#anyways do i seem like the kind of person who was into engineering and statistics? sometimes it's weird for me to remember.

[orcelito]

Actually it is SO weird to me to remember that I was an engineering student and that later on I had been pursuing a minor in statistics

I may be a IT & com person in the end, but I do have the foundations of engineering and statistics in my brain too. Wild !

[castielmacleod]

Hi! I was wondering what you have in mind about Crowley's R&D department?

Like what else did they produce aside from the angel-blade bullets? Armor against Ruby's knife or angel blades? Salt neutralizer? Fire retardant for bones? New ways of torture? (If crowley made torture into waiting for long lines I don't imagine the R&D department is very active in that particular portfolio)

(and speaking of the angel-blade bullet, did Crowley invent it, they just executed it, or did they research it and go to Crowley with a proposal and Crowley was like yes why haven't you made one yet? Where did they get the angel blade(s) from?)

Was Crowley the one who started an R&D department in hell, or was it always there?

What other departments did Crowley have? Like those actor demons and production crew to create illusion for Kevin--it couldn't have just sprung up for a one shot?

So many Crowley questions... thanks for anything you'd be interested in sharing!

Certainly there seem to be accountants (I think Crowley even described himself as one)?

Did Ambriel and other angels from the birth and death statistics in heaven ever run into soul accountants from hell, and after some half-hearted attempt at battle just resort to insulting each other's statistical methods?

Hello! Thanks so much for the fun questions!

First of all I love the fact that Crowley even HAS an R&D Department. I’ve always had this headcanon that the more corporate, bureaucratic aspects of demon society came directly from Crowley’s influence and innovations and his personal idea of how hell should conduct business. Before he was king, even just king of the crossroads, hell would’ve had a firmer lean into the medieval styling but as Crowley gained power he started to shift things and reorganise…. for instance I think Crowley should have held his court somewhere like this lol. The fact that all demons gradually stop wearing normal clothes in favour of remarkably plain pantsuits could be seen as another implementation of Crowley’s if you want to look over the obvious irl creative laziness on the show’s part. Maybe he instituted a proper business attire dresscode lol

But anyway yea I love the idea of Crowley having this team of like, arcane inventors and engineers and alchemists and spellcrafters and such, working out the ideas he has or on their own, and maybe there was something similar in place before Crowley became king but it definitely feels like something he would think to instal. In either case I think he definitely has them give him tawdry Powerpoint presentations on their newest concepts or progress in some meeting room bsgsjsgsjs. It’s definitely fun thinking up all the little tools or inventions they might have or come up with….. I like your ideas a lot! Some kind of anti angel blade armour would be really cool, maybe in the style of a bulletproof vest (since I think Crowley would tend toward something sleek and modern) that doesn’t look like much on it’s own, but it’s reinforced with warding and has sigils woven into the fabric that causes angel blades to glance harmlessly off of it. Other than that…. maybe shoes that allow a demon to walk through devil’s traps? Lol

Also re: the torture methods omg it’s funny to imagine the R&D people constantly pitching torture methods to a late seasons Crowley who is actively trying to improve things in hell and he just keeps turning them down or coming up with excuses. They’re like “maybe, sir, we could periodically pour acid over them as they stand in the queue?” and Crowley is just like hm :/ and it frustrates them to no end bsgsjsgshsjs

I do like to imagine Crowley came up with the angel blade bullets himself. It’s so equally brilliant and stupid that it’s perfect. I can just see him sitting back in his s8 office chair and staring up at the ceiling thinking of possible ways to deal with angel enemies and going…... angel blades….. bullets.….. angel blade bullets……. and it seems so OBVIOUS he can’t believe no one’s done it yet, surely it must not be possible, but he rings his R&D people anyway. Besides with how proud he is of his of it I kind of want to give him that in earnest 😭

(Brief aside: I like to think Crowley is a more creative person than the fandom or even the later seasons of the show give him credit for. He’s clever, he has a quick wit, he’s extremely well read, he has creative plans and schemes, and contingencies for his contingencies. I even like to go further with the fact that he used to be a tailor, and assumedly designed coats and frocks and fabric patterns and other things from scratch. Idk I just enjoy the idea of him being a very creative person, even artistic in a mostly repressed and under-nurtured way, which is why I like giving him things like sewing and violin and fashion as hobbies. I digress though lol)

I think Crowley has many other departments for sure. That’s actually a pretty big part of the reimagined worldbuilding for s/p/n that I work on for fun. I think the king of hell’s court would be comprised of multiple minor kings (like the king of the crossroads) who serve as the heads of these departments and report directly to thee king. I’m imagining “king” as a term that here can apply to any gender by the way, it just feels most fitting somehow.

Anyway besides crossroad deals and R&D, I can imagine departments for intelligence (a demon spy network of some kind), hellhounds (manage the kennels, train the puppies, etc), PR (would cover the Kevin thing and other larger-scale deceptions I think), human resources (but they do vessel procurement and not actual HR work bsgsjsgshsjs), reaper relations (facilitating the transfer of damned souls from reapers to hell representatives, in situations not involving a hellhound), and other basic things like soul accounting as you put forward, and maybe torture program statistics….. probably dozens more minor depts that focus on extremely specific niches too. Department whose sole purpose is drycleaning all the late seasons demons’ pantsuits lmao

Ambriel and other heaven accountants meeting up with some demon accountants for a pint or something to commiserate about their jobs would be so silly but in a fun way. Heaven accountants and demon accountants getting into a mild barfight over passive aggressive soul stat comparisons would also be silly but in a fun way. This is all making me think there should have been a pub specifically for supernaturals in the show that angels and demons would both go too, amongst other beings…. at LEAST an angel pub and a demon pub right across the street from each other. Low-hanging fruit maybe but bsgsjsgshs.

Anyway sorry this got so long, but I hope you enjoy at least some of the ideas here!!

[goldens0422]

Beautiful Shadow - Anidala Fanfiction

Prompt (not a request): The shadow of a person is that of their soulmate's.

It all started when Anakin turned 18. As he walked outside alone and went along his typical walk, he noticed how odd his shadow looked. It was so odd that it didn’t even look like him. His shadow was smaller than he was, more petite, and perhaps prettier. Around two days after noticing it, he decided to look at it closely. The shadow appeared to be a small woman, slim, wearing a dress, and with curly hair. Whoever that woman was, she had a pair of arms smaller than his and a pair of hands smaller than his. Despite how little she knew about this shadow, however, she was beautiful to him already.

____________________

Padmé was closing in on her 22nd birthday when she noticed it for the first time. She and Sabé were walking together on their way to go shopping. Her shadow was “taller” than Sabé’s and undoubtedly taller than her. Padmé stopped when she noticed this and told Sabé of it, and she noticed it as well. Still, she shrugged it off…for now.

She examined it later that day. A larger man took form of her shadow. She would guess he was well-built and muscular from the way his shadow looked. She couldn’t get much of a hold of what his hair seemed like, but it seemed thick from her perspective. One time, it appeared curly, but she didn’t see it enough times to be sure.

____________________

Anakin was the first to do the research: searching up all of the different ways one soulmate could be associated to another, though people nowadays appear to have dubbed it as “Soulmate Gimmicks.” He guessed that made sense.

Some had tattoos related to their soulmates’ one or had a tattoo that could be associated with their soulmate. Others were colorblind until they meet their soulmate. Others saw this “red string” of sorts that would lead them to their soulmate. Others had their scars appear on their soulmate and vice versa. Others felt the pain of their soulmate and vice versa. The list goes on, though Anakin did already get an idea of what his soulmate gimmick was like.

He stood up and glanced at his shadow for a while, wondering if it seemed familiar. Chances are it wouldn’t be familiar. If it would be, he would’ve already met his soulmate by now. Unsurprisingly, nothing seemed familiar to him at all. Still, he was annoyed by this and let out a slight groan.

Perhaps it might be a good idea for him to go out and have a walk.

____________________

“What gimmick do you have between you and Darred again?”, Padmé asked her sister, Sola. “I forgot what it was.”

Sola revealed her waist which had a tattoo of Darred’s name.

“Name tattoo,” Padmé’s older sister answered. “The most common gimmick out there.”

“So, what do you think mine is?”

“Well, since you see someone else as your shadow, something tells me your soulmate, whoever he might be, is the one in the shadow, and that shadow is a bit of a reference, I would say. When you see your man, he’ll be familiar because of the shadow, I guess.”

Padmé shrugged nonchalantly, “Whoever he might be, I don’t think I’ll meet him anyway. I’ve been full of bad luck recently.”

“Hey,” Sola placed her hand on Padmé’s shoulder. “Your soulmate won’t only be around for a limited time. Whoever he or she is, they’ll be yours for a lifetime. It doesn’t matter how long it’ll take: When you two meet, you two are never going to come apart. Trust me when I tell you that, and if not, trust the statistics.”

Padmé turned to her, “You really think I’ll find him?”

Sola gave a reassuring smile, “I know you’ll find him.”

The younger sister scoffed lightly before standing up, “I think I should just take a walk. Maybe go to the park. It’s only a few blocks away, and I could use a good walk.”

“Okay, well, I’ll see you soon.”

Before Padmé left, she turned to her sister once more, “How long do you think it’ll take for me to find him?”

Sola gave a knowing smile, “Not nearly as long as you think.”

____________________

There was a slight breeze ruffling the leaves on the trees scattered all around the park, and it gave some coldness to the otherwise warm surroundings. The city park was somewhat quieter than usual, and Padmé definitely found that odd, though not unwelcome. The breeze was bringing along some leaves with it, some flying whereas others hit the ground. The fountain was catching some leaves itself, actually.

She looked around, seeing a pair of soulmates watching their son play on the playground while another was sat by the fountain. They all seemed happy, and from what she heard, there was a 0% divorce rate on soulmates, so she supposed they would stay happy. Perhaps one day, she would find her soulmate, but right now, her man was little more than a shadow of what should be hers.

She glanced at her shadow, pondering what could be. She hoped he would be a charming man, a kind man, and an at least somewhat successful one. Of course, she had a lot more details in mind, but that was really the bare minimum of her standards. However, knowing the nature of how people feel towards their soulmates, something tells her she might just throw those standards out of the window when and if she meets him. She just knows it.

She decided to sit down by a bench to watch all the people, perhaps in an attempt to imagine her walking around with whoever her soulmate was. Not to mention, she spent enough time just looking at her shadow.

Someone sat down next to her, and she turned around.

A man was sat down with curly dark blond hair, wearing a leather jacket, shirt, and pants. He was holding a Starbucks cup as well. Goodness’ sake, he was also pretty gorgeous.

The man noticed Padmé looking at him and turned to her, “Hello.”

“Hey,” Padmé smiled almost shyly. “Uh, I’m Padmé.”

“Anakin,” he replied. “Looking for a friend?”

She laughed, “Well, not really, but I could use one.”

“Me, too,” Anakin agreed, laughing as well. “I was here waiting for a friend, but as of right now, she hasn’t come.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure she’s gonna be coming anytime soon.”

“Ah, well, I don’t have any friends either, so how about we go for a walk?”

He got up and offered his hand, “Well, that sounds like a great idea.”

Almost involuntarily, Padmé took his hand.

“So, what do you do around here?”

She shrugged, “Nothing much. I am finishing up my last year in Harvard though.”

He stopped and turned to her, an impressed look on his face, “Harvard, huh?”

“Mhm,” she grinned with pride. “Psychology.”

“That is impressive,” he complimented her.

“What about you?”, she asked, instantly regretting it, but the regret disappeared once he answered.

“MIT, still only just entering though. Mechanical Engineering.”

She was equally impressed and clapped her hands to prove it. Anakin blushed and laughed very shyly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Anakin added, “I probably could’ve sat back and relaxed for a year or two, but if I could get in at 18, I’ll try at 18.”

“Wait, you’re 18? Really?”

“Yeah.”

Padmé was rather similar, having entered at the mere age of 18 herself, but nevertheless, she was still impressed.

“You impress me even more.”

“What about you? How old are you if you don’t mind me asking?”

“22.”

“Well, that must mean you started at a close age yourself.”

“Yeah.”

“So, I am no better than you are.”

She pouted, “You think I was saying you were better?”

He simply shrugged, “You gave me that idea.”

They both laughed before they walked quietly for a bit. The only thing that was on her mind was having him as her soulmate. It didn’t take long for her to write off the idea that him being a few years younger than her would be an issue as she knew he would be off studying while she would be off working. He was a smart, kind, seemingly wise, and handsome young man who was set for a successful career, and while some qualities of his weren’t the type she thought about, she still wanted that type of guy.

“Can I ask you a somewhat personal or weird question?”, Padmé asked.

“Of course, ask away,” he answered as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“That friend of yours that you were talking about: Are they your soulmate?”

“Oh, her? Ahsoka?”, Anakin scoffed before shaking his head. “No, no, that friend is my sister. Adopted.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Speaking of soulmates, have you found yours? That is if you’re set to have one, of course.”

Padmé pursed her lips before answering, “Nu-uh, no, not having much luck on that.”

“Ah, well, you’re not alone. I assume you know your gimmick?”

She nodded and was about to tell him until…

“Wait, Ani, stop,” she held her arm out, not even once considering the cute nickname she had in mind for him that she just blurted out.

“What?”

His shadow. A young woman with a dress and curly hair. Padmé gasped lightly.

Slowly turning to him with hope and love all over her eyes, “A-Anakin…?”

He looked down at the shadow himself and noticed it immediately, and in a similar manner, he turned to her.

This was it.

He tucked a strand of her hair behind an ear and smiled, “So, I guess it’s you then.”

Padmé wanted to reply, but all she could do for the meantime was smile herself.

Anakin placed a hand behind her neck and brought her closer ever so slight, “May I?”

She nodded and closed her eyes, “Of course.”

As he brought her in for a kiss, both knew they would be in for the ride of their lives.

And, they never looked back.

My (Empty) Masterlist

[transsexualhamlet]

so about norman’s ethics

The thing that a lot of people don’t understand about Norman is that he doesn’t believe in the like, political sentiments that he acts on in the slightest. Yeah, this doesn’t make it ok that he did a bunch of shitty stuff, but it’s a misconception to say norman like, genuinely believes fucking eugenics are a good thing.

And yet, he decides to act on the idea to degenerate and genocide the demons and seems not to understand why Emma wouldn’t agree with him. People’s explanations of this seem to be pretty much one of two minds, either:

His morals are corrupt: Norman wants all the demons dead because what they did makes him think they’re all bad and don’t deserve the respect humans get, which is understandable but still wrong, or

His morals are intact but he ignores them: Norman feels bad that he’s doing a bad thing and does it anyway because he can’t find a better way out, which honestly makes what he did worse, though Tragic.

The second one is more accurate, but still doesn’t completely explain his ideas.The truth is that, in my opinion, he just barely understands the concept of morals in general, and what’s ‘messed up’ is simply his priorities. That sounds like I’m saying he’s a twisted cycle path but I swear I’m not, it’s just like him having low empathy. This is another, autism thing, and it’s another thing that I have, so I’ll try to explain it as best as I can?

Personally, I understand and try to follow sociatal expectations for moral things like, you know, do not kill people and what not. Because it’s bad or... whatever. And although I can cognitively understand the reasons why people think so, I don’t value it in the same way. Obviously I wouldn’t kill a person, there’s no need for me to in a world like this, and it would be inconvenient and probably make me feel bad despite not understanding why it is bad. But I’ve known from a very young age if I had the power and reason to kill someone, I absolutely would, no questions asked. Not even the necessity, just a logical reason. Most of the time this means nothing and isn’t applicable in the real world, because most of the people around me would be negatively affected by it. But it means nothing to me personally, and if prompted I could change at the slightest reason.

This is what I think we’re dealing with in Norman’s situation. 

Norman, in grace field, has no reason to violate any intagible laws of right and wrong, in most cases, until the escape arc happens. Yeah, I do believe Norman probably lied significantly more than the average child, because he didn’t see any reason not to, but I doubt it hurt anyone bad, they lived in, well, basically a neverland. He’s just a slightly off white little man. But when he is faced with a risky and dangerous situation, he might look Correct on the outside but the closer you look the more you realize his actions are directly impacted by the situation around him, completely independent of any internal moral compass. 

Ray wants to only escape with those three, because although he feels extreme guilt for being the way he is and completely understands it’s a selfish and terrible thing to do, he’s too cynical to accept any other options. Norman initially agrees with him, because Ray explains the risks. Emma then insinuates she wants to bring the other kids, giving ideas as to how. Norman then switches to Emma’s plan because he believes it can be achieved and he wants Emma to be happy, not because it would be wrong to do otherwise. At the same time, he later ships himself out, without much consideration to the others’ wishes against it, because now that it’s gotten impossible to have both, Emma’s and Ray’s safety is more important now than their happiness. Though he can understand that they’d not like that, it’s not that important to him in the long run. He will choose the path that offers them the greatest chance, if the one his friends want isn’t good enough.

When he was shipped out and taken to lambda, what happened is he was put in a situation where the stakes become much higher. There’s a different kind of situation, and the idea of simply running away from the demons is obviously not an option. When he escapes, and basically adopts the lambda kids- now he’s surrounded by people with the opposite morals and ideas as Emma. These kids want revenge, they would be happy to kill the demons, their ideal situation involves that and trying to reach any compromise would be unsatisfactory. The overwhelming majority of the kids agree with killing the demons, and that idea makes him seem stronger and gives him more certainty and control over the situation, even if it’s difficult and hurts him personally, making him a “Bad Person” to Emma. 

Norman harbors no personal hatred towards the demons, nor any specific desire to kill them. He just doesn’t see any viable reason not to, and killing them provides both him and the people he cares about with a more beneficial situation. Emma is now the minority, and even though she provides an idea that could work, Norman, after seeing so much pain and suffering, is no longer willing to take the risk for her, like he was in grace field. He is incapable of understanding why she values a sense of right and wrong more than the actual statistics of how well one or the other could work- yes, they had different experiences, but she lost other people because she decided to take risks, and she still believes in it? It simply doesn’t fucking compute.

An important aspect to consider is that it still does make him feel bad not to follow a more traditionally accepted route. He might have low empathy but he’s not an emotionless robot. Not understanding morals doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a concience, though it’s much more ambiguous and generally equates to any other thing, such as the actual convenience, details, or certainty of a plan. It’s not of any more importance, and he is in a situation now where it’s inconvenient to pay attention to, more so than in grace field. So not following a Nicer route does take a toll on his Feelings TM, same as it takes a toll on his literal body, but that’s a sacrifice he’s fine with, it’s a sacrifice that’s significantly smaller than the chance that someone he cares for could die.

Generally, most Lukewarm Takes on Norman can be disproven with this idea (pretty much anything that insinuates he would see the demons as less or like, he’s doing it because they did awful things to him, understandable but hey this isn’t tokyo ghoul and he’s not that kind of character), though everyone is obviously free to have their own takes and I doubt Shirai took his autistic coding into consideration, so it’s obviously my own idea.

Although Norman’s actions have correlation with Ray’s before, Norman isn’t disregarding his physical needs and trying to sacrifice himself out of any idea that it would make up for what he did, he’s doing it because it gives him more control over his own situation, he values his own well being less than his family’s, and he doesn’t understand why it would be Bad to do so. If we’re really digging deep, it’s likely he doesn’t want to have to experience any real consequences for his actions. He understands that they’re Bad, but this isn’t important to him, more than anything else. He doesn’t want to see Emma’s disappointment because it would complicate things.

After Emma and Ray, well, complicate things, ie face him and force him to see there are real consequences to his actions past Ambiguous Moral Obligations (ex. “you’re Taking Advantage the lambda kids” means nothing until he sees that it’s stopped them from being able to grow as people and forgive, “you’re neglecting yourself” means nothing until there’s an idea brought up that could fix him, “you’re trying to kill so many fucking people” means nothing until he sees that it’s hurting the human kids.) and that there’s a valid flaw in his personality past that- that it’s not a strong but a cowardly move, he can move forward and attempt to change things, possibly give himself a fucking break. 

In that situation, with other solutions that Emma and Ray have opened up actually seeming to work, he no longer finds it necessary to Be Terrible and hurt himself. This makes him feel better, because he doesn’t want to be Incorrect, it’s just a difficult thing for him to understand, when most other things come to him naturally. I think in the future he can be more cognizant of the fact that he’s more suceptible to doing generally, unacceptable things, and vows to lean more on Emma and Ray so he doesn’t end up going down the wrong path again, because to him they all look the same color.

Yes, this is my long ass way of telling Shirai why the fuck did you let Norman be a CEO. That’s a terrible fucking idea, he’ll become capitalism, guys?! Don’t let him do that. He needs to be in a job where like, he can use his skills without having to make Ethical Decisions like... an engineer or something. Computer scientist. IDK. Just not a fucking CEO, not in a management position for anything.

Honestly, it’s difficult for me to even use the alignment chart because I don’t understand morals enoughto put anyone in the Evil category because the idea of ‘evil’ doesn’t exist for me. So yeah, I’m projecting, but in conclusion I just have a bone to pick with anyone who wouldn’t call norman lawful neutral. 

[haloud]

Ooo, Michael and Liz gen! How about a high school time stamp? Two AP kids both competing for valedictorian.

here ya go! i love these two sm

also on ao3

In the sixth grade, Liz Ortecho swears a solemn oath. She is going to vanquish Michael Guerin if it's the last thing she does. Standing there so smug with his first place science fair ribbon, with his stupid rocket. Anyone could make a stupid rocket. Liz absolutely does not spend the next month of her life obsessed with rocketry, striving with single-minded determination to outdo stupid Michael Guerin's extremely stupid first place project before deciding that rockets were so boring that only boring judges would like them and her efforts would be better spent on better things, like working her way through the rest of the Biology section at the library. Brains were her new favorite subject. Maybe if she understood them perfectly, she could engineer her own to never get beat by stupid Michael Guerin again. It doesn't help that Michael is apparently, suddenly best friends with Max Evans, so she sees him all the time now. And he always grins at her and goes "'sup, Ortecho?" like he knows exactly what he did. Vato. Let's see him be smug after Liz vanquishes him. It's the start of a truly epic feud. Rosa laughs at her for every extra hour she spends studying, every extra trip to the library, every time a perfect score on an assignment adds an extra strain of viciousness to her satisfaction. Rosa laughs even if it's kind of annoying to hear all about how stupid Michael Guerin thought that question 5 was C, HA. You'd think Rosa would have a better appreciation for the agonies and ecstasies of having an archnemesis.

On one of those extra trips to the library, Liz is deep into a plot to climb the shelves when no one’s looking when that hated voice says behind her:

“’Sup, Ortecho?”

And he plunks a stepping stool down in front of her. She glares at him. His face would look way better with a few extra holes in it.

Holding his hands up in surrender, he says: “What? I have to use it too to keep from killing myself by dropping forty pound textbooks on my head. Use the tools you’re given, okay?”

The worst thing about having an archnemesis? Sometimes they’re right.

In eighth grade, Michael Guerin breaks his arm. He tells the story of how it happened different every time, with the same grinning smugness that never fails to make Liz incandescent with hatred.

And then he bombs a math test. (Liz knows because she always sits where she can spy on his grades when they have classes together. Otherwise how will she know if she’s winning or not?)

Michael Guerin never fails math. The odd English project here and there, maybe; his favorite class to sleep in is History. It’s lackluster grades in those classes he seems not to care about that keeps Liz’s GPA maintaining a holding pattern above his. But in all the years Liz has known him, he’s never gotten anything less than a perfect score in Math or Science.

She stares at him, at his carefully blank face, at his infuriatingly casual sprawl in the desk, his legs hanging out in the aisle, his head almost on the desk of the kid behind him, his arm…

His dominant arm in a cast, cradled against his torso, preventing him from taking notes.

Well that just isn’t fair at all.

She spends the rest of the test review period copying her own notes for the past week in quick, neat shorthand. The second the bell rings, she’s out of her seat, smacking the originals down right in front of him.

“Don’t feel the need to give them back,” she said.

Michael’s face stays just as blank; in fact, he barely even looks at her. “What’s up, Ortecho? You won, why don’t you just enjoy it?”

“It’s no fun if it’s not fair, obviously. Just use the tools you’re given, why don’t you? It’s stupid that they haven’t given you a note taker anyway.”

“Yeah, well, a lot of things are stupid.”

But not Liz. She’s smart enough to know it’s gratitude that makes him actually join the Mathletes with her when they start high school, putting them on the same team for once, their two heads together leading New Roswell to its first championship in over a decade.

--

By junior year of high school, Liz and Rosa have saved up enough money between the two of them to buy a used car together. Liz is a perfect driver, perfect record, aced the test first try, doesn’t even speed..and the first time she takes the car out, she ends up on the side of the road, trying not to totally lose it while smoke pours out from under the hood.

This car took all her money and all of Rosa’s, how is it already broken? What will she tell Rosa? How will she afford a mechanic?

Better for it to break down now than for Mom to steal it next time she skips town, a vicious voice says in her mind, and that’s the final straw. Liz lets out a scream from behind clenched teeth and slams the hood down as hard as she can.

“’Sup, Ortecho?”

“Fuck off, Guerin!”

She doesn’t need to hear it, how he outscored her again in chemistry, doesn’t need to hear him ask if she’s got her SAT scores back yet. God, why does he have to be here now? She wants to revel in how she almost certainly schooled him at the essay, god damn it!

But he doesn’t even reply to the bile she spits at him, just pulls over in his beat up truck, pops the hood again, and clicks his tongue at whatever he sees in that tangled, bitter-smelling mess.

“Let’s hitch ‘er up, I’ll give you a tow to Sanders’ and drive you home.”

Liz puffs herself up, then lets it out slow. It’s Guerin. What’s he going to do, laugh at her? Not over this. He may be her archnemesis, but he’s not that.

“I can’t afford the fix,” she says.

“No charge.”

“What? No!”

“Look.” He smirks that awful smirk. “I know you’ll pay me back. We’ve got Physics together next year. Your anguish is all the payment I need.”

“Michael Guerin, you are the WORST.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

But he drives her home with the windows rolled down and lets her set the radio. The passing wind tosses both their hair and Liz laughs at how he looks with his curls in a wild frenzy all around him, and for long enough they’re both just kids. Not friends, no. Archrivals, which is, after all, the next best thing.

--

Liz was valedictorian. For what it’s worth.

--

“’Sup, Ortecho?”

Liz whirls around, and her dress whirls with her. Red, not white. Rosa was over the moon.

Michael is leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, vest and shirt half undone, looking ruffled and dreamy, like he just walked out of a magazine. Liz rolls her eyes at him.

“’Sup, sleazy best-man-seduces-the-bride stereotype?”

“Ouch.”

They both burst out into laughter, Liz doubling over and grabbing the vanity to stay upright, Michael buttoning himself all the way up to the top in a mocking show of modesty, until Liz’s laughter turns into anxious hiccupping and he drops the act as well.

“Liz, seriously, what’s up?”

His voice goes all concerned and understanding, the bastard.

“This is stupid, right? I mean, marriage is such a useless social construct now, and forty-one percent of first marriages end in divorce and fifty percent of all marriages, which is also a relevant statistic because I’ve already fucked over one fiancé in dramatic fashion and maybe I should just leave Max at the altar and get terrible person bingo, and—”

“Hey, Liz, hey, breathe.”

Michael helps her sit and rubs her back as she tries to head off hyperventilation.

“This isn’t stupid,” he says calmly. “You want this. You know you do. You already have Max heart and soul and all that sappy shit, it’s okay to want him legally, too. Use the tools you’re given, right?”

Liz sniffs and barks out a watery laugh. Dumbass.

“Who let you get all wise on me? I hate it.”

“Eh, I’m not wise, I just learned how to be a gracious loser.”

“What do you mean?”

“The big day? The fancy wedding, the ring on your finger? You win, Ortecho.” His face goes all wistful.

“Oh.”

Not knowing what to say, she knocks their shoulders together, and it makes him smile.

“Don’t worry about me. Since when have I ever been far behind?”

For their happiness, as hard-fought as it was, it feels right that they should watch it approaching together, neck and neck. Side by side, like all the best archrivals.

[jaehyun-eclipsed]

Before I Met You | Eleven

Updates: Sundays

Pairing: NCT (Jaehyun, Lucas, Mark, Jaemin, Johnny) X Reader/OC

Genre: Romance, Angst, Coming of Age

Summary: Four. There were four people before I fell in love with you… Here are their stories.

Author’s Note: I apologize that my updates have not been at the time I had originally designated. I’ll still be posting on Sundays (except this week since it’s after Sunday. I’m sorry!), but there will no longer be a specific time. Thank you! 

Before I Met You Masterlist

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Sunday evening, I open the door to my house and walk in to hear chatter and laughter amongst my housemates. My new home was previously a frat house, but had been renovated to serve as general student housing. There were fifteen separate rooms – one to three people in each room and shared common rooms and a kitchen downstairs. The color schemes of the dining room and living room were atrocious interesting – dark blue walls opposite tan and mustard yellow ones with a series of white trimmed windows. The dining room was paired with dark brown dining room tables, a pool table, and several granite-top bar tables. The living room was no better with oddly color-blocked couches and chairs and an ancient piano that desperately needed to be tuned. The dim yellow lighting throughout the house created a nice atmosphere for relaxing, but was absolutely horrendous for late-night studying. Perhaps the lighting was purposely horrible to make it so dark you couldn’t see how terrible the design choices were. Despite this strange mesh of interior designing, it still managed to create an all-around cozy environment.

The first week of classes had just ended and I was returning from a dinner outing with my former roommate.

As I head towards the spiral staircase, I briefly look to my left to see three boys playing pool and some others doing homework in the main dining room. I recognize one of the boys from our move-in meeting; he was quiet, but had a very soothing voice when he spoke. His name was Ren – Ren-something?

My room has a much simpler design compared to downstairs; grayish walls with the same white trimmed windows as downstairs, a mini-fridge, microwave, and simple wooden furniture staples for two people. Though boring, at least it didn’t give you eye strain.

The light in my room is on when I enter and my new roommate, Jia, is sitting at her desk watching a Chinese reality show and eating dinner.  

“Hey!” she greets. “Where did you go?”

“I went to dinner with my roommate from last year,” I say. “What are you eating?”

“I ordered some Chinese food.”

Jia is an international student from Beijing, double-majoring in statistics and business. She came to the U.S. when she was fourteen to attend high school on the east coast. As a result, she’s been quite sheltered, a lack of life experience and hints of naivety evident when you speak to her. Having been sent here for school, she was expected to work hard to get a good education and hopefully, a well-paying job. That’s what her focus has been all her life: jumping academic hoops.

As I place my purse and jacket on my desk, I grab my water bottle and head back downstairs to the kitchen to refill it.

As I step foot into the dining room to get to the kitchen, the three boys shooting pool immediately stop playing and look up at me. I pause upon making eye contact with the boy who caught my eye at our meeting and hesitate for a moment before offering a half smile. He stares at me, remaining expressionless. I quickly look away, regaining enough composure to continue walking towards the entrance to the kitchen. But as soon as I have my back to the three boys, a wave of discomfort pulses through my body. I can’t explain why, or how I even know considering I don’t have eyes on the back of my head, but I can feel that one of them is still watching me as I’m walking away – and it’s not the one from the meeting.      

When I reach the water dispenser, I shake my head in dismissal, attributing the sudden feeling of discomfort to a figment of my imagination. You couldn’t even see him. They just looked at you because you entered the room. That’s all.

When my water bottle is half full, I hear the three of them walk into the kitchen and begin pulling out several pans and other kitchenware out of the cabinets next to the stove. The water dispenser is on the other side of the kitchen, so I keep my back to the them, but am unable to shake the feeling of the one that was standing next to the shy boy with the nice voice. I quietly huff in frustration. Why do I keep feeling like he was looking at me? Does he… think I’m attractive? Hyojin did say I get looked at a lot when we hang out together. Maybe I’ll talk to him.

The three of them start cooking, walking back and forth between the stove and the sink that’s several feet away from me. While screwing the cap back onto my bottle, I turn around and immediately lock eyes with the boy in question as he walks towards me. He stares at me for several more moments before breaking eye contact and bringing his gaze back towards the ground.

My eyes narrow. Okay, that was kind of weird.

I walk over to the large refrigerator in the middle of the kitchen, reaching into my reusable grocery bag sitting on the second shelf to pull out an apple before heading over to the sink to wash it.

A moment later, the boy with the nice voice walks up next to me to wash a pot. I take a step to my right to give him more space, grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser and wrapping it around my apple. I continue to stand there awkwardly, over-drying the fruit while contemplating on whether or not I should introduce myself.

I decide to bite the bullet.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Renjun. What’s yours?”

“Y/N.”

There’s a momentary pause, the sound of running water filling what could have been a very awkward silence. Renjun keeps his focus on the pot.

“What’s your major?” he asks.

“Uh, biology. Yours?”

“CS and math.”

His responses are very quiet. Even in tone. Emotionless. I look at him as he rinses the soap off of the pot and his face remains expressionless. Do you ever smile?  

“Oh, nice,” I remark. God, even I’m boring.

“Where are you from?” he asks.

“Oregon,” I reply.  

“Portland?” asks another voice.

I flip around and see that the boy who had just stared at me is standing in the middle of the kitchen with a polite smile on his face.  

“Medford!” I say.

Huh! You were listening to our conversation…

I’m a bit dumbfounded when he nods and walks back over to the third boy standing at the stove, wondering why he didn’t continue to talk to me considering he was clearly interested enough to listen in on my conversation with Renjun.

My eyes flicker over to the wooden dining table near the window, a collection of bright colors having caught my eye. Coupon books. Maybe Suji will want one of these. She has a whole stash of them in her desk.

I take out my phone and look around briefly to make sure no one is watching particularly the weird staring boy while I snap a photo of the coupon book to text to Suji to see if she’s interested. While waiting for her response, I grab one of the coupon books and flip through it to see if there’s anything in particular she might want.

Pizza, ice cream, sandwiches, dentist…

I place the book back on the table and look up as the boy walks towards me; he’s staring at me again.

Opportunity has arrived.  

I look back at him, briefly narrowing my eyes in curiosity. “What’s your name?” I ask, completely skipping the formalities.

“Jaemin!” he says as his eyes shoot open in surprise. “And you?”

“Y/N.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says with a smile.

I smile back at him.

“Um –” he tilts his head and looks at me thoughtfully “– why were you taking pictures of the coupon book?”  

Shit. Someone was watching me. I specifically checked to make sure no one was, especially YOU.

I chuckle nervously. “Oh, uh, I didn’t think anyone was watching,” I murmur to myself. “I was sending a picture to see if my friend wanted one.”

“Oh!” he remarks. “I thought you were taking pictures to try and save paper or something. Like why not just take one?”

“Oh, no.” I bite the inside of my lip before smiling out of embarrassment. “Yeah, I was seeing if there was anything my friend might want.”

I guess I’m not imagining anything. You are, in fact, watching me.

“Ah.” He gives me an understanding nod, quickly choosing to move onto another subject. “So what’s your major?” he asks.

“Biology. How about you?”

“EECS.”

“Oh, nice.”

He looks at me quizzically, apparently surprised by my lack of being impressed. Most people were fascinated when they met an EECS (electrical engineering, computer science) major as that was the hardest major to be accepted into at the university. It was also one of the most rigorous majors, which led to an onslaught of jokes about EECS students only showering once a month and being too nerdy to get into a relationship.  

“Yeah, you always wonder what people’s responses will be, you know?”

“Yeah…” I say slowly, offering a courteous smile that doesn’t fully reach my eyes.  

I’m guessing he wasn’t satisfied that I don’t seem impressed.  

“Are you pre-med?” he asks.

My eyes widen in horror. “Oh dear, no.”

“So what do you plan on doing?”

“Research. I never wanted to go to medical school.”

“Huh, interesting. Why?”

“I don’t like blood.” I crinkle my nose. “I also don’t really feel like being in school forever. Granted, I have to go to grad school and will be in school forever anyway.”

“True.” He chuckles. “So what do you think of this place?” he asks, referring to the house.

“I actually really like it!” I grin at him. “Despite the questionable design choices, I like it. It’s quiet.”

“Yeah, it’s quiet, but I think it’s kinda… antisocial.”

“True.” I shrug. “I don’t know, it kinda works for me. If I want to talk to people, I can. If I don’t, I can do that too. I don’t talk to that many people… not the friendliest person,” I say with a small smile.

He looks at me skeptically. “You seem pretty friendly to me.”

“Depends on who I’m with,” I reply with a shrug.  

“Ah, yeah, oh –” He quickly turns his head towards Renjun, suddenly realizing that he hadn’t been helping out his roommates with their dinner preparations. “Hey, Renjun, do you need help?”

“No, it’s fine,” Renjun curtly responds.  

He nods once and turns back to me. “So what are your plans for the rest of the night?”

“Uh, probably just catch up on some work.”

“You’re so productive.”

“I’m trying to keep up with everything to do better this semester.” I frown. “But the problem is that I’m really bad at physics.”

“Oh, I’m taking physics too!”

“Are you in the one specifically for engineers?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, okay,” I reply. “I’m in the other one. I’m just frustrated because we’re doing kinematics and I used to be really good at it in high school and now it’s like I’ve completely forgotten how to do it.”

“That’s what happened to me with circuits. I did it in high school, but I can’t seem to do it anymore.”

I smile at him, unsure of what to say as he leans in towards me, putting his weight on the back of a kitchen chair.

“I could probably help you with physics sometime,” he offers.

Oh! Well that’s nice of him. I could use the help.

However, there’s an… unsettling feeling in my chest. Suspicion – that’s what it is. Suspicion that this isn’t just a friendly offer for help.

“That would be very helpful! Thank you!” I respond, trying to keep my tone even to avoid giving away my intuition.

“Do you just do work in your room?”

“Uh, sometimes. I hate the chairs we have in the room, so I normally just work on my bed or I go downstairs to the piano room.”

“Ah, yeah. I should probably go downstairs or something because I don’t get anything done in my room.”

I pause for a moment, contemplating on whether or not to say my next immediate thought. My goal for this year was to make new friends and I had begun to develop a habit of offering open invitations for people to spend time with me. In a split second decision, I reasoned that this was no different. It’s not like I was interested in the guy. It’s also somewhat of a personal experiment to see if my intuition is correct: that he actually is interested and would take up my offer.

“Well, if you want company, I’m almost always in the piano room! I usually go down there because if I work in my room, I just watch TV,” I say.

“Oh, what do movies do you watch?”

“I actually watch television shows, but I’ve been watching the Justice League until my shows come back.”

“And what shows are those?”

“Uh, NCIS, Castle, The Blacklist, and The Flash.”

“Oh. So superheroes, some mystery and action.” He nods in approval. “Those are shows I’d be into if I watched them.”  

“Oh nice! Yeah, it’s pretty easy to get distracted and just watch in my room. It’s very relaxing.”

“Well, it’s quiet.” A smirk forms on his face. “So it fits with your personality, right?”

The corner of my mouth raises in amusement. “Right.”  

I take a good look at him. Jaemin is tall, relatively slim, and fairly attractive. Though, it’s interesting. He looks young and innocent, but there’s something about his eyes. They’re playful, but there’s mischief behind that playfulness. He’s quite charming and that look in his eyes is enough to tell you that he knows it too.

“Which room are you in?” he asks.

“202.”

“Oh, I think that’s down the hall from me. I’m in 206. But yeah, whenever you need help, just –” he makes a weird gesture with his hands “– knock on the door.”

I nod, but a thought crosses my mind. “Actually –” I pull out my phone from my back pocket and hand it to him “– why don’t I just get your number? Then I can just text you and won’t have to worry about bothering your roommates.”

“Hey, Jaemin.” Renjun places a plate of food on the table. “This is yours.”

Jaemin gives me back my phone and smiles at me. “All right, well, I’m gonna go eat dinner. It was nice meeting you!”

“Yeah, you too!”

I take a bite into my apple and walk outside to sit on the porch, dialing my dad’s number for our nightly call.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” I sing. “So I met this guy. His name is Jaemin and he seems pretty friendly.” I click my tongue. “Though, I got this weird feeling that he thinks I’m cute or something because… he kept staring at me and then later he offered to help me with physics.”

“What’s his major?”

“EECS.”

“Are you interested in him?”

“No,” I say. “He’s cute, but he’s not really my type. It was really weird though because I walked into the dining room when he and his roommates were playing pool and they all stopped playing as soon as I walked in and watched me until I left.”

“Are you going to take him up on his offer to help you with physics?”

“Yeah, probably. I actually do need help.”

“It’s nice of him to offer, but he probably does have something for you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Guys don’t just offer to help you in physics if they’re not interested.”

I chortle at my dad’s response and with a slight hint of sarcasm, respond with, “Are you sure? You don’t think he’s just being nice?”

He scoffs. “Nice? Uh-uh, sorry, I don’t think so.”

I continue giggling when he asks if I’m going to work downstairs tonight.

“Yeah, later after I clean up a bit. I told him I’m usually downstairs so I guess we’ll see if he shows up.”

When I arrive downstairs, laptop and books in hand, both of the work tables have been claimed by other residents. I turn to my right, figuring I’ll work at the coffee table instead. To my surprise, Jaemin is sitting on the couch, hunching over his laptop and a notebook he placed on the coffee table. There’s a flash of amusement in my eyes, but I bite back a smirk when Jaemin looks up and waves.

Well, well, well, what do we have here? Looks like the personal experiment has given us some confirmation…

To say I didn’t feel a sense of satisfaction from Jaemin actually taking up my offer within a matter of a few hours would have been a lie. It’s flattering.

I walk over to where he is and set my things down before sitting on the floor across from him. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he greets. “Doing work?”

“Yeah, I’m going to the marina with my roommate tomorrow so I need to finish up some things before Tuesday.”

While waiting for my laptop to boot, I grab my phone to send a text.

Me to Dad [8:56 PM] Guess who came downstairs?

Dad [9:00 PM] Does that mean he’s interested? 😉

Me [9:01 PM] I guess so?

“I think you have the right idea,” a voice says.

“What?” I ask, looking up at Jaemin in curiosity.

“Sitting on the floor,” he replies as he starts moving from the couch to the floor.

I open an internet browser and habitually log into Facebook instead of my physics homework assignment. There’s a message notification from Hyojin regarding some video she saw.

“Hey, Jaemin!” Renjun’s voice calls from the doorway. “Want one?”

“Oh sure!” Jaemin stands up and begins walking over to Renjun. I hear a loud smack when Jaemin catches something with a plastic wrapper. “Thanks!”

As I type a response back to Hyojin, a teasing voice elicits an embarrassed smile from me for the second time that night.  

“That’s not studying.”

I look up at Jaemin as he glances down at me. A playful smirk has formed on his face, bringing back that mischief in his eyes.  

“Want some?” he asks, holding up a small bag of chips.

“No, thanks.”

There’s a comfortable silence between us as we complete our individual assignments. I seemed to be having an easier time making acquaintances this year. The first week of school, I had made a personal goal to talk to five new people every day and I am happy to say I achieved it. I was learning to take the initiative with introductions and with the couple people who introduced themselves to me first, I realized that everyone is just as afraid as I am to talk to someone. But really, it’s not a big deal. No one thinks you’re weird. Unless you start your interactions by shamelessly staring at them like Jaemin. Mark will definitely be interested in hearing about this.  

I huff in frustration as I fail to obtain the correct answer to my physics problem for the second time. I had three chances; so I needed to get it right this time.

“Hey, Jaemin?” I call.

When I look up, I meet Jaemin’s gaze. He’s staring at me with a blank expression, as if he’s in some kind of trance. It’s unsettling to a degree – the way he’s looking into my eyes, like he’s trying to read me with a precision equivalent to breaking down the walls of my mind and learning every secret that’s behind them without any difficulty.

Um… I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at him. “Jaemin?”

“Hmm?” His eyes widen and he shakes his head as if I’ve pulled him from some reverie. “Sorry, what’s up?”

“Is there –” I press my fingertips against my cheek “– is there something on my face?

“What?” His voice is a tad loud. “No, no! I – I just zoned out for a second.”

Right…

“Uh huh…” I remark skeptically. “Um, can you help me with this physics problem?”

“Yeah, of course!”

I flip my laptop around for him to read the question. A small smirk creeps up on my lips as I watch him scribble equations into his notebook. I feel so smug.

Oh, you definitely think I’m cute and you’re not even trying to hide it. Mark is definitely gonna want to hear all about this.    

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Before I Met You Masterlist Masterlist

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans Are Space Orcs “Cannon”

WARNING: this story contains mentions of suicide ideation, so don’t read if you aren’t comfortable

Also this one has a bit to do with a previous post that I wrote, and I would suggest going back to read it before continuing onwards here. Hope you like the explanation, one of you mentioned that Sunny and Cannon don’t interact much in my stories, so I thought this was a better way to remedy that issue.

https://starr-fall-knight-rise.tumblr.com/post/180625215230/humans-are-space-orcs-oxytocin

“Take the day off, Sunny, You deserve it.” Adam said snapping her a sharp salute before turning swiftly away to step through the automatic doors and into the official white room, and its official looking table and official looking chairs, matched only by its official looking people. An official crowd that he managed to, not only blend into, but look comfortable in standing at the head of the table in his sharp grey uniform and captain’s cap.

He was a different man on days like this, polished to a shine like a newly sharpened blade, done up with buttons and ribbons, and fake appendages that didn’t really belong to him. He traded in his smile too, replaced it with an official frown and brows furrowed in concentration. He looked like a commander on days like this, ten years older and ten years wiser…..

She much preferred her version of him. Not polished, not refined, but realistic, a crooked smile, an undying optimism, a trusting nature, and a single eye filled with the glee of their ever continuing mission.

The man in that room was a politician, the human she knew was soldier.

The automatic doors hissed closed with a metallic snick obstructing her vision and muffling the sound of human conversation coming from inside. Leaders of the UNSC and GA had come to be appraised of the current mission status. After the destabilization of the Tesraki tectonic structure, things across the universe seemed to have responded, like the snapping of a rubber band slowed down to a millionth of the time frame, slow, but violent none the less. She knew that the crack on the Tesraki homeward wasn’t likely to have anything to do with the ever destabilizing nature of the rest of the galaxy, but she couldn’t help but group it together. It had stared with the Drev, and her mother’s strange device capable of pulling a ship out of warp, and then it had been the riots, the Tesraki disaster, and the strange cult. Now ships were going missing. Of course there were bound to be accidents, but Vrul scientists had detected a statistically relevant upsurge in the amount of disappearing ships, some, which had included civilian transports, in the center of habitable space….. Unlikely places to go missing.

She turned her back on the door and sighed leaning against the wall to her right and staring up at the florescent lights till her eyes grew soar.

“Missing your friend.”

She jumped a bit against the sound of the voice and turned her head to look finding a familiar face towering above her, “Cannon” She said stepping forward to nudge him playfully with one of her armored shoulders. To anyone else the gesture may have looked aggressive, but that was a common way of showing affection with family members on her planet.

Cannon responded by nearly toppling her to the floor with the power of his push, and she had to leap away to regain her balance. As big as he was she didn’t really have much against him in the strength department. She lifted her head to look up at him as he dropped a hand onto her shoulder and lead her away from the closed doors and the murmuring voices within. He was silent for a long moment leaving nothing but the whirring of the bionic skeleton that supported his crippled leg, “He would have made a good Drev I think.”

Sunny tilted her head giving her brother a confused side-eye as they continued down the hall.

He turned to look back up the hall and shrugged, a very human gesture, “Fights as well as any Drev I know… yes…. I think he MAKES a pretty good Drev…. Without the extra limbs anyway.”

“There supposed to be a point to this?” She wondered as they made their way out of the hallway and into the crew lounge. It was mostly deserted this time of day, even more so seeing as they were docked at one of the only human outposts this far into the system. She would be out there too, taking in the sights, experiencing the human things, but she felt bad doing it while Adam was locked up on the ship. Krill was gone, of course, dragged away by the new female doctor and a group of marines. She wondered what he was out doing.

Cannon gave a sigh and a grunt as he plopped himself down on one of the couches, taking up the entire thing with his massive body. She took a chair to the side small enough that it fit her comfortably as she waited for his response, “No point, I was just saying. I think our captain is a worthy holder of his position as Drev commander, that’s all.” She very much had a feeling that wasn’t all, but decided not to push it. She tilted her head back to look up at the ceiling caressed by thin beams of light from the planets risen star. The crew decks didn’t often see the light of a planet from inside the atmosphere.

“Can, I ask you a question?”

Cannon lifted his head to look at her, “Yeah shorty, what nugget of wisdom can I bestow on you.”

She rolled her eyes forcing herself to ignore him, “How did you and Adam meet?”

He went quiet for a long moment, and she looked over to find that he had shifted from his lounging position to look over at her, “Did he not tell you the story?” He wondered in surprise

Sunny shook her head, “Well…. No, he hasn’t mentioned it.”

Cannon leaned back in his seat, “Well, that is an interesting story….. he…. Saved my life. Well maybe not my life but certainly my sanity….. I think we sort of did that for each other you know.... It started shortly after the war.”

***

He watched from the window as the green purple surface….. Dotted with rivers or red…. Faded into the endless background of space as the shuttle shot away into darkness. He leaned his head against the window closing his eyes against the pain in his leg….. Pain so debilitating he could barely think. He hunched inwards on himself without even the comfort of his armor or a weapon to sustain him. He could feel the eyes on him as he sat hunched in the semi darkness of the shuttle clutching at his leg trying to rub away the pain, but having no luck.

He didn’t look at them.

In front of his closed eyes, her face appeared before him, her beautiful white carapace gleaming in light of the fire as they circled each other on that first night. The night they had struggled for their lives in the ring. She had almost beaten him…. Nearly torn him in half. He had never loved someone so much than he did at that moment…. And now she was gone. The other half of his battle pair.

He didn’t blame those that had sent her spirit to the halls of their ancestors. She had died in battle against a superior enemy, she would have wanted it that way, the thought made him smile a little. She had fought until she was overwhelmed by sheer numbers, and even to the last she had looked like a goddess, the spirit of battle come into form. He hadn’t been so lucky…. He was a shame, wounded lying useless on the field stripped of his honor as the creatures obliterated his people one after the other.

His shame had been public for everyone to see, General Cosma had made sure of that. Faced with the glorious defeat of his father and his battle mate, he knew he was a disgrace wounded…. Too injured to walk by himself, battle useless. He would never see the halls of his ancestors.

The worst fate one could have asked for.

He had watched the slow change in his people as they realized what had happened, they had been beaten by a weaker opponent in their own game….. these strange off world creatures had beaten them in war half their size a fifth of their weight, and easily breakable…. It was a humbling experience…. For everyone accept his own kin.

He watched as his mother turned herself down the dark path of revenge….. Forbidden and unspeakable in all but the greatest tales of darkness. His own sister, who should have been praised for her feats in battle trodden under foot and blamed for their fall as if she had been personally responsible for their father’s death, and their defeat. Now crippled, it had been his duty to rid the clan of himself. He could disgrace them no longer with his presence marred as it was by weakness.

The ritual of Apotheosis should have venerated his weakness, cleansed him by fire….. but standing atop the mountain under the heat….. he could not follow through…… he could not bring himself to the edge.

So the shuttle took him away into darkness, both literally and figuratively.

Never in the history of their planet had a Drev ever been forced to beg. They would rather have died first, and many did, but on the streets of distant outposts, GA planets, and rickety trade ships, he found himself relying on the kindness of strangers to eat, to sleep and for work…. What menial work he could do under the chronic pain of his own injuries. A chronic pain that only grew as he sunk towards despair reduced from a glorious god of battle to a pitiful waste of space and life.

He would contemplate finishing the job he should have the night he left on the shuttle. He stood atop cliffs over the fiery roaring of engines, and once against the barrel of a more human weapon…… but as low as he was, he didn’t even deserve that anymore. How could he presume to ask the forgiveness of the spirits when his life wasn’t worth anything anymore. He was a coward.

He was a shell of his former self, reduced to tasks to menial for the lowest of humans, for the lowest of any sentient creatures, tasks that had him on his knees wishing for death, but refusing to take it for he did not deserve it.

Every day was a torture.

And that is when he read about them, aboard a GA mining vessel in the middle of the night as he was mopping floors listening to the sound of his own despair. Holographic projections appeared on the walls in soft glowing greens and blues, illuminating his hatred for himself as his eyes drifted freely over the walls, and the words caught his eye. A research article on the effectiveness of a human hormone known as Oxytocin. He stopped to read without really realizing it under the burden of his own self-hatred.

It was a human-only chemical, but somehow managed to cause great effects in many other species in the GA. Statistically significant results had been shown for Tesraki, Rundi, and other species. Ironically the species it worked least on was the humans themselves. Though chemically stable substitutes for the hormone had been produced, the experience given by the humans was supposed to be cheaper, and more effective and safer.

***

So there he was again begging on the doorstep of another facility like a dog begging for scraps at the feat of its master.

He was used to the stairs by the time he was let in, those of fear, and hatred, and worst of all…. Pity. It had been a mistake to come there. He wasn’t a member of the GA and so held no rights to be helped by the humans in the facility, and their overseers. But still, he was too pitiful even for them to kick out. He existed as a presence too dangerous to be approached to damage to be truly dealt with. He was constantly surrounded by the very creatures that had brought about his downfall. Outside of battle they seemed so weak. It would have been so easy to destroy them all…..

But they had been sure of the same thing once before, and look where that had gotten them.

His first encounter with the human had been a poor one. He had been living at the facility for a few months at that point, but even if he hadn’t he would have recognized a member of the operational unit known as, “Steel Eye.” Anywhere.

The human came aboard as a recovered officer of the war waiting as his paperwork for reconscription was examined by the UNSC. He was missing a leg, and was trailed by a fragile, false sense of optimism, and calm that could have been blown over by a strong breeze. He collapsed into strange and unknown fits at the slightest provocation helped only by the strange furry creature that stood at his side. The first time they had met, he had been wandering down the corridors of the facility trailing like a ghost barely able to function on his own….. wondering what it would feel like to disappear.

And there the human had been frozen at the end of the hallway eyes as big as dinner plates, Cannon had stopped taking in the missing leg, and the unusually athletic physique of a human, built more for war than anything else, and immediately knew who he was. They had stared at each other for a long moment before the human began to react strangely.  Cannon didn’t know human could change color, but this one did, turning white before his eyes, shaking uncontrollably, breathing erratically. A single step forward, and the human was reduced to screaming as its accompanying furry friend rushed to its side.

Cannon left soon after. They talked about getting rid of him, Cannon not the human, and he readied himself to return to his life of nothingness, but oddly enough, the human himself insisted that Cannon stay. He didn’t find out for the longest time, as he was unable to ask the human himself without the situation quickly devolving. But slowly over time, they were able to stand at the opposite end of a hallway, then in a room together, then alone, soon the human spoke a few words to him, than entire sentences.

For the first time in almost a year, someone spoke to him with a measure of kindness. He wasn’t a hired janitor, he wasn’t an issue to be pawned off on someone else, he wasn’t a problem that couldn’t be fixed, he was a being with his own thoughts and intentions worthy of dignity he no longer thought he deserved. Perhaps the human’s greatest motivation had been to fix itself, but what did it matter that first moment had been the greatest relief of his existence.

***

He didn’t look up as the door opened, it wouldn’t be worth moving. He would just let them come in and go as was their want and then hopefully to leave him to his misery.

“Cannon….”

It took him a moment to recognize the sound as speech, and even longer to recognize his own voice. “That’s your name isn’t it?” Slowly he lifted his head to find the human standing in the doorway, its luminous green eyes locked on him pupils wide with terror, hands clenched into white knuckled fists behind its back against the open door.

He hoped the human would just up and go away, but after a good five minutes of standing in silence he finally gave in, “Yes, human, that was once my name…….” When no response came he continued grudgingly, “Why are you here?” He could see the human trembling from the corner of his eyes and turned to look back down.

The door closed.

“I’m here to help you.” In surprise Cannon lifted his head watching as slowly, agonizingly, the human moved forward across the room unaccompanied. The eyes were wide with fear, the limbs locked against its terror, but still it came, and as it came it lifted a hand reaching upwards and outwards until…… until the fingertips brushed over the carapace of one of his arms. At first he assumed the human would draw back, could see that it wanted to, but then it proceeded onward. Fingertips splayed until the entire palm rested against his arm.

The human took a breath lifted its head to look up, “My Everest…… I conquered my Everest…. Now it’s time for you to climb yours.”

***

Oxy therapy is renowned and particularly known for its physical component. It may seem strange, petting stroking, holding a human can create feelings of bonding and good will, and reduce anxious, depressive, or even anger symptoms, but a more unknown part of the therapy involves talking. They don’t respond as they are not trained doctors, but they do listen. And the creature listened a lot.

A human once unable to stand in the same room as him suddenly sitting on his shoulder, lounging in one of his arms as they walked about the facility sleeping curled against him in the darkness a strange gatekeeper against feelings of terror and inadequacy. And for the human, a sense of peace, sleeping in the same room as his greatest fear, as friends, nothing could scare him now.

Cannon became the first Drev to recover with the help of oxy treatment. The human conquered his greatest fear, and they parted ways at the end, one to travel the universe, and the other to become a newly winged captain in the UNSC.

***

“So what you’re saying, is you were the little spoon with my friend before I was.” Sunny teased

Cannon flipped her the bird, somewhat ineffectual seeing as he only had four fingers, “All I’m saying is that the best way to deal with stress is to hug a human…… but you already knew that.”

[justsomeartsthings]

Print Me A House And Home

Summary: Sans breaks the lab’s printers while Alphys is away. With a little applied quantum theory, this somehow leads to his boss becoming his flatmate. Pre-Sanster, Sans POV, Fluff (with a sprinkle of Angst).

.

“ya gotta be kiddin’ me.” 

You rap your knuckles on the side of the printer. There’s a click and a foreboding thump from inside. You take a cautious step back, hands raised. 

“uh. hey, doc, is al in today?”

No response. You glance into the empty office behind you.

“boss?”

No dice.

“…i’m stealing your snacks. speak now or forever hold your chisps.”

Nada.

“your loss, dude.”

You snag the bag of popato chisps off of his desk and pop them open. The noise is like a firecracker set off inside your skull.

…Still ix-nay on the eleton-skay.

You toss a few chisps past your teeth and knock on the printer again. No one home. Not even a suspicious ticking noise. Lame.

You’re halfway through the chisps bag, tapping an absent rhythm on the printer, when there’s footsteps and the rustling of papers in the hallway. A few seconds later, Dr. W. D. Gaster strides through the doorway, head bowed. It’s a rare candid moment; he’s too engrossed in the notebook in his hands to notice you.

You watch him for a bit, debating whether to spook him.

“‘sup.”

To his credit, he doesn’t physically startle. He does snap his notebook shut, abruptly alert. “Sans. What are you…?”

“had to use your printer.” You extend the open pop bag. “chisp?”

He doesn’t even check to see if they’re his. He takes one. “The vending machine is two floors down.”

“eh. too far.”

“You could use the elevator.”

“why bother. it’s just gonna let me down.”

“Mm. And I suppose you’ve vetoed the stairs because they are ‘up to something’.”

“hey. don’t knock my jokes. they’re hy-stair-ical.” You crumple the empty chisp bag and toss it at Gaster, who catches it and drops it in the bin. “is alphys clocking in anytime soon?”

“She’s at a seminar in New Home. She won’t be back for another four hours.” He places the notebook on his desk. “Is there something wrong with your own printer?”

“yup. i tried to print a report of some results for an experiment this morning. somethin’ went wrong, think i jammed it. figured i’d use yours.”

His eyelights snap to the printer. “And it’s jammed mine as well?”

You chuckle. Break into the man’s office under printing problem pretenses, and watch him squirm. Give him a printer to fix, he’ll hyperfixate on it so hard he almost seems sane.

“looks like it. same thing happened to al’s printer, too.”

“That would explain why I couldn’t print my notes a few hours ago.” He approaches the machine, huffing. “It’s only Tuesday, and you’ve already managed to break all three of our printers.”

“i call it a magic touch.”

“I find it highly unlikely you would ever employ percussive maintenance. Especially of the bullet pattern variety.”

“heh heh. point taken.” You shrug. “wrong on the first count, though. i gave ‘em a few love taps.”

“Mm. Bandages are on my desk.”

“cute. i can take a printer, old man, and i could take you.”

“That would put you at two counts of theft and one of kidnapping. Tread carefully.” He removes the back panel of the printer and peers inside. “That’s peculiar. This experiment report— was it for the causality trials?”

“just the test run.”

“And your printer has the same kind of jam?”

“same jelly, same jar.”

“It appears to be routine.”

“bread n’butter.”

“It looks fried.”

“that’s probably a doughboy, then.”

“It can’t be a coincidence.”

“i didn’t say coincidence, i said doughboy.”

He snaps out of his thoughts at that. “What? What’s ‘doughboy?’”

“uh, s’like pre-bread? don’t call me ‘boy’.”

“I didn’t—” He shakes his head, baffled. “What in Asgore’s name are you going on about?”

“the printer. you sure you know what you’re doin’?”

He shoots you a glare just before shoving his hands all up in the printer’s mechanical guts. “I’m a highly skilled engineer who just so happened to design and construct the self-sustaining generator which the entire Underground, including this lab, runs on. I can handle a jammed printer.”

“ok, jeez, doc. no point tryin’ to print receipts, the printer’s already doughboy-ed.”

Gaster doesn’t reply, but after a few moments of tinkering, he does squint in a concerning manner. “Hm.”

“hm?”

“Hm.”

“i’m no printer engineer, but ‘hm’ doesn’t sound like a technical term.”

“It is when I say it.” And, well, he’s got you there. “It appears Alphys has been printing Mew Mew Kissy Cutie posters on her work printer.”

“uh,” you say. “what? how do you know?”

In response, Gaster pulls out an impossibly large poster from the back of the printer. It’s slightly crumpled, due to its dimensions being bigger than the printer could ever realistically print, and even laminated, which you’re pretty sure Gaster’s printer can’t do.

“Something tells me we will find your test results in Alphys’ printer, and my notes from this morning in yours.”

“woah. you’re kiddin’. scoot over,” you say, sidling up to him to peer inside the printer’s exposed mechanics. “you think alphys’ printer and my printer are superposed in yours?”

“Potentially.”

“that’s… uh,” you say. “impractical.”

“To say the least.”

“alphys is gonna have a field day with this when she gets back.”

“I’m sure the eventual clutter of dismantled printers will speak for itself.”

“heh. i gotta say, i’m kinda disappointed. i expected superposition to sound a lot more chaotic.”

He makes an assenting noise. You look over at him, and then nearly do a double-take. You didn’t notice before, but he’s as tense as a compressed spring, very intently inspecting the Mew Mew Kissy Cutie poster. Or, more likely, very deliberately not looking at you. 

Upon second glance, you are a lot closer to him than you reasonably need to be.

“heh. whoops. my bad,” you say, stepping to the side. “didn’t mean to crowd you.”

“…Not at all,” he says quietly, then clears his throat. He puts the back panel over the printer again and straightens up. “We should, er, go check the other printers. Just in case.”

“sure,” you say.

“Good,” he says.

“great,” you say.

And you go.

It’s kind of funny, this sort of dance the two of you have fallen into. Stepping on eggshells, tiptoeing around each other at work. Ignoring that you’ve got a crush on him. That he’s got a gigantic crush on you. It’s ridiculous, and hilarious, mainly because he’s centuries old and you’re, well, not.

For whatever reason, whether he’s worried about being deemed a cradle robber or a douchebag boss, or something else entirely, he hasn’t made a move on you yet. But hey, that’s fine by you. You’ve got all the time in the world.

Though you do hope it won’t actually take him that long.

“It will be faster if we split up,” he says, once you reach the intersecting hallway between your office and Alphys’. He starts to take off by himself, leaving you behind.

You reach out and grab his wrist.

“hang on a sec. if you’re right about superposition—”

“It’s very likely that I am.”

“then you realize checking the printers separately could affect the outcome. ‘that which is observed is changed’, n’all that?”

“Well, yes. But it may be an inevitability anyway,” he says. “And even so, the replication of this event is statistically extremely unlikely. This may be our only chance to see whether our theory of personal observation holds true.”

“but it’ll kill the control variable, won’t it? we already saw your printer—”

“Oh, it could, most certainly— but not if our current theories of quantum entanglement hold true.”

“quantum—? for a whole printer? boss, we’re years away from proving that particle entanglement exists on the subatomic scale, never mind above it.”

“Not once we check the printers, we won’t be,” he points out. “There’s a chance the only way to trigger binding entanglement at such a large scale is through unrelated proofs.”

Unrelated—?

And, oh. 

You’re physically incapable of gaping, but the sentiment must show in your eyelights, because he grins down at you, the smug bastard.

“All caught up?”

“we’ll know entanglement can occur if our personal observations affect the outcomes of a superimposed subject— and if it doesn’t, we’ll have potentially disproven three separate quantum theories at once, since each cannot exist without the other. it’s… extremely assumptive and unreliable science—”

“Unless it works.”

“uh, no, i’m pretty sure it’s still unorthodox and totally fallible,” you say. “but hey. personal confirmation’s gotta count for somethin’, right?”

He laughs, bright and clear. “Yes, yes, I suppose. In a sense.”

“well, then, in a sense, it’s genius.”

More than genius, really. And Gaster knows it is, going by the look on his face. For a moment, time slows, and you take in his eyelights, fuzzy and dilated. How his entire silhouette brims with restrained excitement. Riding on the high that comes just before a dramatic breakthrough.

And yeah, maybe there’s more important things at hand, but god, he’s beautiful when he gets like this.

“heh. how ‘bout we save the ego inflation until after we get results,” you say. The cusp of quantum discovery isn’t the time or place for mutual, unspoken workplace crushes.

“Right. Then we’ll meet back here as soon as possible,” Gaster says, and turns to go—

Only to be yanked back by your hand, clasped tightly in his.

Oh.

You stare at your joined hands, soul fluttering. His fingers are intertwined with yours, slender phalanges and thick knuckles complementing each other like a welded whole.

At some point, you must’ve let go of his wrist and taken his hand instead. You hadn’t even noticed.

“uh. eheh. whoops.” You let go and try to pull away. But Gaster’s hand doesn’t budge. “doc?”

He’s as still as a statue, his eyelights focused somewhere over your shoulder. A flighty feeling grows in your bones the longer you have his hand in yours. 

And then he says, quietly: “Have you been sleeping here, Sans?”

Your soul wrenches itself in another direction.

“what?”

Gaster gestures behind you with his other hand, but you don’t turn to look. In a rush, it comes to you, what he must be looking at. 

You’d had a long night, then a rough morning with Pap. This afternoon, you weren’t as careful as you usually are. You remember leaving your office door open, and, like the idiot you are, you remember leaving out your sleeping bag, your cheap diner food wrappers, your half-sharpied sneakers. And then you got so caught up in causality, your experiment, and printing those results— 

You forgot to hide your mess.

Fuck.

“You’ve been sleeping here overnight.”

“it’s not, uh,” you begin weakly, but it really is what it looks like. And judging by the way Gaster hasn’t torn his eyelights from your mess, he knows it. 

There’s no point making a fool out of yourself by lying. 

But that doesn’t mean you don’t hate the way your voice goes quiet without your consent. 

“…it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“What about your brother— Papyrus? Is he—?”

“no. god, no. trust me, you’d know if pap was loose in this place,” you chuckle a little desperately. “he stays with a couple of friends in new home while i work. temporarily, y’know. just while we’re between houses.”

“Between houses,” Gaster echoes, finally looking down at you again. It’s fine. You’re fine. “I locked down the lab last weekend— were you on the streets for that time?”

“nah, we, uh. heh.” You clear your throat. Look to the wall. Shove your free hand in your pocket. 

Anything to distract from the fact that you can’t keep your voice steady.

You’ve never talked about it to anyone before. Out loud. You didn’t expect it to be this difficult. And it doesn’t help that Gaster doesn’t give you an out. He just stares at you, expectant. You have no idea how to read the expression he’s wearing. 

So you gather yourself and let your mouth run like a loose motor.

“we house-hopped for a while, ‘til we could make it to snowdin. there’s a place out there i’ve been savin’ up for. real spacious, real cheap. y’know. somethin’ decent we can handle the mortgage for with my salary. and the guy who owns it wanted to meet up anyway. so th’ timing worked out.”

“Sans—”

“it’s fine, doc. really. trust me. been doin’ this since i could remember,” And it is fine. The more you talk, the less he’ll hear. You’ll be fine, as long as you don’t let him speak. “listen, i’ll pack it all up when i clock out, i’ve got friends we can bunk with—”

“Absolutely not.”

“—i can make it work, but, uh, y’know, i’m sorry i—”

“Sans.” He squeezes your hand, tight. Your soul scales your throat and smothers your protests. “You’re staying in my apartment until the house is yours.”

You blink up at him, uncomprehending.

“Asgore rents the place out to me, as per our contract. I can assure you, you would not be imposing.”

Slowly, the words start to trickle in. Imposing. In his apartment.

He wants you to stay. With him. In his apartment.

“oh,” you say. Like an idiot.

“It’s fully stocked, and more than big enough to house you, your brother, and I.”

The mention of Papyrus is enough to get your thoughts moving again.

“wh— uh. hang on. slow down, doc. i can’t do that.” He doesn’t reply. You shake your head, even as some part of you starts to settle into the idea. A house, regular meals. Gaster sleeping in the neighboring room. “no, no, c’mon. i’m serious.”

“As am I.”

He is. And you hate that. You hate that he’s serious. 

You hate that you want him to be serious.

Now you can’t stop yourself from considering it. Your thoughts run ahead of you, wondering what you’d be able to do if you weren’t constantly worrying about food on the table or the roof overhead. What a relief it would be to have a stable home life, not in a few years, not in a few months, but now.

No more bed hopping, or borrowing clothes. No more stretches of time spent starving in dank alleyways.

No need to worry about transportation to the lab or to wherever Pap ends up staying during the work day.

And not just that, but someone to secure it for you. Someone you know for a fact won’t toss you out at the drop of a pin, who won’t hold it over your head, or pander ulterior motives. 

Someone who doesn’t think you’re a disgusting excuse for a monster.

It sounds too good to be true.

And to top it all off, here Gaster is, looking at you like he knows he’s offering you dinners and bedtimes and breakfasts and domestic things and stability and a normal life that you could never get on your own merit.

And the only objection you can think of is:

“doesn’t that break some sort of— i dunno, fraternization rule, or something?”

Gaster blinks down at you. You’re slightly relieved to see his expression change into something more familiar.

“We are a collective twenty steps away from an immense scientific discovery that could redefine the way we conceptualize reality itself,” he says, “and you’re worried about fraternization.”

Which, okay, that’s a little unfair.

“doc, we’re twenty steps away from an immense scientific discovery, and you wanna argue about where i sleep at night.”

He takes a breath to argue, then cants his head. “You have a point.”

“don’t i.”

“This can wait.”

“can’t it.”

“I suppose we should… get on with it.”

“uh-huh.” You swallow around the lump in your throat. “as soon as you let go of my hand.”

“Oh. Right. Yes.” He releases your hand a little sheepishly. Centuries, you have to remind yourself. “Apologies.”

“don’t sweat it.”

As soon as he starts moving, you turn heel and make a beeline for your office. 

You shut the door behind you and slide down the back of it until your knees hit your chest. Then you tuck your head between your legs and you breathe.

You’re fine. It’s fine. You just— you need a minute. Just a minute. In a few seconds, you’ll open your eyesockets, and you’ll be fine.

Alone. Safe.

Fine.

You open your eyes.

Your mess awaits you, splayed at your ankles. It spirals far into the room like an extension of yourself. You stare at it with the appropriate amount of disgust.

Strewn wrappers, unwashed laundry. Empty bottles and cans you planned to sell for a couple G apiece. You never left any of it out during the daytime before. Not where the stark laboratory overhead lights strip it of nighttime’s leniency. Right now, it’s all there, laid bare for the world to see.

It’s just things. Fabric and plastic and glass and other meaningless things. 

It is what it is, but it’s not. It’s more than that.

And you know, if it would’ve been Alphys, it would’ve been easier. Because you’re not ashamed of your situation. Really. It sucks, but it happens. You get that. She would get that. It’s just. You just didn’t want anyone to know. You didn’t want Gaster to know. 

You didn’t want Gaster to look at your things and see more than just quirks or weird habits. But he did. Almost too quickly. He saw right through you. 

You wouldn’t have pegged him for a monster who has fallen on hard times. Not like you have.

But it happens. You get that.

So…

So maybe you have less to worry about than you thought.

You swipe at your eyesockets and take to your feet. Either way, you shouldn’t dwell on it, not now. Not when you have work to do. 

...Not when you have three quantum theories to potentially disprove, what in Asgore’s name are you doing?

Your printer is just as you left it on your desk. You loop around the back of it, kicking a stray ketchup bottle out of your way, and take off the panel without a hitch.

No Mew Mew Kissy Cutie poster in sight. Small mercies. You plunge your hand into the printer’s depths.

“yahtzee,” you mutter under your breath, once you’re elbow-deep. 

Anticipation sneaks past your defenses, as you pull out the piece of paper touching your fingertips. Your shambles of a home life aside, this is a big moment. You should be enjoying it.

You shake out the page, flatten it against your desk, and quickly scour its contents.

...It’s Gaster’s notes. In his handwriting, scanned and copied and printed.

Unwittingly, you start to re-crumple the paper between your fingers. The mess in your office melts away, suddenly distant and small in comparison to the realization cresting your thoughts— the mantra ringing through your head over and over like the chiming of the Judgement Hall’s bells— 

He did it.

He was right.

Superposition, entanglement, personal observation— everything. He was right.

You don’t get the chance to bolt out of your office— he meets you at your door. You swing it open, blustered by the draft, and hold up Gaster’s notes. He starts laughing before you even see your experiment report in his hands.

“holy shit,” you breathe.

“Indeed.”

“holy shit.”

“I am treating both you and your brother to dinner tonight,” Gaster pants, slapping the report into your hands. “Until then, we can discuss a more suitable salary for your expenses. Come evening, we’ll pick up Papyrus…”

He keeps talking, but you can’t process a word of what he’s saying. It doesn’t occur to you that you probably just got a raise, or that you won’t be dumpster diving tonight, or even that you’ve somehow completely accepted the fact that you’ll be roommates with your boss for the foreseeable future.

None of it matters, because Gaster is grinning, eyesockets wide, breath stolen from wonder, his hands planted firmly on your shoulders. He looks barely in control of himself.

You can’t believe you thought he was beautiful before. You’ve never seen him look at you like this.

You don’t want him to stop.

Eventually, however, he realizes you aren’t listening to a word he’s saying. So he stops talking, rolls his eyelights, and abruptly turns around to lead the way back to his office.

You blink after his receding outline, still blinded by the afterimage of his expression. Something brushes your side, and you look down.

One of his conjured hands is clutching yours. The asymmetry of the grip is just as perfectly aligned as it was with his real hand. 

You give the mimic a squeeze. It squeezes back.

With one last look at the chaos of your office, you shut your door behind you and drift along in Gaster’s wake, smiling.

.

AO3

[gclddvst]

my  need  to  finish  my  assignments  before  picking  up  a  new  muse  wasn’t  strong  enough  ...  r.i.p  my  grades  .  this  is  winslow  jeong  ,  aka  the  owner  of  all  the  braincells  on  this  blog  because  asher  and  i  have  none  .  for  more  information  ,  read  on  ,  and  if  you’d  like  to  plot  with  them  feel  free  to  either  like  this  post  or  just  message  me  here  or  on  discord  .

[  AARON  KWAK  ,  AGENDER  ,  THEY  /  THEM  .  ]    well  ,  if  it  isn’t  winslow  jeong  ,  our  resident  ASSISTANT  GAMEMAKER  !  i’m  so  excited  to  see  what  they’ll  be  bringing  to  the  table  this  year  .  they’re  twenty  -  seven  years  old  ,  &  they’ve  been  in  this  position  for  4  years  .  i  hope  they’re  ready  for  the  publicity  —  the  tabloids  have  already  started  talking  about  them  !  anyways  ,  i  got  to  meet  them  once ,  &  they’re  a  lot  like  screens  overcrowded  with  seemingly  meaningless  code  ,  a  straightforward  approach  to  every  hurdle  ,  the  taste  of  ozone  and  petrichor  ,  quiet  and  unshakeable  belief  .

statistics.

full  name  :  winslow  jeong

nickname  /  s  :  win  /  winnie

age  :  twenty  -  seven

gender  :  none  ✌️

pronouns  :  they  /  them

orientation  :  ace  -  aro

occupation  :  assistant  gamemaker

face  claim  :  aaron  kwak

persona.

winslow  is  ...  enigmatic  .  they  are  a  person  of  very  few  words  ,  opting  to  keep  their  cards  close  to  their  chest  at  all  times  and  simply  listen  in  on  conversations  rather  than  being  an  active  participant  .  they  don’t  share  information  willingly  ,  and  will  often  redirect  the  course  of  a  conversation  if  it  veers  towards  trying  to  learn  more  about  them  .

they  seem  like  a  nicer  than  average  gamemaker  ,  always  looking  for  ways  to  reward  the  tributes  —  prizes  ,  respites  ,  safe  zones  —  and  then  hiding  them  in  clues  and  puzzles  .  but  really  ,  win’s  motives  are  selfish  .  the  longer  the  games  drag  on  ,  the  more  they  get  to  do  ,  the  longer  they  can  put  off  working  on  the  next  arena  (  because  god  ,  they  hate  having  to  think  of  something  new  and  original  every  time  ,  and  goodness  knows  seneca  can’t  be  arsed  to  do  the  work  himself  ,  not  when  there  are  lackeys  to  do  it  for  him  .  no  ,  he  only  handles  the  extra  sadistic  stuff  )  .  and  they  find  watching  the  tributes  use  their  brains  far  more  entertaining  than  gladiatorial  fights  .

outside  of  the  bubble  of  ‘  hunger  games  bullshit  ’  as  winslow  has  so  eloquently  dubbed  it  ,  win  is  a  fairly  normal  capitol  citizen  .  they  mind  their  own  business  ,  are  moderately  extroverted  around  close  friends  who’ve  known  them  since  before  they  became  a  mystery  ,  and  do  their  best  to  resist  the  urge  to  drink  themself  into  a  stupor  at  the  end  of  every  workday  .

with  such  an  average  life  ,  one  might  wonder  why  they  insist  on  being  so  elusive  ,  and  the  answer  is  fairly  simple  :  rebellion  .  in  a  place  where  your  every  word  can  be  used  against  you  the  minute  you  dare  to  disagree  ,  saying  nothing  can  be  the  most  effective  middle  finger  to  the  authorities  possible  .  what  are  you  gonna  do  ,  snow  ,  blackmail  them  ?  oh  wait  ,  you  can’t  .

biography.

winslow  jeong  was  born  as  the  only  child  of  a  deeply  in  love  couple  ,  and  for  the  first  few  years  of  their  life  they  grew  up  in  a  beautiful  household  —  stable  ,  loving  and  everything  a  young  child  could  want  .  alas  ,  that  stability  was  not  to  last  .

their  father  was  a  peacekeeper  ,  working  all  across  panem  to  maintain  order  —  and  he  was  lined  up  for  a  promotion  that  would  make  him  one  of  the  highest  authority  figures  in  the  force  .  the  argument  started  small  —  concern  from  his  wife  that  he  would  be  away  from  home  too  much  ,  away  from  their  young  child  (  win  being  only  five  at  the  time  )  .

but  as  days  went  on  and  the  man  showed  no  intentions  of  reconsidering  his  choice  ,  winslow’s  mother  began  to  raise  other  issues  she  took  with  her  husband’s  job  .  “  do  you  actually  enjoy  hurting  those  people  ?  ”  she  had  said  one  night  ,  in  a  fit  of  rage  .  “  is  that  why  you  want  this  so  badly  ?  because  you  want  people  to  be  scared  of  you  ?  ”  the  next  morning  ,  she  was  gone  —  winslow’s  father  refused  to  tell  them  what  had  happened  ,  although  the  child  was  fully  aware  ,  having  eavesdropped  on  the  pair  .

the  guilt  over  selling  out  his  own  wife  for  the  sake  of  a  promotion  consumed  the  man  ,  who  soon  retired  from  his  job  ,  taking  up  a  new  job  as  a  tattoo  artist  and  focusing  on  raising  his  child  ,  as  a  way  to  make  amends  .

it  was  here  that  winslow  spent  most  of  their  childhood  —  in  their  father’s  shop  ,  watching  the  people  that  came  and  went  ,  and  watching  the  sketches  the  man  drew  .

art  came  naturally  to  win  ,  and  by  the  time  they  were  twelve  they  were  already  capable  of  sketching  people  .  their  sketchbook  ,  a  birthday  gift   from  their  father  ,  was  filled  to  the  brim  with  studies  of  the  people  who  went  in  and  out  of  the  tattoo  parlour  ,  as  well  as  decorative  patterns  and  mazes  .

winslow  was  sixteen  when  their  father  finally  gathered  the  courage  to  tell  them  the  truth  about  what  happened  to  their  mother  .  in  true  winslow  fashion  ,  they  responded  with  a  raised  eyebrow  and  a  simple  ‘  i  know  ’  —  never  the  slightest  hint  of  judgement  .  the  pair  were  never  especially  affectionate  ,  but  that  day  one  could  have  caught  a  rare  glimpse  of  a  hug  through  the  window  of  the  shop  .  not  that  anyone  would  dare  mention  it  to  them  .

as  their  education  drew  to  a  close  and  their   father  grew  older  and  older  ,  win  began  looking  for  potential  career  paths  .  initially  ,  they  considered  taking  up  an  apprenticeship  under  their  father  .  but  soon  enough  ,  they  discovered  a  new  aptitude  —  one  for  coding  ,  of  various  kinds  .  encrypting  information  in  complex  puzzles  and  writing  programs  to  crack  those  puzzles  .  they  honed  this  new  talent  in  their  spare  time  ,  taking  up  a  part  -  time  job  in  a  clothes  shop  to  help  support  themself  and  their  father  .

eventually  ,  their  skills  caught  the  attention  of  a  hunger  games  employee  who  visited  the  tattoo  parlour  while  winslow  was  attempting  to  engineer  a  puzzle  box  .  a  few  days  later  ,  they  were  visited  by  the  head  gamemaker  himself  ,  and  quickly  hired  as  an  intern  ,  from  where  they  quickly  rose  to  assistant  gamemaker  position  .

wanted plots.

a  tribute  or  two  that  they  get  attached  to  and  try  to  subtly  help  gain  an  upper  hand  .

close  friends  /  people  who  they  actually  talk  to  in  more  than  single  sentences  .

enemies  /  people  who  don’t  trust  them  because  of  their  silence  &  mysteriousness

[gcldveins]

HELLOOOOOO everyone !!!!!!!! i just wanna say .. thank you SO MUCH for joining misty hollow with jin and i , you have no idea how happy it made us to see so many people interested and join and like .. just clearly so in love w their own muses so like i just wanna say i love u all with my whole freaking heart !!!! ok enough w the sappy stuff let me introduce to u all literally the worst muse i have ever created .. malcolm o’sullivan. but he goes by sully bc he was ur og e-boy who goes “ oh ? my favourite band ? you wouldn’t have heard of it .. they’re called the rolling stones uwu ” and i rlly do hate him for that... it’s okay tho i punish him accordingly :~)

overview

✎⌠paul rudd. cismale. he/him⌡❝ — well, look who’s just arrived ! if it isn’t the one and only malcolm o'sullivan. though, around here they’re known as the harlequin. don’t tell ‘em i said this but the forty-seven year old owner of o'sullivan’s books kinda has a reputation of being stubborn and irresponsible. but y’know, they can be creative and analytical too. typical aquarius. anyways, welcome home and stay safe sully ! ❞

statistics

full name: malcolm eamon o’sullivan

nickname(s): sully, anything else and he twitches ..

date of birth: february 2nd, 1973

hometown: misty hollow, connecticut.

gender identity: cis gender 

preferred pronouns: he/him

sexual orientation: bisexual

hogwarts house: ravenclaw

aesthetic: an old leather jacket thrown over a wrinkled t-shirt, dog-eared pages, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes, untied laces, the soft rumbling of a motorcycle engine, messy handwriting, calloused fingertips

distinguishable characteristics: is looking homeless a distinguishable characteristic..

pinterest board: here.

their song from the sigh no more album bc i love this album and it makes me Sad™ : little lion man 

background ( murder tw )

— born in the town of dingle, a small port town in ireland, malcolm and his family immigrated to america when he was ten years old. they moved into misty hollow after his father opened up his own bookshop and the o’sullivan’s have been there ever since. 

— always having been a rebellious child, malcolm ( slowly gaining the nickname sully in school ) seemed to have a knack for doing anything that pissed his father off. his greatest act ? moving out as soon as he graduated without so much as a goodbye.

— malcolm was only a wee lad when the misty hollow murders were happening. his older brother, his only brother, was unfortunately one of the victims, being eight at the time. he’s not too torn up about it, he was only two years old. but his father reminded him everyday growing up, how much smarter and accomplished and just overall better his brother was than him.

— the only thing that sully was grateful for about his father was the love for books he had ingrained into him. growing up, he developed a knack for writing and he ended up going to the university of pennsylvania for journalism. after that, sully moved out to new york where he worked as a journalist for the new york times and wrote articles on political updates and reports. 

— he met his wife in new york and they had three children together, two girls and one boy. sully was living the classic american dream. until, of course, it was all ruined in a single camping trip. 

— it was just sully and the three kids, except the trip was cut short and he had to come home with two kids instead of three. sully’s youngest, nancy, was taken at the campgrounds and evidence of her murder was found in a nearby cabin.

— this tore sully’s family apart. the tragedy forced him towards a downwards spiral, an endless cycle of destructive habits. it got to the point where his wife decided to divorce him and to take the kids with her. 

— sully eventually, reluctantly, made the decision to return to misty hollow. there, he stayed with his parents for a bit until he got a job at o’sullivan’s books and was able to take a couple months to get back on his feet. 

— his parents initially pushed him towards trying to work at the mystic herald but sully hasn’t written a single sentence since his daughter died. now, his father has essentially left him to run the bookshop for him, which sully doesn’t mind. it’s quiet work that doesn’t require too much effort.

personality

— to sum it up in one sentence .. sully has essentially has regressed into a man-child in the more recent years of his life, but the inferiority complex is a tried and true constant. 

— he hasn’t really properly dealt with his daughter’s death ( even though it’s been over a decade.. ), just lives in a constant cycle of whenever he does try to think about it, he feels like shit and just thinks about all the things he could’ve done differently so he stops immediately. 

— sully always wanted to be a dad, to prove that he could be a better one than his own father. so he feels like he really failed in that retrospect. he’s like a human pity party. though he does that classic thing where he glosses over his sad feelings with destructive behaviour and inappropriate humour.

— very self-indulgent, does whatever he wants, whenever he wants. as long as it makes him feel better, even just for a moment, he’ll do it. doesn’t take anything very seriously, just kinda jokes around all the time. is one of those people that just give off.. kinda pathetic vibes you know? like you look at him and you’re like ?? what are you doing with your life dude ?? and he’s like idk

— but, on the bright side, this makes him pretty easy-going and down-to-earth. definitely a roll-with-the-punches and no bullshit type of guy, isn’t discouraged by much and doesn’t care a whole lot about what others think of him. it’s easy for him to engage in conversation and be all charismatic when he feels like it. 

— despite all .. of that, sully actually comes across as a relatively okay guy. he can be friendly and crack a few jokes while he’s at it, he’s one of those people that, as long as thinks you’re chill, treats you like you guys have been friends forever. but he can be pretty crude / vulgar at times, sooo how others react to that is kind of a gamble !

wanted connections

his one true bro <3 just someone that’ll be a complete idiot with him and they are definitely a bad influence on each other. this person probably hangs around the bookshop alot and they just spend all day with each other doing and saying stupid shit. like you know that gif set of seth rogen and joseph gordon-levitt where one’s like “ i’d fuck you ” and the other goes “ thanks :3 ” that’s it.. those are the vibes..

drinking buddies ! these two just get really drunk off their ass together and probably don’t even know each other that well despite of like.. several years of sort of friendship. one night they’re probably five drinks in and sully goes “ when i was married — ” and they’re just like “ wayment .. what the fuck . ” and ! maybe if your muse has something to get emo about ! maybe they can get drunk AND emo together <3

casual relationships ? he could have one or two of these ! sully.. does not date. tried being in a serious relationship once after his divorce and it ended... terribly. like imagine asking your adult boyfriend if he wants to move in together and his response is essentially just “ ... yeah i’m ok thanks tho. ” and you never hear from him again ndijgnk

that being said... if anyone wants that plot alluded to above .... let me know......

for the younger muses out there ! anyone that he’s kind of ? taken under his wing. pseudo-children essentially. i can’t promise that he’ll be a good influence.. he’s probably not even aware that he’s done this lmao but deep down, sully’s still a dad. he’ll probably be protective over the youngins but shows it in the form of tough love, y’know ? probably tells your muse to stop being a shithead all the time, cute stuff like that.

and some more casual connection ideas that we can further flesh out through some plotting / brainstorming:

old friends from misty hollow

regular customers

co-workers

an unrequited crush ( either on sully’s end or your muse’s )

a good influence on him .. please... i’m begging you

someone that can nerd out over books with him !

friends !!! everyone needs friends and lucky for sully, he’s pretty good at making them !! in a pushy and annoying way..

enemies / frenemies pls ... these are always so much fun

anything and everything else !! if we can’t figure out a plot between sully and your muse, we can always just do it old school and throw them at each other in a random thread and see what happens !!

[badacts]

whither shall i follow

this is the complete piece i wrote for @thezinezone ‘s STRANGE CONSTELLATIONS, a trc zine all about the gangsey. i loved writing for it - keeping under the max word count was the hardest part! the final zine is beautiful so consider getting a copy and supporting a great cause

It’s Gansey’s yearning for ostensibly normal post-graduation rites of passage that’s to blame. Well, that, and Henry’s need to encourage every bad idea any of them have ever had.

“You’re already going on a road trip,” Ronan bitches, slinging an oddly malformed duffle bag into the trunk of his car. “This is a waste of time.”

“Your oh-so-valuable time,” Blue says, with slightly less bite than she might have used a year previous. So, no actual hate, but a decent seeming of it. She is wearing knee-length khaki shorts, like a spectacularly unsexy version of Indiana Jones, and an oversized ACDC t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off.

Gansey is currently unloading a bargain box of twelve white candles into the Pig. Watching this, Adam says, “Isn’t the point of camping having a campfire?”

“The point of camping is pissing in the woods,” Henry chirps from the front seat of the BMW. He claimed it upon arrival, with a grand cry of ‘shotgun!’ despite that none of them cared to compete with him for it, and has been doing something with his phone ever since. Selfies, Adam suspects.

“These aren’t intended to replace a campfire,” Gansey explains. “They’re for the seance.”

There’s a brief moment of silence. Even Henry looks up, expression shifting from ‘smize’.

“You lived with a dead guy once,” Ronan says eventually. He doesn’t continue, but he doesn’t really need to.

Gansey looks perturbed by their reactions, almost affronted. “It’s a thing.”

“Ineloquent,” Henry comments. Whether it’s a criticism is debatable, considering the growing delight on his face.

“Camping in the woods, marshmallows, figuring out which tent Henry is going to sleep in, amateurish communication with spirits - they’re all part of the experience.”

“Obviously, I’ll be sleeping in your tent,” Henry says. He’s not wrong - it is obvious. “Blue requires my body heat, and Ronan might dream a murderer or attempt to hold my hand in his sleep.”

“In your dreams,” Ronan replies from where he’s retreated to the driver’s seat of the BMW. There’s the distinct sound of someone being hit, and a squawk.

“Yes, it is a thing. From Cabin in the Woods,” Blue tells Gansey.

“Wrong Turn,” Ronan contributes.

“Blair Witch Project.”

“Cabin Fever.”

“Do all those movies contain seances?” Adam interjects.

“Don’t ask me,” Ronan replies. Adam can’t hear the shrug, but he knows it happens anyway. “I haven’t seen any of them.”

“My point is that you should not base your ideas of typical teenage experiences on films where most of the teenagers involved end up brutally murdered,” Blue continues. “Plus, you know. Our lives thus far.”

“This is not like that,” Gansey says. “That was magic. This is teenage incompetence, and the worst that will come of it is irresponsible fire management involving the candles.”

Even Adam makes a disgusted sound at that. There’s rustling from the front of the BMW, and then Gansey is at once attacked with a still-laced sneaker and a hat last seen perched on Henry’s hair. The hat falls short, but the shoe bounces off Gansey’s left thigh when he moves into its path trying to evade it.

“When we get murdered in the woods, it’s your fault,” Blue intones, for a moment sounding just like Maura.

The fact of the matter is that most of the area within a few hours drive of Henrietta has felt the imprint of, at the very least, Gansey’s feet in his previous explorations. Instead of putting him off of his idea of camping, this has just imbued him with the impression that he knows of all the best camping areas, even if he has never personally stayed at one.

Adam sleeps most of the drive once he’s tuned out the sound of Henry and Ronan’s bickering, stretched awkwardly across the back seat of the BMW, and only wakes when the engine turns off.

“C’mon Parrish,” Ronan chides, twisted around so that he can shake Adam’s ankle. Like most things about him, it’s a study in contrasts - brisk voice, soft expression. “Wakey wakey.”

“I am awake,” Adam replies, which is at least seventy percent true. “We here?”

“No, we’re on the side of the road, I just had to make a quick stop to bury Cheng’s body. Yeah, we’re here.”

“You can’t kill him. Can you imagine how much Blue and Gansey would bitch about it?” Adam peels his face off of the interior of the car. He might have drooled on it, but if so it’s not the first time.

“It truly hurts me that that is your only concern,” Henry says from somewhere outside the car.

“Yeah, I bet your heart is breaking, you annoying fucker,” Ronan replies, which means that his irritation has crossed over from his normal levels to whichever Henry seems capable of inciting. Adam deals with this by pushing himself out of the car and into the great outdoors, ignoring it entirely.

Blue is allowing Gansey to help her into her backpack over by the Pig. The gracious nature of it is new, but when he watches it Adam can just about imagine Blue in her thirties acting just the same way. Occasionally, anyway. He doubts she’ll ever change that much.

“Cute,” Ronan commentates, seemingly oblivious to the fact he is putting Adam’s pack over one of his shoulders even as he says it. “We walking, or what?”

“It’s an hour hike,” Gansey says, shouldering his own pack, as though he hasn’t already told them it’s an hour hike multiple times. They’ve walked far further without half as much organisation, which Adam assumes is ‘part of the experience’ also. Gansey is, as ever, a gleaming example to hikers everywhere, down to his well-broken-in boots and his precise understanding of hike planning. “Is everyone ready?”

“Yes mother,” Blue replies, elbowing him in the ribs and ignoring that Henry is still fighting with his own pack over by the BMW. “Lead the way.”

The area Gansey has selected for them to camp in is, admittedly, quite lovely. It’s not Cabeswater - nothing else is - but the grass is long and rich-smelling, and there’s a tiny stream curving around the edge of the clearing on three sides, murmuring sweetly to itself.

The tents are quickly raised side-by-side and then abandoned in favour of establishing a fire pit. By the time they’ve collectively gathered stones, wood and Ronan’s obviously-dreamed lighter, the shadows are stretching long. Blue is allowed the honour of lighting the fire, though Adam is the one who nurses it into something other than a pathetic smoke trail.

“Dinner,” Gansey announces with obvious relish once they’re seated, and produces five packages of freeze-dried meals. “Would you like beef stroganoff or beef stroganoff?”

“Were they having a sale?” Henry asks, accepting his gingerly.

“I thought it would be the one least likely to look edible,” Gansey replies. “I was curious.”

“Not curious enough to investigate the multitude of other options, I suppose.”

“Mostly I thought it would be easier to prepare them together,” Gansey admits. “Blue?”

Blue was apparently in charge of carrying the cooker, and Henry the metal pot. True to Gansey’s prediction, the resultant brown sludge they cook looks utterly disgusting, though the smell is surprisingly inviting. It’s only when they go to serve it that they find that, while Adam brought the tin bowls, Ronan didn’t bring the cutlery. They eat with their fingers instead, Adam’s turning pink with the heat of it and his mouth.

Gansey also has all the necessary ingredients for s’mores, which they blacken in the fire a few times before Adam gives up and uses the cooker instead. Gansey eschews that in favour of sugar-charcoal, even when Henry Googles and recites statistics of charcoal as a carcinogen. Blue puts him in a chocolate-smeared headlock to stop him, and his phone nearly falls into the fire.

It’s full dark when Gansey, his contacts exchanged for glasses glinting in the light, starts to drift a bit. There’s a quietude in him now that isn’t emptiness, but instead something bigger. Like Cabeswater is living inside of him, a complicated and immense kind of peace, and even as that calls to the like in each of them, the rest of them have to act as the anchors to hold Gansey here.

It’s not so bad, really. All it takes is Henry elbowing him and passing him a candle to bring him back.

“It’s time,” he says, all delight, as Henry gives the rest of them candles too. “Should I refer to the WikiHow page for seances, do you think?”

“Please do,” Henry replies, passing Adam his candle. It’s a chunky, inelegant thing with a crooked wick, and it smells like a caricature of vanilla.

Blue squints at Adam for a moment, and then snatches the candle from his hands. “Not you.”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s right,” Gansey mutters after a moment, brow furrowing. “We don’t any of your actual magic involved in our pseudo-magical ritual. Scram.”

“By that logic, Ronan shouldn’t be involved either,” Adam points out, though he does scram.

“He’s awake, it’s fine,” Henry replies. “Lynch, no magic for the next ten minutes.”

“No problem,” Ronan says lazily, still lying beside the fire. “I’m not holding any candles.”

“They go at the cardinal points,” Gansey says, and then produces a compass so he can place them correctly. Then he extracts a large bag of salt from his bag, holding it aloft. “Henry, pour this in a circle around us, if you will. Be careful not to leave any gaps.”

“This is beginning to sound suspiciously like one of movies you mentioned earlier,” Henry says to Ronan, though he does as bid anyway.

Once the salt is poured in a vague oval shape, the candles are placed and lit, and the others sit in their Gansey-assigned places, the ceremony can apparently begin. Adam settles in the mouth of one of the tents, watching them thrown into relief by the campfire in the centre of the circle, Blue’s face painted gold and the line of Ronan’s spine a silhouette.

“Oh! We need an offering,” Gansey says. “I hope you all brought something suitable?”

Thus begins a ten minute debate on what can be classified as suitable. In the end, they have a handful of wildflowers (Gansey), a collection of pennies (Henry), a tin cup of water from the stream (Blue), and a stick of gum as well as an empty wrapper (Ronan, obviously). His assertion that Noah would have loved it is the only thing that stops Gansey from sending him out of the circle to hunt for something ghosts would like better.

They deposits the offerings in the stream-washed pot, and then resettle, reaching out to join hands. Gansey prompts, “Henry?”

Henry takes over without pause, all ringmaster-grandeur. “Welcome, kind spirits, inside our circle. We’ve gathered here to commune with you in the hope that you’ll show us a sign of your presence. Please, speak with us.”

In the following silence, there’s an unmistakable sense of actual expectancy from the four of them in their flesh-and-salt circle. Even when you’re performing a WikiHow seance, it’s hard to remove the idea that it really might work when you’ve seen real magic.

There’s nothing. Adam listens, hears nothing, and then looks into the fire to the things he can always see if he looks long enough.

“Is anyone with us?” Blue asks. The shapes in the flames brighten in response to her voice, but Adam blinks them away.

“That was boring,” Ronan says after approximately two minutes of absolutely nothing happening.

“That was perfect,” Gansey crows.

“We really should have brought an Ouija board,” Henry muses. “For maximum effect.”

“The maximum effect of nothing fucking happening?”

“Let’s end the ritual,” Blue says sternly. “In case.”

“Thank you for your presence,” Gansey says. “Go in peace.”

It’s probably Adam’s imagination that the fire ripples just a little bit with Gansey’s words, like someone has just moved past it. No one else notices it, anyway.

Adam jerks awake because Ronan does, because it’s impossible not to pressed this close and because by now it’s habit.

“It’s okay,” Adam is already mumbling, and then jerks again when Ronan, sounding much more alert than he does, demands, “Did you hear that?”

Adam listens. There’s a rustling outside of the suddenly-very-flimsy tent walls, and for a moment he enters the pleasant fantasy that it might just be the wind before he realises that there is no wind. Instead, it’s the sound of something moving nearby - something large.

“It’s probably just a bear,” he says, though quietly.

There’s not much light in the tent, but he can see that Ronan’s eyes are wide as he hisses, “I can’t believe you can say ‘just a bear’.”

Instead of continuing that...potential argument, Adam pushes himself up, rustling free of the sleeping back and groping for the flashlight by the tent door.

“Adam.”

It’s said in his ear, breathless and half-whispered. Literally breathless - there’s no warmth of exhaled air.

Also, it’s his deaf ear.

The strangeness of it is compounded when Gansey says from outside the tent, the kind of calm that just barely covers for alarm, “Ronan, Adam. Get up. Slowly.”

Adam unzips the tent door and slides free, feeling the intensity of Ronan’s movement behind him as he follows. It’s black outside besides the very faint glow of a few embers and the stars overhead, and Adam can only tell where Gansey is because of the sound of his quickened breath.

“Look,” Gansey whispers, and Adam nearly says at what when he sees what Gansey means.

It’s dark. There’s no explanation behind the two matching pinpricks of red-orange light at a edge of the clearing just beyond the edge of the trees. Eyes, set higher that they would be on any normal-height human.

Ronan mutters a curse, clearly seeing it too. Henry, despite having seen Cabeswater bleed to death, says, “Mothman?” in a voice that trembles but still has a tracery of humour in it, because that’s just who he is.

“What do we do?” Blue asks. Adam can’t tell where she is in the dark.

“Running water,” the voice in his ear whispers again. There’s a echo of command there, and also sudden and welcome familiarity.

“Across the stream,” Adam tells the others. “Backwards. No sudden movements.”

It’s only the star-shine that means they can find the stream at all, nevermind backwards and too frightened to look away from the eyes. There’s no doubting that’s what they are, despite the fact they don’t blink - behind them, there’s intent, alien and only barely readable as that at all. Adam’s bare feet slip in carefully, the water surprisingly deep but the bottom firm enough to hold his weight. The other four do the same, hissing at the cold of it.

“Now what?” Ronan asks, his hand finding Adam’s.

“Cross it. Get to the other side,” Adam says, with sudden surety. “I don’t think it can follow-”

It happens very quickly. Blue, off to Adam’s left, draws in a quick breath and stumbles over something on the streambed, falling backwards in the stream with a splash and a sharp, “Fuck!” There’s a soundless moment where nothing happens, and then there’s a long lowing noise like a big animal dying.

“Fuck,” Ronan echoes, and jerks in Blue’s direction to pull her free of the water even as he shoves Gansey up onto the bank.

Adam, torch in hand, flips the switch. The beam of it falls directly on the - thing as it bounds across the clearing, strides too long and shambling, like the body can’t quite keep up with the intent of whatever is inside of it. It’s all fur and stench, the awful smell of death. Henry makes a low, sick sound, dragging Adam back over the stones along with him. They fall back onto the bank together, scrabbling up onto the grass.

For a moment, Adam doubts. The thing is so tall it looks like it could simply step across the water. There’s no explanation for the way it halts at the far edge of the stream and looks down at the water, close enough they can see every falling-apart inch of its hide. It looks like it crawled from a grave. Maybe it did.

It makes that noise again, a gentle and carrying threat. Adam’s heart is beating so hard he thinks he could drop dead, half-tangled in Henry and aware there’s no outrunning the thing if the voice is wrong.

His flashlight goes out. Blue shrieks, and there’s a flash of bright white like lightning from their side of the stream to the other, illuminating the thing for a split second before it makes impact. There’s a rush of noise and movement, retreating, and then the flashlight comes back to life. There’s nothing there.

“...is it gone?” Henry hisses, pushing himself up from his elbows. “What did you do, Parrish?”

“Nothing,” Adam replies, distracted by covering each inch of darkness with the beam of his flashlight looking for movement. There’s nothing, besides what looks like a few gobbets of meat on the ground and impressions of distorted footprints. “It wasn’t me.”

“Christ fucking alive,” Ronan says. “Was that…?”

“Noah?” Blue whispers.

There’s no wind, no voice murmuring in either of Adam’s ears. But on the other side of the stream, the fire, just embers, flickers back to life.

[nagaia]

Good to see you!, where do I even start. I love this game, since 2014 I saw it and I started playing, I had fun and had good moments in the story with my boy every chapter. I will not make pure insults, much less to Chinomiko in this post, I clarify, because it would not show or change anything. We all have the right to comment on the matter, including Chinomiko as she commented on her Tumblr a few days ago. So I'm going to leave my opinion here too.

 The truth is that right now I am in of exams, but honestly seeing everything that happened these days I could not let it go that way, that's why I apologize that the guys are drawn weird and in a little of my free time, and the careers that I did chose to each one is not that I think they are the best for them, they just seemed quite adequate to the characters.

 Create a game of any kind, such as an otome, it costs a lot of time, money, you need a good fandom so that it can be maintained, in short it is not easy. But I'm not at all in agreement that something is modified just for money, then the plot of the game doesn’t matter? It only matters if it gives more money ?.

 Castiel entered because is the most popular in all servers apparently, or at least in the majority, then what is left to the other teams? feel bad because if your boy had been the most popular he would had been in the new CDM? In itself I’m not against a new roster of characters the truth, it does not seem bad at all, but if they change so much the routes I dont know if it can be called in the same way as the previous game, well yes, there are sagas as Persona  and they change the character roster always. But they change it completely, they dont leave anyone of the previous one, and if they appear this characters are very little time in it, like NPC's. and if one more boy entered the game on the 5 * route that we still do not know who it is, it would be worse for the 3 routes that were left abandoned because they did not leave enough money for the company. And that of reusing the name of the game to create a new one, sincerely it would seem to take advantage of the fame of MCL to have won by itself a good fanbase just because. Without having the routes that everyone was used to and their players.

 Yesterday I posted a question in groups, because I was doing this drawing, I asked if it would be good to see Kentin studying veterinary medicine, and everyone just seem happy with it, there were even girls who were not from his team and they said that they would still think about his route if he was studying veterinary, of course yes, who would not? He’s  so gentle and cute. That was supposed to have happened. At least it was what most of players were waiting for, to go back with their guys to college. To tell the truth I dont see anything boring or "leave little money" to the possibility of a plot  for example with:

 + Castiel, be part of his band and give tours while studying together.

+ Nathaniel, studying psychology, or law, and being an undercover police officer who may later become a detective. Could help the Su with their cases.

+ Lysander, composing songs and singing, maybe Su helps him

+ Armin, studying computer engineering maybe to then program and make own games that he loves so much! Your Su might be the first to test his games! And have fun with him!

+ Kentin veterinarian with the little animals he have to take care of and Su helping him.

 Besides that, the new routes that there are, could still be in the game, and be playable, but through spin-off, why not?

I dont know how many people could be interested in the teacher, the bar boy or Priya and Castiel. But I dont know if these new characters can really attract as much attention as to give more money to the company than the guys. Chinomiko talks about the "silent" players and statistics that we dont know, but seriously those characteristics are in favor of the new characters? That most of us dont even know yet? In all the groups that I am from MCL, including youtube videos, I see only people who are sad about the decision or angry. The truth is that if they exist and left much money these "silent players" would be good for them to speak for once. Do they really exist? Where? I know there are people who did not take the changes, neither sad nor bad, but from what I have seen, they are very few. In addition to that already there are few players who have reached chapter 40.

 I can understand the fact that the guys are not in the new game, although it was not what I wanted. But it was not just to take the guys out of the picture. She also got into their lives and gave them an unfortunate future. Let's see:

+ Castiel broke the relationship with Sucrette, and now they have to start the relationship from 0%? It is normal perhaps for those who are not his route and now want to conquer it, but and the poor girls who are his route and were with him for 40 chapters now are nothing ??? What is that???.

+ Nathaniel to be a star student, intelligent, good person now is a boy who does not care about his studies and only goes to parties ???. We, his team where supporters of him  all the time, especially after saving him from his father, he is supposed to have a free and happy life, not a disaster.

 + Lysander had to return to the farm because his parents died? MY GOD I am not even his route and this destroyed me inside, why? WHAT NEED OF DOING THIS? From that cruelty to the girls of his team who were supporting him for 40 episodes!

+ Armin left the studies and is a hacker, to see, it is not "bad" but it could have gone better.

+ Kentin went to the army even though the parents did not agree? I doubt it was the best for him.

 In all of these cases, they could have said that the guys just moved out of school or country or whatever, but they're fine. And making their lives quietly.

 Well in itself that was what hurt me most, all those cases does not seem more than a Bad Ending for the boys, while what could have been a beautiful reality, is now only a fantasy that we will have in our heads the players of the cute that could have been MCL in college with the guys, even moving as in Henry's secret! That look pretty!

 As I said above anyway I have nothing against the new routes but ... Especially Priya, you’ll have noticed that it is the only new one that I gave color, haha.

 I leave the post in Spanish and English so that you can understand me all or at least the majority who read this. Although I know that Chinomiko in her case understands Spanish and English equally, so, in the remote case that you read this, I know you can understand it even if you are only in one language or another.

 Well, I think that's all. Bye! Feel free to share this image and publish wherever you want. In fact, I did not sign it because I think that more than a drawing of mine this is part of all, part of many, this belongs to us. And for something I did it, to draw in physical something that we have in our heads, and unfortunately it does not exist, and most likely it will never exist (the guys in the uni).

[drumpfwatch]

State of the Union 2019 Commentary

It’s been a week and some change. Let’s talk State of the Union.

First off, I’d like to make a comment on the overall speech theme. Trump spoke of unity and everyone coming together, but that very morning he went to yell at how obstructionist and obnoxious the Democrats were being for not giving him his baby bottle wall. This man, who speaks of himself as the best deal maker in the world, and bragged he’d be able to get everyone to get together and make friends, sort out their differences, when he has done nothing but make demand after demand and concede no ground.

A compromise, Mr. Trump, is two people coming together and agreeing on something they’re both willing to do while conceding parts of what they want. It’s called a surrender if someone gives you everything they want while getting nothing. Dummkopf.

So with that, let’s begin at the beginning. I warn you right now I don’t want to go over every single point he made, but I’ll cover as many of them as I can and comment as needed. There are other commentaries out there, some as soon as the day after, and those are more than cool to have hanging around. I’m sure between all of those you can come up with a total summary of what he said, based on every single word. With that, let’s begin.

As per his theme, he started the speech by calling for unity and cooperation. All well and good for anyone else. We should avoid revenge politics - which is fucking rich coming from him, but whatever. Specifically, he calls congress to concern themselves “with the agenda of the American people” but…

Well, we’ll get to that.

He thanks some WW2 vets and then talks about how he’s interested in “America First.” People have on more than one occasion pointed out that given his actions, he seems to mean “America Only” when he says that, and that should be a premise that is upsetting to everyone but I have no doubt there is a large portion of the population of the American population who are more than happy to ignore the rest of the world. They already do, after all.

He then introduces Buzz Aldrin, saying that we’ll be going to space on American rockets again. And he’s actually, sadly, right there. Back in 2011, the Space Shuttle program was retired, and we’ve been relying on the Russian Soyuz capsule to get us into the space ever since. The successor to the Space Shuttle Program, the Space Launch System, has been slow coming for numerous reasons. It is, however, finally going to be ready to go in 2019 and will perform its first mission in 2020 - sending a craft to Mars. They wanted a rocket that could get a crew to Mars eventually, and the Senate…

Well, let’s just say congress stuck it’s fingers into the Space Launch System so much that it has been derisively called the Senate Launch System, and a lot of astronauts and NASA Engineers are concerned that it is basically a horrible, efficient money sink. Still, as an avid space fanatic, I’m glad we’re making efforts, at least. Though I’d point out that those efforts have been in motion long before he ever got there to direct them. This is, after all, the man that believed we could go to Mars before his first term was out.

He next goes on to talk about the economy, claiming that our middle class is bigger and more prosperous than ever before. This is untrue. While it seems to be complicated, the general consensus is that while the Middle Class has been stable in size, they tend to have less and less, especially in comparison to the upper class. That is where the real problem is, as well. The absolutely ridiculous wealth disparity. Though I get the feeling that removing taxes from private jets is totally gonna help with that. She says, sarcasm frothing in her mouth in a mixture of rage and bitterness.

He then claimed responsibility for the parts of the economic boom that have been happening. First of all, the economy is...not exactly booming. But there are good things happening in it. It’s sort of a whirlygig of insanity, if I’m honest. Now, you’ll hear me say this again a few other times, but I am not all that educated when it comes to economics. Economics is a chaos system and I much prefer stable ones with easy to predict results. Is a thing right or wrong, is this method an effective way of accomplishing the intended goal. Things like that.

That said, I do know a few things, and one of them is that a lot of people who do know a thing or two about economics point out that this economic boom began in 2016, which means it's entirely possible that this is a result of Obama’s policies were responsible, we don’t really know. Maybe Trump did have something to do with it, but it’s often not accurate to blame the problems or successes of an economy on a single thing. So this claim gets a big ol’ stamp of “UNVERIFIABLE” from me.

I can say that wages are not rising, or at least as much as he thinks. The Federal Minimum Wage was not changed since 2009, and lost about 9.6% of its purchasing power because of inflation. While some states have made major strides towards livable minimum wages have been made in places like New York and California, I’d be willing to bet dollars to donuts that if you removed the massive amount of wealth that people like Jeff Bezos make, you’d find that they are stagnant, or even lowering.

There’s a thought for a math rant sometime.

Anyway, he then praises the 5 million people who got off of food stamps. First of all, the number is 3.5 million. Second of all, it’s a bit more complicated than that. To summarize, while the decrease in unemployment is helping, there’s another little niggling thing. There was a provision in the law that basically said you could turn off some of the safety nets if employment rates rose, and a lot of states decided not to pay for those benefits. I won’t argue whether or not that was a right or wrong decision, but I will say you don’t get to wave around the number of people who are off a program as a victory when the reason they’re off it isn’t because they don’t need it, but because they were kicked off it.

We’re the hottest economy in the world, he says! And he’s wrong. I mentioned before that we’re in a weird sort of “Good Things, Bad Things” phase, but I don’t think I need to tell anyone that the stock market has been all over the place, falling and rising considerably at random. Meanwhile, S&P has downgraded America’s credit score. I think we’ve got a problem, and I know we’re not the hottest economy.

He then goes onto say that the unemployment rate for people of color is the lowest it’s ever been. And shockingly, he’s right on this one. Sort of. The Federal Bureau of Labor Statistics shows that the rate of unemployment for hispanic people and black people actually went down, and was at one point the lowest it’s ever been. Asian unemployment has sorta been all over the place. What makes it strange, however, is that each of these groups had a random and sudden spike since November/December of last year, while for whites it’s been pretty stagnant. Last hired, first fired, I guess.

He also talks about the same with disabled people and that is blatantly untrue. While it seems the number of people who qualify for disability also is going up, they’re not getting employed any faster.

I should also mention that even if we could point to one specific thing as responsible for these changes, I doubt it would be the fault of the man who himself wouldn’t house or hire black people.

He also celebrated getting rid of the estate tax. Which yes, he did. That is not necessarily a good thing. He acts like it applies to small businesses and farmers, but it doesn’t. One person said on the matter “If you don’t feel comfortable calling what you own an estate, then you probably aren’t affected by the estate tax.” You and your guilded crotch spawn and protected up to 10 million dollars. Only after that is your wealthy taxed on death, and only to prevent the the existence of a permanent landed gentry. The only people benefiting from the end of the estate tax are literal millionaires, who can afford to give some of that dosh to the community.

He then talks about Obamacare, and how he get rid of the Individual Mandate. He claims this was the most unpopular part of the law, and he’s right, but analysts point out that it’s more complicated then Thing Bad So Get Rid Of. Without the Individual Mandate to get people motivated to apply for coverage, a lot of people simply won’t get insured. Further, the whole point was that forcing the younger people to pay for insurance when they’re less likely to need it helped to add money to the pool that could be used to help cover the people with pre-existing conditions or complications. That said, it’s also a good thing not having people pay for coverage they can’t afford, so...it’s complicated.

Trump then bragged about cutting the most regulations of any President ever, and I won’t deny that he has. I will, however, point out that this is a horrible thing that should concern and frighten all of you. While some of those regulations may seem arbitrary, literally every one of them was written in the blood of some innocent person who died so a corporation could make an extra buck. We’ve already seen an increase in food poisoning and infections and the increase in food recalls since 2013 has been kind of horrifying. Trump has been eagerly cutting regulations to “Pre-1960s” levels. You know, before we had seatbelts. It’s very harmful to cut those regulations, and it needs to stop.

He then says that America has corporations coming back in record numbers. On this, he is also not wrong. The Jobs report was very good, and we should all be happy about that. That said, whether or not he is the one to thank for that is a bit more complicated, as usual. It turns out that some of these gears were set into motion when Obama was in office. Some of them are just the effects of a slow recovery process since the 2009 Recession. That said, they did take a sharp rise in 2017. So yay for him, I guess.

Except, again, if deregulation is how you’re doing this, then you’re doing it wrong. We should not be sacrificing the blood of American people so that a few already stupid wealthy people can get even more stupid wealthy. The reward is not worth the cost.

He then goes on about how we’re the number one producer of oil in the world. This claim is untrue. There has, however, been a boom in oil and natural gas production due to things like the invention of fracking and loosening of regulations that goes all the way back to the Bush Era. The rate is increasing such that by sometime into the 2020s, we will be the greatest producer of oil and natural gas, at least privately. Considering those materials are murdering our planet this is also not good news, but since Global Warming is, of course, a conspiracy cooked up by the Chinese to steal American Jobs, that doesn’t matter. We are also not a net exporter of energy, by the way, but are on are way to becoming one.

Then things get...weird. Everyone starts chanting “U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!” in this really low and creepy tone that I was frankly a bit creeped out by. It was like these people thought they were at a football game and not a session of Congress. Then again, this is my first time really sitting down and paying attention to the State of the Union, so this may be normal. I just didn’t like it.

What should, however, terrify everyone is his next babbling remark. He spends five minutes or so going on a rant about how “If there is going to be peace in legislation, there cannot be war and investigation.” Which, frankly, reminded me of a mafia frontman. “Lovely country you got here, shame if somethin’ were to happen to it. You noisy folks stink’ yah nose into my bosses business makes it real hard for him to keep wild guys like Big Jim ova deya under control. I can’t promise you won’t upset him wid all this.”

Sorry, trumby. You don’t get to talk about the need to stop our adversaries when you may well have been put in office by one.

Ughk, I hate using that word. Adversaries. It makes it sound like we have a boat load of enemies, when in reality we have like, 3 or 4, and otherwise a series of complex political relationships. Like we can’t work together with those people for a better future if we all just calmed the fuck down.

Like they’re not people.

Whatever. There are more important things to worry about.

Like how he goes on to mock the democrats for not approving his nominations. Even though a whole boatload of them are sketchy as fuck, should have never even been approved at all, or were just never filled by Trump in the first place.

Also can I just say that it’s fucking rich hearing aa man like Trump complain about not getting a nominee approved after what his party pulled with the Supreme Court? We call that hypocrisy.

He then goes on to talk about making life easier for prisoners and punishing people who abuse our veterans. Now, I could point out that prison reform was actually Barack Obama’s whole big thing and he passed a lot of laws in that regard, and Trump has not, and Former President Obama also passed VA reform in 2014 that allowed for people who mistreated veterans to be harshly punished. That said, Trump has been making further strides on those initiatives, and in fact his most approved and liked legislation is the First Step Act. These are the sorts of policies that really can make life better for people, and it’s nice to see everyone getting behind them. Ofcoursewecouldfurtherthesegreatstridesbyclosingdownforprofitprisons, andotherthingsthatimcertaindontappealtoarepublicanmindset, but that’s for another day. What I’m saying here is that as much as I don’t like it, I have to admit Trump has done a good. I don’t care who past them, how they developed, they were good things that happened. Yay! Good job Trump, you get a big shiny gold star.

We then move on to the Racist section of the speech. He starts by talking about the Migrant Caravan and I am shocked at how wrong and full of hatred this man is. He claims these refugees are an “onslaught” of illegal aliens when they’re all coming to America to seek asylum. You know, something that’s completely and totally legal. But no, this is an INVADING FORCE of ILLEGAL ALIENS that need to be stopped with 3,750 more Soldiers with GUNS. They managed to make it all the way to the American border with only one small kerfuffle with the Mexican border police, before arriving at the American border not to see Lady Liberty’s open arms welcoming the hopeless and downtrodden, the weary and poor, but instead heavily armed and barricaded troops who would then go on to use tear gas on them. Is that the America we want to show to the world?

Now, to his credit, Trump admits that Immigrants enrich our society - which is entirely true. Yes, there’s a bit of stress on lower-wage jobs when they first arrive, but that’s minimal in comparison to the benefits. Not that saying that to someone who got laid off and replaced with a migrant is no consolation, I fully understand, but there are ways to help these problems. Also, side note, if he believes immigrants are so awesome and enriching to our society, then he would be more than happy to have them enter the country. But the immigration system here is a convoluted mess of insanity that takes forever to get anything done and then occasionally does nothing, and Trump has just been making it worse. Just a thought.

Now I wrote an entire post about the wall, so I won’t go into it too much here. But the wall is an expensive, stupid, and ineffective idea. Drugs aren’t coming through skirmishers who are dodging around the border, they’re coming through ports of entry. The San Diego wall he was talking about isn’t nearly as effective as he pretends, and it didn’t really start working until the entry port in that area was spruced up. Smuggler still break through it all the time, as well, to the point where an area of it is called “Smuggler’s Gulch.” It also has trapped migrants into paying more to cross to the bad guys, taking riskier and more lethal routes, and actually trapping “illegal” migrants in who may want to leave. Most of the time, men would come up, do some work for cash, then go home once they felt they had enough, but now they’re coming, staying, and bringing their families.

Trump also points out that there were people in that room who voted for the wall, but I reckon the immense amount of insanity that came from that previous attempt are why a lot of people don’t want to do it again. Trump says that “No issue better illustrates the divide between America's working class and America's political class” but in truth, 60% of Americans are strongly opposed to the wall. The wall is a lost, stupid cause, and Trump needs to give it up before he hurts himself with his flailing about it.

OH, and just as one last cherry on the cake, it won’t stop sex trafficking either. Most traffickers bring there people in through on legal Visas, which they are then forced to overstay as those visas are held from them. In fact, over 80 anti-trafficking organizations got together to say that Trump's comments on the matter were actually harmful to efforts to stop this stuff.

He then goes on to tell the story of the Maddison family. I honestly don’t remember what it specifically was, because they are just a prop to garner sympathy for his position, and I’d actually be fine with that if the idiot didn’t use it to spread a lie. This family lost ones they love to MS13 members. That’s horrible and tragic and very sad, and I feel for them and wish it hadn’t happened. But acting like this is how every “illegal immigrant” operates is just a flat out lie. While the actual numbers are hard to tell, we know enough to say that if you strip away the illegal crime of coming here when not allowed, “illegal” immigrants commit 16% less crimes then the native-born population. Most of them are just people who want to escape an insane life and live the American Dream. But, see, they’re hispanic, so they can’t. You have to be white to be an American.

So with all of that said, let’s jump ahead to a cute moment where he talks about women taking 53% of the open jobs. Again, not his fault but go off I guess.

He then goes on to celebrate the women in Congress, of which there are more than ever before. Hurrah! I appreciate that little wink and nod, and in fact Donny, you get a gold star for this one too because this one is your fault.

By proxy.

Pretty much every one of those women ran for office because they hated you, your policies, and your stupid ugly face. They’re not there because they like you, they’re there because they want to stop you. So I think I’mma just take that shiny gold star away.

Next, he bounces back to talking about the economy, because Trump can’t focus on a single thing. Again, I won’t say much on this because economics is not my speciality, but people who DO know a thing or two about economics are pretty much in agreement that tariffs are a tool, and not a very good one. The analogy I like to use goes something like this. Imagine tariffs as a double edged knife you’re going to use to stab someone you don’t like. You’re already dealing with a weapon that’s not the safest, but guess what? This one also doesn't have a hilt, or a guard, or a pommel or anything. It’s literally just a long, serrated sheet of iron with a point on one end. So whenever you hit the other guy, you’re cutting yourself too. You can’t not.

Tariffs need to be used with the precision of a scalpel, and only if they’re determined to be the right tool for the job. And that’s without accounting for the unintended consequences like how rich people can probably find a way to avoid tariffs so they hurt the poorer people more, or you know, starting a trade war because the other people can just pass tariffs on you too?! And if any of you think this gigantic flatulating, tiny-handed orange with a racist stick coming out of its ass is capable of “precision” then I have a bridge I’d very much like to sell you.

He also goes on to talk about NAFTA again, and I’m gonna have to plead ignorance on this one. I don’t know if NAFTA is or is not a good deal, or if UMCA is a better one. I don’t know enough about economics and I don’t know enough about the laws themselves. I’m at least grateful the idiot didn’t cancel NAFTA before enstating UMCA, and those people who are smarter than me I keep talking about say that Mexico and Canada may not be in a mood to negotiate a new trade deal. So who knows. I’m not going to say much else on the matter.

So then we move on to infrastructure brieful. Trump talks about how it’s crumbling and needs repair, and he’s not wrong. The infrastructure report card for the US is, frankly, abysmal. But this begins a trend on a couple of topics.

He goes on to eagerly talk about how we need to improve health care, and lower drug prices! That we’re going to get rid of HIV in 10 years! That Childhood Cancer is going to be eradicated! Everyone gets paid family leave! All this wonderful pie-in-the-sky stuff that is super cool to hear him talk about, and I’d be totally behind him….

If he were actually doing anything on these matters. Trump talks a big game on these things, but hasn’t made any moves. Whenever he starts to, his business buddies step in and explain why they’re going to lose money and he stops.

So! He then moves on to talk about the legislation in New York that protects women’s rights to get an abortion anytime and how horrible it is that they’re murdering babies.

I think the response the white-clade congress women gave was the best.

I think the look on Angela Ocasio-Cortez’s face is the best, but the look on Angelia Ocasio-Cortez’s face and I think that’s Kathleen Rice giving the stink eye.

I don’t want to get into a debate about abortion, because that really is the best way to get everyone everywhere ever to hate you. I will say this, however. The law more or less only applies to pregnancies that would kill the mother or if the baby is already dead, and it wouldn’t matter if it didn’t.

Do you honestly think a person is going to go throw eight months of the most harrowing and obnoxious process the human body is capable of performing and then just suddenly decide “You know what? I don’t want this baby anymore.” If you’re that far along you either wanted the baby and were willing to suffer for it, or you never wanted the baby and were prevented from getting an abortion when it would’ve been kinder. The law isn’t about murdering babies, it's about letting women have control over themselves and their bodies. Acting like it’s some horrible evil that happened just makes you look dumb.

We then go onto nonsense about military bravado. Trump yammered about how he forced our allies to pay their fair share in NATO - which is honestly a kettle of fish I want to talk about in its own post, but suffice it to say it’s interesting everything he stresses and hates NATO for makes matters easier for Putin.

The real thing I want to talk about is the nuclear treaty he eventually meanders into like a toddler into a wall. Look, I’m not going to pretend that I understand the intricate diplomatics of nuclear negotiations, but even I know that YOU DO NOT ARBITRARILY CANCEL A TREATY THAT PREVENTS NUKES FROM BEING BUILT. You want an arms race?! This is how you get an arms race!

So what if Russia is “flaunting it” and ignoring it? I do not give one single solitary flying fuck. You negotiate a treaty that makes them suffer consequences - or better yet, stop not making them suffer the consequences they’re supposed to when they pull that shit - and you do it while the other treaty is still active. The last thing we need right now is a nuclear war and I don’t want to fucking hear that you’re taking Russia out of a treaty that at least somewhat contained them.

This man is going to get us all killed, I swear to Athena.

He then starts saying that “oh, the world would be in Nuclear war with South Korea if it weren’t for him, and he’s just wrong. I mean I know the nature of reality is such that there’s no real way to measure the tiny micro changes in the fabric of events that could lead to a given result, but I can say for damn sure that North Korea became more aggressive after Trump took office, and that their nuclear problem is largely for deterrent purposes because they are afraid of. Not that anyone should have nuclear weapons. Point is, this claim is bullshit, and I don’t need to source anything because it’s fantastical.

Next up is Venezuela, and his whole...spat against socialism. First of all, socialism is not responsible for the collapse of Venezuela because it wasn’t socialist. Those close to Maduro call his state a narco mafia government under the guise of socialism. It’s complicated - like everything else here is - but it can basically be summarized that instead of gathering material in the government and using it to support the people, it gave all that to big companies and then just kept taking and taking. Because that’s what unregulated big companies do. There was no market.

That said, even if Venezuela had been socialist in the truest sense, that doesn’t mean that socialist policies couldn’t work or shouldn’t be used. When applied properly (with a mix of capitalism, in my opinion), you can create a prosperous country that takes care of everyone by skimming off the top of those who have much and giving to those who have little. We’ve seen it work in different circumstances before, and even an entire country that made it work up until Stalin decided to take it over and twist its efficacy into bullshit.

He then talks a bit about Israel and Palestine, which is another basket of snakes I refuse to open other then to say that treating it as casually as he does is stupid. Israel and weird creepy end times Christians are the only people who actually don’t want a two-state solution. Sooo yeah.

Next, he speaks on how he’s done with the war against ISIS and that the troops are coming home, but fails to give a time frame and talks about not fighting an endless war - something I’d be more willing to believe if he wasn’t spewing money into the military like a sick man on laxatives does into the toilet. But whatever, I’m all for both of those things, so if he does them I’ll compliment him accordingly and apologize for not believing him.

The last thing I really want to talk about is how he brags about getting out of the Iran Nuclear Deal. That was actually working just fine and had finally squeezed Iran into cooperating and now they don’t have to while still giving them breathing room for their civilian population. But that is a complicated matter, that, again, is more difficult to ascertain than “Thing Good” or “Thing Bad.”

From there, the rest of the speech is just chest beating and bravado. Emotional appeals about how great America is and how free we are and blah blaah blaaah. I actually don’t have a problem with this - the swelling call to action at the end of the speech is a very effective tool and it’s not like I haven’t used emotional manipulation myself, even in this very article. But the point is that it’s not factual - it’s not meant to be criticized as a series of claims or even critiqued at all. It’s bravado, pure and simple. Trump is good at it, and he did a good job with it here.

Before I conclude though, I just want to quickly comment on one thing. Him derailing antisemitism is hilarious. You’re like 4 years too late on that bro.

Anyway, conclusions.

Most of the problems with this speech can be summed up with “It’s not that simple, idiot.” The world is a complicated place and Trump tried to simplify it. His ignorance to fully explain the complexities - or, as the case may be, even bother to understand them - has led him to misinform people live on TV. I’m not going to spend time talking about whether it was deliberate or not, I have long since given up and trying to determine where Trump’s evil ends and his stupid begins.  

I will say that I give him one or two points for doing the things right, but given how much else was disgusting and, frankly, hateful, it’s very much “even a broken clock is right twice a day” type thing. Trump’s state of the Union was a cavalcade of lies and misjudgements, interspaced with bravado and unnecessary calls to his god. This is a secular nation, people. I should not hear about God no less than 4 times in the most important speech the country makes.

Hopefully he’ll be out of office soon.

[braindamageforbeginners]

The Morning After/Diet

Cycle 9, Day 16

POST-FINAL INFUSION, CYCLE 9

Thankfully, a quasi-legal medical substance allows me to get through the night, and wake up feeling mostly-okay on post-infusion days. I’m still exhausted and fatigued, but caffeine does help with that, too. I guess the DARE program’s message should have been that recreational drug use was bad, but as an entire lifestyle, it might be neccessary (I say that knowing they’ll eventually have to stop chemo, because, again, these are dangerous, expensive drugs that will burn out one’s innards. Good news, the outtards are doing pretty well at the moment, which plays well to my plan to ask for more napalm doses until those wretched new cells on the block give up. There are a few people who know me personally who know there’s a non-minor chance I’m just too stubborn to die. Of course, it’s easy to say that now, after a clean scan (that occurred two weeks ago). And it feels good to say that,even for what’s usually the worst infusion in the series was easily treated by some aspirin, and my new bionic joints (although I still seem to get a nasty wonky leg after infusions). The bad news is that, even with my bionic joints, a simple high-speed walk around the neighborhood left me wobbly. So much for prosthetic devices (although it’s worth noting that gait issues are very common symptoms of  progressing brain cancer; which pretty much also means they’re a side-effect of chemo)..

Also, even though I’m still not looking at 401K options, I am getting a little better at reading between the lines about cancer statistics, and figuring that our society is completely riddled with bad health practices that will automatically make every health issue worse, including brain cancer (Dad recommended looking into going back to grad school for biomedical informatics, since that’s now one of my hobbies). Case in point, the average American turbo-loading on unhealthy diets. This wouldn’t normally be worth commentary, but when you spend most of your waking hours obsessing over your own health, you can get tunnel-vision and forget most of us aren’t leading terribly healthy lives, anyway; as I kind of realized yesterday taking my grandmother shopping. There’s endless fats, sugars, and all kinds of insanely unhealthy junk (so says the man on a potentially-fatal course of drugs). Before we continue, I’ve been asked if I’m on a ketogenic diet. No, I am not. I am on the Jack Lalanne diet (that was intended to be a joke, until I did a little research and found out that I am). I’d normally not go over that, except this is intended for the next set of folks in line, and ketogenic diet is en vogue with cancer patients. To dip into my biochem background, the ketogenic diet basically swaps sugars for fats, and it is a fad diet. Even though there’s more research being done on it as an interventional therapy (that’s “we’re doing something medically to treat an illness”), I only saw one study for GBM, and it only increased life expectancy two months, AND, to be effective, he patients had to be kept in a state of near-ketogenic shock and in the hospital constantly. We’ll call that “Plan B.”

In the meantime, because chemo and/or zofran tend to stop you up; I thought it’d be easier to just eat loads of fruits of and vegetables to keep everything sluicing through me (that’s not true, I’m just terrified of laxtives; you can peruse the archives for that particular incident). I think I’m up to seven or eight a day, because it’s easier to maintain healthy habits than start and stop them (Jack had at least 10 raw vegetable/fruit servings a day). People often talk/ask about changes in taste because of chemo. I usually shrug because my own tastes are largely unaltered; however, upon reflection, pineapples got amazing in the last year or so. Add onto that at least 15-20 grams of protein before starting dinner or snacking, and, my rule is, you can eat as much as you want of whatever you want. I don’t think you’ll want much, though. If you’ve never heard of Jack, it’s a shame, because he pretty much invented modern fitness.movement. He’s credited with starting the first public gyms in America that featured things like barbells (he’s not so much “Old School” as much the guy who pours the cement foundations). And he lived to be 96, so, clearly, the man was doing something right. His dietary rule was - and this is a direct quote - “If it tastes good, spit it out,” So far, it’s worked fantastically for me (and that’s a pretty easy diet rule to remember), in the sense that I’m still alive and mostly-intact, and haven’t lost much weight (but my belt size has dropped by two inches)(to be honest, I have cheat days, and I do have the odd beer or Manhattan). That sounds all pretty narcissistic, but here’s the pay-off if you’re ever in the hot seat. If you are diagnosed with a terminal illness (another thing that skews GBM stats; if I get side-swiped tomorrow and die in a freak accident; that’ll get calculated into life expectancy stats, even if the cause of death is clearly a drunk semi driver), get into a level crazy health and/or physical activity. Cancer survivors have a severely reduced life expectancy, because of  all the side-effects and long-term damage associated with treatment. That’s not just brain cancer, it’s all of them.

And there are many, many cancers that were previously considered “acute” and have been reclassified as “chronic.”  My plan here is stolen from Ben Williams - stay healthy and alive long enough and well enough that the Warlocks will keep hexing me until I die, or the cancer (which is me, remember) does. I realize that seems grim and unpleasant as a philosophy, but that is the definition of a terminal situation. Someone will die. I’m damned if that someone is going to be me.

Because that’s not exactly an upbeat way of ending this post, I will point out that there are all sorts of nutritionists at the cancer center, who all have the secret to staying healthy during and after treatment, and, even though it’s a little mean, I do remember one of them mentioning, in a support group, something like, “It pains me to hear people say they want to eat healthy, but don’t enjoy the things that are healthy for them.” Which is an interesting statement to make to a bunch of people in chemo, because it’s not like anyone enjoys or feels great on a non-stop diet of mustard gas. I am now so deep in the Abyss that “unenjoyable” is almost a vacation. Still, I’m ready to endure more punishment, because my sense of humor is still there, and able to appreciate the delicious irony of an authority figure talking about the concept of “fun meals” with people who are now far beyond conventional fun. That seems horrible unless you consider the possibilities of unconvenional fun. Or getting funny, which was my coping method.

Also, because I’m getting restless with just the basic stress of undergoing chemo, micro-managing my health and keeping current with all my drugs, writing the tale/blog, and/or my ongoing attempt at a novel, I figured I’d start The Terminal Artists list. This will be an ongoing project, both as a form of therapy for myself, and because everyone who suddenly comes face to face with a life-altering and/or limiting illness could use it, and because it was a theme at the cancer writing group on Monday. So, the rules: 1. This is a list of people whose greatest - or best-known works (in a few lonely cases, the only books or poems some ever wrote were started when they began dying) were done in the final year of their life. I realize that “best” is highly subjective, and the idiom “best-known” would require a poll to establish. 2. Even though I use the word “artist,” I’ll happily use that as a catch-all for scientists, engineers, playwrights, dancers, athletes - anyone who produces/designs/discovers/creates anything that would positively impact those left behind is a contender. I just don’t want some estate attorney who cleverly scams their clients using loopholes in probate law; or a smuggler who figures a new way to smuggle and sell arms to UN embargo countries. Use your judgment, folks. 3. Ideally, you’d pair a specific person with their song/album/film/discover etc., but if it’s an extremely well-known (or prolific) artist/whatsit, I’ll bend the rules and do some research 4. people who are so prolific that they have works published after they die will be on the list, because the only thing cooler than giving the Reaper the finger and leaping on the keyboard (or easel, or guitar, or wet bench) is leaving such a vast, consistent body of work, it’s still considered awesome when you aren’t around to advocate for it

THE LIST SO FAR.... -Vincent van Gogh - “Starry Night” -Jimi Hendrix - “Angel” -Howard Ashman (Playwright/lyricist/) - “Beauty and the Beast” and “Aladdin” - Paul Kalanithi (surgeon/writer) - “When Breath Becomes Air” -Nina Riggs (writer) - “The Bright Hour” -Warren Zevon - “The Wind” -Freddie Mercury - “The Show Must Go On” -Johnny Cash -Michael Crichton (writer, minor demi-god to all sci-fi fans) - Pirate Latitudes -Samuel Clemens (writer) - Autobiography -Roy Orbison (minor private music teacher - “You Got It”

[katzexpressions]

Name: Nathan Chan

Year & Major: 2nd year. Civil Engineering. 

What is your first memory?: Mcdonalds drive-thru window with cool opening mechanism. 

Do you think people in general are more similar or different?: Different. I think people can seem similar at first but once you spend more time with them you’ll discover some fundamental differences between the persons. 

 If you could be any character from any movie or TV show, who would you be and why?: Brain Griffin from Family Guy because I get to be naked 24/7. Also he’s a talking dog. 

What is a fear you had and how did you overcome it?: Spider scary but spider good bug so Spider good now.  

If your friend group was a bicycle, what part of the bike would you be?: Petals because step on me mommy. 

If you had to change one of your body parts to that of an animal, what part would you give up and what would you choose instead?: Give me a donkey dick Wolf tail because I’m a wolf furry. 

Is it easier to love or to be loved and why?: Easier to love. People are focused on themselves so they don’t really care about you, and that’s okay. With that being said, you can only love so many people, such as your family, your close friends and yourself. 

Do you believe in the supernatural?: No, I’m atheist. But I respect people who’re religious because it’s hard to be so disciplined. I also don’t believe in karma because the nature of the universe is statistical. 

How do you people perceive you and how would you like to be perceived?: People perceive me as someone who can write 250 words when I literally cannot, y’all asking for too much. Anyway, here’s a list of how people perceive me & how I’d like to be perceived. 

How people perceive me:

Occasionally funny

5’10”

Engineering major superiority complex

Ocasional leader

Guy with the hair

Guy who listens to metal

Guy who thinks Cantonese and Mandarin are two different languages (THEY ARE)

Guy who puts down the toilet seat after use

Guy from Hong Kong

Guy with a tote bag

Skinny

Doesn’t care

Emotionally indifferent

Nice style 

Nice guy 

Down bad Single

Quiet

Ew a second year

sus

Joey’s boyfriend 

A bottom

CEO of toe-sucking

3-time toe-sucking world champion

Submissive

Breadable

How I’d like to be perceived

Talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique

Kind

All of the above

[whiskeyandwildfire]

Diving off the Mackinaw Bridge at 2am

(Please excuse the tardiness of this entry, I hope the content will serve as an explanation. However, first, I hope you will join me for a little afternoon poetry. If you would like, please listen to this track while reading the following poem aloud at a medium pace) 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DXvi1-gjI4A&list=PLkLGtfv9wqNKKRIY95QMUZqFwe_cl3orB&index=6

Getting closer to the edge A gust of wind comes off the straights And seems to push and pull you simultaneously. 

And if you are the push I am the pull. 

Different paths to the same town Square in the middle of nothing Open past nine and closed on Sundays. 

And if you are a paddle boat On old Kitchi-Gummi I am a raft floating too far from shore And long past my bedtime. 

Crashing waves wake Us at night and no campfire story Or prescription strength anything Will bring us back down before the sun comes up. 

And if you are the sun I am the burn that comes later Unexpected, unwanted, and staying for months 

Un-welcomed like a cousin from upstate Who borrows and never returns all of your best dress socks.

Or a song overplayed that you change Or try to change before realizing Music’s all the same today And tomorrow, and next week too. 

And if you are the oboe concerto Rising and falling like a lost bird in flight I am the sound of a radio played too high 

On a passing car swerving to avoid a chipmunk That’s thinking the same thought at that moment As I am, “How the fuck did I get here?” 

And where will I be tomorrow, and tomorrow, and next week too? 

But if you are mine I am your’s And that’s all there is. 

After the push and the pull After the fall After the water wakes And the sun rises The bird takes flight And the song ends. 

After tomorrow, and tomorrow.

ENTRY - Part 1

I’m writing this as I sit next to my father, six hours in to an eight hour trip from Michigan to Pennsylvania. He’s only driven a fourth of the way and already seems tired. The road wobbles and waves beneath the car as he changes lanes without signaling. The mirror I’ve reclaimed from my Grandparents house crashes against the wheel well of the back tire. Surely it’s shattered. 

We pull off into the closest rest stop to stretch our legs, switch jobs, and check on the cargo. 

“Okay son, don’t make me nervous” he says as I adjust the mirrors and seat back from the hunched over locked in position they’re kept in for his short frame. This is also something he comments on when it’s his turn to move them back. 

My dad got into a small accident May 4th of 2019 in the car we drive in. I remember the date because it was the day after my 30th birthday. I got the call that he had slid the car into a rock pile about a block from his house. It had been raining and the brakes needed replacing anyway. 

The brake pads and rotors had been gone since winter. In Michigan, the road salt eats away at...well, everything. Down to your spirit and definitely through 4 pieces of cheap foam. 

The rain on the day of the accident wasn’t any worse than usual, and were it not for the fact that my dad was also drunk when he crashed it probably could have been avoided all together. Honestly though, when I see him sober it’s hard to tell which is better. 

All of these mitigating factors aside, as someone who was voted “Worst Driver in High School” there must be some truth to the expressed concern. Three tickets in six months earned me the title and the almost immediate three month suspension of my license backed up the claim. We won’t mention the fact that two of these tickets were thrown out and the only reason that my license was suspended was because no one would listen to what I had to say, in a large part because I didn’t know how to say it. How to defend myself in matters of the law. Looking back, and with his experiences, you would think Dad being in the court room would have helped. 

I change lanes and press down on the gas to no avail. The accelerator misses and the engine revs. 

“Don’t make me nervous, Son” 

You need to know that not only haven’t I driven in the better part of a year, but also that when I do I’m used to driving at least semi new rental cars. Cars with at least basic capability and safety measures. 

“This is not a me, problem.” I respond. “You need new brakes. You need a new car” I stop there, he’s already not listening. 

The road wobbles. The mirror crashes. 

ENTRY - Part 2 

I’m in my apartment now. Bags and luggage unpacked, father gone as quickly as possibly; never one for standing still. Mirror scratched, but in tact. Much like everything else. Little scratches that aren’t my stories to tell. Going through boxes that I collected and transported, mostly from my Mom’s. A special deck of cards, a stack of papers from school, and a present perfectly wrapped. 

My Grandpa died in 2009. It was a week before my 21st birthday, I remember this because two weeks before he said to me “ If you don’t tell your Grandma I’ll have a beer with you” Of course I had been a pretty regular consumer since I was 15, but I couldn’t stand to break his heart. 

Now, yesterday. Over 10 years later. My Grandpa had one last gift to give me. I’m opening it now. The wrapping paper is for a birthday. There’s no words written and no card. There’s a post-it already removed that says my name and that was the same for my brother and sister. I rip open the first layer and the trapped air inside is freed, blown around my entire body by the overhead fan. I can smell him in the wind. This is not just my mind either, I notice bringing the paper closer to my nose. He must have sprayed his Old Spice on the wrappings before sealing it shut. A gift inside a gift. A part of what made him back on the earth if only for a moment. Inside, a toy truck. An army transport of impressive detail. The kind of truck my Grandpa serviced in WW2. The kind of truck he fixed over and over again, under heavy fire, in a foreign country away from his wife so that he could defend all that was coming to him. Fighting for me without even knowing who I am. 

Research - Thesis

Carl Jung was a Swiss psychoanalyst who wanted an answer to the question: “Why do seemingly good people do obviously bad things?”

Jung finally devised an answer in the formulation of the shadow self, the dark side – the side that’s hidden from conscious awareness AND the side that’s metaphorically dark.

Jung’s model of the shadow arises from the human subconscious/unconscious.

“Everyone carries a shadow, and the less it is embodied in the individual’s conscious life, the blacker and denser it is. If an inferiority is conscious, one always has a chance to correct it. Furthermore, it is constantly in contact with other interests, so that it is continually subjected to modifications. But if it is repressed and isolated from consciousness, it never gets corrected.” – Carl Jung, Psychology and Religion

You see…in childhood, we are socialized to behave a certain way, to follow a certain set of rules.

As a child, you know nothing about the world, so it is the responsibility of your caretakers to teach you about the world and its written and unwritten rules. Following these allow us to “fit in” with society and operate as productive citizens and achieve some standard of worldly success. This is the socialization process.

Some of these rules are actually good because they allow a society to function, for many people to enjoy a good standard of living, and lead reasonable lives.

However, “life happens” and many people in Western society (or even the world at large) have not been trained or socialized to face discomforting things that happen in life.

SOURCE

I began this entry with the two contrasting stories to illustrate this point. In my very basic, beginning stages of trying to understand Shadow Work and the Shadow Self that it is important to recognize what behaviors or actions are that of another person, what thoughts or actions are that of you...and more deeply, it is important to recognize what thoughts or actions are yours that cause you discomfort BECAUSE you see them in others. 

Example - I don’t like when my father drinks too much because he becomes dismissive and hard to talk to.

Shadow Talk - I don’t like when I drink too much, because of the same reasons. 

Example - I don’t like when my father comments on my bad driving that is really the fault of his broken vehicle, which is the result of his poor decisions and lack of accountability. 

Shadow Talk - I don’t like when I don’t deal with problems as they arise. 

Example - I don’t like that my father can’t communicate with me. 

Shadow Talk - I don’t like that I can’t find a way to connect with him. 

* 

I also began this entry to illustrate that there are different “gifts” we can receive from people in our lives. Some positive both in the act and the outward appearance of receiving the gift and the actual gift itself, and some negative in appearance, but possibly positive in an unconsidered way. Example, being so uncomfortable and unhappy in a job that you lose interest, get fired, and only months later find your dream job because you were available to apply to it. 

Arts Education - Research and updates

I’ve been picking through a report of collected data to help prove efficacy of the Young Playwrights Lab to potential granters, specifically under the new ESSA (Every Single Student Achieves) Act that explicitly details what funding is available, what types of Arts Education programs are eligible, what kind of research or efficacy you must be able to prove, and how much money is available in that section. There are currently 10 different sections of funding. 6 of those require Title III - Title IV level research proof to apply for funding. Here are the definitions from the report. 

 Strong evidence (Tier I) comes from study reports that :  

Show statistically significant positive

intervention effects on relevant outcomes (without any statistically significant negative effects);

Meet What Works Clearinghouse (WWC) evidence standards without reservations. (What’s this thing?) 

Were conducted using a large, multisite sample (i.e., more than 350 students and more than a single school district).

 Moderate evidence (Tier II) comes from study reports that 

(a) show statistically significant positive intervention effects on relevant outcomes (without any statistically significant negative effects); 

(b)  studies that meet WWC evidence standards with reservations; 

(c) studies that were conducted using a large, multisite sample (i.e., more than 350 students and more than a single school district). (What’s different between I and II) 

 Promising evidence (Tier III) comes from study reports that (a) show statistically significant positive intervention effects on relevant outcomes (without any statistically significant negative effects), and (b) describe correlational studies with statistical controls for selection bias.

 Research-based rationale (Tier IV) evidence comes from study reports that

 (a) feature a well specified logic model informed by research or evaluation,  

(b) describe interventions that are undergoing additional research regarding their effects

Here is an example from this same report that details an acceptable logic model. 

It is my recommendation that for YPL to best take advantage of possible funding opportunities from ESSA that a new logic model should be developed from existing research that is “evidence based” as opposed to “rationale based” (Example, pre and post surveys, attendance statistics of kids participating in YPL, general test scores of those same students V. rationale based research that has more to do with facts we already know but aren’t tracking in the classrooms I.E. Art makes kids happy) 

It is also my recommendation that one or more YPL programs for this next school year be chosen as control groups to either follow, or purposefully ignore the current model to test efficacy. Having the contrast to our goal will help illustrate to possible funders the actual impact of the program. This is especially imperative as programs continue online as there might be an opportunity to raise money for a TBD in person set of classes AS WELL as writing for grants to continue the work being done online. 

(Thank you for your continued patience and attention during this hefty post)