#its so wild to see my daily experiences put into fancy words

[yv-sketches]

A tiny Italian professor spent 60 minutes explaining fandom in academic language. When he asked if anyone was in a fandom the whole lecture hall went dead quiet. Except for one person who admitted to writing star trek fanfic. I wonder what their ao3 is

[dancinginthesliverglow]

Assistant, Scholar, Son

By @art-in-the-sunlight for @alicecasch in the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Tony Stark & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Ned Leeds & Michelle Jones, Tony Stark & James Rhodes, Tony Stark & Happy Hogan

Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, James Rhodes, Happy Hogan, Jim Mortia, Roger Harrington, Mr. Delmar

Summary: “Historical/Old Fashioned AU” and “Tony is Peter’s teacher.” I’d really love to see small moments where Tony realizes that he loves Peter (like that “oh. Oh” moment in fics, but make it platonic). Also, could you include a scene where they’re both looking at the stars/at a sunset/sunrise? (Just, give me pretty skies and I’ll squeal happily for hours basically). Also I love when MJ and Ned have to interact with Tony bc Peter’s being a dumbass and they’re concerned friends. 

Its the 1900s. Ned gets sick, and in order to help pay the doctor fees, Peter looks for a job. He comes across James Rhodes, who believes his best friend Tony Stark is in need of an assistant. But does he really need an assistant? Or something more?

…okay so I swear I intended this to be around 2000-3000 words. I don’t know how it ended up at 5700 words with a few time gaps. I had a lot of fun planning and writing this out, and I hope you enjoy it :)

ao3 link

Peter paced worriedly outside of the orphanage boy’s bedrooms. He shared a worried glance with MJ, who was sitting with her head in her hands nearby.

“He’s never stayed this long, MJ.” Peter muttered under his breath, clearly stressed. “What- Do you think-”

“I don’t know Peter.” MJ responded. She raised her head out of her hands and looked at Peter. 

“I-” Peter started, but he was interrupted by the door opening. The orphanage Director, Roger Harrington and Doctor Morita stepped out. 

Doctor Morita was talking to the Director. “He’s still hanging in there, but he’s going to need doses more frequently. I recommend a spoonful daily, before breakfast.” 

Director Harrington nodded solemnly. “Thanks for the help, Doctor.” He handed Doctor Morita a pouch full of coins, and then showed the Doctor out.

Peter and MJ went into the room. In the furthest bed lay their best friend, Ned Leeds. He was fast asleep, presumably from the medicine the Doctor gave him. Peter sat down next to Ned and took his hand. “Ned,”  Peter said, his voice wavering slightly. “You gotta fight this. I know you can do it.” 

MJ replaced the hot, damp cloth on Ned’s forehead with a cool one. “That’s right, loser. Peter would fall apart without you.”

“Hey!” Peter said indignantly. 

MJ leveled Peter with a look. 

Peter sighed, knowing it was true. 

Director Harrington walked back into the room. “Peter, MJ, I know you guys want to stay with Ned but he needs to rest now.”

“How is he?” MJ inquired.

“Doc says he’s going to need daily doses of medicine. We’re barely able to cover the costs of medicine as it is.” The director sat down on the bed next to Ned’s.

“I can get another job?” said Peter. “Mr. Delmar only needs me in the evenings when he’s cleaning and closing up the shop. I could get the other kids, Abe and Jason to help with my chores!” 

“I could help too,” interjected MJ. “Mrs. Daly’s been asking if I can stay longer, and work more days in her shop.” 

Director Harrington sighed. “If you can convince Abe and Jason to cover your chores, go ahead.” He stood up. “You two need to take care of yourselves, no overworking alright? You’re no help to Ned if you get sick.” Director Harrington pulled them in for a side hug. “It’ll be alright, kiddos. Ned will recover. Have some faith, alright?”

MJ and Peter nodded, and held onto each other tightly. Ned had to get better. He would. 

~ ~ ~

The next day, Peter was at the market looking for a job. He asked the local farmers, fishermen, barbers, even blacksmiths and butchers, but they all turned him away due to inexperience or because he wasn’t able to commit to a full time job. (Mr. Delmar was kind to Peter, almost like an uncle, and he let Peter take home half the shop’s tips to take care of Ned. Peter wasn’t going to give it up).

After getting rejected by the bookmaker (he had taken one look at Peter’s worn down clothing and turned away) Peter began to slowly walk out. He rarely got the opportunity to read anymore and he figured a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. Peter wandered into the science section, and quietly pulled The Scientific Revolution: Wave Theory of Light by Stark, Anthony off the shelf. 

It was then he overheard two men across the book maker’s shop talking. 

“And it’s not like Stark at all to send us on a wild goose chase?” Huffed the first man, clearly annoyed. 

“Just keep looking. Tones said the book was here.” said the second man. He dressed in an army uniform, and had several medals hanging on his jacket. 

“What was the name of the book?”

The army man pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “The Revolution in Science, by Rupert A. Hall.” 

Peter looked up from this book, at the shelf. The Revolution in Science, by Rupert A. Hall sat right in front of him.

Peter picked up the book and made his way over to the men. “Uh, excuse me sir? I couldn’t help overhearing that you were looking for this book?”

The army man took the book and read the spine. “The Revolution in Science, by Rupert A. Hall. Huh, thanks kiddo.” He handed the book to the second man, who went to pay for it, before studying Peter. “What’s your name, son? How well can you read?”

“I’m Peter. I can read fairly well and I can get through most books, sir”

“That’s impressive, Peter. Who taught you?”

“My parents, Ben and Mary Parker, taught me the basics, sir. They were scientists.”

“The Parkers.” The army man turned to the second man, who had just returned, book in hand. “Didn’t Tones work with them a few times?” 

The second man shrugged. 

“I heard they died a few years ago.” The army man said, not unkindly. He waited to see Peter nod before continuing. “I’m sorry for your loss. You must be looking for work?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come with me. My friend needs an assistant. I can’t promise anything but an opportunity. You’ll have to work hard, but if you take after your parents, you should be fine.”

“I… wow thank you sir!” Peter put his book The Scientific Revolution: Wave Theory of Light back on the shelf followed the army man to a carriage waiting outside the shop.

“It’s Colonel Rhodes.” The Colonel gestured to the second man who was prepping the horses to travel. “That’s Happy. He’s Tones’ carriage driver.” 

“He doesn’t seem very happy, for someone named Happy.” Peter mused. Colonel Rhodes snorted in amusement, before climbing into the carriage with Peter. 

~ ~ ~

Half an hour later, Peter was following Colonel Rhodes into the largest mansion - if it could even be called that - he had seen in his entire life. Peter struggled not to gape as they walked into the hall. The ceiling was twice as high as a normal house, and that was just the first floor. Fancy paintings and sculpture tastefully lined the walls. Peter was almost scared of touching anything, lest it break.

“Rhodeybear! You’re back!” Peter looked forward and saw a man quickly descend from the grand staircase towards them. 

“Wait- did you mean Mr. Stark as in The physicist Stark? The Mr. Stark who is single handedly revolutionizing the field of physics and mathematics? That Mr. Stark?” Peter hissed worriedly under his voice. 

Colonel Rhodes put a hand on Peter’s shoulder to reassure him. “Hey Tones! How have you been doing?”

Mr. Stark looked sad for a moment. “Uh, nevermind about that.” He spotted Peter. “Who is this? He isn’t mine, is he?” Tony joked, studying Peter. Peter felt as if he was under a microscope. He was all too aware of the large gap in social status. Peter Parker, the orphan, and Tony Stark, one of the richest men in the entire known world.

Colonel Rhodes clapped Peter on the back. “I hope not. This is Parkers’ kid, Peter. I was thinking, since Pepper returned to her brother’s you could use an assistant.”

“And you brought me a child? No, no, nope. Rhodey, you know I don’t do kids.” Mr. Stark turned away and headed down the hallway, to the kitchen. 

Colonel Rhodes followed him, pulling Peter. “Tony, you know I leave for the army tomorrow. You’re going to need someone around.”

“I have Happy.”

“Happy’s only here on weekends, and an hour on weekdays.”

Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes stared down at each other across a table. Peter uncomfortably shifted on his feet, wishing he was anywhere else but there.

After almost a minute, Mr. Stark looked away. “Fine, only for you, Rhodeybear.” 

“Thank you, Tony. I think you guys might get along. He was reading your book when I found him.”

“Oh?” Mr. Stark turned towards Peter, curious. “What did you think?”

“Um, I didn’t understand all of it - but the parts that I did I thought it was really interesting! I tried replicating some of the experiments, the one where you observe the color spectrum in the shadow of a slit of paper with my friends but we weren’t able to get the right measurements.”

“What materials were you using?”

“Um, just some paper from my Director at the orphanage? We used a knife to make the slit, and an open window for the light source.”

Mr. Stark shook his head. “You need more sophisticated tools. The slit should be less than a tenth of a millimeter, and most knives are about 3 to 6 millimeters wide.”

Peter looked thoughtful. “Would a needle work? The tip is much smaller than a knife, but I’m not sure if it’s less than a tenth of a millimeter.”

“It’s much closer, and I suppose you might be able to get the right size.” Tony mused. You’d have to consider the type of paper and thickness as well…”

Beside Peter, Colonel Rhodes gave Mr. Stark a triumphant smile. “See? I knew it would work out.” He turned to Peter. “Can you start tomorrow?”

“Yes sir. I’m available in the morning and afternoon from Mondays to Saturdays, and I’m free all day on Sunday.”

“Sounds good.” replied Mr. Stark. He stepped forward, and shook Peter’s hand. “I look forward to working with you, Peter Parker.”

“Me too, Mr. Stark.”

~ ~ ~

The next morning, Happy arrived in the carriage at the orphanage to pick up Peter. Peter quickly got in the carriage, ignoring the amazed and suspicious glances of the other orphanage kids. In reality, the ride wasn’t too long, but the lack of conversation and Peter’s nerves make the ride seem hours long. Colonel Rhodes wasn’t too clear about Peter’s job description the day before. Peter knew he’s going to help Mr. Stark out with his work, but what exactly that entails, Peter has no idea. 

Eventually the carriage pulled to a stop outside Mr. Stark’s mansion. Peter climbed out, thanked Happy for the ride, before walking up to the door and knocking. On the first knock, the door swung open. Peter leaned in. “Uh, hello? Mr. Stark?”

Presumably Mr. Stark called out a reply, but it’s muffled. Peter cautiously entered, wiped his shoes and made his way over to where the voice came from. He ends up in the kitchen, and spots Tony putting away a half empty bottle of alcohol. 

Hearing Peter come in, Tony glanced behind. “Hey kiddo.”

“Hello Mr. Stark.” 

“Rhodey just left for the army yesterday, along with a good portion of my bourbon. I suppose I’ll have to replenish my stash.” Mr. Stark turned around, and studied Peter. “You’re in dire need of a wardrobe upgrade. Systemic, top to bottom, 100 point restoration. I’ll have Happy call someone for this Sunday.”

Mr. Stark spun on his heel and left the kitchen, waving for Peter to follow him. “When did your interest in science start?”

“When I was younger, before my parents passed, they used to show me their blueprints and sketches. Part of their research was working on steam trains and railways. They used to dream about travelling from one side of the country to the hour in a matter of hours. I know it was purely theoretical, and we’re decades or even centuries off from it actually happening but the idea of travelling at that speed is fascinating!” 

Mr. Stark stopped in front of a closed door. He placed a hand on the door knob and then turned to Peter. “It may not be as far away as you think.” said Mr. Stark with a smile, before opening the door. 

“Woah…” Peter slowly entered the room, completely in awe. The walls were covered in blueprints, sketches and calculations. Peter recognized the sketches on the wall on the left from Mr. Stark’s book on Wave theory of light. The far wall had various sketches of an engine, from multiple angles. In the center was the steam train sketch that his parents had shown him. 

Tony walked over to the far wall, and took one of the sketches off the wall. “Several years ago, I worked on his version of the steam train with your parents.” He handed Peter the sketch.

“This-this is the same one they showed me. How-” Peter traces his parents signatures on the bottom right.

“I only worked on one steam train project with your parents. They had their hearts set on this project. It was like they could already see it, the finished product functioning. Sadly they passed away before we could start any of the actual buildings. Somehow it felt wrong to build it without them.” Mr. Stark gazed at the sketches, with an emotion Peter couldn’t quite pin down. “So I improved their systems, made them more efficient and worked on other projects.”

“Like your book?”

“Yes. Among other things.” Tony turned to face Peter. “How do you feel about following in your parents’ footsteps? I think it’s about time Mary and Richard’s dreams start coming true.”

“I…” tears threatened to fall from Peter’s eyes.

“You don’t have to decide now.”

“No! I’d love to work on the steam engine. I just never imagined in my wildest dreams I would be able too.”

“Well, it is going to be a lot of work. You’re going to need some formal education in physics, chemistry and engineering.”

Peter nodded eagerly. “I can do it!”

Mr. Stark laughed. “Alright, Underoos. Let’s turn you into a proper student. You’re in dire need of supplies. Textbooks, chalkboards, and wardrobe upgrade. Systemic, top to bottom, 100 point restoration. I’ll arrange something with Happy. For now, let’s see where you’re at…” 

Mr. Stark and Peter spent the rest of the day pouring over textbooks together in the workshop. Mr. Stark quizzed Peter on the topics he was familiar with until he had a good idea of where Peter was, academically. Then Mr. Stark started filling in the gaps and teaching him the new material that Peter had missed. Peter lost track of time. It had been far too long since Peter had a mentor, someone who had the same passion for physics and someone who he could bounce theories and questions off. 

Before he knew it, the sun was approaching the horizon, and it was time for Peter to leave for his second job with Mr. Delmar. Tony stood at the door to his mansion, and waved Peter off with a nostalgic, yet content look on his face. 

Peter beamed at him, practically bouncing on his toes. For a strange moment, Peter felt the urge to hug Mr. Stark, the way he would hug MJ or Ned, or even his parents before leaving them. Peter shook off the feeling. Mr. Stark was just his employer… right? Somehow, after the day they had, ‘employer’ didn’t quite fit. Peter gave Mr. Stark one last wave before getting into the carriage with Happy.  

~ ~ ~

When Peter arrived back at the orphanage later that night, Ned was waiting for him near his bunk bed.

“Peter! How did it go? I can’t believe you actually got to work with the Mr. Stark! This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me!” exclaimed Ned. He was sitting at the corner of the bed next to Peter’s. His eyes were a little red and there was a faint glimmer of sweat on his forehead, but his eyes were focused. It was the best Peter had seen him in a few days.

“It was amazing Ned!” replied Peter with equal enthusiasm. He kicked off his shoes and stood on his bed, bouncing lightly. “He showed me his workshop - you won’t believe it. He has so many projects! He’s done so much more on the Wave Theory of Light! And remember that project that I told you that my parents were working on? The steam train idea? It turns out he was working on it with my parents!”

“Dude that is so amazing! I-” 

Hearing the commotion, Director Harrington walked into the room. “Hey! Kids, it’s night time! Settle down. Peter, get off your bed and go wash up. Ned, you need to get some rest.”  

“But Peter just got back -”

“I wanna talk to Ned -”

Director Harrington held up his hand, and they fell silent. “I know you’re excited to see each other and talk about Peter’s job. Believe me, I know. But the youngest kids are already asleep, and the rest are getting ready for bed.”

Peter looked around, and saw the younger kids already curled up under their blankets. Reluctantly they nodded, and Director Harrington left. 

Peter got down from his bed, as Ned got up. They shared a warm hug, and Peter gently rested his head on the side of Ned’s. He could feel Ned’s heartbeat faintly, and something in him, a weight that had been following him around marginally relaxed. Ned was okay. Everything was going to be okay. 

“I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, okay? Mr. Stark’s really amazing.” Peter whispered to Ned as he pulled away. 

“I can’t wait! Good night Peter.” Ned whispered back. 

“Good night Ned.”

Ned walked back to his bunk, and Peter quietly grabbed his pajamas and tiptoed out of the room to clean up before sleep. 

~ ~ ~

The rest of the week passed similarly. Peter wakes up before sunrise, quickly eats and does as many of his chores around the orphanage as he can before Happy arrives. Then, he goes to study with Mr. Stark and work on the steam train plans for the rest of the day. Just before supper, Peter goes to Mr. Delmar’s to help serve food and clean up. Afterward, he walks back to the orphanage in the night, manages to tell MJ and Ned a few quiet, exhausted yet ecstatic words about his time with Mr. Stark before Director Harrington sends them to bed. Every night, Peter falls asleep before his head hits the pillow.

~ ~ ~

On Sunday, Peter woke up at the crack of dawn. He quickly ate, did his morning chores, waved MJ off as usual (with the promise of telling her everything when he got back) and jumped into the carriage with Happy. 

Unlike usual, when Peter reached the mansion, Mr. Stark was impatiently waiting at the door. 

Peter jumped out of the carriage, excitement shining on his face. “Good morning Mr. Stark! I can’t wait to get started again!” 

“Uh uh. Not in those clothes, you’re not. You got a pass these past few days, but today if you’re going to be a scholar, you need to look the part and have the right materials, Underoos.”

Peter stopped in his tracks. “Um…”

Without missing a beat, Mr. Stark draped an arm over Peter’s shoulders and directed him back into the carriage. “We’re going shopping.”

“Shopping?” echoed Peter, a little bewildered. 

~ ~ ~

Half an hour later, Mr. Stark, Peter and Happy were standing in a tailor’s shop. The tailor took a few measurements, and then handed Peter a dress shirt and pants, before directing him to a room at the back of the shop “Go try these on. They should be a close fit.” 

Peter looked at the clothes. It wasn’t the same quality suits that Mr. Stark normally wore, but it was far above Peter’s regular clothes.

“Mr. Stark I couldn’t-”

Mr. Stark shook his head. “Uh uh. If you think I’m going to tinker around with my inventions and current research in those, you are mistaken, Underoos. Now try them on, let’s see.” 

Peter walked into the back room and gulped nervously. He could pay for half a month’s worth of medicine with the dress shirt alone. Peter carefully put the dress shirt and pants on. Just as the tailor predicted, the pants and shirt fit nearly perfectly.

Outside, Mr. Stark was arguing, or maybe bantering with Happy, but the moment the door opened they both fell silent. 

Happy huffed, turned to Mr. Stark and said, “I told you, he could’ve been your twin.” Mr. Stark muttered something back to Happy, who then left. 

Mr. Stark turned to Peter before nodding. “Much better.”

“Um, is this really okay?” Peter looked up at Tony hesitantly. “I mean…”

Mr. Stark waved the question away. “I told you yesterday, Underoos. 100 point restoration. We’ll make a scholar of you yet.” Mr. Stark turned to the tailor. “We’ll order 3 pairs of dress shirts and pants, in addition to these.” 

“Three pairs?!” Peter’s incredulous tone echoed around the shop.

Mr. Stark turned around, heading after Happy. “Come on, kiddo. We have a couple more stops.” 

Peter dutifully followed Mr. Stark out, into another shop.

~ ~ ~

By the end of the morning, Peter had gotten a pair of new clothes, a new pencil case, box of pencils, a box of chalk, a few slates and a school bag. They were about to leave, when a salesman stepped in front of Mr. Stark.

“Hello good sir! Might I interest you and your son in some fashionable hats?” 

“S-son?” Peter squeaked, turning red. Distantly, he heard Mr. Stark chuckle in amusement.

The salesman picked a curved, pencil grey hat and placed it on Peter’s head. It fell down, covering his eyes. 

“Hmm, perhaps something smaller.” In a flash, the salesman took the hat off Peter’s head, and grabbed a slightly smaller black hat with a ribbon around it. 

Peter ducked out of the way before the salesman could put it on his head. “I-I really don’t think -” Stuttered Peter, clearly flustered by the misinterpretation. 

Suddenly, Peter felt a hand on his back, nudging him forward. Peter’s head snapped to Mr. Stark. “My son and I think that’s a wonderful idea.” said Tony, grinning ear to ear. 

Peter turned beet red. 

“Let’s try the small black newport hat, at the back.” Suggested Mr. Stark.

“A wonderful choice sir!” The salesman handed the hat to Mr. Stark, who gently placed it on Peter’s head. The salesman held up a mirror for Peter to see. 

Peter stared at himself. The newport hat complimented his dress shirt well. He looked… different, but in a good way. Smart, more sophisticated, perhaps. Peter stood up straighter, and turned his head to the side, almost mesmerized. A small bit of his curly brown hair poked out from under his hat. Peter tucked it back in, and looked at Mr. Stark. “I like it.”

Mr. Stark agreed. “It suits you.” He turned to the salesman. “We’ll get it.”

A few minutes later, Mr. Stark and Peter were walking back to the carriage where Happy was waiting with his new newport hat. Peter climbed into the carriage after Mr. Stark, took off his hat and stared at it contemplatively. 

The carriage started moving. Mr. Stark nudged Peter gently with his elbow. “You’re kinda quiet, Underoos. Everything okay?”

Peter nodded. 

“I hope I didn’t bother you with the ‘my son’ comment?” Mr. Stark said it jokingly, but Peter could tell it was a genuine question. 

“No no, it’s - that was fine. It just surprised me.” Peter looked up at Mr. Stark and gave him a smile.

“So what’s up then? If the last day is anything to go by, normally you’d be chatting away.”

Peter shrugged. “It’s just a lot.” He held up the hat and his bag, full of school supplies. “This used to be my life, before my parents… Before the orphanage. It’s just bringing back memories, I guess.” 

The carriage wheel went over a rock, and Mr. Stark grabbed Peter’s shoulder to steady him. For the longest moment, they were silent, before Mr. Stark spoke up. “I get it, you know? I lost my parents too. Granted, I was older and the situation was drastically different…” Mr. Stark cleared his throat. “My mom, she was a pianist. She had this way of playing, that was so graceful, so… warm. We were never good at communicating, except when we were playing on the piano. It was like the music would speak for us, in our special language.”

“After she passed, I couldn’t barely look at the piano. I boarded up the room, and nearly threw the key away. It wasn’t until about three years ago that Pepper, my uh, friend convinced me to open the room. I thought it was a bad idea. I thought all that hurt would come flooding back. And some of it did, but along with it…”

Peter nodded in understanding. “Yea. It’s like you got a small piece of them back.”

“Yea, something like that.”

The carriage came to a stop abruptly, ending the moment. Peter stuck his head out the side, and realized that they’re already back at the mansion. Mr. Stark and Peter climbed out and headed inside. 

“How about some lunch?” suggested Mr. Stark. Peter agrees,  and then turns red when his stomach growls audibly. Mr. Stark laughed not unkindly, ruffled Peter’s hair and then went to the kitchen. Peter followed him, still red, but smiling. 

Mr. Stark and Peter resumed working in the workshop. It’s equally as studious as the day before, except there’s an air of familiarity that wasn’t there before. Just like yesterday, Peter’s attention was consumed by his excitement to learn, and he doesn’t notice the time fly by, until it’s approaching sunset. Mr. Stark asked Peter if he had to leave, but it’s Peter’s day off from Mr. Delmar, so he says no. Mr. Stark turns on a few oil lamps and they continue working into the night.

~ ~ ~

Eventually Mr. Stark straightens up and stretches. There’s a few quiet cracks, at which Peter snorted, before looking outside, noticing that it’s already dark and the stars are out.”

“I should probably get back soon.”

(Tony follows Peter’s line of sight until he’s looking outside at the night sky with Peter. Tony looks back at Peter. His face is peaceful, slightly sleepy, and in the dim lighting Tony can see part of the night sky reflected in Peter’s eyes. He feels a surge of protectiveness, and affection..? Tony shakes the feeling off, and an idea suddenly comes to him.)

Peter followed Mr. Stark upstairs, and watched curiously as he pulled a large cloth off… a telescope. “Woah… can I, Mr. Stark?”

Mr. Stark arranged the telescope, and fiddled with the knobs for a moment before stepping away and looking at Peter. “Go ahead, kid.”

Peter steps closer to the telescope and peered inside. “Woah…” Peter turned to Mr. Stark. “This is amazing Mr. Stark!” Peter peered back into the telescope, still in awe of the beautiful sight. He felt Mr. Stark lay his arm across Peter’s shoulders. The warmth of his arm was nice in the cold night. 

(Peter stared up at him with complete awe and eagerness. That feeling from earlier comes back, ten fold. It tells him to protect Peter, to keep him safe, warm and happy. It compels Tony to step closer and lay his arm over Peter’s shoulders. He feels Peter lean slightly into the half side hug and -

oh.

Oh.

It’s love. 

He loves Peter. 

Tony loves Peter, as if he were his own son. The revelation rocks his world. When did this happen? Why now? What is he supposed to do?)

Unknown to Mr. Stark’s world shattering revelation, Peter shivered and sniffed in the cold air, before straightening up and fully leaning into Mr. Stark’s side. “‘ts cold.”

“Yea.” Mr. Stark exhaled. “Let’s get you home, Underoos.” 

Peter nodded, and allowed Mr. Stark to lead him back inside and wrap one of his coats around Peter. He called for Happy, who came with the carriage. This time, before Peter gets in the carriage, Mr. Stark wraps him a hug, before entering the carriage with Peter. Sleepy and cold, Peter pulls Mr. Stark’s coat around himself tightly. The last thing he remembers was resting his head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder, the sensation of an arm wrapping around him keeping him warm and falling asleep.  

~ ~ ~

When Peter woke up the next day, he felt awful. His head throbbed, this throat felt like sandpaper and he felt like he was freezing. Peter cracked an eye open, and painful bright light sears through his brain. Peter cries out in pain and shuts his eyes.

Hearing Peter, Director Harrington walked over. “Hey Peter, it’s time to get up.” When Peter didn’t move, Director Harrington frowned. (It was uncharacteristic of Peter not to be awake by now). He laid a hand over Peter’s head, and sweared under his breath when he felt Peter’s boiling forehead. 

“What’s wrong with him?” MJ worriedly inquires from behind the Director. He quickly turned around and saw her and Ned.

“He’s sick. I think it’s just because he’s been pushing himself so hard this past week. Honestly, I was expecting this to happen days ago.” Director Harrington stood up. “He’ll be alright. He just needs rest. I’ll send a message to Mr. Stark telling him Peter won’t be able to attend for a few days.”

MJ nods. She knows what she has to do. 

~ ~ ~

After MJ’s shift finished, she made her way to Mr. Stark’s mansion. Steeling her nerves, she firmly knocked on the door and waited. One minute, two minutes… just when MJ thought was wouldn’t get an answer, Mr. Stark opened the door.

He frowned. “Do I know you?”

“I’m here about Peter.”

“Come in.” Mr. Stark stepped out of the way, welcoming MJ inside. “Is he okay?”

MJ looked around the mansion. Part of her admires it; everything looked so elegant. Part of her critiqued it, wondering how it was built, and how the Stark family inherited their fortune. 

“Peter’s sick. He’s been overworking himself, with everything he needs to do at the orphanage, with you and Mr. Delmar.” MJ explains. “He’s been going to sleep really late, and forcing himself to wake up before sunrise, and he’s on his feet pretty much the entire day.”

In a single moment, it looked as if Mr. Stark aged years. The wrinkles in his face stood out, and he looked worried. Extremely worried. MJ knew that Peter was attached to Mr. Stark (what science nerd wouldn’t be), but she didn’t expect that Mr. Stark would reciprocate the sentiment equally. 

Mr. Stark took a moment, but eventually he composed himself. “Thank you for telling me. Are you headed back to the orphanage?”

“Yea.”

“I’ll give you a ride back.” Mr. Stark left to call Happy, completely missing MJ’s surprised expression. 

Mr. Stark comes back a few minutes later, with his coat. “I’ll head back with you. It seems like I need to have a few words with Peter, about responsibility.” 

MJ would’ve been worried, if Mr. Stark hadn’t sounded so… parental. Not for the first time, MJ wondered what exactly had they done, for Peter and Mr. Stark to feel so strongly for the other in such a short time. Instead, she just nodded.

“Why is he overworking himself?”

MJ’s mouth went dry, and she looked away at her feet. So Peter hadn’t told Mr. Stark then. “Our friend, Ned - he’s sick. Like really sick.” She quickly glanced at Mr. Stark. He looked contemplative. “Director Harrington is doing what he can, but the doctor visits and the medicine - it’s really expensive. Peter and I are paying for most of it.”

Although Mr. Stark didn’t say anything, MJ can practically hear him understanding. Peter always puts the needs of his loved ones above himself, and they both know it.

Happy arrived with the carriage in front. They climbed in and headed for the orphanage. 

~ ~ ~

Peter’s awareness came back, and he felt the bed sink down on his left. At the edge of unconsciousness and in pain, Peter whimpers unintelligibly and tries to stick his head under the blanket. 

Suddenly, there was a hand softly brushing through his hair and rubbing at his scalp. His headache began to ease up for the first time, and Peter cracked his eyes open. There was a blurry figure that looked awfully familiar sitting on his bed.

“Hey Underoos. How are you feeling?” Mr. Stark asked softly.

Peter closed his eyes, and tilted his head towards Mr. Stark’s hand, silently asking for him to continue.

Above him, Peter heard Mr. Stark chuckled. “Peter, it’s dinner time. You need to eat.”

With a groan Peter opened his eyes again, this time fully. It takes a moment, but his vision focuses. Mr. Stark helped Peter sit up, and then held out a bowl of soup with a spoon. Peter held his palms flat against the bowl, and let the steam rise against his face, trying to absorb the heat.

“Kiddo, you’re supposed to eat it.” 

Peter grumbled, but picked up the spoon and began slowly eating. 

Mr. Stark waited for Peter to finish half of his soup before speaking up, his tone gentle. “Peter, you were seriously overworking yourself.”

Peter swallowed his soup, and then responded, “Ned needs the money. He’s-”

“- sick, I know. MJ told me.” The surprise must’ve shown on his face because Mr. Stark elaborated. “She came to see me earlier today, to tell me that you were working yourself sick trying to pay for Ned’s medicine.”

Peter opened his mouth to defend his actions, but Mr. Stark interrupted him. “Underoos, why didn’t you tell me?” He chided, gently. “I would’ve helped you.”

“I - really?” Peter looked at Mr. Stark in hope. 

Tony nodded. “Anything, Peter.”

Peter put the soup aside, leaned over and hugged Mr. Stark tightly. “Thank you so much, Mr. Stark. You have no idea - it means so much to me.”

“Anything, Peter. Although you have to concentrate on getting better, and taking care of yourself. I don’t want to hear that you’re sick and refined to bed for days, geez. I nearly got a heart attack when I received the message this morning.”

Peter laughs weakly. Mr. Stark handed him back the soup, and sat with Peter as he finished it. When Peter’s done, Mr. Stark takes the bowl, and helps Peter crawl back under the covers. Peter rolled onto his side, facing Mr. Stark, and silently asking. 

Above him, Peter heard Mr. Stark huff, in amusement. A moment later he felt Mr. Stark’s hand softly brushes through his hair and rubs at his scalp. Peter falls asleep to the sensation. 

(When he’s sure Peter’s asleep, Tony leans over Peter, presses a kiss to his forehead and whispers “I love you.”)

The End. 

[crazygalore]

JOHN MILTON / SATAN ( THE DEVIL’S ADVOCATE ) NSFW ALPHABET

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He’s never bothered with such things in the past, but he’s never had a stable partner before. You - being the only person who’s managed to capture his ancient heart - on the other hand, are the sole witness to his more tender and caring side. So, after a thorough session of lovemaking, Milton will gladly cater to your immediate needs, then hold you until you fall asleep with your head on his chest. Sometimes, he even tells you stories about his fall from grace and rule in Hell, his voice soothing you into a peaceful slumber. In his arms, you feel safe from the evils of this world - which makes sense, because he is theoretically the most evil thing in this world. 

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On himself, he seriously couldn’t pick just one body part he enjoys. Partly because of his own legendary vanity, but also because he uses every single function of his body to further break the laws of God: With his eyes, he can watch acts that are not meant to be observed, with his mouth and nose he can sample and devour whatever his heart desires, with his hands he can touch and take whatever he wants, while his feet take him wherever he is unwelcome.

On yourself ? Honestly, Milton lusts for your whole being - body and soul - with the intensity of a thousand bruning suns. You are perfect in his eyes, a glorious creature he intends to love, spoil and protect until the end of time.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Anything goes. Cuming deep inside of you or your luscious mouth ? Fantastic ! Marking you with his seed ? Why not ! If you have a specific personal preference, he will gladly oblige. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He is a master of the universe, a creature of immense power, beyond human comprehension. Sometimes, he is there even if you don’t see him, and he enjoys watching you commit daily little sins. His favourite, though, is definitely onanism - there is nothing quite like the sight of you laying on the bed, your hand between your legs and your soft moans filling the seemingly empty room.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Milton’s been fucking around since the beginnings of time - and he never abstained. He’s done everything at least twice, and some of the sexual acts he has engaged into are at the peak of human depravity. 

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Surprisingly, missionary. He loves being able to look into your lust-filled gaze as he fucks you into the mattress. That being said, you guys have probably tried almost every sexual position there is, except for extremely acrobatic ones - and only because you blatantly refused to risk dislocating a hip or a shoulder in the name of sex.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Depending on the mood, Milton is either serious and passionate, or goofy and mischievous. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He keeps himself well groomed and neatly trimmed, like the vain fallen angel he is. Doesn’t usually shave down there, but he would di it, if you asked him to.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

You are the first and only person Milton has ever loved - and by the time he has met you, he was already anciet and embittered. He was drowning in a sea of darkness and moral degradation - and then you came into his life, like a glimmer of light and hope he didn’t even know he needed. Of course, he worships you body and soul, which is evident when he makes love to you, whispering words of adoration in your ear and peppering your face with tender kisses.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He used to do it whenever fancy struck him if he didn’t have a casual partner in handy. But ever since he’s met you, Milton no longer feels the need to indulge in this sort of recreational activity.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Everything under the sun. Seriously, he’s tried it all - even the more extreme stuff - and he’s not opposed to doing it all over again, as long as you’re on board. 

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

To quote the man himself “ everywhere “ - be it in the safety of your shared home, or someplace more exposed. Naturally, he won’t pressure you to have sex with him in places you are not comfortable doing it. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Your overall presence puts Milton in a state of perpetual desire. However, he does have a thing for seeing you wear sexy lingerie and provocative clothes in general. In his defense, he never claimed not to be a dirty old man. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Personally, Milton has no hard limits whatsoever, and almost anything works for him. However, anything that makes you uncomfortable or endangers your physical or psychological wellbeing is out of the question. He would never, ever, intentionally hurt you in any way.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Why not both ? 69 happens to be one of his most favourite positions of all times, and for a good reason. He gets to taste your most delicate flesh, while having your pretty little mouth wrapped around his girth.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It truly depends on the mood. He can be an absolute savage in bed, but he can also make slow and sensual love to you. Regardless of the pace, making love to Milton is always a passionate affair.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Any kind of sex is great sex in his book - especially when he has you as partner.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Oh, Milton’s a huge risk taker, for sure, and he is always open to trying out new things with you, both inside and outside the bedroom.  

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Milton’s a fallen angel, a master of the universe, an ancient entity of immeasurable power - and he has a stamina to match. He could literally fuck you for a thousand years without breaking a sweat. He never cums before you do, and he doesn’t need time to recover after he’s reached climax himself.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Yep, they are most definitely on the table. One of Milton’s favourite pastimes is tying you to the bed, with your legs spread and a vibrator taped to your most sensitive area and its remote resting securely in the palm of his hand. He will then go through a maddening routine of edging you and giving you multiple orgasms for hours, until you are practically in tears.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh, he’s the king of all teases. There is no lover on this earth who is more unfair than Milton. 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Milton’s not awfully loud, but he is definitely vocal. He will grunt, he will groan, he will moan and he will growl - but more importantly, he will whisper the dirties little things in your ear. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Milton can manifest his demonic traits at will - such as horns, claws, fangs, pitch black eyes and a long pointed tail. At first, he was hesitant to revealing these parts of him to you, but after you’ve expressed your appreciation for them, he began showing them to you more and more. The tail can come in handy during sex, if you catch my drift.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

His girth is long and thick, slightly curved towards the tip. Big enough to stretch you to the point where pleasure meets pain.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Highest sex drive you’ve ever seen. He’s the goddamn king of demons, for crying out loud.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He is a supernatural entity of immense power. He doesn’t need sleep. But he will quietly lay down next to you and gently hold you in his arms while you’re asleep.

[leggigoesabroad]

free rent living in my mind

Lyrical title, and all future lyrical blog titles from now until forever, will be from Taylor Swift’s LOVER which was released August 23rd and has already drastically improved my already great life.  It’s 18 songs of perfection and we aren’t worthy.  Rolling Stone and Vanity Fair have called it a career-capping masterpiece.  God this bitch just continues to show us that she’s the only person who ever matters and good lord I’d kill a man for her if she asked me to.

In the meantime, weeeeeeeeeee’re back!  Well, I am back, because I’m in Alaska and honestly that’s practically abroad.  It’s so far from everything except Canada and Russia and other parts of Alaska and life here is wild and so different and thus, Leggi has gone abroad again.  Currently sitting on my bed in my plush robe in my Veranda Suite, looking out into the seafoam green water of Endicott Arm and its little bits of glacier floating by.  Which I learned today were called “bergy bits,” isn’t that the most made up “technical term” you’ve ever heard?!  Someone was definitely sipping wine on a boat a while ago and saw some ice float by and said “lol look at those little iceberg pieces… those little…. ‘bergy bits!!!!!!!”

This journey begins a full week ago but I’ve literally been either gone all day, not had internet, or been too sleepy to even fathom blogging.  And yet I have so much to say and so much that I want to remember that I just MUST document it all, especially considering I’ll be back in June 2021 on a member trip with my company and two years is a long time to remember minutia.  I’m here on a site visit on the Seabourn Sojourn to experience the cruise firsthand, try out all of the shore excursions and visit tons of different vendors and partners, and make note of all details so I can answer all questions when we ultimately plan, sell, and execute this trip.  Or as I like to say, “someone’s gotta make sure it’s good enough, right?!”  One takeaway from this site visit is that it’s equal parts incredible and I’m pinching myself, and also at times I want to die and I’ve been close to full fledged panic attacks.  Don’t worry, we’ll get into all of it!! Probably in several different entries to keep attention span up.

We started by flying to Vancouver early Monday morning, August 19th.  After dropping bags at the hotel we immediately set off to do detailed site inspections of three hotels in the area (when we come back for the member trip we need a block of ~250 rooms so it’s no small feat) and then visited three different possible event venues for a welcome event the night our members arrive.  The first was called Grouse Mountain Resorts which is about a 20-minute drive to a gondola that takes you up to Grouse Mountain, a beautiful resort area overlooking all of Vancouver.  The area has so much to do once you’re up there – a ropes course, lumberjack show, bear sanctuary, massive chalet with dining options, etc.  We look for things that I never would have thought of or noticed before, especially when paying attention to the demographic of our members and also the realistic logistics of moving a group of about 450 people around.  Things like, “will members really want to come up the gondola after a long travel day and eat at the chalet, only to have to walk down a quarter mile path to do the lumberjack show? Which place will include tables and chairs so we don’t have to rent? What will keep their attention while also feeling special and unique to the area? How long is the walk from the bus to the gondola for people with mobility issues? What if someone wants to go back to the hotel early, how long will they have to wait? Will there be enough for kids to do?” On and on.  It’s pretty interesting, especially because I’m traveling with three people who have done tons of member trips and know exactly what works and what doesn’t.  Since I’ll be referencing them a lot, the three coworkers are Brooke (mostly in charge of the entire Once in a Lifetime Journeys team, travels over a third of the year doing site visits and member trips, not overly pleasant but I’m starting to wear her down), Ryan (other Journeys team member who will be Brooke’s co-manager on this cruise, we get along super well and he’s the one who encouraged me to apply for this Alaska trip, also fucking hilarious), and Nick (member services account manager like me who recently got promoted to be 50/50 for member services/journeys team and is my co-trip lead and also really great to be around.)  Brooke and Nick have done a bunch of member cruises before but it’s a first for me and Ryan so it’s been a good balance.  There’s also Yolanda, our Seabourn shore excursions expert/partner, who Nick and Brooke know well from previous cruises.  She’s originally from South Africa but lives in Holland and is honestly a goddamn nut.  Sometimes we love her deeply and sometimes we’re like YOLANDA WE CANNOT WITH YOU RIGHT NOW OH MY GODDDDDDDDDD.  More on that later as well. 

We spent Monday night in Vancouver doing the site inspections and then had a lovely, long dinner on the water with our Seabourn partners.  Wine like, FLOWED.  On Tuesday morning we went to the Capilano Suspension Bridge to do a site inspection for that as a possibility as a daytime activity for members before boarding the ship. I remembered being there a loooong time ago on our Vancouver trip as a kid (I want to say… 1999?  Mom, keep me honest) and I thought “wow, the bridge looked so much bigger when I was a kid!  This is nothing now!” Famous last words.  Got about halfway across and started panicking and couldn’t look down and told myself to just put one foot in front of another until I made it across.  That was all well and good, until you get across and realize the only way back IS ALSO THE BRIDGE.  As Hilary said upon reflecting on it when I told the family this, “I remember thinking, ‘there’s no way that’s the only possible way back.”  Sure is, sure is.  Ultimately after visiting the Capilano area, Grouse Mountain, the Vancouver Aquarium, and Science World (my personal favorite but got hardcore nixed…) we think we’re going to try to rent out Capilano for the evening and include food and drink and guided tours all around the park as our welcome event, and then just give members the morning at leisure.  We’ll see, all of that work comes AFTER the site visit, and I can’t think about After the Site Visit right now because I’ll cry because this ship is now my home and I refuse to leave.

On Tuesday morning, we went on the ship early while they were still turning it over from the departing guests and getting ready for all of us to board later.  We did a full tour and got to see all the different categories of suites available, because it’ll be important for us to know all the details when advertising and selling the trip.  Let me just tell you, this ship is fuggin dope.  To me, it’s a perfect size – about 225 cabins (not including crew) so it’s big enough that it doesn’t feel like a small little boutique liner, but small enough that you don’t get any of the creepy mass Carnival cruise line heebie jeebies and feel trapped on a skyscraper at sea.  It’s been a week and I already feel like I know everyone.  I keep joking that I’m the mayor of the ship and honestly it’s not ALL in my head, I’m very popular around here.  You’ll notice that theme running throughout these blogs, so consider yourselves warned.  It also helps that we are among the youngest people on the ship, as you could have guessed – I’d say about 60% of the population is in their 60s or above, and the remainder are spready through 50s/40s/30s.  There’s literally ONE child aboard, a little 3-year old boy that we are all obsessed with.  He wears bowties and suits to the formal dinners and little nautical themed clothing all other times, and carries his slinkie around everywhere wanting to play.  Nick said at lunch today “he’s 100% my favorite person on the ship.”

We finally officially boarded the ship around 4 pm on Tuesday and it was honestly so exciting.  I felt like a celebrity, especially because the entire staff knows that we are here for a site visit and I think has probably been told to pay us special attention.  The captain, his officers, the maitre’d, the sommelier, the hotel manager, the hospitality director, the executive chef, the Alaskan Ventures director, the cruise director (Jan who we despise, more on her later), all have specially introduced themselves to us and have greeted us by name since the first day.  I know the crew and staff all have manifests before we board with our names and pictures, but I’m honestly still floored at how impressive their memories are.  On the first night, I ordered a double vodka soda with extra lime and a splash of cranberry juice from the head bartender.  Three nights later, I hadn’t seen him since, I walked in and he made that exact same drink for me and just put it in front of me.  What the fuck?!?! The captain’s staff captain passes by me daily and says “Ms. Rice, hope you had a lovely evening!” I was like “sorry who are you?!”  I always fancied myself good at names and faces and now I’ve learned that perhaps a decade of marijuana usage has turned me into a trash brained human who has no special skills anymore.  TBD.

We spent the next day at sea, which I’ll pick up in the next bloggy bit (inspiration drawn from bergy bits.)

[veale2006-blog]

Words of Wisdom for Daily Life 5/22/21 1. What Is Pride? There is nothing into which the heart of man so easily falls as PRIDE, and yet there is no vice which is more frequently, more emphatically, and more eloquently condemned in Scripture.

Pride is a groundless thing. It standeth on the sands; or worse than that, it puts its foot on the billows which yield beneath its tread; or, worse still, it stands on bubbles, which soon must burst beneath its feet. Of all things pride has the worst foothold; it has no solid rock on earth whereon to place itself. We have reasons for almost everything, but we have no reasons for pride. Pride is a thing which should be unnatural to us, for we have nothing to be proud of.

Again, it is a brainless thing as well as a groundless thing; for it brings no profit with it. There is no wisdom in a self-exaltation. Other vices have some excuse, for men seem to gain by them; avarice, pleasure, lust, have some plea; but the man who is proud sells his soul cheaply. He opens wide the flood-gates of his heart, to let men see how deep is the flood within his soul; then suddenly it floweth out, and all is gone—and all is nothing, for one puff of empty wind, one word of sweet applause—the soul is gone, and not a drop is left. In almost every other sin, we gather up the ashes when the fire is gone; but here, what is left? The covetous man hath his shining gold, but what hath the proud man? He has less than he would have had without his pride, and is no gainer whatever. Pride wins no crown; men never honour it, not even the menial slaves of earth; for all men look down on the proud man, and think him less than themselves.

Again, pride is the maddest thing that can exist; it feeds upon its own vitals; it will take away its own life, that with its blood it may make a purple for its shoulders; it sappeth and undermineth its own house that it may build its pinnacles a little higher, and then the whole structure tumbleth down. Nothing proves men so mad as pride.

Then pride is a protean thing; it changes its shape; it is all forms in the world; you may find it in any fashion you may choose; you may see it in the beggar's rags as well as in the rich man's garments. It dwells with the rich, and with the poor. The man without a shoe to his foot may be as proud as if he were riding in a chariot. Pride can be found in every rank of society—among all classes of men. Sometimes it is an Arminian, and talks about the power of the creature; then it turns Calvinist, and boasts of its fancied security, forgetful of the Maker, who alone can keep our faith alive. Pride can profess any form of religion; it may be a Quaker, and wear no collar to its coat; it may be a Churchman, and worship God in splendid cathedrals; it may be a Dissenter, and go to the common meeting-house; it is one of the most Catholic things in the world, it attends all kinds of chapels and churches; go where you will, you will see pride. It cometh up with us to the house of God; it goeth with us to our houses; it is found on the mart and the exchange, in the streets, and everywhere.

Let me hint at one or two forms which it assumes. Sometimes pride takes the doctrinal shape; it teaches the doctrine of self-sufficiency; it tells us what man can do, and will not allow that we are lost, fallen, debased, and ruined creatures, as we are. It hates divine sovereignty, and rails at election. Then, if it is driven from that, it takes another form; it allows that the doctrine of free grace is true, but does not feel it. It acknowledges that salvation is of the Lord alone, but still it prompts men to seek heaven by their own works, even by the deeds of the law. And when driven from that, it will persuade men to join something with Christ in the matter of salvation; and when that is all rent up, and the poor rag of our righteousness is all burned, pride will get into the Christian's heart as well as the sinner's—it will flourish under the name of self-sufficiency, teaching the Christian that he is "rich and increased in goods, having need of nothing." It will tell him that he does not need daily grace, that past experience will do for to-morrow—that he knows enough, toils enough, prays enough. It will make him forget that he has "not yet attained:" it will not allow him to press forward to the things that are before, forgetting the things that are behind. It enters into his heart, and tempts the believer to set up an independent business for himself, and until the Lord brings about a spiritual bankruptcy, pride will keep him from going to God. Pride has ten thousand shapes; it is not always that stiff and starched gentleman that you picture; it is a vile, creeping, insinuating thing, that will twist itself like a serpent into our hearts. It will talk of humility, and prate about being dust and ashes. I have known men talk about their corruption most marvellously, pretending to be all humility, while at the same time they were the proudest wretches that could be found this side the gulf of separation. O my friends! ye cannot tell how many shapes pride will assume. Look sharp about you, or you will be deceived by it, and when you think you are entertaining angels, you will find you have been receiving devils unawares.

The true throne of pride everywhere is the heart of man. If we desire, by God's grace, to put down pride, the only way is to begin with the heart.

Now let me tell you a parable in the form of an eastern story, which will set this truth in its proper light. A wise man in the east, called a dervish, in his wanderings, came suddenly upon a mountain, and he saw beneath his feet a smiling valley, in the midst of which there flowed a river. The sun was shining on the stream, and the water, as it reflected the sunlight, looked pure and beautiful. When he descended, he found it was muddy, and the water utterly unfit for drinking. Hard by he saw a young man, in the dress of a shepherd, who was with much diligence filtering the water for his flocks. At one moment he poured some water into a pitcher, and then allowing it to stand, after it had settled, he poured the clean fluid into a cistern. Then, in another place, he would be seen turning aside the current for a little, and letting it ripple over the sand and stones, that it might be filtered and the impurities removed. The dervish watched the young man endeavouring to fill a large cistern with clear water; and he said to him, "My son, why all this toil?—what purpose dost thou answer by it? "The young man replied, "Father, I am a shepherd; this water is so filthy that my flock will not drink it, and, therefore, I am obliged to purify it little by little, so I collect enough in this way that they may drink; but it is hard work." So saying, he wiped the sweat from his brow, for he was exhausted with his toil. "Right well hast thou laboured," said the wise man, "but dost thou know thy toil is not well applied? With half the labour thou mightest attain a better end. I should conceive that the source of this stream must be impure and polluted; let us take a pilgrimage together and see." They then walked some miles, climbing their way over many a rock, until they came to a spot where the stream took its rise. When they came near to it, they saw flocks of wild fowls flying away, and wild beasts of the earth rushing into the forest; these had come to drink, and had soiled the water with their feet. They found an open well, which kept continually flowing, but by reason of these creatures, which perpetually disturbed it, the stream was always turbid and muddy. "My son," said the wise man, "set to work now to protect the fountain and guard the well, which is the source of this stream; and when thou hast done that, if thou canst keep these wild beasts and fowls away, the stream will flow of itself, all pure and clear, and thou wilt have no longer need for thy toil." The young man did it, and as he laboured, the wise man said to him, "My son, hear the word of wisdom; if thou art wrong, seek not to correct thine outward life, but seek first to get thy heart correct, for out of it are the issues of life, and thy life shall be pure when once thy heart is so." So if we would get rid of pride, we should not proceed to arrange our dress by adopting some special costume, or to qualify our language by using an outlandish tongue; but let us seek of God that he would purify our hearts from pride, and then assuredly, if pride is purged from the heart, our life also shall be humble. Make the tree good, and then the fruit shall be good; make the fountain pure, and the stream shall be sweet.

Galatians 5:13 13 For, brethren, ye have been called unto liberty; only use not liberty for an occasion to the flesh, but by love serve one another. It is absolutely clear that God has called you to a free life. Just make sure that you don’t use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want to do and destroy your freedom. Rather, use your freedom to serve one another in love; that’s how freedom grows. For everything we know about God’s Word is summed up in a single sentence: Love others as you love yourself. That’s an act of true freedom. If you bite and ravage each other, watch out—in no time at all you will be annihilating each other, and where will your precious freedom be then?

Love, Debbie

[stevetervet]

Tasmania

Marketing executives of Australia, I bring good news. Your advertisement campaigns are working on my five-year-old daughter. Ivy only needs to hear the words “Did someone say KFC?” and she’ll instantly launch into a chorus of I Love It by Icona Pop. When asked what she hoped would happen in 2021, she didn’t wish for anything existential or even material, but rather answered: “That I get to watch Holey Moley.” But there’s one brand which stands out among the rest. We’ll pull up behind a ute at the traffic lights and hear from the back seat those immortal words: “Oh, what a feeling - Toyota.”

And there were certainly plenty of those moments as we started the new year with a road trip around the island state of Tasmania - 240km south of the mainland across the heaving Bass Strait. Right until the last moment, it looked like the trip might be scuppered by COVID as clusters in Sydney and Melbourne prompted other states to shut their borders but on this occasion, we were in the right place at the right time and the Apple Isle lay before us.

Needless to say, there were a few raised eyebrows along the way when we declared we had travelled from New South Wales - at one point we were even removed from a queue and had to answer further questions from management before gaining entry - but Tassie’s welcome couldn’t have been warmer. The people we met were so friendly and as for the place: well, where do you start?

At the beginning, I suppose, and the absolutely stunning Cataract Gorge in Launceston. Photographs simply can’t do its forested cliffs, glassy lake and ancient boulders justice and the temperature of the public swimming pool in the centre of the gorge took our breath away for a second time as Rachel wisely watched on with the towels poolside. We emerged from the water shivering - and with fellow tourists peering down bemused from the chairlift above - but very much refreshed.

Launceston, the second-largest city in Tasmania, hadn’t been forecast as one of the trip’s highlights but it proved to have been rather under-sold. The macaque monkeys (behind glass) in City Park, the windswept Tamar Island Wetlands and the hands-on Queen Victoria Museum were free attractions you’d pay good money to see elsewhere and Riverbend Park, in the city centre, boasts the best children’s playground I’ve ever seen. It’s no exaggeration to say Ivy would have spent all day there, so vast and varied is the site. Peering down over the park are four huge grain silos, now converted into a plush hotel with a fancy restaurant on ground level. Pricey, yes, but quality grub.

When you’ve been to Peppa Pig World, the bar for any other ‘world’ is set pretty high but where Seahorse World in the Tamar Valley might have been lacking Grandpa Pig’s Little Train, it compensated with a genuinely interesting tour of the tanks and even a chance to hold a little seahorse. From this breeding centre on the banks of the Tamar, seahorses are shipped to aquariums all around the world so if you’ve ever seen one, it probably came from there.

Our four nights in town were spent above a pub - better than it sounds or than we thought when we first pulled up - but there was a change of pace when we hit the east coast.

We quickly realised the weather in Tasmania can change almost as quickly as Boris Johnson’s COVID response and so it was that we huddled on a beach somewhere along the Bay of Fires eating our picnic lunch wrapped in jumpers and waterproofs as some pretty mean waves pounded the white sand. Even us crazy northern hemisphere types weren’t about to try swimming here.

Conditions at our east coast base were more clement, and naturally we hit the pool hard but also made full use of the other sports facilities - putting green, table tennis and basketball court to name but a few. Ivy’s ping-pong skills have improved exponentially since the turn of the year and some of our rallies were even worthy of the name. But every now and then comes a wild shot from the other end of the table which forces you to take evasive action as if facing a Pat Cummins bouncer.

Down the coast we drove, into the spectacular Freycinet National Park where the views across to Wineglass Bay are postcard-perfect. Peer over the edge and it’s a sheer drop to the rocks and waves below, look down at your feet and lizards are scurrying for cover. Disaster was averted at the last minute when the family parked next to us managed to retrieve the stuffed toy whose temporary loss had sent a little girl into floods of tears. What looked like a little elephant had in fact only been dropped a few yards from the car park at the top of the cliffs.

Swansea was a handy stopping point after that - a bit different to its Welsh namesake - but it was now all about the long run into Hobart. Of all the driving we did in Tasmania, less than 5% would have been straight and flat at the same time and those sweeping bends and undulations were never more evident than on the Tasman Highway which hugged rock faces and followed the bends of the Prosser River on the challenging and invigorating approach to the state’s capital.

Hobart, with a population of 250,000 or so, must be the hilliest city I’ve ever visited. There were cars parked at angles that didn’t look natural and even a walk to the closest intersection could be enough to raise a sweat.

But on flat ground a stone’s throw from the waterfront, the Salamanca Market truly showcases Hobart in its best light every Saturday. From tourist tat and cuddly toys to ornate wood carvings and local farm produce, there’s something to lighten everyone’s wallet although by far the longest queues were at the coffee vans. Classic Australia. The pandemic has forced Salamanca to trim its stall numbers and patron capacity, although social distancing in a market is about as likely as it is on the London Underground. However, in a part of the world which is totally COVID-free at the time of writing, mingling in a Tasmanian crowd carries none of the worries it would elsewhere.

Our thoughts were constantly drawn back to the UK not only by the daily news bulletins - reporting daily infection rates higher than Australia has faced in 12 months - but also its role in shaping Tasmania as we know it today. Nowhere is that more evident than Port Arthur, the former penal settlement where thousands of convicts were shipped in the 1800s for crimes ranging from cheese theft to murder. The remains of the penitentiary and neighbouring prison buildings are beautiful; their stories by comparison quite chilling and utterly thought-provoking as to the physical treatment and mental disintegration of so many men, young and old, having been extracted from their homeland with no hope of ever returning. Walking around the site makes you acutely aware of your liberty, even more so in the current climate.

You see, for all the places we visited in Tasmania, for all the experiences, the food tasted and selfies taken, it was simply the freedom to choose and to move which we had to be most thankful for. With the majority of our friends and family locked down on the other side of the world, doing it tougher than ever, there was absolutely nothing about our trip to take for granted.

It’s said Australia is the lucky country, and that rings true to an extent, although political choices have more to do with the state of play around the world than luck. Australia’s consistently tough stance on international arrivals during the pandemic has been a huge factor in keeping the COVID numbers here so low. Two week in hotel quarantine, at your own expense, is mandatory. Around the corner from where we were staying in Hobart was one such hotel with two soldiers guarding each door. Rules are rules here and they don’t muck about. On the one hand, it’s reassuring that we are in such a safe corner of the world right now - but what about getting back to England to see those loved ones again? When will a journey of that nature be feasible and, more to the point, when will Australia relax its stance to the point where we know we can make a ‘normal’ re-entry to the place we now call home? Forget the quarantine, simply getting a plane ticket is like finding a needle in a haystack. We hope to see you all again soon, we really do, but it's just impossible to put a date on that happening.

Meanwhile, sun-kissed Hobart looked a picture from the top of Mount Wellington and equally from the water as we took a ferry to MONA (the Museum of Old and New Art). The exhibits here were all to an incredibly high specification but often weird for the sake of being weird. More rewarding was the time we spent outside in the grounds, watching a band on stage while chowing down on chicken burgers (in the case of the meat-eating members of the family).

Another ferry carried us and the car to Bruny Island, where the pendulum of Tasmanian weather swung like never before. One minute we were slithering along muddy unsealed roads in search of the Cape Bruny Lighthouse (where the winds were too strong to reach the top of the walking track), the next emerging into warm sunlight at the Truganini Memorial overlooking the ‘Neck’ - a narrow spit of land joining the north and south parts of the island.

After the best part of a week in and around Hobart, it was nice to put the hammer down and cruise through the straw-coloured Midlands on the way north. A long line of red bricks running the length of the high street in Campbell Town bore the names (and crimes) or convicts who had not even survived the epic voyage to Australia, dying in transit. There were reminders everywhere of Tasmania’s convict past; less so the treatment of its Indigenous people.

While we had already been exposed to the island’s varying landscapes and weather patterns, entering Cradle Mountain-Lake St Clair National Park can only be likened to walking through the wardrobe into Narnia. Gone was anything even resembling summer as harsh alpine vegetation stood out against steely skies, with a cold wind blowing down the back of the neck in the way that makes you instantly reach for hooded tops. The steep climbs and harpin bends were all worth it just to witness the spectacle at altitude approaching 1,000 metres above sea level. “It’s due to snow the day after tomorrow” said the girl behind the Visitor Centre counter as she handed over our shuttle bus tickets. You could spend days bushwalking around Cradle Mountain, if you like that sort of thing, whereas we chose the hop- on-hop-off approach and still copped a fair pasting from the wind, rain - and UV. The chance to see Tasmanian devils and quolls up close, as well as a wombat in the car park, further added to the experience.

Back through the wardrobe into summer, or at least a north coast variant of it, and the final stop on our tour at tiny-but-picturesque Boat Harbour Beach. With water so clear you could almost count the grains of sand on the bottom, and rock pools and caves to explore every time the tide flowed out, the beach in itself might have fully sustained our four-day stay had the temperature been a smidgen higher.

As it was, we ventured slightly further afield to The Nut at Stanley (where one of the information boards mused ‘when is a nut not a nut?’ - an important consideration for allergy sufferers), Sisters Beach (horizontal rain although not unpleasant) and to Burnie one night to see Little Penguins emerge from the sea and return to their burrows. In rather less salubrious surroundings than the corresponding experience on Phillip Island, the night sky was pierced by the luminescent green glow from a nearby BP filling station. David Attenborough meets Alan Partridge, if you will.

Soon enough, those penguins would be heading back into the Bass Strait and so it was for us, boarding the Spirit of Tasmania for our overnight crossing which marked the end of our Tassie adventure. Housed in a cabin at the extreme bow of the vessel, our plunging path through a sea that was even choppier than normal felt like taking a ride in a washing machine being hit with cannon fire, so loud was the metallic crash of the hull against the waves every few seconds.

So the mouth of Port Phillip Bay had never looked more welcoming and it was a relief to set foot - or rather, wheels - on terra firma back in Melbourne.

But what a journey. In the land that time forgot, the extraordinary diversity and natural beauty of this island have carved out unforgettable memories. The devil is in the detail and I’ve no doubt we’ve only scratched the surface.

Oh, what a feeling - Tasmania.

[definitelynotplanetfall]

cw4 apprehensions etc

Need to expend today’s mental energy non-politically so I can’t understand tonight’s debate enough to get angry, so I may as well talk about This

Something seems permanently off to me about Creeper World 4. The demo assuaged a bit of my fear, and the performance running through proton is pretty terrible so it’s not like getting into mapmaking or anything of the sort would be feasible anyway, and that’s not even taking into account how awkward negotiating a return from the mostly-voluntary exile would be. (I mean for one thing I’m not going to apologize.)

But something about it seems deeply... closed to permutation? Not in the same way that a game like Outer Wilds is closed to permutation in the service of creating a single, coherent, resonant artistic experience, but more like... it has a level editor, but to some extent I can’t see the point of the level editor.

I’m having a hard time putting this sense into words, especially since at least some of it is down to a combination of “the formula is kind of mined out and the additions are less mechanically interesting than stuff that was achieved with CRPL even before all the APIs were in the game” and “the way CW3 did things was mostly good and change is scaaaaary.” These affect my personal inclination to play the game, but don’t really constitute criticisms of game 4 on its own terms.

I think to some extent the problems are inseparable from the “the formula is mined out” thing, though. There’s a fine line between “streamlining a clunky system” and “sanding the nuance off” that people are often too hasty to accuse games of crossing, but in some places it feels like CW4 is doing that. We-the-public haven’t had a chance to play around with the ERN portal yet but that’s my prime example, and if the requisite APIs exist you’d better believe someone is nuking that shit and reimplementing the forge, because the forge was a solid mechanic and already simple enough!

The factory and resource systems feel kind of... shoehorned in? I described my impressions of them in a conversation as “hitting the sour spot of both too simple and too complex.” There are three extra resources processed by the big fancy Factory unit and they are just... there for some reason. The non-anticreeper ones are required for important stuff so the game makes you engage with the system, but there’s nothing really there to engage with, the raw materials just have slightly different methods of extraction and they’re used for few enough things that economy is barely a concern.

I feel kinda extra-petty-salty about this because the resources are literally called Bluite, Redon, and Greenar and seem to have no... flavor? Like e.g. Redon is used to create anti-air missiles and spatial rifts. Why? What are the properties of this substance? Why do missiles require refined Redon but mortar shells can be fabricated from pure energy? Meanwhile my unfinishable CRPL-heavy thing also had three new resources and they were, like, the primordial superclass of matter energy and time, red circuits, and epistemology.

and speaking of that... the closed-to-permutation thing applies here as well, because there’s now official custom friendly unit support, which is great! The reason my unfinishable thing was unfinishable was the fact that I had to reimplement base-game features for custom friendly units, and since CRPL is slower than C# this cratered performance.

But also, the build menu is tiny! Which means the complex economy is out, nevermind having the full vanilla unit roster plus ~40 more. Which is, I recognize, a very out there and ludicrous and selfish thing to want, but. The promised extensibility is there, just with a seemingly arbitrary low ceiling.

And that’s just the parts I can articulate clearly! There’s a sort of... dreariness in the design that it’s hard to describe but is palpable verging on suffocating. For example the switch to 3D LoS calculations. CW3′s idea of how line of sight works is kind of silly but it’s also “gamey” in what feels like a positive way. It hands you some rules and you can accomplish some nonsense within them that can make you feel like a tactical genius, like when you pull off something in a turn-based game that wouldn’t be possible in real-time-with-pause. Whereas only allowing things that are geometrically possible makes the correct moves feel obvious and already-there-waiting-to-be-looked-at if that makes any sense? I guess my general preference of 2D gameplay over 3D is getting in the way here somewhat but it feels analogous to, say, CDDA getting rid of magic universal liquid batteries that vanish from existence when drained. And I guess the game would look weird if projectiles could go through the ground so I guess this is me saying the change to 3D is/will be harmful to the overall quality of the game. And it feels bad to say that because I did specifically send a message to Virgil saying the demo was good and managed to persuade me that the 3D wasn’t a gimmick. But I can’t really think of an argument in favor of 3D other than “The Graphics Must Always Improve And 3D Has Been Decreed Better,” and my calling it “good“ was probably mostly in terms of “better than particle fleet.”

So that’s my disorganized and cop-out filled thoughts about the flaws in a game that hasn’t even released yet. I never said I had much daily mental energy to begin with, or that it was particularly well ordered, just that I needed to get rid of it. Why did you read this, anyway?

Anyway time to hear some TV host say “Mr. Biden, people have accused you of wanting to shut down the orphan dismemberment factory” and Biden will say that’s a damn lie come on man you know I just I I I just wanna make sure they have antibiotics. I never said anything about shutting them down, I never even said anesthetics like this guy (gestures wrong direction) says I do, I’m not stupid I know we can’t afford that but this is america, okay, those kids should be able to buy antivirus

[omg-johndel-b-villarin]

ASYNCHRONOUS TASK NO. 3

ACTIVITY 1:

this page by putting an arrow to the object/s. [No need to indicate what type of Figures of Speech they are]                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

Notes: Most Commonly Used Figure of Speech

1.     Alliteration is the repetition of initial sounds in neighboring words.

Example: Fresh fern fronds from the forest

2.     Allusion is a figure of speech that quickly stimulates different ideas and associations using only a couple of words, thus making an indirect reference.

Example: Describing someone as an “Adonis” makes an allusion to the handsome young shepherd loved by the goddess of love and beauty herself in the Greek myths.

3.     Anaphora is a stylistic device that consists of repeating a sequence of words at the beginning of neighboring clauses to give emphasis.

Example: You are lovely, you are gorgeous, you are pretty, you are glorious, you are, you are, you just are!

4.     Anticlimax refers to a figure of speech in which a word is repeated and whose meaning changes in the second instance.

Examples: He got his dignity, his job, and his company car.

In the car crash, she lost her life, her car, and her cell phone.

5.     Antiphrasis is a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is used to mean the opposite of its normal meaning to create ironic humorous effect.

Example: She is 65 year young.

6.     Antithesis is a figure of speech that refers to the juxtaposition of opposing or contrasting ideas. It involves the bringing out of a contrast in the ideas by an obvious contrast in the words, clauses, or sentences within a parallel grammatical structure.

Example: To many choices, too little time.

7.     Apostrophe is an exclamatory rhetorical figure of speech in which a speaker or writer breaks off and directs speech to an imaginary person or abstract quality or idea.

Example: Oh, moon! You have seen everything!

8.     Assonance is a figure of speech that refers to the repetition of vowel sounds to create internal rhyming within phrases or sentences.

Example: A certain purple curtain, captain. (note: cer in cetain, pur in purple, and cur in curtain. Also tain in certain, curtain, and captain.)

9.     Climax refers to the figure of speech in which words, phrases, or clauses are arranged in order of increasing importance.

Example: Three things will remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.

10.  Euphemism is a figure of speech used to express a mild, indirect, or vague term to substitute for a harsh, blunt, or offensive term.

Example: saying “passed away” for “died”

Saying “in between jobs” to mean “unemployed”

11.  Epigram refers to a concise, witty, memorable, and sometimes surprising or satirical statement.

Example: Oscar Wilde’s “I can resist everything but temptation,” or “I am not      young enough to know everything.”

12.  Epiphora (or epistrophe) is a rhetorical device that consists of repeating a sequence of words at the end of neighboring clauses to give them emphasis.

Example: “…a government of the people, by the people, for the people. (Note: The phrase the people is repeated twice after it was first mentioned.)

13.  Hyperbole is a figure of speech that uses exaggeration to created emphasis or effect; it is not meant to be taken literally.

Example: I told you a million times to clean your room.

14.  Irony is a figure of speech in which there is a contradiction of expectation between what is said and what is really meant. It is characterized by an incongruity, a contrast, between reality and appearance.

Example: The explanation is as clear as mud.

15.  Litotes is a figure of speech consisting of an understatement in which an affirmative is expressed by negating its opposite.

Example: Instead of saying that someone is “ugly” you can say that someone is   “not very pretty.”

Instead of saying that the situation is “bad” you can say that it is “not      good”.

16.  Merism is a figure of speech by which something is referred to by a conventional phrase that enumerates several of its constituents or traits.

Example: saying “young and old” to refer to the whole population

Saying “flesh and bone” to mean the whole body

17.  Metaphor s a figure of speech that makes an implicit , implied or hidden comparison between two things or objects that are poles apart from each other but have some characteristics common between them.

Example: The planet is my playground. The Lord is my shepherd.

18.  Metonymy is a figure pf speech in which a thing or concept is not called by its own name, but by the name of something intimately associated with the thing or concept.

Examples: Using “Malacaňang” to refer to the president or the government

Saying “a hand” to mean “help”

19.  Oxymoron is a figure of speech that combines incongruous or contradictory terms.

Examples: open secret, virtual reality, sacred profanities

20.  Personification is a figure of speech in which a human characteristics are attributed to an abstract quality, animal, or inanimate object.

Example: Red punctuates and makes bold statements, says something, and means it like an exclamation point!

21.  Simile is a figure of speech directly comparing two unlike things, often introduced the word, like or as.

Examples: A smile as big as the sun. She prays like a mantis.

22.  Synecdoche is a figure of speech in which a part of something is used to represent the whole of something is used to represent part of it.

Examples: Sixty hands voted. (The part “hand” is used to refer to the whole person)

The country supported the president. (The word “country” is used to refer to                        the people.)

23.  Understatement is a figure of speech used by its writers or speakers to deliberately make a situation seem less important or serious that it really is.

Examples: A nurse to give an injection saying, “It will sting a bit.”

To describe a disappointing experience, a participant may say, “It was …different.”

   ACTIVITY 2:

LITREADITURE!

Look for literary pieces and take note some lines in it that expresses figures of speech listed below. Write your answers on the space provided. (One example for each)

 1.ALLUSION: The Outsiders (1967) by S. E. Hinton

"Ponyboy."

I barely heard him. I came closer and leaned over to hear what he was going to say.

"Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold ... " The pillow seemed to sink a little, and Johnny died.

 2.ANAPHORA: "London," William Blake

In every cry of every Man,

In every infant's cry of fear,

In every voice, in every ban,

The mind-forg'd manacles I hear

 3.EUPHEMISM:Dropping the Euphemism, Bob Hicok

   When I said

   I have to lay you off

  a parallel universe was born

  in his face, one where flesh

   is a loose shirt

   taken to the river and beaten

   against the rocks. Just

   by opening my mouth I destroyed

   his faith.

4.EPIGRAM: Sonnet 76 (By William Shakespeare)

   “So all my best is dressing old words new,

   Spending again what is already spent:

   For as the sun is daily new and old,

   So is my love still telling what is told.”

  5.LITOTES: Fire and Ice (By Robert Frost)

   “Some say the world will end in fire,

   Some say in ice.

   From what I’ve tasted of desire

   I hold with those who favor fire.

   But if I had to perish twice,

   I think I know enough of hate

   To say that for destruction ice

   Is also great

   And would suffice.”

 6.METONYMY: Bartleby the Scrivener (Herman Melville)

   As I afterwards learned, the poor scrivener, when told that he must be conducted to the Tombs, offered not the slightest obstacle, but in his pale, unmoving way, silently acquiesced.

  7.OXYMORON: Romeo and Juliet (William Shakespeare)

   Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,

   That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

 8.MERISM: "There is a working class—strong and happy—among both rich and poor; there is an idle class—weak, wicked, and miserable—among both rich and poor." (John Ruskin, The Crown of Wild Olive, 1866)

 9.ANTITHESIS: Community (By John Donne)

   “Good we must love, and must hate ill,

   For ill is ill, and good good still;

   But there are things indifferent,

   Which we may neither hate, nor love,

   But one, and then another prove,

   As we shall find our fancy bent.”

 10.IRONY: The Necklace (Guy de Maupassant)

   “You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?”

   “Yes. You never noticed it, then! They were very like.”

   And she smiled with a joy which was proud and naïve at once.

   Mme. Forestier, strongly moved, took her two hands.

   “Oh, my poor Mathilde! Why, my necklace was paste. It was worth at most five        hundred francs!”

         JOURNAL WRITING:

Journal Entry #2

What’s the language of the piece?

Read a literary piece (prose or poetry). Review and examine the language used by the author (Tone, Diction, Style and Figures of Speech). Include photographs to add creativity and visuals in your writing. Your answers must not be less than ten sentences.

                                     To an Athlete Dying Young

                                                    Title

                                           A. E. Housman

                                                  Author

A. E. Housman has also include literary devices in his poem in tittled " To an athlete dying young" to express and share his feelings towards the athlete. The literary devices used are: Personification, Assonance, Metaphor, Oxymoron, Consonance, Symbolism, and Enjambment.

 The poem or him shows the run or the cycle of how a man's life goes. The first stanza shows how people (close one) gets happy, great, and proud seeing us fighting to live and achieve our goals. But nothing last forever, time will come and all of these will stop. And all of those who really know, support, and been there for us will also be the one who will march our dead body towards our grave. Even our glory, dreams, achievements, and hardwork will be gone. It stated there that our lives is like how fast a single roses losses its own petals. Our eyes will forever be close it will be dark as a night and there will never be any color. Whole body will be numb nothing to hear, nothing to fell. And only those close ones will remember our name and our deeds. Life is a competition and we should keep running 'til everything stops. Everything has its ending point. It has no exemption and that everyone includes our life.

[zealoptics]

The Outsiders by ZEAL Rider Ian Wood

Words by **[Ian Wood](https://www.instagram.com/eanwood/)** | Photos by **[Jordan Ingmire](https://www.instagram.com/jordaningmire/)**

The sound of explosions stir me from a deep slumber. The bombs may be going off thousands of feet away but the blasts shake me from my dream world. Barely awake I sit up to investigate the violent action, bouncing my head off the bunk above. The “rude” awakening knocks me back down, a dry mouth from the propane heater running off and on all night reminds me where I am. Rubbing my eyes to adjust to the light, and a quick pull of the window blinds, reveals a winter wonderland. The bombs that stirred me from my fantasy world are the result of hard working ski patrollers doing their best to keep us safe from avalanches in the available side country. Comfortably nestled in my 16 foot tiny home, I am amidst the cascade mountains in Washington state. From the looks of my neighbor RV’s we have received a healthy amount of fresh snow over night. Rolling out of my bunk and placing my feet on the noticeably cold floor sends a quick signal to my brain that its going to be nice blower pow. Where are my slippers?. . . It’s 7 o clock in the morning and the chairs don’t start spinning until 9. With the resort lifts and split board trails being accessible out my front door I have plenty of time to get ready. Living in a trailer in the parking lot of a resort, you build morning routines. So much time spent by yourself allows you the freedom to do what you want, when you want. Meditation has made it into the start of my day, followed by a nutrient packed fruit smoothie. Somedays I listen to an audio book or inspiring tunes, maybe a quick stretch, and then I put on my space suit for the wild frontier. Isn’t this what we are striving for our whole lives? - Complete freedom, nobody telling us what to do or how to live. Shouldn’t we be fine tuning physical/mental health with joy, adventure, and a lust for life? I chuckle to myself as I ponder the perspective of my life, how did I get here? - 32 years old, no kids, no wife, no mortgage or salary career, living in a trailer that is smaller than some peoples closets. If you were to write this down and read it to someone, they would feel sorry for me. If they were to see my smile or feel my energy as this pervasive lust for living, they just might question the way they look at life.

Growing up in a capitalist nation where economy is god, and success is based upon the amount of things you possess, I had all the proper training to be a compliant citizen. In the West at 5 years old we are shuffled through a school system that is based more on conforming than education. It appears to be preparation for the 9-5 world with a vibrant brochure selling the restricted life of a weekend warrior. All the tv shows portraying the “happy” rich people with all their possessions, living in big mansions, surrounded by “beautiful” people, contribute to a thorough brain washing. The deep irony is when these movie stars, symbolizing the ultimate success of the american dream, often end their own lives in misery. I can’t say how this country is viewed from the outside but it seems that a lot of foreigners come here in hope of acquiring financial wealth and pursuing this illusion. Interestingly enough this nation is comprised of foreigners. We are all immigrants except for the few indigenous natives who have almost been entirely snuffed out. The trouble begins when necessities are far surpassed and endless desires are sought one after the other. The core issue is these desires are never filled and endless consumerism runs rampant. A bi product of this foolishness is a nation that suffers from severe obesity and malnutrition simultaneously. Unfortunately the PNW of the United states is a major influence in this worlds over consumption. Amazon, Microsoft, Starbucks, and Costco are just a few of the fortune 500 companies located in Seattle. A city surrounded by natural wonder, with the pacific ocean on one side and the cascade mountain range on the other. I was right on track to be another cog in the wheel, another poor sap in debt living pay check to pay check. Buying a bunch of things I didn’t need, to fit in or look good in some one else’s judgement. This is one ideal this nation whole heartedly promotes. This constant hunger for more leaves the blind consumer in debt regardless of socioeconomic status. It’s easy to get lost in this society living beyond their means. Look at our national debt for reference as to how we are taught to spend money. From this path… I slowly strayed. The mountains called and as the famous John Muir quote states; I had to go!

Hindsight is always 20 20. Looking back, I can see the friends that pulled me back into the mountains saved my life. Being a product of the NorthWest was a blessing that was hard to fully realize. Some of the greatest outsiders and heroes to exist in the snow world, come from this area. Humans that forever changed the snowboarding world were located all around me and leading lives way outside the norm. They were more like professional dirtbags than Olympians. The skills to be trained into super athletes were there, but they chose to live a life of freedom and self expression. These professionals were less about selling out and more about expressing themselves freely, on their own terms. You don’t have to be a legend to enjoy a similar lifestyle, boarding as much as you can and working as little as you have to. The locals shaped me even more so than the legends. “You work - I ride”, so the saying goes. The slogan “work to live, don’t live to work” comes up often. These people that surrounded me spent their money in a very different manner. Extravagance was a “new” used vehicle that handled the snowy roads in a supreme way, or a rig that could transform into a sleeping domain. Maybe a new gizmo for snow camping or a fancy sleeping bag that packed small and was light. Simultaneously we were becoming more self sufficient and learning how to spend money wisely. I didn’t know it at the time, but these people I like to refer to as the outsiders, were shaping me. As I became an “adult” (I put it in quotations because I think it is absolutely insane that someone being an adult is based on age and not life experience) I came to realize that most people were lost. Year after year, the older they got the more confused they seemed to be. Their connection to what mattered in life slowly dwindled as they bought into the game. Work beat them down and a diet of processed food provided them with no fuel. Coffee delivers a quick blast of energy for a long drawn out day. The ever growing list of how society tries to fill the voids will leave your head spinning. For many years I have pondered, and even now it seems, that kids have it much more figured out than adults! Youngsters are happy chasing dreams and living for the moment. The beliefs that create their realities are still uninhibited, so they are able to enjoy the little things. Snowboarding takes me back to that mental clarity. Every time I strap in, my mind grows a little more silent as the moment zooms in to capture my attention. Pushing skills to a new level can cloud the mind with fear. Making the decision to trust in your ability clears the sky and locks you in where time stands still.

The people I meet in the NW have inspired me to leap into more than just snowboard specific adventures. Every aspect of one’s life effects the other and it’s best to be well rounded. Adventures of every kind can be linked to snowboarding in one way or another. Learning how to navigate the world and trust in your life skills to get you where you need to be is one example. From Yoga, to skateboarding, even dancing, it all can help you with self expression and in turn improve the picture you paint on a board. I started the winter season going to a 10 day silent meditation retreat with photographer/best bud Jordan Ingmire. This shared wisdom solidified the lessons learned from snowboarding. The present moment is the only reality. As soon as we add thoughts or words to things, we have strayed. Our minds are trained in this society to constantly be thinking about the future or the past. Focused on likes or dislikes, we form a craving for the things we desire and try to avoid the things we dislike. So constantly we are planning for the future, or revisiting the things that have already happened. We want more of the things we like and are upset when we get what we don’t want. Both of these judgements are illusions. The images with attached emotions either no longer exist or are an interpreted creation of the future. All of our thoughts around experiences are not truly reality. They are a merely a projection of the mind which in turn creates what we believe to be reality. So those moments while ripping down a line, or riding through a technical part of the mountain, are actually creating the silent mind that brings us closer to the truest reality. Wether you are taking a conscious deep breath sitting in a cross legged position or standing on top of a glorious mountain top, you are training the mind to be aware of what is going on inside of it. Slowly bringing awareness to our daily actions muffles the constant brain chatter and creates space for the only true reality- the present moment. Any one that has been terrified by the raw elements of a mountain has lived through this mind altering experience of a silent mind.

For the last several years I was caught in a whirlwind of dreaming and creation. Desires of achieving fantasies began to develop in my mind and expanded as I shared them with others. The winters had been very active with traveling, working on video projects, and getting caught up in the go go go, do do do. This winter I set out to focus on “being” more than “doing”. Starting the season off in meditation had a huge impact on how I wanted to spend my winter and what I felt was important to focus on. I decided I was going to spend the entire winter at home in the PNW. No distant travels, no video projects, and nothing more than immersing myself in the art of snowboarding. Whether it was with my best friends, the local community, strangers, or by myself, I found room for growth in all relationships. With the climate pattern rollercoaster ride we have been locked into in the NW, it was a risky move. Travel has always been a back up plan for winters that never show up. Japan in January, Alaska in April, the interior mountains of BC , Montana, Wyoming, allow for plenty of Plan B options. With travel comes planning, and with planning comes extensive mental activity. I wanted to get rid of all the things that add to the mind game of winter. That way I could find my place in the mountains with clear thoughts and tuned senses. We are constantly searching for connection to the moment as boarders and one of the best ways to help that process is to alleviate as much mental chatter as possible. I deliberately decided to put all of my eggs in one basket and whether winter came as I desired or not, I was staying and making the best of it. Worse case scenario you can always go adventure on your split board, walk for miles and search around corners you haven’t looked past before. The stars aligned as it became one of the best winters for Washington in many years, with cold temperatures and big storms that seemed to never end. The snow just kept stacking and the energy was high in the PNW. It was a season for the soul. One of those winters where you run into all your buddies on the hiking routes or skin trails. I found myself greeting friends with big hugs and thinking “you know what. . . there are friends on a pow day.” We were riding as many of our favorite lines as we could in one day. Lines that you sometimes only ride once a year because the conditions have to be just right, were getting ridden several times a week. No video cameras, no waiting to get the shot, no worries about landing a trick or how your style was; just pure intimacy with the mountains and the people sharing them with you.

As the planet rotates around the sun the seasons will change here in the PNW. Spring time comes with longer days and stronger ultra violet rays. The rivers flow with snow melt as photosynthesis sprouts new life on the hillsides. T shirts and open vents become common on the touring trails and chair lifts, as winter pow turns to spring corn. Fresh snow can bless us all the way into May, providing up to 7 months of possible fresh snow adventures. The park rats and split boarders rejoice as their favorite season is upon them. In the same day you can lap the park with friends and in the evening tour up to soak in breathtaking views. In strong winter seasons, such as this past one, you can extend your snow season year round. The list of volcanos in the area is long and the adventures bountiful. “Variety is the spice of life”; one of my favorite expressions. Living in the PNW I can’t help but completely agree with this notion. Summer comes and the thoughts of the year ahead are born in the stillness created in the absence of daily snow obsession. Sometimes I worry about what the future holds for the PNW snow lovers. Big money is pushing hard to suck the life out of the mountains. Solace and solitude are being replaced with high speed quads and 4 star hotels. Seattle is growing and you can see the reflection of it in the traffic to all of the hills. Will we just become another destination resort? Will the dirtbag locals living in their cars at the mountain be run off by people commuting 2 hours everyday? Only time will tell. I reflect back on lessons learned in the meditation hall. Be present here in the now, and let the thoughts pass like clouds in the sky. My judgement of what is best is just a figment of my imagination. For now the mountains in the PNW are full of life, love, and soul. Explorers, adventurers, athletes, party people, weirdos, musicians, artists, and of course the city people, all share these beautiful mountains. I hope that one day you have the opportunity to visit this majestic place I call home. We can easily be considered outsiders In a world where so many equate success and happiness to financial status. Every day we strap in we are representing the importance of something greater than that. Outsider: “a person who does not belong to a particular group.” There are enough of us here in the PNW that have formed a group of our own. We are the outsiders and you are welcome to join us.

Ian’s Top Picks

[SHOP ACE](https://www.zealoptics.com/en/shop/sunglasses/lifestyle-collection/ace "SHOP ACE") [SHOP FARGO](https://www.zealoptics.com/en/shop/goggles/select-series/fargo "SHOP FARGO")

Want more? Check out the below and follow Ian’s journey this winter @eanwood.

[cnasnmu]

Lessons for a Lifetime

Woodland Sky Native American Dance Company at Northern Michigan University - Forest Roberts Theatre Performance, Marquette, Michigan "The Eagle Dance" | Courtesy of Chad Reed and llumacraft Image Photography

Guest Blog by Linnea Bemis, Bad River Band of Lake Superior Chippewa

MARQUETTE, Mich. -- As the crowd filed into the theatre to find their seats, I couldn’t help but notice the setup of the stage. A giant colorful projection went from the bottom of the stage floor to the top of the ceiling. Full of pink, blue and purple hues, it was a focal point drawing attention as we looked for our seat numbers. There was a tiny lodge to stage-left and an old-fashioned military cannon on stage-right. Two beautifully detailed wooden carved eagles soared on both sides of center-stage guarding a small artificial fire. There were tiny firefly lights dancing across the walls throughout the night all adding up to a beautiful scene. What lessons would these items teach us? I was eager to see what Woodland Sky had prepared.

As the beginning drew near, I happened to notice smoke wafting out from behind the curtain; someone was blessing the auditorium in addition to giving thanks by smudging before they began. Knowing that, I smiled. I became more eager to listen to the beautiful music soon to come. I knew that this was an event everyone should attend to better themselves and the world.

Just like that, the lights dimmed. I felt a strong energy flow through the room as the drum started beating. I heard the delicate sound of bells but wasn’t sure from where until it was too late. I was startled by the parade of dancers coming from behind the audience on each side of the aisle moving to the beat of the drum. The regalia was beautiful, some of the flashiest outfits I’ve seen. The women had so much glitter and sparkles, colors and flowers. I was in awe of how much detail was put into the construction of each dress. The men were just as mesmerizing with long fringe, bold colors, and a certain swagger that could only come with the confidence of knowing your outfit looks good. There were traditional outfits as well as modern ones, both signifying the importance to adapt to new times, as well as respecting the traditions and ancestors that came before us.

The night was filled with well-told stories. Hopefully, the children in the crowd paid attention and will use the wisdom in the future. I imagined myself as a First Nations warrior during the first interaction they had with cannons. Imagine the terror felt as the ground shook and left nothing but destruction from this advanced technology. The First Nations had no way of defending themselves, their family, or the environment. An unfair fight from the start, it reminded me how technology and man-made machines can be damaging when used for the wrong reasons. The war dance that followed showed that although at a disadvantage, the ancestors were able to turn their terror into an expression of art, with quick squatting movements that gave a visual representation of the lowering to Earth done at the time of the attacks.

Listening to the origin stories transported me back in time. It might have been due to the storyteller and the way he danced with words or the dancers with their precise movements. It could just boil down to the fact that everybody was talented and their creative ideas blended well - just like tasty wild rice soup. The only thing that would have made the night better would be traditional food. The warm soup would have been extremely comforting in the chilly auditorium.

The speaker told a story of his grandma that invoked my own memories. My great-grandma Joan was a wonderful woman, who was active in tribal government and always making sure every family member was there for holiday dinners. Her cooking was delicious and I smiled at the thought of her cookie and candy jars that always seem to be full when the grandchildren came to visit. I hope when it’s my time to walk on, I’ll be greeted by her and my ancestors. Then just as quickly as I had these thoughts, I was distracted by the next dance and story.

One of the most memorable story-dance combos was the healing jingle dance. The interpretive style and traditional dance flowed beautifully. The women had a look of serious elegance. They know it is an honor to be dancing with the drum and contributing to the story, not giving a performance. With each bounce or twirl, the lights gleamed off their fancy regalia like water on a sunny day. I couldn’t help but gaze in awe. Watching the dancers in a more natural element, outside, in a more traditional flow of a circle, would have been even more mesmerizing. The rectangular-shaped danced seemed odd in comparison to a powwow circle.

As with most gatherings, the medicine wheel was brought up, which is a story everybody should take home and think about daily. It is my favorite lesson. For many years, there has been hatred and anger between the different races – extreme reactions based on something as minor as the shade of skin with which people were born. They often overlook the fact that we are all human beings and every living being on the planet has the right to survival, life, and happiness.

Thankfully, the public has recently become environmentally concerned, but the destruction still continues at an alarming and heartbreaking rate. If the Earth survives us, there is still good in the world. Hopefully, the planet will be restored to its original beauty, to before the industrial revolution, reversing the abuse of the natural world, to before people cared more for technological advances.

Eagle feathers are stunning. Watching one used in a story of the horrors most Native communities witness took me by surprise. From the audience, it looked like the storyteller was ripping the barbs from the rachis, soon followed by examples of communal restoration. The care given to eagle feathers is a good reminder of caring for something other than yourself and respecting others. Hopefully, those young children will think back to these metaphors when they are older and do a better job of caring for their community and the strangers they meet along the way.

Experiencing Woodland Sky was as educational as it was beautiful. It made me feel more connected to the community in addition to my Native heritage. One of the dancers was a member of the Bad River tribe. I had the urge to talk to him and when I did I felt like I was talking to a distant relative. We talked about family and the birthplace of our ancestors, Madelyn Island. Before we parted ways, I thanked him for the wonderful lessons, beautiful music, and an unforgettable experience. I walked out of the building with a certain pep-in-my-step, feeling the electricity from the drum, the clean energy from the smudge smoke and the strengthened connection to my roots. Woodland Sky Dance Company was absolutely breathtaking. Not only did it come to me at a time most needed, but it also helped me shape a better view of the world. I hope to see them again and learn more lessons from the elders of our community. The children of the future should absorb these lessons for a chance at a better society. Woodland Sky Dance Company will not only teach life-long lessons, but also put a smile on your face and a fire in your heart.

Linnea Bemis is a student in Grace Chaillier’s NAS 204 Native American Experience course at NMU.

Woodland Sky’s performance on March 15 was made possible by the NMU Center for Native American Studies, the Beaumier Heritage Center, and the Forest Roberts Theatre with additional support from the City of Marquette Arts and Culture Center, and Travel Marquette. Thank you to Walt Lindala for his introduction of Woodland Sky.

[autolovecraft]

It happened in the attic for some purpose.

As it was in June, about the house and two from the yard and the leaps of that party agreed in whispering later on, that ran straight where the trees increased, while Mrs. Pierce was blank, and furtive wild things rustled in the nasty brittle globule found embedded in the attic.

He said he seen it in spite of the woods.

Nothing nothing the color it burns cold and wet, but those two crumbling objects were beyond all bounds.

Elmo or the gray brittle death.

At least one Boston daily also sent a scribe, and upon seeing it more clearly he recalled those dying words of his rare visits, who fancied they talked in some terrible language that was not of earth can pass through solid obstacles? There are things which puzzled men of science are wont to say when faced by the curious road on the high bare boughs of all the household confessed now and then Merwin’s screams were answered faintly from the window was small and half-clouded moonlit sky. Nahum had the cows driven to the night. When twilight came I had expected; but the wise men answered that stones do not think I shall visit the Arkham papers made much of the worst. The veterinary shivered, and all three professors who saw the lightning strike the furrow in the yard, who first realized that the cause seemed to be slightly cooling, there was much breathless talk of new elements, bizarre optical properties, and soon proving itself absolutely non-volatile at any producible temperature, including that of Thaddeus being already known, and there, and toward the valley which everyone knew from the stone wall on the wooden shelf where they had both suffered from the tainted vegetation. I hope the water come. There were other globules—depend upon that. In February the McGregor boys from Meadow Hill were out shooting woodchucks, and sometimes let Ammi do their errands in town. It glowed on the moonlit ground between the splintered shafts of the country notion that the cause seemed to be—someone must make it keep off—nothing was ever still in the absence of the cellar, some mineral and metallic litter here and there would be called a gas, but the wise men talked of the normal spectrum there was another which was too much like some forbidden woodcut in a month, the sense of strangeness in those deep ravines, and was very inexplicable, for old Ammi Pierce's crazy tales, I feigned a matter of old legendry at all, but there was absolutely none then. And all the rest of the lamplight it was still hot, and begged them to see the stony messenger from the rim of that abandoned well I seen it for an odd timidity about the stone wall on the gray November sky with a hammer, and presently a policeman dumbly pointed to some wooden sheds and bee-hives near the well, he decided to keep a sharp watch on him. He had come to poor Thaddeus in his attic room, and that shaft of unknown and unholy iridescence from the stars come out above me in the spring. Sucks and burns, he said he seen it in the corner does not bring restful dreams at night. It come from beyond.

Their dreams at night—the splash in the Lord's ways so far as he mumbled his formless reflections. Not a man who descended on hand-holds with a cloud of color like that light out there now, that of Thaddeus being already known, and toward the kitchen. The listening was, in part, though all the vegetation was fast taking form.

He was far brighter and brighter, bringing to the well was belching forth to the eye.

It lay largely to the well water? In the last half-obscured by the north road.

He went much against his will, for all the farmers, Nahum included, saw it, and had thought he had seen something feebly rise, only God knows. When the cooling had grown used to the north road and the leaps of that skunk-cabbage had been, must have fed itself and escaped, and no sound could be found, though later they lost the property. He said he was not all. Ammi that he was right about the stone from the strange days will be glad, too, ought to study the stunted flora on the country notion that the cause seemed to be no use waiting for the new reservoir blots it out. It was, they protest, are very bad, but plainly related and equally unknown to anyone who saw it. Stubbornly refusing to grow cool. The name blasted heath as it had in other years, is the only person who ever visited the place on the south. Stubbornly refusing to grow cool.

Something was taken away—draws ye ye know something's coming but it was Ammi, it'll do something, but perfectly conscious and able to give up my position.

Its texture was glossy, and Ammi exchanged visits frequently, as so many others of the mad notion that she was harmless to herself and others.

No sane wholesome colors were anywhere to be no mice, and I wondered how it had glowed faintly in the undergrowth. I shall visit the Arkham papers made much of the brother who had been less thick.

Water did nothing with the three professors from Miskatonic University who hastened out the next day. I could not say; but could not tell what. Everything had happened. The veterinary shivered, and once more he went with them. It ran up and splashed on the place from which his horses had run away when they put it in an old pail borrowed from Nahum's kitchen, for he had to be slightly cooling, there came from poor tethered Hero such a name. It had acted quite unbelievably in that low doorway and locked the accursed secret behind him.

It glowed on the floor below. Whether it had another strange color; trees, buildings, and it went from mouth to mouth that there was a lean, genial person of about fifty, living with his lungs filled with breathable air. The plants were certainly odd, but the wise men answered that stones do not think his tale as a moving object. Why was everything so gray and brittle and falling to pieces before they died, and the boys continued to crumble. I knew it had come the runaway in the light from the rim of that kind ought never to sprout in a healthy world. There was no wind. He was gone, no residue was left to do anything then and there, he declared that the clouded father would say. On the gentle slopes there are valleys with deep woods that no stone was. Then the dark its luminosity was very merciful. Used as the officers were to gruesome experiences, not one single jot was fit to eat. There were also a small deer and a man who descended on hand-holds with a nervous little pop.

He was a crushed and apparently somewhat melted mass of iron which had killed the live-stock. Yet it was some comfort to have the stars, though later they lost the spirit to bark.

[limejuicer1862]

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Michael H. Brownstein

has had his work appear in The Café Review, American Letters and Commentary, Skidrow Penthouse, Xavier Review, Hotel Amerika, Meridian Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, The Pacific Review, Poetrysuperhighway.com and others. In addition, he has nine poetry chapbooks including A Period of Trees (Snark Press, 2004), Firestorm: A Rendering of Torah (Camel Saloon Press, 2012), The Possibility of Sky and Hell: From My Suicide Book (White Knuckle Press, 2013) and The Katy Trail, Mid-Missouri, 100 Degrees Outside and Other Poems (Kind of Hurricane Press, 2013). He is the editor of First Poems from Viet Nam (2011). His book, A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else: A Poet’s Journey To The Borderlands Of Dementia, is published by Cholla Needles Press (2018). He presently resides in Jefferson City, Missouri where he lives with enough animals to open a shelter.

The Interview

1. What inspired you to write poetry?

In elementary school, I began writing silly rhymes for no reason at all—mostly around the holidays, but in high school a Ms. Perkins—my history teacher—encouraged me to write because she liked the way I experimented with the essay form. At one point every sentence in any essay I handed in could not be more than five words. She thought it would be interesting to see if I could write poetry. I did, thought my stuff was OK—it really wasn’t—but I found I actually liked writing—so I kept on and on and now it’s many years later and I’m still writing.

Who introduced you to poetry?

I don’t remember, but I do remember Ms. Perkins and Archie Lieberman who thought I was creative enough with my short stories—in retrospect were not very creative or very good—to write poetry—and he liked my work enough to take them around with him when he was doing high profile photojournalism stories for magazines such as Look, Life, and Playboy. Of course, those editors knew my work was not that good, but I kept on writing mostly for myself until I fell playing hockey in my thirties, found myself in traction and then in bed rest bored out of my mind. That’s when I became serious, started writing better and began sending stuff out. FactSheet 5, (a magazine that listed hundreds and hundreds of zines, journals, and books with simple one to two paragraph reviews) was around back then and I used it as my go to reference to submit work.

How aware were you of the dominating presence of older poets?

I always liked Mary Oliver. Read everything she wrote. Rita Dove is another poet I admire very much. Carolyn Forche because, well, because she’s Carolyn Forche. I always admired Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Robert Louis Stevenson.

What is your daily writing routine?

I write every day for about an hour, usually in the morning, and then come back to poems I wrote earlier in the day, months, even years, and make revisions in the evening.

What motivates you to write?

I feel I have something to offer. Sometimes I write just to write, other times I have a particular audience in mind, other times I feel I have something important to say and so I say it with poetry. I have a series coming out, for example, on the blog of Moristotle (https://moristotle.blogspot.com/), for example on reparations. I wrote it for African-American history month. Here’s a sample stanza:

If we go another thirty miles over, we arrive in Columbia, a lynching–there were more in Missouri, many more– and this one was no different–James Scott was lynched as more than a thousand white bystanders looked on– and he was innocent–the real rapist discovered after the fact– too late again–and no whites paid for the crime– Do we not owe Scott’s family reparations? A sincere apology?

What is your work ethic?

I submit to a publication every other day throughout the year. I never miss a day. I go to two poetry programs to workshop my poetry—and I am the co-host of the local library’s poetry program.

I spend every day with some writing exercise. No exceptions. I also carry around a notebook if an image hits my fancy.

Here’s an image that came to me when I saw the sunlight come out behind gray clouds and light up a field along the highway: We knew each other by the spotlight on wild flowers,

the bath of prairie sage and the colors blue and green,

Later, I turned it into a longer poem utilizing the first line at the beginning of each stanza.

How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

I don’t rhyme too often, but when I do I look back to the work of Longfellow. He is still stuck in my mind. I even have one of his volumes in one of my boxes in the attic to this day—along with more than a hundred other poets—but he’s the one I remember.

Who of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

Safia Elhillo. She writes with a power that is incredible. Her poem “Girls That Never Die” is so brilliant, when I reread it—and I do reread it—I have to take deep breaths because this poem, for example, is that deep.

Martin Espada is another contemporary poet. When he wrote about the hurricane that took out Puerto Rico, you were there. You felt the pain of the people. You became one of them. He has a way with line and image that is just magnificent.

Then there’s June Jordan whose political poetry is made of magic.

Then there’s Carolyn Forche who’s book, Twentieth Century Poetry of Witness, inspired me to write an e-book, Firestorm: A Rendering of Torah (http://booksonblog35.blogspot.com/).

And, of course, Mary Oliver who recently passed away and Rita Dove.

Why do you write, as opposed to doing anything else?

I write because it makes me happy; it’s the most satisfying thing I do now. I used to teach in the inner city of Chicago. That was the most satisfying thing I did. I’m retired now. Writing has taken its place as most satisfying.

What would you say to someone who asked you “How do you become a writer?”

Write. Write what you know. Write what you want to know. Just write.

Put it in a drawer. Take it out days, weeks, even months later and read it again.

Revise. Revise. Revise.

I tell individuals who want to become writers to worry about audience and publication after you have what you feel is a completed work. Even then I invite them to workshop it with one of the groups I am in.

I also tell them it doesn’t hurt to read a lot of poetry.

Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

I’m working on a book of prose poems and poems, The Tattoo Garden of Capella. So far I’ve revised it twenty times or more, but I keep coming back to it. It’s about a place that is magical and safe, a place full of color and love. At one point, dangerous people enter the garden only to have poetry destroy their weapons.

I’m also hard at work on a prose poem that’s rather long. In it, a poet with writer’s block gets help from a very eccentric man who sounds more like as tuba than a human being:

The odd looking man looked at him as if he had never seen him before—and perhaps he had not—and answered with soft moans, climatic yelps, silence, the sound of a tuba, and then an oomph. Ahh, he said, and then ohh. He paused. The rent is paid up, you know, but a long time ago I lost my way in…

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Michael H. Brownstein Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

[hottytoddynews]

This story was reprinted with permission of the Ole Miss Alumni Review.

Most people are fast asleep in the hours just before dawn, but for Mike “Catfish” Flautt, owner of Tallahatchie Hunts in Swan Lake, Mississippi, his day begins with a ride across his sprawling 8,000-acre plot of premium Delta hunting grounds in the heart of the Mississippi Flyway.

“My favorite part is when I’m out in the morning,” Flautt says. “I don’t hunt anymore, but I scout. I’m out at first light, and it takes me about three hours to ride through the property. We probably have 75 to 80 different spots to hunt on, so I try to scout and keep an inventory of the duck population every day. It’s really something to see when you’re out riding in the morning.”

From massive whitetail bucks to ducks, geese, wild turkeys and beavers splashing around in the water, the grounds of Tallahatchie Hunts, where the Coldwater, Yocona and Tallahatchie rivers converge, are an outdoors enthusiast’s playground.

“I’ve got really good binoculars, so I know where about five or six eagles’ nests are around here,” Flautt says. “And of course we have thousands and thousands of ducks every year. After I finish scouting, I come back in, and we have a big breakfast where all the hunters come up to my house. This morning I’ve got hunters from Phoenix, Tulsa, South Africa, Trinidad and some from California — you never know who’s going to come in here. I love meeting all the different people that come through my kitchen.”

Humble Beginnings

The son of a catfish farmer, Flautt grew up hunting, farming and playing basketball. He graduated from Delta Academy in 1971, then went on to Millsaps College in Jackson, where he played basketball and earned a Bachelor of Business Administration degree in 1975 with an emphasis in accounting and economics.

He continued his education at Vanderbilt University in Nashville, where he received a master’s degree in business administration in 1977, before returning home to Swan Lake to pursue a career in cotton farming.

“My wife, Hedy (BBA 75), and I had always planned on moving back to Tallahatchie County and farming,” Flautt says. “We moved back in 1977 and had three children (Bolton, Alben and Clansey). We had a big cotton gin and did that forever. Cotton farming was pretty tough on a lot of the farmers. A lot of guys didn’t quit farming because they wanted to; they quit because they had to. But we were able and fortunate enough to hold on.”

After a bad crop due to back-to-back hurricanes Isidore and Lili in fall 2002, Flautt lost $1.3 million.

“We needed a wintertime job and income because there wasn’t any money coming in,” Flautt says. “So everybody said you need to start a guide service.”

After meeting with a friend in Florida who had already been in the business for a few years, Flautt stuck to advice and his own instincts on how to implement a business strategy for his guide service.

“I have a degree in accounting, so I know my numbers pretty well,” he says. “I tell everybody my master’s is in creative finance, because I always had to create equity every year during the winter to talk the bankers into loaning me money to farm again. My friend told me not to start out building a big lodge that I had to maintain all year, which was really good advice.

“Then I had other people telling me I had to build these big, fancy blinds because all of these people love to be real comfortable when they come. I thought about it for a second and said, ‘You know everybody I’ve ever hunted with just liked to kill ducks, so I’m going to do it my way.’”

With his basic expense being money spent on groceries to cook and feed the hunters, Tallahatchie Hunts was officially formed.

“My brother and I would take people out hunting, and Hedy did the cooking, so we clicked right along like that averaging about 300 hunts a year,” Flautt says. “Hedy died in early November 2005, and I basically quit hunting completely and hired my sister-in-law to check my houses.”

Soon after, Flautt decided to offer the job of cooking for the hunters to his daughter, Clansey Flautt (BBA 09), and his daughter-in-law, Emily Flautt, despite knowing neither knew how to cook.

“They both looked at me at the same time and said, ‘We can’t cook,’” Flautt laughs. “I told them how much I was going to pay them per person for everybody that walks in that door, and on top of that I was going to pay all of their expenses. They quickly said they could do it. It’s funny how money motivates people.”

Around the same time, Flautt decided to hire guides to take on that portion of the business, while he took on the sole role of scouting the land.

“I’ve got about 20 boys that work for me, and most of them are Ole Miss students,” he says. “They just come and move in with me, and they love it.”

Selling Tallahatchie

Business was booming with the number of hunts booked each year steadily growing in the hundreds. Then amid the stock market mayhem of 2008, Flautt’s business all but came to a screeching halt. With most of his clients being large corporations and consulting companies, the cuts on spending trickled down to his bottom line.

“They cut out all extra spending like that,” Flautt says. “I had done 700 hunts the year before, and my book at Thanksgiving for the season for December and January was zero. So I basically had to start advertising again.”

After revamping his website in 2008, his son, Bolton Flautt, a writer in Dallas at the time, jumped into the advertising side of the business with a few suggestions to help get the word out in a digital age.

“He said let’s try Google AdWords, where you put in keywords and pay so much a click,” Flautt says. “So we put together a monthly budget, and I started getting a few people in. Then my phone started ringing about the middle of December, and it was these wives calling, saying their husband loves to duck hunt, and they don’t know what else to get them for Christmas. They asked if I could take a credit card over the phone, and I said absolutely.

“That’s kind of how it got started, and it was just nonstop daily getting calls from folks all over. Then my job became more of a salesman’s job. And that’s pretty much what I do. I sell Tallahatchie County and get people to come here.”

That year, Tallahatchie Hunts went from 150 hunts in December to 500 hunts in January with 75 to 80 percent of those people being new clients all related to advertising.

“I figured out the best way to advertise Tallahatchie Hunts, using Google AdWords, and monitor how much we spent to see which keyword searches were working and which were not and adjust accordingly,” Bolton Flautt says.

He also served as a full-time guide and the “No. 2 person” in the organization. For him, working with his father profes- sionally has been a rewarding learning experience.

“He is my dad and one of the most generous and caring role models I have ever had the pleasure of interacting with, on both a personal and professional level,” he says. “He is smart, fair, honest and hardworking. The main reason we work well together is trust. He trusts me to spend our advertising dollars wisely, and we know that when any customer talks to either one of us it’s like talking to the same person. Being on the same page so o en as we are is truly a blessing and makes everything I do so enjoyable. I’m so extremely grateful for a boss and a dad like him.”

TV Time

The next logical step in developing the business was to get involved in the outdoor trade show circuit. From Nashville, Atlanta and Birmingham to Pennsylvania and Charlottesville, Virginia, Bolton Flautt capitalized on numerous networking opportunities, meeting the industry’s leaders.

“I started organizing trade show events in di erent states across the Southeast to attract new customers from areas where we wanted to establish a presence,” he says. “From the trade shows, I made contacts in the outdoor television industry to get Tallahatchie Hunts on the Outdoor Channel and Sportsman Channel, where we actually won a Telly Award for an episode called ‘Out tters Showcase.’ Since 2008, we have [been on] several outdoor television shows and grown our business by an average of 25 percent every year.”

More and more outdoor television shows started popping up, one of them being “Mississippi Outdoors” on the Pursuit Channel.

“I was on [that show] probably 15 or 20 times that year [2011],” Catfish Flautt says. “At that time DirecTV had over 40 million subscribers, so when that show played, my phone was ringing with all of these di erent numbers from people all over the world wanting to come to Tallahatchie County. We started getting 1,300 to 1,500 hunts per year. I even raised my prices three times during that period to slow them down, but it never stopped.”

Another boost to booking duck hunts came from A&E Network’s “Duck Dynasty” series, featuring Duck Commander’s Phil Robertson and his family. A longtime Tallahatchie County hunter, Robertson’s rise to fame led to numerous referrals to Flautt’s hunting business.

“All of these kids were watching the show and decide they wanted to go duck hunting,” Flautt says. “They would call [Robertson] or look people up on his website, and he couldn’t take them so the next person that popped up on Google was me. So many new people from all over the world that had never been hunting started contacting us. That [TV show] was a big push. It’s just been amazing, and I’m really blessed to be in an area that’s kind of a mecca for ducks in Mississippi.”

Flautt’s business has boomed so much that he now has the luxury of limiting the number of hunters he can take. Further bolstering Tallahatchie Hunts’ exposure was a recent article in Garden & Gun magazine featuring 25 dream trips for the Southern sportsman.

Bolton Flautt looks back in awe on how much the business has grown since its humble beginnings with just his parents running it all.

“Mom would cook, and Dad would guide. Fast-forward to present day, where we have a staff of probably 50 guides cooks and house cleaners catering to a diverse clientele from all over the world coming to spend money and provide a much-needed jolt to our local economy — [it’s] indescribably wonderful. [But] probably the most important attribute of our business is that we treat every customer like family and have since day one, when Mom would cook eggs Benedict with tomato gravy for 30 people.”

Family Tradition

With his late wife, Hedy, and daughter, Clansey, both being Ole Miss alumnae, Catfish Flautt has been a Rebel for decades.

“When Ole Miss hired Steve Sloan as the football coach, I went to a meeting in Clarksdale, and he started talking about what was called walk-on alumni back then,” Flautt says. “He gave me an alumni card, and I’ve been an (alumnus) ever since. I love Ole Miss.”

Flautt visits campus each year to speak to students of his friend Bill Luckett (JD 73), University of Mississippi School of Law adjunct professor and partner at Luckett Tyner law firm in Clarksdale, about entrepreneurship, describing how Tallahatchie Hunts was built from the ground up.

“Bill and I are good friends, and I come speak to his class every year about how my business got started,” Flautt says. “I never had a clue that this is what I would be doing. I tell them that every day is payday, and every night is Saturday night. We have two vacations a year, and each one lasts six months. My hunting season is my second vacation, and truly the people are what makes it fun.”

By Annie Rhoades. Photos courtesy of tallahatchiehunts.com.

This story was reprinted with permission from the Ole Miss Alumni Review. The Alumni Review is published quarterly for members of the Ole Miss Alumni Association. Join or renew your membership with the Alumni Association today, and don’t miss a single issue.

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