#ive been sick for more than a week now and have zero energy

[izzy-hands]

Joey Batey as Jaskier THE WITCHER: Season 3 Volume II Trailer

[niksixx]

Close to Perfect

Requested: My idea 

Pairing: The Dirt!Nikki Sixx x Fem!Reader 

Description: Your baby’s father doesn’t show up to the birth of your son, so Nikki takes his place. 

A/N: As always, your support is incredible. Reblog, comment, add tags <3 

Y/B/N: Your baby’s name

*Picture is NOT mine. Found on google. Credit to the owner.* 

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In a room filled with three other people that are comforting you and doing all they can to make you feel safe, you’ve never felt more alone and afraid. Sweat slicks every crevice of your body as you try to focus on the nurses hooking you up to machines and not the bone crushing contractions you’ve been feeling for an hour.

Your due date wasn’t quite near, but your baby boy wanted to make his appearance to the world a bit earlier. Your water had broke suddenly in the kitchen as you were preparing dinner, almost dropping the butter knife as the liquid trickled down your thighs. In a panic, you called the only person you could think of in that moment: Your son’s father.

As he chose not to be in your son’s life, it shouldn’t have surprised you that he refused to bring you to the hospital either. Begging and pleading as the contractions grew more frequent and painful did nothing but cause him to hang up the phone.

The only other option at that time was to call a cab, tipping generously at the end as the cab driver had to deal with your moans and whimpers from the backseat. Luckily there was a nurse with a wheelchair waiting for you at the entrance to the hospital.

As the nurses finish adjusting the IV, you wiggle around in the bed to try and find a comfortable position. A growl erupts from your belly, and instead of being graced with substance, you’re presented with ice chips.

While the contractions were growing more painful, you still weren’t fully dilated enough to start pushing. You opted for the epidural, promising to yourself that your next pregnancy would be all natural.

After the nurses left to wait on other patients, the solemn reality hit you. You were about to become a first time mother, and you were going to have to do it alone.

Calling your child’s father was useless. He’d never show up. He didn’t care enough about the life he helped create, and you refused to believe that you even needed him there. You could do this just fine on your own.

And then the epidural had worn off and as you reached ten centimeters dilation, it was time to finally push. But as the nurses and obstetrician were helping you adjust for labor, your cell phone chimed next to you.

With a stretch, you clicked the speaker, hoping to make the phone call quick as you were only minutes away from your first push. “Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N. You know that Def Leppard cutoff shirt I always wear?”

The doctor gives you a quizzical look. “Uh, Miss--.”

“Yeah, I do,” Trying to mask the groan of pain, you bite down hard on your lip. The intensity of the contractions is only growing stronger now, and you’re not sure how long you can last. “Listen, Nikki, now isn’t really a good time.”

“Wait, don’t hang up! I just need to know if I left it at your house last week. I can’t find it anywhere and Mick swears he didn’t steal it.”

Again, the doctor shoots you a look, one more annoyed this time. “Ma’am, we really need to--.”

“Nikki, I’m literally in the hospital about to give birth. Can the shirt wait?”

There’s a sharp breath on the other end after a long pause. Aside from your baby’s father, Nikki was the first person who had known about your pregnancy. You’d grown up together, and even visited Nikki and his band a few times while they were busy touring the world and playing music for anyone that’d listen.  “Right now?”

You nod. “Right now.”

He hesitates before asking the question he already knows the answer to. “Is he there?”

“No, Nikki. My water broke earlier and I called him to ask if he could bring me to the hospital. He hung up and I called a cab. Unfortunately, your shirt isn’t my main priority right now,” You laugh in good nature. Part of you is hurt, though. How could anyone neglect their responsibilities as a parent? How could anyone, any man, deny their child?

Neither one of you signed up for this life. The baby’s father had made it his priority to remind you that your child was merely an accident, and therefore he owed no responsibility for a child he never wanted.

Nikki had been more than a friend throughout your pregnancy. Caring for others was in his nature, apparently, but when it came to you, it felt different. He took care of you in ways he didn’t need to. Helping you bathe. Picking up food to ease your cravings. Holding you as you cried in his arms. He had always gone above and beyond for you even when he didn’t need to.

“I can be there in fifteen minutes,” There’s commotion on the other end of the line, most likely Nikki panicking to find his shoes and keys. Fifteen minutes isn’t ideal, and your doctor is certainly in a mood now as he stares at you with a blank expression, eyebrows pulled together. Another contraction hits and you grip the sides of your thighs tightly. “Y/N, I’m on my way. Don’t have that baby without me.”

~~~

Nikki is by your side shortly after your first push. Seeing him wide eyed and a bit frazzled eases your pain, and you’re glad he’s there now. You didn’t realize how much you needed his support.

“I’m here, I’m here,” He kisses your forehead quickly, reaching one arm around the pillow to cradle your head, other hand clasped tightly in yours. “Let’s have a baby, okay?”

You nod and focus on the doctor as he commands you to push. Unfortunately for the epidural wearing off, you feel every shred of pain. Sucking in a breath you push again and again, sweat beading your body as every ounce of energy is slowly being drained from your body.

“Baby’s crowning.”

Nikki gazes back at you, his look one of pure adoration. “You’re doing so good. Only a few more pushes okay? You can do this.”

His words make it feel possible. Your lips are dry so you lick them once before adjusting your grip on Nikki’s hand. “I can do this.”

“Ready, Y/N? And one...two...three…”

An ear splitting cry erupts throughout the room, and the weight is lifted off your shoulders as your squirming baby boy is placed on your chest. The blood and gunk on his tiny body isn’t even worth cringing over as you hold him against you. Tears course down your cheeks and drip off your chin, but Nikki is there beside you wiping them away, all the while completely mesmerized by your strength.

As much as you don’t want to let him go, you hand off your son to the nurses for a quick bath. Head against the pillow, your body is overcome with extreme fatigue. A hand comes up to your forehead, pushing the hair off your sweaty skin.

“I did it,” Pride swells in your chest. The morning sickness, the constant cravings, the heartburn, the back pain, everything was worth it. “I did it.”

And even pride swirls in Nikki’s heart. The road to your son’s birth hadn’t been smooth sailing. There were many bumps in the road, and Nikki knew more than anyone how much you had doubted yourself, your abilities to raise a child alone. But if anyone could overcome the adversity life threw at them, it was you. And you’d do it with passion and grace. “I’m so proud of you.”

~~~

Wrapped tightly in a white blanket, your baby boy is fast asleep against your chest. Your jealousy thickens as you observe his sweet little face sleeping so peacefully against your chest.

Almost as if he can hear your thoughts, Nikki pipes up from the chair by the window. “Are you tired? Do you want me to hold him?”

You’d have forever to hold your little boy, so you gingerly hand him over to an excited Nikki. After helping him reposition his arms to support the baby boy’s head, your own head sinks into the pillow, eyes fluttering shut.

“Hi, Y/B/N. It’s me, Uncle Nikki. I’ve been friends with your mother for a while now, and I want you to know that you have the best mommy in the world.” Your eyes fly open as quick as they had closed, and the sight in front of you warms your heart. Pressing a delicate kiss to your son’s head, Nikki holds him close. “Somedays, she’s going to struggle though. And when she does, I want you to know that I’m always going to look after her. She can do this alone,” Emotion clouds Nikki’s voice. “But I want her to know she doesn't have to.”

Something in the atmosphere changes. The man in front of you cradling your son as if he were his own had transformed before your eyes. Your heart had always held a soft spot for Nikki, and growing up it wasn’t uncommon for adults to assume you were romantically involved. You’d always denied a relationship between you and Nikki, but as you stare at him softly singing a lullaby to your son, the possibility of you and Nikki entertaining something more than friendship rose to the surface.

“And there’s something I never want you to forget, little one,” Nikki speaks to your son, but his eyes, so full of something that can’t be described as anything other than longing, are zeroed in on your face. “Your mother, even with all her flaws, her quirks, and her insecurities, she’s as close to perfect as one can get. And to be loved by her is something out of a dream.”

[otonymous]

A Bolt From The Blue (MLQC Shaw - NSFW) - Part IV (End): Courage, My Love

Description: The final chapter.  The Big Bang 😉  Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language & mature themes — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: physically aggressive behaviour, ex-boyfriends, angst, size kink, profanity, vaginal fingering and intercourse Word Count: 4237 words (~21 mins of thrills, real talk, fluff and smut) Author’s Notes: To all the lovelies who have been patiently following this story: you’ve made it! 🥳  Welcome to the final chapter in this Shaw saga, where we aim to go out with a massive bang (pun intended 😆).  Once again, thank you all for every like, reblog, and comment I’ve received on this story.  You are all amazing, and I appreciate your support! 💕

As always, tagging the lovely @op-peccatori​ — I hope you enjoyed this story!  I certainly had lots of fun writing this!  Please note the potential trigger warnings listed above, dear readers, and happy reading! 

Jump to Chapter(s): One | Two | Three

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The quiet is back.

But there is no peace, no relief in the monotony that follows after the man known as Shaw burst into your life like a bolt from the blue, stirring up long forgotten feelings like dead leaves animated by a carefree wind — here one minute, gone the next.

And with each passing day, hope erodes.

Little by little, your heart learns not to race as the clock above the magazine rack approaches 1:30.

It becomes harder to remember the sound purple sneakers made walking through the store.

You stop hoping, wishing, to see a head of lavender hair; that the next person to approach the register would place a cup of Pepsi mixed with Coke on the counter, amber-eyed gaze speaking volumes without uttering a single word.

Days become weeks, and then eventually…

…you stop counting them altogether.

* * *

“You’re looking good.  I see you’re doing well for yourself.”

He reaches for the jade pendant hanging around your neck, eyes flashing with amusement when you hit his hand away with an audible smack.

“What the hell do you want?  Haven’t you already done enough?” You say through grit teeth, steps quickening as you head for the better lit part of the street, trying to outpace the man and silently cursing the fact that returning to the convenience store was no longer an option at this point.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that.  It took a lot of effort to track you down and I waited a very long time for you to get off work.  It’s cold, dark and lonely out here.  Is that any way to treat your boyfriend?  Or friend, at least?”

“ ‘Ex-boyfriend,’ asshole, and you’re no friend of mine, especially not after the way you took my life’s savings and ran.”

“Baby, it wasn’t like that—”

“Oh yeah?!  Did you try telling that to the loan sharks too before they came and trashed my place?  I had to move, Leto, because it wasn’t safe for me anymore, not with the way they kept harassing me and the neighbours asking about your whereabouts.  They even came to my office.  I lost my fucking job.  So don’t come around here and tell me that I’m doing well for myself.”

Breaking into a sprint, your mind races as you try to think of a way to lose your ex, anger and anxiety prickling every nerve in equal measure.  He had ruined your life, singlehandedly taken away everything you had.  And though you had known him once, desperation has a way of making monsters out of men.

And right now, for all you knew, he was desperate and dangerous.

“Please, I just want to talk.  I don’t need much this time, just a little bit to get me through this rough patch.  I’ll pay you back, I swear, just…just STOP FOR A MOMENT!—”

You shriek to feel Leto wrap his hand about your wrist, but before he could tighten his grip, another arm is thrown around your shoulder, pulling you back until you’re pressed up against a hard, muscular chest, staring at a close up of Snoopy riding a skateboard.

“You got business with my girl?”

That voice.  Dangerous and cocksure, yet comforting like nothing else as the muffled words reverberate through the tiny bones of your ear, a prelude to the soothing ba-bump of his heart, rhythm steady and concrete as the ground upon which you stood.

Shaw.

He’s really here.

“Hehe.  Your girl?”  The derision in Leto’s voice makes you sick to your stomach; you can’t help but hold your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop as he looks Shaw up and down, zeroing in on his old t-shirt.  “Tsk, tsk.  So, not only do you enjoy wearing second hand clothing, you also have the habit of picking up sloppy seconds?”

BOOM!

Deafening thunder rolls moments after a bolt of lightning rends the night sky in two, throwing a jagged spotlight on the fury written on Shaw’s face when he moves just as fast to grab a fistful of Leto’s collar.  The muscles of his forearm bulge as he holds up the entirety of Leto’s bodyweight in one hand, the sky opening in a sudden downpour as your ex struggles in midair, rain dripping almost comically from dangling feet.

And when Shaw brings Leto’s terrified face up close, the ferocity in those amber eyes sends a chill up your spine.

“This is the last time you’ll ever talk to her, see her, even think about her.  Or else I’ll find you and take my sweet time making you wish you were never born, do you understand me?”

Head bobbing in vigorous nods, drops of water fly off the tips of Leto’s rain-slicked hair.  Seemingly satisfied, Shaw tosses him onto the ground at your feet, voice low yet audible as it cuts through the din of the storm when he says, “Beg for her forgiveness.”

The fear in his expression almost palpable, Leto looks between you and Shaw — cowardice etched onto features you had once found so pleasing a lifetime ago.  He prostrates himself onto the wet pavement, voice cracking in between sobs as he yells over the sound of the rain:

“P-please…please forgive me!  I’m a piece of shit!  I’m nothing, I’m garbage!  I…I deserve to go to Hell for what I did to you!  I-I’m so sorry!  Please forgive me!”

Leto reaches out a shaky hand towards your soaked shoes before he remembers Shaw’s warning, but it is too late.  Black combat boots hit the concrete hard within an inch of Leto’s face as Shaw stoops, yanking back a fistful of hair and pulling until your ex is looking up at you like a pitiful supplicant begging for mercy.

“Satisfied?”  Shaw looks to you as if he were asking about something as mundane as the weather.  You nod, suddenly too tired to even speak.  You wanted to wash your hands of Leto, wanted nothing to do with all that had happened since you finished your shift at the convenience store.  All you could do was watch as Leto scrambled away on all fours the moment Shaw loosened his hold, running until he was nothing more than a speck of darkness merging with the night.

The rain is cold, wetness driving against your body to leech even the final bits of warmth from bone.  Your clothes are drenched, heavy as they cling uncomfortably to skin.  But you are too drained to care, lacking the energy to even notice when the dim light of the streetlamp above is blotted out — Shaw holding his leather jacket over your head in the place of an umbrella.

All you are aware of before your vision goes dark is the anxiety in his voice when he calls your name over and over again, how weightless it felt to be carried in the cradle of his arms.  

How much you missed the scent you thought you had learned to forget.

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“Finally awake, Sleeping Beauty?”

You opened your eyes to gaze into irises of warm amber, the situation similar to one you experienced before except for the fact that this time, you were the one lying in bed, staring at a man who sat on its edge, brows knit with concern beneath soft lavender strands.

“If you slept for any longer, I would’ve had to knock on your neighbour’s door.” Shaw chuckles but the sound is hollow, mirthlessness obvious like the blanched knuckles of his tightly clenched fists.

“What…how did we…” You begin, voice raspy as it dies, a sudden sharp pain in your throat making you wince.

And immediately, Shaw is on his feet, rummaging through cupboards in your kitchen until he finds a glass.  You watch him run the tap, fill it to the brim.  Feel the strength of his arm around your back as he holds you up, touch lingering even as you down the water in gulps to chase the discomfort away.

“You passed out not long after your douchebag of an ex ran off with his tail between his legs.  I found your keys in your purse, so I let myself into your apartment — hope you don’t mind.  Although, to be fair, I was also carrying you at the time, so it’s not really breaking and entering.”

Head feeling like it would explode as the events of the evening come rushing back, you turn towards him…slowly…slowly, afraid Shaw might disappear before your eyes should any movement prove too sudden.

Thank him.  Now.  Before he goes away again.

He is close, so close that you can count those long, beautiful lashes; almost feel the minuscule shifts in the air between you every time he blinks — those pupils encroaching onto gold as they expand and pulling you into their depths as they do.

“Why are you doing this?”

He doesn’t flinch at your question, and you can’t bring yourself to be shocked by the discrepancy between what you meant to say and the words actually spilling from your lips.  And as the grey memory of days spent counting the hours of his absence settles like lead in the pit of your stomach, the only thing you knew was that your heart couldn’t survive latching onto this sliver of hope only to have it ripped away again.

All you wanted…was the truth.

“Because I can’t stand to see you sad anymore.”

There is no smirk to stretch across that handsome face, only pain that hurts your heart to see it.  Resignation heavy in his voice, Shaw takes a deep breath before he continues.

“Turns out I’m weak when it comes to you.  Selfish.  I know I’m no good for you; there’s no future with me.  I can’t give you anything, can’t even promise you tomorrow, but…I just can’t stop thinking about you.  Wondering how you are.  Whether you’re eating well, sleeping well.  If you’re safe…happy.

“Tonight wasn’t supposed to happen.  I just wanted to make sure you got home okay, that some asshole wasn’t going to hassle you at work.  But then your ex showed up and when he tried to get fresh with you, well…I couldn’t let that slide.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s wrong with me but…I’m sorry, if I ever made you sad, if I scared you.  I’m sorry for everything.”

His gaze drops to the rip in his jeans, the drip, drip of the leaky faucet the only sound in the ensuing silence of his confession.  That is, until you say,

“I’m sorry too…that you’re such an idiot.”

His head whips up, brows furrowed and mouth slack as if caught in a rare moment of speechlessness.  The shock makes him seem years younger, lending him an air of innocence that you couldn’t help but smile at.

“In case it wasn’t obvious, I’m a grown woman, capable of making my own decisions.  I’m not so naïve that I don’t know what I would be getting into by being with you.  You say you can’t promise me tomorrow, but tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone.  All we can ask for — hope for — is the here and now.  

“Love takes courage, as does life.  But a life without love…it’s not much of a life, is it?  So I’m willing to be brave if that’s what it’ll take for us to be together.”

As quickly as they came, the words are gone, leaving you cotton-mouthed and faint as your heart pounds to send the blood rushing to your ears.  That could’ve been the only explanation as to why Shaw’s “I knew there was a reason why I loved you” sounded so muffled you had to ask him to repeat himself.

“Too bad, I only say things once.”

And there it is again: the spark in his eyes, smirk on those lips — igniting the fire you only allowed yourself to feel in dreams of his body on yours, skin to skin like kindling to flame.

“Are you that single-minded about everything?”  You ask, the smile on your face mirroring his as it approaches closer…

“Only when it comes to not letting go of the one I care about.”

…closer…

“Tell me one thing.”  Your voice is barely above a whisper.

…and closer still.

Lips now a hair’s breadth apart, the gentle rhythm of his exhalation blows soft upon your cupid’s bow; a shy request.  Your vision is filled with him, wonderfully awash with colour — lavender, amber, the soft pink of his mouth — and you wished you were the very clothes upon his body; saturated in his intensity, dyed in his hues.

His eyes fixate on your tongue when you wet your lips before asking, “That night, when you were hurt so badly you passed out in my store…why did you still insist on coming in?”

Shaw’s breath catches, hitching in his throat.  You know because you can feel it, the way the warmth stops short on your skin.  And when he speaks, the eyes that hold yours tell you this is no lie.

“Because if it was going to be the last night of my life, I didn’t want to go without seeing your face one more time.”

Love is a funny thing.  Formless, senseless, yet the strongest thing that could bind two strangers.  You hadn’t known Shaw for long, could count the days you spent together on one hand.  And still, entirely without reason, he bled into each and every hour, crept into the darkest corners of your mind to fill your weary heart with a desperation that made it very clear that love was far from done with you.

That right or wrong, the only place you wanted to be was here — held in the arms that wrapped around your body: hot, tight, safe…

…Shaw.

His lips are softer than you ever imagined when he brings his face to yours, plush silk gliding corner to corner to cover your mouth in reverent kisses — one for each night he came into your store, watched over you from afar.  

Your stalwart protector.

You tasted it now, the remnants of cinnamon on his tongue from the gum he was so fond of chewing, intensified by the memory of all the times you wondered about its flavour: pink bubbles popping in his mouth as he coolly dealt with the robber, the night you emptied his pockets as your neighbour stitched him up on your bed.

Shaw tasted sweet.  Far sweeter than you ever imagined.

And when his tongue slides against yours — slow and sure as it explores your mouth with increasing fervour before drawing back just as you clenched around emptiness, yearning for more, the beast within you refuses to abide.

You like the shock that passes over his face when you move, sudden and forceful, to push him onto the mattress beneath you; the artless way Shaw sinks teeth into his bottom lip in response.  You like how he watches as you straddle his hips — gaze earnest and body honest, hardening as you grind undulating circles upon his groin.

But, perhaps most of all, you liked the spark of something wild in those amber eyes, an unpredictability warning that if you weren’t careful, you’d be the one to find yourself pinned to the bed.

Because wasn’t that ultimately the push-and-pull that characterized so much between you and him?  Maddening at times, but always, always binding you to Shaw like some red string of fate.

So you nod when he whispers “May I?”, unable to suppress a moan to finally feel his hands on you: tracing along your jaw, cradling your face…resting the pad of his finger on your lip before pushing past to stroke your tongue.

Every sound he makes pleases; the soft hiss preceding the bob of his Adam’s apple to feel your lips pucker around his finger to suck, pink tongue enticing as it swirls along the length of that digit, drawing it deeper into the hot wetness of your mouth.

You never saw yourself as seductive before, but Shaw made you feel sexy.  Perhaps the impulse stemmed from some primitive desire, an instinctive call to please the man you felt so profoundly for that shame was the farthest thing from your mind when you pulled his hand from your lips to guide it to your breast, only partially aware of how wet you were becoming from his gaze alone — half-lidded and heavy with lust.

The heat of his touch permeates your blouse, white and transparent still in patches from the rain.  You watch his hands as they play: cupping your breasts in a gentle squeeze, thumbs and forefingers catching your nipples to pinch and roll until they stood stiff against the drape of your clothing, the flush of your flesh bold through fabric.

“You’re so beautiful that there are times I think you can’t possibly be real.”

His voice is low, husky.  You let it wash over you, almost frightened by how stupidly happy you become, willing the magic to linger even as his words dissipate amongst the sounds of the night: neon buzzing and the faraway screams of sirens in the distance.

A world apart.

Your hands find the broad expanse of his chest, tracing along muscle before circling the nipples that stood erect against his damp t-shirt.  Each twitch is endearing, every erratic breath he draws to feel your touch making you fall harder.  And when he tries to focus on unbuttoning your blouse while fighting the impulse to tear it clean off your body, the stirring between your legs grows in intensity until he finally pulls the silken panels aside, a quiet gasp escaping his lips to see his necklace nestled between your breasts.

“It really does belong on you.”  

The admiration in his tone is laced with a hint of possessiveness that makes you throb.  Shaw pushes himself to sitting, gathering you onto his lap in one smooth motion as he buries his face in your chest, inhaling deep.  You gasp to feel gentle teeth sink into the flesh of your breasts, Shaw following the chain of precious metal with his lips until it leads to the pendant.  And when his tongue slips out to draw the piece of jade into his mouth, he brings your nipple along with it.

“Oh!…”

The sensation is unlike any you’ve known before, the soft wetness of his pliant tongue a searing contrast with the cool, smooth stone rubbing against the sensitive tip of your breast in equal measure.  You feel his smile on your skin when you fist your hands into lavender hair, spine curving as your legs begin to tremble.

And he had yet to touch you below the waist.

“Your body responds so well to me.  I knew you were a good girl.”  He looks up at you, teasing shamelessly even as he continues to lavish attention on your breasts.

“Just your girl, if you’ll have me,” you say without second thought, long past the point of caring to keep your cards close to your chest.

Something breaks in that expression, the final walls crumbling like dust when Shaw blinks once…twice, revealing eyes that shine with emotion when he replies, “For the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.”

* * *

“Hmm!—”

Your moan is muffled, swallowed by Shaw’s greedy lips like he does with every sound of ecstasy that leaks like you do around his cock, buried impossibly deep in your body as it rocks back and forth, back and forth on his muscular thighs…

…doing your best to adjust to his ample size.

He had barely suppressed a chuckle when you first slipped your hand into his jeans, a subtle mix of pride and amusement on his face to see your eyes widen when you couldn’t quite wrap palm and fingers around the entirety of his girth.

And foreplay had only just begun.

“Still doing okay?” Shaw asks, touch tender as he brushes loose strands of hair from your eyes, lips smoothing along the apple of your cheek to feel its pink heat.  “We can go as slow as you want, there’s no rush.  If it’s too much, we can stop—”

“No!  No…I’m okay.  More than okay, I’m great.  Please…please don’t stop…don’t stop…”

Struggling to string words together, your breath comes in disjointed pants as Shaw begin to thrust up — the look on his face effortlessly sensual when he bites his lip to feel you spasm around him, tight wetness yielding in increments to accommodate his body as it broke new ground.

For you had never taken a man of that size, the litheness of Shaw’s muscular body belying the impressive package he’d been hiding in those jeans.  Your jaw ached just to look upon the length of that thick cock, mouth watering as a fresh wave of arousal made you press your thighs tighter together.  The movement didn’t go unnoticed.  Shaw had drawn you to him then — deft fingers dipping low to trace the outline of your swollen folds through moist panties, lavender head bending to kiss its lacy trim.

He took his time preparing you, licking his fingers before he eased them into your pussy — first one, then two…curling deep until the slippery sounds of arousal told him the time was ripe to introduce the third, leaving you blooming for him even as he whispered, “Think you’re ready for me to make you my girl for real?”

It borders on overwhelming, this sensation of fullness — between your legs, within your heart.  And as skin stretched to capacity to accommodate the sweet friction of his slide, you wished there was a way for the euphoria of this connection to last forever:

To the one you could never forget, no matter how hard you tried.

To this man you loved like no other.

“Shaw.”

His name is faint on your breath when he falls back onto the bed, taking you with him.  And as you found yourself straddling his hips once more, the altered angles of your bodies gave him the leverage to make you gasp when he begins to thrust in earnest.  The eroticism of his face, lost in lust, drives all thoughts from your mind as you drop a hand to your clit, fingers drawing tight circles before his hungry eyes.

The violence of your climax takes you by surprise, having no time to consider neighbours and thin walls as the lewdest sounds escape your lips at high volume.  Intense convulsions wracking your body in waves, you clench in time around your lover.  The sensation proves too much to bear, drawing out Shaw’s own release as he pulls out to spill onto the folds of your pussy — swollen and pink and trembling still beneath the coat of his pearlescent seed.

* * *

“I love you.”  

Morning light trickles across your walls like the slow crawl of spidery legs.  Shaw’s words hang in the air between you, a final, sacred moment shared between lovers before the rest of the world wakes.

You loved the hoarseness in his voice; a testament to the hours of noisy lovemaking you had shared in lieu of sleep.

You loved the weight of his hand, stroking softly at the crown of your head.

You loved the rhythm of his heart, echoing just below your ear to confirm his existence.

“I love you too.”

You look up into those amber eyes, trying to discern whether those four little words were sufficient in conveying that fact that you adored every fibre of the man before you.

The smile that graces his face in return is tender, honest…more brilliant than the day breaking in the East.

Your hands find his body, bare beneath the sheets.  And as a curious finger traces along the ridge of the scar that runs in a broad stroke across his sculpted abdomen, your gaze falls on his t-shirt, draped over the back of a chair.

“You should probably throw that Snoopy shirt away, especially after what happened last night.”

Shaw follows your line of sight, chest rising and falling in a deep sigh.  “Shitty as its previous owner was, I could never bring myself to hate something that reminds me of you.  Aside from saving my ass, this was the first gift you ever gave me.  And I never throw away gifts from my girl.”

His girl.

The mystery of life is that filled with unknowns though it is, we continue to live, brave in the face of the uncertainty that comes with every passing day.  You had no idea what fate had in store for you or Shaw, had no way of knowing if your relationship existed on borrowed time.  

The only thing you were certain of was that your feelings for each other were real, that try as you might, neither of you were very good at forgetting the other.  That in this moment, here and now, the only thing that mattered was this love that hit you…

…like a bolt from the blue.

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

Thanks so much for reading!  I hope you all enjoyed this Shaw saga! 💖 

Check out more of my work here! 📚 (Please do not repost/copy/alter my work.  Reblogs, on the other hand, are perfectly fine and much appreciated! 💖👍🏼)

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[druid-for-hire]

UNSWAYED PT. III

(pt i) (pt ii) (pt iii) (you are here) (pt iv) (pt. v) (epilogue) (askblog)

this one’s got some revisions/retcons/refinings and new content. there will be some minor rehashing. this edition is more on the drama eurydice goes through on the path to find orpheus, orpheus’ deterioration in the Beyond, little bit of persephone and even littler bit hermes, finding orpheus, and finally getting to leave

thank you @supercantaloupe, @sonyalone, @unholy-boi, @s-aint-elmo, @ferretteeth for helping author this & help out w ideas and all!! sasha, u esp.

ok.

sits down and rests my old creaking bones in a rocking chair by the hearth and lights a pipe

gather round kids. this one might be a little long

one note: 

on the same night that orpheus falls, persephone, when she finally composes herself enough, marches up to hades. the fury is still present in the vitriol with which she speaks. “you can’t have done that,” she says. “you can’t have just thrown him away. he didn’t sign any papers. you can’t make him work.” 

 “there were no papers,” he agrees, “but prisoners do not get papers.”

ok jumping back to kind-of-present

it’s taking a while to find orpheus. (too much of a while)

in between work and searching for him, both of which already take up so much of her time, eurydice... makes her attempts to craft a new guitar. hades took orpheus’. he’s going to either want it back or want a new one, and right now, she doesn’t think she can manage the first. it’s going to be important to their escape, she thinks, because she isn’t planning on staying in hadestown forever

but she’s not skilled, and making a real, good, balanced guitar is incredibly hard. she’s not trained. it never comes out good enough, never remotely close to a properly tuned instrument, much less the guitar that seemed to fit perfectly around orpheus' hands. and she doesn’t have a lot of time

so as it turns out, stealing back the original is the more feasible option

problem being: it’s a trophy. hades didn’t smash it, but it’s locked away with his other little “victories,” and he’ll notice it missing eventually

(those other trophies are other relics from other daring humans he’s had to deal with in the past. no one has come as close as orpheus)

but she does have more buffer time than usual because it's also a reminder of the martyr and the fact that his marriage is in the shitter so it's been put out of sight (and out of mind), so she's got a few days or more before he'd notice it's gone

as she keeps searching for orpheus, telling her story and getting help and word of her spreading...

eurydice stirs the town as the ladle stirs in the pot; out of all the feelings her story wakes, the most dominant—and most important—is the anger.

and for the first time, somewhere in some could-be-anywhere part of Hadestown, someone says no.

the age-old, unmoving, immovable hadestown, begins to... change. there’s persephone’s crack in the wall, and then there are others, and then they join, and then there’s unrest, and then there’s the threat of riot.

(which i know i already established but shhh im reiterating my point for this:)

unholy-boi: hades was at least formerly hands on enough to give orders, to scrape down new souls, to preach about the wall

now he locks himself in his office, head in his hands, unable to handle the idea that he’s losing control, and every MOMENT he spends locked away he loses control more, but he needs to think, he needs to think, he needs to think--

The fates are at his door, they sing horrible music, things he doesn’t want to hear, lies and twisted truths to manipulate the king. except he’s not being manipulated at all. this is all him, he knows it--this is just him and his paranoia and the workers' rage beginning to boil on his doorstep.

the god is hidden away in his office and hardly lets anyone in. he isolates himself and Persephone barely even visits this winter anyway.

he wonders if the martyr boy really did fail.

(no, he tells himself--he did fail, because his goal was to get him and his lover out, and now both of them are damned here forever. all of this? an unfortunate side effect.)

hades... was very nearly swayed by orpheus, but took his “obligation” to a city (that he’s already lost) over the slightly breaking voice of orpheus, and the rumors. however when he sent orpheus away, things only got worse. but how could he just crawl to pull orpheus back now? would that not be sacrificing his iron will? his grip of steel? how can he turn to go back if he’s already made his decision? moreover- how can he trust bringing orpheus back will fix anything at all?

a lamenting reprise from hades with orpheus’ guitar would be cool. i don’t know if it’d be in character or appropriate to the story but. its been a fun thing ive been tossing between my hands

it probably starts when he accidentally kicks it over--there’s a trophy room, but he hasn’t cleared a space for the guitar yet. he kicks it over, and when it hits the ground the strings hum Menacingly at him

after the song he puts it away--out of sight, out of mind

show them a crack.

and they’ll tear down the wall.

besides the immediate danger orpheus is in and his voice failing being drives to find him as soon as possible, eurydice also has to worry about the fact that persephone won’t be there to help her soon. the hadestown debacle happens on the onset of proper spring

persephone, for once, is grateful that hades keeps her late. it means she can help the lovers. for so many weeks she sends  that boy’s voice on a wind straight for Eurydice to keep her going

but later is not never, and to the surface one day she goes, and bitter with the absence of his wife Hades drives them all to work harder

which strains Eurydice for time and energy even more

things are harder when she’s gone, as always—eurydice has less time to track him down, and without persephone’s sing-sing wind, pinpointing him is more difficult. 

Hermes is there at the station to greets her when she returns to end the winter

“how is he doing?” “not well.”

“you think they’ll make it?” “i don’t know.”

hermes asks her, “how long?” how long will orpheus last? how long will it take for them to find each other and leave? how long will it take until hades finally snaps? persephone can’t answer any of them

(hermes knows, of course. but he has a role to play)

the summer roars to life on top, but persephone can’t stop thinking about the lovers underground. she knows that orpheus won’t make it through the summer. she sneaks down below for two weeks in june and in that time, a hurricane devastates the surface without her to control it.

the sing-sing wind returns with a straining melody and eurydice wonders. she’s grateful, but she wonders

and... one day it doesn’t. she feels the breeze, but there’s nothing on it.

nothing.

i’ve fucking had enough, eurydice decides. i’m stealing that fucking guitar, hades be damned.

in the sleeping hours of hadestown she sneaks her way up to the palace, dodging searchlights and finding havens, already at an advantage because she’s scoured Hadestown so long and made allies in so many places

and when she makes it up to the palace, the... the guards, the hounds, all of them are... either missing or intoxicated to shit. which is odd, she thinks, but doesn’t question it

she makes it to the trophy room (after a Lot of searching, because she doesn’t have a map)

she walks in and marvels in awe at all the trophies

she wonders about the histories behind all of them

to be honest, she doesnt know that this is where the guitar is, but it’s a pretty good guess (and the right one)

and then there’s a sound at the doorway. eurydice freezes. there’s nowhere for her to hide

she turns, and... it’s persephone in the doorway. persephone, who should not be here.

they lock eyes for a moment, and then she points at a locked case in the back of the room and keeps on walking. whistling loudly. a very “nope, nothing here at all” move

... well, works for her

eurydice breaks off the padlock, gets the guitar, and flees

musing on kampê for unswayed because i really dont want her to just be a two dimensional villain: 

- homegirl is bitter. she used to rule the underground. she was the queen of the dark, and every god and titan knew her name, and hades did fear her too. 

until. well. 

and now she’s practically half-forgotten—a footnote. she hates it. hades and persephone are both her younger and yet they came into her realm, and she was shunted aside to this dismal little hole, and she has to answer to him and she fucking hates it. no mortal up Top or even in hadestown remembers her name. if an old dragon like her has no place out there... if she can’t make herself known in the outside world anymore, then she’ll fucking sear herself into the minds of the people she has, in the only way she knows how

(it should also be noted that homegirl is. unstable. i think kampê sort of violently switches between abhorrently vicious to weirdly sweet and manipulative and anywhere in between depending on the day/time/situation)

(also, she wasn’t always deaf. but being even older than the world, than hades and persephone, things... happen)

also, part of how she keeps everyone here is 1) working them to death and 2) telling them that they’re needed here, and that hadestown is an oasis of stability outside the chaos up Top

orpheus is not doing well.

orpheus forgets.

orpheus wears down.

(orpheus gets sick.)

whoops! That’s An Issue. but still he works, because no one can rest long, and the coal dust and ash and smoke and stifling heat do him zero favors

his focus drifts; he loses track of eurydice, of his songs. the work is first and foremost

you ever get worked so hard and pushed past your physical limit that u get like, spots in your vision and want to throw up? yeah thts orpheus

orpheus doesn’t stop sneaking off every day to the spot at the edge of the Beyond. he doesn’t sing out for help anymore, but... he sits, because he knows that it’s important. this place, where he sang out for a lover he doesn’t remember anymore with songs he no longer has

(cue Flowers but for orpheus, in quiet & faltering breathy lines)

he’s “forgotten a little thing called spring” 

kampê still comes after him to drag him back to work. sometimes it’s wordless; sometimes she yanks him to his feet by the straps of his overalls, sometimes all she needs to do is put a hand on his shoulder and he’ll get up and shuffle back into the mines and smokestacks

other times she asks why he’s still doing this, why he’s still out there. other times she tells him that there’s no need to come out here anymore. he shouldn’t have in the first place. out there--it’s no better than here.

the times when she yells--few and far between, because fetching him is hardly much of a chore anymore--he winces, since it’s not like she has the finest grasp on volume control, being deaf

the scene we see is her sing-speaking some fucked up reprise of hey little songbird, beckoning him to come back and taunting him; i didn’t write this one out but i imagine there’s some fun things to be had with the “vipers and vultures” line

and orpheus sing/saying, in this cracked, hoarse voice, “I wanna lie down forever”

he’s. so tired

(also singing his voice, long since shredded, sorta finally collapses in this one and i don’t imagine him having another sung line after that)

the canary in the coal mine isn’t dead yet but he will be

eurydice goes into overdrive after she steals orpheus’ guitar back

(she strums a few notes on it, and it hums warmly of sunlight in her hands. her chest fills with something indescribable. god, she missed this)

she takes more risks. sneaks out farther and strays out farther. skips out on work, keeps cutting close, nearly gets caught more often than she did before

eventually. finally. finally, she finds him, almost unrecognizable in the crowd masses, but she catches him alone

and she calls out to him, her arm outstretched, “come home with me.”

so i’m going w the “recognize her right away one” and following what i wrote in the first post

BUT: the callback to “come home with me i” with orpheus’ forgetting in “come home with me” “who are you?” is Too Fucking Good and I ended up writing my own lyrics to a “Come Home With Me III”

i’ll post it somewhere. i’d link the google drive link here directly but then tumblr would nerf this post off of the hadestown tag.

 you can play off of that if you want, toy around with it as a sort of small canon divergence to this au, but for the main one i’m rolling with what i already did in the first post... it’s unfinished btw there’s this small section i’m stuck on but i didn’t wanna delay this post anymore for something so minor

eurydice sees how much the beyond has ground him into the dirt—his eyes are sagging and half-lidded, dulled and shadowed and barely focused on her, miserable but too exhausted to feel

she sees this plenty in the ver. w/ Come Home With Me III before he remembers her, and for a moment in the other version before his eyes light up with recognition and suddenly it’s like some of the soot has sloughed off of him with the way his whole face lights up

also she shoves his guitar at him and he’s !! 

it’s. horribly out of tune though. he’s tuning it while they talk a little

but either way: the steam whistle blows, the signal to get back to work, and orpheus is immediately lowkey fearful and trying to get back before kampê catches them

eurydie is completely “oh hell to the fuck no i JUST got you back after MONTHS of searching you are NOT leaving”

orpheus is just afraid of what kampê’ll do if she sees them together, he doesn’t plan on leaving her -- he doesn’t hand her back the guitar, after all

again, kampê isn’t the most stable

then uhhh Whoops they spend too long there and she catches them, a la Papers

cue panic

cue tousling w/ eurydice and somehow getting kampê still enough (probably w pinning) to try and listen to Orpheus and she's just waiting to kick his ass because no music is ever gonna sway her, boy

(the dogs get placated by a few chords plucked out)

he can't sing, but he plays

and the other workers listen, and are moved

they are moved by eurydice's act of coming here after him

by listening to orpheus sing of love

by listening to orpheus forget, and deteriorate 

by having spent months listen to their love last and finally succeed with eurydice's arrival, this stalwart notion of hope

they didn’t ignore it. everybody knows the walls have ears

and they join by accompanying orpheus' song with the heavy metal sounds of the factories

they stomp, they clang, they turn grinding gears that crash and pound, in synchrony 

(where the little wheel squeals and the big wheel groans)

it’s a percussive song that they make

more than a simple tune, a steady beat, more than just the music of machinery

it shakes the entire Beyond with the force of the determination of a thousand weary souls, of the hopeless regaining hope for the first time in centuries

Forced through the percussive force of the entire Beyond, implicit in its rhythm and shake, is the old song. all of this old and rusted metal, all of this harsh machinery, all of it singularly resonant in the notion of la, la la la, la la la 

kampê feels it all through her feet and it rumbles in her chest, it shakes her to her very core and rattles her down to her bones, twists in her gut and forces in her fear and awe, and awe and wonder, and... something else

eurydice feels her loosen under her grip and backs off from pinning her and she still doesn’t move

at some point she lurches forward with her fist raised--orpheus doesn’t stop playing but he does shut his eyes, thinking oh god this is it, and eurydice rushes forward to pull her back

but she just... punches her fist into the ground by his feet

she feels everything not only through her feet but up her arm, more directly to her chest, to her heart, to her head

at last, swayed, feeling far more of something other than fear or anxiety or anger than she ever has in a long time...

she lets them all go

ok ngl there’s some blank spots here. i’m blanking here. idk how to transition

but

it's an entire exodus out from this tiny secluded part of Hadestown

The Great Beyond empties itself out and Kampê is left behind

the move is headed by Orpheus & Eurydice and the mood is very similar to the exodus from Egypt by the jewish folk in the movie Prince of Egypt

including the dark lighting, teal against the warm orange-yellow of their torches (lamps in this case), the wind, the craggy rock, everyone together, overall just the general tone

so during this walk from the Beyond to central hadestown with orpheus & eurydice more or less alone at the front is when Promises happens

it’s. a hell of a lot sadder here, but also a lot softer and more tender

orpheus’ lines are spoken like with Come Home With Me I / II coz he ain’t singin’ anymore. he can’t

and that’s the thing, he can’t sing anymore. 

all those things he said in wedding song, all his promises--that his voice would convince the world to give them everything they need

orpheus... doesn't have that anymore, or at least not nearly as strong, or traditionally lovely as it used to be

his voice was cut into pieces from the nasty shit air in the places he was sent to work

all he has is his guitar, and while he’s good at it, his real strength is in his poetry--it’s his voice and his words that makes the rivers and the trees and birds sing along

the people of the Beyond may have been inspired to percussion by his guitar, but they were more swayed by the notion of their love that was built up over the past few months ever since he got banished

so like. to walk with eurydice and be by her side for as long as he lives, is really all he can really promise her at that point anyway

it's not even that he doesn't have anything and broke the promise that he’d sing them all they needed. he can’t even do that anymore

the voice that charmed her, that said he’d provide for her, is gone

would she love him now, he wonders, if the great poet can no longer sing

and many thanks to @sonyalone for contributing this:

he offers his devotion to her. the only thing he has that’s worth anything, the only thing he can do. and when he does hes so afraid that he'll see in her eyes the understanding disappointment, the pity and "i suppose so" that he fears, but he finally raises his head and he cries because her eyes are shining with joy and love and hope. thats all she ever wanted from him. she just wants to be with him, voice or no, amenities or no, and hes never felt so loved

he weeps, and she weeps--from grief and relief and love--and they hold each other close

sheltering under each other

and they have never been more secure in their love

he walked the whole length of the railroad into hell for her, he survived in the pit for her, she scoured the underworld for him, she came for him and she's keeping him

and the return of all these workers startles everyone in central hadestown and a lot of the work gets stalled out

which, of course, draws hades’ attention.

tune in next time for more on this shit ✌️

(pt i) (pt ii) (pt iii) (you are here) (pt iv) (pt. v) (epilogue) (askblog)

[misskittydenoire]

Surprise! [Part One]

Title: Surprise! [Part One] Character(s) Mentioned: Tony Stark Pairing: Tony Stark x Offspring!Reader Genre: Fluff Rating: PG (eh, just a little language) Words: 2,432 Author’s Notes: I finally got a request! It’s from my friend NomNom! Thanks for the request, love! NomNom asks: Hiii! I was wondering if i could make a fic request. Can you write one of tony and reader, but reader being his kid that he just found out about? Thanks! Low key wanted the kid to be in college and whatever and is working as a barista and tony constantly trying to pay for everything but the kid keeps shutting him down lol. It’d be funny if she was the barista he always go to and when she found out, it was awkward until she went to the compound to tell him. I wanted to try something new with this request. I actually did my best and placed it in the protagonist’s point of view, that’s one. The second thing I tried to do was keep it gender neutral. This also ended up becoming a two parter because the story turned out longer than I expected! I really hope you guys like it! Summary: It has always been you and your mom. Since you were born, your mom has been there for you, has been your pillar of strength, and later on, has taught you to hold your own. You’ve relied on yourself and your hard work always. However, big news falls onto your lap and a new father comes along with it. A father who’s willing to give you anything in the world. A father who happens to occasionally save it as well. That father just so happens to be Tony Stark.

He stepped out of his silver Audi, fixing his tailored suit as he closed the car door with a small slam. His genuine black leather shoes softly hit the pavement as he entered his favorite establishment. Tony Stark survived on coffee. If it were possible, he would have a permanent IV attached to him filled with the caffeinated liquid. Instead, he walks through the glass door of a small cafe he frequents, a location that naturally knew his presence by the sound of his feet entering through the door.

“Hello, Mr. Stark! How are you today?” The portly owner greeted him with a wide smile, her cheeks flushed from her work. Her left hand still wiping down the table in front of her, preparing for the busy day ahead. He turned, his signature sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, and smirked. “Hanging in there, Susan. I need my fix again. You know me, can’t work without that magical brown juice that keeps me up and amazing.” She shook her head, accustomed to his remarks. Susan continued on, placing the small advertisement of their new product coming soon in the center of the dark wooden table before she moved on to another project.

A deep sigh escaped you. Another turn around shift that has been slowly draining your energy down to zero. If you take anymore of this shifts, you might as well sleep here. Attempting to balance college and your part time job is becoming too much to bare, however you sluggishly dragged your feet forward. College loans won’t pay for themselves, no matter how smart you are. One week closer. Just one more week closer to graduation and then you can finally collapse. The small red bucket of sanitizer fluid swayed back and forth before you placed it on the faux marble counter, a thin blue fabric floating above the water. Your mind concentrated on the mountain of worries, not paying attention to your surroundings. Your back was to the register, now wiping the same spot between the blenders for the umpteenth time.

“Uh, can I get some service here?” There was a sudden spike in your heartbeat, surprised by the unexpected voice behind you. You turned your heel, quick to smile, and address the first customer of the day when you looked at the cheeky smile plastered on their face. “God! You almost gave me a heart attack, man!” You exhaled heavily, as your hand clutched the middle area above your chest. Tony chuckled, tipping his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. His brown eyes bright with joviality. “Sorry, kid. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” “Yes, you did.” “You’re right, I did. It’s always fun seeing you jump. It’s my favorite morning entertainment next to annoying the crap outta Happy.” You glared at him, feigning annoyance before breaking into a grin, “Ha ha. What can I get you, Mr. Stark?” “Ugh, don’t call me that. You make me sound old.” “You are old,” You quipped. “… I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that and chalk it up to childlike humor. How old are you again, twelve?” He answered, pushing the sunglasses back up onto the top of his nose. You rolled your eyes playfully, “What can I get you, Tony?”

He shrugged indecisively, and lifted his head to look over the many choices available to him. He pursed his lips as he pondered what to drink. The options were limitless, his deep brown eyes jumping from beverage to beverage.

“Here you go, Tony.” You said, placing the disposable cup with its cardboard sleeve in front of him. Tony looked at the cup, then to you. Back to the cup and back to you for the second time. You smirked, crossing your arms over your chest proudly. You shrugged nonchalantly before your shoulders dropped down again. Stark was about to speak when you interrupted him, a smug expression on your face. “You always look at the menu, taking about two minutes before you give up and ask for the usual: Americano with an extra shot and a questionable shitload of sugar. I’m surprised you don’t have diabetes by now.” “Well, one: I was going to choose something different this time. And two: This is my sugar intake for the day. The rest of the day I stay somewhat healthy. I’m doing great for a 34 year old.” “Aren’t you 48?” “Shut up.” He mumbled before he turned his heel and walked casually out the doors as you laughed at his reaction.

You shook your head, your laughter dying down as soon as you found yourself surrounded by a swarm of hipsters ready with their orders of organic soymilk, non-fat, chai lattes. Your chest underneath the dirty green apron expanded, quickly letting out an aggravated groan and widened a false grin. “Here we go…” You said to yourself.

The miniature Captain America shield hit against your keys as you stepped foot into the apartment. It fell back into your right jacket pocket, placing the article of clothing on the hook adjacent to the entrance. Your body screamed for release from the aches and pains it suffered standing for eight hours on tiled floor at work. While your brain pleaded for relief after five more hours of listening to lectures about the history of engineering. Your day was yet to be done, however. Piles of readings that needed to be completed for the following class and essays that still were in need to be outlined. Your professors have conspired to torture you until you’re in cap and gown. Juggling both work and school hasn’t been an easy road but you were determined to endure it till the end.

“Hi honey.” A soft voice greeted you.

It was your mother. She sat nervously on the couch you’ve been inhabiting for the past six months. She smiled briefly before her nerves set back into her small face. With open arms, she welcomed you back home once you realized that several pieces of papers written ‘I.O.U’ was no longer satisfactory for your roommates or landlord. You were her only child, of course. She wasn’t going to let you live in the streets.

“Mom?” You asked, confused by the soft frown on her face. “Sweetie? We need to talk,” She patted the cushion next to her, then placed her hand back on her lap.

You stared at her weary face. The wrinkles around her eyes were more apparent than usual. Whatever was plaguing her, clearly was taking a toll on her. You felt concerned, your feet sped towards her without losing eye contact. Your hands took hers, “Are you okay? What’s the matter? Are you sick? Are you–” “Sweetie, I’m fine. Breathe. You look like you’re gonna pass out.” She chuckled. You let out a sigh of relief, “With you and Mr. Stark, I’m gonna get grey hairs before I even turn 25.” “You’ve met Tony Stark?” She asked, surprised. You nodded, “Yeah, I thought I mentioned him to you before. He stops by the cafe often.” “I guess this makes it a little easier than…” “Makes what easier?” “Well…” She began.

“…So. You’re saying that my dad is Tony freaking Stark?!” You shouted, incredulously. You stood up, the blood rushing to your head in a flash which caused you to sit back down. It was your mother’s turn to nod. “Does he know?” Your fingers rubbed your temples, groaning from the rapid equations in your brain, attempting to wrap this situation around it.

She was still silent. She shook her head, worried that she has angered you. She couldn’t blame you. She has withheld this information for quite some time. “Why? Why have you kept this from me for so long?” You asked, exasperated. The secret was the least of your worries. It was the fact that your own flesh and blood omitted the truth. She’s not only the woman who gave birth to you but she was your best friend. Regardless of the fights they’ve caused, you’ve always told her the truth. This is different from, “oh, your fish is just sleeping,” or “eating your spinach is gonna make you strong like Popeye.” You knew the ins and outs of how you came to be but the origin was always vague. You see why now. “To be honest, I don’t know. I suppose because I thought it was for the best. It felt like it didn’t matter. We had each other, and we weren’t missing anything so it wasn’t like I needed him. Besides, at the time, he was a playboy. He had so notches on his bedpost, they were splinters. He wasn’t going to recognize who I was or even believe me. It was going to be more a fiasco and I didn’t want that in our lives.” She explained, tears welled in her coffee colored eyes. “Besides, it’s not the greatest feeling in the world to tell your only child they are the product of a one night stand.”

“Mom, I don’t care if you’ve slept with thousands of men. What bothers me is you’ve kept this from me when I’ve always been honest with you.” “Okay, don’t use my favorite musical against me… And it wasn’t thousands of men.” She grumbled. You gingerly wiped the pending tears before they fell as a smile surfaced on both of your faces. “… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” You shook your head, “It’s okay, mom. It’s nothing therapy and vodka won’t fix.” She lightly smacked your arm as she sighed in relief. Her thin frame stood up, as if lightened by the confession of her past. She walked towards the kitchen, today’s dinner on the top of her tongue until she forgot a fire question she herself had. “…..Are you going to tell Mr. Stark who you are?”

Your eyes stared at the entrance of the compound. This man has never been really subtle, huh? Just a big ol’ A slapped onto the building. Through the glass paned doors, you could see the hustling and bustling of the agents and staff while you contemplated even going forward with this idea. You weren’t even sure he’d be here. However, you knew this matter wasn’t something to be spoken about at the cafe and it wasn’t something that you can say casually while you handed him his coffee. 

“Here’s your usual, Mr, Stark. Oh, by the way, I’m your illegitimate child you had from a one night stand you probably have no recollection of.” You muttered, feigning a grin as you replayed the impossible scenario you had in your head. Your right s/c hand clutched the piece of paper with the address of the compound, crumbling it as if it would will your feet to finally move. It didn’t. The roar of an engine drew closer, and you whipped your head towards the direction. Your e/c eyes widened as the man in question came into your line of vision. How the hell are you gonna explain this? Would he even believe you?

Stark noticed a figure as he got to the compound, and quickly knew who it was. What he didn’t understand is why you were there in the first place. “Y/N? Doing deliveries now or is this some special perk for yours truly?” He quipped. However, his tone shifted when you fully turned to him, your face holding a nervous look in your eyes. “Hey, are you okay? Did something happened? Are you sick? Do you need-” Well, nice to know that the 21 questions panic mode comes from him, you thought to yourself, as you held up your hands to pause his interrogation. “Hey Tony. Yes, I’m okay. Yes, something did happen but nothing that required stitches. No, I’m not sick,” You answered in a monotone before you moved on to why you were really there. “Actually, there is something I need to discuss with you. It’s something really delicate that I knew I couldn’t explain to you at my job. Can we talk somewhere private?” “Yes sure, kid.” Tony escorted you into the building, his arm directing you to the elevators. 

You took quiet deep breaths as you entered his office. The large room was twice as big as your living room and the furniture’s upscale appearance was far from any one you could afford. Your arms stuck close to your form, afraid that if you even as so touched the air around it, it would collapse. You weren’t even sure you should sit down when Tony offered you a seat because you were afraid you’d wrinkle the cushion. You only decided to accept it since Tony wouldn’t have stopped staring intently until you did. He sat on the opposite side on his work desk, his broad back leaning against his chair, “So sport, what did you wanna talk about? Must be something serious if you decided to come all this way from the city.” You began to twiddle your thumbs, “Well… I honestly don’t know where to begin here. This is a position I never thought I’d be in.” A short exhale escaped your mouth, your hands (though slightly clammy) gripped the arms of the chair as you decided to just come out with it, “I’m your kid. I’m not asking for money or any like that. I just found out a couple of days ago and I thought you should know too. You know, just in case you’d ever need a blood transfusion or something. Not that I want that to happen or anything. Just, you know… so you know.” Unfortunately, the execution was a little too quick for Tony to catch. The sentences were woven together that it didn’t make any sense. Tony blinked, “…Sorry, what?” “You’re… my dad.” The man behind the iron mask sat in front of you, frozen. And stayed frozen for about five minutes. “Mr. Stark. Are you still breathing? Listen, I know this comes as quite a shock and I don’t even know if you believe me. I’m willing to take a blood test, anything—” In an instant, he lifted his hand. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you verify this?” On it, sir. “Ow!” You released your left hand from the vice grip you had on the chair when you get a prick on your index finger. Within seconds, the AI returned. What Y/N is correct, sir. You are their biological father. You sat there, uncertain what to do next. Unintentionally, you nervously smiled, “…Mazel Tov?” Well, this could’ve gone a whole lot worse…

[rosebudmendes]

La vie Est Belle (Shawn AU)

Part 2

Description: She has to take care of her ill father. He has to provide for his younger sister. Just when they think their lives couldn’t get busier, fate intervenes. 

Warnings: alcoholic tendencies, anxiety, anger management issues, terminal illness

Word count: 2,483

Reblog & send me your thoughts! I hope you enjoy!

Part 1

———

A loud crash startled you out of deep sleep. The room was mostly dark. There was the smallest amount of sunlight beaming in through the curtains. Following the shattering of glass was a loud groan and anger filled stomps, the clock on the wall reading 5:30 am. It was far too early for your dad to be out of bed. You wrestled with the thought of going to investigate but stopped at the fear of running into a highly intoxicated version of your mother.

You tried to stay clear from her path if it was clear she had been drinking. This meant that you hardly were around her. She always seemed to have a drink in her hand or a migraine that made her irritated at the slightest sound. It used to bother you. In the past, you couldn’t control your anger and your mom was the perfect outlet for irrational yelling. Even hearing her pour herself a drink would send you into a fit of passionate hate. It took a few years of counseling for you to have a grasp on those furious thoughts.

As much as you tried to ignore the sounds coming from the kitchen, you were now wide awake. You still knew it was better off to let time take its course and let her find her way to the bed herself. To fill the time you pulled out your phone. You weren’t expecting to have any messages as you aren’t very close with any of your friends back home. Actually, for the last 6 months, you had kind of been a loner. There was too much pressure on you to take care of your father and be there for your friends. Eventually, everyone stopped inviting you out. Even when you did go out it was rare that you felt alive and appreciated.

This morning, though, you had a message from Shawn. You tried to ignore the tingly feeling the notification gave you, but it was too difficult. Your cheeks rushed with blood and your toes curled slightly.

“I enjoyed talking with you, (y/n). Thanks for returning my wallet xx”

You wanted to reply in a heartbeat, but you stopped when you heard another loud bang come from the kitchen. This time you couldn’t help but rush out to see what was the matter. You opened the bedroom door and what you saw left you in a feeling of despair and shame. It wasn’t your mother at all. She was still passed out on the couch with a drink still in her hand. That meant it had to be your father, and that meant there was something wrong. You scanned the room frantically. He wasn’t in the living room and there was a wet substance on the kitchen tile. Not worrying about the mess, you ran to the bathroom. The door was locked but you could see the light shining brightly through the crack.

“Pops? Are you alright?” It felt like a redundant question; he was probably throwing up. You have learned that as a grown man, he wants to feel in control. He hated when people treated him like a sick puppy. Few people knew what to ask him and when to stand their ground and do what was best for him.

That’s what it all came down to; his health. It didn’t matter what the time was, what day of the week it was, or even what country he was in. This illness was deadly and it had no sense of boundaries, it was relentless. You didn’t bother waiting for an answer, you ran to your phone and instantly called for an emergency vehicle. This may have just been a reaction to the changes in the altitude from traveling, but you didn’t want to take any chances. You were your father's everything, he was all you had. Your mom was probably going to drink herself to death, and your relationship’s all fizzled out. Without your father, you’d be on your own.

Quickly and swiftly, you wiped away the tears that appeared and you started packing bags. The last time your father was admitted to the emergency room, you guys ended up staying for a week without a way back home for clothes. You threw in clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, and an envelope that included all the insurance information and a credit card that had never been used and was the last possible resource.

Just then an aggressive knock on your door alarmed you and woke your mother up. You let the kind doctors in while also updating your mother on what was happening. She only nodded and frantically brushed her hair, shoving a piece of gum in her mouth and putting eye drops in her eyes. You just scoffed and walked away from her.

Now was not the time to worry about appearances. Until now you weren’t aware of what clothes you had on. Pajamas, appropriate enough to wear in public on occasion but obviously sleepwear. You didn’t mind though. You knew about zero people in the city and didn’t feel the need to make a proper first impression.

The emergency vehicle was parked right outside of the resort lobby, the overstimulating lights and sirens making you feel uncomfortable. Although the severity of the illness, there had been only one other time an ambulance was needed for your father.

It was before you were the main caregiver and you had just walked home from school. No one informed you that your dad was even home from work, let alone not feeling well. You remember what it felt like to hear those sirens, watch him be pushed out of the house on a stretcher and not know if he was going to come back. That same feeling was with you now, and you felt as small and helpless as you did back then.

You couldn’t focus on the pain and grief now. He was still alive, he was still breathing. You needed to move forward and prepare yourself for what was next. The hospital was a place of sadness and sorrow. You hated it with all your heart. The only happy memories that anyone ever experiences at a hospital is a birth, and the rest was all too depressing.

The smell of latex and hand sanitizer stung your nose, mixed with the sound of small sniffles and light whispers from one family member to another. It was all so miserable. You knew it was going to be a long day.

You and your mom waited in the waiting room for what felt like days but was only an hour. The doctors finally came out and said some medical stuff that basically meant your father was getting worse. Your mother broke down into hysterical tears, and you remained calm and thanked the doctor.

You hadn’t checked your phone at all and didn’t realize Shawn had texted you again. Even though you were in a state of high emotions, you somehow felt a quick sense of calmness seeing his text.

He sent a picture of him and his younger sister, baking something in the kitchen. The photo was followed with “Sheila wanted to thank you with some homemade bread. Anywhere we can deliver this heavenly loaf? xx”

You smiled internally at the thought of them baking something for you. There was something about his presence that made you feel like life was worth living. Even a simple text message from him, a small token of appreciation for your existence. It almost made you believe that life is beautiful.

You finally replied to both messages from him. “I had a great time at the Diner, too. You can hand deliver any packages to your royal highness at this address…” You tried to come off cheerful as flirtatious as you could. There was no need for him to know what was going on, or that you would be spending the day in a hospital with your terminally ill father. You tried to ignore the idea of his existence so you could focus on the stability and health of your father.

You were allowed to see him after he had been fully examined and the insurance was processed. He looked pale and grey. He was wearing one of those stereotypical hospital gowns and IV cords as unwanted accessories. The tears pricked at your eyes, but you did whatever you could to push them back. You had to be strong for him, you couldn’t let him know to see him like this hurt you. He desperately wanted to be the strong and sufficient father figure that every man aspires to be, but now that he physically couldn't you had to pretend you didn’t need any fatherly help. Even if you did, you never let it show.

“Hey Sweets, how do I look?” He joked. No matter the situation, he always made a humorous comment.

“I think you’ve looked better, Pops.” You sat at the chair close by his bed, and you grabbed his hand that was resting on his side.

“Oh, come on now I think I look pretty darn fabulous” He was resilient, nonetheless.

“Pops, you should know-“

“I’m not getting better am I?” His voice cracked, and he squeezed your hand gently. You nodded, and let the tears fall. His eyes were filled with tears as well.

Neither one of you acknowledged the hurt that found its way between your bodies. You both felt it, knew its presence had never truly gone away. It was stronger now. The hurt was more powerful every day your father lived. The longer this illness was dragged out for, the stronger the pain, the harsher the hurt.

It was going to take a miracle for your family to remain. It would take more than a miracle to keep yourself sane. You brought your lips to his hand and pressed your cheek against him. He was still warm, that was a sign of hope.

You ended up falling asleep next to your father. When you woke up you realized it was almost dark already. You didn’t know if you were so exhausted from jet lag, or from the tiring events of the day. Either way, you needed energy. You went to the coffee station in the hospital cafeteria and sat down at a comfortable lounge chair. On your way over you grabbed a sandwich and a water. Might as well try and eat something, even though you weren’t that hungry.

You were minding your own business when a doctor approached you. “(Y/n)?” He asked, continuing when you nodded. “I regret to inform you that we have strict guests policies in this part of the hospital…” You didn’t have any idea where he was going with this statement. “Unfortunately, only parents and spouses are legally allowed to stay overnight.” He was swaying side to side with his hand glued in his long white jacket. You were confused, tired, and now angry. You didn’t want to lash out at him, you were really trying not to say anything.

“Ok, thank you.” Your response was short and choppy on purpose. He asked if there was anything he could do for you, and you ignored him. You slammed the coffee and food onto the counter table and stormed away.

Sometimes the anger you felt was stronger than any meditation guide and breathing technique. You wanted to scream. You felt like you needed to scream. You ran out of the hospital and sprinted to the resort. As angry as you were that you couldn’t spend the night next to your father, you were relieved that you would be able to sleep in your own bed.

When you arrived outside the resort you felt calmer. Not completely calm, but enough to have a civil conversation with the doorman in passing. You were standing outside the elevator when you felt someone’s presence behind you, Shawn.

“Oh, hi.” You pushed the loose strands of hair behind your ear and fidgeted with the ends of your stained t-shirt. You were not expecting to be seeing him at all today.

“I was just delivering a thank you gift, flowers, and banana bread.” He nervously chuckled. You nodded and awkwardly stood near, waiting for him to say something else.

“Gosh, (y/n) did you get any sleep last night? You don’t look so good.”

“Wow, you sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself.” You would rather make a joke out of his comment than tell him the truth. You could tell by his expression he was not on the same page. “My father, he is in the hospital.”

You didn’t have to look at him to know the surprised look in his eyes. Everyone was stunned when they first hear about his illness, over time you just know better than to watch them process such information.

“(Y/n), I had no idea. I-“ He hardly finished his sentence before setting down the small gifts, and pulling you into a tight hug. One arm was wrapped around your waist, the other was holding your head to his chest. He was so much taller than you, so much stronger than you. Instead of fighting against his act of affection you leaned into it. You wrapped your arms around his muscular waist and inhaled. He smelt of vanilla and cologne again.

“I’m sorry, I don’t like to talk about it.” You mumbled, tears streaming down your rosy cheeks.

“Hey, no need to apologize. You just need to get some rest.” His voice was deep and soft. He somehow managed to show that he was not judging you in the way he spoke and held you. Without letting you go he pressed the elevator button again, and the doors immediately opened.

He was about to pull away, about to leave you alone. Something about the idea of him leaving you made you feel unsettled. You squeezed him harder, hoping he would get the hint.

“You could stay if you want.”

“Is that what you want?” He was swaying gently now, the warmth between you becoming thick and excessive.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Shawn kissed the top of your head and you practically fell, becoming weak in the knees. He swiftly turned you around and laced his fingers between yours. This feeling was incredible. More intense than anyone you had ever touched before. It was almost as if you had met in a past life and were being reconnected. The universe has a funny way of making things happen, and for once you were able to understand the beauty in all of this pain.

Taglist: [thanks to @stockholmshawn for helping edit this, go give her a follow!] @lou-and-me @yellowitsmendes

[tumblunni]

Ohhh fuckin geez at least let me has a pikachu

Today's update: still feeling all fucked up from Everything Happening At Once, also getting a migraine from all the stress the other day and how i basically didnt sleep for two days and then passed out today and lost the entire 24 hours. Like man i cant even say the family shit was yesterday?? It just feels that way cos i spent all of today either sleeping, crying or crying on the phone to the bank and the stupid online game store that took my money for pokemon preorder yet didnt send me the actual game. GAHHHH and ive forgotten to Eat Food for like the whole three days all this shit has been going down, aside from a handful of Starburst candy my sis gave me during our Big Awkward Moment. And the energy drink i chugged on the way there to meet her because Fuck I Need Awakeness To Comprehend This Shit. I think my stomach is exploding in on itself.

Anyway! ANYWAY!! Gahhh! Anyway!

Thank you mega fuckin big much to the friends who leant me money AGAIN, both to catch the midnight bus to meet a long lost sibling and also to fix this stupid game preorder bollocks. God what the fuck is up with my life? I feel so guilty asking for money and man you guys have leant me like 300 in the last 3 months! Fuck i hope this stupid cavalcade of finance problems stops soon and i can start paying you all back because JESUS CHRIST. I feel like my skin is melting off my bones whenever i think about how much i dont deserve such great friends! 'welp yeah theyre wonderful people, guess i lost an arm' You ever wanna cringe yourself into a little ball from embarassment? Yeah like that but so much that i disintegrate into atoms.

SO I HOPE! FOR FUCKIN GODS SAKE! That this stolen money zero game bullshit gets resolved soon. But there's no chance of it taking less than a week, so thank you SO MUCH for helping me place another preorder at a different more reliable shop! This is what i get for fuckin going bargain hunting aaa. I ordered pikachu version just in case the original order does somehow turn up, cos it was eevee version. But i got none of the preorder bonuses anymore and no pokeball controller on this. I guess maybe itll make my second playthru more fun if i can finally use the damn controller, haha! And this second copy is probably gonna arrive quite late now cos i missed the preorder window. But it should be either on saturday or monday which is way better than waiting a month or something chasing up this bullshit! And hopefully also in a week or two i will get the money back from selling alll those preowned games, and it can go towards A: GROCERIES and B: repaying bebst friends of reckless money giving. You guys are fuckin nuts, seriously!! And man god i hate that im still suffering this knock-on effect tight finances bullshit from the stupid mental hospital thing 3 months ago. I mean i failed to even last a month there and its cost me almost a thousand pounds in terms of stocking up the stuff to be able to move house temporarily, all the mobile data i had to use while being without internet while i was there, all the miscellaneous expenses along the way, and then all the bill debt and having to restock tolietries and groceries and everyries when i got back home. Sighhh! And i feel guilty that i bought a stupid warhammer starter kit around halloween and i still havent even opened it because The Guilt. Like man i should have somehow predicted there would be more money trouble and saved that money rather than make a selfish purchase. But like it was the cheapest beginners kit anyway and i even haggled a discount for getting the figures without the paint. And now im being selfish and getting this pokemon game!! Twice!! Because stupid fuckin online banking nonsense!! Godddd give me back my money so i can give it to my friendsssss

So yeah in summary Bunni Feel Bad and also Overwhelmed and also Bad. But hopefully stuff is sorted now. Gah!

Also probably will be some delay on doing a lets play of this new pokemon cos i dunno when its gonna arrive and also i feel Big Sick now and need to chug a paracetamol and eat a loaf of bread before i die. Hope i dont spend all weekend just passed out on the sofa from Too Much Braining In One Day. Srsly why did this all happen all at once...

Also i probably wont go with the idea of twin protagonists headcanon for this LP, cos the whole Untimely Lost Sibling Madness kinda made that a sore spot to think about. One good side of getting the version i didnt want is that i can pick the female protagonist if i get pikachu version, and go with the personality i was gonna use for the female sibling. Cos actually it seems that your rival dude's perosnality is kinda simular to what i was gonna do for the male sibling? Could just have that sort of relationshup as a best buddies thing. And playing as a sassy roughhousing jock girl protag is gonna be more fun than playing The Nice And Shy Dude which is basically what i always do in every game cos its just me??? Would get more fun character lets player contrast with protagonist Darcy.

Also fuck i am gonna have SO MUCH to talk about in this first episode! Watchers who dont follow me on tumblr are gonna be so confused. "Hey youtube i just got out of mental hospital and found my long lost sister who thought i was dead, anyway never mind that lets talk about pokemon! I was gonna say i dont have any baby pictures of me when the original Pokemon Yellow came out, but here's the one i found on a facebook obituary for myself yesterday..."

What the fuck is my life, seriously?

Also if my starter ends up being a male pikachu im gonna name it Chuppy after my original one in pokemon yellow. And if its a girl i'll call it Ghostwriter after my mimikyu and pretend that its a mimikyu that just has an extra high quality disguise. Seriously, picturing all of these cute antics and tiny costumes on mimikyu makes it all even sweeter to me! I love ghosties!!

LOL I JUST REALIZED MAYBE IM A GHOST TRAINER COS I WAS "DEAD" ALL THESE YEARS AND DIDNT KNOW IT

Seriously man if there are any parents out there reading this, dont fuckin lie to your 4 year old that her sibling is dead just because the dad divorced you. There are no words for how fucked up this is. Except 'oh i guess thats why my favourite digimon frontier character is duskmon'. I fuckin thought that plot was unrealistic when i first watched it! XD actually i think duskmon is straight up my favourite digimon design and the one i'd probably pick as my partner, even though i prefer Impmon's plot from the third season. I kinda wanna go make a fanmade full evolution line for Duskmon now?? Man why am i getting so wildly off topic!

I really need to eat a food and sleep a sleep

[exulis]

5/14/17

well, 3 yrs ago was without a doubt the lowest point i ever been in my life, it was the whole hospital mess and still to this day the most traumatic thing ive experienced. all i remember is having to go to the doctor every week for multiple things and it was pure misery, and the only thing i had in the world were my friends on maplestory lmao. no-lifed that shit like 12 hrs a day for 3 months. i still remember it was may 6th and the weeks following were so beyond awful i have no words for the absolute misery, i didnt eat for a whole week and passed out from it multiple times idk. 

3 years before that i was in equal misery but for different reasons, my house was a toxic fucking mess and there was nothing more in the universe i wanted than to leave. even if it meant giving up free state tuition and the easy academic/career path i wish i had now. but i gave it up for freedom and distance and a chance to start over. and for me that meant jumping headfirst into a boiling pot, the world of boys that said they loved me but none of them did and it was the world of mistaking lust for love and its that fire im still dying in today. 

idk im trying to console myself i have been through hell before i have been through much worse. ive lost people who i talked about getting married with, ive lost people who were by my side 24/7 since day 1, i have lost people i considered my own family or my own personal angels. ive watched my own future turn into dust, ive held my precious dreams as they died. and nothing since has compared to that.

idk why its so bad, knowing all that. it should be easy right, that this is just a rainstorm compared to the back to back tsunamis i have faced before. why is it so hard. maybe its because i have changed. after october i stopped believing in anything. zero hope. zero care for the future or what happens to me. ive been fucking drinking poison since then bc i dont fkn care anymore idc if i die idc what sufferering i bring on bc itll end up the same afterwards. 

i used to pray a lot. and many were answered, like finding a job, getting into grad school, my first angel, escaping my house. all those were answered and worked out but idk ive been praying since october and there is nothing. things take time they say but idc ive been suffering for 10 yrs now it needs to stop im so tired. i love God and want to believe in his promises but with all this nonstop suffering its getting hard. he has never failed me in anything except this, i feel. giving me angels and taking them away, and leaving me to suffer alone all this time.  

or why did he make me like this? so horribly romantic yet unable to give up. as much as i want to its like i fight countless fucking battles and all i want is to go home but hes forcing me to crawl on bloody limbs to the next one and keep fighting. im tired. i feel sick. i have no more energy i dont know what joy feels like my heart is resounding and empty and im tired. but not cruel. that trash from last year made me soft again and left haha im not vengeful anymore or cold idk. 

if god sent me another angel id fucking die for them. no more bs or childishness, there would be one forever. and having gone through this endless hell they would be so appreciated and loved forever and ever holy shit lol i just want to give my life to someone and have it in return. how do ppl even get married in this messy trash world, how did they ever meet someone who treasures them like that TELL ME WHAT IT FEELS LIKE. im screaming to the moon ive been a wolf girl for 10 years so ravenous and lonely and hungry for something real. in the past ive been too fierce and angry and tore hearts out without a care in the world. but he made me soft again like i was in the beginning and i wana belong to someone, and to protect them until the death.

but u know, everyone just wants to fuck they wana use me bc im pretty they wana use my body and zero regard for me. theyre holding a wishing star and they dont even know it. they dont even know it.

[attiqdemos]

it’s national eating disorder awareness week, and a lot of my friends are posting about it on facebook, but i don’t want to do that bc it feels weird so here

i had disordered eating for the last 2 years of high school. it seems more severe now than it did back then, maybe because back then i thought it was normal. okay maybe not normal--i knew it wasn’t normal--but i’d hear about the girls who dropped 60 pounds and got so sick they had to be hospitalized and fed through an iv tube and i knew that was never going to be me so i thought mine wasn’t that severe. looking back on it now, i’m honestly amazed that any part of me thought what i was doing was in any way rational. 

i never wanted to say i had anorexia; i read stuff online saying you could only have anorexia if you were underweight, so i never used that word about myself. it was just a diet, or, at worst, unhealthy eating habits. i didn’t tell anyone except three of my closest friends from other schools, because i didn’t want anyone from my school to find out for fear that they’d try to stop me, or worse yet, tell my parents. one of my friends from my school noticed something was weird and she actually reached out to one of those people that i told and it was one of the scariest days of my life even though i know it was coming from a place of love.

it was worst at the beginning of my senior year. college applications and schoolwork and honor societies and extracurriculars and band and my job and everything kind of came crashing down at once, and i wanted to feel like i had control over something at least, but i guess i overdid it. i have some strangely specific memories of that time, almost like vignettes: sitting in my first period ap gov class, not paying attention, writing out on the little calendar in my planner how many calories i would eat each day and meticulously calculating how long it’d take me to drop six pounds (according to my numbers, 25 days.) recalibrating my daily calorie counter in my head each time i took a bite of something to make sure i wouldn’t go over 700. i was obsessed with myfitnesspal; i would literally measure out half a cup of granola, weigh the amount of blueberries i put on it, to make sure i was getting accurate counts. i had the same thing at lunch every day: a handful of spinach topped with either a few berries and walnuts, half of an apple and a bit of crumbled cheddar cheese, or, if i was feeling extravagant, maybe slices of boiled egg. i drank a lot of those zero calorie fizzy water ice things for energy. i can’t even smell them anymore without feeling revulsion. 

i would flip my shit over the smallest things. i’d never eat everything that was on my dinner plate; one night, i came home from work, where i’d had a leftover salad for dinner, and my mom wanted me to finish my steak from the night before. it was three bites. i knew automatically that was about 100 calories. i’d already gone over my limit and eaten 750 that day. i couldn’t fucking eat anything else. i ended up crying over a piece of goddamn steak and making up something stupid about failing a quiz in school. whenever possible, i’d throw food out sneakily, or not eat meals and then tell my parents i had. 

i was never bulimic, which i’m really thankful for. i remember the closest i ever got to making myself throw up: after my interview at barnard, my family took me out to an indian restaurant to celebrate. indian was--is--my favorite kind of food. my dad told me i had to order everything. i did. i tried it all. i ate so much that i felt sluggish. in retrospect, it was a normal sized meal for me now, but to my artificially shrunken stomach then, it was way too much to handle. i knelt on the tile next to the toilet in the single-stall bathroom staring at the toilet water like it was taunting me. i dry heaved a couple times, stood up, brushed off my tights and walked out. 

vomiting would’ve been a step too far. later on, while i was beginning to ‘recover’ (i didn’t fully get over my issues with food until this summer), i would stand over the garbage can in my kitchen, take bites of brownies my mom made, chew them up, savor the flavor, and then spit them into a paper towel and throw them out. if we ever went out to eat, i’d look at the menus online beforehand to figure out what the lowest-calorie option was. we went to cheesecake factory once; i remember being thankful they had calorie counts for all their items online, then disgusted when i saw how high those counts were, then breathing a sigh of relief when i found an appetizer-sized portion of vegetable tacos that replaced the shell with a leaf of lettuce. it was 300 calories--half of my daily total. 

the closest i ever came to telling a medical professional was during an annual checkup during my senior year. i’d plummeted from 162 lbs, my highest weight in the summer before my sophomore year, to 134. she asked my how i did it: was it exercise? was it being on my feet at my job? i couldn’t give her an answer; i just started tearing up. i’m sure somewhere on my record there’s a note about risk for an eating disorder, but that’s all it ever was: a note. 

there was no clear-cut recovery process for me. there was no one moment where i stopped and said ‘i need to fix this.’ it was kind of just gradual; i had relapses, of course, but it generally wasn’t that bad since i came to college. i did gain a ton of weight my freshman year; it fluctuated a lot because of the all-you-can-eat meal plan, which was designed to help prevent eating disorders and food related anxiety for the students at my women’s college, but ironically ended up giving me more anxiety because of the lack of autonomy i was given over my choices of what to eat. but at some point either at the end of my second semester or the beginning of the summer, i finally stopped tallying up calories in my head. 

my weight has stabilized since then. i haven’t been on a scale in a year, but last i saw, it was something around 140, which is probably where it still is. i’m fine with that. it’s weird: i’m finally the size 6 i’d always wanted to be, but i’m not even sure how i got there. i looked in the mirror this morning and realized that somewhere along the line, i’d developed the thigh gap i’d always dreamed of; weirder yet, i found out i didn’t really care that i could see light shining through a tiny gap between my legs. i bought a crop top this summer. i still have flab on my stomach. it pokes out over the top of my jeans. i don’t care, though; i like the way i look in crop tops. i still don’t own a single pair of shorts, a remnant of my battle with my most detested body part--my thighs--but maybe this summer, i’ll finally get there. 

i don’t have tips for recovery, unfortunately. i don’t even know how i did it. i just stopped caring at some point. i have better things to worry about than some arbitrary number that’s supposed to quantify my physical being. the best thing i did, i think, is that i stopped comparing myself to other people.

it still comes and goes in waves. some days i think i’m beautiful; some days i’m fixated on my acne, my fat chin, my saggy tits, the pouch of fat above my pelvis, the cellulite dimples on my thighs. there’s nothing i can do about it. the society i live in has programmed me to notice these things. the best i can do is remember that it doesn’t define me. 

[somedaypast-thesunset]

so i really think i am done now. 

like im weirdly overwhelmingly speechless but yet have so many thoughts and feelings but none of them of extreme anxiety.

he tells me he went to drop in group therapy today and that hes going to go to rehab after he takes care of me for a month and maybe he’ll be better for spring.

i’m like .........................................

oh. o.ka..y. i just spent weeks - literally weeks - being dragged along by him with phone calls and questions and requests and he saw me invest my energy and time and that i was becoming like excited for this prospect. yesterday i was being told i would make him homecooked meals and take care of his dog. like i was fed everything and boom “maybe, i don’t know, we’ll see”.

and i didnt know how to react because on one hand im like okay cool good job trying something new i hope this gives u something ur looking for and helps the situation. on the other im like wow you literally have zero care about me and even if youre sick and thats the excuse behind this back and forth - you dont care about me. is it the sickness that makes you not care or you yourself? and am i sticking around to find out on the hopes that rehab makes this better? like your complete constant inability to give any respect to another person. its not like im thinking he has to go through with the original plans or else but its like not one time did he mention hey thanks for working on this i appreciate that youre doing this with me and you put time into it and i really want to be on my top game and i know this kind of puts a bump in the road but im hoping that itll be worthwhile at the end of it because we’re on the right track but i am not.

it was just im doing this and this. cool. 

u know he cant consider other ppl right he has to only consider himself and how to make himself better while completely neglecting the massive damage he is currently doing around him but its okay because hes going to rehab and if i believe in this opportunity i wont be bothered by a bump in the road. 

yes i absolutely think my life story should be tramping across canada i guess by myself now to be with a guy fresh out of rehab. so fuck me right. and im just like.. sooooooooooo.... many emotions. im angry and bitter and sad and heartbroken and i dont know what to be. i dont know whats the “right” path for ME to take. because fuck anyone else fuck it all - whats the right path for me. do i want to be angry? do i want to cry? 

except i already knew how this went because i did it before the summer about this fucking trip so its like u must think im literally retarded. if i complained at all in anyway i was an asshole for not supporting his want to go to rehab. i didnt want him to get better. and there was no way to explain that he was just completely neglecting the damage he caused and was causing at this very moment regardless of his positive decision because nothing about making the ecision to go to rehab is that positive. its only positive because youre “getting better” otherwise youre going because you suck right now. thats not a positive decision. it is AFTER fucking rehab. but im not even on this level with him you know. im not saying any of this. i just know that if i say even one single thing about it, im an asshole even though its presented to me by an asshole. 

so i told him that i wanted to go and be sad and i talked to him later. he asked me why i was sad and really pressed on the issue and i told him it dint matter and i would prefer to just go but again he pressed and i felt anxious like either i flat out accepted what happened right now and just live my life in whatever new way i was required to in his shadow or tell him that i felt uncomfortable and sad and that he was just going to come for a month and go away again and that didnt make me feel good. 

and thus - well he was doing this positive thing and he wanted to feel better and not feel like he wanted to die everyday and you know i had this opportunity where i was too and i had problems i wasnt working on and it doesnt make him feel goo to have to deal with the stress of me being upset about his decision. 

and i was just so frustrated. like after two fucking years you still do not get it at all. like omg i could quit smoking everything tomorrow and still feel like absolute garbage and want to di ei could have a great job an still feel like garbage and want to ie because my BIGGEST MOST OVERWHELMING FEELING I HAVE NEVER NOT SHAKEN IN MY DAILY FUCKING BEING is loneliness. and its not like im forcing him to mae me not lonely. but when you offer this stupid dream world where im not going to be lonely, when you put on a mask to parade around and “care for me” after surgery but disappear promptly after its like do you not understand its literally more painful for me in my life to live with loneliness than anything this cyst does to me. anything. i could live with it for a year and it would be less worse than the all consuming depression of loneliness. and by feeling so lonely ive struggled with finding a purpose. and like i have friend(s). i have one very good friend ive had for two years that i really really connect with and really really respect and weve fought but its totally okay and when i feel really alone i honestly think of her maybe first and foremost because i genuinely feel loved by this person. i really really think they would do the most for me and in return i try to do the very most for them. and weve supported major life crisis with each other. we’ve really emapthized and like wanted nothing but the best for each other and like cried with each other and this person is truly an example of why it might be worth giving people more chances.

but i experience such an isolating loneliness and my personal battle because life has decided i will and have experienced this  is that i need to embrace being alone because of all the people who have hurt me. i am not prepared in any form to vouch for someone being okay. ive made so many excuses for shitty people and shitty behavior that deeply reflects and scarred my soul so fucking bad. im soooo tired of making excuses for shitty people. im really tired. 

i try to bring up that he had fed me all this crap and he bounced between saying “i knew it wasnt true” that he was “pretending to be normal” and that he was still buying the land and he didnt understand why this was such a problem for me because “nothing changed” and finally that he was “sorry” and kept asking me what i wanted or what i wanted him to say and its so disgusting to put the victim in a position where they have to teach you what it is you did wrong when its so fucking obvious that you lied.

and so i thought about it briefly after hanging up and once again - dont get surgery. i was so uncomfortable now. i was like downtrodden and disrespected and nothing of what he said gave me confidence in fucking anything so i had a choice of pretending like it was all totally okay and watching him leave at the end or being upset about it and getting the bare minimum care from someone who kept filling my head with ideas that were never going to actually happen. so now im like vulnerable and have to experience this person no matter what and like i dont even want to talk to him now. im so shocked. lke the full weight of what he just did has not even set in fully but i know that its so fucking heavy it just changed my soul and like the minions are working overtime to figure out how to put this shit back together because i cannot even believe the level of how he trie to sell me on this shit and have zero fucking compassion towards the idea that  he once again had to take a new path alone and “couldnt consider me anymore” but “nothing had changed”. dont be upset.

hes going to rehab. 

and like im sorry i dont really believe in the recovery of this person other than the symbolic “i went to rehab” because he smokes weed. he refuses - flat out fucking refuses to see what actual fucing hurt he caused people and hes the only person who can work on these things and in no fucking way what so ever do i believe weed has any part of what hes doing. i really dont. if i can be proven wrong in the end ill take it back in respect but fuck him anyways because if a heroin addict shot me in the leg he still shot me in the fucking leg. forgive but im not forgetting. 

like the shit he has made me do and go through is abysmal and hes never ever going to admit to anyone that he did these things to me so at no point is anyone going to turn to him and say uhm u did fucking what. so wheres my bonus in all of this when / if it all comes back in the spring and hes ready to go because omg guys he went to rehab and now hes enlightened and sober and better than all of us and still the giant piece of shit to me hes always been. and now more so because i still smoke weed and god u know im a real drug addict. 

i told him i was uncomfortable with getting surgery knowing i would essentially be stuck with him for this time and right now i was just really uncomfortable and upset. he said that was fine but he was offering to “fulfill his obligation” of caring for me and he still loved me and if i only wanted him to come make meals and change my banages an leave then he would.

and its like man no. at this moment right now. right fucking now i am full realization that this is super abusive even if youre sick. even if youre sick. because i know this. i did this. and i did this very similarly u know like this woman loved me. she loved me and she cared for me but lke there was alot of things i id wrong like i was lazy and ungrateful and spoiled and a bitch but she cared for me and especially - ESPECIALLY if i was “sick” she really “cared for me” and that cleared her record. everytime i was sick - well u know she did this and this for u. but like she was killing me EVERY OTHER FUCKING DAY and all of this - al of this my whole life with this crazy woman was because she was sick. she was sick and this happened. and he was sick and this happened but like no matter the sickness this fucing HAPPENED. you damaged another persons soul like omg do u think u can get away with punching one of ur kids and going to mental ward one time and never ever have it brought up again no u damaged that kid and ur whole fucking family forever cuz ur sick. 

so ur saying before you go to rehab you will come back and care for the person that you have to “have no concern over” thereafter and that person can have literally no fucking emotion like youre a fucking home care nurse they never met before. like omg. are you for real. am i dead? why am i crazy because i think this is uncomfortable, stressful and awkward for the legitimately physically ill person. 

he says i can decide what i want, its my body but hes still offering to care for me and he doesnt want to play games because he was fine to take care of me and get surgery before he brought this up and i had already done this before and its like man why are you gaslighting me making me thinking my feelings about this are a manipulation tactic against you when its a legitimate fucking concern for my own well being and why is it insinuatingly so offensive that i switch to concern primarily for myelf when someone says theyre also doing the same thing. thats what makes you the most sick. and no one will ever reall see this. and its like when i realized i would never get anything back from my sick father and 10 years of caring for him and its just like damn. no one - no one will ever fully know what you did and thats how you actually won in all of this. even if i go out there and i say well he did this and this you already diminished my reputation of being like a logical level headed person in relationships and now i look fucing insane especially the embarassment of sticking around. 

like i cant even explain all the ways it oesnt feel right to get this surgery. ive had nightmares of dieing and its a nothing surgery. like maybe the anasthetics kill me or something. i have a surprise heart attack from my years of smoking. and if that doesnt happen then im here with him and like i dont even want ot look up what the surgery is because im 50% still in hope that like ill jump right up and be cool and like have no problem taking care of myself and i overestimated how much care iw ould need and its all good. best case scenario. then 50% im like okay if the cyst is as bad as it was and theyre cutting out a whole chunk of flesh and stitching it my likely best case scenario is moderate swelling and pain, moderate body movement and anxiety over a fucking wound thats so deep and like ive never had such a deep wound before and in this area i cant even bend with a cyst and its stitched what if i bent and it ripped like fair enough i could ask many of these questions of my personal anxieties with a doctor. and maybe what really happens is a bit of both and i struggle with feeding and bathing myself and my biggest concern is the set of stairs to the apartment and living in disgusting filthy room. 

so now im dealing with maybe a home care nurse level of care. im made some food. my bandage is changed and im left to fend for everything else even though there could be some limited mobility and stairs and just like.. not really being able to do anything strenuous and i imagine not alot of sitting and like this all sucks and now im watching the person i looked forward to the most feed me the bare minmum and leave. or he stays and is of more help and i fall into the same bullshit again. maybe he feeds me over and over these romantic bullshit lines like once i get out of rehab wel do this and this and blah blah blah because hes still fucking sick and theres no controlling what he will actually do so what he demonstrated is that hes unstable an i have no been freshly duped by him and i dont feel mentally strong enough to take the rollercoaster with him in any way shape or form. 

as he was repeating some shit about needing to respect him getting care for himself, my phone died and i took a deep breath and put it dow and was kind of thankful that the fates of technology decided this for me because i was really really super done. i know hes serious about going and i know hes serious about having no concern for me because hes already done all of these things so everythhing that happens is tainted to yeah hes right - “i knew all along” that he was a lieing piece of shit and i was wasting my time. 

and it bothers me that like on paper im like real shit luck in life, been through so much, have very little in posessions, no family and this person was like oh hey we’ll go do this and this and frolic through the land and its like do you even comprehend the weight of what you just did to this person. and to turn around and say make a way for yourself like im piggybacking off of you? omg. 

theres like a top 5 worst people ive ever personally known. my mother almost always tops the list for pure longevity. i have an ex friend who turned so vicious it like fucked us both up in the long run and im bitter about it. my most recent friend would maybe me number 5, maybe in running with my alcoholic friend because besides being nice theyre terrible people. but in this list, possibly #2 has to be him. he is worse than my ex because my ex’s “sickness” was being dumb as fuck and hes like.. hes just dumb. hes not terrible hes just really dumb and like not a good person to be around and even though i got him arrested im not ure he would be top 5. he was just so dumb that im not like traumatize by him im just like man thats on me. thats rly rly on me. but this guy --- im not so fucking retared im just running back to a piece of shit to be shit on with zero fucking bonus to my life. this person has to actively participate in making me want to come back by actions and words. im not stuck with him at all. no money ties. i dont live with him. why woud i go back unless he was gving me something i wanted? 

but he was never going to give me anything i truly wanted. and its my fault for sticking around. he told me all of this so i shouldve known even though “we’re going to have a sugar shack, we’re going to have a dog” - and just this mention of the word “we” was soooooooooooo fucking nice to me you have no idea. this really like.. stuck in my head and made me feel a tiny comfort like wow theres a we. i’m not just an i. i’m finally a we.

does he care? no he doesnt fucking care. hes sick. hes going to rehab. 

the bestthing he could do is leave me alone. thats truly the very best option. my trust is broken. like nothing he says to me from this point on is believable or true or leads to anything substantial. i should put no weight at all on anything he says which makes any conversation with him totally useless. because even if our convo is political i dont believe thats what he believes anymore. maybe tomorrow he believes something else. 

and if you love me. if you actually fucking love me you dont “love me to death”. thats not it. true love of me is an actual understanding of who i am and what ive been through, to really deeply respect where ive come from just lke i have to respect everyones living family my story should be equally respected and taken seriously and not toyed with. thats showing me a true love and if you cannot do this you need to step away and honestly man. its not like a step away for awhile and we’ll see like people are like wow ur so black and white but why am i fucking with a future you when both present and past blew it? there is no evidence to even back up future you and by the time future you outweighs all of this karmically, who the fuck cares that we ever knew each other its like some kid i sat beside in a classroom. like cool bro ur still alive wow nice. i never want to deal with him or anyting about him again. he made me carry so much of his weight he refuses to see it and i didnt need any of this in my life and i didnt ask for him to do any of this in my life. but i shouldve walked away sooooo long ago. i can reprimand myself fo this. but i also know im on my process and this is part of it. this is three years out. im not even homeless or fucked up im just like super sad about all of it. 

he had this speech about how i had to get the surgery before because we had to be ready for spring. so he had intertwined this surgery with this proposed future and i had to do it to be prepared and show him im serious and now im like bro if i get one in 3 months who cares ill just go to the hospital again. this is an option. they never said i would die if i idnt get it. its just a like.. quality of life surgery. and my quality of life is shit anyways this surgery and these cysts mean nothing to me and having to go through all of this man.. at one point he had literally said “if you dont get surgery because of me then thats how itll have to be” 

so you stepped on other people, you hurt other people and if they dont do a thing to better themselves because they have to deal with you “then so be it”? im going to ~rehab~.

i havent turned my phone back on for a few hours i guess and i really dont want to. he wont have done anything differnt, ill have gotten no messages but i dont know. i just.. i want to forget all of this. him, the surgery. just continue to hobbit for the month or something and “figure something out”. 

[abdallahalhakim]

Viruses and Viral Infections: What Works/What Doesn’t

Viruses are strange critters. Scientists debate whether they are even alive, since they lack the machinery of living cells and can’t produce energy or replicate on their own. Nevertheless, these minuscule microbes, which are 100 times smaller than bacteria, are the most abundant biological entities on the planet. 

Most viruses are harmless and some are beneficial, but others are virulent. Plant viruses are responsible for billions of dollars in crop losses. Parvovirus, distemper, and rabies afflict animals, and mite-borne viruses are linked with honeybee colony collapse. Human viral infections run the gamut from annoying or embarrassing (warts and fever blisters) to chronic (herpes and hepatitis) to potentially lethal (Ebola, HIV, and cancer-causing papillomavirus) to tragic (Zika, a mosquito-borne virus associated with serious birth defects). 

Then there are our most familiar viral infections: colds, flu, upper respiratory infections, sore throats, runny noses, congestion, bronchitis, and coughs. You’d think by now science would have made some headway against these common afflictions, but viruses present a unique challenge. 

Ineffective Conventional Treatments for Viruses

Antibiotics kill bacteria by damaging their cell walls or disrupting their replication. Viruses, however, have no cell walls, and they reproduce by infecting host cells, hijacking their molecular machinery, and turning them into assembly lines that churn out thousands of new viruses, which invade other cells. Within days of a flu infection, your body is home to trillions of viruses! 

Although drug companies have developed antivirals for HIV, hepatitis, and herpes, they’ve struck out against the common cold. Three antivirals (Tamiflu, Relenza, and Rapivab) have been approved for influenza, but unfortunately, they’re not very effective. They reduce symptom duration by a day or two at best—at a cost of $150! 

Antibiotics are often prescribed, even though they are 100 percent ineffective against viruses. Patients may think they help, but any improvements are in spite of the antibiotic, not because of it. Inappropriate prescribing only harms patients and contributes to antibiotic resistance. 

Conventional medicine’s favorite weapon against influenza is flu shots. Vaccines prime your immune system to recognize particular viruses so you can effectively fight them off. However, viruses mutate so rapidly that the viral strains in the vaccine often don’t match the prevailing flu viruses. According to the CDC, vaccination reduces risk of flu by about 50 percent if—and it’s a big if—the match is spot on. A particularly poor match offers zero protection. I don’t get flu shots or recommend them for my patients. 

What about symptom relief? Judicious use of aspirin and Tylenol may make you feel better, but most over-the-counter remedies work no better than placebo. Studies show that antihistamines, cough suppressants like Robitussin, and phenylephrine decongestants such as Sudafed and Neo-Synephrine are worthless against viruses. Pseudoephedrine (which is stashed behind the counter and requires an ID to purchase) and decongestant nasal sprays do relieve congestion, but they have adverse side effects and shouldn’t be used for more than two or three days. Be particularly wary of combo cold/flu formulas that contain multiple meds. Why take drugs that don’t work for symptoms you don’t have? 

Natural Symptom Relief for Viruses

It’s normal to want to “take something” when you’re feeling miserable, but sleep, extra fluids, chicken soup, and other natural remedies are more effective than the cold and flu meds sold in drugstores. 

When you’re sick, don’t be a martyr. Stay home and rest for a few days. If you’re congested, try my wife’s trick of sprinkling cayenne pepper in your soup. Now, that’ll open you up! N-acetyl cysteine (600 mg twice a day) helps break up mucus, and nasal rinses with saline in warm water also relieve congestion. 

For a sore throat, I recommend gargling with salt water (1 teaspoon in a cup of warm water), medicated cough drops, or sprays that numb the throat. Honey is a proven cough suppressant, and zinc lozenges have been shown to reduce the duration of cold symptoms by two to three days. Echinacea, elderberry, aged garlic, and Oscillococcinum and other homeopathic remedies also have a well-deserved reputation as cold and flu remedies. 

As for vitamin C, I’ve always followed Linus Pauling’s advice: “If you take a reasonable amount of vitamin C regularly, the incidence of the common cold goes down. If you get a cold and start immediately [500 mg every hour or two], as soon as you start sneezing and sniffling, the cold just doesn’t get going.” 

Speaking of vitamin C, if you’re really sick, find a clinic that administers intravenous vitamin C. A high blood level of this vitamin, which can only be achieved through IV delivery, actually kills viruses, bacteria, and cancer cells while leaving normal tissues unharmed. 

Researchers from Puerto Rico, recently published a case report of a 54-year-old woman with a full- blown case of Zika—fever, chills, headache, the whole nine yards—who was treated for three days with increasing doses of IV vitamin C. She began to feel better after her first treatment, and by day four, she was completely symptom-free. 

Preventing Viruses in the First Place 

Your immune system is quite good at defending against viral infections, but it can always use extra support, especially this time of year. Vitamin D plays a key role in immune function, and natural production falls during the darker days of fall and winter. I recommend taking enough supplemental vitamin D3 to maintain a blood level of 40–60 ng/ mL. For most of my patients, this requires 2,000– 5,000 IU per day. 

A recent review of placebo-controlled studies found that probiotic supplements reduced the frequency and duration of upper respiratory infections, as well as cold-related school absences in children. N-acetyl cysteine not only improves symptoms but has antiviral and antibacterial activity; 600 mg twice a day was shown to dramatically reduce the risk of developing flu in older people exposed to the virus. 

One of these days scientists will discover effective treatments for common viral infections, but so far, their ability to “hide” inside host cells and their rapid rate of mutation makes viruses an elusive target. Until then, minimize your exposure to infection, support your immune defenses, and, if you do get sick, remember the wise words of Darrell Huff: “Proper treatment will cure a cold in seven days, but left to itself, a cold will hang on for a week.” 

[Read More ...] http://whitakerwellness.com/2017/12/viruses-viral-infections/

[duqstudents4fairtrade]

Viruses and Viral Infections: What Works/What Doesn’t

Viruses are strange critters. Scientists debate whether they are even alive, since they lack the machinery of living cells and can’t produce energy or replicate on their own. Nevertheless, these minuscule microbes, which are 100 times smaller than bacteria, are the most abundant biological entities on the planet. 

Most viruses are harmless and some are beneficial, but others are virulent. Plant viruses are responsible for billions of dollars in crop losses. Parvovirus, distemper, and rabies afflict animals, and mite-borne viruses are linked with honeybee colony collapse. Human viral infections run the gamut from annoying or embarrassing (warts and fever blisters) to chronic (herpes and hepatitis) to potentially lethal (Ebola, HIV, and cancer-causing papillomavirus) to tragic (Zika, a mosquito-borne virus associated with serious birth defects). 

Then there are our most familiar viral infections: colds, flu, upper respiratory infections, sore throats, runny noses, congestion, bronchitis, and coughs. You’d think by now science would have made some headway against these common afflictions, but viruses present a unique challenge. 

Ineffective Conventional Treatments for Viruses

Antibiotics kill bacteria by damaging their cell walls or disrupting their replication. Viruses, however, have no cell walls, and they reproduce by infecting host cells, hijacking their molecular machinery, and turning them into assembly lines that churn out thousands of new viruses, which invade other cells. Within days of a flu infection, your body is home to trillions of viruses! 

Although drug companies have developed antivirals for HIV, hepatitis, and herpes, they’ve struck out against the common cold. Three antivirals (Tamiflu, Relenza, and Rapivab) have been approved for influenza, but unfortunately, they’re not very effective. They reduce symptom duration by a day or two at best—at a cost of $150! 

Antibiotics are often prescribed, even though they are 100 percent ineffective against viruses. Patients may think they help, but any improvements are in spite of the antibiotic, not because of it. Inappropriate prescribing only harms patients and contributes to antibiotic resistance. 

Conventional medicine’s favorite weapon against influenza is flu shots. Vaccines prime your immune system to recognize particular viruses so you can effectively fight them off. However, viruses mutate so rapidly that the viral strains in the vaccine often don’t match the prevailing flu viruses. According to the CDC, vaccination reduces risk of flu by about 50 percent if—and it’s a big if—the match is spot on. A particularly poor match offers zero protection. I don’t get flu shots or recommend them for my patients. 

What about symptom relief? Judicious use of aspirin and Tylenol may make you feel better, but most over-the-counter remedies work no better than placebo. Studies show that antihistamines, cough suppressants like Robitussin, and phenylephrine decongestants such as Sudafed and Neo-Synephrine are worthless against viruses. Pseudoephedrine (which is stashed behind the counter and requires an ID to purchase) and decongestant nasal sprays do relieve congestion, but they have adverse side effects and shouldn’t be used for more than two or three days. Be particularly wary of combo cold/flu formulas that contain multiple meds. Why take drugs that don’t work for symptoms you don’t have? 

Natural Symptom Relief for Viruses

It’s normal to want to “take something” when you’re feeling miserable, but sleep, extra fluids, chicken soup, and other natural remedies are more effective than the cold and flu meds sold in drugstores. 

When you’re sick, don’t be a martyr. Stay home and rest for a few days. If you’re congested, try my wife’s trick of sprinkling cayenne pepper in your soup. Now, that’ll open you up! N-acetyl cysteine (600 mg twice a day) helps break up mucus, and nasal rinses with saline in warm water also relieve congestion. 

For a sore throat, I recommend gargling with salt water (1 teaspoon in a cup of warm water), medicated cough drops, or sprays that numb the throat. Honey is a proven cough suppressant, and zinc lozenges have been shown to reduce the duration of cold symptoms by two to three days. Echinacea, elderberry, aged garlic, and Oscillococcinum and other homeopathic remedies also have a well-deserved reputation as cold and flu remedies. 

As for vitamin C, I’ve always followed Linus Pauling’s advice: “If you take a reasonable amount of vitamin C regularly, the incidence of the common cold goes down. If you get a cold and start immediately [500 mg every hour or two], as soon as you start sneezing and sniffling, the cold just doesn’t get going.” 

Speaking of vitamin C, if you’re really sick, find a clinic that administers intravenous vitamin C. A high blood level of this vitamin, which can only be achieved through IV delivery, actually kills viruses, bacteria, and cancer cells while leaving normal tissues unharmed. 

Researchers from Puerto Rico, recently published a case report of a 54-year-old woman with a full- blown case of Zika—fever, chills, headache, the whole nine yards—who was treated for three days with increasing doses of IV vitamin C. She began to feel better after her first treatment, and by day four, she was completely symptom-free. 

Preventing Viruses in the First Place 

Your immune system is quite good at defending against viral infections, but it can always use extra support, especially this time of year. Vitamin D plays a key role in immune function, and natural production falls during the darker days of fall and winter. I recommend taking enough supplemental vitamin D3 to maintain a blood level of 40–60 ng/ mL. For most of my patients, this requires 2,000– 5,000 IU per day. 

A recent review of placebo-controlled studies found that probiotic supplements reduced the frequency and duration of upper respiratory infections, as well as cold-related school absences in children. N-acetyl cysteine not only improves symptoms but has antiviral and antibacterial activity; 600 mg twice a day was shown to dramatically reduce the risk of developing flu in older people exposed to the virus. 

One of these days scientists will discover effective treatments for common viral infections, but so far, their ability to “hide” inside host cells and their rapid rate of mutation makes viruses an elusive target. Until then, minimize your exposure to infection, support your immune defenses, and, if you do get sick, remember the wise words of Darrell Huff: “Proper treatment will cure a cold in seven days, but left to itself, a cold will hang on for a week.” 

[Read More ...] http://whitakerwellness.com/2017/12/viruses-viral-infections/

[sublimotion]

Viruses and Viral Infections: What Works/What Doesn’t

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Viruses are strange critters. Scientists debate whether they are even alive, since they lack the machinery of living cells and can’t produce energy or replicate on their own. Nevertheless, these minuscule microbes, which are 100 times smaller than bacteria, are the most abundant biological entities on the planet. 

Most viruses are harmless and some are beneficial, but others are virulent. Plant viruses are responsible for billions of dollars in crop losses. Parvovirus, distemper, and rabies afflict animals, and mite-borne viruses are linked with honeybee colony collapse. Human viral infections run the gamut from annoying or embarrassing (warts and fever blisters) to chronic (herpes and hepatitis) to potentially lethal (Ebola, HIV, and cancer-causing papillomavirus) to tragic (Zika, a mosquito-borne virus associated with serious birth defects). 

Then there are our most familiar viral infections: colds, flu, upper respiratory infections, sore throats, runny noses, congestion, bronchitis, and coughs. You’d think by now science would have made some headway against these common afflictions, but viruses present a unique challenge. 

Ineffective Conventional Treatments for Viruses

Antibiotics kill bacteria by damaging their cell walls or disrupting their replication. Viruses, however, have no cell walls, and they reproduce by infecting host cells, hijacking their molecular machinery, and turning them into assembly lines that churn out thousands of new viruses, which invade other cells. Within days of a flu infection, your body is home to trillions of viruses! 

Although drug companies have developed antivirals for HIV, hepatitis, and herpes, they’ve struck out against the common cold. Three antivirals (Tamiflu, Relenza, and Rapivab) have been approved for influenza, but unfortunately, they’re not very effective. They reduce symptom duration by a day or two at best—at a cost of $150! 

Antibiotics are often prescribed, even though they are 100 percent ineffective against viruses. Patients may think they help, but any improvements are in spite of the antibiotic, not because of it. Inappropriate prescribing only harms patients and contributes to antibiotic resistance. 

Conventional medicine’s favorite weapon against influenza is flu shots. Vaccines prime your immune system to recognize particular viruses so you can effectively fight them off. However, viruses mutate so rapidly that the viral strains in the vaccine often don’t match the prevailing flu viruses. According to the CDC, vaccination reduces risk of flu by about 50 percent if—and it’s a big if—the match is spot on. A particularly poor match offers zero protection. I don’t get flu shots or recommend them for my patients. 

What about symptom relief? Judicious use of aspirin and Tylenol may make you feel better, but most over-the-counter remedies work no better than placebo. Studies show that antihistamines, cough suppressants like Robitussin, and phenylephrine decongestants such as Sudafed and Neo-Synephrine are worthless against viruses. Pseudoephedrine (which is stashed behind the counter and requires an ID to purchase) and decongestant nasal sprays do relieve congestion, but they have adverse side effects and shouldn’t be used for more than two or three days. Be particularly wary of combo cold/flu formulas that contain multiple meds. Why take drugs that don’t work for symptoms you don’t have? 

Natural Symptom Relief for Viruses

It’s normal to want to “take something” when you’re feeling miserable, but sleep, extra fluids, chicken soup, and other natural remedies are more effective than the cold and flu meds sold in drugstores. 

When you’re sick, don’t be a martyr. Stay home and rest for a few days. If you’re congested, try my wife’s trick of sprinkling cayenne pepper in your soup. Now, that’ll open you up! N-acetyl cysteine (600 mg twice a day) helps break up mucus, and nasal rinses with saline in warm water also relieve congestion. 

For a sore throat, I recommend gargling with salt water (1 teaspoon in a cup of warm water), medicated cough drops, or sprays that numb the throat. Honey is a proven cough suppressant, and zinc lozenges have been shown to reduce the duration of cold symptoms by two to three days. Echinacea, elderberry, aged garlic, and Oscillococcinum and other homeopathic remedies also have a well-deserved reputation as cold and flu remedies. 

As for vitamin C, I’ve always followed Linus Pauling’s advice: “If you take a reasonable amount of vitamin C regularly, the incidence of the common cold goes down. If you get a cold and start immediately [500 mg every hour or two], as soon as you start sneezing and sniffling, the cold just doesn’t get going.” 

Speaking of vitamin C, if you’re really sick, find a clinic that administers intravenous vitamin C. A high blood level of this vitamin, which can only be achieved through IV delivery, actually kills viruses, bacteria, and cancer cells while leaving normal tissues unharmed. 

Researchers from Puerto Rico, recently published a case report of a 54-year-old woman with a full- blown case of Zika—fever, chills, headache, the whole nine yards—who was treated for three days with increasing doses of IV vitamin C. She began to feel better after her first treatment, and by day four, she was completely symptom-free. 

Preventing Viruses in the First Place 

Your immune system is quite good at defending against viral infections, but it can always use extra support, especially this time of year. Vitamin D plays a key role in immune function, and natural production falls during the darker days of fall and winter. I recommend taking enough supplemental vitamin D3 to maintain a blood level of 40–60 ng/ mL. For most of my patients, this requires 2,000– 5,000 IU per day. 

A recent review of placebo-controlled studies found that probiotic supplements reduced the frequency and duration of upper respiratory infections, as well as cold-related school absences in children. N-acetyl cysteine not only improves symptoms but has antiviral and antibacterial activity; 600 mg twice a day was shown to dramatically reduce the risk of developing flu in older people exposed to the virus. 

One of these days scientists will discover effective treatments for common viral infections, but so far, their ability to “hide” inside host cells and their rapid rate of mutation makes viruses an elusive target. Until then, minimize your exposure to infection, support your immune defenses, and, if you do get sick, remember the wise words of Darrell Huff: “Proper treatment will cure a cold in seven days, but left to itself, a cold will hang on for a week.” 

[Read More ...] http://whitakerwellness.com/2017/12/viruses-viral-infections/

[petero1298]

     Some Things I’ve Learned Over The Last 30 Years      July 6, 2017              

Today marks 30 years since a confident young man walked into the back office of Schroder Investment Management in London, to start his first day on the job, the first in his career. Ask me a question back then and I would have answered assuredly and quickly. Today I’d be more likely to say ‘I don’t know’ with just as much confidence.

Now older, wiser, but with just as much hair, I have over the years seen many people come and go. Clients, colleagues, bosses, company mergers, bankruptcies (thankfully not my own), through bull and bear markets, booms, crashes, and have seen my own fortunes fluctuate too before setting out on my own a few years ago.

Thirty years is a long time. The good news is it was all worth it.

The first thing to point out is I don’t have all the answers. That’s not what this post is about. I’m always learning. But I have benefited enormously from people sharing their time and expertise, so if I can help others in the same way, I’m happy to share what I’ve learnt also.

These are 30 observations, guiding principles, or simply things that work for me. Some of you who have followed me for a while will recognize many of them. These aren’t universal truths, they’re my truths, my beliefs, shaped by my experience.

And that’s probably a good place to start.

“The more you believe something to be true, the more you will have accumulated evidence to support it.”

That’s a quote from trading coach Van Tharp, and I’ve applied it to so many areas as a simple way of explaining people’s expression of their beliefs, my own, and the realization of how powerful confirmation bias is. Van believes we don’t trade the markets, we trade our beliefs in the market. A trading system therefore is simply a set of beliefs, and I think he’s right.

Buy high, sell higher.

Buying a stock at x+1 can be a lower risk trade than buying it today at x. Forget buy low, sell high. When something is falling, it’s more likely to keep falling than it is to reverse, and vice versa. It’s called momentum, and along with value, it’s one of the most empirically proven anomalies to academic theory that the Nobel Prize winners wish would go away. Note to self: Look into buying value stocks that show upward momentum.

Trade small to win big.

All traders and investors need trend and time to profit. Even if you don’t consider yourself a trend-follower, no matter what your timeframe, to make money you need something to trend, even if it’s just a couple of ticks higher, you need price movement.

If you are a long-term trader, time is also your friend. Time allows trends to develop, persist, and time in big trends allows you to trade in smaller size. If you are a daytrader, time is your enemy. The clock is ticking, there’s only x minutes left in the session. You need greater frequency of trades, or you have to trade in greater size and take greater risk.

It amazes me that newcomers to trading choose to start with an area that instantly requires them to either trade more frequently, or in greater size through leverage or margin. It should be the other way around. Only after years of experience and having amassed a fortune should someone attempt such a thing, but of course they don’t. A successful trader or investor will continue to do what made them that money in the first place, and it won’t have been daytrading. 99% of daytraders (a conservative estimate) are under-capitalized and would do better to build up their savings instead of daytrading them.

Limit orders limit performance.

I once worked for a PM who always put on limit orders. It was like chasing a bar of soap around the bathtub. Sometimes weeks or months later the order would still be on our desk, but the stock would now be way way higher. You either want to own it or you don’t. Is a penny here or there really the difference between whether you want to own it or not? Because your limit order is potentially making it exactly that.

I’ve held stocks for over a year and looked back at when I bought it. I could have bought it the next day, the next week, open, close, whatever. It wouldn’t have made a whole lot of difference. Unless you’re trading Cliff Asness/AQR size, for goodness sake, quit playing games with the HFT pikers. Just buy it and move on.

I have never found a way to consistently make money shorting stocks.

If you’re starting out, put this one in the ‘too difficult’ pile until you have the time, energy, or intellectual curiosity to tackle it. Just know that even amongst CTAs, even though they are long/short many different futures markets, the short side of what they do rarely makes much money overall, it merely helps them perform well during ‘crisis alpha’ periods of non-correlation, and smooths the equity curve longer-term, but the lion’s share of performance comes from the long side. That’s futures. Stocks are even harder.

The best strategy is one you’ll stick with.

Or more correctly, the best strategy is the one that you’ll stick with and meets your objectives. There is no one way of investing that is suitable for everyone. There is only what’s right for you. Lots of things work. Buy and hold works. Value works. Momentum works. There are others too. Start with the evidence-based empirically-proven stuff. Find which one, or which combination works for you, in accordance with your timeframe, objectives, and investment horizon.

Buy and hold giving you 7% is fine, but if you can’t tolerate 50-60% drawdowns or trust yourself to not bail precisely when you should be adding any spare cash you have to it, then it’s not for you. Pick a strategy that delivers an acceptable return that won’t have you reaching for the sick bag when turbulence hits.

When to add.

Whether trading or investing, the simplest way to know how and when you should add to a position is to imagine you don’t already have a position. What would it take to get you in? That way you’ll be doing it for the right reasons, the same as your initial entry rationale, rather than reacting emotionally.

The best movie about trading is “Wall Street”, then “Trading Places”, then something else.

The vast majority of arguments on social media could be avoided if both sides simply declared at the outset what their timeframe is.

You mean we could have diametrically opposed views and yet both make money? Yes, that’s right.

No amount of reading or paper trading will prepare you for how it truly feels in the heat of battle.

There is a great scene in ‘Bridge On The River Kwai’ where Jack Hawkins brings a young soldier in and hands him a knife, asking him if he thinks he could use it in cold blood. The boy doesn’t know. “Well, at least he’s honest.” The fact is, none of us know until we face that enemy whether you can thrust that blade home or pull the trigger on your order.

Don’t blithely tell me your backtest says you would have taken that trade in ’87, or 2008/09. You don’t even know what the market liquidity would have been, whether you could trust the prices you’re seeing, or if you could even see any prices. You’ll know in your walk-forward.

I know, because I’ve been there and done it. Traded like an idiot with my own money in the ’87 crash, and have since safely navigated in various trading roles the LTCM collapse, the Asian crisis, the Dotcom crash, 9/11, the Global Financial Crisis, and most recently for myself and clients through a couple of flash crashes. I consider it an edge, one of the few that can never be taken from me. You can’t buy experience like that.

I can’t predict markets, and neither can you.

No, seriously, you can’t. No. You can’t.

Entries, exits, position size.

Watch any trading software ad and you’ll likely hear lots about getting entry signals. The perception is it’s more important than the others, but it’s not. I think exits are more important. A good exit signal doesn’t just get you out when needed, a really good exit signal keeps you in, staying just below the action and not triggering until the trend is over.

Look back at the entry of a successful position you’ve held for many months. How important was it to enter at that precise time, that day? It’s likely what followed was more important. What allowed you to tolerate the volatility and ride it higher to where it is now, making it the big winner it is. That’s all exits and position size, not entry.

Sure, without an entry there’s no trade, but it’s only the exit signal that determines whether in relation to that entry the trade is a winner or loser. Even more important, the position size will determine by how much. Entries merely determine the frequency of trades, or how many signals you have.

The longer your investment horizon, the higher your equity allocation should be to passive strategies.

Yes, I’m an active manager, but hear me out. If I have a 20-something come to see me as a prospect, I’m going to tell him to just put it in an index fund for 15bps and come back and see me when he’s over 40. Come on, the guy’s got 5 decades ahead of him. Go live your life, save, invest, have an emergency fund, put more cash to work every time the market plunges 25%-30%.

By the time he’s 50 and thinking about retirement however, those 30% plunges on that tidy sum he’s built up won’t look like the opportunities they once were. The percentages will be the same, but the nominal amounts will make it way scarier, seeing his hard-earned go up in smoke.

The closer you are to needing your money, or put another way, the less of an investment horizon you have remaining in which to recover losses, the higher your allocation to active strategies should be. By the time you are nearing retirement, your equity allocation should be 100% active, zero passive.

People tend to think in simple terms that passive = safe, and active = risky. The opposite is true. A truly passive strategy exposes you to 100% of the market’s drawdown. With passive you get what you pay for – zero risk management. Active management is risk management. That’s what you pay for. Risk management.

If you want to own oil, buy oil, don’t buy oil stocks.

If you want to own tech, buy a tech ETF, don’t buy Apple. Having a top-down macro view and then trying to apply it to a micro level is one of the hardest things to do. I did it once, and made a lot of money, but now realize it was mostly dumb luck. I have seen people make brilliant calls that were completely right but they lost money executing it horribly. Buy what it is you got your signal on, not where or how you think it might play out a second or third degree. One is quantitative, the other is a guess.

Hedging a position often increases risk instead of reducing it.

I’ve seen traders take on a position and then immediately look for something to hedge it with. Why? Just reduce your initial position. Or sometimes the exposure becomes too great. How can I hedge it? Why not just reduce it down to a more comfortable level? Size it correctly and it won’t need to be hedged, and you’ll also have more capital available.

I once had a boss on the prop desk who insisted on every position being hedged with the equivalent size in index futures. Absolutely insane. Now I’ve got one position I wanted and a whole load of futures I didn’t. He was a big Buffett fan. Insisted the only true measure of our performance was whether we beat the index or not. Weren’t we here just to make money for the firm? Apparently not. When I bought a utility that went up 5% but the index went up 10% over the same period (and I didn’t hedge) he said it was a bad trade.

I was a bit gung-ho and I let him get to me. When I left the desk I thanked him for making me a better trader. The look on his face! But I was serious, he challenged all my beliefs and as maddening as it was, it made me re-evaluate what it was I believed in and why. You should want to be challenged on everything you believe and be calm and comfortable in explaining it, and in fact, welcome any new information that disproves your existing position, so that you can immediately correct it.

The best book on trading is “Reminiscences Of A Stock Operator.”

It’s an obvious, popular, and cliched choice, but for good reason. Yes, its main protagonist committed suicide, and it’s written in archaic language, but it’s because the stories are from a hundred years ago, and that’s precisely why it appeals. The lessons stand the test of time. The stocks, companies, and players change, but human nature never changes. We’re all human, even millennials.

“If it’s so good, why would they sell it?”

This is one of the most egregious fallacies in the finance periphery. Why would they sell it? Why do you think? Do the math. Let’s take an example of an area where this is most commonly targeted; newsletter writers or subscription services. Imagine for a moment a trader has a $1m portfolio. He makes on average 10% a year, or $100k. That’s his trading income. If he also runs a subscription service that sells for a $1000 a year, he can get an additional $100k a year with 100 subs. That’s very nice passive income.

Now I used $1m in my example. In reality most traders are capitalized at $100k or less. They would only need 10 subscribers to get the same return. If they had 100 subs, it would match their entire portfolio value! The question then becomes not “If it’s so good why would they sell it?” but instead “If it’s so good, why wouldn’t they sell it?”

And it’s also grossly unfair to limit this logic to newsletter/sub services. If hedge fund managers are so good, why do they need clients? We know why. The fees. They can make way more from managing other people’s money than just their own. It’s the exact same principle.

I’ve seen many people get tarred with this brush unfairly, especially in the area of technical research, and yet fundamental research with its dire record gets a pass. I’ve seen it firsthand too. If you give something away for free people think it can’t be worth anything. If you charge for it “If it’s so good, why would you sell it?”

Broker research is mostly redundant.

There are many excellent analysts that no doubt create value for others, but the ratings systems are useless and as analysts they are being assessed incorrectly. Buy/Sell/Hold means nothing. There are so few Sell ratings. They are terrified of not getting corporate business. Broker X upgrades XYZ from Sell to Hold. How do I hold it after you recommended I sell it? Shouldn’t you move to a Buy rating first? Neutral/Outperform/Underperform. Overweight. Yes I am.

The only way it would make sense is if you asked the analyst to rank all his buy ratings. So you cover the tech sector and you have 50 names with a buy rating. That doesn’t help me. How about you rank them 1-50 for me? Now we’re talking. That could be useful. Buy the top one, short the worst, let’s see if he’s any good.

Price targets are also mostly redundant.

Under the guise of assigning their fair value to a company, price targets are simply a way for an analyst to stay in front of clients in a name and reiterate or update their research periodically without necessarily changing their rating. It’s a useful tool for them, but unless you’re also a value investor where a specific value would cause you to act, for the rest of us it’s just another unwelcome noise item that anchors you to a price in the market, and tempts you to act when you should instead just follow whatever your existing plan or strategy is.

If you want to own the strongest stocks, buy the strongest stocks.

Buy something that’s already doing what you want it to. Going up.

The closing price is the most important price.

Let me qualify that. I have likely said before that it’s all that matters but that’s not true. The close is the most significant, simply because so many other investors or traders act off it for end of day signals.

I like to think of the trading day as a jury deciding what a stock is worth that day. The opening statements are heard, and the intraday prices from the high to low reflect the arguments being made throughout the session. The close is the verdict. That’s what stock XYZ is worth today. Record the verdict. Price the mutual funds. Put it in the paper.

I’ve heard people place more emphasis on intraday extremes, but why? The high and low are likely the two lowest volume prints of the entire session, and therefore arguably the two least important. You could argue they provide support/resistance levels, but again by volume I would think the closing price is a better reflection of where most people are gathered or potentially anchored so it has more significance.

And let’s clear something else up. I’ve heard people say amateurs open the market, pros close it. OK, let’s assume for a minute that’s true. Which price would you rather take your trading signal from, and who would you rather trade against? Amateurs or pros? I take my signals from the close and trade at the next day’s open.

For high net worth individuals there is no need for a specific allocation to bonds.

I’m biased. I’ve been an equities guy for 30 years, but seriously, if you don’t need the income/interest, why allocate to bonds or treasuries at all? You can get exposure via a managed futures strategy. If there’s a meaningful sustained trend, up or down, you’ll catch it, and in 30yr, 10, 5, 2, and even German, Japanese too. You could allocate 50% to Managed Futures, 50% to Equities, and allocate that equity portion to passive/active strategies depending on your age, or maybe a combination of value and momentum. 50% Equities, 50% Futures, covering Trend Following, Momentum, and Value. You don’t need bonds.

If you want to perform differently to the index, you have to invest differently to the index.

When I worked as an assistant to a Portfolio Manager at Schroders we had client portfolios that had something like 60 stocks or more in Japan alone, and that might only be 25% of the entire portfolio. I’d see a stock do really well and it barely made a blip of difference to the portfolio. After a while I would understand there are many playing this game of marginal differences in portfolio structure, overweight this, underweight that. The market goes down 20%, your fund is down 19%. Yay, you beat your benchmark and get a bonus. The incentives are all wrong. Relative returns is a game I know I have no interest in playing.

In my days at Kemper/Zurich/Scudder they had more concentrated portfolios where the stock selection mattered more, and then I got to do that to an even greater extreme as a prop trader at Lehman where you may only have two or three positions, whatever it is you want. It’s not even considered a portfolio. I typically held 8-10 and often do the same now. Through a combination of all these factors, reading material like Van Tharp’s position sizing strategies, and Howard Marks’ letters, I’ve become very comfortable with a highly-concentrated portfolio and all the parameters and performance distribution that entails.

Stocks don’t follow economic theory. They follow socionomic theory.

This is why when a stock goes up people will want to buy more of it. And when it goes down people will sell. That’s not how it works with traditional economic laws of supply and demand. When the price of shoes go up, people don’t rush out to buy more. And when they go on sale people don’t run out of the store. In a supermarket consumers act rationally and logically, but there are no consumers or producers of stocks, there are only investors, and investors herd and are emotional and irrational.

Price is sentiment.

There are some variants to this. Price is truth. Only price pays. I think the way I would phrase it is that price accurately reflects prevailing sentiment. Some think it’s supply and demand, I think it’s Socionomics/social mood, but regardless, whether you believe it’s wrong that it’s trading up at $100 when your fair value is $50, it’s irrelevant. If you want to trade it, the price is $100. You may think it’s wrong, but that is the price. In terms of reflecting current sentiment, price is always right.

I’m ready for what’s next.

I have no idea what the market will do tomorrow, what the next payrolls number will be, or when the Fed will next raise rates, and frankly I don’t care. News is noise. All I know is I will follow my plan. It took me 25 years to work that out. You’re welcome.

I am responsible for everything that happens to me.

Everything. Good and bad, but this mostly comes into play for something bad. You won’t find me blaming the Fed, QE, HFT, or any conspiracy nonsense if my portfolio performs badly. The outcome is a result of my decisions. That bad trade was my stock selection, my execution, my choice of broker, all my decisions that led to that outcome. If it’s something I enacted it always comes back to me. If it’s something that happened to me, it’s because I put myself in that situation. If it’s something my child did, it’s something I allowed them to be doing. Everything is a risk. Getting up, going out, crossing the road, but ultimately I am responsible for everything that happens to me.

People really appreciate honesty.

It might sound obvious, but from the reaction I get it suggests there’s not enough of it around. I’ve made a conscious effort to say “I don’t know” when I don’t know. It can be quite empowering. When I’ve talked about positions or trades on social media, I’ve made a point of following up when things haven’t gone so well. It’s one of the hardest things for me to do. But it’s only right. You can’t just sing when you’re winning. The losing periods are when I least feel like writing something, but when I most need to, because it’s also when anyone who’s been paying attention to anything I say will most need to hear it too.

“All cruelty springs from weakness.”

Social media is a tough arena. I slip up sometimes and get sucked into some troll’s orbit, and on the occasions it’s happened, even when I’ve sent someone packing with their tail between their legs, the short-term satisfaction soon gives way to wishing I hadn’t responded.

When I’m driving and I’m getting frustrated with someone in front of me I imagine I know the person. It’s amazing how it changes how you react. In a similar vein, on twitter now I try to talk to people as you would if having a conversation face to face. Be nice. We all have off days. You never know what’s going on in people’s lives. Everyone’s going through something.

When you’re young, you have so much time but never enough money. When you’re old you have money but never enough time.

How you perceive and value time and money will change many times throughout your life, but at the end there’s only one you’ll want more of, would give anything for, but it won’t be available at any price. Cherish it while you can.

Thanks for being a part of my journey. Here’s to the next 30 years.