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arcticdementor · 6 years ago

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Last week in the prison I asked a young man why he was there.

"Just normal burglaries," he replied.

"Normal for whom?" I asked.

"You know, just normal."

He meant, I think, that burglaries were like gray skies in an English winter: unavoidable and to be expected. In an actuarial sense, he was right: Britain is now the burglary capital of the world, as almost every householder here will attest. But there was also a deeper sense to his words, for statistical normality slides rapidly in our minds into moral normality. The wives of burglars often talk to me of their husband's "work," as if breaking into other people's homes were merely a late shift in a factory. Nor is only burglary "normal" in the estimation of its perpetrators. "Just a normal assault," is another frequent answer prisoners give to my question, the little word "just" emphasizing the innocuousness of the crime.

…

As usual, one must look first to the academy when tracing the origins of a change in the Zeitgeist. What starts out as a career-promoting academic hypothesis ends up as an idea so widely accepted that it becomes not only an unchallengeable orthodoxy but a cliche even among the untutored. Academics have used two closely linked arguments to establish the statistical and moral normality of crime and the consequent illegitimacy of the criminal justice system's sanctions. First, they claim, we are all criminal anyway; and when everyone is guilty, everyone is innocent. Their second argument, Marxist in inspiration, is that the law has no moral content, being merely the expression of the power of certain interest groups—of the rich against the poor, for example, or the capitalist against the worker. Since the law is an expression of raw power, there is no essential moral distinction between criminal and non-criminal behavior. It is simply a question of whose foot the boot is on.

Criminologists are the mirror image of Hamlet, who exclaimed that if each man received his deserts, none should escape whipping. On the contrary, say the criminologists, more liberal than the prince (no doubt because of their humbler social origins): none should be punished.

…

It is impossible to state precisely when the Zeitgeist changed and the criminal became a victim in the minds of intellectuals: not only history, but also the history of an idea, is a seamless robe. Let me quote one example, though, now more than a third of a century old. In 1966 (at about the time when Norman Mailer in America, and Jean-Paul Sartre in Europe, portrayed criminals as existential heroes in revolt against a heartless, inauthentic world), the psychiatrist Karl Menninger published a book with the revealing title The Crime of Punishment. It was based upon the Isaac Ray lectures he had given three years earlier—Isaac Ray having been the first American psychiatrist who concerned himself with the problems of crime. Menninger wrote: "Crime is everybody's temptation. It is easy to look with proud disdain upon ‘those people’ who get caught—the stupid ones, the unlucky ones, the blatant ones. But who does not get nervous when a police car follows closely? We squirm over our income tax statements and make some ‘adjustments.’ We tell the customs official we have nothing to declare—well, practically nothing. Some of us who have never been convicted of crime picked up over two billion dollars' worth of merchandise last year from the stores we patronize. Over a billion dollars was embezzled by employees last year."

The moral of the story is that those who go to court and to prison are victims of chance at best and of prejudice at worst: prejudice against the lowly, the unwashed, the uneducated, the poor—those whom literary critics portentously call the Other. This is precisely what many of my patients in the prison tell me. Even when they have been caught in flagrante, loot in hand or blood on fist, they believe the police are unfairly picking on them. Such an attitude, of course, prevents them from reflecting upon their own contribution to their predicament: for chance and prejudice are not forces over which an individual has much personal control. When I ask prisoners whether they'll be coming back after their release, a few say no with an entirely credible vehemence; they are the ones who make the mental connection between their conduct and their fate. But most say they don't know, that no one can foresee the future, that it's up to the courts, that it all depends—on others, never on themselves.

…

Since then, of course, our understanding of theft and other criminal activity has grown more complex, if not necessarily more accurate or realistic. It has been the effect, and quite possibly the intention, of criminologists to shed new obscurity on the matter of crime: the opacity of their writing sometimes leads one to wonder whether they have actually ever met a criminal or a crime victim. Certainly, it is in their professional interest that the wellsprings of crime should remain an unfathomed mystery, for how else is one to convince governments that what a crime-ridden country (such as Britain) needs is further research done by ever more criminologists?

…

In the process of transmission from academy to populace, ideas may change in subtle ways. When the well-known criminologist Jock Young wrote that "the normalization of drug use is paralleled by the normalization of crime," and, because of this normalization, criminal behavior in individuals no longer required special explanation, he surely didn't mean that he wouldn't mind if his own children started to shoot up heroin or rob old ladies in the street. Nor would he be indifferent to the intrusion of burglars into his own house, ascribing it merely to the temper of the times and regarding it as a morally neutral event. But that, of course, is precisely how "just" shoplifters, "just" burglars, "just" assaulters, "just" attempted murderers, taking their cue from him and others like him, would view (or at least say they viewed) their own actions: they have simply moved with the times and therefore done no wrong. And, not surprisingly, the crimes that now attract the deprecatory qualification "just" have escalated in seriousness even in the ten years I have attended the prison as a doctor, so that I have even heard a prisoner wave away "just a poxy little murder charge." The same is true of the drugs that prisoners use: where once they replied that they smoked "just" cannabis, they now say that they take "just" crack cocaine, as if by confining themselves thus they were paragons of self-denial and self-discipline.

…

Recently, biological theories of crime have come back into fashion. Such theories go way back: nineteenth-century Italian and French criminologists and forensic psychiatrists elaborated a theory of hereditary degeneration to account for the criminal's inability to conform to the law. But until recently, biological theories of crime—usually spiced with a strong dose of bogus genetics—were the province of the illiberal right, leading directly to forced sterilization and other eugenic measures.

The latest biological theories of crime, however, stress that criminals cannot help what they do: it is all in their genes, their neurochemistry, or their temporal lobes. Such factors provide no answer to why the mere increase in recorded crime in Britain between 1990 and 1991 was greater than the total of all recorded crime in 1950 (to say nothing of the accelerating increases since 1991), but that failure does not deter researchers in the least. Scholarly books with titles such as Genetics of Criminal and Antisocial Behavior proliferate and do not evoke the outrage among intellectuals that greeted the publication of H. J. Eysenck's Crime and Personality in 1964, a book suggesting that criminality is an hereditary trait. For many years, liberals viewed Eysenck, professor of psychology at London University, as virtually a fascist for suggesting the heritability of almost every human characteristic, but they have since realized that genetic explanations of crime can just as readily be grist for their exculpatory and all-forgiving mills as they can be for the mills of conservatives.

…

The idea that prison is principally a therapeutic institution is now virtually ineradicable. The emphasis on recidivism rates as a measure of its success or failure in the press coverage of prison ("Research by criminologists shows . . . " etc.) reinforces this view, as does the theory put forward by criminologists that crime is a mental disorder. The Psychopathology of Crime by Adrian Raine of the University of Southern California claims that recidivism is a mental disorder like any other, often accompanied by cerebral dysfunction. Addicted to Crime?, a volume edited by psychologists working in one of Britain's few institutions for the criminally insane, contains the work of eight academics. The answer to the question of their title is, of course, yes; addiction being—falsely—conceived as a compulsion that it is futile to expect anyone to resist. (If there is a second edition of the book, the question mark will no doubt disappear from its title, just as it vanished from the second edition of Beatrice and Sidney Webb's book about the Soviet Union, The Soviet Union: A New Civilisation?—which included everything about Russia except the truth.)

Is it surprising that recidivist burglars and car thieves now ask for therapy for their addiction, secure in the knowledge that no such therapy can or will be forthcoming, thereby justifying the continuation of their habit? "I asked for help," they often complain to me, "but didn't get none." One young man aged 21, serving a sentence of six months (three months with time off for good behavior) for having stolen 60 cars, told me that in reality he had stolen over 500 and had made some $160,000 doing so. It is surely an unnecessary mystification to construct an elaborate neuropsychological explanation of his conduct. Burglars who tell me that they are addicted to their craft, thereby implying that the fault will be mine for not having treated them successfully if they continue to burgle after their release, always react in the same way when I ask them how many burglaries they committed for which they were not caught: with a happy but not (from the householder's point of view) an altogether reassuring smile, as if they were recalling the happiest times of their life—soon to return.

…

Since criminologists and sociologists can no longer plausibly attribute crime to raw poverty, they now look to "relative deprivation" to explain its rise in times of prosperity. In this light, they see crime as a quasi-political protest against an unjust distribution of the goods of the world. Several criminological commentators have lamented the apparently contradictory fact that it is the poor who suffer most, including loss of property, from criminals, implying that it would be more acceptable if the criminals robbed the rich. (In a radio discussion about the seasonal riots that break out in poor areas of British cities, a left-wing academic, now a cabinet minister in the present government, said that one of the tragic aspects of these riots is that they caused damage in the rioters' own neighborhood. She didn't answer my question whether she'd prefer the riots to take place in her neighborhood.)

…

Moreover, the very term "dispossessed" carries its own emotional and ideological connotations. The poor have not failed to earn, the term implies, but instead have been robbed of what is rightfully theirs. Crime is thus the expropriation of the expropriators—and so not crime at all, in the moral sense. And this is an attitude I have encountered many times among burglars and car thieves. They believe that anyone who possesses something can, ipso facto, afford to lose it, while someone who does not possess it is, ipso facto, justified in taking it. Crime is but a form of redistributive taxation from below.

Or—when committed by women—crime could be seen "as a way, perhaps of celebrating women as independent of men," to quote Elizabeth Stanko, an American feminist criminologist teaching in a British university. Here we are paddling in the murky waters of Frantz Fanon, the West Indian psychiatrist who believed that a little murder did wonders for the psyche of the downtrodden, and who achieved iconic status precisely at the time of criminology's great expansion as a university discipline.

…

No one gains kudos in the criminological fraternity by suggesting that police and punishment are necessary in a civilized society. To do so would be to appear illiberal and lacking faith in man's primordial goodness. It is much better for one's reputation, for example, to refer to the large number of American prisoners as "the American gulag," as if there were no relevant differences between the former Soviet Union and the United States.

#city journal #theodore dalrymple #blast from the past #read the whole thing #crime #law enforcement #criminology

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dramaqueeenamby · 7 years ago

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Family Counseling (8)

Family Counseling (8) - Drabble

MASTERLIST

A/N: It’s literally 3am here, and I’m so exhausted, but I said Wednesday and damnit you guys are gonna get a chapter on Wednesday!

So, this one is strictly backstory because I figured it’s time to partially answer the question as to why T was out here being a F Boi for all those years. I say partially because it is my belief that people can make their own decisions and take control of their own lives. But that’s all I’ll say on that. (:

This one skips around a bit, but it’s all in the past, goes in chronological order and ends with the events that occur in CACW. Also, if T seems too OOC, remember, my interpretation of him is a hypid of Comics and MCU.

No lines from the comics in this one ( I don’t think. Again, it’s mad late. Literally typing with droopy eyes). However, I like aesthetics and visuals so here are some pictures to words for this chapter. I.e. how I imagine ‘her’ looking and her outfit for this chapter.

Hope I didn’t miss anyone in the tagging! If I did, I apologize! Let me know! I’ll be sure to get you next time!!

Seeing all the love really makes my day! <3

Words: 3106

They didn’t fight that often, but when they did, things got ugly.

Partially because both of them were so strong-minded and neither were willing to back down.

Especially when it came to the Sokovia Accords.

“How could you agree to this? It is wrong! It is a violation of basic, human rights, T’Challa, and you know it!”

“You are missing the point, Y/N. How many more innocent lives must be lost before these people are finally reigned in?”

“These people? You mean people like myself?”

“You know that that is not what I mean. The Avengers-“

“The Avengers save lives, but I suppose they only need to be reigned in when it is Wakandan lives that are lost, hmmm?”

Up until that volatile exchange, they’d had an interesting relationship, one not even she could explain. They were friends, but they were also lovers. She would visit him in England while he finished getting his Ph.D at Oxford during her breaks throughout her own graduate school experience at NYU. Sometimes he would come visit her, it all just depended on who could make it work.

She knew when he and Nakia were on because boundaries were kept with the war dog sometimes being there when she arrived, T’Challa sometimes not even bothering to inform her prior to her arrival.

Then there were the times that the prince of Wakanda and the spy were off; those were her favorite and the easiest to decipher. They’d barely make it halfway into his loft before he had her up against the door, thrusting so forcefully into her, the pictures up on the wall often falling and shattering.

And she hated that. She hated that uncertainty that accompanied their arrangement, that “alternative” that always floated above her head because no matter how much she tried to convince herself that T’Challa lover her the way she loved him, she knew that wasn’t the case.

He would have permanently ended things with Nakia and made her his girlfriend, but he didn’t, she was simply kept on the back burner, called for when he needed council and a set of legs to go in between.

At least, that’s what it felt like for her.

Nevertheless, she accepted it because she loved him, and love is truly blind.

+++++++++

“What troubles you, my son?”

T’Challa looked over at his father.

“Nothing, Baba.”

King T’Chaka laughed and looked out the limo’s bulletproof window. “Surely, you do not expect to engage in diplomatic relations with a troubled spirit?”

T’Challa revealed a small smile, almost embarrassed to think that he could hide anything from his father. “It is…It is y/n.”

The older man stilled. “I figured it was.” He took a deep breath. “I gather she is not in agreement with your acquiescence to the Accords.”

T’Challa exhaled deeply and ran his hands over the pants leg of his suit. “She believes them to be invasive.”

“And what of you? What do you think?”

He paused and took a moment to gather his thoughts.

“I have a duty to my country, to my people, to always put their safety first,” T’Challa spoke with the utmost conviction, but he was unsure as to who he was trying to convince.

T’Chaka nodded slowly. “Being King…it requires difficult decisions, sacrifices, and certain situations arise that not everyone who is not of our culture will understand.”

“Y/N is Wakandan, Baba.”

“Hodari is of Wakanda, but her mother was not. My son, you must understand that the trace and influence of the mother can never nor should ever be erased from a child.” T’Chaka advised. “Y/n cannot help who or what she is; however, it is vital that we, that you, also take heed to these moments to remember why she can never be your queen.” A beat. “Wakanda must never allow an outsider to sit on the throne.”

The words cut deep, a reminder of his father’s closeted view on their ways of life. A reminder as to why he could never give the woman he loved more than what he currently did because, in the long run, he would end up hurting her.

But he already was, toying with her emotions, with her heart. It wasn’t fair, not to her. But he couldn’t give her up, and he knew that was selfish of him, one of the few times in his entire life that he was selfish, but he wasn’t ready to accept the fact that he could never be with Y/n in the way that he truly wanted.

If only he could find the strength to tell her that.

+++++++++

She’d just finished up Maladaptive Behavior & Psychopathology when she noticed the other students whispering among themselves, sharing their cell phone screens with one another. She’d learn that could only mean one thing.

Something had happened whether in the terms of actual importance domestic, foreign, or in the entertainment field.

Knowing the students in her class, she tended to believe it was some superficial news revolving around a family who was famous for Bast knew what considering they had absolutely no talent.

However, as she passed the lounge, she happened to glance up at the television where she overheard the last bit of the correspondent’s statement.

“…..and among the dead, King T’Chaka of Wakanda.”

“What?” She whispered.

Or so she thought.

“Yeah.” A student came up behind her and shook his head, a sad look in her eyes. “Terrorist attack. Bombing in Sokovia. Representatives for 117 nations were there for the signing of the-“

“Accords.“ She breathed, eyes still glued to the television as she clutched her phone.

The brunette nodded. “They’re still conducting a search for possible survivors, but the king is the latest to be confirmed dead.”

“What of the others?” Y/n snapped her head to turn to look at the young woman. “The other Wakandans. Prince T’Challa and the other representatives?”

He mouth opened, but nothing came out but stutters. “I didn’t realize that there were others. Like I said, this literally just came out within the past hour or so.”

“Thank you.” She spoke abruptly and practically sprinted to the nearest restroom, locking herself in the largest handicap stall. She grabbed her phone and hit the third favorite in her contact list. “Come on, Baba.” She started to pray to Bast, as each ring made it harder for her to breathe.

“Y/n!” Her father finally appeared as the call switched over to FaceTime, a few cuts and such on his face but other than that he appeared to be fine.

“Glory to Bast.” She released a shaky breath and shut her eyes. “Baba, I just heard….King T’Chaka…”

“I know…” His head dropped, and her heart sank. The nation had just lost its leader, but her father had just lost one his dearest friends.

“I am so sorry.” She whispered, and when he said nothing, she finally garnered the courage to ask. “Baba…where is T’Challa?”

“He is safe.” He confirmed, and she leaned her head back against the wall. “But he is not holding up well.”

“He just lost his father, Baba.” She reminded with a grimace. “This is not something-“

“You do not understand, daughter.” He interrupted with a newfound sense of urgency to his voice. “The pr-the king has made a vow to kill the man responsible for T’Chaka’s death.”

“What?”

“He was….he was right there when the blast occurred…I fear that seeing it happen has had opposite effect on him.”

Y/n grew quiet. Her mother’s murder struck absolute grief into her….

“He is blinded by rage….” She spoke lowly before shaking her head. “You must speak with him.”

“I have tried. He is beyond reason. At least, with me….”

She diverted her eyes. “We…we are not on good terms right now, Baba.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek.

“He listens to you.” She sighed. “Please. If he kills this man-“

“Wait, he already knows who it is?”

He paused. “I will start the preparations for your travel arrangements. It is not safe for me to share such sensitive information over the airway.”

“Baba-“

With that, he disconnected the call.

+++++++++

Along the ridiculously long flight to Sokovia, Y/n learned that not only had T’Challa gone after the culprit, an alleged Bucky Barnes in Romania, but had been apprehended for interfering with an international case and was being detained in Berlin along with Captain America and Falcon.

Being redirected twice allotted her a lot of time to get caught up on everything.

She felt the eyes on her, most judgmental, as her father argued away with a certain Agent Ross who continued to grill her father on “what the hell she was doing there.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Wait in there, please.” Agent Ross instructed as he lazily motioned to a room that contained Steve Rogers and an African American man.

She was momentarily starstruck by Captain America but soon recalled that not too long ago a certain lover of hers was involved in a battle with America’s favorite superhero not too long ago.

She turned to look at her father.

“Baba?”

“I will handle this. Do not worry.” He spoke in Xhosa as the two disappeared down the hall.

She took a deep breath and entered the room.

“Well hello,” The black man with a charming smile and suave voice was the first to talk. “How you doing? Perhaps detainment ain’t so bad, after all?”

Y/n squinted her eyes in recognition. “You must be the Falcon?”

His smile faltered as Steve chuckled. “Okay. What happened to secret identities? Break a couple international laws and all of a sudden due process is thrown out of the damn window.”

She smiled. “Relax. No one told me anything. It just makes sense. You being in here with…” She turned around to face Steve who was sitting down at the edge of the table. “Captain.”

“Please.” He gave a slow nod. “Call me Steve.”

“And I’m Sam.”

“It is an honor.” She extended her arm and shook their hands. “I wish the circumstances were a little different.” A beat. “I am Y/n.”

“So, Y/n,” Sam took on a flirtatious tone when he said her name. “What they got you in for?”

“I am here of my own volition.” She said vaguely, not wanting to reveal that she was specifically there for T’Challa.

She was enjoying the conversation and had a feeling that letting them know her true intentions would ruin that.

Steve gave her a strange look. “Your accent…”

She withheld a frown. So much for reminding incognito.

“I am Wakandan-American.”

“Ah,” Sam muttered, a disappointed expression on his face. “You’re here for the cat.”

“Sam.” Steve scolded, before turning his gaze back to Y/n. “Are you his…

“I am here to try and reason with him. T’Challa is….the man you see now is only a shadow of who he truly is.” Again, she was careful with her words, unsure of how much she should reveal. At the end of the day, they were still on opposite sides of the battle.

“Sounds like you two are pretty close,” Sam noted.

A small smile crept on her face. “He-“

“Y/n?”

She looked over at the door to see him standing there, a surprised look on his face. She didn’t know what came over her, but she suddenly forgot where she was, forgot about their last shouting match, forgot everything.

She pushed herself out of her seat, moved across the room, and threw herself at him. He immediately latched his arms around hers. She mumbled into his chest I’m so sorry in Xhosa, hating how she felt him tense from her words of consolation.

They stayed as they were for a few more seconds before pushing her back and cupping her face.

“What are you doing here?” His eyes kept darting from her eyes to her lips and she could tell that he was fighting the urge to kiss her.

She placed her hands on his wrists and looked at him. “What are you doing, T’Challa?”

He sighed and kissed her forehead, lightly trailing his hands down her sides. “Come with me.”

She took his hand as he led her out the room. She didn’t realize until they were halfway toward his private room that she didn’t say goodbye to Sam and Steve but that seemed trivial in the grand scheme of things.

“You should not have come here,” T’Challa warned as he closed the door to his private room. “It is not safe.”

“My father is worried about you.” She slid her bag off her back. “I am worried about you.”

He avoided her eyes. “All will be well soon enough.”

“No.” She shook her head and marched up to him, forcing his face into her hands as she made him look at her. “You do not get to do that with me. Fool these Americans with this aloofness, but do not think for a second that your charades work on me.” A beat. “He would not want this, T’Challa.”

She saw it for a moment. A spark of the old T that she knew return at the mention of his father, but it was gone just as quickly as it came.

“The dead have no wants.”

He gently pulled her hands from his face and walked past her.

She pushed her lips together and looked down. “Killing Barnes will not alleviate your pain, T’Challa. It will only plant a seed of rage that will eventually consume you.”

“Do not pretend for a second that you understand-“

“Of course I understand!” She spun around and matched his loud tone of voice. “You know that if anyone should know that it’s me!” They stared at each other before she asked him a question. “Why do I feel like you’re pushing me away?”

He furrowed his brows. “What?”

“There once was a time where I could get through to you, where you would at least contemplate my advice, but it seems as though as of lately you continue to put up this wall between us.” A beat. “I suppose I am only of use when you need your sexual appetite appeased.”

“Y/n-“

“No-“ She put up her hand and grabbed her backpack. “I love you, T’Challa, and it is because I love you that I cannot stand here and watch you do this.” She turned to walk out the door, hand on the knob. “I will not stand by and watch you lose yourself to hate.” She shut her eyes. “Bast be with you.”

+++++++++

Y/n didn’t like tears. She just didn’t. She thought them healthy, but a waste of time. She much preferred to talk about the cause of tears rather than actual crying.

That’s why she tended to hop in the shower when she felt a good cry coming on.

So after her not so pleasant exchange with T’Challa and after asking her dad to book her a ticket back home, she headed straight to her hotel and went straight to the shower.

She was currently on her third shower. At that point, her skin was so red and warm, she hadn’t bothered to put clothes on, just settling on a towel.

Each shower was accompanied by a good sob.

She cried for the loss of her king, she cried for T’Challa, and she cried for herself.

She hated that she wasn’t more patient with T’Challa, knowing how stubborn he was. Then she hated how she always seemed to give him chance after chance. It was as if nothing he did was terrible enough for her to cut him off, for her to finally let him go, and move on with her life.

Would this be enough?

Would killing a man be enough?

She had a sick feeling in her stomach that the answer was no?

That made her cry even harder.

She had exited the bathroom and was tightening the towel and looked up to find him sitting on the edge of her bed. “What the-“ She grabbed her heaving chest. “For Bast sake, how did you-“

“How did you do it?”

She sighed. “Do what, T’Challa?”

“He was…there…alive….and then he was just…gone..”

She licked her lips and slowly approached him. “The first thing is you cannot blame yourself.”

“I was right there.” He said more to himself than her. “I should have noticed sooner. I should have-“

“And I should have killed my mother’s murderer’s with just the thought,” she interrupted and placed a hand on his chance. “The only thing that contemplating hypothetical scenarios do are create cognitive dissonance. You will destroy yourself if you do not forgive yourself.”

He looked down at her, a vulnerability and passion that she’d never seen before burning in his brown eyes. “I can only do that in the event of his demise.”

“His death will not fill that void, T’Challa. Nothing will because it never goes away. It just gradually gets better over time, and with the love and support of family, friends, and the people that you love.” She spoke with honesty while tugging on the sides of his shirt.

He gave her a questioning gaze but pulled the shirt over his head and allowed her to lead them to the bed. “What are you-“

“You need an outlet.” Was all she said.

He grabbed her wrists as she started to unbuckle his jeans.

“No.” He shook his head. “I won’t take advantage of you. Not after you have made your feelings clear-“

“T’Challa-“ She sighed and shut her eyes. “It is not taking advantage of me if we both want it. You need an outlet, and I need…I don’t know. I just know you well enough to know when your mind is made up, and you have already decided that you’re going to kill that man, and I don’t know where that will leave us.” She allowed the words to flow freely and without a filter. “So tonight is just about….release.”

And release he did, he’d always been an attentive and adaptive lover, giving her whatever she wanted.

But that night was different, he was aggressive, forceful, not so much as to cause her pain, but as to where she could feel his pain.

It was almost lovemaking on an empathetic nature, and it scared the shit out of her.

But when she woke up that morning and saw that he was gone, empathetic mattered not, she realized that something had to change, she had to change.

She couldn’t do it anymore.

She had some decisions to make.

She just hoped that he could live with them.

She just hoped that she could live with them.

#Black Panther Imagine #t'challa x reader #t'challa udaku #T'challa imagine #t'challa #captain america #steve rogers #sam wilson #oneshot #drabble #black panther fic #tchalla #tchalla udaku

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majesticmarais · 7 years ago

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Tag game!

Rules: answer 20 questions then tag 20 followers you wanna get to know better! I was tagged by @samithepixie and @ishouldtakeyoutothemoon love you gals

Name: Autumn!

Nickname: A, fall, little red, Auttie (I don’t like it though so only a few people can use it)

Height: 5'4"

Nationality: Canadian but my parents are irish and german

Favourite fruit: Gotta go with strawberries

Favourite season: Autumn (hAh) for real though probably summer or fall

Favourite smell: I love so many smells. Bread, cookies, boys that smell really good, the smell after it rains or the smell of the ocean, so many things

Favourite colour: Red, blue and purple, and lately yellow

Favourite animal: Turtles, sloths and lemurs and red pandas!! (can you tell I’m not good at choosing one favourite thing?)

Tea, Coffee or Hot cocoa: Hot cocoa fosho

Average hours of sleep: When I’m in school usually about 6 or 7, weekends/summer days where I don’t work I can rank up to 13 hours some days LOL but averaging on 10

Dogs or Cats: Doggies!!!

Favourite fictional character: That is SO HARD!!! If we’re going with TV shows I’ll go with Stiles Stilinski, Jeff Atkins, Jack Pearson and Eli Goldsworthy!! Movies I love Newt from the Maze Runner, Peter Parker obvs (again, can’t choose a favorite because I love fictional characters more than I love myself)

Dream trips: Australia, Hawaii, Italy, Peru, Bora Bora

When was my blog created: I actually do not remember

Fav Vine: OMG I HAVE SO MANY!!!!! Honestly “Adam” will forever be a fav, and lipstick in my valentino bag and aw fuck I can’t believe you’ve done this I LOVE SO MANY VINES

Number of followers: 946 ahhhhh!!!!

Random fact: Most of the facts I know are surrounding murder and crime because I’m a criminology major buuuut Jeffrey Dahmer would cut off his victims penises and paint them for decoration and had a shrine!! (sorry I’m gross)

Fav Food: Probably ice cream honestly, or fajitas

Fav TV Show: This is Us, Degrassi, The Fosters (Even though it’s ending I cry), Gilmore Girls, the Office, Greys Anatomy

Fav Movie: TOO HARD TO PICK ONE I HATE THIS QUESTION!!

Fav Vine: Already answered but another random one that kills me is the one where the guy is like “heheheheheh Ryan” and I say it to my brother all the time because his name is Ryan

Sexuality: Straight

Gender: A lady lady

Fav Book Series: Seriiieeess if we aren’t counting trilogies uhm probably the Shadowhunters series and lowkey Twilight forever has a place in my heart

Fav Video Game: Just Dance ;) and I like GTA and Mario Kart too

Fav Subject in School: My school subjects change so much every semester but my favorite class that I’ve taken has been Psychopathology

Fav Fandom: Limelights of cooouuurrrsseee ;)

Fav Superhero: Spiderman and Thor

Girls or Guys: I don’t know what this means!!! If we mean romantically I’ll say guys but otherwise girls because guys are trash honestly

Celebrity Crush: Pfffffttt you really want to get into this??? Jonah Marais(and the rest of WDW), Jack Gilinsky, Tom Holland, Harry Styles, Wes Tucker, Brad Simpson

When’s the last time you cried?: Uhhm surprisingly NOT TODAY, I cried on Saturday out of happiness!!

Hair color: Brown

Eye Color: Brown :(

What should I be doing right now? Absolutely nothing LOL

Uhm I tag @whydontwe-fanfics @superseavey @the-headass @lovableherronanyone who wants to do it or doesn’t wanna do it, whatevs

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iamkellyadams · 5 years ago

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10 Self Care Strategies For Busy Moms

Self-Care Is a Habit Built From Mindset

Taking time to nurture yourself has nothing to do with being selfish. It is about self-care.

Self-care is a habit that is built from the mindset of it being imperative, your responsibility, and a preventative measure to keep you well. Its effectiveness lies in constant and ongoing repetition of many tiny habits that in their totality ensure that you are well in mind, body, spirit and in your life quality.

This is good news because it means that we need not take a 2-week vacation, in fact to be most effective self-care should be practiced daily, with even the smallest actions having a big impact on our state of mind, and the health of our bodies and spirits, all of which improve our quality of life.

Best Self Care Strategies For Busy Moms

Like achieving any other success, improving your self-care skills requires a strategy, remember that self-care is a deliberate effort.

1. Make You A Priority

Our culture is immersed in this idea that it is selfish to put yourself first. When you are in a relationship you’re expected to put the needs of someone else first before you act you should consider their interests and needs. Then you have children and it’s the same but an even bigger thing.

Suddenly you are in third place behind your partner and kids, maybe even fourth place if you have a job to juggle, too. It’s understandable that you want to consider the needs and happiness of others and it’s completely normal that you want to ensure they feel understood and heard.

However, in loving others there is room to love yourself. In fact, if you don’t love yourself how on earth can you be expected to love anyone else?

2. Treat Yourself With Respect and Compassion

This is so simple, if you live your life and make decisions from this simple standpoint, then everything else will fall into place. You will begin to make yourself a priority, and look out for your own needs.

3. Love Yourself

What does this phrase even mean? Well, quite simply it means that you make yourself a priority and that you take care of you.

When you do, it becomes easier to care for others, because your own happiness is overflowing. You become a better person when you learn to love yourself.

You have more to give to your partner, your children, your family, your friends, and even your job. Maybe the biggest issue with the thought, culturally, is that we associate putting yourself with forgetting about everyone else.

In fact, the opposite is true. Putting everyone else before you can lead to frustration and resentment, especially when you suffer in silence.

4. Don’t Apologize For Putting You First

Who do you spend the most time with? You. So, why on earth would you ever feel the need to apologize for making yourself a priority? You need to invest in making your own passions and goals come true, rather than being completely focused on doing the same for others.

The situations that life throws at you quickly sap your resources, and generally, those situations require time or money. You don’t empty your bank account without topping it up; you need to top yourself up, too. Therefore, when you need some me time, don’t you dare apologize for it. Prioritize yourself so that you can give everyone else what they need.

Putting Yourself First Pays Off

You know that saying that if you aren’t first, you’re last … it’s really accurate in this situation because if you don’t put yourself first you will be last on your agenda and it will be easier and easier for other things to slide in ahead of you. Here’s how putting yourself first pays off:

➢ Healthy & Happy

The people that you love want to be happy and healthy. Now, think about all of your friendships and relationships and how they improve when you feel you best (mentally, emotionally, and physically). Just think about how you feel when you eat well, exercise regularly, and enjoy a good night’s sleep.

Compare that with your relationships when you’re exhausted and irritable, too caught up in filling everyone else’s needs and desires rather than your own. You can’t give your best when you’re not at your best.

➢ Burnout Saps Your Joy

Have you ever tried to indulge in one of your favorite activities when you’re completely burned out? It isn’t enjoyable, is it? When you’re exhausted and overworked, you’re stressed out and wracked with anxiety, so much so that even a relaxing dinner with friends is just another chore to add to your list.

The truth is you need a proper break to remember how to be present for the moments that you should be enjoying. Burnout depletes your levels of happy hormones and when you’re in survival mode, you are at greater risk for mental health issues. Learn how to say no to others and say yes to yourself.

Resting Is Compulsory

There are probably a bunch of items on your to do list that you can cross off and forget about, whereas you can’t cross rest off your list. You wouldn’t keep driving your car with a flat tire; let the oil or gas run out, so why on earth would you do it yourself? It can be difficult, though, because you feel that you have to say yes, you don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. What about your feelings?

A failure to rest is going to increase your cortisol levels and just make your situation worse and feed into the vicious cycle of burnout. It’s okay to put yourself first and choose the couch over a big night out.  

➢ Improved Health

You will be in far better health when you learn to prioritize your self-care. Exhaustion, anxiety, and stress contribute to a variety of illnesses. Stress triggers a chain reaction that draws all of the available resources just to get you through the situation, leaving other areas of your body lacking.

➢ Energy

You bring a certain energy to every situation that you are involved in. If you carry an angry energy, the people around you will see it, the same as they can feel your happy energy. It doesn’t even have to be that obvious an energy for it to transfer to others. So, be mindful of the fact that your stress and moodiness can transfer to those around you.

The best thing that you can do for the people in your life is to put yourself first, practice self-care, and be the best you possible. If that means saying no sometimes then be brave and say no. When your body and mind are trying to tell you to slow down, listen.

5. Ditch The Guilt

Have you ever felt guilty about taking care of your son, daughter, mother, sister, or spouse? Think about this for a moment. Likely, your answer is no, but you likely do feel guilt when taking time to do something to take care of yourself.

One way to overcome this type of guilt is to understand the big picture, without self-care you end up running on empty and you cannot care for or give to others from an empty cup.

6. Ditch Perfection

Paul Hewitt, PhD, says, “I don’t think needing to be perfect is in any way adaptive.” With over 20 years of research behind them, both Hewitt and his colleague, Gordon Flett, PhD have found that perfectionism correlates with anxiety, eating disorders, depression, and a host of other mental health problems along with several studies that show it to contribute to psychopathology.

At the root of perfectionism is control, but perfectionism can never truly be achieved, and it’s exhausting. You don’t have to be perfect, in fact it takes way too much of valuable time that can be spent caring for yourself instead.

Your house need not be perfect, you don’t have to be perfectly organized, and it’s okay if your car did not get a wash today. Give yourself permission to make mistakes, focus on your own self-care instead and it will help you release the need for control.

Let go of perfection, it’s exhausting and nobody is perfect. Life is too short! If you find it difficult to let go of being perfect, seek professional help from a qualified therapist or psychologist.

7. Superwoman Does Not Exist

Stop trying to be a superwoman who can do it all, after all, you are only human!

8. Plan To Be Spontaneous

Spontaneity is a key component of emotional and mental wellness. Remember that self-care need not be a planned time intensive event, even a few minutes each day can have a profound impact. Spontaneity is something that can help in this regard.

Whenever you have a few moments of free time, for example while the baby is napping or a lunch break at work, choose to do something for yourself. You can also set up time that can be used to be spontaneous; this means planning time in your schedule without any plans, an hour here, an hour there can really add up and make a great impact on your wellness.

Those holes in your schedule can be used to…

Take a drive

Read a book

Take a hot bath

Call a friend

Watch a movie

Just sit in your garden and enjoy a glass of wine or a cup of coffee 

9. Making Self-Care Your Own

It is important to make your self-care ritual your own. What may work for some women may not be ideal for you. While some women love taking hot baths, others are better served lifting weights. Some women practice their rituals first thing in the morning, so they get up extra early to do so, while others prefer afternoons or evenings for their rituals.

The point is that the self-care techniques your adopt help you to destress, stay calm, and take good care of yourself. You do not need any authority to tell you what you need, you are the only one that can answer that question, and this may take some introspection, especially if you have not regularly been in touch with your needs in the past.

You may have to try a few things to find those that make you feel more centered, calmer, destressed, refreshed, and cared for.

You should create a standing appointment with you. Find something that you love and dedicate time to indulge in it, whether it’s painting, writing, or having a mani-pedi. It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it brings you happiness.

Make everyone understand that nothing should be scheduled around this appointment, it’s yours. Having an activity that you enjoy allows you to relax, de-stress, and eases some of the emotional tension you experience.

You can make a special appointment once a week, but do find quiet time for yourself every day, whether it’s as little as 10 minutes or as much as an hour.

You’re worth it. It isn’t escaping from your life, it’s the direct opposite, it’s enjoying it by embracing it for yourself.

10. Create A Habit With Rituals

The most effective way to achieve a goal is to make it a habit. Doing something for yourself, with self-care rituals every single day is where you start to form these habits. Commit to doing some type of self-care activity each day, before long it will become automatic, and you will find the positive results motivating you to continue.

With just a little bit of attention to your own self-care, you will form habits that pay off in big amounts. You will feel more whole mentally and emotionally, and stronger physically, all of which will make your life balanced and happier.

Who am I and Why you should listen to me?

For those of you that don’t know I am Hillary Fay, I have a passion for yoga and transformational arts. This overflows into everything that I create from my classes, workshops, yoga teacher training’s, Reiki certifications, and Evolutionary Arts Practitioner Certification.

As a teacher and teacher of teachers, I am here to help you deepen into your own Source of Unconditional Love — S.O.U.L. So, you can access all the gifts that always are, and always will be inherent within you through breath work, Kundalini Yoga, Reiki, Alchemy, Vinyasa Flow, Meditation and much more.

My passion is sharing what I have learned with everyone.

From a very young age I was inspired to seek healing and be at peace. At the young tender age of 12 I had lived in 8 states, been through trauma and abuse and experienced far more than any 12-year-old should.

From the deep suffering came the greatest gift I could have ever imagined.

Now I embody love and want to help others do just the same. I’ve taught over 10,000 students. You are capable of being loved, filled with energy and amazing presence!

Ask yourself – what would it be like to wake up feeling happy and confident, that you’ll have all the energy you need to feel good at the end of the day? Now you can feel the transformation of deep self-care.

In this fast-paced world, we live in, it can get lost as to what we need to do to help ourselves.

I’ve designed a program to help you increase energy, return to your own power, and give yourself the boost you need to continue showing up for others without draining themselves.

In my Ultimate Self-Care Kit, you’ll be getting tried and proven practices to help you create and set the energy you need to feel your best in only minutes a day.

Introducing…

THE ULTIMATE SELF-CARE KIT

The Ultimate Self-Care Kit contains everything you need to dive deep into what self-love and self-care really are.

Including 7 guided meditation audios created with binaural beats which help to access deeper states of well-being:

The Safe to Be Mediation to reconnect with your breath

A powerful Energy Clearing meditation that you can use every single day to reset your energy

The Deep Relaxation Meditation for Self-Care to unwind your nervous system

A Yoga Nidra (the Yoga of Sleep) Meditation. This will help you tap into your Theta state where you can access your own source of intuition and love. The more we access Theta state the more we learn how to trust ourselves and our own gut instincts.

The Divine Mother Meditation will help you feel cherished, love and accepted.

The Love Consciousness Activation is designed to support you in grounding.

The Self Sourcing Meditation for igniting the love and support you deserve

You simply need to get comfy on your couch or in a quiet space and focus on your much needed self-care to help you get real stress relief and the rejuvenation of spirit they desperately want.

Special bonuses include potent breathing exercises and meditation videos from the best of yogic science:

Breathing exercises to help you relax into a restful night’s sleep

Breathing exercises to boost your immune system and activate your Inner Sun

Full Hatha yoga class specifically designed for self-care and grounding

PDF workbook for Creating Healthy Boundaries

This helps you live your best life…without the guilt, which empowers you and everyone around you.

Regain control of your mind, body, and spirit…and feel the power of true transformation. You need my Ultimate Self-Care Kit in your life right now. Click here, The Ultimate Self-Care Kit.

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proxylynn · 8 years ago

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Dreemurr Academy #5 (UnderSwap Papyrus)

Dreemurr Academy, a prestigious closed-off college for monsters and humans alike of all ages and worlds.

This includes myself, though I'm sort of a in-between.

I'm Lynsie, the human anomaly. I'm a human, but I can do magic like monsters. I'm an oddball.

That's the thing about making a school that is open to multiple alternate dimensions. Weird things are bound to show up. Even a bunch of the same person. From what I saw on orientation day, the same faces are scattered around all around.

To fix these type of issues, everyone that has a multiple or doppelganger is given a school name so there's no confusion.

Other than that, it's fairly normal. The hierarchy is the simple.

The Deans are made up of the same people, skeleton monsters that go by the name of Gaster. One is a teacher of the Sciences, goes by Wingding. He's a kind and understanding man, but is known to pull a prank or two. They all speak in a typeface sign language but use telepathy magic so others understand. It's been said no one has ever heard their real voices and those that have are no longer at the academy.

Another Gaster dean teaches Home Economics, he goes by Wingy. He's a bubbly sweet guy that loves his work. Nothing makes him smile more than seeing the joy on a student's face when they take pride in being able to do something they first thought they couldn't.

Another Gaster dean teaches the studies of Magic, he is called Fall. At times, he can be cynical, malicious, and sarcastic. He has a commanding presence that exuded gravitas, authority and control, able to keep a class quiet without effort. Yet there is a kindness to him, it's rarely seen, but not unheard of.

Another Gaster dean teaches History, his nickname is Dings. A cold, bitter, and sometimes childish man. He tends to hold grudges against troublesome students and is extremely spiteful toward those whom he dislikes. Yet those that can take his punishments are rewarded with his respect. He is a teacher that commands respect and who's grades are earned with doom hanging over your head.

The Professors are also skeleton monsters, but not all are the same person. The Psychology professor is a guy named Papyrus but goes by Stretch. He's the favorite among students because he's so laid back. He chews a tooth pick in class to suppress his urge to smoke, but we all know he does so when on break. He's really good at reading students and helps out when able. All in all, he's the cool teacher.

The Literature professor is a Papyrus that is called Fell. He is the one teacher everyone dreads. Very strict and old fashioned. He does not tolerate interruptions and will humiliate those he feel need to be taken down a notch. Such things take there toll on him and often squeezes a stress ball that he keeps in his desk. But he is a very passionate man when it comes to his work and takes his subject seriously, even though this makes him into a bit of a grammar nazi which is why many students get low grades.

The Biology professor is a skeleton called Sans that sometimes goes by Classic, whatever that means. He is very cheesy and comes off as lazy, making puns that have people cringe yet secretly love them. He is very protective of his students and will go out of his way to help them. He does not tolerate bulling of any kind and can be quite scary. He's the second favorite among the students.

The Physical Education professor is also a Sans that goes by Pain. He is also a stern and old school type of teacher, only he tends to be more cruel in humiliation of students that are unprepared. While his scope is all around, he prefers the darker side of the study. Using borderline violence to weed out the weak that think taking his class is a easy A. There is mercy in his dojo, but it must be earned with blood, sweat, and tears.

The Students are broken into four groups based on which part of the four years they are currently in. The first years are called freshmen. Second years are sophomores. Third years are juniors. And fourth years are seniors. There are some variations on this topic, but this hierarchy of college students is still readily recognizable by everyone.

Me? This isn't my first rodeo but not my last. I'm a sophomore and have gotten the gist of who's who and what's what. I get along with students and teachers. I've always been a middle ground type of girl.

I didn't come looking for friends, but they just seemed to find me. Funny enough, my buddies are the brothers of the professors. Stretch's brother is a freshman, his name is Sans but goes by Rascal. Fell's brother, also a Sans, is a sophomore like me and goes by Edgy. Classic's brother is a Papyrus, a freshman that goes by Papy. And Pain's brother is a sophomore Papyrus by the name of Slim.

I've always been a tomboy. I prefer the guys company. They're different and fun, even if they can be a bit odd sometimes.

Rascal, as the nickname implies, is the school clown/prankster. He likes to test his limits and challenge authority, even dishevels his uniform to assert his individuality. He comes off as a slacker, but secretly very deep, clever, and loyal to a fault. He likes taking his brother's class so he can improve his skills with messing with people, mostly his brother as he disrupts his teachings when he sees a chance.

Edgy is shy around new people and slow to open up, enjoying a laugh with friends when able. Though he appears weak or even nerdy because of his glasses, he is far more tougher than he leads on. He doesn't take crap from anyone. When alone, he's angsty and borders on straight up angry. Getting a pissy attitude when annoyed. Like his brother, he is very passionate about literature and does his best to impress his brother, going so far as to become the teacher's pet.

Papy is easily the most loveable guy in the whole school. Very cheerful and optimistic, he tries his best no matter what. He doesn't like conflict and tries to keep his brother out of trouble when the teacher pulls a prank. I find it sweet of him to take his brother's class even though he doesn't particularly enjoy it, just so he can stay close to him. Like I said, this guy is a loveable soul.

Slim is easy going. He doesn't take things too seriously and never breaks a sweat over hard exams. The only thing that breaks his cool is his smoking, he really gets tense if he goes too long without his fix. He's incredibly smart and instinctual, good traits to have when dealing with his brother. While he does attend his brother's class, he merely does so as a request of his brother who likes to make sure he doesn't slack off due to not being challenged enough.

All of them are oddly related to each other in some form. Gaster's, Papyrus's, and Sans's are brothers. Yet I see them all as different people. I value them. They're helping me even if they don't know it. I am not so confident in myself. I tend to isolate myself, go at things lone wolf style. It's how I've always been. Then I met them and slowly my world began to expand bit by bit. I'm still not comfortable with others. But with them, I can step out from behind my mask for a bit, and really be myself around them.

Today is a typical day. Classes have so far been good. Again, knowing how to get by and being ready for them helps big time. This being one of those classes. Psychology is crazy complex yet once you get the hang of it, it becomes easy to understand, though there are so many different aspects to learn in it.

In all there is Health Psychology, Psychology of Interpersonal Relations, Mind and Behavior, Social and Personality Development, Psychology of Learning, Visual Perception and Cognition, The Aging Mind and Brain, Cognition and the Brain, Language Development, Psychology of Workplace Behaviors, Psychology of Relationship Violence, Animal Cognition, Behavioral Neuroscience, Psychopharmacology, Motivation-Addiction-and the Brain, Neuroscience of Learning and Memory, Neurobiology of Stress, Introduction to Health Biopsychology, Abnormal Psychology, Childhood Psychopathology, Behavior Modification, Psychotherapies, Cognitive Development of Children, Infant Development, Personality, Attitude Change, Psychology of Gender, Social Cognition, Judgment and Decision Making, Stigma and Prejudice, Psychology of Negotiation, Human Memory, Psychology of Thinking, Human Information Processing, and lastly Language Processes.

All of these help to further understand ourselves and each other. For to know the workings of the world's mind, one must come to know one's self. And if such a journey you wish to make, then look no further than to have Professor Stretch be your guide to the wide and weird world of the mind's many endless roads. The guy is utterly amazing.

"it's about honor. do you have it? how do you define honor? honor is day by day, minute by minute. if you have it, you live it, without question. honor is not doing what is easy if it hurts a single soul. do your daily actions reflect good values? are you honest with everyone, even yourself? are you kind and helpful? do you show respect to everyone? for example, do you clean up after yourself in the lunchroom? and my friends...they all have a couple of things in common: none of them are whiners. all of them are funny. none of them are pc; and all of them, every last one, owns their mistakes. they own their lives. they own their actions. that is honor. do you really own your mistakes and your lives?"

God he's mesmerizing to listen to. His voice is so smooth despite his smoking habit. Even his body's movements flow with grace and adds emphasis to his words. You can really tell he means what he says.

"our society does not simply look at the 'hey stupid, the coffee is hot' signs that are located on any lid of coffee that you buy or the supersize me case 'my kids are fat because of mcdonalds'. try to do good. try to love the world even when it does not love you. the question is how will you react when you have done bad things? ...will you stand up and say, i'm a man and i own this mess?"

I nod to myself and a note is slid my way. I look to my side, Rascal, Stretch's little brother and my good buddy. I wonder what it says.

[DO YOU NEED A TOWEL?]

I write back "Why?" and pass it back. Then he slides it back to me.

[TO WIPE UP ALL THE DROOL YOU'RE MAKING OVER MY BRO.]

I roll my eyes at him and give him back the slip after writing "Ha-ha, you're so funny. You should do stand-up.".

"there's only two things the world can't take from you. your friendship and your honor. anything worthwhile must be protected and nurtured. these two things you have...honor and friends...are, believe it or not, all you need. they are everything. don’t make excuses, make optimism. i would like you to take some time and really reflect on that for a moment."

I slowly shut my eyes in thought, contemplating his words and letting my mind wander with ideas. Rascal, using this break to his advantage, decides to have some fun. While Stretch is distracted looking for his pack of candy cigarettes or his trusty toothpick in his messy desk, Rascal leans over and starts whispering in my ear.

"YOU KNOW, YOU'VE BEEN ON MY MIND A LOT LATELY."

"What are you talking about, Rascal?"

"RASCAL? NO...IT'S ME, PROFESSOR STRETCH."

"I take it this is your game for the day."

"YOU LOOK REALLY CUTE TODAY? *sniff* IS THAT VANILLA I SMELL?"

"Okay, you're starting to border on the creepy line there."

"YOU KNOW, VANILLA IS CONSIDERED A NATURAL APHRODISIAC. AND SINCE KNOWING YOU, YOU'VE NEVER WORE THAT SCENT BEFORE. NOW FOR WHAT REASON WOULD YOU WEAR THAT SCENT? UNLESS...YOU WERE TRYING TO CAPTIVATE SOMEONE'S ATTENTION WITH SWEET ALLURE."

To that I crack an eye open and look at him.

"Can I not try a new shampoo without being thought of as a tempting succubus?"

He merely smirks.

"A RATHER INTERESTING CHOICE OF WORDS. BUT YES. I DARE SAY YOU ARE ATTEMPTING TO WOO SOMEONE. AND I THINK IT'S ME."

"As cute as you are, I see you as my friend Rascal."

He blushes but pouts.

"I TOLD YOU, I'M NOT RASCAL. I'M STRETCH."

"I know you study this subject so you can be better at manipulating others for your amusement. So if your intention is to prank me by having me 'confess' my 'feelings' for your brother, well...That's just cruel."

"*sighs* LOOK, I'M NOT TRYING TO BE MEAN. I'M JUST TRYING TO..."

Stretch clears his throat, toothpick in his teeth, and signals that the thinking break is now over.

"as i was saying...it is about honor. do you have it? honor is not the late mother theresa in calcutta. that’s beyond honor; that’s sainthood. honor is not an impossible ideal, something beyond your grasp. honor is day to day, minute by minute. if you have it, you live it, without question. honor is not doing what’s easy if it hurts a single soul."

So very true. I could listen to him for hours. He speaks with experience, like this all knowing sage, yet doesn't come off as condescending or entitled. He only wants to share what he knows so that others can do better. His faith in others is inspiring.

"honor has no room in its house for cynicism. skepticism, yes. always. but cynicism? no. it has no room in its house for greed, for the mindless pursuit of money or hollow success. honor is the affirmative answer to one simple question you ask of yourself every day: did i behave with dignity and respect toward all living things? that is the measure of honor and the measure of men. if you are cynical, you will say, i wasn’t honorable today because the world was dishonorable toward me and i just had to fight back. sorry, charlie. wrong answer. the measure of a man lies not in what the world does to him, but rather in how he comports himself within the world. when someone says, oh-so cynically, oh-so-jaded: the world is thus, you must reply: no. thus, have we made the world."

Another note from Rascal is slid my way and I sigh inwardly at the thought of reading it.

[I'M SORRY. BUT I'M NOT TRYING TO BE A JERK. I'M JUST TRYING TO TELL YOU SOMETHING THAT IS HARD FOR ME TO SAY.]

I write back "What? You know you can tell me anything. It's what friends are for." and pass it back. He takes a moment before writing, a look on his face that I can only guess is uncertainty as I've never seen him like that, then he slowly slides it to me and I'm nervous to read it.

[HE LIKES YOU TOO.]

I'm not sure how to respond to this. Either he's being honest or being bull. I can't find words to write.

"i gave you the bad news first so you can create the good news for yourselves. well, i’ve got friends. if wealth is measured by friends, then i’m richer than bill gates. and, as i said at the outset, two of my closest friends in the world i met right here, freshman year. and my friends, a wide-ranging army of people from all walks of life, some human, some monster, some conservative, some liberal, some wealthy, some not, some black, some white, some catholic, some jewish, some presbyterian, some gay, some straight, some downright out of their minds, and some with questionable fashion sense. my friends are a very varied lot. but they all have a couple of things in common: none of them are whiners, because i can't handle hanging out with whiners; all of them are funny, because life’s too short not to be able to tell good jokes; none of them are pc; and all of them, every last one, owns their mistakes. they own their lives. they don’t place blame for their actions at any place but on their own doorsteps. they own their actions."

I try to focus on Stretch's words but Rascal keeps giving me notes.

[HE MUTTERS YOUR NAME A LOT WHEN IN DEEP THOUGHT OR SLEEP.]

I write back "So what?" and pass it back. He passes another one.

[HE THINKS OF YOU IN THE SHOWER TOO. VERY AWKWARD.]

This makes my eyes twitch and I write back "This isn't funny anymore." then slide it back.

"that is honor. own yours. go out into that messed-up world and try to make it better for your sons and daughters. yes. make money if you can. pursue your own happiness. yes, yes. but try, too, please try to do good. to empathize with and help those people who weren’t lucky enough to go to a private prep school, have caring parents, come from homes with food on the table and plenty of oil in the furnace. try to love the world even when it doesn't love you. realize that you will fail, you will make mistakes, you will feel pain and you will cause pain and you will do bad things. the question isn’t whether you will do bad things, the question is how will you react once you’ve done those bad things? will you leave the mess for someone else to clean up; will you place blame? or will you stand up and say, i’m a man. i own this mess. i will not hide behind lawyers. or press agents. or lies. i do not need lies. i do not need an image. i do not need false crap. i need my friends. i need my honor. because there’s only two things the world can’t take from you. your friendships and your honor. those you’ve got to give away...and those, i will bet you good money, you have right now."

Another note slips by me.

[PLEASE TALK TO HIM. I KNOW THIS IS WEIRD. BUT IT'S WEIRDER LIVING WITH HIM WHEN I HEAR AND SEE HIM WANTING YOU.]

I write back "Stop it. Just stop." and pass it back.

"the honor you hold right inside of yourself, because you’re young, and you haven’t had too many chances to screw up yet or sell out. and you have friends. some of your best may be sitting right beside you, right now. some may have just finished teaching you for four years. some, believe it or not, may be your parents, your sisters, your brothers. some you haven’t met yet, but you will, you will. anything worthwhile must be protected and nurtured. these two things you have...honor and friends...are, believe it or not, all you need. they’re everything. they’re sacred. and, like anything sacred, the world will go after them and try to separate you from them. you cannot let it take them. because when they’re gone, they don’t come back. like your tenth birthday or first love. once it’s gone, it’s gone. try not to regret it if you can."

That last line makes me feel really weird. Even more so when I notice the eye contact coming from Stretch, making me blush and Rascal nudges me with a 'Do you see it now' look. I am so confused.

"look around at your friends, at your family. right now. and then look inside, as only you can, at your honor. your soul. it is what makes you an individual. it is what makes you, in essence, you. the one thing that separates you from anyone else. are you going to give that up? go with honor into this world, my students. don’t make excuses, make optimism. don’t make a day a little worse for your having been here, make it a little better. protect your dignity and your grace and your honor and your friends and your family the way lesser men protect their money and their image and their crumbling structures."

There's that experience again, it makes me curious as to what happened to him. But why? Why am I so pulled to him? Why do I care? Damn it Rascal! What mind trickery have you done to me?! I care!

"i truly hope all of you will get what you want. i hope you live up to the measure of your dreams. i wish you great health and financial independence and a jacuzzi. sure, why not? heheheh...but if you don't get those things, you are not poor, you are not a failure, you are not a lesser person. as long as you have you’re honor, your souls, your friends."

The bell rings.

"*sigh* well that's my time. go enjoy one of the great days of your life."

Everyone starts to leave, but I can't make myself move from my seat. Rascal touches my shoulder.

"PROMISE ME...YOU'LL THINK ABOUT IT. PLEASE?"

All I can do is nod before dropping my head to the table and leaving it there.

"GREAT. THANKS LYNSIE. AND DON'T WORRY, I BELIEVE IN YOU!"

I groan as he leaves and stay put, hoping I'll fade away so I can forget everything I've come to learned.

"uh...the bell rang, lynsie. it means school ended for the day."

"*muffled* I know."

"okay...um...you okay?"

"*muffled* I don't know anymore."

I hear approaching footsteps.

"alright lynsie, what's up? everything at home okay?"

"*muffled* Yeah."

"personal life doing fine?"

"*muffled* Yeah."

"you sick?"

"*muffled* No."

"bad romance?"

"*muffled* Good song, but no. My love life is about as real as bigfoot."

"cute...then what's the matter? 'cause i can't think of anything else. actually, scratch that, i can. did my bro do something to you?"

"*muffled* Which one?"

"sans. did sans mess with you?"

I say nothing and he leans beside me.

"come on. what did he do this time?"

Again I say nothing.

"let me guess. he glued you to your seat?"

"*muffled* No."

"did he pass your phone number around school?"

"*muffled* No."

"did he take up-skirt pics of you...again?"

I sigh and sit up.

"No. He hasn't done that in while now. But that's why I don't really care for the uniforms. I hate skirts."

"then what has he done?"

I look away.

"lynsie, you know you're going to tell me eventually. i'm the psych proff. i know countless ways to get you to talk."

"And you've taught us countless ways to counter said things."

He smirks.

"do i sense a challenge?"

"If you want to play, teach, than bring your A-game. Because these lips are sealed."

"okay, game on."

It's funny how he gets excited like this, he doesn't do it often, but it is cute. Damn it, stop that, I need to focus!

"let me just put this out there before we start...you don't really have to tell me. this is all for fun."

Wow, is he really setting up for reverse psychology? That's the most simple and basic thing. Maybe he thinks I won't see it coming because it's so basic. Or maybe that's what he wants me to think. Best see how this goes and set up to counter when needed.

"Fine."

"so...sans did or said something to you, but you don't want to say what it was...probably wasn't anything to do with something personal. i mean, why would that mess with you? you got friends and one of the best grade point average in school. things gotta be coming up roses for you there."

Got to keep calm and display no emotion. Facial signs and emotions can give away too much information.

"Life has been kind as of late. I study hard. Having random insomnia helps in that department. But what about you? How has the ball been rolling in your court this year?"

A reversal of reverse psychology is simple. Just do reverse psychology to the one trying to do it to you, but do it better. He just smiles.

"been alright. a little slow sometimes."

"How so?"

"eh, just in general really. been thinking i should try to put myself out there. *plays with his toothpick* i haven't been on a date in years."

"Years huh? I can top that. I've never had one."

He looks at me surprised.

"for real?"

"Yep."

"i call bull."

"Hand to god. Never been out on a date."

"why?"

"No one's ever asked. Kinda hard to date someone when they aren't real, you know?"

"not even your imaginary friends?"

"*chuckles* Very funny Stretch."

I get up and hop over the table, sitting on it. He follows suit and sits beside me.

"But yeah. I could fill a book with a list of 'never done' stuff I never did. Things most people my age have done long ago, I can not say I did."

"so...you've never been kissed?"

"Heh, jumping right to it huh?"

"just curious. by the way...*sniff* you smell nice."

"Heh...thanks. Rascal noticed too. *blush* But I kissed a boy once when I was really young. But it was a kid kiss. No real feelings in it, even though he did like me. I think I just liked that he liked me and felt I had to kiss him because it was expected."

"social pressure?"

"Nope. Just what I thought I had to do."

"what made you think that?"

"Fuck if I know. I just did. Kinda like how I knew what death was even though no one ever told me. Saw my kitten unmoving, not breathing, it was just...so very still. Yet I remember going to my grandma and crying that the kitten was dead. I was five. How the hell did I know it was dead?!"

"instinct maybe. from watching you, you seem to grasp things fairly easily. i can almost see the gears turn in your head when i look in your eyes."

"Why would you need to look in my eyes that deeply?"

His relaxed posture faintly stiffens and I inwardly smirk, I caught him.

"making eye contact with others is a sign of confidence, respect, and social communication. studies also suggest that eye contact has a positive impact on the retention and recall of information and may promote more efficient learning."

Well played, trying to avoid seemingly noticeable awkwardness with facts. My turn.

"True, but only half true. It all depends on the person. Some might be fine with it, while others could take it as insulting. Eye contact can also be a significant factor in interactions between human and non-human animals, even monsters. Many species often perceive eye contact as a threat. But on the other hand...Eye contact can also be seen as intimate and sexual."

That causes some light color to dust his cheekbones.

"heh...this has kinda gotten off on a weird track."

"Not really. We're still on the subject you've been trying to prob me for."

"i am not trying to prob you."

"Not without your spaceship you aren't."

He chuckles and I look at his toothpick. I kind of want it. Just to chew on for a bit. Not sure where this urge is coming from, but it's normal for me. I tend to chew on any stick food comes with, like lollipop or popsicle sticks. I don't know why, I just do.

"wait...we've been on a topic this whole time?"

"Want a clue?"

"maybe."

"I want something first."

"and what's that?"

I point to his toothpick and he blushes more.

"you want that?"

I nod.

"um...i-i guess that's fine."

I reach over as he leans in and I snicker much to his confusion before taking the toothpick.

"Well...I guess he was telling the truth after all."

I put the toothpick in my mouth and he is confused.

"uh...what just happened?"

"Just confirming what your brother told me."

"and what was that?"

"He wanted me to talk to you about you having feelings for me."

And just like that, his calm demeanor breaks.

"w-what? i don't have feelings for you. that would be crazy."

"Yeah, that's what I thought too. But you give yourself away. And Rascal said some pretty interesting things that made him uncomfortable, so I doubt he'd make that type of stuff up just to mess with us."

"*sighs* what did he say?"

"You mutter my name in deep thought and sleep. Oh! And you think about me in the shower."

I blush a bit and he covers his face with his hands.

"for fuck's sake sans...*groan* fine...i admit it. i do have a thing for you."

And just like that, he breaks my emotionless cover.

"...C-can I ask why?"

He rubs the back of his skull.

"it's a little hard to explain. you...how do i put this? ...you just...okay. you know how magnets are drawn to each other? it's sorta like that."

I tilt my head confused.

"You feel pulled to me?"

"i know, this sounds totally weird and stupid. but i'm being honest here. aside from sans, i notice you before any other student. it's like there's this aura surrounding you and i can't keep from staring. and if i stare too long, i start feeling things."

"What kind of things? Like the make your pants feel tighter type of feelings?"

"you know you don't have to makes this harder than it already is."

"That's what she said."

He snickers and I put my hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not trying to make this more difficult for you. I'm just using comedy to circumvent my own awkwardness about this."

This has his attention.

"i take it you have your own feelings about this too?"

"That...That's the part I'm unsure of."

"...but you do feel something?"

I lean back on my hands and look up.

"I might."

To this he just stares at me and I try to avoid looking at him, I don't think I can with a straight face. I end up flinching when his hand touches mine.

"it's okay, just relax. i'm just testing the waters here..."

He holds my hand, his thumb rubbing tender circles on the back of my hand and wrist.

"i won't do anything to you that you aren't okay with."

I blush and slowly look back down to the floor, I still can't look at him yet.

"is this okay? you aren't uncomfortable, are you?"

"It's fine."

His hand moves up, rubbing my arm up and down.

"why won't you look at me?"

"Processing my feelings won't let me. Not yet."

"would it be alright if i...kept going?"

"Sure."

At this point he's reading my body language to judge things. His hand works it's way further up my arm to my shoulder, once there he rubs along my shoulder and neck, making me relax with a purr.

"that feel good?"

"Mmmhmmm."

He scoots closer, now using both hands to massage me. His hands are so skillful in their touches, I can't help but to lean into him and melt in content.

"You have such skilled hands."

"you feel warmer. you really must be enjoying this."

"So are you."

"true. but i'd have more fun if you were closer."

Wrapping his arms around my waist, he pulls me to his chest and I look at him with a smile.

"you're looking at me."

"I am."

"and what do you see?"

"A set of adora-bones."

We both laugh and I decide to be a little bold. I turn around in his hold and nuzzle small kisses into his neck, earning some surprised shudders from him.

"mmmmmm...that's nice...*purrs* you can uh...press a little harder, if you want. i-i promise i won't break, haha."

He blushes lightly and I smile kindly.

"Only if you do something for me."

"oh? and what would that be?"

"Well...Could you maybe...keep touching me?"

There's a look of shock that comes with a deeper blush and slowly morphs into a cool and relaxed chill.

"well if you really want me to. heh...how can i refuse~?"

Placing his hands on my waist, he kneads into my sides with a attentive touch and it has me cooing. This pleasant sensation has me trailing tender kisses along his neck and up his jawline, making him shiver with growing heat. He cups my face in one hand and leans in. Thinking of a kiss, I close my eyes, only to open them in shock as his tongue licks my lips and steals the toothpick away with a grin.

"Why do that?"

"heh...it was in the way."

He slips it into his pants pocket before pulling me into a light kiss, just a test, then it becomes much stronger and heated. His hands hold me close as mine begin to explore him, getting a feel for the bones hidden underneath his clothes.

"mmmm...getting a little bold don't you think?"

"Do you want me to stop?"

"no...go lower."

"Like this~?"

I feel along his hip and his breathing hitches.

"yeah...just like that."

"Want more~?"

"yeah~."

I slip my fingers to feel the bare bone under his pants hemline and his grip tightens with a hard shudder.

"wait, wait, stop! just stop for a second."

I freeze up all nervous.

"What's wrong?"

"i need to know...are we really doing this?"

"I'm not a hologram and you're not a dream if that's what you mean."

"no, i mean...*deep breath* would you really...be with me...in a...you know what i mean sorta way."

"Oh. Oh! *nervous laugh* Um...I'd be lying if I didn't say the idea came to me a few times."

"r-really?"

"*flustered* D-don't make it sound like that, mister shower fantasy guy."

"heh...yeah...about those fantasies..."

He has me sit back as he undoes his pants, a large honey orange magic member pops out and I burn with a vibrant red blush.

"maybe this can help us both with our oral fixation."

I snicker and test touch him. Lightly tracing my fingers on it, watching his face contort as the sensation of pleasure begins hitting him. Cautiously he puts a hand behind my head and gently pulls me down to his length, stopping with my lips mere inches from the tip. I look up at him and then at the glowing erection then back at him again before slowly letting my tongue touch him, getting a taste...like honey. I begin to lick him like a popsicle and he leans back on one arm while the other hand is petting me.

"ooooh...yeah...mmmm...that feels good...now try your mouth..."

"Getting eager just bit huh?"

"you have no idea how long i've wanted to have this happen."

"Awww...Then I'll be nice and grant your long waiting wish."

I drag my tongue from the base slowly up to his tip and swirl my tongue around the head before giving it a kiss, making him swoon with a low groan.

"lynsie...please...stop teasing me..."

"Sorry. Just...mentally preparing for this. Heh...I've never done this before. Any of this stuff."

"you mean you're a...*bites his tongue with a lustful grin* hmmm...so i-i'm your first?"

"Yep."

"*deep shudder* god i want you..."

"*snicker* Down boy. The fun has only just begun."

Giving his tip a kiss I slowly engulf his length in my mouth, making his jaw drop and a moan escape.

"ffffuck...mmmmmm...your mouth is so hot and moist..."

"*gasp* Sorry. My mouth waters when full."

"d-didn't say that was a bad thing. um...can you...?"

"Oh! My bad."

I return to pleasing him and he lulls his head back with a contented sigh.

"god...worth it...this was so worth the wait...ooooh...yeah...just like that..."

I can't help but snicker on him as I begin to bob my head up and down on him. The sounds that he makes, the fact I'm the cause of all of them, I can't deny that it's turning me on, and the more it does the more he can tell by the increased amount of attention I give him. And when I look up and meet his gaze he twitches hard in my mouth.

"oh shhhhit lynsie...you ca-aahh...you can't be real...this is too good to-oooooh...*breath hitches* to be true..."

I suppress the urge to smile as I hear an incredibly low moan sound from the depths of his throat, and a deeply-seated rumble sizzling through his bones as I hold on to his hips. His hands suddenly run through my hair, the smooth structure of his bones feels like bliss amongst the mess of hair follicles, and I pace a little faster alongside the heavy beat of his breathing heavily echoing in the classroom.

It acts as the perfect guide as I feel his shudders coarse against me and I know he's being pushed to the absolute edge of insanity as he's simply dissolved in pleasure. I attempt to go down on him as far as I can, feeling the head swell in my throat and his grip on my hair tightens hard. This incredibly raw feeling burns through me as I hear him garble a moan pass his shaken smile and he pulls me off him with a wet pop.

"*gasp* Stretch? You okay?"

"*dry swallow* i was close...nearly lost it...you would've been tasting more of me than you probably want."

"Oh. Heh...I was doing that good?"

"that would be a vast understatement. but i couldn't help but think to myself...i'm being a bit selfish."

He trails a hand to between my legs and with two fingers, he rubs into a now sensitive wet spot on my panties that has me almost curl on top of him which makes him smile.

"whoa, i got you. wow...you've been enjoying this more than i thought."

"Please don't mock me right now."

"oh i'm not. heh, i just didn't think you were the type to have a kink like this."

"W-what?"

"you have a teacher fetish~. either that or you like that i have a position of power over you."

I quiver and lean over him more.

"H-how about you?"

"hmmm?"

"You clearly...*shudder* have a student fetish. N-naughty naughty."

"says the girl getting off on it."

"Like you aren't? *coos*"

"true. but right now...this is about you."

He makes a fist and grinds his knuckles against me, making my jaw slack with a low groan. He does this for a bit, letting me ride his hand before he steps things up to the next level. Unclenching his fist, his fingers move over my skin as he edges towards the hem of my panties. Hooking his fingers over the material, and almost immediately, my voice is lost at the feel the blunt ends of his fingers touching me, tracing confidently and achingly slow over my sensitive lower lips.

Everything around me is intensely hot as I feel the shuddering spells of ecstasy rip through my form. I feel alive, as if connected to this world by the sensual rhythm of his fingers moving circles around my sex. And he can see it clearly in my eyes as they roll back in overwhelming pleasure. Every part of me comes to life as I shiver to his touch, and it's all the more fierce and powerful than I ever imagined it to be. I've given myself away to him entirely as I move my hips along to the gradual movements of his fingers.

"how does it feel? to have me do this to you? to have you melting in the literal palm of my hand and i haven't even really touched you yet?"

"Mmmmm...Stretch..."

"ah ah ah, you didn't say the magic word. use my real name. tell me what you want."

"Oooh...P-papyrus..."

"yes?"

"Please..."

"please what?"

"I need you!"

That came out more bluntly than intended, I'm embarrassed as hell and he's frozen on the spot with a deep honey blush. I open my mouth to apologize but he renders me speechless with a yank forward and a deeply heated kiss while moving my lower half into position over him. Once my brain puts two and two together, I feel the bump of his member's head at my entrance as he's lowered me down to him.

"say it again...tell me you want me."

"Papyrus..."

"yes?"

"Who is on top?"

"huh?"

"And who is in the power position?"

"uh..."

"I do want you...But I set the pace. After all, I'm the one that's gonna be ripped a new one by that behemoth."

"...fair enough, you sexy temptress."

I take a couple shaky breathes before pressing down on him and he pops inside. While his fingering of me helped some of the way to prepare me for this, I wince and take my time inching him in till we're connected fully to the hilt.

"Shhhit..."

"mmmmmm...just relax...there's no rush here...*soft purr* you feel amazing by the way."

"T-thanks. *giggles* That helps actually."

"in that case...let me help you some more."

He leans up into my neck, peppering me with kisses before giving my neck a lick, then nips, and then bites, each action gets to me. Such attention, such care, such sweetness, it's so good. A warmth begins building deep in my core and it cries out for attention, setting my skin on fire as my eyes widen in surprise at the subconscious instinct that has my hips moving on him. All pain from before is gone and my eyes flutter in delight.

"Oh...ohh...ohhhh..."

"yeah...that's my girl...oooooh...ride me...ride me like there's no tomorrow..."

"God...You sound so fucking hot right now..."

Every small thrust, every tiny jab he makes within me is met with a powerful response deep in my core. His hands grab a tight hold of my thighs and I stifle the urge to scream as the head of his member suddenly hits a bundle of nerves deep within me.

"O-Oh fuck...Papyrus..."

"yes, yes, oh fuck lynsie...don't stop..."

My thrusts gradually speed up, faster and faster, filling me more and more as I feel his length graze the sensitive nerves within my core. I've never experienced something as powerful as this and he's pushed near his edge, losing all sense of himself in me as his tongue hangs carelessly out his mouth.

"Pap...I'm close Papyrus..."

"aahh...cum with me, beautiful girl..."

I grasp a tight hold of him, my sharp gasps synchronize with his random harsh bucks, and in between the delicious rhythm of his movements, I try my best to make sense of any spiraling thoughts I have to be about him. We're almost completely gone. We can feel the climax coming, reaching to its absolute limits, and Stretch feels the pulsating urge to release himself.

Slowly, he cups my face in the palm of his hand as he forces me to look directly at him. In his sockets, there is unfathomable desire. In his eyes, there's a passion to love me as tenderly as possible. I can feel it in his affectionate hands, holding me like I were porcelain. And the feeling of being wanted by him finally tips me over the edge.

"Aaah...aaahh...Paah...Papyrus...!"

"ooooohh...lynsie! aaaahh...!"

He relentlessly fills me up as I feel our climax quivering tortuously over into each other. I feel like waves of the water is crashing against the both of us, but really what I feel is wetness between my legs, liquid warmth running down over his member and slowly melting paths down my thighs., until we both stiffen and give in to the intensive release of our orgasms.

"*shudders* W-whoa..."

"*panting* that...was intense..."

"THAT WAS FUCKING HOT!"

We freeze and look over at the classroom door, there Rascal stands with his phone out and grinning big time.

"s-sans?"

"How long have you...?"

"SINCE YOU TWO STARTED FEELING EACH OTHER UP. YOU KNOW, WHEN I SAID YOU BOTH NEEDED TO TALK, THIS WAS NOT WHAT I THOUGHT WOULD HAPPEN. BUT, I'M GLAD YOU BOTH FINALLY CAME OUT OF YOUR DENIAL CLOSETS. AND I'M HAPPY TO SAY I CAPTURED YOUR FIRST TIME ON VIDEO."

We just look at him, I know I want to slap the shit out of him and by the twitching in Stretch's eye he feels the same way. In the silence of that moment, we make a mental deal to get back at him, but for now we just take in the feels of the moment and look forward to what's to come from this new love life.

#undertale #underfell #underswap #fellswap #dreemurr academy #underversity #sans #papyrus #gaster #buttercupsticksnlicks

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driftwork · 5 years ago

Text

watching terrible events unfold - an epee-graph told from the future - appendix 5

She was making tea when he arrived back from Edinburgh. After a while she began to tell him about her day and how it was a little like a job she had done years ago in Osaka. They were by this time always talking about their personal histories, speaking of the things that they could not, dared not share with anyone. As she told him about this moment of her life, her language was as fuzzy as it could be and remain understandable. (Earlier today, lying on the hillside, thinking about the sense of deja vu, the already-seen, thinking that it has happened before. Even though Osaka was very different. The explanations of what they'd be doing, whilst you were in Edinburgh and I was working and watching, didn't feel reassuring as I looked down from where the field turns into woodland watching through the scopes.)

My trip was planned in fine detail. I arrived in Kobe and rented a car for five days, the clerk was bored. You can leave it at any Hertz office she told me. The light was beautiful, the pylons on the highway were clearly visible even in the early evening. The landscape c. was featureless, it was November and the vegetation was very sparse and grey. In Osaka she/I left the car in the overflow carpark and went into the hotel. She tells him that I found him in the bar, he seemed like precisely the kind of disposable commodity I needed to distract herself [...] I don't remember anything about him, he asked her what she thought about it. It wasn't easy finding any words. it was late, tiredness weighed upon me. I wanted to go to sleep but he wanted to stay awake and have sex again. I would have preferred to sleep as I had to leave early in the morning to drive into Osaka. I remember looking out at the lights of the bay, a dry breeze was blowing out past the hotel towards the bay. It was November and cold. There were three or four people on the terrace of the hotel two floors below the bedroom windows. He was stroking my back, tracing the lines of the tattoo. He was talking about going to the modern art museum tomorrow. It was late and he was tired as well, he must have thought I was going to go with him, occasionally he'd pause searching for the right word, and in those lapses she thought about driving at dawn towards Osaka. I listened to the owls calling outside as he became more insistent in his stroking and speaking, holding my right breast. He spoke of the klees and the massons in the museum. I told him that I was looking forward to it. The lapses in words and sentences as her attention wandered more, in her life life avoiding surveillance. (I lay back and almost enjoyed myself. When he was asleep I injected him with the anesthesia. I had a shower, laid out clothes for the morning. And then slept on the sofa. (he smiled at her, you and sofas)) He hadn't moved all night, I got dressed, checked his pulse which was slow but even. Handcuffed him to the bed. Took his car keys, wallet and left him. Putting a do not disturb notice on the door.

I understood, understood perfectly, thinking that he would eventually forget.

[Actually I remember that the man had spent a long time in a country that was a police state. I drove towards Osaka, occasionally thinking of the man chained to the bed in the hotel. it was five in the morning. The man who is left behind in the hotel, confusedly told a version of this story to the police later that day. In amongst his long ex-cursive rambling, painstakingly recorded by the two detectives who mistakenly decided he had been robbed by a prostitute, he did not tell them about the tattoos, in fact it was this simple absence from his description which made the detectives file the recording as minor theft. The man told his stories to himself word by word, sentence by sentence, editing and contracting, and he wrote a novella which he published in japanese and english, in a way one might say it was written in his memory and then committed to paper.

[>> Did you read the story ? << >> No, just the first couple of pages, he seem to think that his female protagonist was ill. << ]] I was long gone by then, vanished back into Tokyo.

She/I parked the car in the drive of the big empty house in Osaka.________.______ and went and watched the house of the target. On the other side of the low wall at the back of the house. There were birds feeding outside the kitchen windows. Thesus and his wife Penelope occasionally came into the kitchen to make tea and take small hammers and knives deeper into the house. I watched the birds and them until after lunch. Took the gun and went over the low wall into the garden and the house. Looking round the house she/I found the teenager in chains on the floor. I left Thesus and Penelope dead in the bathroom. Packed the girls fingers in ice, bandaged the girls hands and drove her to the accident and emergency in the NdA hospital in Osaka before driving out of Osaka on the E2A. My father was furious at me for not killing the girl, everyone, you were told everyone, he screamed. She was supposed to die not be rescued. Nobody told me about the girl, only about them. She explained unheard in the torrent of abuse. He swings his hand to slap her face, she moves backwards,swaying to the side refusing the slap. She didn't say anything, suffering the abuse as she had for twenty years. In this there are two actual truth events: I thought about harming my father for the first time as he shouted, and the money that was not paid because the girl lived may have caused the war that followed later and brought me here. Later that month I killed Achilles in Seoul [...]

[ >> He said.My biggest regret from before is a case where I arrested a woman who killed her husband. She is still in jail and shouldn’t be. The person I am now, living with you would ensure she was not arrested. << >> Why, the change? << she asked. >> We are a war machine, somehow that means we need to be ethical, whereas before i was merely police, a representative of law... << She smiles at him - >> You are my bag carrier.<< She said.... >> Always, you know that don't you. << He said. She smiles >> Only as a war machine can we counter the world machine we live within << >> or live at all... << He responded.]

(I was lying on the hillside, thinking about the sense of deja vu, the already-seen, thinking that it has happened before. The explanations of what they'd be doing, whilst you were in Edinburgh and I was watching and didn't feel reassured as I looked down from where the field turns into woodland watching events unfold through the scopes.) The already seen and lived endured, perhaps it was stronger than I was seeing. A filter sprayed over the surrounding reality, the woods, field, gardens and the detached houses. I felt a touch of vertigo and was tempted to let go and fall into it not knowing what her automatic responses would act like, but only for a moment. Remembering Osaka and all that had been set in motion, the strange metamorphosis that ended with my lying here. A corrupted assassin. The deja vu marked the differences between her then and now, the euphoria of that realization. The thought of the lack of melancholy, and I wondered if my psychopathology meant that she/I could never be melancholic. This sense of finite liberation however... I was lying down in a hollow on a ground sheet and covered by another one that is pegged down, her feet are slightly lower down than her head and shoulders. About 75 feet higher than her primary target. The police she is watching are in a house, and they are in turn watching the house opposite. It amuses me that they were watching the suspected murderer whilst I watched them. I imagine that they are getting a warrant to enter the house later today or tomorrow. I watched, interested in the processes of police surveillance. It is remarkably labour intensive, I thought. Eight hour shifts, Three shifts a day, two people plus visitors per shift. [>>That is not how they are surveilling us, with us they are using long term passive surveillance, probably imperceptible. << >>People and things close to us? she asks << >> yes.<< ] At that moment there are five police in the house. One is watching the house, and presumably the street, one is talking to the DCI, and the DCS, there is also a DS. The DCI and probably the DCS will leave to collect the warrant. So later tonight they will enter the house she imagines. She doesn't understand why there is not a human manned observation post along the treeline watching the rear of the house. Through the other scope she can see the head of the young woman perhaps its a teenager that they are torturing. The woman is in the room at the moment. ( I wondered if you would mind me breaking into the house and harming the man and woman. The whole point of the exercise was watching. But it would be quite nice to hurt them, possibly permanently.) She only has a few hours before she must leave and go home. Perhaps she should break in and force the police to act act act. I have become such an angel she thinks, what i really need is a decent rifle to put a bullet through that woman’s head or better still that man's body as he is standing outside the patio door smoking a cigarette. An Angel. perhaps i should simply rescue the girl it would be quicker and more certain than waiting for the police. The sense of finite liberation as she thinks about the options she has, which is like understanding something she'd known all along, since Osaka at least, but didn't really want to know. The already-seen was telling her her that even as she was psychopathically inclined to not care about others, this life she was leading meant she was perhaps beginning to care, capturing it in a future about to be lived. She watches a red kite wheeling through the air above her. She has been here since 4AM, about twelve hours. He will be leaving Edinburgh soon, perhaps he already has, on a train and she needs to be back home in time to make the house look lived in. She smiles at such an absurd thought. She watches the police and thinks she should hurry this along so she can have a shower before he gets back, she doesn't want to leave the two people torturing and possibly killing the girl because she left it to the police. Eventually and reluctantly: she packs her bag, remembering packing a different bag in Osaka and puts on the shoulder holster beneath her leather jacket, reties her boots, checks the gun. Packs up the ground sheet. Puts the scopes in their case and sits cross legged with her bag beside her. Sighs, relieved in knowing that he'd forgive her whatever she did. She picks up her phone and sits cross legged. "Hello Frank it’s Park...Don’t hang up. Put me on speaker, Hello Jean. She can hear people moving. "I am watching the man and woman in no 38 torture a young woman. Can you go in and rescue her or do you need me to enable that. Frank is asking about where the young woman is. She tells him. He speaks with Jean, they agree. She thinks they’ll shout at him tomorrow. He says could you make sure they can't escape from the back whilst we go in the front. OK, I'm sorry Frank, you can shout at me on saturday. He hangs up. She watched them go in. Nobody came out the back. Sounds of violence, more police arriving, ambulances... [He said "That's good, for if we'd had to leave it would have been like Thomas in the Peter Stamm novel and I don't think we could do that now..."] As she drove along the road amongst the beech trees that was taking her back towards the house, she knew that at a certain point she'd see a rusty old iron sign on which the direction and distance to her destination was written. And that she'd follow the direction, nothing was clear but she hadn't hurt anyone.

Now they were sitting on the sofa, the TV playing some inane French movie about a histrionic murderess. The sound was off. He asked her "What happened to the girl in Osaka?" "I was wearing a singlet, I had a single dragon tattoo at the time, with dark glasses and a baseball cap on, I half carried her to accident and emergency, gave them her fingers on ice. Told them I was her guardian. Said her name was Osaka and that I'd fetch her documents. She became protected, our responsibility. My family never forgave me for that either. After that i don’t really know. she left i think"

#london story #everyday practices #fiction #communist myth

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