program will place you in a $9-10/hour minimum wage job (merchandise, attractions, lifeguard, etc.)  but professional internships are higher-paying, much more selective more like typical internships (roles at team disney and other office buildings on property, or career-specific roles like research development or marine biology at epcot). you’re allowed to apply for multiple professional internships on top of the regular college program (they suggest applying for no more than three iirc) and that’s probably what i’ll be doing this summer.

this will probably be very, very extremely long because…there’s a lot but skim as needed! 

professional internships require all the usual tedious prep-work (updating your linkedin, resume and cover letter, an application screening process and two phone interviews) but the general college program is a lot less rigorous! you get guaranteed housing, complimentary transportation, and free admission to the parks either way. applying for the regular college program is basically a three-step process. when the applications drop (in late august) you’ll fill out your basic information (personal information, work history, etc.) and they’ll also ask you to weigh your interest in each role. you can choose between “high interest,” “medium interest,” “low interest” and “no interest at all,” and if you genuinely don’t feel capable of performing a certain role or just don’t want to do it, mark “no interest at all.” they make a genuine effort to place you in roles you marked with high/medium interest, but if it’s a short-staffed season, they can assign you to a role you’ve marked “low interest.” that being said, imo try to avoid assigning “no/low interest” to too many roles, because a) it gives them fewer opportunities to place you and b) it makes it look like you care about yourself more than disney…not to be wild but disney Does Not Like That one bit. 

pretty much everyone is passed onto the second step which is the WBI (web-based interview) but this is where you need to be…careful. if you’re nervous, i would recommend searching “dcp web-based interview” on youtube, google, etc. for an idea of what you’ll be asked. if you’ve worked minimum wage retail jobs before, you’ll probably have seen something similar (i took a web-based interview to work at macy’s and it was somehow even worse than disney’s) but it’s basically gauging a) your competency (not w/ a specific role but just like: if a kid gets hurt, what do you do? if a guest complains, how do you respond?) and b) how much you value the opportunity/how hard you intend to work (like: do you mind working late hours? do you mind working holidays and weekends?). people will tell you to be honest…um. do not. literally no one wants to work christmas day and new years eve (i worked both), but saying that makes it look like you don’t care. a friend of mine attended a lecture during our program and someone involved in the application process basically confirmed that no one actually expects you to be honest…it’s a test of loyalty to the company. i was also told that if you fail the application process 2-3+ times and keep trying, they’ll automatically admit you because you’ve shown how much you care about disney…showing enthusiasm for and commitment to disney is literally the #1 thing they’re looking for. they’ll train you in how to do your job on site. 

the third step is the phone interview and it’s pretty typical of phone interviews, if you’ve ever done one before. i’ve actually done it twice (i got into the program earlier but had to decline the first time for personal reasons) and your interviewers are usually very friendly and patient…the whole thing lasts 10-15 minutes at most. again, you can google and youtube search “dcp phone interview” and find a list of the exact questions you’ll be asked. i’d recommend looking each of them over and getting an idea of how you would answer, but don’t type it out and read off a paper. you want to sound personable/cheerful/etc. (more so than in your average phone interview) and it’s worth being less than eloquent or stumbling a little here and there if you can stay smiling throughout the conversation. in my exp. they’ll start by asking general questions about your interest in the program (why do you want to do this program? how does the program relate to your area of study? are you comfortable living with multiple roommates?) with some one-offs thrown in like “what’s your favorite disney character?” then they’ll segue into asking you jobs about specific roles…usually 2-3. these are the roles they’ll be considering you for (like, if they start asking you about your experience with a video camera, you’re being considered for photopass. if they start asking you if you’re comfortable with public speaking, you’re being considered for attractions). at the end, they’ll ask you if you have any questions, and it helps to have one prepared (again, pretty general phone interview procedure). you can also request placement at specific parks or resorts at this point, but don’t expect a guarantee. 

re: housing, if you’re going alone, i would say to make a facebook if you don’t already have one (you’ll use it for trading shifts during the program anyway), join some DCP groups for your class and hook up w/ people to room with. they’ll ask you to rank the dorms in order of most to least interest…imo just put vista way last lmao. 

imo, it’s worth knowing going into this that the workload is no joke��you get a week or so to settle in, but once you’ve attended traditions (a 5+ hour lecture where you’re given your ID card and taken into magic kingdom for the first time) they’re going to load your schedules with lectures, basic training, disney history (subtle brainwashing tends to come with the territory w/ these) on the job training, and then you start work. while i was there, you were able to trade shifts either for a different day or for a free day, but i have two friends on campus now and they told me you can’t trade for a day off anymore w/o a leader’s permission b/c too many CPs were missing rent (they take your rent $$$ right out of your paycheck) so you’ll be working 5-6 days a week, and like i said, they absolutely will schedule you to work holidays. you can call out but there’s a points system (i won’t get into that) so you need to be careful when and how often you do. 

anyway…i was chosen to be a lifeguard which was a disaster. disney’s lifeguards are ellis-trained, which means you need to swim eight laps to qualify, and then go through three days of physically intensive training. i was fortunate enough to get Extremely Fucking Sick mid-way through this training, and had to transfer jobs (job-hopping is very, very hard to do and discouraged, so i wouldn’t count on that; i was told right there on the phone that they would see what they could do, but i could potentially be dropped from the program). but they allowed me to choose my role and my location, so…i was kind of spoiled. i was adlib (adventureland/liberty square) merchandise in magic kingdom. i loved my job very much, and i’m desperately hoping i get placed in magic kingdom again if i get in. i worked in all of the shops in lib square and adventureland (so like, the pirates of the caribbean shop, the shops in agrabah, the haunted mansion gift shop and the christmas ornament shop) (EDIT: i forgot to mention that one of the perks of merchandise is that you can pick up shifts at any store, across the parks, the resorts, ESPN and disney springs. so i’ve picked up shifts in most areas of magic kingdom and also hollywood studios; main street was my favorite place to pick up) but adventureland is in charge of the magic kingdom glow carts, and most of the college programs and younger cast members are assigned to glow carts 24/7 because we’re younger and it’s…a lot of work. this was a very specific outdoor/crowd-intensive role that you probably won’t be dealing with (they do have glow carts in all of the parks, so you never know!) but i adored it. i got to attend all of the christmas and halloween parties free, wear the christmas and halloween costumes, and watch all of the parades. i got to watch wishes every night (and occasionally celebrate the magic and other castle shows, if i was on main street or in the castle hub) and had lots of Magical Moments™ which you’ll learn about if you wind up in the program. 

this is absurdly long but there’s just…so much to cover it’s a little ridiculous. imo it’s a bit of a double-edged sword. if you do love disney/the parks, i really, super highly recommend doing this internship. if you’re not 100% up to your ears in childhood nostalgia for disney, the DCP will probably drive you up the wall from sheer, constant overexposure to all things disney. i left campus maybe one (1) time, for the orlando pride parade…i ate only at disney restaurants, talked only to other cast members (parks gossip and what fireworks shows are getting replaced with new fireworks shows, etc.), every single night out was at the parks. and i loved it but some…did not! if you do like it and want to continue, adding all of your cast members (especially leaders) on linkedin/facebook/etc. and keeping in touch with them is essential…i didn’t do that and i’m kicking myself for it daily. there are tens of thousands of cast members working at disney, and 10,000+ CPs alone…it’s an enormous community and it was a very strange thing to be a part of…sometimes very rewarding, sometimes exhausting! but if i was offered a free trip to wdw right now, i would feel weird about going because i feel weird about being there as a guest and ultimately valued my experience as a cast member so much more. so all that being said, i think it’s an experience worth having–again, if everything i’ve discussed here is your cup of tea. 

anyway, if you have any more specific questions i’m sure i could hit you up with a response of a much more reasonable length lmao. good luck, and if you’re planning to apply for 2018, i would definitely consider giving it a shot this august. 

[thelaughinglamb]

To what extent do you think one's path should be about educating oneself in established traditions, and to what extent it should be about learning on a more personal level, discovering your own beliefs and honing your own doctrines? I'm starting out in paganism (no denomination, yet) and the amount of information that already exists is at once enlightening and intimidating. If you don't do things "the right way", do you think there's a certain risk level there? And why? Sorry for the long ask xx

First of all, there’s no need to apologize. I think detailed questions are interesting: they show a person with investment in the answer.

I think that the initial question is an intensely personal one. I’ve spent a long time emphasizing the need for a relationship with reality to the extent that I think, regardless of whether a person works from an established tradition or an eclectic one, that they should always have source material they’ve chosen to work from. I think that beliefs, much like authority, always need to be scrutinized and justified in some way.

That said, I don’t think that people who work solely out of a specific tradition are better by virtue of their having chosen that path. To the contrary, there are plenty of traditional pagans (even heathens) who don’t invest in a spiritual or religious education. They accept the opinions of ideas of others uncritically.They don’t actively challenge themselves or work to refine what they believe.

Likewise, there are eclectic pagans who do invest that time and energy. When they use a correspondence, work with a god or goddess, when they integrate a practice in any way, they take the time to do the homework. They find their primary materials. They pay those deities the proper respect. They give things their due.

So, that said, I don’t think it’s a matter of two binary choices, but that it’s a matter of creating a solid foundation, based upon scrutiny and rationality. It often becomes an issue of intellectual laziness. Seven times out of ten, a person who just cherrypicks correspondences out of blog posts isn’t going to last very long. I’m not saying that to be mean or to target anyone, but in my experience it often turns out to be true.

That however, is the realest risk. Sure, there is always the chance you could upset some deity and they send a pigeon to shit on your cocktail dress. There is always risk when it comes to doing things like trance work, death witchcraft or really spirit working of any kind. I think that gaining experience in warding is the first thing every single witch should do. Period. But I tend to disagree with people who use scare tactics. I think that most frequently, what happens is that person refuses to put the work in and ends up having a loveless experience. Their perception of witchcraft becomes distorted. They walk away.

That said, there is another question hidden in the subtext. Which is: okay, so, what the fuck do I do?

There really is a frightening amount of information out there when you’re first getting started. Which is in part, why it’s such a shame when people refuse to learn. But information alone is only worth so much if it can’t be used in some way. Knowing what to read, what order to read it in and how to put it into proper context is where the difficulty lies.

I think the best place to start with is the fundamentals. First thing: think about all the exposure you’ve ever had to pagan practices and make a short list. What captured your imagination growing up? Pop culture, media, myth. Personal experiences. Anything you can find that has some connection to the esoteric could be a possible lead in. Then, when you look at the list, try to think of the traditions and practices that are its core. Extract the foundation.

Alternatively, just read. Read about anything that catches your interest. But use a critical eye. Always ask why something is done, even if it seems really cool. Try to get a second opinion.

Find primary source material. Use scholar google to read papers and dissertations. Find blogs that are reliable and cite their sources. When in doubt, send an ask. Try to find books that have good reviews, that come recommended by people you trust. Try to read primary literature on anything and everything that can relate to your practice. Make friends who also practice. Share resources.

One last thing. I may be a heathen, but I’ve done research on taoism, read books on western philosophy, read about italian folk magic and studied japanese myth and legend. Also, obviously I’ve invested in reading about Heathenry above all.

When you choose to work out of a specific tradition, you do it because it works for you, but that shouldn’t limit you necessarily. Traditions don’t have to feel like a prison. They don’t negate the other things you’ve learned or preclude you from using them in some way. But they do however, come with materials, rules and structure that ought to be respected.

[thong-in-the-twist]

Long Island Iced Tea

Summary: to battle boredom, message the hero.

Word count: 3,960

Late night. You love them. Nearly just as much as pulling all nighters.

Right.

You love seeing how office slowly gets deserted, how patrons from glass offices put their files into their briefcases, how they put on their jackets, how the turn off the light, and they walk to the elevators, to go to the bar on the next side of the street, where they order a Long Island Iced Tea, down it in 15 minutes (tops), they get pleasantly tipsy, and they are ready to go home to their wives and their children, to pass out in front of the TV, just to wake up in the morning and go back to work.

Oh, the joys of corporate job.

And then again, you’d love to be in their place, walking out of the building before janitors start to clean up.

But here you are, still drowning in the papers, being dumped with them when your supervisor decided it’s time to go and order his Long Island Iced Tea, but he still needed those briefs do be done, and those contracts over there to be read over, and generally everything is supposed to be ready for yesterday.

You save the last of the briefs, and you can push away the papers you needed for that. You take a sip of your long-forgotten (and sadly cold) coffee, and you turn your attention to another stack of papers, your eyes sliding across the clock.

Few minutes shy of 10PM.

You lose all your will, just as if you were back in college trying to study for the finals. You remember how it felt, opening a book, with an intent, with a will, with a clear goal, to close it after unsuccessful tries to sit down and get it done.

You slide down in your chair, looking around. You are not even in your cubicle, you are in the conference room 12, because you couldn’t fit in your cubicle with all of the papers. You got most of the stuff done, reading shouldn’t take long. If you push it you could still be home minutes after midnight.

But just as if you had an exam tomorrow, you just can’t force yourself to do that.

Out of boredom (and an unconditional reflex) you check your phone, but there are no missing calls nor messages, facebook is boring as well, but you catch yourself scrolling down minutes later.

You groan and put it down, and you bring the first contract closer, and you start to read.

Few pages later you realize that you are no longer paying attention, and your hand is reaching to your phone every few seconds, lighting up the screen, checking the hour, or even unlocking it to hover over fb icon.

And you give up, and you open facebook’s app once again, and the first person you see makes you smile.

Everybody has this one person. This one guy that you sometimes call up, because he is always up for something, the one you can fuck into next week and leave in the middle of the night, without any note, not scared that this could mean the end of an relationship, because there is no relationship there to be broken.

You don’t think much, you pick up the phone, you scroll down your contact list, you find the right name and you open new message.

You don’t even have to think about, your fingers do the work for you.

I am thinking about you… Without hesitation you hit send. You change the phone settings from to silent to vibrate, and finally you focus on your job, with this pleasant tingling just under your skin. Answer comes in about 3 minutes. You are surprised, and yet at the same time you are not. It’s one of those guys always out and partying, so he should not even get your message until tomorrow, but there you are.

Is that so?

I am thinking about you, next to me. On top of me. Inside me.

Next three minutes you spend waiting for an answer. It’s not the first time you’ve done this, and if he answered the first one, he should be sitting with his phone in his hands waiting for you to write. And now he is silent?

You take the phone in your hands.

Your hand in fisted in my hair, the other one on my hip, as you’d take me from behind, my hands digging into the table in this fucking conference room 12.

You send it, and wait again, desperately trying to focus on the contract. But three minutes come and go, and the person on the other end of the line is still silent.

I also wouldn’t mind pushing you into one of those black leather swivel chairs and riding you into horizon.

Null. Nada. Nothing happens. You know he is over there, reading, which guy wouldn’t, for fuck’s sake. Not every day girl goes out like that, initiating sexting.

And he has the audacity not to answer you.

During next 15 minutes you find yourself picking your phone and writing him a dignified (and pissed off) message, but you always put it down, deciding to keep the last shred of your pride.

And then comes a message. You almost weren’t expecting it, so the vibration startles you.

Still at work? Conference room 12?

You look at your phone incredulous. It sounds like he was planning to come, but you don’t recall telling him where you work exactly.

Yes, conference room 12, where the table is sturdy enough to hold us both.

This time he answers immediately.

And yet your nails would leave marks in the wood, because you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. And you’d be reminded of it every time you had a meeting in conference room 12.

You subconsciously run your hand across the wooden surface, realizing, that in fact,you could leave little crescents in it. Not because your nails are so strong, but because the wood is quite soft.

And there comes another message.

Or maybe I would take you out to the elevators, and fuck you against mirror, so you can watch yourself come undone.

You are aroused, but at the same time, come undone? A fuckboy using this kind of language?

Or maybe we would go down on the floor, your nails marking my back, my arms, my ass, fighting me, but I would be taking you, listening to your moans.

Or maybe I would eat you out, with your thighs shaking and tears streaming down your face. You’d love every second of it.

You laugh, of course you would. But now the messages just keep coming.

Or maybe you would be on your knees, between my spread legs, with my cock down your throat.

Yes, that sounds more like the guy you know.

You check the hour and you realize that there is no way you are getting home few minutes after midnight. You look around remembering that you haven’t exactly focused on your work, and as pleasurable as sexting is, you need to focus on your assignment.

You once again bring the contract closer to you and you start reading, just like a student that realizes that they can’t procrastinate studying anymore.

But your phone is still vibrating. Like an alarm in the morning, that you snoozed one time too many. And just like with your alarm in the morning you are promptly ignoring it.

You are in the middle of your reading, when you notice that the motion sensors where set off in the elevators area, lightning it up. You look up, just in time to see the lights being turned on in the central area, where your cubicle is.

The person setting them off is one of the owners of glass office. Tall, broad shoulders, impeccable manners, flawless suits. You’ve worked for him once or twice. Research and contract writing. Easy job, really, but usually quite tedious. That is why senior workers usually seconded their work to workers with less-seniority. Workers just like you.

But you did enjoy being able to move from your cubicle to walk across the floor and go into his office to give him your work. You felt a little bit more important than usual, your pencil skirt hugging your hips and your high heels clicking on the panels. And you did get to see his perfectly fitted suit, snuggling his muscles.

You absent-mindedly follow him with your eyes, idly wondering what made him come back to work at this hour. Emergency with a client? Forgotten keys? Same kind of conspiracy to overthrow other patrons?

He has a briefcase in his hand, and he is focused on his phone, his thumb moving lively, probably writing a message.

On the other hand your phone is still vibrating, so you look down for a second to check it, and you shake your head seeing that he managed to leave you nine more messages, just when another one arrives.

Doors to the conference room opens, and you look up, surprised, and you watch in stunned silence how Senior Partner, Gong Jicheol, enters the room, pulls back the chair across from you, sets his briefcase on the table along with his phone (face down), and sits down opening his jacket, allowing you to see his vest underneath.

He laces his fingers on the table, in very business-like manner, and looks you square in the face.

“Well?”

You are even more lost now, that he is sitting in front of you expecting something. You try to remember whether he assigned you something to do, but you don’t recall anything like that happening.

Maybe one of the contracts is for him?

“Oh, sorry, are you waiting for contracts, sir? I didn’t know that they are needed today, tell me, please, which one do you need and it will be ready in ten minutes, tops.”

One of his eyebrows go up, lazily, and he blinks slowly, his left eye closing a millisecond before the right one. You don’t even know why you noticed that.

“I gather you haven’t read messages.” He says, and you furrow your eyebrows, once again trying to remember getting any messages from him. So you look up at him to ask for more details, but you notice that even though his fingers are laced his forefinger is pointing at your phone, so you obediently take it.

There are only messages from your usual fuck, with the last one being:

I will let you choose your own demise.

That’s when panic hits you, the phrasing is too elegant for the guy you’ve been fucking with, and sheer fear overflows your synapses, and you check the person you’ve been messaging to.

You can feel yourself growing cold, when you realize that you’ve chosen the wrong name, instead of Gong Jinhyun, you’ve chosen Gong Jicheol – it was probably the slip of your finger, but still you messaged one of your superiors instead of your usual fuckboy.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry, I am so so sorry, sir, I slipped my fingers when choosing contact from my list, I didn’t want to harass you.” You stutter out, shaken, and so embarrassed, that you can’t really look at him.

“Oh.” It’s a soft sound, and you hear his chair creaking as he shifts in his seat. “Boyfriend I guess?”

“What–? Oh, no, just this guy I–“ you stop yourself, realizing that if you don’t do that you’ll be babbling. And it’s not like you want to share the detail of your sex life with senior partner.

“Friends with benefits?” You finally look at him, and he looks relaxed. But again his job is to look relaxed.

You nod slowly, observing him intently, and he seems to be doing the same. He finally exhales and moves back in his chair.

“What I am going to say now, will tip on the other side of the sexual harassment, and I am apologizing for that, but I find it justified since you were the first one to cross this line, even if unknowingly. But if you feel uncomfortable, one word, two letters, and I am out of the doors, and we will never go back to this again.” You try to stop your eyes from growing bigger, but you can feel that your face is showing how lost you are in this moment. “I am really sorry, but I feel like this is the best chance I will get to ask. Care to answer to my last message?”

He is looking at you, quite intently, and one thought comes across your clouded mind – he came back here, because he thought that you did in fact offered your company to him.

And hell if he is not the man you’d like to accompany.

Fucking Jinhyun or fucking Jicheol?

As questions go, this one is easy.

“Since you’ve come all the way back, I guess it’s only fair you were allowed to chose.” You say, wondering whether he would hear the lack of honorifics. His left eyebrow jumps up, clearly without his thought, but he schools his face a second later.

“I guess that’s fair.” He agrees, expression still guarded. He observes you for a second longer, and then his eyes fall to his watch, but instead of checking the hour he takes it off and places on his briefcase. Next, he stands up, and you lift your chin, both to keep looking at him and to challenge him.

He takes his jacket off, and folds it over the chair’s backrest. He has white, crisp shirt still on, grey vest and plain tie. He doesn’t spare you a glance and just focuses on opening his vest. It’s meticulous, you have to admit, and somehow really hot.

Vest is off, and it lands on top of the jacket. Then he starts rolling his sleeves up, and you are gone. His arms are tanned, and you can clearly see his extensors working, and the clear line between them on his forearms.

God.

As a last straw – he uses his forefinger to work his tie off his neck. You allow yourself to observe him until his finger reaches his solar plexus, and you decide that it’s too much. You can feel the pleasant tingling of your skin, and your underwear is protecting your skirt from getting stained.

So you stand up as well, trying to look as casual as Gong Jicheol is. You gather papers laying on the table, making sure to organize them, so you won’t have problems with deciphering what is what later. You catch tie landing on the vest in the corner of your eye, and then you are grabbed and pushed against conference’s room window.

It’s one of those enormous office’s window – glass wall, giving a great view on the city. The glass is cold even through your blouse, and his breath tickles the skin of your scalp. You are wearing high heels and yet you are still not as tall as than he is.

Not that you are complaining.

Your hands are pinned against the window, hairs on your forearms raising, both from cold and anticipation, and with every inhale your nostrils are invaded by his scent – lingering smell of soap, dry cleaners and skin – in the end he is not the freshest, and neither are you.

His chest is visibly moving, his breathing more pronounced than usual, signaling his own anticipation. It feels like eternity before something more intimate happen, his lips on your temple, slowly trailing down, to open on your jaw to allow his teeth scratch your skin.

You moan.

It’s voluptuous.

He doesn’t hurry, his upper teeth marking his way from your ear to your chin. You exhale audibly, and you open eyes, which you don’t remember closing. You see side of his neck, stark contrast between white collar and his darker skin, and then his teeth close on your lower lip, pulling it playfully.

You whisper, knees bucking, but you don’t fight the restrains he has you in. You pull your leg to the side, kicking the heel off, and you drag it up, on his hip, so your heel can pull him closer. Thanks to that your skirt rides up, uncomfortably, too tight for the position you are in.

You feel his belt’s buckle on your lower abdomen, and you relish his body pressing into your crotch, your skirt rolled obscenely on your hips. One of his hands come down and he sinks his fingers into your flesh, holding your leg up, bruising your thigh. This means one of your own arms is left to do whatever you please, and you please throwing it around his shoulder, fingers settling on his nape, and you use this leverage to bring yourself forward, so you can kiss him.

He tastes like long island iced tea, and it makes you snort.

How predictable.

Maybe that’s the sound that makes him pull you back, and around. You stumble on your one heel, and you kick it off as well, your hands finding the table to stabilize you. You can feel him staring at you, shiver going up your spine, and you take of your blouse, grateful for presentable bra.

Low, needy sound reverberates in the room and you stretch your arms, finger curling into his no-longer pressed shirt, and he comes to you, more than willingly.

You have no mind left to open his shirt, you are in a need incused haze, and he is distracting you with his lips and teeth on your neck and shoulder, and his hands mapping the expanse of your back and torso, touch delicate, but demanding. In this circumstance you can’t focus, you really can’t, so you just drag his shirt out of his suit pants, and splay fingers on his back, skin hot.

You can hear him breathing, you can hear those minute moans lodged between inhales, and your vision goes blurry, and your pelvic muscles cramp, your head coming to the side to rest on top of his head. His little moans make him appear younger and way older at the same time, but the result most obvious is your spiking arousal

Your nails dig into his flesh, and he growls, and you can feel wetness in the corners of your eyes, and you cannot wait anymore, your finger drag across his skin, on his torso, and you push his shirt up, rolling it at the level of his collarbones and you just push forward, until you can lick the line up his body, beginning at his solar plexus.

He lets you, his hands stilling on your neck, but when you bite the skin above the nipple, his arms fall to your hips and he helps you on the table, and goes on his knees, without even pausing, his fingers still splayed on your hips. You push the stack of your papers away, when you feel the first touch of hot breath on the inside of your knee, damping your pantyhose, and definitely wetting your underwear.

It’s so tender, and yet so lewd, how he drags his teeth up your thigh, his hair brushing your legs. But then his lips are on your crotch, breath hot even through the double layer, and you keen, hands twisting into his hair, and suddenly you are hyperaware, that you are sitting on the table in conference room 12, with Gong Jicheol kneeling between your legs, office deserted except for you two… But if someone were to come back, just like the man between your thighs, you would be on full display.

You don’t know whether he sensed your sudden realization, or grew tired of waiting, but his fingers hooked into your pantyhose and underwear and he started dragging them down, his tongue splaying flat on your labia, as soon as he freed them. It leaves you breathless, stomach hollowed, as you clench your hands, still twisted into his hair, and your toes curl, and you pull back.

When you underwear clears your feet, he stands up, lips finding yours immediately, and you can smell your arousal on him. You hold him close and he pushes you until your back touches the table, wood cooling your skin.

After that it’s all hazed.

He stretches over you to fish condom out of his briefcase, and you buck under him, hips gyrating, legs trying to close as you seek your pleasure. It takes him longer than it should to put the condom on, because you are not helping at all, hands crabbing, nails scratching, lips demanding kiss after kiss.

But the moment he finally drives into you, your hips come off the table, your legs instinctively curling up, closing on his sides, and you trash on the wood, with every slide home, thrust long and hard, nearly punishing, with his body so closely covering your that with every push you can feel him barely brushing over your covered nipples.

You roll your hips, you dig your nails into his skin, into the wood, you search for purchase so you can use it as a leverage to push against him, you slide on the furniture, skin burning, and your bra rolling uncomfortably. His hair is matted to his forehead, but with every hard thrust he sends drops of sweat flying, and even though he is short for breath, and he is mouthing at your neck, hands caressing your sides, or bruising the skin.

He is breathing hard and loudly, moan few and far between, but his eyes are open wide, and you know that he is watching you, maybe storing the image for later, and it makes you feel so beautiful and wanted, that you may be squirming a little more than you really need to.

Your muscles are cramping, and Jicheol lunges forward to kiss you, one of his hands bringing your leg up and pressing it against the table. You keen, loudly, bashfully even, and you chest hollows, and you can’t catch your breath, because he is still fucking you, and he is still kissing you, breathing into your mouth, and you can only do the same, not enough air left in your lungs, and not enough time between the kisses to inhale, but you can’t bother, head going light.

You shouldn’t be surprised, but your orgasm comes like a lighting. It’s so unexpected that you choke on your moan, falling silent, your chest coming off the table, pushing against him, your muscles spasming, and his teeth latch on your neck, biting down, sending a wave of pain-turning-pleasure through your system, and his thrust grow faster, lacking their previous strength and length, but the intensity, makes you loll your head on the wood, no strength whatsoever to fight the satisfaction surging through your veins.

You didn’t moan, but he sure does. It’s a loud, vibrating sound, that settles in your gut and mind, and refuses to leave, even when he rides through his orgasm, and immediately pulls out.

You don’t care, laying on the table spent and sated. You don’t know how long you just bask in the feeling of a job well done, but when you feel fabrics on your feet, you look up, to see Senior Partner already in his powersuit, watch on, vest and jacket concealing the ceases on his shirt – only wet hair showing the workout he got through.

You sit up, disregarding the fact that he was trying to help you dress yourself, and you use his neatly pressed lapels to drag him back up, so you can kiss him.

He goes right into it, tongue licking into your mouth, not allowing you to try to lead it.

Late nights.

You love them.

[neighbourskid]

Future?

(original date: 06 May 2017)

People keep asking me what I want to do with my degree, why I’m studying English and Art History. I’ve been asked this question so many times, I lost count. When I was in grammar school, people asked me what I wanted to do afterwards, what I wanted to study. When I was in secondary school, people urged me to go look at jobs so I could go into an apprenticeship afterwards. Other people urged me to go to grammar school. In the end, I repeated a grade so I could go to grammar school without having to do the entry exam. Why? Because I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. Or too many ideas. When I was in primary school, my best friend wanted to be a marine biologist. I had no real interest in marine biology. Nevertheless, in primary school I wanted to be a marine biologist when I grew up.

See, I never really thought about myself much when I was a child. I didn’t live much into the future, I always lived in the moment. Of course, I looked forward to things. Like seeing my dad again the next weekend. Or that holiday that we were planning for a while now. Or going to the swimming pool next summer.

I remember my mom telling me once that she always thought I would be too dependent on my brother. My brother and me, we’re pretty close, I think. We weren’t the “typical” siblings that fight a lot because they are siblings. Of course, we had our rows, but I think most of the time we’ve been kind to each other. I think what played a lot into that, is that we’re only 18 months apart. We were the same height for a while and some people even thought we were twins. We also shared a lot of interests, I guess. Our parents never forced me into this typical girl role. Of course, when I was four, I think, my godfather gave me a doll for Christmas. I burst into tears upon seeing it. The next year he got me police cars. My mom and I always had our fights over clothes, but she never really forced me to wear dresses or exceedingly girly things, if I didn’t want to.

Our parents treated my brother and me pretty much the same. When my brother got a gameboy for Christmas that one year, I got one as well. I wasn’t forced into liking super girly things, and I don’t think my brother was forced into being super manly. I’m sure, if I were interested in STEM fields (or good at them anyway), my parents would support me in studying in them. I’m sure if my brother would’ve wanted to, I don’t know, be a professional dancer? They would have supported him.

I never really thought much about what I wanted to be when I grew up, though. My brother knew very early on that he wanted to make games and now, several years later, he studies game design. He’s there.

People keep asking me what I want to do with my degree, and honestly? I have no fucking idea. When I graduated secondary school I went to grammar school because I didn’t know what I wanted to do in my life, who I wanted to be. When I graduated grammar school, I tried working for a year, because I didn’t really know what to study yet. I was unemployed for the better bit of a year. I’ve started studying English at university last summer. I am in my second semester now and in one month it’s already finished again. I have 4 semesters left getting my Bachelor at this university. What I want to do with my degree? Not the faintest idea.

Okay, well, that is not quite true. I know what I would like to do with my life, and I suppose my English degree is only helping me achieve that. But it’s not an obvious final destination for that degree. My peers will become teachers or work in advertising, PR, as linguists or do research. Me? I have seemingly unachievable dreams.

When I was in 6th grade, I wanted to be a mangaka, I wanted to draw mangas for a living. I even had the presentation we had to have about jobs about mangakas. My teacher criticized that it was a somewhat invented job (joke’s on you, Mrs W, every job was invented at some point). I soon dropped that dream because I found out just how little life mangakas have once they’ve managed to produce something worthwhile. At the same time that I got into mangas, I also got into fan created stuff related to that. I scrolled through pages beyond pages of fanart, I read some good and a lot of really crappy fanfics, and when that wasn’t enough anymore, little me, who had no computer at that point, started to handwrite fanfiction myself. Handwrite. On paper. Or when we weren’t at home, I wrote them in unsent text messages on my crappy old phone that didn’t have a note application yet. I still have a box full of pages scribbled full with ideas and stories I wrote when I was probably about twelve.

I’ve been writing stories for nearly ten years now. I started in German but from 8th grade on, I wrote in English as well, and once I was in grammar school, English was the only language I wrote in. That’s why I’m studying English. I want to improve my English. Make it flawless. Exercise that muscle, write as much and as often as I can. If I could be a writer, I would take it in a heartbeat. It’s not easy and not something you can study at university, but at least I can study something to help me with my writing.

What I tell when people ask me what I want to do with my degree? Sometimes that, sometimes not, because it’s not all of it. I don’t know if being a writer is the one thing that I want. Especially, what kind of writer do I want to be? That question ties into one of my other dreams.

This might be obvious, but I love movies. I absolutely love going to the cinema, I love the experience of it, sitting in a room with a handful of strangers (sadly, nowadays it isn’t more), experiencing the same thing and leaving the cinema, not as strangers, but as a collective, as a group, as people who have something in common, who have experienced something together. I love that. But I also enjoy watching movies alone at home. I do it all the time. I love watching tv series. Getting into that excitement of what will happen next. Of course, I always whine about how I have to wait a week when I’m caught up with a show and can’t just binge-watch through it all, but it’s actually a very good feeling. You get to think about it for a while and then (hopefully) get the answers to your questions. What I love about the cinematic media, is that it can make you think. It can give you questions, make you reevaluate opinions you had, thoughts you had, knowledge you thought you possessed. Movies have done so much for me. I’ve learned so much about myself through movies and tv shows. I come out of the cinema inspired, ready to go and change the world. I watch interviews or panels from conventions, I hear actors and directors and writers tell stories about their work in the film industry, about their experiences, their life and I… I feel so inspired by that. These wonderful, beautiful, intelligent people create worlds out of thin air, out of nothing, and kids, teenagers, adults, so many different people see these movies and get inspired, they are touched by it. That is so beautiful!

I am so often inspired by movies and I see what they have done for me and I…. I want to give that back. To pay that forward. I know that there are a lot of kids out there who are like me, who find themselves in movies, and I would like to give this back to them. To create things that inspire them. Make a movie that will change their life. That’s what I want. I want to inspire people. Give back to them what the film industry has given me.

Do I want to be an actor? I don’t know. Maybe. I’d have to try it out. I don’t… I don’t actually really care that much what I’d do, I just know I would want it to be there. I would happily bring cast and crew coffee every morning if it meant I would be part of something bigger, something that will someday inspire someone to do great things.

Right now I feel like going into screenwriting would be my number one choice. It has film and writing combined. It also helps that my brain usually comes up with story ideas in cinematic from rather than written. It’s hard writing a scene in a book when your brain supplies things like “establishing shot backed with lord of the rings style music” when you can’t actually write music into your book.  So yeah, I think screenwriting is my choice at the moment.

Why I don’t tell that to people when they ask me what I want to do with my English degree? Because they look at you like you’re a crazy nutcase or a poor child with a dream that will never come true. I know, I live in a small ass country not even close to where I want to be. I know I still have a long way to go. But why look at me like I’m mad? Didn’t you ever have dreams? Did you not want to go out there and change the world? I can not and will not believe that your dream has always been sitting in a stinking office from 9 to 5, typing numbers into a computer and whining about how crappy the coffee in the cafeteria is. If it is, then good for you and your mediocre life. If you gave up on your dream? That sucks, man, and I’m sorry. But please stop shitting on my dream.

I’ve always been a dreamer and I will never not be one. So what do you care if my dream seems unachievable? It’s not your dream. What do you care if I fly too close to the sun? It’s my own damn problem if I fall, not yours.

So please, I ask you kindly, if you feel like asking me what I want to do with my English degree with that wonderful undertone that screams ‘you should’ve chosen some other degree’? Fuck off.