#go see for yourself when those money you get pave your way straight to hell

[motherofplatypus]

Well...let's not get our hopes up too much, shall we?

In case you're still thinking about consuming Marvel's contents, they're making a "superhero" named after a massacre and also kill children.

As if supporting genocide isn't enough for them, fuck marvel and disney.

(Original post)

[nadsu]

WindBreaker

Date your worst enemy

𝐽𝑂𝐾𝐸𝑅. The word different was probably very accurate for you two. As different as day and night, as fire and water, heaven and hell, and yet you were the same.

You rich and beautiful and he poor and ... Joker wasn't ugly; you could see that straight away. He wasn't the type you'd see on the next VOGUE and yet his look was unique.

This scenario couldn't fall more into the "good girl falls in love with bad boy" cliché. But he wasn't as much of a bad boy as he seemed. Sure, he looked like a thug to you and his aura definitely screamed run, but you never did. You never looked at him in disgust or judged him. Unlike your so-called "friends". They were tearing their mouths apart over the guy with all those tattoos on his body. To be honest, it just made you sick the way they judged him, as if they had every right to do so. Admittedly, you didn't want to get to know him either, but you weren't really interested in status. Or a certain Ryu with whom your father did good business and he wanted to introduce you to him. However, through this reunion you also got to know Wooin and then Joker, so who were you to complain? Because at the end of the day, you even felt you owed him something for saving you from those sleazy guys from the club.

“If that's the way you want it, let's meet here next week.”

Wooin took the floor for Joker instead, because all you got to see of him was his back as he left. And I don't know why, but that cheeky grin from his buddy(?) as he followed him sent a shiver up your spine.

So ... Same club, same time. Why you were so naive and actually waited in front of the nightclub the following Saturday all dressed up was a mystery to you. Never get involved with shady guys like that. Not with strangers anyway. But they knew Juwon ... weren't they all right? After all, your father raved about him and probably about his influence. You really didn't need another snob in your life, thank you. And even if you did get involved with him; there was something about him that bothered you. His smile? The fact that he was constantly surrounded by women? Because this man, yes, he was incredibly good-looking. If only you had paid attention to that, but you didn't have that much superficiality in you, sorry. In your mind, you were already apologizing to your dad when you decided to get to know the guy with the tattoos and white hair better.

And somehow all your alarm bells should go off, like maybe he just wanted your money? But you thought nothing of that when you tried everything to make yourself interesting to him, but ... he didn't even really pay attention to you. Wooin yes him, but not Joker. But that never stopped you from continuing.

Not even when you suddenly stood in the fight club and saw with your own eyes where all those injuries on his beautiful face came from.

“So, do you still find him so interesting?”

Heart attack would have been an understatement for the shock you got when Wooin suddenly stood next to you out of nowhere.

Where and why; your head was spinning. But somehow ... Were all rich people this naive? You were so damn persistent trying to get all his attention without ever getting a reaction from him. Until you finally managed to engage him in conversation while staring at his open wounds and tearing a piece of cloth off your dress to dab the blood. Let's face it - he was trying to block everything out again and he was trying to keep you out of his life, but there was Wooin, shamelessly butting in and giving you his number. The reason was simple. You had money. A lot of it.

...

One thing led to another and while he was urged by Wooin to approach you and you accepted it all while you played best friends, something happened inside him. Drama, betrayal and … Love?!

You fell in love in the worst way ever with even more drama and heartache.

The road to that relationship was bumpy, paved with rocks, but if there's one thing you learned from that time, it's that first great love hurts like hell and drops you on your ass.

That friendship, that relationship was built on a single pile of lies, but still he kept you out of his shit and made sure you were okay. No matter how different you were, you were the same in the end.

You both wanted to break out of your respective lives so why not do it as a couple?

𝑉𝐼𝑁𝑁𝑌. After he screwed up with Yumi, he didn't want to be in a relationship anymore. All he did was train, eat, train, sleep, repeat. All he had in his head was this fucking money to help his mother. In the end, he was still alone because he had gotten involved with Ryu and his game and when you met for the first time, he looked kind of drained.

“What?”

“What? Just looking at you.”

“Don't fucking do that.”

Your first conversation. Not the best and somehow it made you poke your chicken when he said that, the way he said it and then just turned and left. Not that he had to be polite or anything ... but it piqued your curiosity to get to know this guy. Why? Well. If only you had an answer to that. Maybe it was just his unique look at first, but the more you ran into each other and communicated, you quickly realized that he could actually do more than just play the jerk. Well, at first it was more of a one-sided conversation and he more or less listened to you because you simply talked far too much when the day was long, but at least he didn't run away. And that spoke volumes.

He listened to you carefully and memorized more than you could have guessed, was more attentive than you thought and ... gentler than you thought. Hard shell soft core and his "I don't actually care" attitude only made him more attractive to you and yes damn your best friend and her The guy doesn't bring anything good with him, but you were persistent when you wanted something and what you wanted was to get to know him.

So you were the one who nailed it and asked for a date. Which he ... refused. Not because he didn't like you or didn't find you attractive enough, if he had any standards at all, but he was fucking unsure. The Dude who beat the shit out of people and protected the people he cared about with everything was fucking unsure again. Was it right? Was he worth it? Wouldn't he fucked up again? Did he have the time?

And it hurt somehow. For him and especially for you, because you didn't really know what he was thinking or what he wanted.

But he texted you the same night.

Did you get home safely?

Sure.

Ok. I will pick you up tomorrow with my bike.

Eh? Okay? Than see you tomorrow.

And that's it. This is where it really started between the two of you. Even though something in him refused there was this one part that told him to try and that part was maybe his buddy Sung. So yeah, no one said Vinny was perfect, but he was trying to do better and do it right this time and who knew if it wouldn't end up in a relationship?

[dancing-the-hellfire-rumba]

Seen ✓ - 1

REWRITE OF “Can You See The Stars”

Pairing: Sam x Fem!Reader Warnings: fear of being kidnapped Word Count: 2.4k Series Summary: On her way home, Y/n finds an abandoned, cracked phone on the sidewalk. Anxious about the well-being of its owner, she picks it up and texts the first contact she finds; Sam.  A/N:This is my second attempt at the story everyone loved, with an actual pllot in mind this time. So, attempt number two, better writing, better story. Have at it kids.

I have tagged the old taglist for this first part. Let me know if you wanna be removed/ added

Beta: The lovely @percywinchester27​ . Thank you so so much hon :) Masterlist

Chapter One: you sure know how to fuck me up on a friday night

Y/n   |  Sam

The road to independence is uphill, and Y/n knows this better than anyone. She’s done it all. She’s gone through jobs at a similar speed with which she goes through books, worked two or more of them, while also studying for college… She knows how it works, and it’s really fucking difficult to balance emotional baggage the size of a city, an underage sister and college, while also trying to keep, not only yourself, but another person, alive, under a safe roof with food in your stomachs.

Currently, she’s only working one job, at a dive bar owned by a friend of a friend as a waitress.

It’s a difficult job, and Y/n has struggled with it, but the hardest part is not the endless knowledge one needs to mix drinks –on the nights Joel takes time off and she has to take his spot behind the bar- or the carrying up to twenty pounds of glasses and drinks and delivering them at the right table without soaking herself or anyone else with copious amounts of alcohol. Any minimum wage worker will tell you the same thing- clients of any kind fucking suck. Especially if you’re a young woman at a dive bar after midnight.

Another thing she’s struggled with is not having too much money, which is why she’s needed multiple jobs in the past, so she has to use public transport- buses specifically, to go to and from work. And that is exactly where she finds herself, a couple hours after midnight, at her bus stop, five minutes from the bar, when she finds a phone which, unbeknownst to her, will flip her world upside down.

It sits on the pavement of the bus stop, limp and sad. The screen is cracked a significant amount, and for a second she figures someone got rid of it and was too much of an asshole to throw it in the trash. But the second that thought crosses her mind, the screen lights up with a concerning text.

dude where the fuck are you?!

The contact reads “Sam”, and Y/n stands over the phone staring at it. She’s concerned. What if the phone’s owner is in trouble? The device may have fallen from their pocket on the pavement and cracked because they were running from someone and never made it home, and now whoever is texting them is worried for their well-being. Anxiety grips her heart.

It’s instinct that brings her to kneel down and pick it up. She can’t possibly know when the owner lost it, or how long the phone has been sitting there, but there’s an overwhelming urge to contact this Sam person and let them know what’s going on. Of course, the voice in Y/n’s head tells her that this all could just be a product of her anxiety, but it beats leaving it there and having it be stolen by a passerby.

Whatever, right? Best case scenario, she contacts the owner, who is perfectly safe and sound, and they take their phone back. She’s not really planning to pocket it. It’s fairly damaged anyways. Her own three year old, beat-up, 100$ phone is in better condition.

The bus arrives, and Y/n picks up the phone and boards it.

As she sits in her usual seat in the back, alone in the bus apart from an elderly man asleep with his head on a window and a cap on his head near the front, she starts speculating, eyes glued to the black device in her hands. Who’s the owner? Who is Sam to them? Perhaps a partner? A friend? How did the owner lose their phone? Why would this Sam sound so concerned, and most importantly, is the owner okay?

The heavy weight of dread weighs her chest at the thought of the phone’s owner being in trouble and without a phone. She must contact Sam immediately.

Hey, is this Sam?

As she awaits for a response, her curiosity is killing her. The intrigued part of her, reasons that she should snoop, it’s alright, she’s only looking for more information about the owner. Like whether or not they’re a woman or a man- which, sadly, matters when you’re walking alone in dark streets like the ones around this area- and perhaps their age –because, again, it matters if they are a teenager or a forty-year old adult.

The lack of passcode indicates someone older, with nothing to hide, or perhaps someone less technologically savvy, again, someone who may not be very young. The lockscreen is the most popular Led Zeppelin icon, and she instantly respects their music taste, and the home screen is some generic western movie from the 90s with Clint Eastwood. The chances of this belonging to someone younger further decline.

There’s a grand total of four downloaded apps in the phone. There’s an email app, a scrabble app, a microphone recorder and a dating app, no other sign of social media. Someone over 18 years old, definitely.

Soon, she’s tapping on the dating app, and opening their profile page. Holy shit, she thinks.

A guy, the tall, dark and handsome kind. Spiky hair and a smolder-like smile, sharp edges everywhere on his face apart from his gentle, olive-shaped and colored eyes. His lips are full, his nose straight, and his eyelashes long, dark and thick. He’s a real-life dreamboat, the kind you see in movies and Cosmopolitan articles about sex. He’s sitting on a black muscle car, a Chevrolet, with his thick thighs barely contained in blue jeans.

Dean Winchester, the app writes. 28. Male. Likes: old cars, beer, hard rock, westerns, she figured that much, bacon burgers. Dislikes: pop music, modern horror movies, uncomfortable beds. Not looking for anything serious, just a night of fun ;), and wow, okay, he sounds a bit like a dick. The very Red-blooded American Male kind, that enjoys BBQs and winking at women from across the bar. She’s had enough of those during her line of work; she can recognize them from a mile away.

Whatever the case, her moral compass couldn’t allow her to pass up on the opportunity to possibly help someone in trouble. She ignores her urge to roll her eyes, and scrolls a little, finding other pictures of the same guy, when suddenly two separate notifications appear, the phone itself vibrating. One is from the app, which has now received a picture from this girl, Jamie, one which she certainly doesn’t plan on opening, seeing as it’s followed by a winky face. The second one is from Sam.

jesus dean how drunk are you

yes it’s sam. your brother? remember?

No, this isn’t Dean, uh.

My name is Y/n. Your brother lost his phone at a bus stop, near a bar.

i should’ve figured. dean rarely ever uses punctuation.

nice to meet you i guess

Nice to meet you, too.

So basically, uhm, I thought you might help me return his phone to him? I got worried, because this was dumped on the sidewalk, I thought he may be in trouble or something.

knowing him he probably dropped it while being too shitfaced to function.

gotta admit i’m impressed though. most people would’ve pocketed it by now.

I mean, it’s not much use to me with such a cracked screen haha.

yeah i guess.

i don’t know about getting it back to him though. i’m in kansas right now so i’m not close by. i don’t think i can help you.

he doesn’t use social media either.

Crap.

What the hell am I supposed to do with this phone then?

keep it probably.

You sure there’s no other way I can reach him?

i mean i can give you his email but i’m not sure he’ll respond.

I’ll take it. Thank you :)

no problem :)

As she looks up the bus stops, and she quickly realizes this is her stop. Throwing profanities loudly enough to wake the older man at the front of the bus, she scrambles for her things, haphazardly thrown in the seat next to her, and gets off the bus. She pats herself down, making sure she hasn’t forgotten anything as the doors of the bus shut, and starts down the road to her apartment complex.

She could probably navigate this road blind. There are many ways to reach the apartment she’s renting from the bus stop, but her favorite goes through the park. It’s a large area, full of big trees with thick foliage and leaves that brown in the fall. The paths are paved and winded, and the park benches are stained with dark wood stain and curve comfortably. She enjoys coming here in evenings she has off, watching the sun descend behind the top of the trees with a good book.

The air smells like oncoming rain now, and with headphones deep in her ears, she walks taking deep breaths and enjoying the clear atmosphere that seems so unlike the roads that surround the park. As soon as she spots the first raindrop falling from the sky, she pulls her hood over her head and smiles.

It’s minutes later, when single drops have picked up to a drizzle, that she gets a sinking feeling, her hair standing up on edge at the back of her neck, shoulders knotting closer to her ears. Someone is close to her.

With the wire pinched between her thumb and index, she pulls one earbud off and pays attention to the surrounding sounds. Sure enough there’s a second pair of footsteps behind her.

Fuck, if she gets kidnapped or attacked right now, she’s fucked. There are no witnesses, and at this time of night screaming for help would be futile. She checks her bag, but her paper spray is nowhere to be found.

Yeah. Definitely fucked.

Her hands go deep in her pockets, going for her phone, but as she hears the footsteps behind her picking up speed along with hers, she panics and grabs Dean’s instead. She doesn’t look for her own, there’s no time for that, so she does the first thing she thinks of.

She texts Sam.

I think I’m being followed.

what?

Yeah

wait what’s going on? are you okay? who’s following you?

I’m walking home from work. I can’t see who it is, but they’re definitely on my tail.

how are you even typing right now??

is there any buildings around?  somewhere public to get in?

It’s 3 am. Everything is shut and I’m in the middle of a fucking park, Sam.

Fuck, I’m fucked.

what are you doing at 3 am in the middle of a fucking park then?!

A hand falls on her shoulder and she goes to scream, before she’s quickly spun around. Her free hand is curled in a fist, ready to fall on the attacker’s nose, when they speak.

“Y/n! I thought it was you!”

“Connor?!” She squints and pushes her hair away from her forehead, heart just about ready to fail out of the fright she’s gotten. “Fuck’s sake, dude, what the fuck are you doing sneaking up on me in the middle of the night like this?!” Rain still falls on her, grounding her to the present, the fact she won’t have to fight for her life and corporeal integrity sinking in slowly.

Her neighbor smiles a crooked smile, watching her place a hand over her heart and taking a deep breath. His fluffy blonde hair is damp under the light rain, light green eyes glowing under the street lights. She’s so angry at him right now, she legitimately thought she was gonna die for a second there.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says, dropping his hand from her shoulder. “I didn’t think to call out to you.” A shrug.

“It’s okay,” it’s really not, but there’s no point in staying angry at him. Besides, she figures she’ll be a little safer with him walking next to her all the way back to their apartment complex.

On the way back, they catch up. Connor is back in town after a long week and a half at his sister’s wedding. He’s in a brand new relationship with the guy he’s been pining over for like 9 months now, and he got a job at the bookstore, close to their building, he’s starting next week. He was out for a drink, he offers as an explanation, and was returning home, when he bumped into her. The park is also his favorite route to take.

The key dangles from her hands and finds a home in the lock and twists, while Y/n waves at her neighbor.

“Have a good night, Connor.”

“You too, Y/n.” It’s delivered with a wink and a bright smile.

The motions of dropping her bag by the kitchen counter, dumping the keys in the small bowl and hanging her coat on the hanger are delivered on autopilot in quick succession. Shoes toed off, hair pulled out of her lazy bun, she falls unceremoniously on her thrifted couch, feet suspended on the hand rest. Emmy must be asleep, the only lights on in the house are the fairy lights over the couch, setting a soft glow over the furniture. Y/n sighs. What a day.

Seconds before she falls asleep on the couch, a phone vibrates and it’s definitely not her own. Her eyes snap wide open, and she curses, fumbling with Dean’s device.

The messages are seven, and they all share the same panicked tone. Upon reading them, Y/n facepalms and curses, guilt weighing her down. Poor guy.

y/n?

what’s going on?

are you okay?

y/n

what the hell is going on.

you’re not replying.

please text me if you’re safe.

My God, Sam, I’m so sorry.

It was a neighbor/friend, he sneaked up on me.

you sure know how to fuck me up on a friday night.

I’m genuinely so sorry, Sam, I had no idea it was him.

it’s okay

you were scared.

i am starting to question your choice in friends though.

Y/n grins for the first time that day. It’s wide and full. Sam sounds like a guy she’d hang out with.

Hahahah yeah.

I promise, Connor’s odd, but he means well.

well i have to go

but i’m glad you’re safe

Again, I’m really sorry to make you go through that.

it’s fine really.

Thank you.

Goodnight :)

Night :)

 ---

Part 2

A/N 2: Tell me how you’re liking the rewrite! 

Old Can You See The Stars taglist: @shutupiminlooove​ @sammysgirl1997​ @kymberlytorres​ @bambi95-blog​ @demonic-meatball​ @thekarliwinchester​ @littlekay15​ @li-m-ii​  @thinspo-isuppose​ @carryonmywaywarddemigodwitch @ellen-reincarnated1967 @moonlitskinwalker​ @marichromatic​ @illuminatus42​ @lazy-author​ @mirandaaustin93​ @hauntedsiriel​ @pilaxia​ @devilgirlsarah​ @nobodys-baby-now​ @captiveties​ @calamitychaos @midiocris @wordswillscream​

Sam taglist @kymberlytorres @theboykingsam @depressed-moose-78 @andi-mendes-barnes​ @captainmarvelcorps​ @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away​ @nellachain​

[foradecision]

i.    “ the devil whispered in my ear,  ‘ you’re not strong enough to withstand the storm. ’  today i whispered in the devil’s ear,  ‘ i am the storm. ’ ”

OLD TOWN, DAY 33 ; 13:24:56.

     the apartment is picked mostly clean, the fruits of his labor yielding little more than some scrap electronics and an open box of band - aids. other things, things for trade: coffee, cosmetics, a couple of undamaged children’s books, things he doesn’t have use for but someone else will. there’s an eviscerated corpse slumped on the kitchen floor against the cabinets, at the end of a trail of blood. tenant, maybe — or maybe just some unlucky bastard who tried to find shelter and found their own grave instead. insects buzz and swarm, and the smell of decomp is strong. there’s not much left. crane covers the body with a bedsheet before he moves to check the bathroom.

     water leaks from underneath the locked door. once he gets it open, he sees why. 

     she was young. early twenties, if that. she’s half curled with bent knees in the overflowing tub, eyes open, skin bloodless and cold. drug paraphernalia litters the filthy tiled floor. accidental overdose or suicide; he’d put money on the latter, only because she’s not the first he’s seen. 

     there was a riverside shack in the slums, a mile or so behind the tower, where someone had tasted his handgun. left a note and a milk crate of canned food on his porch, telling whoever found it to take what they needed. there were those people on the rooftop of an apartment complex, the ones who’d gotten stranded and decided to cash out on their own terms. some of them died holding hands, family photos clutched close.

     a woman on a hotel bed surrounded by pill bottles. a man who’d hung himself in the basement of a restaurant.

     it doesn’t get easier. no matter how many, it doesn’t get easier.

     “i’m sorry nobody came for you,” crane murmurs, and gently closes the girl’s eyes. “... hope you found someplace better than this shithole.”

     he takes a moment, a five - count, then secures his findings, doubles back, and steps outside onto the terrace.

     a wooden latticework awning provides slatted shade from the afternoon sunlight. it dapples across skin slick with sweat and dust and dirt. blood, but not his. back - spatter, arterial spray. it’s everywhere but his face; missed his eyes and mouth, hit the visor of a scavenged police helmet he’d pulled off an infected near the quarantine wall.

     the slums are bad, but old town is a fucking war zone. virals run rampant through the streets and over the rooftops, acid - spitting toads linger near the waterfront and drainage culverts; massive demolishers pave paths of destruction wherever they can, hurling debris from empty lots, crushing anything that comes close, infected and human alike. rais’ thugs circle every drop point like vultures, armed to the teeth, and more than one desperate survivor has tried to jump crane for his supplies. 

     the worst are the screamers. the infected children. they were occupying one of the residential neighborhoods here in jarring numbers before he’d worked his way through and taken them out, quiet and reverent. 

     he dreams about them, sometimes. hears their anguished sobs and terrified wails in his sleep, waking drenched in flop sweat with his ears ringing and his heart in his throat. goddamn kids. one of the guys in his company used to rib him about that. fuckin’ soft touch, crane. that shit’ll get you killed.

     the narrow street below is clear, just a handful of shuffling biters that are easily dispersed. he’s bent over the open trunk of a car, ferreting through an old duffel bag, when he hears it. 

     a cry. a child’s cry.

     immediately, he’s standing straight. immediately he’s moving, trying to source the sound, gripping his machete tight. he’s thinking god, don’t let it be another one, until there are words instead of just noise and his pulse jumps hard.

     somewhere close by, a child is calling out for their father. calling for help. 

     shouting is dangerous, lethal, especially here, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take. he moves down the street, looking into darkened storefronts, dumpsters, the backs of vans. he thinks he’s close, can’t be sure; cuts down an infected that ambles toward him from beside a busted atm and four more that follow, and calls back, “hey, i hear you! i hear you, i’m on my way, just — can you tell me where you are? kid — ?”

     there’s no verbal answer: only a scream, too much like too many he’s had to hear, but that’s plenty. crane breaks into a run and vaults through the smashed front window of a pizza place where a dozen biters are swarming the counter. stumbling, trying to climb over each other to get to whatever’s on the other side. he snaps the first one’s neck before the others notice him but makes swift work of the rest, too. barely stopping for breath, he steps over the bodies, searching, searching —

     “it’s safe, you can come out.”

     the response is muffled, like it’s blocked by something. “where’s my dad?”

     “i — i don’t know, but i can help you look for him, alright? i’m not gonna hurt you. they’re gone now, it’s okay. come on out.”

     scuffling, then a thud, and then a pair of big doe eyes are peering at him from next to the cash register. “are you one of the bad guys?”

     “what? no — no, i’m not, i promise. my name’s kyle. you wanna tell me your name?”

     “eren. the monsters —”

     “the monsters are gone, eren. did they get you?”

     more scuffling, and the boy finally emerges, wiping his nose with his sleeve. he looks five, maybe six, small and dark - haired, dirty but at a glance unharmed. he shakes his head. “i hid in the cubby. my dad went to find food.”

     crane stays where he is, wary of making any sudden moves. “and he left you here, all by yourself?”

     “the window wasn’t broken before.”

     “how long’s he been gone?”

     “since the bells.”

     “the bells — ?” it takes him a second, because it’s a sound unique to old town and he spends most of his time in the slums; then he understands. “oh, you — you mean the church bells? he’s been gone since this morning?”

     eren nods and wipes his nose again. crane opens his mouth to speak when the boy brightens suddenly, as suddenly as the sound of boots crunching glass from just behind him. 

     “dad!”

     he turns, and he’s staring down the business end of an automatic rifle.

     “show me your hands!”

     “ah, jesus — don’t — don’t shoot, i’m not here to hurt anyone, look —” slowly, carefully, crane raises his left hand with the palm facing outward and starts lowering himself into a crouch to set his machete down on the floor. his right hand follows his left and he eases back upright, all without once looking away from the man’s face. a man dressed in tactical gear, whose grip on the gun is steady. skilled. he has a couple weeks of beard growth that makes his age harder to determine. “my name’s kyle crane, i’m one of brecken’s guys. from the tower. your son was callin’ for help, i just came to make sure he was okay.”

     as he speaks, eren scampers past and tucks in close to his father. “dad, he killed the monsters. look!” 

     “he sure did, didn’t he.” the man levels crane with a piercing, long - calculating stare, and finally lowers the gun. “you’re not one of them?”

     “no. god, no. i just wanted to help.”

     a nod. he lays a gloved hand on his son’s head. “then i owe you a lot more gratitude. i swear this place was secure when i left, but — those things ...”

     “yeah,” crane says, blowing out a low breath. “i know, believe me. i’m glad i got here when i did.”

     “so am i.” a beat. “thank you.”

     “what the hell are you doin’ out here? you know they turned the university into a safe house, right?”

     the man nods again. “we came from there. somebody passing through said there was a ferry, in the slums. that’s where we were headed.”

     “i’m — sorry to be the one to tell you this, but — the ferry dock’s gone. there are no more boats. none of us are gettin’ out of here unless one of the higher - ups orders an evac by air, and in case you haven’t noticed, that doesn’t seem like their top priority.”

     “then it’s only a matter of time before the GRE decontaminates this entire zone. infamy bridge is already compromised.”

     crane blinks. the back and forth is familiar, the terminology well practiced. “uh — yeah. yeah, it’s startin’ to look that way. but — listen, you need to get to the tower. get to brecken’s people, tell him crane sent you. they’ll take care of you and your son. there’s plenty of food, supplies, there’s even a doctor on site. you’ll be safe there.”

     “and what about antizin?”

     “what? a—are you — were you bitten?”

     they share a look, and everything this man isn’t saying is written in every line of his face. eren twists from under his hand to peer up at him. “dad ... ?”

     “no,” the man says, but it’s for his son’s benefit, not crane’s. crane already knows it’s a lie. “don’t you worry, kiddo. i’m just fine. here,” he kneels down and sets his rifle aside, swinging a bag from his shoulder and opening it up to hand eren a bottle of water, a packet of halva, and a stuffed teddy bear. “look what i found. why don’t you go think of what to name him while you eat your food, okay? let me talk to the monster slayer for a minute.”

     “cool!” eren grabs his prizes and trots off to one of the booths near the counter, the one furthest from any dropped bodies.

     once he’s safely out of earshot, the man stands up and turns to crane again. “on the leg. happened after i left this morning. my eye was to the scope, i didn’t even see it coming.”

     there’s that familiarity again, but it’s overshadowed by an ache below his sternum. crane swallows, adam’s apple riding the motion, pulling off his helmet to run a hand through sweat - soaked hair. “— i got caught in a clusterfuck, about a month ago. bite on the arm. antizin isn’t easy to come by, but brecken’s people have it. i’ll make sure there’s enough, you’ve got my word.”

     keen eyes, still clear of any visible signs of infection, give crane a deeply searching look for a full thirty seconds. he seems like he wants to say more, but settles instead for offering a hand. crane shakes it firmly without hesitation. “ali. you’ve given me a lot to consider.”

     “just as long as you consider it, and do it fast. ‘n hey — one more thing.” crane’s hand drops and he pulls out the three children’s books he’d found, bringing them to eren. “hi, buddy. you think of a name yet?”

     “no, i — hey! where’d you get those?”

     “what, these?” he holds them up one at a time, pretending to act casual, then sets them each down on the table. “well, i found ‘em, but — to tell you the truth, they’re way too advanced for me. you look like you’re pretty smart — think you can find some use for ‘em?”

     “yeah!” eren grabs for all three, sweeps them into his tiny arms and grins up at crane. “i can read bedtime stories to my bear now, so she won’t have bad dreams.”

     “see? i knew you were smart.”

     from behind crane, ali prompts gently, “what do you say to mr. crane?”

     “thank you!”

     “my pleasure, buddy. be careful out here, okay? take good care of your dad for me. he’s gonna take you someplace safe, with lots more kids to play with. sound good?”

     eren nods emphatically. barely a moment later, he has the teddy bear propped in his lap and one of the books laid open, turning pages, talking softly in the stuffed toy’s ear. 

     crane watches for a minute. his features soften, but the whisper of a smile that curves his mouth is bittersweet. he’s already made the mental note to radio ahead — to tell the tower’s guards to be on the lookout for these two — and to check back in here before he returns to the slums himself. they aren’t the first he’s redirected. some people make it. some don’t. 

     on his backpedal from the booth, he pauses to pick up his machete and slip it into its holster, helmet under one arm. 

     “if you leave within the hour, you should get there before sunset,” he tells ali. “northeast sewers are the quickest — two klicks, pretty much a straight shot from there.”

     “i know where it is. thank you, again.”

     “hey, you can thank me once you’re both safe.”

     another nod. crane returns it, then starts toward the broken window. he’s almost there, almost stepping through to the street outside, when ali’s next words stop him in his tracks and make some of his breath woof out of him like a suckerpunch. 

     “semper fi, marine.”

[panic-and-procrastinate-writing]

Chapter 5: The Investigation

The two of you did research for the rest of the morning, and well into the evening. The vigilante had made a list of all the things that stuck out to him about the painting and asked you which details felt like leads, and if you should follow them.

When you looked over the list and the painting, you became unsettled from the amount of feelings you got from so many little clues.

Some of the clues drew you in, made you want to research and investigate for hours on end, to never leave a road unturned until you had thoroughly searched it, until you knew everything about the lead.

Other clues left you angry, made your blood boil and fists clench, made you want to rip that painting to shreds and then burn it in a dumpster. The detail and time and planning that monster took in hurting someone like that, the pleasure that psychopath got from it. It made you furious.

But most of the clues left you terrified. Made your chest tight and the air too thick. Left you sweating like you were in a heatstroke, but covered in goose bumps and all your hairs on end like it was the coldest night of the year.

Those clues, the terrifying ones, were the ones that would lead you straight to him. So, you followed them.

The leads were: The plants, that wrapped around the body and cushioned it against the paved road. The cotton tunic, that the victim wore when she bled to death. And the weapons, that killed the victim and held her in place for all to watch as she died.

The location meant something too, but until the next murder happened, that clue would have to wait.

So, you got on with the investigation. You discussed and brainstormed each lead, and how they felt, and he listened.

He actually listened.

You thought that he would be more serious and do the investigation in a more conventional way than listening to the word of psychic, but apparently, you actually can’t judge a book by its cover.

Either way, you were making some progress. You had taken down the cork board from in your kitchen and hung it in your living room, to make your own crime board, and on it you hung everything you discussed.

You talked about the spears, and how they were not meant for actual battle, as the gold and silver was pure and much too soft for any kind of conflict. Therefore, they were for decoration, and the intricate carvings in the spears meant nothing other than to make it look pretty.

The sick bastard wanted to make her murder look pretty.

Disgusting.

But this meant that they were expensive, and since there was 6 spears in total, that meant a hell of a lot of money. And the only people able to really afford to buy or make those spears was the high-class of Gotham, and you didn’t get the vibe that the murderer was living in luxury, so you made the call that he wasn’t high-class, and that he probably stole them.

The vigilante had told you that if the murderer stole them, then there was probably a police report, and so you had generously made a post it note on the crime board to remind him to hack into the GCPD database.

He chuckled after you, and you had smiled to yourself, proud of making something so serious a little silly.

But you weren’t done.

You continued and talked about how the gown was simple, but you could feel it being a constant. You made another note saying how the next victim was probably going to be wearing a gown too, and the one after that as well. Actually, every victim was going to wear one, and every gown was going to be covered in red.

It was frightening, but there was meaning behind it.

So, you got out some plain white paper and made a mind map of all the things a white cotton tunic could mean, and stuck that to the board too.

With the mind map in place, there were many ideas on the board. The vigilante piped up and said that whilst meaning was great and all, unless it could tell you where the murderer was, it was practically useless.

You gave him a look of annoyance and told him to stop being small minded, you weren’t done.

You made some more notes on the cork board, circling the phrases of pure and innocent underneath the word white. You then wrote the word ritual and made a small note underneath it of how it almost looked like a sacrifice, for people would be forced to wear simple things when these things happened, and usually virgins, who were connotated as pure and innocent, were usually sacrificed.

The vigilante then understood and let you carry on, but remained focused on you.

Feeling proud and confident, you stuck another note on the board with the idea to find out where the gown was bought from, and to see where it was delivered too, because the chances were that this guy probably bought in bulk with more murders in mind.

With the gown lead at its limit for the time being, you moved on to the plants.

The plants were a whole other lead. There were 6 types of plants in the scene, and all of them meant something. You told the vigilante that all of the main leads had something in common, that they were beautiful, but had deeper meaning behind them. They weren’t just for appearances.

He told you again, meaning can only go so far in helping you catch a murderer.

You gave him the middle finger.

You wrote a list of all the plants at the scene, and actually had to do some research on what some of them were.

That intrigued you.

The fact that you couldn’t instantly recognise the plants meant that they weren’t local, and he put effort into getting those specific plants.

Also, the arrangement was ugly. You weren’t a florist or any kind of master flower arranger, but with your creativity you could tell that the colours and placement were all wrong, and the flowers and plants that he used didn’t belong together at all.  

What was he thinking?

But when finding out what those specific flowers were, you came across the language of flowers, and it suddenly clicked in your head.

Everything had a double meaning.

In the 19th century floriography became more apparent, and everyone was using flowers to say what they were really feeling.

And the murderer was doing the same thing.

He was leaving a message.

And the vigilante said meaning was useless.

You noted ‘flower language’ down and stuck it to the board. You had to see all your cards.

The victim was laid down on a bed of wheat, impaled by silver and gold spears, covered with beautiful intricate carvings.

You dug a little deeper and found out that wheat symbolised wealth and prosperity. So did silver and gold.

Well that didn’t make any sense.

The victim was just a civilian, and yet he pinned her down to die on a bed of wheat.

A bed of wealth.

But she was stabbed with wealth too.

So, what? Wealth killed her and left her to sleep on money?

But the killer wasn’t living in luxury. You knew this. But he insisted that money killed her.

Was money the motive?

He killed her for money?

No, she didn’t have money, she was just a civilian, a normal person. Like every girl in Gotham she was probably working 3 jobs to keep herself afloat because wages weren’t rising.

And yet…

You got a feeling there was more to her.

You made a post it note to ‘find out more about the victim’ and stuck it to the board.

There was a reason behind everything he did, and you had to find out if you wanted to catch him.

 A cup of coffee was held in front of you, and you were brought out of your thoughts. The vigilante stood next to you, offering you a drink, and you generously took it.

You sighed after you sipped it, the warm drink soothing you and energising you at the same time.

God, how long had you been at this? You checked the clock next to you and read 3:28. Jesus, it had been at least 5 hours, and then some. Sighing, you walked over to your sofa and collapsed, desperately needing a break.

The vigilante followed you and sat next to you, his eyes watching you as you relaxed.

“You know, you’re pretty good at this, this being your first investigation an all.” The vigilante’s mechanical voice complimenting you as you continued to revel in the comfort of coffee. You hummed in agreement, his praise making your cheeks warm.

“Well, you did say that being psychic is perfect for detective work.”

He smiled at your smug tone, and the apartment was comfortably quiet, save for the ticking of the clock and the cars on the street.

But your thoughts were still racing. You still hadn’t broken down what any of the other plants meant, and yet you were already stuck. It was frustrating.

Sighing, you thought about the other leads, and wondered how they would pan out. Actually, you thought a lot about how the vigilante would get the details you needed. Without the answers to the questions on the board, you were never going to get any further.

You decided asking him was the best option.

Except he cut you off before you could even speak.

Rude.

“It’s going to start getting dark at around half 8, are you going to be okay with me leaving around then?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be? You’re not a prisoner.” You said, all the while slurping up that sweet, sweet caffeine.

“I just, don’t want you having another panic attack or something.”

That made you pause.

You weren’t sure how feel about that. On one hand, it felt kind of insulting that he thought of you so fragile after you had literally accused him of murder whilst thinking he was a murderer, on the other hand, it felt nice that he cared so much. That he didn’t want to leave you in case you got into trouble again.

That he wanted you to be okay.

You also weren’t sure if your cheeks were flushing from anger or from fondness.

Either way you wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. But you didn’t, instead you answered calmly and said “I’ll be fine, unless the murderer literally knocks on my door then I don’t think I’ll have another panic attack.”

He hummed in thought before saying “Okay. I’ll leave at half eight then.”

He went quiet again, but you could feel him holding back. He wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure how to phrase it, and you knew that the longer he waited the more his confidence would drift and he would never be able to say it, so you asked him:

“Is there anything else?”

He gawked at you for a bit before smiling to himself, he was starting to appreciate your sixth sense. But then he turned serious and said “Are you sure you want to help with this investigation?”

You gave him a look that said ‘really?’ but answered seriously and said “Of course, I literally have a crime board on my wall and the meaning of flowers favourited on my home page, I’m in this and I wanna be.”

You placed your cup on the coffee table and turned to him properly so he could see you were being serious, but he was still doubtful.

“Are you sure though? It’s dangerous, getting involved with this kind of life. You could be seriously hurt if anybody knows about you. Are you prepared to take that risk?”

You contemplated his words, but your mind was still set. You understood, and you were prepared.

“I think I’ve been scared since the day I was born. I’ve always had anxiety; I don’t actually remember a time when I didn’t have anxiety. I’m always scared of being hurt, or killed. And for my entire life I’ve hidden away and never helped anybody when I could have. I could have done so much, and prevented so many bad things from happening, but I didn’t. I just stayed indoors, scared of my own shadow, and pretending that I can’t do anything because I’m not enough.”

You paused, and let him take in your words, before continuing.

“But then a drugged up stubborn vigilante crashed through my window and died on my floor.” He chuckled and you smiled to yourself. It really was that crazy.

“I was terrified. A person who I had never met before that was ten times bigger than me invaded my safe space and decided to die in it. I didn’t know what to do, and I cried. But I got over it, and knew if I didn’t help you then you would be worse off. Besides, you were literally in my house, it was either help you or throw you out the window.” You both laughed quietly at that.

“And then I thought you were a murderer and I almost killed myself panicking. But then you stopped me from suffocating and brought me back down to earth. You took care of me and cleaned up what mess I had made and got me clothes and just, helped.”

“It felt nice. I really appreciate you helping me.” Your cheeks flushed as you smiled and played with the hem of your shirt. But then you bit your lip in thought and said “I was going somewhere with this, what was it?”

He snickered and reminded you “You were convincing me why you want to be a part of this investigation.”

“Oh, yeah. Right, the point is, I thought you were a psychopath who was going to kill me and I still confronted you. I literally faced my fear, and it turned out to be okay. I’m scared all the time, of literally everything, and for way too long it has stopped me from doing the right thing.”

“But now, I have you.” Your face lit up like a traffic light, but you ignored your growing embarrassment and continued. “Your proof that I can get over it, that I can face my fear and do the right thing, even when I think I’m going to die. And I can do more. I want to do more. I want to make up for all the times I could have done something but didn’t, and I want to do the right thing. Isn’t that enough?”  

He looked at you fondly as you peered up at him, and your face grew brighter.

Why was he looking at you like that?

“Yeah, that is enough. I’ll leave at half eight, but I’ll be back tomorrow night to see if you have any other visions or if you come up with anything else, okay?” His voice was monotone, but his face still had that smile on it.  

You squeaked out a small “Yeah” and then got up to go to the kitchen. If he wasn’t going to stop looking at you like that then you were going to not look at him period. Besides, you were starving, and you were craving the donuts Neveah had bought you yesterday.

*

After your conversation with the vigilante, you had had a small something to eat and then got back to work. You did eventually ask him how he was going to continue to follow the leads, but he just said something about having the right friends and that was it.

Either way he promised he would get answers.

And you decided you would too.

Continuing your translation of the flowers was difficult when you focused on one flower at a time. With each plant you translated, you just got more and more confused. They made no sense; the meanings had no relation and sometimes they even contradicted.

Wheat implied wealth, but thyme, which wrapped around her head and ankles, implied thriftiness. Thriftiness meant being careful with money, but she died on bed of money? Money killed her, but the victim was careful?

It made no sense.

Until you stopped translating each and every meaning, one at a time. You rationed that flower language was like every other language, and a word on its own would be useless, until it’s put in a sentence. And if every flower was one word then the solution was obvious.

Translate the whole sentence.

So, you did. You searched every flower and plant and leaf that was in the scene, without stopping to pause and ponder what each meant, and came up with some more confusing messages, and some that cleared the air.

The body was pinned to a bed of wheat, impaled with silver and gold spears. Three bouquets of thyme crowned her head, and acacia choked her. A single red dahlia rested between her breasts. From her neck down to her ankles, a sprinkling of tulip tree leaves and acanthus flowers covered her, but the white gown turning red was still visible. A bouquet of thyme was strapped to each of her ankles.

That was the scene, and each placement of the plants meant something, and now you knew what it was.

Wheat meant wealth, as did gold and silver. Thyme meant thriftiness, and acacia meant secret love. Red dahlia meant betrayal and dishonesty, tulip tree leaves meant fame, and acanthus meant art. The white gown symbolised purity and the blood symbolised hatred and death.

If you were to put those meanings in the scene, some of the fog was lifted.

The victim slept on a bed of money, and it was money that killed her. Thriftiness crowned her, and a secret love choked her. Betrayal and dishonesty were at her core. She was covered in fame and art, but it couldn’t hide the corruption of purity. Thriftiness was also at her feet.

You knew there was more to the victim. She may have been just a civilian, but everybody has secrets, and you made the guess that she was having an affair.

Secret love? Betrayal and dishonesty? The corruption of purity? It just made sense.

The fame and art? From the moment you had the vision you knew he was an artist. Or at least that’s what the murderer thought he was. He was psychotic. He actually believed he was creating a work of art, and now he thought he was famous.

To be true, he kinda was. With every murder he would be on the news, and all his work would be available for all to see.

But the money? And the thriftiness? It still confused you.

 Sighing, you dragged your hands down your face and groaned into them, venting your frustration.

You hated when you got blocked. Whether it was art block or writers block or even a psychic block, you hated it.

And you couldn’t afford to get blocked, not when the pyscho was still out there, probably already primed and ready for another murder, waiting to act out his deepest fantasies.

Groaning, you stretched and clicked your back. Deciding you needed a break, you walked over to the bathroom to refresh. You peed, washed your hands and face, and brushed your teeth.

It was small acts of hygiene that cleared you up, but made you feel much better. With your body rid of waste, your face cleared of dirt and your mouth renewed with fresh minty taste, you were okay again.

Feeling better, you walked back over to the board to look at it again. If you were blocked, then there was something you were missing. You were lacking inspiration, and that wasn’t allowed.

When facing writers block, it was usually just some paragraphs that needed rewriting because the story didn’t flow well enough. You just needed to look back and find that something that needed to be rewritten.

Something that didn’t sit right, and needed to be changed.

You looked back over the crime board, looking out for any ‘feelers’, things that might have triggered your sixth sense and screamed they weren’t right.

The spears were an okay lead. You felt a little iffy thinking about them, but other than that it was fine.

The gown was going to go somewhere, that was for sure.

But the plants…

It needed to be further broken down.

You took down all the scribbles and notes you had made about the plants and put them on the coffee table. Collapsing on the sofa, you sorted through them and looked over each one, trying to find the source of your discomfort.

You made two piles, one of facts that were right, and facts that were wrong.

Most of the facts were right, the plants were sending a message, the murderer was telling the world that she wasn’t as innocent as everyone thought the victim was. She had a dirty secret, one that probably hurt somebody.

But how did the murderer know that?

Either he had a personal connection with the victim, or he stalked her. You figured he must have stalked her, because you knew that he was going to kill again, and unless he was going to kill everyone in his life, then he wasn’t targeting people he loved.

He was targeting people with dirty secrets.

You wrote another note and added it to the ‘right’ pile.

Besides, the murderer was a loner. He was working alone, and living alone. He couldn’t kill anyone he loved because there was nobody he loved. He was your usual, over imaginative psychopath.

 There were two notes left. Wheat and thyme. Wealth and thriftiness.

The wealth was right, you were sure of it.

She was killed with money, and then left to die on it. But being an average citizen in Gotham, she couldn’t have had money.

Except… That idea felt off to you. The idea of this victim struggling for money, working 3 jobs just to survive, coming home exhausted every night, it wasn’t truth.

She came home perfectly fine because she was working only one job, one that definitely didn’t pay enough, but she was still okay.

So, who’s money did she sleep on?

Who was she sleeping with?

Her secret love, the bed of money, it was all linked. She actually had a sugar daddy. And she was lying about it. Cheating on someone who probably adored her just for money?

Bitch.

You made more notes, writing down how she wasn’t struggling for money because she was sleeping with some who had it. That’s why she slept on wealth. The bed of money wasn’t hers.

 But the spears? She was killed with money, you were certain.

But you knew that the murderer wasn’t living in luxury, you felt it. In your vision he had a scrappy rusted van that was barely working, he was wearing scratchy clothes and he felt greasy and tired like he hadn’t showered for at least a week.

He could have been some homeless guy for all you knew, because that’s what it felt like when you had your vision.

But the thought of saying he wasn’t high class, the thought of saying he wasn’t rich… it wasn’t the truth either.

You had guessed earlier and said he wasn’t high class because of your vision, but after channelling your sixth sense and properly focusing it you could tell that guess was wrong.

Which infuriated you, because what? Some rich, respected guy liked putting on a homeless outfit to kill liars? You had no idea who this guy was, and he was really starting to piss you off.

You couldn’t get a proper feel for this guy at all. He wasn’t high class, but he wasn’t poor either. He didn’t have a status or a class, he just existed and never made a mark or an impression on the world until he killed somebody. Which didn’t help narrow down who he was at all.

It was infuriating.

But you put the idea on the board, along with everything else. You couldn’t leave anything unturned; you had to look and understand every possibility.

The only thing that was left, was thyme.

The meaning, it wasn’t right. Thyme didn’t mean thrifty; the victim certainly didn’t have any problems with spending the money her sugar daddy gave her.

Which meant that thyme meant something else.

There were 3 bouquets of thyme at her head, and 2 at her feet. What did that mean?

If everything had a double meaning, then thyme had to as well.

Words sometimes had double meanings, did thyme mean something other than the plant?

Was he talking about actual time? Were the 3 bouquets referencing when he started placing the body, at 3 in the morning?

Was the 2 referencing when he was going to place the next one?

Yes, it was. It made sense, and you could feel it being absolutely correct.

This was the thing that needed to be rewritten, and now the story made sense.

The victim was a dirty little liar, a cheater and materialist, greedy for money. The murderer had been stalking her, and knew that she was bad news. He killed her, but left a message. Telling the world who she was, but at the same time, letting the world see her as beautiful and pure for one last time.

But the murderer couldn’t help himself, and hinted towards who he was too, and when he was going to place the next body.

But only the smart would be able to decode the message, or in your case, the psychic.

*

The vigilante had praised you when you told him what you had discovered, what all the flowers meant and how you could build a profile of the victim from them and your senses. How you knew what time the next body was going to drop, and when you got your next vision, you would know where it was.

Unfortunately, you didn’t know what day it was going to be, but you promised him when you next had a vision you would pay attention to all the details, and try your hardest to find out.

But either way, you were one clue away from catching him. You had the time, you would eventually have a vision of the location and maybe the day, all you had to do was wait.

You were so close.

You were vibrating with so much energy and pride, that when the vigilante left at half eight like he said he would, you were only a little sad to see him go.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, you couldn’t decide if it was good thing or not, the vigilante had to take all your notes with him.

He said he needed them so he could make copies, and you assumed it was to make his own crime board. You understood and got a folder, and basically created a case file.  

After giving it to him, you made him promise to give you copies of any new notes about the leads, and he promised he would. He assured you that you were apart of this now, and considering how far you got in only a day, he would be stupid not to include you any further.

You beamed with pride and did a little dance in your living room when he finally left, you were so close!

You were so fucking awesome.

Your phones jazzy ringtone filled the apartment, and you were brought out of thoughts. Skipping over to the coffee table, you picked it up and squealed when you saw it was Neveah.

Today just got more and more awesome.

“Halloo?” You answered in a funny voice, happiness coming off you in waves.

“Heeeyyy!” Neveah answered back, her mood just as bright and as cheery as yours. “How’s you?”

“I’m good, I’m good.” You replied, crashing on the sofa and putting your feet on the coffee table, “What about you?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, had to do a little over time to earn the raise I need, my feet are killing me from running around all day, but I’m good.” You heard her sigh over the phone, and you imagined she was in her car, finally sitting down and ready to go home. “What have you been up to today?”

You cringed at the thought of telling her the truth, but then you also cringed at the thought of lying to her. It wasn’t fair, but at the same time, the truth, you felt, was worse.

“Eh, not much, I’ve just been online trying to find someone who wans to buy my paintings, no luck yet, but it’ll be okay.” It was a half-truth; yeah you hadn’t actually been searching, but you hadn’t found a buyer either sooo…

“I’m sure it will,” she agreed “some goth or horror fan always loves your paintings.”

You hummed in agreement, and your phone call became quiet.

But something was wrong. Your happy demeanour suddenly vanished and was replaced by sickening tension.

Usually when you and Nevaeh fell quiet in conversations, it was natural and comfortable. You could just exist in each other’s presence and not need to say anything, being perfectly okay with who you were.

But this quiet was not comfortable.

This quiet felt like Nevaeh was thinking about something.

Thinking about something she did.

Thinking about whether or not she should tell you.

Ignoring the growing panic, you called her name.

You had to sort this out, now.

“Yeah?” She answered.

“Is there something you need to tell me?” You questioned, playing with the hem of your shirt nervously.

She was quiet for a while, and then “We need to talk.”

“I’m listening.” You replied instantly, hoping it wasn’t as bad as you felt it becoming.

“No, it, it needs to be face to face.” You heard her sigh, and you pictured her running her hands down her face in frustration.

You hated this. You felt utterly powerless.

What was so important that you needed to talk face to face?

Was she mad? Was she disappointed? Did she find out about the vigilante? Did she know about you lying? Did she-

“Can we meet tomorrow? I finish work early and I can pop round and make lunch?” Her voice cut through your rising panic, and you took a deep breath to calm down. She wasn’t allowed to know how much power she held over you; you would feel pathetic if she knew that one sentence could cause you to spiral.

Clearing you throat you answered “Yeah, lunch sounds good. But nothing too heavy okay?”

You were actually proud of how steady you kept your voice.

“Make it light, got it. I love you, see you tomorrow.”

“I love you too, bye.” And with a click, she was gone, and you were left alone, again.

What did you do wrong this time? 

[littlelovelymemes]

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‘  my kink is getting some fuckin sleep.  ’ ‘  omg here goes your lil crybaby ass.  ’ ‘  the beatles wouldn’t even fucking exist if big time rush hadn’t paved the path for them so shut the fuck up.  ’ ‘  don’t start buddy. don’t you dare.  ’ ‘  gay rights? true, as a gay, i am always right.  ’ ‘  not to vent, but: fuck.  ’ ‘  the worst pain is to make small talk with someone you once told everything to.  ’ ‘  i think i accidentally break my own heart a lot.  ’ ‘  sometimes ‘brb’ stands for ‘be ready bitch’ so you have to be careful.  ’ ‘  i want to kiss you in a way that makes you not want to kiss anyone else ever again.  ’ ‘  shout out to the people who are still friends with me even though i’m a fucking idiot.  ’ ‘  it’s safe to assume that at any given moment i want to go back to bed.  ’ ‘  i’m a big fan of anything that will help me chill the fuck out.  ’ ‘  i don’t go through people’s pictures on their phone cause i wasn’t raised in the jungle.  ’ ‘  i think we, as a people, just need to have a glass of water.  ’ ‘  i don’t have enough black clothes.  ’ ‘  sweetie, i could sleep for ten years and i’d still be tired.  ’ ‘  i would sleep so much better with your arms wrapped around me.  ’ ‘  me??? tired??? sleepy??? yes, constantly.  ’ ‘  i’m pb&j -- petty, bitter, and jealous.  ’ ‘  the fact that sloths aren’t extinct somehow proves that if you go at your own pace and mind your own fucking business you too can succeed.  ’ ‘  i wish i could be the person i want to be, but i’m too tired.  ’ ‘  i always look sleep deprived. is that hot?  ’ ‘  just because there’s always room for improvement doesn’t mean you’ll never be good enough.  ’ ‘  my heart is a soft and sensitive mess.  ’ ‘  all i want is a big garden and no responsibilities.  ’ ‘  honestly someone not liking beyonce is a deal breaker and not for any political reasons, but just like you’re probably, definitely really boring.  ’ ‘  hey guys, i’m a huge fan of genuine love and affection.  ’ ‘  now i’m falling asleep and she’s calling a crab and he’s having a smoke and she’s kissing the crab.  ’ ‘  i’ve been ever since i heard ‘lonely’ by akon at 9 years-old.  ’ ‘  my new years resolution is to stop.  ’ ‘  i’m irritated cause i’m not lovable in a romantic soulmate way.  ’ ‘  i hate knowing that people that ruined parts of me still live and function like nothing ever happened.  ’ ‘  i know i’m cute, but you can remind me.  ’ ‘  hey, just wondering, but are you fucking kidding me????  ’ ‘  i can’t wait to be in love with someone who is also deepfuck in love with me and we love each other forever n’ ever.  ’ ‘  me? clingy? yes. please don’t leave me.  ’ ‘  girlfriend application compatibility question: do you keep your depression pile on the bed or on the floor?  ’ ‘  anything heart shaped is automatically 200% better. this is a fact.  ’ ‘  today’s agenda: screaming into the abyss.  ’ ‘  going from ‘today is a good day’ to ‘i hate my life’ takes me approximately 2.6 seconds.  ’ ‘  everyone needs to wash their face and go to bed.  ’ ‘  i’m worth so much more than the ways i’ve been treated.  ’ ‘  hey, can i claim you guys as dependents on my taxes?  ’ ‘  i really just ignore phone calls. like leave a message. i don’t check those either but like  ’ ‘  i honestly just want to pack my bags and go travel the world and see and explore everything possible.  ’ ‘  remember being little and thinking dandelions were fun or a pretty color or something and every adult in an 80 mile radius wouldn’t let you say that without screaming IT’S A WEED.  ’ ‘  why did we just accept catdog?  ’ ‘  my ‘stay in bed all day’ game’s too strong.  ’ ‘  you deserve to be loved without having to hide the parts of yourself that you think are unlovable.  ’ ‘  i always forget that i literally don’t owe anyone anything!  ’ ‘  i wonder what it feels like to know what the fuck is going on.  ’ ‘  honestly... us girls? us women? we always out here, knowin.  ’ ‘  would an alien think i’m pretty?  ’ ‘  i love boys, but only as a concept.  ’ ‘  why do parents get mad when you sleep in all day? like i’m staying out of trouble and i’m not spending your money like what’s the issue here????  ’ ‘  i identify as an inconvenience to the world.  ’ ‘  i seriously regret telling anyone, anything, ever lmao  ’ ‘  dating me is like dating a five year-old. i need all of your attention and i’m cranky if i haven’t had a nap.  ’ ‘  i’m literally tired of myself.  ’ ‘  don’t introduce me to ur parents unless you plan on marrying me because they’re going to love me and ask about me for the rest of your life lol  ’ ‘  what the hell is a straight person? only straight thing i know about is the edge of my beloved sword.  ’ ‘  i highly recommend never having feelings.  ’ ‘  self care is going into a cornfield at night to get abducted by aliens.  ’ ‘  staying up late with another human is such a weird thing like you get this special bond and a what-is-this feeling  ’ ‘  do u ever feel like ur not even friends with ur friends?  ’ ‘  um no offense but whom’st’ve going to loveth me?  ’ ‘  date a girl who fucks everything up.  ’ ‘  not all who mcfreakin wander are mcfreakin lost.  ’ ‘  i may legally be an adult but don’t be fooled. i have no idea what i’m doing.  ’ ‘  a fun and interesting fact about me is that i’m a fucking idiot.  ’ ‘  you can start again anytime!  ’ ‘  all you can do is learn your lesson. there’s no point in wishing you had did differently. the past is the past.  ’ ‘  i can’t believe an angel like me has to suffer so much.  ’ ‘  you’re all so obsessed with love and being loved. what about just going to sleep?  ’ ‘  i’m smart, but i do dumb shit anyway.  ’ ‘  tbh i never deal with my emotions. i just let them ravage my body and then go to bed and then i wake up and do it all over again.  ’ ‘  first of all: i don’t know shit, so jot that down.  ’ ‘  i’ll just ¯\ _(ツ)_/¯ my way through life.  ’ ‘  i’m tired of things costing money.  ’ ‘  don’t you hate it when you’re dead inside and run out of apps to refresh?  ’ ‘  who cares? do better, move on.  ’ ‘  i don’t need a significant other. just a significant income.  ’ ‘  appreciation for everyone who’s ever talked to me bc i’m annoying and dumb.  ’ ‘  thnks fr th mntl llnss.  ’ ‘  what  hasn’t killed me has just made me overly sensitive and defensive.  ’ ‘  i don’t know shit ya’ll!!!!! i’m just out here.  ’ ‘  binge-watching is great until you run out of the show and have to start watching it weekly like some sort of medieval peasant.  ’ ‘  i’m in the wrong realm and i think everyone can tell.  ’ ‘  this might come as a shock but I’m Not Feelin too good my dudes.  ’ ‘  i’m alive, but only ironically.  ’ ‘  there she goes again being over dramatic and by she, i mean me.  ’ ‘  do you ever feel like have tried Too Hard to a friend and now you have become That Obnoxious Weirdo?  ’ ‘  lgbt: lasagna! garfield’s beloved treat.  ’ ‘  my favorite phrase in the english language is ‘i shit you not.’  ’ ‘  i’m a real boring bitch! a snoozer!  ’ ‘  i honestly look so good lounging in an oversized t-shirt and no pants. when will someone experience the blessing of domestic living w/ me?  ’ ‘  you don’t understand how hard it is to take a selfie when you’re ugly.  ’ ‘  you son of a mumford!  ’ ‘  hi, i’m here to ruin everything.  ’ ‘  you can tell a lot about a person by looking at their hands. for example, if it’s a skeleton hand then they’re dead.  ’ ‘  the year is 2020 and i am found guilty of treason against the united states for vague blogging that i hate someone and donald trump thought it was about him.  ’ ‘  everybody calm down, we’re going to be fine! :))) we’ve weathered worse than this! :) :) :) :) really all this panic just seems like a huge overreaction imho   ’ ‘  no beta readers. we publish our crap writing like men.  ’ ‘  i need $$$$$ not feelings.  ’ ‘  ‘idk imma see’ = i ain’t coming, never was coming, never considered it, never gave it a single thought, only remembered cause you asked again.  ’ ‘  oops, i don’t care lol  ’ ‘  why girls always crop the halo out of their selfies? stop being so modest. we know the truth.  ’ ‘  maurice, you’re not gonna fucking believe this,  ’ ‘  i always get told i look like a bitch bc i’m always glaring while i walk, but i’m not glaring, i’m squinting. i have sensitive eyes. they’re watering.  ’ ‘  concept: it’s 3 am. candle lit room. a record is spinning. you’re kissing me. we have no worries in the world. we’re warm and content.  ’ ‘  i need to go into the forest and scream for an hour and a half.  ’ ‘  pls kill all men who yell at girls from cars.  ’ ‘  life really isn’t what i expected it to be. less quicksand. almost no quicksand to be honest. lots of metaphorical quicksand tho.  ’ ‘  i have a question for u: like are u done... like is it over?  ’ ‘  we all have that one person who ruins your day by being alive.  ’ ‘  we all have that one person who ruins your day by being alive. for me, it’s myself.  ’ ‘  whenever i see police i always try not to act suspicious and fail internally even though i never did anything wrong.  ’ ‘  new years resolution: less bitter, more glitter.  ’

[gbhw1hec]

New Post has been published on Get BlackHat World

New Post has been published on http://www.getblackhatworld.com/get-adaptive-funnels-blueprint-50-million-in-funnel-sales-with-this-one-little-twist-download/

[GET] Adaptive Funnels Blueprint 50 Million In Funnel Sales With This One Little Twist DOWNLOAD

[GET] Adaptive Funnels Blueprint 50 Million In Funnel Sales With This One Little Twist DOWNLOAD

Hi, It’s Tom Bell, and I can now FINALLY share something I’ve been sitting on for over 15 years..

It’s the “secret sauce” that took me from soaked, broke & pissed off to making 60 million selling Ebooks online! To explain, here’s a little story..

It didn’t matter a damn bit how much hoping I did, not even a little..

I looked up, and as much as I tried to “wish it away”, that rain was going to come.

And come it did..

121 toy helicopters were pretty much ruined. Their drenched cardboard packaging meant that I’d have a hell of a time trying to sell them.

So I decided not to even try.

It was that day in 1996 that I made a decision that changed my life forever.

Not In The “Nice, I got a 10% Raise, now I can eat out once a week” way, But In The‘No Mr President, I Cant Make It To Dinner Next Month” way..

Before you ask, It was Bush Jr..

What came next paved the way for me to make over 150 million dollars online, a full 60 of those Millions coming from a SINGLE little piece of marketing technology.

That process went on to become a staple of the communications strategy of almost EVERY billion dollar corporation, and thanks to the passage of time, and a unique series of events,

I am in a position to put it into YOUR hands now. (Without paying a single dime for expensive software, hosting, or even programming)

To help explain exactly what this “secret weapon” is, let’s get back to that rainy day in 1996…

Here’s what happened…

  I had been selling my toy helicopters at fairs and festivals all across the country. Putting on a pretty good show and making more money than most of the other vendors..

I had money in my pocket, food on the table, and things were going ok.

But JUST OK..

I wasn’t desperate, I wasn’t hungry, and nothing was on fire. 

What I also wasn’t, was going anywhere I wanted to go with my life.

I had the same old bus I drove around in with my toys, went to the same old places, and did the same old things.

I had an absolute LOCK on the mediocre life I had built.

But that day in Shipshewana Indiana, standing there in the rain, something happened. The type of thing that just might happen for you today..

I made a decision that the mediocre life I was living just wasn’t good enough. Doing “Just Ok” simply wasn’t going to cut it..

Not even close..

I told my neighbors there at the rained out flea market “That’s it, I’m done. I’ll NEVER spend another day living like this, I’m going to start me an internet company and strike it rich.

I packed up my things and left, feeling like a guy that just jumped out of a plane with a couple bedsheets, hoping to build a parachute on the way down..

Here’s the punchline though..

I found that parachute by COMPLETE accident.

I’ll tell you about that in a second, but I want to keep this about you, because it’s important that the message comes through loud and clear.

“You can struggle, And get knocked down 9 times out of 10, but as long as you Keep Getting Up and TRY something NEW, sooner or later, You’ll win.

I soon learned over the weeks and months after that day in 1996 that trying new things until something works is called “split testing”, but that’s a conversation for later..

The real trick to breaking the odds and actually making money at this marketing stuff, is you gotta DECIDE that you’re going to actually put yourself in the game and TRY stuff.

Ok, back to 1996.

After making my grand statement that I was “Never selling at markets again” and I was “going to go build an internet company” One critical problem became clear..

I didn’t know how to “surf” the internet, I didn’t even own a computer!

Yet..

After I went out and spent WAY more than I could afford on a 286 PC with a whopping 256k of ram, I got myself AOL and looked for something familiar. I said to myself “The real world has LOTS of flea markets, There must be a flea market here in the online world”…

Of course, 2 minutes later, I found Ebay..

Long story short, I did some searching and sorting, and poking around, and the 4th most lucky thing that has happened to me EVER happened..

I found myself a product, and through blind luck, wrote an “auction page” (AKA sales letter”) to sell it with.

Better yet, because I had no idea how impossible it was, I sold a LOT of these things.

(For the record, the item was a little 70 cent “cell phone antenna booster” remember those?)

When I say a lot, I mean a BOATLOAD.

Over $600,000 In Just 4 Months!

Anyhow, what happened next is kind of the reason we are here, and I PROMISE there is a point to all this, and I also promise it will be WELL worth your time.

With all those Ebay buyers, I had this notion that selling MORE stuff to them might be valuable, so I found this brand new company back in 96, called Clickbank.

I didn’t know it at the time, but it turns out that pointing hundreds of thousands of “buyer emails” at affiliate offers was a pretty good idea, back then people could send traffic to ANYTHING and make money.

How to play the guitar in one day

Double the speed of your PC

 How to get a government grant

It was a real party, and the money was pretty damned good.

Until They took ALL my money and closed my account.

What happened that day is a story all by itself, and I’m DYING to get to the part where YOU get to make yourself a little good luck (well, a LOT actually.) Let’s just say I had a guy that thought all the sales I was sending him were “spam” because there were just TOO MANY of them..

Once I proved they weren’t spam, he accused me an hour later of being a hacker too. (Idiot, this guy)..

The brass tacks of it was he pissed me off for being a moron, and he was selling an ebook about how to get government grants.

Along with reprint rights..

It was then that the 3rd best thing that ever happened to me took place..

I bought the ebook, opted for the reprint rights, spent 36 hours straight cleaning it up and fixing spelling errors etc.

And I began to sell my own grant guide as an ebook.

Here’s how all this ties back to you. The weeks after that Grant Guide went live, some TRULY neat things happened.

The damn thing sold like there was no tomorrow!

Within months, we were matching Matthew Lesko (remember him? The guy with the question marks on his suit?) And everyone said

“Be happy Tom, you got almost to the level of the top grant info seller on the planet” but there’s NO WAY you’ll ever beat him, not when it comes to Grants”

Selective Delusionality, remember that word, maybe even write it down. Hell of a tool you can use if you want to achieve the impossible.

I asked ‘how COULD we beat o’l question mark guy online?’…

After being told it was impossible by my high priced consultant, we developed the webs first landing page, and on this page we did 2 things that were pretty revolutionary at the time..

We asked the user their first name.

And we asked them WHY they wanted a grant.

Sales Exploded By 4 FOLD, And Profits Climbed Even Higher Than That!

Imagine the audacity to actually LISTEN to your user, and then RESPOND directly to their needs.

I’ll bet the process reaching YOUR Goals would be SO much easier, more effective, and cost a LOT less money if more people thought the way you and I do. Right?…

My sincere wish is to help you do just that.

What just happened is ABSOLUTELY the reason we made all that money with government grant information products.

We asked the user for THEIR needs, then “Adapted” the messaging accordingly.

I’ll concede that the grant niche wasn’t as big as some, but 60 Million bucks is nothing to sneeze at..

So one of the elephants in the room I want to talk with you about now is:

“This technology blasted YOUR business off back in the 90s, so why should I be excited about it today?”

“This technology blasted YOUR business off back in the 90s, so why should I be excited about it today?”

The answer would be to look at who’s excited by it now…

Pretty much EVERY Billion dollar corporation is using it to sell more pampers, push up bras, and even Presidents.

Google, Facebook, and every other media company is making OBSCENE profits feeding these companies more and more data so they can tailor their marketing to the user.

To be 100% Frank, I was an idiot.

I went on to make another Hundred Million selling other offers. Making it to the top of the charts in a few more industries without “Adaptive”..

Dumb luck, great connections, or just plain good copy.

Who knows what it was. Point is, I dropped the ball. I made a bunch of money as the “guru” and things were good.

Until they weren’t…

A painful divorce, a crooked accountant, and a few other setbacks put me right where you are sitting right now friend.

Looking up, and doing my damnedest to get back to “the millions”..

I want you to take note of what just got said..

BACK To The Millions..

I know, the odds are, seeing a million would be a first for you, and that is EXACTLY my point.

When the smoke cleared, and I “got my juju back” the first question I asked myself is “what is my NEATEST trick?

What One Thing could I use to get past all these whipper snapper upstarts and regain that fine place in the sun..

With ZERO question in my mind, It is adaptive funnels, and I’ll tell you why.

Over the years, the DATA side of marketing has exploded. People LOVE doing quizzes, and talking about themselves online. It’s just human nature.

Data collection and the resale of it isn’t just big business, It’s THE big business.

Google Facebook  

 Instagram  

 Pinterest  

 And all the others 

Here’s the thing though…

95% of the time that data is being used to TARGET the user.

The brand of adaptive YOU are about to get, is for TAILORING to the users wants and needs!

Seriously, which would YOU prefer? A bullseye on your back, or buying an info product based on your ACTUAL goals?

Ok, we’re in agreement, let’s move on.

“But Tom, if only Billion dollar companies are using it, I’ll bet it costs an arm and a leg”…

Nope.

I am building whole adaptive letters right now without having spent even one dime on software, programmers, or custom website platforms.

Not a dime..

Shortly you’ll be able to watch a quick intro video and you’ll have an EXACT “step by step” blueprint for doing your first one.

I know there are people out there telling you that you can “press a magic button” and wake up in a private jet hung over from hanging with rockstars”

As in TODAY.

As a guy who has been fortunate enough to have done that exact thing to the tune of 150+ Million, I can report, the “magic button” Is mostly real 

(It’s the “send button” on your email list)

But there are a LOT of things you’ll need to get right prior to passing out on a Lear 60 over the Bahamas…

One of the things you’ll want to do is build landing pages that convert ad dollars or promotion effort into subscribers, and I’ve seen Adaptive DOUBLE conversion on landing pages more times than I can count..

The bottom line is, I WANT You to have this kind of power. I’ve seen too many people struggle to rise above the noise and earn good money, especially when the answer is so damned close at hand..

So here’s what you’ll get when you decide right, and go down this rabbit hole with me:

A QuickStart Video Laying Out The Exact Steps To Getting Up & Running In Just 45 Minutes. 

 A Complete List Of FREE Sites You Can Use To Get Your Adaptive Funnel Up & Earning. 

 My ‘Stash” Of Image Tools (Also Free) That Will Make Expensive Artists Strictly Optional.

I know you can see how this crazy notion of listening to your customers, and adapting your approach to serve them better really will cause more of them to give you more money, So the question becomes..

Why On Earth Would You NOT Do it?

If you’re too busy to try, or collecting courses in some twisted parade of pointless purchases, do us both a favor and pass this by.

Neither of us needs the grief.

You may already know my work, and the reality that I really have “been there and done that”, and have a genuine love of sharing it with others.

Well, that, or you can just see the good sense of what I am saying.

Perhaps it’s both. How am I to say.

I suppose now would be a good time to talk about the money. Relax, It’s not anywhere close to what it’s worth to someone who will use it.

Someone like you that is..

Let’s get one thing straight before we go on another second though..

The truth is, I won’t blabber on about how expensive it would be to do this without my help,

It just wouldn’t be true.

Sure, AFTER you get your funnels up and making you money, spend money on professionals. Actually spend more than you think you should because they are SOO worth it at the right point in time.

The simple truth is, I built everything you see here in a day. All the images, the payment links, the whole shebang. And if you’ve EVER met me, you already know I am NOT the “techie type” Not even in the same ball park.

No, The real reason you’d be smart to work with me on this is the saving of time. I’m talking about the few weeks it would take you figuring out how to set up your adaptive funnel. (And it WILL take you weeks)

In a sec, I want you to put a dollar value on the 100 hours plus you’d spend on getting all this done.

Before that though,

I want to invite you to PLEASE put this adaptive stuff to work for your business (whether you decide to work with me or not) Because I really do want you to succeed.

We both know how bad failure sucks…

I have absolutely no idea what an hour of time is worth to you friend, but I’ll just ask this, when you see the price in just a sec, If 100 x your hourly rate is MORE than what I’m asking, Then You’ll go ahead and get it.

Deal?

I think we can both agree by this point that it would be WORTH 2K, but what kind of new friend would I be if I came at you with retail on our first chat?

You’re the type to put in the time and get an understanding of the value when something captures your imagination and I appreciate your dedication to success for sticking around and hearing me out

So how about I do something extra special for you..

Grab Yourself A Copy Now &Get:

Your quick start guide so you can get up & running in less than an hour. 

 Your list Of FREE sites to get your first adaptive funnel making money. 

 Your ‘stash” of free image tools and editors so you can save BIG on art.

[GET] Adaptive Funnels Blueprint 50 Million In Funnel Sales With This One Little Twist DOWNLOAD

That’s Right. All for just $7

Not $7 a month, or “6 easy payments of $7”

$7 total, and all this adaptive goodness is all yours.

I suppose it really does boil down to one simple thing. The question you need to be asking yourself as you stand here at the crossroads.

“What if I have to Compete with someone who has this, and I don’t”?

Who needs all that fear and uncertainty, especially for 7 bucks..

Not you, is my guess.

Besides, anyone who’s ever done business with me will tell you, I’ve never argued over a refund request. If you’re not tickled pink with all your about to get. Just let me know and I’ll send back every nickle. 

No hassle, No argument, No kidding..

You Just KNOW You Want This.. So do what you know to be right and follow through on this.

It will feel good in the moment, and GREAT in the near future when you get to brag about how well your funnels are doing.. 😉

You know the drill. 

[GET] Adaptive Funnels Blueprint 50 Million In Funnel Sales With This One Little Twist DOWNLOAD

[mellonmarshnote2-blog]

Special Note 2

Dear Samantha and Julien, I cannot believe that either one of you would volunteer for something like this. I did it on accident, I didn't know any better. Sure, you will see that all of the books and movies are talking about people like you. But you will never be the same. Things will never be the same again. I think of how my life was before all of this, I think of how I thought, what I knew. And what I didn't know. Akberet (AK) doesn't think that I should be teaching Julien this stuff. Her concern is that it will rob him of his childhood. The good doctor, however, thinks that it is "a foregone conclusion" that his childhood is already gone, so he is ready, this is the right thing to do. I understand AK's concern because she is right. You will never be the same. It will be the end of your childhood.  And you can never un-know what you know. AK doesn't even think I should be teaching Samantha this stuff. She has no faith in me. Again, I understand her concern. She is right, this is dangerous stuff and should be approached with caution. I am telling you right now, in the interest of full disclosure, that there are risks involved, especially since you two are the first students of my own home-grown spiritual advisory lessons. Know that I am aware of this fact and that is why I am using Joseph Campbell's book as a backdrop for these teachings.  I admit to you right now that I am known, both among Earthllings as well as celestial beings, for being reckless and impulsive. So you are both either very courageous, or naive, or both. Either way, it is my firm belief that if you think you are ready, then you are ready. So read on if you are, and don't if you're not. I know I am. Now with that out of the way. As Jesus said, I could give you a fish, but that would be lame. Better that I teach you how to fish. So get your fishing poles and tackle boxes and come take a walk with me. You want quality, not quantity. Always. Whether it is wine, women, weed, or the world wide web, when it comes to what you feed your mind, you want only the best. Ten Mcdonald's cheeseburgers does not a fillet mignon make. You are not going to school for the reasons they want you to be going. You are not going to learn how to be a better slave. The only reason you are going to school is to learn how to think. Because the only difference between you and a monkey is your mind. So use it. No matter what you do, always be thinking, always be learning. In every experience, in every situation. And remember, it does not matter how much you know, it matters what you know. Intelligence is knowing what to know. Wisdom is knowing how to know what to know. Knowing what to spend your time thinking about is everything. Feeling the beauty of your own magnificent thoughts flowing through your mind is it's own reward. You must love to hear yourself think, you must love the sound and feeling of your own thoughts moving and developing in your mind, and nothing else matters. This is the most priceless of luxuries, and must be earned. It is not a given, it does not come automatically. If it was, and if it did, everybody would be doing it. And they're not. Learn with a vengeance, like you intend to do damage, and don't stop until your thoughts are downright scary and almost lethal for the status quo to behold. But keep it all to yourself. Do not throw rocks down on the sheep below. Even though they will ask for it, beg for it, don't do it. Be peaceful and have respect and compassion for your fellow man. Nietzsche identified gravity as one of the planes of hell. So keep a sense of humor and a lightness in your step. Your gonna need it when things get too heavy so you can break it up with comic relief. Master language, speaking, and writing and you will master thinking. After all, your thoughts are merely reflections of your manner of speaking. Talk and write like a slave and you will think like a slave. Talk and write like a master and you will think like a master. Do not use your power to control others, only to master yourself. Do not compare yourself to those around you. Imagine an impossible ideal and measure yourself according to it. Do not beat yourself up because you cannot reach this impossible ideal, just do the best you can. It is to be seen as a guide, a point of reference, a way to know which way to go. Do not be afraid of failure and do not be afraid of success. Every experience is always just a means for learning how to think and behave better. Julien, I do not know if it is a good idea or not for you to boycott all music made after Y2K. But the fact that you chose to do so shows that you have a sense of commitment, and can dedicate yourself to a worthy cause. Giving a straight up middle finger to the heros of your generation is a very admirable trait. It is what I did as well. My generation invented the power ballad, some of the worst music ever to float across the radio waves. Do a YouTube search for the song "Sister Christian" by the band Night Ranger and you will see what I mean. It was also the generation of Reaganomics and the beginning of the Bush dynasty. This paved the way for the cons to realize that they could actually dump a chump like Trump on the people and he could actually win. Go team U.S.A.! Yay! What will they think of next?!!! Don't even try to figure out why people cannot tell the difference between their asses and a hole in the ground. It is baffling, confusing and frustrating, but know that just when you think there is no way that it could get any more stupid, it doubles. Ignore that noise and stay focused. When you have ridden shooting stars you will laugh at the schmucks who tell you that money and status are the measures of your success. They are fools of the first division who have no idea what they are even talking about. Every thing is cyclical. It all runs in cycles. Things come and go and come back and go again. Learn to see the patterns. Patterns in both the small scale, as in your personal life, and on the large scale, as in society, nature, and the universe. The universe vibrates at a particular frequency (8Hz). Everything vibrates at some particular frequency.  Since the theme we are discussing is the power of the mind it is very interesting to note: "If the two hemispheres of our brain are synchronized with each other at 8Hz, they work more harmoniously and with a maximum flow of information. In other words, the frequency of 8Hz seems to be the key to the full and sovereign activation potential of our brain."  The site I got this from goes on to say that normal music, where the 'A' note is tuned to 440hz, is wrong and fucks up your brain. According to the site, music that has the 'A' note tuned to 432hz is in perfect harmony with the 8Hz frequency of nature and the universe and so is good for you and heals your mind.  For more information on vibrations and healing musical vibrations go to the sight: attunedvibrations.com/432hz-healing/. "The Law of vibration might not be as well known as the Law of Attraction. However - the Law of Vibration serves as the foundation for the Law of Attraction. To understand this it is important to know that everything is energy. Science, through Quantum Physics, is showing us that everything in our universe is energy. When we go down to a sub-atomic level we do not find matter, but pure energy. Some call this the unified field or the matrix. Others talk about pure potentiality - all being energy." There is a reason I am discussing this. The Law of Attraction says that you attract the things that happen to you, the events and what not. The vibratory frequencies of your body and mind determine what you attract. Negative vibrations attract negative things, positive vibrations attract positive things. You need to start learning how to change and control the vibrations in your body and mind. You do this by meditating.  Samantha has been meditating since she was a teen-ager. You don't so much want to build your mind, as in knowledge only. This is folly and vanity. Rather you want to practice meditation so as to align your mind with the divine will. If you fail to understand the difference, you will feel the pain of our always happy King Solomon, who is a real blast at parties, as this quote from the NIV Hebrew Bible illustrates:

16 I said to myself, “Look, I have increased in wisdom more than anyone who has ruled over Jerusalem before me; I have experienced much of wisdom and knowledge.” 17 Then I applied myself to the understanding of wisdom, and also of madness and folly, but I learned that this, too, is a chasing after the wind. 18 For with much wisdom comes much sorrow;  the more knowledge, the more grief.

Would someone please get the good king his happy pills? Having enormous amounts of knowledge and brain-power is not the way. Tuning the mind to the GodStation is. Besides, as Socrates pointed out, and the band Kansas updated in a song: "If I claim to be a wise man, it surely means that I don't know." Furthermore, as Nietzsche tells us, gravity has its own plane in hell. Lighten up, but don't be phony about it. It does no good to put good icing on a rotten cake. You've got to get to the root of things, know what to know. Nothing more, nothing less. Change the vibration, change your reality.

Go To Part 2.5