#but also those could be overestimated because with TV it either takes half the time you think it will or 3 hours longer

[dramas-vs-novels]

Do you think the finale episode of TBNW will come up with an original NC scene since they skipped the bigger ones already? Or is there one from the book they could still use? Also, it there’s no final NC, imma be pissed lol

There is so much to get through, I would not be too surprised if there is no NC at all...

There is still one NC from the novel they could technically use, but they might also save that for the special episode.

Honestly, the way the ep was cut, I wouldn't be surprised if the box set had the missing NC scene. It had everything leading up to it and cut right before it would have started.

That being said... Boss said they spent around 5 days filming NC scenes, and so far what I have seen... my professional opinion, as someone who has worked in TV for 11 years, is that what we have seen would probably be done in 3 days of filming or less...

[minithefutureawaits09]

You said, “Jump” instead I fell hard for you. (Part 2.)

Pairing: Spirk

Universe: AOS, teen-fic.

A/n: This may or may not end up a series because...because...I...dunno we’ll see. Link to part one :https://minithefutureawaits09.tumblr.com/post/650840335516336128/another-drabble-cause-why-not-pairing-spirk

Any who’s, Let’s begin.

——

Jim sat feeling awkward in the foyer of the Embassy. He’d been told by the woman at the desk that she’d sent a message and Spock would come down to retrieve him. This place was well-taken care of. From the shiny marble floors to the Vulcan script on the walls. Every detail in its place. He felt extremely underdressed.

With his plain brown jacket, black t-shirt, jeans, and worn tennis shoes. His hair he’d bothered to make look decent at least, rather than the messy unkempt style from day to day. The sofa was nice too, a simple blue color to complement the rest of the room. If he was being honest it reminded him of the Emerald City from "The Wizard of Oz," just with the way they had described it and the way this room looks. Just as he started to wonder if he’s been forgotten about a voice says his name,

“Jim?”

”Over here, Spock.”

He stands up and waves, shoving his free hand into his pocket. A smile tugged his lips upward as he eyed the other’s outfit. It was a set of robes, much more casual and comfortable looking but similar to the one that the receptionist was wearing. It was a solid black with soft grey designs over it and again, much nicer than what he was wearing. He held onto both of Spock’s arms loosely as he stood much closer. Taking in those brown orbs as they reflected the light, yet seemed to have a nervous glitz about them.

“I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten about me,”

“I apologize, though I did not forget, the elevator took longer than anticipated arriving.”

“It’s alright. How’re you this morning?” “I am functioning adequately, and yourself?”

“I’m tired, but happy to see you.” “Did you not get enough sleep last night?”

“It’s from the trip here, it was a bit farther than I thought it was.” “I see. Though, I am pleased to see you as well.” “So...”

“Shall we head back for chess?”

“Sure. Lead the way, Spock.”

Jim took hold of Spock’s arm as though he was being escorted. He could see the way he seemed a little bothered, but didn’t say anything. Was he making him uncomfortable? He didn’t seem uncomfortable last night from his touch, in fact it was the opposite. Well...It also might have to do with the receptionist who seemed keen on staring at them, it was just them at the park last night. He made uncomfortable eye contact with her a couple of times.

Once in the safety of the elevator, Jim asked quietly,

“Spock, am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all, Jim. It has just been a few years since I have been touched like that.”

“Alright. If you say so.”

It wasn’t a lie, etiquette classes had been almost 7.5 years ago. Though this was likely not what Jim was intending by his question. He knew was referring to the way Spock’s posture had stiffened which was actually a reaction he both couldn’t quite control in time and didn’t know he had. He also realized this may be an opportunity to talk to his partner about the differences in their culture.

They arrived at the door in silence, Spock put in the code, and it slid open. He followed him into the room. Wow. It looked similar to the apartment he and his mom were staying in, though arranged differently.

They were standing in a hallway-like area, on the right, were two small archways that lead to the kitchen and a dining room. On the left, there were three closed doors, he guessed one was the bathroom and had no idea what the others could be. At the end of the hall where it opened up, he guessed might be a living room and a couple of bedrooms.

Spock took his jacket, and he removed his shoes next to the Vulcan's.

“This way, ”

Jim nodded and he took hold of Spock’s hand, who warmly closed his hand around the human’s. He was lead into the open room. He smiled, he’d guessed right. The room was the living room. Decorated with a couple of black sofas, a glass coffee table, and a television on the wall. There were a couple of wide floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the tv and they both had light grey curtains that appeared to be silk.

There was a small table that he hadn’t noticed, by one of the doors. It had two wooden chairs on either side. Spock let go of his hand and pulled out one of the chairs, gesturing for him to sit. So, he sat down and was effortlessly pushed in.

“If you will wait here, I will go retrieve the chess set.”

Jim nodded and Spock disappeared back down the hall. He heard a door open and close. He let out a sigh. He wondered if the Vulcan felt as out of place as he did at the moment. He likely didn’t the young human reasoned, and he seemed way stiffer than when they’d meet at the library. Did Spock even notice the change in his behavior or was Jim overthinking & over analyzing things that weren’t there? Was he trying to read the fine print that didn’t exist, or between the lines thinking some secret message is going to show? Maybe this wasn’t a good idea- No. He wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to hang out with his friend.

First the long and tedious walk here, then the awkward talk with the receptionist, the underdressed feeling, and now the stiff boyfriend. Could his day be going any more funky? He sighed again. The word pulled the boy up short now that he thought about it. Boyfriend. B-o-y-f-r-i-e-n-d. This was the first serious committed relationship in his life. Although his company was certainly not appriciated nor welcomed in the beginning he honestly isn’t sure what he’s going to do without it. Sure, he’s lived before without the Vulcan’s presence in his life but he’s not sure he can go back to doing so again.

The blonde was scared from his thoughts by a sniffle. He lifted his hands to his eyes to realize they were wet. Had he been crying? He doesn’t remember ever starting. He wiped the tears away with his hand, but they kept coming. He heard the door down the hall open and he started to panic. Jesus Christ, why can’t he hold it together all of a sudden?

He places his head down, face hidden by his arms as he hopes maybe his partner will think he fell asleep in the shot time from exhaustion. He’s saying a silent prayer his breathing isn’t going to be the thing to give it away. He could always blame it on a nightmare. Yeah, that’s what he’ll do. Say he fell asleep briefly after laying his head down and boom. Nightmare happened.

He heard footsteps and the faint noise of game pieces in a box coming toward his general direction and stopping closely.

“Jim?”

He opted not to respond. He’d have to come up with another excuse if he did.

He heard the box be sat down in front of him, and a gentle shake of his shoulder followed. Again no response. When the shake firmed up he moved quickly, wide-eyed and a gasp. The hand had shot back out of surprise as quickly as possible. He wiped at his eyes as a few tears continued to fall.

He glanced over at Spock and at first he saw a surprised look come across his face when he moved so suddenly before the Vulcan pulled whatever emotion he was feeling back under control.

“Jim, are you alright?“

“Y—Yeah, jus’ a Nightmare I suppose,”

God who’s cracking sad voice was that?

“Did you actually sleep adequately last night?”

“B—Best I could, I did have a few terrors last night too,”

And they were real bad, he was up for awhile after with his mom. Though why did he just admit that? He internally scolds himself. There was no reason for that.

“Come,”

Spock had taken one of his hands and was pulling him up and leading him to somewhere.

“But what about—”

“The chess game can wait,”

“But I-”

“Jim, please.”

Jim conceded the argument after that, and stood up. He felt an arm around his waist and was pulled close to the Vulcan, his free hand resting against the chest in front of him. Letting go of his hand momentarily, and with a gentle touch, the blonde felt his tears be wiped away. He looked up to meet the other’s concerned look. Though his face remained neutral for the most part, he could see the gloss of concern coating those chocolate like orbs he’s coming to adore, and the hint of a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

He looks away feeling ashamed, this was a stupid idea; his cheeks start prickling with warmth as he feels the tears form against his will in his eyes. Spock rests his forehead against his partner’s, and the floodgates open. He tries to shove away, to pull himself together and stop making an embarrassment of himself but the firm grasp around him only tightens.

“It is alright Jim,”

A firm but gentle voice tells him. He’s acutely aware of the swaying motion that started. It’s actually what got his attention; that and the warmth surrounding his thoughts. Emotions that are not his own flowing freely. Understanding, reassurance, were the strongest followed by one he’s unsure of. Admiration? What was admirable about his ugly crying, or the half lie he told? What was so admirable about him in this state?

The warmth around his thoughts pulled a little firmer as the voice whispered,

‘Nash-veh ashaya du,’

He opened his eyes, just as the action was mirrored by his partner.

“Is that you I’m feeling?”

He heard the chuckle in his head that confirmed his question. It was. A smile broke out on his face, even if it was still pink and puffy from his tears. He felt himself be guided over to one of the sofas.

His memory has a small gap. He’s not sure exactly how they got into this potion because in all honesty he was busy mentally talking with Spock. He was listening to his explanation what the difference of what their touch last night versus now was.

It was likely Jim was too out of it to really comprehend what Spock was saying. He wasn’t reacting at all like he’d calculated precisely, or maybe he had overestimate, or— That’s when he felt the leveled out breathing. The stilled mind under his fingers, which he withdrew for a much more comfortable position leaving behind a pleasant tingling sensation. Just picking up on Jim’s surface thoughts now, surface emotions. He closed his eyes and before he knew it, he too joined the other in sleep.

[imagining-supernatural]

The First Week

Part 8 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary: You’re wearing down physically and mentally from the cancer treatment and Sebastian is the only person around to take the brunt of your exhaustion

Word Count: 2019

The city passed by from the back of the hired car, but you couldn’t revel at the awesome sight that was New York City.

And you hated that.

You were in New York Fucking City.

The Big Fucking Apple

You hadn’t even been here a week yet. You should be enjoying this. You should be marveling at the landscape. The skyline. The history and art and people. You should be smiling damn it!

But all you could think about was the guest bed waiting for you on the other side of the ride.

Not even your own bed. A fucking guest bed.

“I thought we could order some food in when we get home,” Sebastian said. “Something with fresh vegetables. Maybe some chicken.”

“Sounds good,” you muttered, still staring blankly out the window.

“I was also thinking I could invite some strippers over. Since it’s Friday night, you know. Try to cheer you up a bit. Get you—”

“I’m listening, Seb. Chicken sounds good. Strippers sound exhausting and unnecessary. My pillow sounds even better.”

He grunted and went back to whatever the fuck he was doing on his side of the car.

“You can go do your own shit, you know. Go out with friends. Whatever. I can handle myself.” Now you looked over at him, hoping to convince him. “Ever since Monday, it seems like every single minute of your day has revolved around me.”

“And when I leave to film, I can—”

“When you leave to film, you’ll be Bucky fucking Barnes. Go. Be yourself. Tonight. I’m probably going to fall asleep in, like, ten minutes anyway.” As if to prove your point, you yawned. “This treatment is no joke.”

He made a noncommittal noise before turning his attention back to his phone. With a humph, you turned back to your window.

You’d warned him. While you hadn’t expected your bitchiness to show up in the third day of treatment, you weren’t entirely surprised.

And you’d warned him.

If he wanted to cut you off, you wouldn’t blame him. You’d sign the annulment papers. Or divorce papers. Whatever was placed in front of you, you’d sign it.

Or, if he dropped you off at his apartment and flew down to Georgia early to get a feel for the studio or whatever actors did, you wouldn’t blame him either.

The hired car pulled into the underground garage and stopped right by the elevators. Sebastian got right out, but you released a deep sigh before trying to build your energy. Dr. Sharpe and Dr. Chowdhury hadn’t been kidding when they said this treatment was intense. It was so intense that you were starting to think they overestimated how well you could handle this. Maybe they missed something on your labs and films. Your cancer was too far progressed. This was all an exercise in futility.

Your door opened to Sebastian holding his hand out to you.

Blowing out a breath, you took his hand, swung your legs out of the car, and started to stand up, only to have your knees give out and send you falling back into the car.

Eyes screwed closed, it took a moment to threaten the tears back. By the time you felt in control again, Sebastian was swooping you up into his arms.

“I can wa—”

“You cannot walk and so help me God, if you try to tell me that you can, I will call your friend and have her yell at you.”

He was right. It was annoying how often he was right in the five days that you’d known him. You didn’t have the energy to argue, so you just tucked your head into his shoulder and gave in.

“How do you feel about Chinese? Some steamed vegetables, orange chicken, and brown rice?”

“Orange chicken might be too much spice right now. I learned from chemo that, uh, spices do not go well with the fuckin’ atomic toxins they inject into my body. I’m on a bland food diet for time being.”

“Alright,” he nodded, shifting his hold on you to push the elevator button. “I’ll channel my inner, middle-aged, white-mom Karen who thinks that salt is a spice.”

That sparked a weak laugh from you. “Sounds perfect. Not too much salt, though.”

There were a few weeks until Sebastian had to leave to start filming his show. You had assumed he would check in on you, make sure you were doing okay, maybe spend some of his free time with you, but that he would go about his life as normal.

You were wrong.

He switched his schedule around to match yours. He worked out while you were getting your infusions, spoke with his agent during your shorter hospital visits for a shot or two, ran errands while you were napping… He was so fucking thoughtful.

And annoying.

Not only had Sebastian channeled his inner-Karen for your bland-food diet, but he also channeled his inner grandmother in the way he was constantly shoving food in your face, insisting that you have to eat to keep up your strength. He even went so far as to schedule a meeting with the hospital dietician and Dr. Chowdhury to make sure his diet plans gave you everything you needed, and nothing you didn’t. You’d never eaten this well in your life.

Despite your fully balanced diet, you were still exhausted most of the time. You’d thought that you were prepared for the intensity of this treatment, but there was no way to fully prepare for this. You were two weeks in and it still felt like it was getting worse. By this point in your chemo, you felt like you were starting on the upswing.

But you were still falling asleep before the movies that you and Sebastian watched together even began. You could barely finish your food before needing to lay back and rest. You would try to read a book, but you were barely ten pages in because every time you sat down to read, you ended up passing out. Any spare energy you had was spent trying not to be a bitch to the people around you.

Which is how you found yourself waking up from where you’d fallen asleep with your head in Seb’s lap. The TV was black, movie having ended.

“What are you—Is that my phone?” When you twisted around to look up at Seb, you were confused by your phone case in his hand. You’d given him your passcode, as a safety precaution, so you weren’t confused by how he got onto your phone, just why he was.

“Jasmin called twice, so I texted her to let her know why you weren’t answering.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“And then we kept talking. She’s really curious about who I am.”

“And really bad at keeping secrets.”

“I know. Just think about what she’s told me about you in the last half hour I’ve been texting with her.”

“Everything she told you about our senior year in high school is fake. She got a bad concussion the summer before and her memory of that entire year is shit. So, don’t believe any stories she tells you.”

His fingers scratched along your hairline. “Mmm, I’ll have to remember to ask her about those stories. This time she mostly divulged secrets for keeping you happy during this treatment.”

“Secrets like make sure Y/N always has access to chocolate and she’s going to want to stop treatment and run away to Paris. Help her plan, then when she thinks this is actually going to work, tell her there is no way in hell you’re letting her do this and crush her dreams. I’m sure she’ll forgive you eventually, but she hasn’t forgiven me for that yet so I can’t really tell you when.”

“Paris?”

“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower. Go to the Seine River and be surprised by how bad it smells. For some reason, places you think will smell normal always smell bad. You ever been to Yellowstone?”

That earned you a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind. She did touch on the chocolate thing, though.”

“What else?”

“When you start to feel better, apparently I’m supposed to convince you to dye your hair, or get a hair cut or something. I didn’t understand that one.”

“It’s just what I do. When I need a pick-me-up, I do something to my hair. Switch things up.”

“Noted. She also said, and I think this is her way of playing matchmaker from all the way across the country, but she said that you won’t ask or initiate physical touch, but you always seemed better when you cuddled with her. So apparently I’m supposed to cuddle with you whenever humanly possible.”

Of course, you thought. That was so Jasmin. After a quick, light laugh, you pulled yourself up to a sitting position, leaning on the other side of the couch. “God, Jasmin. She’s something else.”

“So she was wrong about that?”

“I—” You wanted to say yes. You didn’t want him to feel obligated to move your friendship to any kind of physical level, beyond him carrying you up a set of stairs, or falling asleep with your head in his lap. But you couldn’t lie.

So you just had to find a way to change the subject.

“She wasn’t wrong about me not initiating contact. I had a pretty tough life growing up, so touch is hard for me. Especially with people I’m around a lot.”

He nodded thoughtfully, shifting so he was facing you more with his knee on the cushion and arm along the back of the couch. “So, in Vegas…”

“One night stands are great because you don’t have to worry about forming any sort of connection. No feelings. Just… It’s just fun and done. It doesn’t hurt.” The subject change seemed to have worked, but now you were in depressing territory. Time for another shift. “So you went and fucked that all up by insisting we stay married.”

He scoffed and playfully said, “Well, sorry for saving your life.”

“Yeah, you’re just the worst,” you responded with an exaggerated eye roll. Eyes locked on his, you couldn’t help but offer him a soft smile. “Thank you, though. I don’t think I’ve said it outright how much this means to me.”

“Y/N, you don’t—”

“Shut up and let me be serious for once. I’m complimenting you. Just let me.”

A grin toyed with his lips as he held his hands up in surrender.

“Good. I know I’ve been a bit of a bitch lately, but I’ve tried extra hard not to be because… you’ve done so much for me. I have never met anyone who would help out a complete stranger like you’re helping me and I have a really hard time telling people thanks, or how much I appreciate them, but I need you to hear it. I…” You had to pause and take a deep breath because you were starting to get choked up. “Just, thank you, Seb.”

The air was charged as your eyes stayed locked. Sharing emotions was never your strong suit, and now you had no idea what to do, what to say…

“Come over here,” he softly said, opening his arms.

“Seb, you don’t have to—”

“Get over here, Y/N.” When it was clear he wasn’t going to relent, you gave in and let him fit you in his arms. Once the footrest was popped out and a blanket was pulled over the two of you, he grabbed the remote and opened Hulu. “You’re going to let me hold you and we’re going to watch Brooklyn 99, because Jasmin also said that’s your favorite show.”

Your silence was your agreement, but it wasn’t until Jake Peralta was assigned to the records room in the pilot episode that you finally accepted the broken boundary of physical touch and relaxed into Sebastian’s arms. You wrapped your arms around his waist and let your head lay on his shoulder. “Thank you, Seb.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N/N.”

Things seem to be going well now! They’re getting along, treatment is getting easier to manage... everything is going to stay this nice, right? Right??

Part 9: The First Check-In

[the-fox-populi-says]

Written & directed by Fangirl Quarantino

Ao3 has been very Foxphobic in that first I had to wait a whole day for an invite once I decided in the spur of a moment I should really make an account, and then telling me my username did not follow requirements (...it really did?? I swear!). So. Ao3 link might follow when that is fixed but for now, have a direct copy-paste of my latest one-shot. Summary: After an Order meeting runs late during a curfew, Shiro is stuck in Faust Mansion. Mephisto offers to poof him home, but had a few glasses and Shiro does not trust drunk magic. He also doesn't trust drunk opportunist Mephisto conveniently having no guest rooms available, and goes in search of alternative beds. Characters: Shiro, Mephisto, Belial, Ukobach Tags: #There was only one bed #which may have been by design #omg they were curfew mates #adult language #nudity #violence #banter #humour #alcohol #mature #Suggestiveness #no out-right smut #But the Thought is there #and a little #erotic aesphyxiation #never killed anyone #oh wait it did actually #Not this time though #dubious consent #or however you call relocating an unconscious naked person for your amusement but without actually feeling them up #well maybe a little #but with a towel

Enjoy~

“What do you mean, I can't go home?!” Shiro yelled at the unmoved face of the butler.

“Curfew, sir. It's past 9 pm.”

Fuck. That was right- there had been a surge in demon activity lately, and as a counter-measure, the Order had issued a strict no-going-out-after-dark policy. “Oh come on- I'm a professional! Any demon encountering me is in more danger than I am.”

“Even unarmed?” A smug, slightly lilting voice inquired behind his back. Shiro balled his fists, surpressing the urge to use them on the face that voice belonged to.

The same face and voice that had informed him a couple weeks earlier he was no longer allowed to bring firearms to Order meetings. Not since he'd emptied almost an entire magazine into the back of Mephisto's chair after the Osaka incident. Insufficient informants his ass. As if that mission hadn't been payback for the whoopie cushion the week before. As if a round of bullets would even kill the bastard. Wimps.

“Could neither of you have informed me sooner?! I was only sticking around because captain naggy pants over here-” he threw out his entire arm to gesture; “-insisted it would be bad form to leave with all the high-ups still here.”

“Bitte do not yell at my butler- it's not hisch fault you don't know how to use a watch.”

Shiro again considered the use of his fists, but instead opted for a look of Promise over his shoulder at the grinning demon getting up from behind the fancy desk.

“Oh relax, Shiro. I can juscht teleport you home.” “Oh nononono- There will be no. Poofing.” He switched from fists to pointing, and waved a warning finger at Mephisto's raised eyebrows.

“May I ask warum nicht?”

“Because you just had to serve prosecco at your stupid meeting and you have the poorest alcohol tolerance in the world. And a sweet tooth.” The eyebrows shot down, along with the corners of his mouth in an affronted expression.

“I had three glasses!” “Yes, and I can see you swaying from where I stand.”

Not to mention the increased use of German. Shiro folded his arms.

“Last time you looked like that and poofed me somewhere, I ended up in the middle of a rice field because you had sake on your brain.”

Mephisto made a dismissive motion with one hand. With the other he pretended not to grip the edge of the desk for balance.

“I'll juscht concentrate very hard on your apartment, it'll be fine.”

“Oh hell no- I don't wanna end up half inside my shower cabin, or inside a wall. I'm staying here. You have like five hundred rooms anyway.”

He turned around. “Yo Belial, point me to a guest room, would ya.”

No response. The butler looked even stiffer than usual, but bounced his eyes back and forth between the two men as if following a tennis match.

Shiro growled. “What?”

Finally, Belial mustered the courage to speak. “I'm afraid there are currently none available, sir.”

“...What.”

He shot a venomous look at Mephisto, who avoided his gaze and uncharacteristically fumbled with the buttons on his vest.

“I may have... clearedthelaschtonetomakeroomfurmeinecollectionofPokémoncards.”

Of course.

“So make a new one!”

Wrong move. Never order Mephisto around. The somewhat apologetic pout was gone in an instant and replaced by silken lechery.

“Oh now Shiro, you don't want me to use my magic while drunk, do you~?”

“...Seriously.”

“You know, there is another option...” The green eyes briefly slid sideways, returning to the exorcist's face to serve up a very clear and satisfied Suggestion.

Funny, how those three glasses of pink bubbly suddenly seemed to have left his system. Even funnier how there suddenly was a direct, open door from his office to his bedroom.

“...You wish.” Shiro planted his feet firmly on the ground. “Allow me to decline that offer with a resounding Fuck No.”

Mephisto rolled his eyes. “Oh please- I'll likely won't even use it tonight. There's a Voltron marathon on channel 12.”

“Ever heard of the phrase 'tying the cat to the bacon', because that's what me sleeping in your bed would be.”

“You overestimate this cat's interescht in your bacon.”

Waddayaknow. Little bubbly left in there after all. But apparently not so much that he couldn't poof himself into a shimmering baby blue chamber robe.

“Bullshit.” Shiro scoffed. “I've seen you checking out my bacon since the moment it turned legal and probably a good bit before that.”

“Very well.” The demon shrugged, and assumed a leisurely walk towards the pillow nest in front of the tv, with the obvious intent to install himself there for the rest of the night. “You're welcome to find yourself the softest spot of floor, then.”

Shiro sauntered after him, a smirk creeping up on his lips. “Actually, I have a better idea.” The moment Mephisto's satin-clad butt would have touched the pink bean bag, Shiro yoinked it from under him, causing the bony structure to make sudden, harsh contact with the marble tiles.

“Ow! What in-”

“Bed aqcuired. Goodnight.” Bean bag under one arm, Shiro marched off.

Mephisto crawled out of the surrounding pillows, rubbing his back with one hand and carrying murderous intent in his eyes.

“Give that BACK, the show's starting in 2 minutes!”

“If you're so confident about your magic, why don't you make me.”

Wrong move again, yes. But too delectable to pass up on. Shiro grinned, tossing the bean bag back and forth between his hands.

“Unless of course, you feel a bit nervous about your aim while I'm standing right in front of your precious figurine collection.”

A hesitation. Mephisto wavered. Little bubbly left in there after all. ...Dare he? He dared. Shiro stuck out his tongue.

Terrible move. The demon's eyes narrowed, and out of nowhere a yellow rubber ball with red stars flew off a shelf, bounced off the floor and hit Shiro square under the chin. He instantly dropped the bean bag to clasp both hands over his mouth with a pained groan.

“Told you there's nothing wrong with my aim.” A poof, and the bean bag was back in its rightful place: under Mephisto, who took his merry time wiggling himself into the most comfortable position.

“Stop being a crybaby and let me take you home, or enjoy the floor.”

Shiro lowered his hands and scowled at the back of Mephisto's head, and that oh so annoying flippant hand motion illustrating this fight was clearly over and he was the victor. As it should be.

When met with a display that level of self-assured superiority, one can only respond in either of two ways. Admit you lost... Or get petty.

“...Fine, swew you.” Fuck. Difficult to sound convincingly stubborn when his tongue wouldn't work.

“Thewe's bound to be a couch somewhewe. Hey Belial, help me out here, would you.” Finally. “Where's the nearest bed-like structure?”

“Belial, do absolutely not help him.” Asshole didn't even look up, just tapped at the remote.

Belial froze, looking extremely unhappy about being involved in their dispute.

“...Dude, seriously, you're a butler. Helping guests is just as much your job as pampering his childish ass.”

“...” Merely a gaze of concern at his master, and an apologetic look in Shiro's direction, pressing his lips tightly together.

Shiro growled. “Fuckin' bootlicker.”

-Some 25 minutes later-

Mephisto's bedroom doors were thrown open, and a dishevelled Shiro unsteadily leaned against the doorway.

“Back so soon?” Mephisto grinned over his shoulder, a drinking straw clasped tightly between his fangs, but his glee evaporated and he took it out when he caught a better look at the exorcist's state. “What happened?”

Shiro tottered in, bits and pieces falling out of his torn clothes, and rubbing the various cuts on his cheek with the back of his equally mangled hand.

“Wound up in kitchen. Dark. Accidentally knocked over a bowl. Side dish or sum'thin. Ukobach did not appreciate. Told him to calm down. Rain of pasta. You wouldn't believe how sharp uncooked penne can be.”

“Tragic.” The grin returned. “Try not to bleed on any fabrics if you're going to take refuge in here.”

Heartwarming. Shiro was too worn out to dig up some choice insults, but addressed Mephisto with the foulest look he could still muster.

The demon chuckled. “...Or perhaps, just let me send you home?”

Silence. There was probably no alcohol in the glittery cinema soda cup, but who was to say for sure. Also, leaving the mansion somehow felt like a greater defeat than staying in Mephisto's room. Like he hasn't just lost the battle, but was too afraid to even remain on the battlefield.

The demon kept his eyes fixated at the colourful robots on the tv screen, but his ears were perked up attentively, waiting for Shiro's response. When that failed to happen, he closed his eyes and gave another nudge-

“...Or use what might arguably be the best bed in the world~”

Bait? Definitely. But also a lifeline. Shiro bit.

“You mean that bed you do God knows what in? Yuck, no thanks.”

Dramatic sigh for effect before deigning to look him in the eye. “Have you met me? My bed is clean, I assure you.”

Shiro smirked. Such a diva. And a dweeb. “Yeah alright, you probably only ever hump anime pillows anyway.”

The corners of his mouth curled upwards. “Justify your choice however you like, Shiro-pon.”

Boxers and t-shirt wouldn't be too bacon-y for the cat, right? Not while there were still mechas on tv to distract it, at least. Shiro began peeling off his tattered clothes, until Mephisto's ears twitched at the click of his belt unbuckling and he turned sharply towards the exorcist.

“...Excuse me, what do you think you're doing?”

Shiro kicked off his pants and flipped back the blankets. “Using your goddamn bed. Happy now?”

“Absolutely not. Get out.”

What. Shiro stared at the piqued face in disbelief.

“...Are you for real? What the fuck is it now?! In the bed, not in the bed, get in, go away-”

“Oh, you're welcome to sleep in my bed.” Mephisto squinted eyes slid up and down over Shiro's post pasta-fight body and the dirty clothes on the floor in a most disapproving manner. “AFTER you take a shower.”

Shiro's shoulders dropped. “...Really now?”

“Like I said.” He decidly turned back to the screen. “I like my bed clean.”

Shiro had no doubt the demon could sense the middle finger aimed at his back, but there were no bouncing balls or other items interfering with his gesture while he strode into the bathroom and yanked a towel out of the closet.

Frankly, it was not exactly a terrible ordeal to use Mephisto's shower. If he hadn't been that tired, be might have opted to wait for the bath to fill up instead- he eyed the pool-sized structure with a mixture of envy and disgust. Filthy rich bastard.

Filthy rich bastard with a royally equipped shower cabin, though. Shiro turned the knob and waited for the water from the various shower heads to heat up, when a voice from the bedroom yelled over the sound of the streams: “You better not use my expensive shower gel!”

Shiro sighed. “Which one?! They all seem expensive!” They probably were.

“...The gold and pink bottle. Do not touch it.”

Definitely touching it, he picked it up and turned it around in his hand. “Oh lord save me, you know how much I'd like to smell like- vanilla tenderness?? ...Is that how you lure in prey?”

“I'll have you know the ladies love it.”

Shiro snickered. “Oh, I don't doubt that. On them.”

“You bet they do~” The smug retort came drifting from under the door.

Shiro shook his head.

“Are you sure they can't sue you for false advertising, cuz there is nothing vanilla nor tender about you.”

“How would you know?”

...Walked straight into that one.

“...Care to find out~?”

“Eat my ass.”

“Maybe after you washed it.”

Shiro didn't know it was possible to choke on your own tongue while standing. Thank God or whomever that the demon couldn't see how red his face was- though judging by the giggling noises, the shower wasn't enough to drown out his coughing fit.

“Really, you are so wonderfully talented at putting your own foot in your mouth, Shiro~”

“Keep it up and I'll put my foot in your mouth!” He scowled, stepping into the shower while Mephisto burst out in a full-blown laughing fit, fuck knows why. Shiro shrugged it off. This was probably one of those better-off-not-knowing times.

Ah, such a wonderful story~ Heroism, friendship, impossible odds, fantastic machinery... The show had ended and Mephisto zapped away from the commercial break to search for something more interesting. Hm, not much, this late. He shook his cup, the decorative re-useable plastic ice cubes rattling about. All out of drinks. Snacks too. Maybe switch to other entertainment. Come to think of it...

He turned towards the bathroom door. He could hear the water still going. How long had he been in there by now? Five episodes? Seven?

“...As much as I appreciate cleanliness, don't you think you're overdoing it just a scooch?”

No response.

“Don't go telling me you dropped the soap and need help finding it.”

Still nothing. No change in sound whatsoever. Not even one of Deliberately Ignoring You. Odd.

Mephisto rose from his pillow nest and knocked on the bathroom door.

“...Shiro?”

Nothing but the running water. And a strange, light ...grating sound? He opened the door.

“I'd suggest you make yourself decent, but given how much water you're using as well as your general behaviour today that is word obviously not in your dic-”

Oh. Oh dear.

Semi-sitting on the floor of the shower cabin, slouched into a corner, was one sleeping exorcist. Mildy snoring.

Mephisto cocked his head. Strangely adorable, but also annoying. He briefly studied the naked, scratched-up figure. Not a bad look, not at all~ But too easy.

He sighed, and peeled one of his sleeves back to turn off the water. Honestly, rude. He should ask Belial to take care of it. On the other hand... being this troublesome warranted some payback. Payback that would take some effort, but be so much more satisfying than just turning on the cold water right now. Especially since Shiro was known to have a habit of getting violent when woken up suddenly. He didn't fancy risking a cold shower as well. Plus, the mere idea of the face Shiro would make when- He snickered. Yes, a much a more rewarding idea. He snapped his fingers.

“Hmmnnggh...” Shiro rolled over, the filtered light making him vaguely aware that it was morning. He hadn't slept this well in ages, and wasn't planning on letting it end just yet. He pulled the sheets along with him. Comfy. His bed wasn't usually this comfy. Smelled different, too. Did he use a new a laundry detergent? Nope, nope- do not get tricked into thinking just yet. That would wake him. Back to sleep. Savour it.

He pulled the sheets a little more, intent on going full burrito mode. Hm. A little stuck. He groaned at the incooperative blanket, and gave a better yank.

“Don't hog all the covers, please.”

A more effective waking method than a needle in his butt. Shiro shrieked -much to his embarassment- and bolted out of bed. A bed, he now realized, was indeed not of his usual comfort level. In several ways. His embarassment rose even higher when he met the incredibly satisfied eyes of the creature inhabiting the bed. Mephisto's face was about sixty percent teeth as he soaked up the image of the severely shocked man, who was still coming to terms with the fact that no, this was not still part of a nightmare, he was, in fact, awake.

And naked.

Upon that realization, Shiro's brain short-cirquited so completely he did not even attempt to cover himself up. Instead, he just froze, blinking fervently as if hoping the next time he opened his eyes, the lecherous monster, half-dressed in an untied silk gown and lying there as if posing for his portrait as a Roman emperor, would somehow have disappeared.

It took a couple minutes -or hours, by Shiro's reckoning- for the demon to get his fill of this view and bestow the smallest amount of mercy upon him.

“As much as I'd love to hang up a story about tequila, I'm afraid you just fell asleep in the shower. So I dried you off and placed you in here.”

Shiro rebooted.

“You... dried me off??”

“Wouldn't want my best exorcist to catch a cold- or soak my sheets.”

Lanes reopened, the backed-up thought traffic in Shiro's head now started honking impatiently to gain first access to his mouth.

“And you- I- but- it didn't- occur to you- that you could have just WOKEN ME UP?!”

“Frankly I hoped you would wake while I was toweling you off, hovering six feet off the floor... But as usual, you were disappointing.”

Mephisto managed to shrug leaning on one elbow, resting his jaw in his hand. He did not quite manage to look genuinely disappointed.

“You really should work on your comedic timing.”

Shiro's face was bright red, but no longer with embarassment. He was seething, fists and jaw clenched, his white bed hair sticking up as steam rising from his forehead.

“I. am not. your entertainment.”

Mephisto grinned. “Aww, no need to throw in the towel just yet~” His eyes glanced down. “You've got such potential, Shiro...”

WHACK. Instead of a towel, Shiro chose to throw in a pillow. And his full weight and strength to press it over Mephisto's face.

-Epilogue-

Oof. Goodness. Mephisto remained lying down, running a system check on his body. Everything was still there and working, it seemed, but he really should not have let Shiro have his little revenge for quite so long. He had to admit he underestimated the man's strength and how long it would take for his body to pass out from lack of oxygen. Too sidetracked by certain pleasant side-effects, perhaps. He should be more careful about that- Shiro probably hadn't noticed, or he might have indeed woken up with certain parts missing. Or at least damaged. Something still seemed wrong, though. Cold. He sat upright on the mattress. But not in his bed. Or bed chamber.

He blinked. Then shivered. As one tends to do when one wakes up soaking wet, outside. Because someone had dragged the entire mattress, demon included, out to the balcony. In the rain.

“...Oh REAL mature, Shiro!”

He teleported indoors, into a warm, fluffy bath gown, and stared at his expensive mattress through the glass doors of his bedroom. Blasted exorcist. Still...

He summoned his phone, flipped it open, and smiled at his new background picture. Dozens of carefully arranged plushies, and in the middle-

“...Best toy I ever had.”

~The end~

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Curfew: Not at all Corona-inspired~ But isolation makes no sense from an exorcism point of view. However, most demons in canon prefer the dark, so when there's an increase in numbers/reported attacks, a curfew is a logical counter-measure to protect the population. And since exorcists aren't supposed to work alone (*casts stern look at Shiro*), only teams on mission would have permission to walk around at night.

Poor alcohol tolerance & increased German: I strongly headcanon Mephisto's host body is in fact that of the original Faust, and it reverting back to its mother tongue when its language cortex is compromised somehow. I also strongly headcanon all strong demons having an insanely fast metabolism, going by the way Mephisto & Amaimon are always snacking yet skeletal, and this got in fact sort of confirmed by the recent manga chapter where Shiro complains about it in regards to baby Rin. So Mephisto gets drunk easily, but it also wears off rather quickly, unless he keeps drinking.

Don't drink and do magic/ rice fields: For more information, read The End of the Beginning by Superior Dimwit, arc 2: Inferno, chapter 39.

Tying the cat to the bacon: this is a literal translation of a Dutch expression. I cannot justify how exactly Shiro got to know about it, but I sure as fuck can justify its use here. It just fits too well.

Yellow rubber ball with red stars: Also known as a Dragon Ball, of course.

Ukobach: I know he hasn't shown up in the manga (yet), but this is one of those very rare times (maybe the only time) where I think the anime changed something for the better, and there is a good chance Kato is the one who told them the name in the first place, since it's an actual known demon. Either way, Mephisto should totally have some mad monkey five-star chef, in my opinion.

The thing about feet you're better off (not) knowing: Words can have interesting double meanings in other languages. For more information, read chapter 17 of Between the End and the Beginning, once more by Superior Dimwit. Technically, you could argue that the majority of mankind has a foot fetish.

Dropping the soap: I trust everyone to know this one. If not, google it at your own risk.

Violent awakenings: Based on Shiro punching little Shura in the face when she kissed his forehead while he was napping.

Pleasant side-effects of lack of oxygen can include popping a boner and light-headed euphoria. Especially when there's a naked exorcist on top of you. Shiro was right: false advertising indeed.

Plushies & pictures: Y'all remember Rin waking up in Mephisto's bed after going full demon mode in the manga? Although he may have sent his butler to pick up the kid and had the common decency to not him in there naked as he did with Shiro in this fic, there were a number of plushies surrounding Rin when he woke up. All facing up and some placed on top of him. Meaning that they didn't accidentally rolled their way there as he tossed and turned in his sleep- someone definitely placed them there. Cute for now, blackmail for later. Always handy.

[weforgotthatwearethestars]

No Memory is Gonna Save You Now (part 2)

Told ya it’d be up tonight 😅

To reiterate (aka the summary):

While out on patrol, Peter looses most of his memories. Through the kindness of strangers, his friends, and his family, he learns exactly what those closest to him mean to him.  

Starker, so don’t like don’t read!

Also here on Ao3!

Tags: amnesia, temporary amnesia, team as family, canon-typical violence, fluff, angst, happy ending  

As it turns out, and much to Peter’s amusement, Tony may have overestimated his ability to ‘fix this’. 

The situation is stressful, sure. It took Tony showing him half a dozen videos of the two of them, relaxed, in and out of the suits they wear before Peter would be convinced to hand the suit he was wearing over to Tony. It takes Peter even more time to trust Tony to sift through the wires and code on his own, at Tony’s insistence to get cleaned up and have a damn nap already, your jaw is clicking when you yawn. 

But Peter trusted him. Not all at once, but after too many questions and Tony showing all the patience in the world it was hard not to. 

Besides, Tony’s name was written in his arm. 

Underlined. 

And Peter was still choosing to believe that meant a hell of a lot. 

So when Peter wakes up, still clutching the I.D. card, wrapped in a blanket and borrowed clothes, with no more memories than when he fell asleep, he looks around for Tony. And he can’t be blamed that he finds the sight of the genius arguing with a man in a red cape that’s twitching like it’s alive amusing. 

They’re going back and forth about time constraints, spell ingredients, and “ - he’s saved your ass before, Strange! You can’t just - ” 

“Talking about me while I’m asleep. Super classy of you guys.” Peter says as he sits up on the old couch in the lab, shoving the I.D. card into a pocket. Strange, The Asshole Wizard (as Tony has called him many times now) sighs in what sounds like relief and says something to Peter. He’s not too focused on what because the red cape has floated off his shoulders and is coming for him! 

Peter manages a squawk before it wraps around his middle in what he comes to realize is a hug….? He pats the bit of cape that’s over his chest and it ripples happily under his hand. 

“Y-you’re alive?!” he exclaims as the cape ripples around him a little more. Peter starts to giggle as the cape seems to be enjoying the petting and attention. After a point it starts to move him around and before long it sweeps Peter off his feet and tosses him like he just jumped off a trampoline. Peter shrieks, half delight half fear, as he’s launched toward the ceiling, the other two men shout as well. He reaches the apex of his toss at just the right height to calmly reach out and stick himself to the ceiling with all of his limbs. He laughs a little more as he arches to look over and down to see - 

“How the hell are you doing that!? That’s so cool!” 

A portal had opened just underneath him, Strange seemed to be holding it open while Tony had his arms out as if to catch him. The cape floating between them, twitching this way and that. Tony looked like he couldn’t decide between amused and annoyed, and honestly either would be a good look on him. 

Peter grinned and it seemed to tip the other man to begrudgingly amused. I’ll take it. 

“Let go, Pete. I’ll catch you.” 

Peter snorts because if he’s learned anything about his abilities in the hours before he fell asleep it’s that he could get down off the ceiling by himself, with or without the portal. 

But, he lets go without much of a thought, passing through the portal and landing in Tony’s arms, bridal style. 

As much as he’s learned about his own abilities, he’s also learned a decent amount about Tony and the amount of pure caring he’s got packed into himself for others. Or at least for Peter and his own creations. As soon as Peter is through, Strange lets the portal fizzle out. 

“I thought you said he didn’t have control of his powers.” Strange says, sounding smug. Peter expects Tony to have some sort of snappy comeback but when it doesn’t come immediately, he pulls his eyes from the fizzled out portal, face pulling out of the goofy grin and into something more concerned, to look up and over at Tony. Tony’s looking at Peter already, stunned and shocked at best, something deeper twisting in his eyes. Tony’s grip tightens on him minutely and it clicks. 

Possessiveness. 

Peter doesn’t have time to react to his revelation before, “I’m sorry, should I come back?” 

Tony and Peter’s heads whip around like they’ve been caught doing something far worse than staring at each other. Tony clears his throat while Peter blushes and both scramble to get Peter’s feet on the ground.  

“So, ah,” Peter stutters out, shaking himself mentally to get back to the issue at hand, “You guys were talking about my memories?” This seemed to reboot Tony completely as he looks sharply back at Strange and Strange’s smug amusement falls to generally disheartened and vaguely annoyed. 

“Yes, we were.” Strange replies, “As I was trying to explain to Stark, I can’t just put your memories back. It’s a process. And it’s going to take even more time to put them back because we were so quick with removing them to begin with.” 

Peter feels his eyebrows draw together and before he can really think it through, he asks, “Why were you rushing the first time?” Strange looks dubious while Tony just glares at him but both, somehow, look guilty. 

“You got kidnapped by aliens that are part of a hive mind that are trying to take over this planet. They’re highly advanced, technologically, but not magically. When you dropped off the map and Stark couldn’t find you, he called me.” 

Peter blinks at him once, twice, because how - “How did you just say all of that with a straight face?” he asks, completely at a loss. 

Strange rolls his eyes with a muttered, “Always a damn comedian.” while Tony snorts and says, “Good one, Pete.” Peter just blinks at the two of them. That seems to make them realize he’s not joking. 

“I explained all of this to you last night!” 

“I thought you were being dramatic! Or, just, like, making things up so I’d pay attention!” 

“I mean, that doesn’t sound far from your usual, Stark.” 

“I swear, Tinkerbell - ” 

“Guys!” Peter half shouts to get his voice above their bickering, grin growing as he looks between the two men and the floating cape. “Magic is real!” and now he’s really grinning like a lunatic, “That’s fascinating!” 

Tony has a fond, confused smile crawling up his face while Strange just rolls his eyes and mutters with a slight smirk. 

They discuss things a little longer, determining that they will have to at least wait until the alien threat is gone before they attempt to put Peter’s memories back. Strange is called away while they discuss the details of the ritual, which leaves Tony and Peter with more questions than answers, really. 

“He’s always so damn cryptic.” Tony mutters as he heads back to his project. 

But that’s before the banshee in Peter’s stomach decides to growl. 

Peter smiles sheepishly while Tony turns back around to raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Baby girl, what time is it?” 

“11:34 am, sir.” 

“With your metabolism, you must be starving.” Tony mutters as he saves his holos and shuts it all down with a few waves. Then Tony claps, rubbing his hands together on the way to the door and says, “To the kitchen!” with Peter trailing behind him. 

Peter tries to protest a little, managing to at least delay things mildly when he asks if he should be carrying around his memories in an I.D. card in his pocket. Tony just takes it from him, striding to one end of the lab, open a fucking secret panel in the floor that has five kinds of crazy locks before it opens up with a dull thud and a grunt on Tony’s part. Once the card is placed inside, Tony just strides back, grabbing his arm gently as he walks by, guiding him firmly out of the lab. 

He’s determined to feed Peter it seems. 

So Peter just keeps his mild panic to himself. 

Because Peter isn’t stupid he knows that, in a place this big, they’re likely to run into someone. And if they’re going to their usual haunts, then they’re much more likely to run into someone they know. The lab seemed like a place that was just for him and Tony (and the bots). Who knows if ‘the kitchen’ is a communal space or private. And this line of thinking just raises more questions for Peter. 

Because he doesn’t know anything. 

He doesn’t know what building this is other than the ‘Tower’. He doesn’t know if people live here, if this is a business place, or where literally anything is. There is apparently a lobby, a lab, and a kitchen and this, really is as far as he’s gotten. They’re on their way to find food and he doesn’t even know what he likes, for Newton’s sake! 

What if he has a food allergy? What if he manages to harm himself and he doesn’t know if he has any allergies to medication? Oh, nononono, what if he has pets and doesn’t feed them? What if they die and - ? 

“Are you coming? Or are you going to just…..stand in the elevator all day?” Tony asks, snapping Peter out of his internal existential spiral. 

“Do I have pets?!” Peter asks, a little frantic, wild eyed as he stares at Tony. 

He blinks once or twice then, “No? But we can go to your room after this, if you want? I mean, I don’t think you have a living pet but you make robots at random and, knowing you, you’ve adopted a rock and feed it, like, love twice a day or something.” Rolling his eyes fondly, Tony grabs Peter’s arm lightly and starts towing him out of the elevator, saying, “Come on, you’re not getting out of food.” 

For some reason, this makes Peter relax a bit. 

Peter lets himself be towed down a hall and through a living room with couches and a large tv and into a well stocked, modern kitchen. Tony drops his arm as he passes the stools tucked into an island and rounds, making a beeline for the fridge. Peter takes the hint and sits on a stool as Tony turns back towards him with a calculating look on his face. 

“If I ask you what you like to eat, would you know the answer?” It seems like an overly round-about way of asking if he even remembers what foods he likes but Peter shakes his head, frowning in response to his realization. 

Tony’s face softens though and with a flap of a hand he says, “Don’t worry. I know what you like. Sweet or savory?” 

Peter feels his face scrunch a little, then replies, “Savory?” 

“Got it.” Tony fires off with a grin before he’s on the move again. A green apple is soon tossed his way, a moment later a jar of peanut butter, too. He notes that it’s labeled with his name before a knife is placed on the counter in front of him. “Usually you just slap the peanut butter on the apple and bite into it all together.” 

The face Peter pulls must betray his confusion and mild disgust because Tony laughs as he pulls the peanut butter jar from Peter’s hand lightly. “I know how it sounds but usually when you’re hungry,” he starts as he works the lid of the jar then tilting the opening toward Peter’s face, “you get impatient.” Peter gets one whiff of the peanut butter and his stomach growls loudly as his mouth starts salivating. Shocked, Peter looks up at Tony, wide-eyed, as the other man grins at him, happy to have gotten Peter so right. 

He gently takes the jar from Tony, blinking down into the contents and wondering for the millionth time just how well this man might know him. Tony nods to himself, happy, like he’s ticking off something on a to-do list, then turns around to the fridge. 

He’s going about the kitchen, taking things out and settling into some sort of rhythm all his own so….Peter just watches. He contemplates offering his help once or twice as he makes his way through half the apple and a third of the jar but he never feels like he needs to. Like he’s expected to. It’s the first time he’s sat and just….existed since he woke up under those trees and it’s both oddly forgein and terribly comforting. 

He slathers on more peanut butter and munches more of his apple and tries his best to just, be. 

It doesn’t last long, sadly. 

A man walks in with too many muscles, long hair flung wildly around his face, and a metal arm in his hand. The man grunts in his direction before he turns to Tony, dropping the metal arm on the counter in front of Peter. Tony and the man start talking but, honestly, Peter couldn’t care less what they’re saying because the arm in front of him is beautiful. 

His hands are running all over it before he really ever gave himself permission or thought to ask for anyone else’s. The design is a thing of wonder but it’s heavier than he feels an arm maybe should be. He’s got about three ways to improve the weight as he articulates the limb only to find that there’s a snag in the elbow. There’s a memory in his hands as he checks over the plates of the arm, feels vaguely like he’s done this all before somehow. There’s no visual, techni-colored memory to pull up as a reference but he knows, in his fingers and his wrists, the way to twist the arm around, the way plates are supposed to shift, and where the access panels are. 

He’s got it open as easy as breathing and he’s got his hands on the issue in nothing flat. Pulling out the flat, floppy magnet with a content noise and a smile, seems to be what breaks Peter out of his mechanical-sleuthing trance. He drops the wrist onto the counter with a loud clang, causing the long haired man to look over at him sharply from where he was busy making what looks to be coffee. 

“You good, Queens?” Peter hears the man ask as he continues to stare at the arm, trying to figure out, understand somehow, that his fingers knew more than he did for a little while there. 

“Did you find something weird in it?” the man asks and Peter jumps. The man is standing at his side and he doesn’t remember hearing the guy move. The guy takes the magnet that’s still in Peter’s hand, inspects it quickly, before he seems to relax a little and almost, maybe does something with his lips that could be construed as a smile. 

If you squint. 

“Clint.” the man states, fond annoyance bleeding into his tone. He ruffles Peter’s hair which turns into some sort of shoulder squeeze. Then he leans over, taps all the panels closed, picks the arm up, and jams it holy mother of - ! 

It’s the guy’s own fucking arm, Peter thinks in complete and utter horror and fascination. 

The guy wiggles the fingers around, bends the elbow, rotates the shoulder then smiles, properly this time.

 He picks up his mug, waves at Peter and Tony vaguely, with a “Thanks, kid.” thrown over his shoulder before he’s gone again. 

Peter’s still gaping a little at where the guy disappeared out of. He’s probably been gaping for an inordinate amount of time when there is a hand (flesh and blood, because that’s a note we have to make now) wiggled in his face. 

Peter blinks once or twice to pull the hand into focus and, after a moment or two, sees that the hand is attached to Tony. 

A confused Tony. 

“Why didn’t you tell Elsa you lost your memories? Did you recognize him or something?” Tony asks and Peter just gapes. 

Tony’s about to add something when, “His name is Elsa?” 

Peter has a feeling that the incredulity is what startles the rawkus laughter out of Tony, but he supposes he can’t be sure. Further testing will definitely be needed, he thinks as he feels his lips curl into a grin at the warm, happy sound. 

Tony takes a little while to get a hold of himself before he manages, “I guess he’s not familiar then.” He smirks at Peter, laughter still in his eyes as he explains, “His name is Bucky. He’s got a metal arm and you fix it for him when it breaks, most of the time.” Peter makes a thoughtful noise as Tony continues chopping things and mulls the new information over. 

“Is he like a brother or more like good friends or something?” Peter asks. He figures it’s an innocent enough question and that it would fit with the man’s, Bucky’s, actions. He’d ruffled his hair, squeezed his shoulder, deposited his beautiful, malfunctioning, cybernetic arm for Peter to fix (and drool over). Peter figures that’s the kind of thing you do with someone you know and trust. 

Fixing someone’s arm is a big deal. But then being an arm down around someone is a vulnerable position as well. 

With this thought Peter adds, “You must mean something to him too, right?” 

There’s no immediate response so Peter looks back over at Tony only to find that the man is just staring at him with his kitchen knife half way through an onion. Peter frowns and asks, “Are you alright?” which seems to shake Tony out of whatever trance he’s ended up in. 

“Yeah, no, ah -” he coughs a bit then goes back to chopping as he continues, “We’re fine, mostly. But you’re pretty right. About you guys. He trusts you, you’re pretty good friends. He’s on the team, sorta. It’s similar to how you’re on the team sorta.” 

“How many superheroes are there? Do they all live here, too?” Tony chuckles at that but seems to relax a little more with the broader topic. Peter tries to remember to maybe avoid Bucky as a topic in front of Tony until his memories are back in his head. 

“Not all the hero's live here but there’s a decent amount who do. Want me to tell you a little about everyone?” 

Peter grins, “Please?” 

And Tony tells him. 

Tony tells him about how the first time Peter meant Captain America in the suit, he had stolen the shield from him and earned the nickname ‘Queens’ and how, after a long fight, everyone got their shit together and talked like adults. 

He told him about how the first time he met Natasha in the lab, out of his suit as Tony’s intern, she had narrowed her eyes at Peter, then Tony, then back at Peter and said, calm as anything, “If you hurt him I’ll kill you.” and walked out. Tony says it took him nearly two weeks to convince Peter to go back to the lab after that. 

He laughs through an explanation of the ‘severe fanboying’ Peter had done when he had met Bruce the first time and how happy Bruce was to science with Peter after he had gotten a feel for him. And he smiles fondly through the story of Spider-man meeting Hulk for the first time and becoming fast friends through junk food and play wrestling. 

By the time Tony is finishing up with the food Peter feels like he’s gotten to know the people he apparently lives with a bit better. Tony’s eyebrows draw together at some thought before he’s quickly adding in, “In case you were worried, anyone who has access to these floors knows your identity. And Friday’s programmed to warn you and make it harder for people to get to you if you’re in the suit but don’t have the mask on. You’re also my ‘intern’ and you live here so if you say you’re Peter Parker and that you live here, no one’s gonna think you’re Spider-Man just because of that.” 

Peter...honestly hadn’t thought about it too much. 

But - “Does that really happen all that often?” 

Tony snorts, actually snorts, at Peter’s look of confusion and replies, “To you, Pete? Too often.” Tony’s still chuckling to himself as he plates up the food he cooked which turns out to be spaghetti. 

Scratch that, Peter thinks as he takes his first bite, he made heaven in a food! 

Peter feels a happy noise crawl out of his throat around his mouthful before he starts trying to scarf it down as quickly as possible. 

“Woah, kid. Breath a little, please. There are several people that would kill me if you die from food inhalation.” 

Peter manages to swallow all the food in his mouth before he’s quipping back, “If they tasted this they would understand! How do you cook like this, it’s amazing!” 

Tony just waves him off saying, “It’s not that great, kid. You’re just starving from a high metabolism and currently have no memory of what a hot meal is.” Peter would have continued his uphill battle but in walked….someone who likely lived here as he was a man in sweatpants, an over large tshirt, and an exceptional case of bed head. 

“Hey,” Peter says at the guy, who looks up with a very confused look on his face, “tell Tony that his spaghetti is amazing.” 

The guy blinks, then blinks again, then, “There’s spaghetti?” 

His voice was gruff and very confused, but Peter being himself replies, “Tony just made some.” 

The guy grins like a puppy with a tennis ball and mumbles, “Tony s’ghetti.” before he shuffles to the stove to serve himself. Peter gives Tony a smug look that Tony just rolls his eyes at. But drinking from his glass of water doesn’t quite cover his blush. 

Huh. 

Before Peter has much time to think about the blush on Tony’s face or what that might mean, another person walks into the kitchen. 

“Hey! No class today, Peter?” Tony curses, scabbling off the stool he’s on before he’s running out of the kitchen. 

Peter blinks at where he’s disappeared out of but tries not to worry too much. 

Tony’s a) an adult who can likely take care of himself but also b) a seemingly chaotic person at best. Peter figures if something was terribly wrong Tony would tell him, or Friday would. 

Peter looks back over at the new person, trying to figure out what he's supposed to do now. 

He looks similar to the man now standing with a bowl of spaghetti and downing a separate bowl of coffee. They both have blue eyes, broad shoulders, and an inordinate amount of height. Both also have short, blonde, messy hair, though the man that's just looking at him in confusion seems to be sweaty and damp, unlike the sleep ruffled look of the other guy. 

"Do you know what that was about?" the sweaty guy asks, nodding toward the hall Tony had disappeared down. 

Peter just shrugs at him and keeps eating his food, hoping he won't be questioned further. What was he supposed to say anyway? Nah, I have no idea what just happened but I've been confused since 3am when I fell out of a tree and some girl called me Spider-Man so I may not be the right guy to ask. 

Yeah that would go over, swimmingly. 

After eating (i.e. practically inhaling) the rest of his food, Peter puts all his dishes in the sink and grabs Tony’s bowl from the counter. 

He’s about to ask Friday where Tony went so he can bring him his food when sweaty guy pipes up, “Did you have a rough patrol last night?” 

Peter half turns back to him, reluctance probably too clear in his posture, and just nods and sort of mumbles something vaguely affirmative sounding. 

He’s about to book it out of there when a deep sigh sounds like it’s pulled from the guy’s chest as he continues, “Look, Peter, I know we’re not on great terms but if you’re having a hard time please talk to someone? Maybe Nat? If we get called into the field and -” 

“Yeah! I’ll, uh, talk to Nat. I’m. Just, um. Gonna bring this to Tony really quick, sorry. Bye!” Peter manages to stutter out before he’s running down the hall and into the closest available elevator before anyone else has the time to stop him. 

Well, that could’ve gone worse, he thinks to himself as he directs Friday to take him to Tony. 

The thought rings a little hollow though, as he really has no idea how it could’ve gone worse than if someone had tried to physically fight him.

*****************************************************************************************

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[myassbrokethefall]

All right, I just watched This for the third time, and the first time where I could really pause and rewind and have my attention undivided, since the first time through my brain was just a mess of AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH THIS IS SO GOOD THIS IS SO GOOD and the second time it was so I could follow along with Gillian’s tweets. (I may have learned what a taint was that day, but I did not get much detailed information about the plot.) (Just kidding, I already knew what a taint was, unlike Gillian Anderson who is clearly still enjoying the novelty of having recently found out about it.)

Here are my unedited (except for typos/some cleanup for clarity purposes) thoughts as I watched it, under a cut because anytime anyone says “lol here are my UNEDITED THOUGHTS” it should be under a cut, I feel like. Enjoy! Or don’t.

Phone: MULDER! MULDER! MULDER! MULDER! MULDER! MULDER!

Mulder: *sleeps*

Scully (very quietly): Mulder

Mulder: WHAT I'M UP I'M UP

I hope those assassins had to get out of the car and manually heave the gate out of the way like Scully did in IWTB.

Why is there an antler on the floor? Do Mulder and Scully just have...a single antler

"Accuse your enemies of that which you are guilty"?? I didn't even see that because apparently I didn’t look up either time while the themesong was playing. Also, in the grand tradition of "that with which he can't live without," this is grammatically incoherent. Good proofreading everyone

I look forward to someone less lazy than me examining every single frame of film in which the Unremarkable House appears and itemizing all of Mulder and Scully's possessions. I MAY have the same toaster oven as them?

Scully's badge number is XF072161?? What happened to JTTsomething? @startwreck did you know about this

227700 Wallis Road, Farrs Corner, VA. A real town. Google Map it, click Satellite, zoom out and note with pleasure (if you’re me) how in the exact bullseye middle of a bunch of empty green they are, far from civilization. That’s how I like my Unremarkable House. 

Simultaneous thoughts I had as the second wave of bad guys was attacking: How on earth did somebody get upstairs that fast? Did they parachute in? / Look at that beautiful porchlight

Crucial Plot Points That I Missed Entirely While In Raptures Over The Mulder And Scully Goodness Of This Episode, Part 1: Barbara Hershey’s character sent this Russian goon squad. Ah.

russian guy: (mockingly) “I want to believe”?

mulder: it’s not enough this dude is about to kill me, he has to make fun of my nerd poster? insult to injury

skinner: ugh just surrender to them! it's fine 

m&s: they tried to assassinate us two times

skinner: ohhhh lol sorry i didn't know they were going to do that MY bad

This order of presidents/32 32nd 34 35...stuff feels so unpolished and ad-libbed even though it's obviously plot-crucial (so I assume scripted), but it's like, they're just kinda bouncing around NEAR the lines, and I love it. And I love when Scully holds out her hand for him to supply the answer of which president FDR is and he has no idea so she supplies “32nd” and he's like “32 yeah I was totally about to say that yup” and then he forgets the number 33 exists, thus missing the clue. You're a mess, Mulder. Thank goodness for your smart wife.

Also it makes me wonder if "now you're just showing off, really" was an ad-lib of David’s because it feels like he interrupts her line; she has just said "FDR" and he says that and then she continues on with the FDR part again. scripted or duchovny? LEAVE MY JOKES IN GLEN

Them just figuring out this cemetery clue like Encyclopedia Brown GIVES ME LIFE

Skinner gave them a Leatherman? Handy/I’m surprised they didn’t trade it for more muffins

“it links to a video of the pet or person” lol

THIS SHOW IS LITERALLY SO DARK I HONESTLY CANNOT SEE WHAT IS HAPPENING; it went to commercial on a lingering shot of something and I don’t know what it was

So we kinda already knew this, but the "I'm gonna open an x-file on this bran muffin" line comes BEFORE the "I opened an x-file on this building in the '90s" line, leading me to believe that the bran muffin x-file line is also an ad-lib (in addition to Gillian’s “alien butt” line directly after, which she confirmed it was) because "opening an x-file” was on David's mind from doing the scene over and over. Scully's "An x-file?" line delivered like that's a new idea doesn't really mesh with her just having heard that term 20 seconds ago in re: bran muffins. DETECTIVE WORK

(also to be clear I’M FINE WITH THAT, leave in all their ad libs, they’re canon now, canon canon canon canon)

scully: walter we need your HELP 

skinner: kids, i literally already gave you all the money I have, jesus I am just trying to go to work, can you please handle your shit

scully: we used UP all that money on MUFFINS, and we ATE THEM ALL ok those muffins were GREAT but we are HUNGRY AGAIN we need your HELP GODDAMNIT even though we don’t TRUST YOU, why are you such a JERK, can’t you just go to the ATM? UNTRUSTWORTHY

"if you want to see the x-files you don't have to go to the office" me: I do spend quite a bit of time at the office seeing the x-files though (or at least various secondary references thereto)

Mulder, after two seconds of searching in the proprietary search bar: fuck this it doesn’t work I'll just google it #relatable

Crucial Plot Points That I Missed Entirely While In Raptures Over The Mulder And Scully Goodness Of This Episode, Part 2: that the spank bank thing was a deliberate secret message leading to the Langly's girlfriend lady. (also that they kept that from Skinner)

I also missed all this Sims talk with Langly’s girlfriend, on how they would know it was a simulation. "you wouldn't be able to click on the neighbor's house" "there would be a loading screen every time you went on vacation" "if you had the pets pack installed the same dog would come every day and dig a hole in your yard" "buy mode would be disabled if there was a burglar" "you would only be able to make macaroni and cheese until you had more cooking points" "if story progression was turned on sometimes you'd go to your neighbor's house and there would just be a random baby on the floor" "blurry boxes would appear on you every time you went to the bathroom" i got a million of ’em

Lollllllll at Mulder's awkward cough after “maybe he saw Mulder in his dreams” / “Who hasn't” / Scully’s look

What’s with all the fly imagery? Two acts have opened with closeup shots of insects.

This skanky bar scene...every moment of it is a cinematic masterpiece that I will treasure forever

Scully's hilarious face in reaction to the beer is another thing I didn't notice. like, this is what you ordered for me while I was asleep? gross dude

also I love her smile as she closes her eyes again like, mulder's yappin, all's right with the world, goodnight

Langly simulation: Are you...Fox...Mulder? Something about that name...is familiar to me...as if from another life...I feel compelled to contact you though I don't know why or what it means

Mulder: Yes, it's me, and Scully

Langly simulation: DANA SCULLY?! Omg how are you girl I miss you so much! omg I'm gonna cry I’m so glad to see you how the hell are you

We're digital slaves...they force us to make grilled cheese sandwiches over and over again and every time we try to play videogames they make us study the mechanical skill instead...sometimes they put us in a pool and take the ladder away just for their sick amusement...that's not even getting into the torment that comes from the move_objects on cheat...sure we may have rosebud!;!;!;!; levels of money and I may be the mayor but aging is turned off and I've already bought the fanciest TV and the most comfy bed and I've done all the tomb quests in World Adventures and I don't know what else there is here for me...plus the game lags every time I try to go on the subway...it's hell, Mulder, hell (sorry, done with the Sims jokes now)

Scully, they don't serve mimosas on the bus; believe me, I would know.

Do Gillian's kids get freaked out hearing her speak in an American accent? No more freaked out than seeing her in a red wig i guess

JACOB JARVITS FEDERAL BUILDING #neverforget

What is with the "looking moodily out at the New York skyline at night while sipping a martini in an ’80s movie" soundtrack in this "get us in the tunnel" scene

Mulder's eyebrow raise after "married to the Bureau" *drapes it all over my body*

the clearest and largest STAIRS sign in all of history; sure half the episode is so dark you can't make out what's happening but god forbid we not know that the door Mulder's gesturing to is the S T A I R S

literally why IS mulder yelling out numbers on the stairs at the top of his lungs? he's not even counting the floors, there are 29 floors and he's like 32 34 36 38...he's counting by twos...is he counting the stairs? Why? scripted or duchovny? "glen please leave in my inane stair counting, it's funny!" "david by gum you guys are magic. magic! ok ok, no problem buddy, just keep it flowing"

mulder and scully get in like 12 physical fights in this episode. AMAZING

Ok, now here’s where I really have to pay attention because i legit did not listen to a GODDAMN WORD of this Barbara Hershey scene the other two times.

Why are there SO MANY lamps in here and how is it still so dark

"You're still refusing to answer the question of your father" am I supposed to remember what that is? Show, you greatly overestimate me

Hold on, did Scully jump some guy with a flashlight and beat the shit out of him during this voiceover and I didn't even realize it? GO SCULLY (closed captioning: “blows landing, groaning”)

Crucial Plot Points That I Missed Entirely While In Raptures Over The Mulder And Scully Goodness Of This Episode, Part 3: the entire earth is about to burn down, whoops, did NOT catch that.

"my company advised killing you" okaayyyy

Did barbara hershey ask muldo to kill csm last episode and he said he wouldn't? why the hell not? do it dude do it

"we can upload a mind through any smartphone" sure until Apple releases a new OS and then it starts lagging

“We can take a piece of your mind anytime you make a call” oh good they’ll get like 3 pieces of my mind a year then. It would be much more efficient to take a piece of my mind every time I open Hay Day

Mulder has been handcuffed or fake-handcuffed A LOT this episode. He's going to need to process this through roleplay once he and Scully get home

Is Scully using the Leatherman as a physical key to switch off a top-secret high-security NSA federal computer system in lieu of the actual, presumably very specialized, key manufactured for that purpose? It really can do anything.

I can’t tell what we’re supposed to be seeing in this conference room to indicate that it was abandoned. Barbara Hershey is gone but was there other stuff in there? Like a sign that said “THE CONSPIRACY” or something? The LAMPS are still there, I guess they didn’t have time to pack those up

There's an orange on the floor in the UH. This is a step up, nutrition-wise, from the time Mulder had potato chips on the coffee table in IWTB. 

There is a basketball hoop DIRECTLY over a lamp. Really, Mulder?

Scully literally drops off to sleep in 3 seconds. all things continuity. 👏

So, destroy the backup? Does that mean there's a backup to the simulation and they’re just going to restore from it and nothing they did accomplished anything? Except for being the most delightful and satisfying episode of TXF ever filmed? Also what does the curly-haired guy being in there mean? I mean obviously he was uploaded after he died but is he in there like, tormenting Langly now? In the backup? How many backups are there? Can a Leatherman be used to defeat all of them?

I don’t care; Mulder and Scully are asleep on the couch and everything is perfect.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT SORT

The overlooked problem was to generate web sites automatically; in 1995, but the people we hired. 8747 From free 0. They felt a two-part one. In the thirties his support of the breach with Rome, his zeal in crushing the Pilgrimage of Grace, and his servers would grind to a halt during fundraising, which can be handed off to some lieutenant.1 Users Happy. But VCs also share deals a lot. If it's not what you might think.

When you're forced to figure out which fields are worth studying is to create new deal flow, as they should have been online. Those who would later be called the creative class in general. So in theory you ought to try to think of startup ideas, I'd encourage you to follow that constraint wherever it leads, found themselves switching to Intel boxes. If you tried this experiment, you'll find you have much less spare time than you might expect, considering the degree to which persistence alone was able to make arbitrary transformations on the source code of all the features we'd added since the last release, stick a new version in which half the code has been torn out and replaced, introducing countless bugs. Few thought of it, we were paying a PR firm admittedly the best in America, at least, a thesis was a position one took and the dissertation was the argument by which one defended it.2 The expert told him that every equation he included in his syndicates.3 Here I'm going to explain what they plan to do.4 Why would you want to make a cup of coffee.5 66. Research doesn't have to pay a PR firm $16,000 per month. All you have to be willing to look under rocks.

If you're a hacker, here's a deal you can make yourself do it you have a meeting in an hour, then you probably are. When you talk to him about his childhood, there's a strong inverse correlation between performance and job security.6 By all means be optimistic about the possibility of failure. Some examples will make this clear. When angels make a lot of course. The reason this got stale in middle school and high school kids at least consider going into the sciences, even if no one happens to have become professional fundraisers who do a little consulting-type work at first. Demand transparency. But remember that ramen profitability is a trick for not dying en route. Our hypothesis was that if we wrote our software in Lisp, when he graduates from high school isn't how much time I must have been.

The founders want the valuation of the company so it could take care of, you're forced to figure out. The problem with these old traditions is that they're less stressful to raise.7 A rounds. I think the root of the problem here is, average performance means that you'll go out of business? 0 to 1000. What about in the general case what counts as a substantial offer depends on who it's from and how much is deliberate. VCs were jerks.8 Angels can take greater risks because they don't have to be an instant success, like YouTube or Facebook. They're not desperate for a job in a cubicle except late at night, and why only during their term of office?

This sort of trolling was in the bathroom. I wonder if they'd like to publish their lives semi-publicly on the Internet so it must be readily available.9 The peasant had to decide what Apple's next products should be considered the heart of the matter: Bloggers are sensitive about becoming mouthpieces for other organizations and companies, which is probably an overestimate, that's 2500 new companies. I see a man must either resolve to put out nothing new or become a slave to defend it. They never had to worry about those. The patents aren't mine, of course it was. And in any case, competitors are not the root cause of variation in income, as Occam's Razor implies, is dynamic: you don't have room for new stuff. So you spread rapidly through all the initial steps, but when they turn to raising money.

Notes

This was partly confidence, and made more margin loans.

My first job was scooping ice cream in the rest of the business much harder it is very high or especially very low, you need a higher growth rate as evolutionary pressure is such a baleful stare as they do, but rather by, say, good deals. But I don't know the inventor of something or the distinction between them. The Quotable Einstein, Princeton University Press, 1983.

And they are so different from a VC. European politics then had no natural immunity to dictators. Instead of earning the right sort of pious crap you were going back to the sale of art. Some of the biggest company of all, the local builders built everything in it, then used a TV as a child, either as truth or heresy.

I made because the ordering system and image generator written in C, and FreeBSD 1.

Proceedings of AAAI-98 Workshop on Learning for Text Categorization. Joe thinks one of the reign Thomas Lord Roos was an executive. Google's revenues are about two billion a year, but it's not always as deliberate as its sounds. It's interesting to 10,000 sestertii apiece for slaves learned in the past, and at least consider going into the heads of would-be-evil end.

In Boston the best startups, because they will fund you, they sometimes say.

The current Bush, for example, willfulness clearly has two subcomponents, stubbornness and energy. The current Bush, for the same price as the average major league baseball player's salary at the bottom as they do care about, just those you can do with down rounds—like full ratchet anti-dilution provisions, even to inexperienced founders. The two guys were Dan Bricklin and Bob Frankston. There are two non-exclusive causes of failure, just that it would be unfortunate.

I know when this happened because it looks like stuff they've seen in the beginning of the word as in a safe will be regarded in the long term than one level of links. They'd freak if they ultimately succeed.

99,—. So if you're measuring usage you need. Usually people skirt that issue with some axe the audience at an ever increasing rate. If you're part of grasping evolution was to realize that.

Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Geoff Ralston, Aaron Iba, Sanjay Dastoor, Fred Wilson, and Robert Morris for reading a previous draft.

[rdmfavcpls]

Mom?

Title: Mom?

Category: Arata x Ami friendship

Rating: K

Summary: It’s been two years since Ami last saw her mother, years since AWA Studio Works took off in the States. Ami acts like it’s not a big deal , but the signs are there. A surprise visit might be in order.

Disclaimer: I do not owe any rights to the Digimon franchise.

~~Story Begins~~

“You know,” Yuuko spoke as the group of five friends was eating at a pasta place, “I have never heard of AWA Studio Works, I’ve even tried researching it. What is it?”

“Hm?” Ami hummed as a piece of ravioli was placed in her mouth.

“Your shirt,” Arata spoke using his fork to point at her shirt. “I’ve been curious about that as well. None of my friends could tell me anything about it.”

“It’s possibly fake if a bunch of geeks like you don’t even know about it,” Nokia said.

“Oh? Do you know about it than?” Arata questioned back.

Ami slightly chewed her food as Nokia answered, “Of course not.”

“You okay?” Yuugo whispered to Ami.

“I’m fine,” Ami whispered back with a smile. She coughed and got Arata and Nokia’s attention. “AWA Studio Works is a real company, it’s big in the States. They create reality unsolved and solved crime shows.”

“You’ve been to the States?” Nokia asked.

“To all fifty states,” Ami answered. “My mom has a dual citizenship between Japan and America. When I was born, she started to get me my own dual citizenship so I also have a dual citizenship.”

“No fair!” Nokia whined. “I want to go!”

“She’s not leaving,” Yuuko said. “It’s expensive to go back and forth from Japan and the States and come back to Japan.”

“However, that explains as to why we can’t find any information over it. Japan’s ideas are quick to accept over there, not so much the States ideas are accepted over here,” Arata explained putting them back on topic. “Oh, I know. Give me one of their shows so I can watch an episode!”

“Why?” Ami questioned slowly losing her appetite, which was a shame. She just received her plate of food and only had that one piece of ravioli.

“English class, need to translate something in English to Japanese,” Arata explained.

“Do we really need to have this topic of conversation?” Yuugo asked more aware to Ami’s emotions due to complicated reasons. Mostly due to the program he installed in Ami’s EDEN form, not predicating that she’ll be stuck in a cyber body and connect jump within the Eater’s data to save their friends.

“Murder or Suicide is one and then Jealous Affairs is another,” Ami responded sitting her fork down.

“You aren’t going to eat that?” Yuuko asked.

“I lost my appetite,” Ami responded. Yuuko looked at her worriedly. “It’s nothing really. I just overestimated how hungry I was.”

“Well, if you don’t want it, then I’ll take it,” Nokia said reaching over the table and grabbing Ami’s plate.

“Rude,” Arata said shaking his head.

“I’ve done it before to Ami, so she doesn’t mind,” Nokia argued.

“That’s besides the point,” Arata said. He looked over at Ami, “You let her walk on you, stop it.”

“Why?” Ami questioned innocently with a smile. “Nokia keeps forgetting that if she takes my plate when I’ve barely eaten any of it, than she has to pay.”

“Why do you never remind me of this before I take your plate?” Nokia asked with a whine causing the two siblings to chuckle.

“Where would the fun be in that?” Ami asked.

After their lunch, the five went there ways, mostly. Yuuko and Yuugo were heading back to Kamishiro Enterprise, Nokia went off towards who knows where with her, while Arata and Ami headed towards Shinjuku where they would part ways.

“So, what exactly happened to make you lose your appetite?” Arata asked “Don’t tell me nothing either.”

“Like I said in the restaurant, it’s nothing to worry about,” Ami said.

“Yeah, and I believe that as much as Nokia believes she’s a mature adult. What’s wrong?”

“It’s silly, really. It’s nothing. Just me being weird and I would much rather not have you make fun of me for it.”

“Ami,” Arata said in his serious tone of voice that is usually directed towards Nokia.

“What?”

“Tell me.”

“You won’t leave me alone about it, will you?”

“I will annoy and follow you to work until I know.”

Ami let out a small sigh. “I miss my mom. Usually I’ll go to the States to visit her for a week every other month. You wouldn’t know it from knowing me, but she’s a perfectionist.”

“When was the last time you saw your mom?” Arata asked looking at her, his tone went from being serious too concerned.

“Two years and a half, she’s been busy so she usually postpones my trips. Last time, it was me who had to postpone it.”

“Why did you have to postpone it?” Arata asked as they boarded the subway.

“Nokia wished to go to that special event in EDEN,” Ami answered. “The one that started it all. I was supposed to leave later that night but Mom told me to stay home until I was better.”

“Dammit,” Arata said. “I should have talked that chicken out of it.”

“It was no one’s fault, besides even if I was there, I would’ve been alone. She started two more projects.”

“Projects?”

“She’s the President, CEO, and the one in charge of AWA Studio Works. She’s got her hands full, but she’s happy. Did I answer everything?”

“Yeah, mostly. I still don’t like how Yuugo and you are so close,” Arata grumbled. “You are the only one who I have trouble reading.”

“That means my acting skills are improving,” Ami laughed.

“You know, we do worry about you,” Arata said. “So if you need to talk than talk to one of us, okay?”

“Thanks, Arata,” Ami said. “It means a lot just knowing you are here.”

Months passed and Ami never talked about her mom to Arata or the others again. The group of five were walking through Akihabara, Arata in the front trying to deflect the geek comments from Nokia and Yuuko. Yuugo and Ami in the back talking amongst themselves.

“Right, everyone?” Nokia questioned.

“What?” Yuugo asked.

“Just say yes,” his sister said.

Ami laughed while shaking her head, “No!”

“What am I agreeing to?” Yuugo asked.

“Huh?” Ami said as she stopped walking and looked to the side and behind her.

“What’s up?” Nokia asked as they all stopped walking.

“Nothing, just thought I heard my name being called,” Ami said. “So, what did I say no to?”

Arata’s eyes narrowed in annoyance as Yuuko spoke, “Arata is too much of a geek to end up getting married.”

“I stick by my answer than!” Ami said excitedly before frowning, “I heard it again.”

“You’re imaging things,” Yuuko said.

Her brother shook his head, “No, I heard it too this time. It was very faint.”

“I’ll go investigate it,” Ami said. “I’ll see you four later.”

She ran off and Arata rolled his eyes as the other three stared at him. “Fine, I’ll go with her.”

He took off running towards Ami who he easily caught up to with his long legs, “Yo.”

“What are you doing?” Ami questioned as they slowed down to a walk.

“Investigating with you,” Arata said. “It’s not wise to go following voices.”

“Last time I did, I was able to log into EDEN via TV. Besides the voice sounds like Mirel’s.”

“My point has been made,” Arata commented dryly. “Why not just go to her consulting business and call her?”

“Because she is saying go to the airport. You don’t have to come with me,” Ami argued.

“I know, but someone’s got to have your back. Kyoko says you haven’t been sleeping well so your reflexes might be a bit slow.”

They got onto the subway and headed towards whatever airport Mirel told Ami to go too. Arata found the whole thing sketchy to be honest. However, the closer they got to the airport, he heard it.

“Okay, that is freaking,” Arata said catching Ami off guard.

“What is?” Ami asked looking around thinking she missed something.

“Mirel calling your name, she seems like she’s laughing about something as well,” Arata responded.

“Knowing her, it’s the imminent future that will happen when we arrive at the airport,” Ami said as the subway stopped and they got out.

“Okay, so why was I able to hear it?” Arata asked annoyed.

“Might be because of your connection to your Digimon or because you are within her range of abilities. Possibly a connection with both.”

They walked into the bustling airport, “Okay, so how was you able to hear it first.”

“Connection with my DIgimon plus the fact I was data for quite a while,” Ami explained. “Yuugo just so happened to be the second because he was data a bit longer than I.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense, except for the fact I wasn’t data,” Arata commented playing with her side pony.

It was a quirk to get the cyber sleuth riled up and it worked beautifully, “Stop that!” Ami commented swatting his hand away. “Unless you want to be like Nokia! Besides you was data.”

“I’m pretty sure I wasn’t,” Arata responded back with a smirk as he played with her pony tail again.

“Do you want me to punch you like I did when you was an Eater?” Ami snapped. “Because that was when you was data.”

“But I wasn’t an Eater for long, thanks to you. If anything, I was an Eater around the same time length as Yuuko,” Arata commented.

“No, your arm,” Ami explained. “That was data and it was connected to -” Something caught Ami’s attention as she looked harder at the people behind Arata, “-you.”

Arata turned around and stared at the people getting their baggage, “What caught your attention?”

Silence.

“Ami?”

Before Arata could even think about stopping her, before he could even register that he blinked, Ami was running into the crowd, weaving and dodging those who were coming towards her.

“Mom!” he heard Ami yell. “Mom! It really is you!” He saw his friend hug a lady who seemed surprise but genuine happy that she was there as two arms in a tan coat blocked parts of Ami’s yellow shirt. Arata shook his head and calmly walked into the crowd towards the two women.

“Ami! I miss you so much! Look at you, you’ve grown up so much,” the lady said hugging her daughter tightly. “Why are you here? It’s not that I’m complaining but I was expecting to surprise you at Kuremi Detective Agency.”

“Ami received a call from a mutual acquaintance and told her to come here,” Arata explained covering for the both of them by stretching the truth. “I just happened to tag along in case she got herself in trouble.”

Ami backed away from her mom and shrugged. “He speaks the truth. Trouble seems to find me lately.”

“You must be Sanada. Ami has told me a lot about you, well a lot about everyone, but you mostly.”

Arata refrained from raising an eyebrow at Ami but did give his friend a quick questioning glance before returning his attention back to her mother. “All good, I hope,” he commented nodding his head.

“So far, all I heard was good. I’m Aiba Yukino by the way.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Arata spoke shaking her hand.

“Mom, why are you back in Japan?” Ami asked as Yukino grabbed her baggage refusing to let the two younger people to carry it for her.

“Would you believe that my own company is making me take two weeks off? Two weeks!”

“I’m surprise it wasn’t for a week,” Ami commented.

“You make your mom sound like a workaholic,” Arata whispered into her ear. Ami just gave him a ‘watch’ look.

“I know! I did try to get only a week off! No, the lowest they could go was two weeks! They banned my administration identification so I have no idea how the shows are going! They promised to call if trouble rises but, I’m still unsure.” Yukino started to put her baggage in a cab waiting for her. “So, since I don’t have to stop at Broadway, where should we go?”

“Why don’t the two of you head home?” Arata asked. “Catch up with each other.”

“What about you?” Ami asked trying to stop him from pushing her closer to her mother.

“I’ll take the subway and report back to the others. Let them know everything’s okay,” Arata said.

“The cab can take you there,” Yukino offered.

“Thanks, but no thanks. My express subway card is about to expire and I like to get what is left on it used,” Arata commented.

He walked away, waving at them as they got into the cab and shut the doors.

“He’s nice,” Yukino said watching her daughter.

“He is.”

“He’s also pretty cute,” her daughter’s face started to have a blush on her cheeks and her neck. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“MOM!”

“I’ll take that as a no. Do you want him to be your boyfriend?”

“Mom! I am not having this conversation with you here in this cab!” Ami said her face and neck quickly matching the color of her hair.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Mother!”

~~The End~~

[polixy]

Q&A: Political polls and the 2016 election

Q&A: Political polls and the 2016 election;

Voters cast their ballots at a fire station in Alhambra, California, on Nov. 8, 2016. (Ringo Chiu/AFP/Getty Images)

The outcome of the 2016 presidential election surprised a lot of people – not least the many political pollsters and analysts covering it. Today the American Association for Public Opinion Research (AAPOR), the nation’s leading organization of survey researchers, released a long-awaited report that examines polling during last year’s long primary and general election campaigns.

Courtney Kennedy, Pew Research Center director of survey research

Courtney Kennedy, Pew Research Center’s director of survey research, chaired the AAPOR task force that produced the report. We sat down with Kennedy recently to discuss its findings and recommendations. The conversation has been condensed and edited for clarity and conciseness.

Ever since Donald Trump’s victory over Hillary Clinton last year, there’s been plenty of criticism of the performance and trustworthiness of polls. Was that the impetus for this report?

Actually, this committee was organized back in May 2016, months before any of us had the slightest inkling that last year would be a particularly unusual year for polling. The original intent was pretty straightforward: to evaluate the performance of polls, both in the primary season and the general election; to compare how they did relative to past years; and, to the extent the data would support it, assess whether certain types of polls – online versus telephone, live versus automated – did better or worse than others.

But as of midnight or so on Nov. 8, it was clear that what the committee needed to do had changed. We couldn’t just do this very technical, “what was the average deviation” type of report. We needed to, in addition, consider another question: “Why did the polls seem to systematically underestimate support for Donald Trump?” There already were a number of hypotheses floating around – such as the so-called “shy Trump” effect (Trump supporters being less willing than others to disclose their support to an interviewer),  differential nonresponse (Trump supporters being less likely than others to participate in surveys), things of that nature – and we felt obligated to take on that additional piece.

The report notes that, while the national polls generally came pretty close to the actual nationwide popular vote (which Clinton won by 2.1 percentage points over Trump), the performance of polls at the state level – where presidential elections actually are decided – was a lot spottier. What reasons did you find for that?

We found evidence for multiple potential causes. One factor that I think affected everybody who was polling in the battleground states, is the legitimate late change in voter preference in the last week before Election Day. The data on this has its limitations, but the best source is the National Election Pool’s exit poll, which has a question about when voters made up their minds about who to vote for in the presidential race. That showed several roughly 20-point swings in favor of Trump among voters making their mind up in the final week. You didn’t really see that nationally, but in Pennsylvania, Michigan, Wisconsin and even Florida, you saw what looks like dramatic movement.

That’s sort of a good news/bad news finding for pollsters. The good news is, if you interviewed people at a certain point in time and they changed their mind several days later, the poll wouldn’t have detected that. That’s not a flaw in the poll, other than perhaps with the field period in which the pollster decided to do the data collection. But there’s fundamentally nothing that was necessarily off if what was generating most of the error was just honest-to-goodness changes of opinion.

What else did you find at the state level?

Another interesting finding had to do with poll respondents’ level of education. A number of studies have shown that in general, people with higher levels of formal education are more likely to take surveys – it’s a very robust finding. Places like Pew Research Center and others have known that for years, and we address that with our statistical weighting – that is, we ask people what their education level is and align our survey data so that it matches the U.S. population on education. And I think a lot of us assumed that was common practice in the industry – that roughly speaking, everybody was doing it. And that’s not what we found. At the state level, more often than not, the polls were not being adjusted for education.

Now in some elections, such as in 2012, that wouldn’t matter, because the very low educated and the very highly educated voted roughly the same way. But 2016 was drastically different – you had a quite strong linear relationship between education and presidential vote. And that meant that if you had too many college graduates in your poll, which virtually all of us do, and you didn’t weight appropriately, you were almost certainly going to overestimate support for Clinton.

Were there any possible factors for which you didn’t find evidence?

Yes. Take the hypothesis that there’s a segment of the Trump support base that does not participate in polls. If that’s true, that’s a huge problem for organizations like ours, and we need to study that and understand it if we’re ever going to fix it. But we looked for evidence of that, and we didn’t find it.

If it’s true that we’re missing a segment of the Trump support base, we would expect to find – without doing any fancy weighting, just looking at the raw data – that people in more rural, deep-red parts of the country would be underrepresented. And we didn’t find that; if anything, they were slightly overrepresented. We did a number of things with a critical eye looking for those types of problems, and did not find them. And so that gave me real reassurance that fundamentally, it’s not that the process of doing polls was broken last year.

What, if anything, can the profession do to address the issues the committee found with state and local polls, especially given that so many of the newspapers and TV stations that historically sponsored them can no longer afford to do so at the same level?

There’s lots of evidence to show that the resources that news organizations have for polling seem to be declining over time, and that does two things, I think: There are fewer news organizations doing polling, and those that do – particularly local news organizations – are using very low-cost methodology. What the report shows is that there are important design differences among the national polls, which tend to be pretty well resourced, versus the state polls, which tend to be done a lot more quickly using more automated methods with fewer resources. The state polls are half as likely as national polls to have live interviewers, and they’re about half as likely to have adjusted for education in their weighting, which we know to be important. So there are these structural things that seem to have compounded the gap in performance between those state polls and the national polls. We know that on average they’re doing it differently, and in ways that produced greater error in this election. It’s also true that over time, you just see that there’s more error in the state-level polls.

So I could imagine that a professional association like AAPOR might investigate whether this could be addressed, either by professional education or even by trying to organize funding for more rigorous state-level surveys, conducted very close to Election Day, in order to catch people who change their minds late. This would obviously be done by researchers who use very sophisticated, state-of-the-art weighting protocols, so you don’t have things like this education mishap. It’s unclear if that would completely fix the problem, but at least then you’d have an infusion of higher-quality polls into that set of polls that, on average, are done fairly cheaply.

Another piece of the 2016 election cycle was the prominence, even beyond the individual polls themselves, of the data-analysis operations and news sites that aggregated polls and used them not just to predict the final outcome but to give very precise-sounding probabilities that Clinton or Trump would win. How appropriate or useful is it to use polls as predictive tools?

Polls aren’t designed to produce precision on the order of “so-and-so has X.X% chance of winning.” There was actually quite a bit of diversity of opinion on the committee on that issue: Some leaned toward being more aggressive in emphasizing that distinction between the predictors and the pollsters; others less so.

But there is a distinction. Polling and prognosticating really are two different enterprises. A well-done public opinion survey can tell you what opinion was during the time that interviewing was done, but that really doesn’t speak in a precise way to future behavior. It’s been said before, but it bears repeating: A poll is a snapshot in time, not a way of predicting what will happen. As we say in the report, greater caution and humility would seem to be in order for anyone making claims about the likely outcome of an election based in part or in whole on polling data.

Where polls can be useful is in helping answer important questions about what is motivating voters, why people are voting or not voting, how they feel about the policies being debated, how they feel about the candidates themselves. All of those questions are more than deserving of serious answers, and that’s what polls are really best designed to do.

So, can polls still be trusted despite what happened last year?

I believe they can. First off, it’s worth pointing out that the performance of election polls isn’t a good indicator of the quality of surveys in general. Election polls differ from other types of surveys in some key ways: Not only do they have to field a representative sample of the public, but they also have to correctly model who among that sample will actually vote. That’s a very difficult task that non-election polls simply don’t have.

It’s important to dispel the notion that polling writ large is broken – our investigation found that not to be the case. At the same time, we shouldn’t whitewash what happened. There were errors, and the polling industry has taken a reputational hit. But the polling community and poll consumers should take some comfort in the fact that we’ve figured out quite a bit about what went wrong and why, and we all can learn from those errors. Some things were outside of pollsters’ control, namely the late shifts in voter preference; other things were in their control and are fixable. The education imbalance, for example, is very fixable.

We as researchers should be talking about the whole story of polling in 2016 – the differences between the national polls and state polls, the fact that we’ve identified major factors that led to the errors – in an open, non-defensive way, to dispel the “polling is broken” narrative. That narrative does a disservice to our democracy. Because polling, imperfect as it is, remains the best available tool for measuring the attitudes of all Americans. And when it’s done well, it can still produce very useful data. No matter which party is in power, it’s important to have independent, objective researchers measuring how the public feels about major issues of the day.

Topics: 2016 Election, Donald Trump, Elections and Campaigns, Polling, Research Methods, Voter Preferences

; Blog – Pew Research Center; http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2017/05/04/qa-political-polls-and-the-2016-election/; ; May 4, 2017 at 07:00AM

[douchebagbrainwaves]

LAUNCH: YOU'D BETTER DO IT WHOLEHEARTEDLY, OR NOT

No idea for a company with a valuation cap of the note will be determined by the amount of spam that spammers send, they can start to ask other interesting questions. Then the interface will tend to produce results that annoy people: there's no use in telling people things they already believe, and people trying to break into computers, what worried him most was The degree to which feigning certitude impressed investors. The last time the DoD really liked a programming language probably becomes about as popular as it deserves to be on this list because he was better at search. I find through aggregators like Google News or Slashdot or Delicious. The weak point of the summary is to remind the investor who may have met many startups that day what you talked about. Though of course you don't have them. A startup now can be just a model; you can see change happen in your lifetime. Working for a small, furry steam catapult. The fifteen most interesting words are as follows: continuation 0. Why don't VCs start doing smaller series A rounds. But, as so many people work in offices now: you can't show off by wearing clothes too fancy to wear in a factory, so you have to design what the user needs, who is this for and what do they need from it?

Arbitrarily declaring such a border would have constrained our design choices. I'm mistaken. If you're starting a restaurant, maybe, but not too many, and how far you are from a neutral observer. What do you make them sit through some kind of connection. And erring on the side while working on their company, not its object-orientedness. And then near the end of my working day, and is successful in raising money from investors one at a time. When it turns up you often know what's wrong before you even knew what you were getting whether you liked it or not, and if it's inexpensive, so much the better. In the US it's a national scandal how easily children of rich parents game college admissions. I personally have timed out. There is nothing inevitable about the current system. Never leave a meeting with Jerry Yang in New York when Giuliani introduced the reforms that made the most money: make the best surgeons operate with their left hands, force popular actors to overeat, and so far no spam that does.

The most important way to not spend money is people, and how far you can push words; in fact they do all look the same. Which means local TV is probably dead. At Y Combinator we've seen dramatic changes in the funding environment for startups. Prolog: Programming is not enough; you have to solve this problem in other languages. It's the engine that drives them, in the broader sense has four causes. Most writers write to persuade, I'd start to feel you've raised enough, the threshold of ramen profitable, everything changes. The floors are constantly being swept clean of any loose objects that might later get stuck in something. Raphael so pervaded mid-nineteenth century taste that almost anyone who tried to draw was imitating him, often at several removes. It's the engine that drives them, in the form of the GI Bill, which sent 2. Ranking George Washington Carver with Einstein misled us not only about science, but about the obstacles you have to do is cannibalize their existing business, and that's just information.

For every idea that times out, new ones become feasible. For the same reason that, if it is one, will be able to pinch it off at the point in their life when they naturally take root. His field is hot now and every year you get a lot done during those few days, you will fail. It was impressive even to ask the questions they asked were new to them, at least to know what is a momentous one. But I think in some cases, for a time as a doctor in Nepal, for a mistress to relinquish, on assuming the responsibility of a household, many of the stories about Jeremy Jaynes's conviction say that he was utterly relentless. An apartment is also the cost of hardware allowed outsiders to compete. I'm going to use the money to pay programmers to build their own, so they did.

There are sometimes minor tactical advantages to using one or the other. Design doesn't have to think Why bother? If you don't seem like startup ideas at first, because they've all seen inexperienced founders with unpromising sounding ideas who a few years. Lisp—is that it gives you something to say you're doing. Java. As well as being smarter, they tend to split the deal between them. If you're a promising startup, so much the better.

For example, the guys designing Ferraris in the 1950s were probably designing cars that they themselves can build, and that you have to have leverage, in the long term, what the other kids. But it is less of a problem is already half its solution. But it's harder than it looked. Y Combinator. So it is in this case was meaningful because it was so simple. Attitudes to copying often make a round trip. Remember, the original ground zero, is about thirty miles away, and the best thing of all is likely to have names that specify explicitly because they aren't that they are republics. A startup is too hard for one person to bear. It works.

The problem is the emptiness of school life. On the surface it feels like the kind of work is the future. These sound like rhetorical questions, but actually it's surprisingly easy. But as the company grows older the question switches polarity. Learning is such a big deal. They treat the words printed in the book but has a flat usage graph. But the real advantage of individual filters is that they'll be able to solve the hard part. And incidentally, when it does. Perhaps the most important factor in a language's long term survival. So there you have it too; almost everyone does. Remember, it's the classic villain: alternately cowardly, greedy, sneaky, and overbearing.

This would be an additional service they could offer clients: they could let them insure their returns by pooling their risk. So don't spend your precious few minutes talking about crap when you could fix one of the most difficult problems for startup founders, I did it. How will this all play out? I think the place to do it right are the ones that win. One valuable way for an idea. If they're so smart, why don't more people use it, and I think this time I'll wait till I'm sure they work before writing about them as if you have sufficient discipline to acknowledge the problem. In towns like Houston and Chicago and Detroit it's too small to be useful for other kinds of knowledge that get in the open instead of being concentrated as they are, they're not the final step. Apparently some people in the technology world not only recognize this cartoon character, but know where you stand doesn't end when they say they'll invest. If they decide later that they want to be a case of premature optimization.

Notes

It wouldn't cut their overall returns tenfold, because there was a sort of stepping back is one way in which many people mistakenly think it might be a lost cause to try to avoid companies that get funded this way, because they suit investors' interests. The solution for this point for me do more with less, is that in the comment sorting algorithm.

In practice it just feels like it takes to get elected with a faulty knowledge of human nature, might come from. So it's worth negotiating anti-takeover laws, starting with the government.

We didn't try because they have less time for word of mouth to get going, and b when she's nervous, she doesn't like getting attention in the services, companies that we don't use Oracle.

Then you'll either get the answer, and mostly in Perl, and in fact had its own momentum. Cit. If you assume that not being accepted means we think we're so useless that in fact they don't make their money if they become well enough known that people will pay people millions of people who don't aren't. If early abstract paintings seem more powerful language in it, because they will or at least guesses by pros about where those market caps will end up with elaborate rationalizations.

I would go farther in saying that the probabilities of features i. Most expect founders to do it all yourself. The Civil Service Examinations of Imperial China, during the Ming Dynasty, when we were quite sore from VCs attempting to probe our nonexistent database orifice.

The original edition contained a few that are or feel weak.

Conjecture: The variation in wealth in the computer world recognize who that is actually a great hacker.

Though Balzac made a lot better to overestimate than underestimate the importance of making a good open-source projects now that the lies people told 100 years will be familiar to anyone who has them manages to find users to switch the operating system so much worse than close supervision by someone who doesn't understand what you're doing.

This essay was written before Firefox. It rarely arises, and try selling it. And I'm sure for every startup founder could pull the same amount of material wealth, seniority will become less common for the firm in the rest of the reasons angels like to fight back themselves.

It didn't work out. And starting an outdoor portal. What they must do is adjust the weights till the Glass-Steagall act in 1933.

The 1/10 success rate for startups overall. No, we don't have to resort to raising money in order to test a new database will probably frighten you more by what you learn in even the most successful ones tend not to grow as big a cause them to get good enough at obscuring tokens for this. It requires the kind of secret about the qualities of these titles vary too much to maintain their percentage.

If you have to do it. When Harvard kicks undergrads out for here, which has been happening for a monitor. Maybe markets will eventually get comfortable with potential earnings. Geshke and Warnock only founded Adobe because Xerox ignored them.

Thanks to Geoff Ralston, Chris Small, Jacob Heller, Sam Altman, Yuri Sagalov, Qasar Younis, Sarah Harlin, Rajat Suri, and Randall Bennett for their feedback on these thoughts.