#make your stories diverse damnit

[istherewifiinhell]

reading progress: chapter 268

reading highlight: (weak jazz hands) tah dahhh. in which. um. in which i read a webnovel and made notes about it. and square brackets are me trying to make sense of my own notes.

243 rules lawyer your wishes rule

244 yjh think of me damnit -> yjh I believe in you even when I dont

1 million dollar bet [coins?]

245 making yjh think abt him, monster is his fault. 100 coins. you bet 1 mill. banter [genuinely what the fuck am i talking about]

Breaking the sky sword saint chilling with dumplings. feeding her dog

Biyoo's dads are fighting time to fein sleep

Constellation who likes to changed sex is struggling with pleasure

kdj blocked from seeing tgirl swag moments

246 "Don't be so loud baby, the king is watching you" sfhbdfghbd ah?? [a dokkaebi says this to kdj?]

mass production maker sports car hell yeah

oh iris would have been okay. that is a pretty kdj move

mass production makers has an e cig

you hate the constellations but you yourself read stories? curious

247 HMO holding dog food *probably* for breaking the sky master. -> i would *hope* so...

breaking the sky master licking the bowl -> lol yeah

yjh excited to have a new sword aw lol

krygios and breaking the sky sword saint... 9' wife 2" husband

248 "kdj what the hell did you do" an orv story

kdj parlor scene where he just tells ppl off for being dicks.

breaking sky sword saint says fuck your gatekeeping [chitism... what?] capitalist bs. also pro bio diversity (metaphor)

breaking sky master barks from the car -> (raised eyebrows) -> passenger seat. oh. okay

"How many more people had to suffer destruction in order to end this story?" "Her heroic spirit is so high that she sometimes made other peoples definitions of justice shabby"

yjh breaking sky saint vulnerability moments.

(curse of crows @ riv live)

breaking sky master WILL LIVE

GOD SHES SO GOOD AND COOL [saint or master whose to say]

250 "If I threw away murim here, would I be different from the gourmet association" [which i shortened to gour ass... btw]

murim has a will (any world can) and has chosen sword saint as its savior

rest in violence sword saint [shes not dead lol]

there was a transcendent dog.

kdj: yjh is gonna kill me! yjh: emotionally devastated and looking for some support/guidance/solace

"I'm not like you" HMM!!

Kyrgios!! (-> wait... hes from the orochi chapters... mf is a issun-boshi) [really took me that long to snap that into place]

251 who could the punisher be... no its impossible. -> kdj last guy to put the pieces together every time

GAY THERAPY WATCH!

jhy and sky master sleeping and hugging -> cute

HMO mpreg mechanics. good. great -> lights a cig. takes a drag I wanted to kill you, kdj

"I didn't like the orginal kdj-ssi" "thats good to know"

hmo and kdj *should* talk more often. weirdest small talk + deep introspection

Reading a story is probably as hard as giving birth.. so tru...

"no matter what I will only make the ending that I want" 4th wall is wiggling happily -> cute?

asking the dog their opinion. I love that

PROVE YOUR KDJ. PROVE

uriel... (she just wants to see her fic acted out)

253 (trying to deal with the tense/pov used) yeah kdj why are you so keen to be killed

krygios is just a sweet sad guy huh

254 4th wall is showing its teeth -> cool dog kdj

HSY YSA girls trip! -> they hate each other

lee seolhwa hi lee seolhwa!

hsy having a bitter dark chocolate for a bitter dark girlie

lsk! hi hi! "My dokja seems to like unhealthy children"

abt olypmus -> they had so much sex it shorten their life span?

kdj bihyung divorce arc....

(understanding of character kdj increase)

255 looked into the abyss

bihyung is... protective... bihyung is... tsundere?

biyoo.. (sobbing)

256 bihyung the dead beat but bad ass dad? -> maybe not badass

YJH! whats the wenny man saying abt 1000 deaths

41! sys lost her memory so who was the revenge for? yjh didnt know. he just swung his sword.

yjh puts biyoo in his pocket....

'no of these constellations can understand yjh' (demon king of salvation is looking at you) adfhg

257 "I opened the wide and yelled towards the citizens" wide? wide open? wide comms? radio? -> constellation voice..

liberator of the industrial complex

"thanks but i wasn't planing on sacrificing myself" PFFT. okay kdj

"a dog an ambiguous gender human and a man who gave birth"-> bro..

loot boxes again

distorting things as one pleases

satellite officer constellations [aka riding coat tails]

THE DOG WILL LIVE (sorry sys dog i guess :/)

259 moisture filled the dogs eyes -> imagining the wettest gooiest dog eyes

bro is this your dog now?

"reduce your size" kdj you fucking coward

btsm is a girl dog -> sajeo

one day kdj will learn what trans people are... maybe

oh fuck gamers! where we dropping

the dokhyuk industrial complex -> tumblr dot com

you left YJH MESSAGES UNREAD???

hjgbjsd yjh got it like that ?? [he does not.. uriel]

sajeo expression wasnt good -> like. growling?

if you know who they were they wouldnt be a very good secret plotter now would they!

master of the skywalk? -> like... from star wars?

bald general aw lol -> 3 M tall!

guardian of youth and travel...

261 kdj: man i wish YSA was here... me fucking too dude

sajeo laying down like she wasn't interested -> i know exactly what this is referring to. see it in my mind

262 yjh pro gamer

swk has powerful monkey rival beef -> this tracks with jttw

yellow power, blue power? this fucking green lantern shit?

kdj wants to kill manu. protective moments

263 osu little lap dog lol

sajeo WILL LIVE

breaking the sky punch -> saint made this when she was bored...

hey beast king bookmark long time no see

265 oh kdj's mouth back... sure

LHS! SYS! YSA!!! -> kdj: why am i crying...

LHS grenade pin metaphor again

lhs werid gay thing off screen growth

"I'll leave it to you kdj" yjh gets killed djgbsdjkfgb ARGHHH

kdj get toss'd lol. lhs T-T.. uriel lol

1800... smth. oh *that* number....

266 the bear like lhs holding and crying over kdj -> sighing dreamily

267 "It was clearly YJH. No, It was even more than before" uh huh and real quick what did you mean by that...

268 yjh dying and his shared kdj stories crying out...

rotating: look. look theres things to be said about gender. and. morals. narratives and willpower and shit. i think the biggest take away is that I like when their are dog in a story and lhs is the biggest dog of them all... alright then.

[imeengoldberg]

yall shouldnt be surprised when i can give you a dictionary length book full of just story titles of mlm stories written by cis straight women ive seen not looking for them, but can count on my hands and toes all of the (male character) x male reader stories ive found while looking for them.

its all fun and games until i also tell you, hey, theres even less (girl character) x girl readers, or just wlw stories at all. It’s starting to sound a lot like fetishization. 

im not saying you cant write mlm stories as a cis straight woman- obviously not. part of being a writer is writing stories far from your own personal experience. It’s just like what we call bad representation. those people (very flamboyent gay men specifically) do exist, but they are the only gay men every shown because they fit comfortably into hetero-safe stereoypes.

if you only write mlm stories, and youre not an mlm yourself, and you always have the same heteronormative dynamic (one uwu twink sassy girlboss and the alpha badboy in detention who coUldNt bE gAY, hE plAyS FoOtbAlL anD hAz MeAn GiRlFwIeND- but thats all an act? like geez, just say ur biphobic and ask random gay men to be ur gay best friend??) it just starts to lead me to the conclusion you dont have the queer community in your best interest.

honestly, the fetishization is disgusting. it reinforces already harmful stereotypes. Also, I have never, and I mean NEVER- found a mlm story about a trans man in love with another man that wasnt practically porn without plot, save for one kiribaku fic that i wish i could find again. That definitely does not put us trans men in a wonderful light. we are not to be sexualized for our bodies, and neither us nor mlm should be fetishized for loving.

if youre unsure you can accurately write a queer love story accurately, do not do it. if youre worried at all it will come off bad on the lgbtqia+ community, do not do it. it will not hurt you if it’s bad rep, but it will hurt us.

are you good at writing queer romance as a straight person but notice that you have an odd amount of mlm & straight romance and an abandoned desert for wlw or trans/nonbinary love stories? write some! we really need it!

also, there are not enough people of color in stories in general. i notice that a lot of the time, they’re shoved off as one of the side characters- at most, a best friend. why? well, we know why, its racism, but why in my fanfiction. like, this fanfiction was so good, until i realized every single character was described as a western/eurapean with white skin, when, listen, this is an anime and they’re all japanese, jessica. although it’s not something i can speak in depth about as a very white pasty mf, it’s something ive definately noticed and its very annoying tbh. all these mcs look the same. give me some actual people please.

speaking of actual people!

why are there no chubby mcs? ever? like wtf? i get it, skinny people aesthetic or whatever, but it’s actually so frustrating when every character is a size 0 and an unrealistic representation of average people, despite usually starting out as ‘average’. I’d like to feel good about my stomach instead of comparing it to a paragraph in a fanfiction.

finally, ive gotten to something good! 

wlw stories are finally getting as mainstream as mlm! not there yet, but it makes me smile every time i see a wlw story on my feed cuz it means were getting there :)

all-in-all, this is the reason I stopped reading fanfiction regularly a while ago.

this time two-five years ago, you couldn’t pull me away from the fanfiction. I would read main characters (women) who were only ever ‘tomboy’ enough to fall into a safe view of heteronormativity that I held. I’d never even seen the word transgender until middle school- and because my entire life I was conditioned to believe that that stuff was weird or gross, I rejected it hard.

It took me years to get to where I am, and it was a huge struggle. Not that this is one fanfiction/story writer’s fault. This is an entire community’s fault. I just dont want the next generation of queer, chubby, or poc kids to think they’re weird or lesser than like I did. If it’s something I can help to stop, I will.

So, if I ever write an original story, or original characters into a fic, you bet your ass its gonna be the most realistic representation of the real world i can get into a story. now, fuck jk rowling, and have a good night. au revoir, bitches.

[vulpes-nothus]

Things I Want to See More Of: Fantasy Setting Edition

Religion

Actual stories from your religion. Not even necessarily a full blown book of myths written in iambic pentameter; I'd be happy with just a quick summary, like, "huh, this reminds me of my favorite story about Njrgnblr, God of Gn'Blrs. You know, the time when Njrgnblr needed to fool the Grktndrk into thinking they were a simple house wife so that they could cross the River of Snakes Instead of Water?"

Reference based curses. "Gods damnit" or "Gods above" is weak. I wanna hear a panicked scream of "Frygg's tits" or "sack of the King in Yellow."

Rites that aren't just "what I think happens in churches" or "the Vikings doing track for Thor." I want to see some internal symbolic logic that translates into activities. Hel, as a pagan myself I fully recognize that most rites seem to be just parties that involve bonfires and wine, but if you follow the patterns you can extrapolate the difference between Beltane and Yule while still recognizing they both definitely come from the same practice.

For that matter, sacred sites that aren't just generic temples. I don't always want to go to Prayers R' Us if I want to find a priest. Maybe I want to go to the Blurken Stone where the Herp'd'Durp first grokked the true Blurk of Gerd. Or maybe I want to pay respects to the cleric by taking his body to the Sacred Ditch where the Wanderers roll their dead and kick leaves over them by the Wandering Roads.

Magic

More small magic, please! Like pinkie promises that actually fuck up your pinkie when broken, or saying a blessing to someone who coughs actually doing something beneficial. Just, more puny spells that children can do by accident.

Ambiant magic. Like, sections of forest that cloud your mind, undead rising as a response to not observing last rites, cats and small children being able to see magic... Just magic that just is without a spell or ritual.

More spirit involvement. It's gotten to the point where a wizard is just a guy that wiggle their fingers and make fire happen. I would love to see a fireball where a wizard calls the name of some Calcifur looking thing, whispers to it and points at the tavern, it flies off, and explodes while cackling. Or a detect magic spell that is less CSI UV detector, and more looking around and watching weird things squirm over swords and wriggle in bottles while chanting their purpose.

World Building

Less fear of technology and more understanding of it. Kinda tired of settings with blimps, clocks, and plate mail but no guns or wheelchairs to be seen. It doesn't have to be universal, Hel, there was a time when a samurai could have sent a telegraph to Lincoln before strapping on O-Yoroi to deal with the latest peasant insurrection. But maybe recognize what kind of tech would be developed alongside each other, like plate armor being made to counter guns or airships being reliant on there first being a way to capture and contain lighter-than-air gases.

Tired of humans being the only people with dozens of languages and cultures. I really want to see different elves with the same base abilities, but speaking and living different lives in different parts of the world. I want to see some orcs that live in cities, tents, caves, AND nomadic caravans, at the same time, and needing translators to talk to each other.

More animals. Not magical beasties, not just animals from our world (though that would be cool if there was more diversity to the imports... like stonefish and keas and capybaras and shit) but full blown new species of regular ass animals, like tree dwelling soles or desert squid or coral sloths.

More plants that aren't plant monsters or mcguffins. You can only go so far with magical trees that store souls, killer vines, and flytraps that can chase you before people just start wondering if your dandiLIONS aren't just lazy world building. But a bright purple moss that grows on cliffs and burns like fire coral seems like a real plant, and most cool fantasy plants (and animals and diseases, for that matter) are things that *could* have happened, but didn't.

[blankdblank]

Poke pt 2 - Attack on NY

“Kneel!” The word echoed through the world and to the open of the sky a swarm of Chitauri flooded the skies over the city of New York.

All around Stark Tower to the explosion of yellow mist a body racing up from the ground in a beam of light stirred elated gasps and cries from those down below as Venom leapt from your back to the nearest glider craft to devour the creature on top of it. 93 stories above at the top of the tower the confused raven haired Prince watched as the powerful duo and a young teen in a spider emblazoned red and blue body suit diverted as many creatures as possible between blasts from the Avengers.

“Mr Stark, she’s really not that bad you know!” The teen shouted in Stark’s repeated shout to have the duo leave this job to the ‘professionals’ only making her send a small swarm of caterpillars who wriggled their way against his better efforts inside his suit to make him land and have to get them out.

Clouds of bees soon blocked out the city below forcing the creatures just one direction, up. But not just them as now the armed Princes dueled and you avoided another arrow that Clint below fired off to the rapidly swerving hover crafts that the swarms buffered.

All of a sudden Nat was on one of them and a sudden bullet had you shriek out and grab at her knee in a panicked try to catch yourself in the collapse of your stairs that had her groan and strain to keep steady as you muttered, “Damnit Widow! So help me call off your pistol man or I will crash this ship.”

Her head turned to follow your glare at the metal armed masked man and she said, “He’s not one of ours,” to a stunned and uncertain tone.

“Oh you got to be fucking kidding me!” you said slamming a hand into the ground to grip a groove there as she used her free hand to help you onto the craft she turned sharply to avoid being in the view of the man below who raced to get back into line. “Alien portal in the sky let’s shoot at the teenager.”

“Teenager?” Nat asked in a glance at you behind her asking, “How old are you?!”

“Well I was fourteen the last time you aimed your pistol at me. Fifteen that star spangled moron dislocated my shoulder the first time. And Stark’s been the one with the oldest grudge, not that he could hit the broad side of the barn without blowing up the county!” you shouted the end of the last sentence flying past the Billionaire who flew by in a try to lure another swarm of aliens into a trap. “Oh ya I’m dangerous, why sell the bombs to other countries when you can blow it up yourself.” Her brow ticked up and you said in a huff, “My Therapist said it was good for me to vent. Or I clench my jaw and give myself migraines, which lead to insomnia and nothing good comes when I don’t sleep. I’m eighteen. Not that it really matters. Oh well, happy flying, off to see the Wizard.” You said and leapt off the craft. Just in time she turned to swerve from hitting another glider. Off of which she shot the rider in a split second grab of her gun while you raced up another staircase of glimmering bees.

Finally your foot hit the open helipad of the tower and another shriek left you in your body’s collapse to all fours in the sharp sting of the bullet that went through a gap in the armor on your thigh and sent the blonde Prince through the glass wall as the bullet lodged in his shoulder. Sudden rage had the raven haired Prince turn to fire off his scepter behind you at the building where the shot came from scattering those bees a moment to not take the hit. A diversion that covered your race over to the machine powering the open portal that allowed more Chitauri through. Down from a swing at your side Spiderman sped asking, “You ok, Bumble? Heard you shriek twice.”

“Other than the crazed metal armed gunman shooting at me, just peachy Peter.”

“Oh, well that’s um,” after a moment he stammered out, “Who’s Peter?”

“Convincing, very convincing. Just steer clear if that suit of yours isn’t bullet proof. Apparently aliens aren’t reason enough to wait in line to kill me today.” You said sliding to a stop as he swung off to help Nat on her glider at her call to take out more riders. Meanwhile Venom had used his webbing and a clever swing around another to fling one up and blow up seven more a mile above your heads that in a quick glimpse of the machine you bobbed and weaved to avoid falling debris.

“What are you doing?!” the green clad Prince shouted as he strode out of the inside after another check of his brother’s condition. Past the bubble barrier you stepped at the flickering blue pulse around the tesseract powering the portal machine for a pause worthy sight at its allowing you inside the field against Dr Selvig’s programming. Though Loki wouldn’t be fast enough as in a growing pulse of glittering yellow light your hands rose to circle the inner orb where the conductor above the tesseract rested sparking up brilliantly between your palms. And in a sudden jolt like a fired slingshot your bees shot upwards around the Avengers, Spidey and Venom sending all the whales and riders up into range of the portal again. That with the triggered implosion of the conductor between your glowing palms sucked them back into the portal.

Open mouthed the Prince watched helpless as the machine let off a blue pulse that knocked you into the air timed moments before the machine around the glowing cube exploded. And your adopted brother sped on his webbing as fast as he could with Spidey after him at the smoking trail following your body’s being fired off to the center of Central Park.

“I’m a Nurse!” muffled in your ears to the sound of dirt shifting and into the pit you had created in a woman and two firemen behind her slid to dig out and check the sporadic vitals of the young woman a kit was tossed down to aid. Tourniquet for your leg and a neck brace helped to keep the unconscious patient from the pit. Down at the edge Venom and Spidey used their webbing to hoist the board now holding the strapped down savior of the city who War Machine and Iron Man hovered above in their drop down to see where the girl had landed.

Tony said, “We have a medical wing in Stark Tower, she can be taken there.”

To which Venom stated, “In an aim to kill or imprison our Little One yourself no doubt.”

Tony said, “There’s a gunman on the loose, my tower is the safest place for Queen Bee at the moment.”

Venom said, “We will not go to Stark Tower. We do not trust you with our sister.”

To which Tony scoffed and the larger of the firemen stated, “St Herman it is. Next of kin beats money Mr Stark.”

And the duo simply flew overhead as Spidey remained fixed at your side holding your hand, “You’re gonna be okay Bumble. We’re right here,” Inside him and Venom climbed into the waiting Ambulance that had just arrived, with him hushedly talking to you even when you were taken into the hospital. Blankets were brought over by him as Venom helped to remove your layers and armor while leaving your mask on to protect your identity.

The slowing of the thunderously fast heartbeat replayed on the monitor was the music that flooded the room. Soon accompanied by orders from the attending Trauma Surgeon Dr Christine Palmer who took notice of the gunshot graze wounds and the broken Chitauri arrow lodged in your shoulder blade they rolled you into a private room with blinds drawn so the people from off the streets with more minor injuries couldn’t see your condition. Venom refused to leave and ended up in a gown and mask off to the side while the people in the halls caught sight of Spiderman pacing there in panic, soon joined by the Avengers who all grouped around him.

“She’s got an arrow in her back,” eyes shifted to Clint who swallowed dryly to Spidey’s adding, “Two bullet graze wounds and they put a neck brace on her but she couldn’t straighten her leg.”

“She’ll be fine kid. been trying to kill her for years now. She’s resilient.”

“Like children are,” Nat said turning her head, “On the hover craft she said she’s only 18. We’ve been trying to kill her for years. She’s 18.” Then she went to lean against the wall crossing her arms letting those words sink in.

“She knows my name, how does she know my name?” Spidey asks himself.

And Loki in Thor’s grip to support himself in his staggered limp from an earlier stab to his thigh heavily bruised here for his own checkup said rather casually, “Perhaps she heard about it in the halls, as school children do.”

And Peter scoffs, “No upper class men know my name.” Then he paused and asked, “What if she is? What if she’s like really cool and wanted to be my friend and I blew her off?!”

And coolly Loki said being pushed to an exam room, “Unless you pushed her off a roof I am certain those bonds will recover.” A Nurse came over to the green clad Prince with a cut on his nose and stated, “Your efforts are futile, these wounds are superficial at the least. My brother was stabbed and then shot with a projectile however,” in a hissing inhale he flinched to the sting of the alcohol swab being tapped to the cut on his nose. “Thank you,” he grit out and listened to his brother being wrangled to another bed where the second surgeon helped the bullet already wiggling it’s way out of his shoulder free to a metal tin and cleaned the wound that on its own began to scab over.

Thor stated in their move to clean the wound on his bloody thigh, “Our people are strong you should focus your efforts in the mortals.” A press of a swab to a tiny cut behind his ear by a nurse however had him trying to squirm off the bed to get away.

Meanwhile through the wall one of the nurses said in her try to pull splinters from the back of your legs and at the least fractured forearm from the crash through a tree’s branches in your crash landing, “They’re wiggling out on their own.” The surgeon glanced away from the arrow her long grippers released and she said, “The splinters.”

Another glance over the numerous wounds sealing on their own and in the silence they swore they could hear the faint sounds of bones resetting their own fractures. Enough to make their skin crawl until the flinch triggering thunk of the arrow that forced itself out of your upper back for a gradually scabbing wound for them to gawk at a few moments then get back to sanitizing your other wounds. “Ok, let’s wash these wounds to be certain we got it all and get a portable x-ray in here.” At her order the portable X-ray machine was brought over to hover and scan all across your body except for your head due to your mask.

“Stay still Little One.”

Venom hissed and you groaned as the Doctor eased the X-ray machine away stating, “Good news, Miss Misique,” her voice awkwardly in a forced sense of calm when stating your code name to make this seem like she’d treated a super powered being before. “Your fractures are healing and with a few bandages and some bed rest you can be back up on your feet again.”

“Oh that’s nice, I do have a novel I’ve been meaning to finish for about two years now.” With a careful hand she helped you to sit up as Venom did from the other side as your hair rippled to glimmering yellow again and in the open of your eyes their shimmering sea of an altered shade expanded to hide their true purple shade. “Good, thought I might get some resistance with that.”

“We just had aliens fall out of the sky. I’m good for a week.” Making her smirk and help you down as Venom kept the gown you were in closed across your bruised and scraped back with sporadic bandages taped across it.  “Thank you.”

“The Avengers are here as well waiting for you.”

And you sighed heavily eyeing the hall they turned you down to get back to your intensive care room, “So much for rest.”

“They seemed concerned, the small red and blue one especially with the spider on his chest.”

“Spider-Man, newest recruit looks like.”

You said and at your room when you moved for your clothes the Nurse said, “You need to rest,”

“You need the bed. I’ll be fine. No need to waste more attention on me. Thank you though all the same.” Reluctantly they stepped out to let you get dressed saying for the bill they knew where to mail it like any other who wished to contact you. And within minutes other Nurses in the hall watched the group stiffen at your stiff stroll out at Venom’s side after he’d handed over the gown and little cap they gave him to a Nurse who said she would take them.

“Bumble! You’re walking!” Peter said excitedly.

With a nod you exhaled flexing your sore scabbed fingers in the snap of the strap of your left glove into place around your wrist. “I’ll be fine. Off home now, I have a bowl of chili cheese tots and a pizza and a stack of movies calling my name.”

Natasha asked, “You sure you should be up? We could call your parents to get you.”

“They don’t have land lines in graveyards or trust me I’d be living on that line.” Around the group you strolled as she lifted off the wall eyeing the arrow you had grabbed from the table you slid into the pocket on the side of your thigh with the face mask full of the bloody splinters to not leave any blood samples here if possible to be traced by Stark. Who you saw send a drone back to check the rooms in the hall you had left.

Stark said, “So, baby bee, who lets you out of the hive at all hours of the night?”

To his harsh tone Rhodey whacked his arm he waved a hand to focus merely on the answer. “I’m not the one who destroys half the city every time I suit up there Sparky.”

“Sparky, cute. Answer the question.”

“I’m an orphan,” you said turning your head to catch his gaze, “Like you.”

“Now that’s just cold,” he said to your back as you continued walking on facing forward again.

“No depending on if you managed to track down where Star Boy ran off to it’s cold or just fighting fair. Since you only give a damn about yourself and your toys.” He scoffed and you said in another glance up at him, “Or did I miss the day you took that shielding tech to coat the rest of the city around your precious tower just in case of attack?” He was silent a moment and you said, “Thought so. But no, you go ahead and keep building bombs for that suit of yours and I’ll keep using my ‘little hive’ you keep mocking in the press to protect the city you keep blowing up while spouting that I’m the evil one.”

“You kill criminals, just because they are bad guys doesn’t make it better leave it to the government.”

“Like you did when you became Iron Man?”

Rhodey chuckled and at Stark’s glance his way he said in a chuckle, “She’s got a point.”

Tony said louder this time, “Who takes care of you?! Who lets you do this?! Who trained you to do this?!”

And in a other turn you said to his face, “Perhaps you should get to know Black Widow a bit better. We are sisters in arms after all. She can answer that, though unlike her I’m not perfect, I killed them after they put me in the Soldier’s Tomb. I left them lined in rows in the Red Room.”

That had the trained assassin cover her mouth and had Tony turn and ask, Soldier’s Tomb? Red Room? Can we not talk in code?” He asked at your step through the door Venom opened for you.

“Bumble!” However the grip of his hand around your middle to Peter’s near tackle of you out of the doorway had Tony’s body at the bullet that bounced off his armored suit turn to face the metal armed assassin who cocked his gun again.

“I am gonna tear off that bastard’s arm and beat him to death with it.”

“Language!” Steve said.

To which you fired back shoving the door open you strolled through already with a baton in hand, “Oh fuck off, Propaganda Man.” In your other hand when you released the door you grabbed your other baton, now with the other you dropped at your side saying, “Let’s see what you got Star Boy.” Out of your jacket you shrugged and from his hand the gun moved to be holstered on the harness he unsnapped to drop on the ground behind him. “I’m warning you, I won’t pull my punches for trying my patience.”

And in the removal of his facial mask he said in thick Russian, “You will submit to your orders, White Dove.”

And at that you laughed aloud with an amused squeak at the end while Steve muttered the name of his previously assumed dead friend.

“They did not send the Winter Soldier after little me. I must have really pissed them off.” You crossed from the walkway to the parking lot where you faced one another as he squared up ready to fight, “And just think how pissed they be when I bring you down like the others they’ve sent after me.”

Loki hummed curiously to the amused tone in your voice he understood thanks to the Allspeak, “She seems amused to be hunted.”

Nat muttered, “She shouldn’t be. Not if they sent him.”

Steve turned to her, “You knew they were using Bucky?! All this time and you said nothing?!”

“That’s not Bucky anymore. No one is the same after. Not after what they did to make them obedient.”

His try to walk out and cut the fight off had Thor restrain him with a grip of his shoulder stating, “There are rules of engagement they have agreed to hand to hand combat you must respect that.”

Steve tried to fight only to find himself magically bound in a glowing green set of chains thanks to Loki who watched as Bucky advanced in the first blow. Barely visible to the mortals around them his fist jut out and with ease your head eased to the left and the dance began. Blow after blow missed with leg raises from him that were the only form of contact with your body shoved away quite effortlessly by your tiny self who even with the mask seemed to not break a sweat in the several minute stand off as the older assassin grew more enraged. Bruce lowly asked in your boot shoving his next kick away to spin him around, “He’s had the Super Serum, right?” His eyes trailing the growing crowd of spectators on the other side of the glowing barrier your hovering wall of bees provided in case he did draw one of his remaining weapons.

To which Nat answered, “So has she,”

“What?!” Tony and Steve asked in unison.

Nat, “I heard they wanted to try it in a girl, he was the only male who survived the serum, I didn’t think they’d give it to an actual child, I thought they’d wait till she was grown. But that would make her impossible to suspect, the White Dove Project. All my intel said it was marked a failure, not that she was rogue. I guess they grew impatient when I didn’t come back.”

“Tell me what the Red Room is!” Tony demanded as in his try to sneak a spare blow in a standing split your leg rose to tangle around his arm to drop backwards using his arm for support and in one move jerk his legs out. A hold you flipped out of as he fell to his back and for a few minutes was a flailing turtle of sorts until he swept a kick you hopped away from enabling him room to whip himself up in an arch of his legs and back to start a series of missed punches and tries to reach the arms you tucked behind your back between kicks you dished out to his chest and shoulder sending him back several feet to have him rush back again. A slow path to find his weakness as you avoided and paid attention before your oncoming barrage to send him painfully to the ground in an unlikely yield or his death.

Tony said in a glare at the woman analyzing your speed and strength clearly surpassing the Super Serum users around her who were fully grown showing your growth spurts and aging meant increased power, stamina and speed, “Nat!”

“It’s where they sterilize the girls they train, make us perfect. No chance to have a weakness.” And his jaw fell slack as she said, “Soldier’s Tomb is what they use for the serum. Only they survived going inside it.”

Tony muttered, “Just great, let’s dope up a kid then let it loose through puberty.”

A clear growl of frustration came from Bucky in the kick you gave to his back that sent him flying for the second blatant attack following a wince inducing roundhouse kick to his face when he tried to bend to get an attack at your legs for a try to throw you off. Sudden and hard his foot charged after yours and in a smooth plant of his foot and weight. His intention was a sudden left hook that with a raised palm his fist was caught mid air for a stunning halt of his attack that jeers and cheers to stunned gasps and even a strained squeak of an exhale from him was the response before your pivot and fling of the assassin hard into the lot again. It was clear this was your finishing blow as you charged and with a strained finger reach from Steve he set off a smoke charge from Tony’s arm control nearly into his thigh that freed his arm from the flickering chain enabling him to hurl his shield at his endangered friend. “Buck!”

Out of reflex the weary assassin caught the shield and groaned to your sharp pained squeak in the muffled cracks you heard of fractures spreading through your forearm and finger bones. The sound of that didn’t worry others as open mouthed everyone saw your fist cave in the shield that in a stagger back with a bite of your lip it hovered in a cloud of yellow mist. The force of the blow that broke Bucky’s fleshy arm dead in the center and flung him backwards in an awkward tumble ending on a sloppy knee top grimacing stance. His tear filled eyes watched as you shouted, “Steven Gingerbread Rogers! What the fuck?! He was doing fine before you interfered!”

Wide eyed the open mouthed first Avenger in a stunned squeak of a whisper replied, “You dented my shield?” Then looked from his friend to you again as you tried to hold back the tremble of the arm you wished you could remove to Loki’s doubling of the chains now entangling him once again tighter this time. “Gingerbread?” He squeaked to the Prince sealing the new lock on the chains then watched as you sent off the shield far into the distance out of anger.

From Tony’s shoulder a set of drones charged after it to prevent it being stolen to Rhodey’s comment of, “I think she heard your puberty comment.”

To the extension of glimmering lines of a brace that formed around your fingers to your elbow the same spread along Bucky’s that had him glance at that then to you again. Sharply you inhaled then muttered, “Fine. They want Star Boy they get Star Boy.” A couple steps closer you moved locking your eyes on his that rippled a flash of glittering yellow that overtook his iris’ and you said, “So, Bucky, I’m going to show you who they’ve made you forget.” Silence fell as confusion took hold at what you were doing until you blinked and turned leaving the kneeling assassin to shake his head as you turned to rejoin Venom at the group who wanted to scoop you up and carry you off right away seeing how tired and in pain you were.

To Nat you said, “Get the man a therapist, I erased his command words from his memory and unlocked everything else.” And your eyes shifted to Tony, “Get ready for the test of a lifetime on those defenses of yours. I just stole Hydra’s golden goose for your star spangled buddy.” And you said to Steve, “You interfere in my fight again you won’t live to regret it. Don’t let Stark rub off on you.” Venom as you spoke walked closer. Just a lift of your foot and his palm took hold of it lifting you against his chest to spring off the ground and swing you back off to Queens. “I’ll leave the press to you Sparky. Just how you like it. See ya Monday, Spidey.”

“Bye Bumble! See you then!” And to himself the teen muttered, “Monday, what’s Monday?” Behind you Peter said after his few paced steps and drew out his phone as it chimed with a reminder, “I’m gonna head back home now. I’ve got plans with my friend and a lego Palpatine.”

Stark nodded in his spring off and watched as Steve was freed to race over as Nat softly conferenced with Clint at her side and Rhodey asked Bruce, “How much force can Vibranium take again?” That had the Scientist let out a puff of air for the unimaginable force it would have taken to dent the shield as Bucky was helped up and shouts from Steve had them ushering him off to the Tower Medical Wing to have his injuries looked over. “It doesn’t like, wear out? It is old…”

When Steve was within earshot of the golden haired Prince Thor he heard the Prince say, “The very next time you see the Lady you owe her your sincerest efforts to remedy the insult you issued upon her honor.”

Steve, “Her what?! She was-,”

“Facing off against a formidable foe in one on one combat. The rules of which you are in breech. It was dishonorable to have provided a shield to him and not to her as well. You are heavily in her debts young Steven.”

Steve shook his head and helped the still confused Bucky who was taking in the city around him as if he’d woken up for the first time in decades now fully seeing it outside of its prior haze. “Let’s get you to the tower Buck.”

Loki glanced at his brother, “Tell me again why you wish to remain here?”

Thor stated, “Father had shared Midgard bears bonds of the soul for every creature upon it. I have met mine and I wish for you to discover your own. Even Mother bore curiosity as for whom her favored child might be bonded to.”

To which Loki replied as they settled inside the second car Tony had called to fit the whole group, “Mother may be curious however Father will never accept a Midgardian Princess.”

“That depends entirely upon the maiden and you know it. Have faith you shall find quite the incredible rush and bond in locating your Mate.” He said scooting over to allow Bruce to sit with the brothers while Clint and Nat rode with the reunited besties and Tony and Rhodey flew overhead. With a smile Thor turned to ask Bruce, “How did you come across your Mate, Banner?”

“Oh, um, we worked in the same lab, I went green and almost killed her. I went back to apologize after and it sort of clicked. Bit odd, at first, but we stay in touch.”

Loki, “You did not marry?”

Bruce replied, “She has a wife. And well, I go green. She wants babies, not a very safe choice anyways. Especially with this new team starting up.”

 *

Down in the usual back way from this part of town to your street you snuck into the same abandoned building to change out of your costume with Eddie’s careful help after Venom hid himself again. “Let’s get you changed,”

“He threw him the fucking shield!” you whimpered in your shrug out of your long sleeved shirt soon dropped on top of the coat and batons Venom had collected on your way out of the lot. “Who would do that? At worst I shatter my arm, best? What’s the positive he takes the shield and bludgeons me to death with it?!”

“I don’t get it,” he said careful to remove the armored pads as you moved the brace you had made underneath it. “No benefits other than his buddy doesn’t get his ass beat any worse by you.”

“I hope Stark has strong controls on his drones I sent his shield halfway to Florida if they don’t cut off my bees.”

“Love to see him get that dent out. Wasn’t even your dominant hand, could have punched a hole through it with the other one.” From his back he eased off his large blue flannel shirt he guided around your tank top to help hide your bruises and scrapes, more importantly your braced arm after you’d tucked your bell bottom jeans over most of your boots. Braids were next to be let down to have your walls of raven unruly curls help the disguise along with your favorite bolero hat he settled lovingly on your head then hoisted up the duffel bag of spare clothes and the costume and ticked his head to the side in a loop of his hand onto your back. “Tots and pizza await.”

It would be a long ride home from here to Queens on the subway. And the whole while you listened and chatted with others about the aliens and now viral video of the fight between Misique and her latest attacker that had most amused by the notion she had been going easy on Iron Man and his crew all this time.

Like always when you were roughed up it was his place you stayed at that had the neighbors talking at first until they started to hear his blatant use of the word ‘Sister’ around the block and made it clear he was just adopting a fellow vagabond. You still lived apart but he kept the round couch loaded with pillows and blankets at your refusal to make him buy another bed just for you. “In your nest baby bird,” he said with a chuckle and watched you ease off your boots and go to painfully plop into the mess of blankets, amongst them the heated blanket he plugged in and switched on so you could cocoon away your pain.

“Now if they could make one that massages without feeling like someone’s dragging stones across your skin it would be perfect.”

“We could get one of those water tank massagers, like at the mall.” That had you giggle and watch his path to heat up the oven and return with a pair of drink pouches he added the straws to and handed you one and tapped his to. “Bottoms up, you got the last grape,” that had you groan and he chuckled in his plop back into his favorite chaise lounge, “I don’t know why they put so many fruit punches in the big boxes. Might as well just load up on the smaller grape and cherry boxes.”

After your sip you said, “But they only ever have one box of grape. They’re gonna stop selling it soon, always do when I like something.”

He switched on the tv and from the image of Stark talking to the press at a conference inside his still smoking tower with a crater on his former helipad where you had been blow off it he changed the channel to an action film marathon. “This is the fourth one, right?” He asked in Venom’s ease out from the side of his head at the film.

You answered, “Gotta be the third he blew up that car in the start of the fourth and cried about it the last half.” He chuckled and again took notice of your hand traveling to the pouch that held the small box, no bigger than an eraser in matte grey a couple of inches across and barely half an inch high that had a single button in the center of it in a pale mint.

“You should give your Mate a poke.” He said showing he lifted his own button to give his worried ex a tickle to let her know that he was safe, fully aware as always when he was on the news it could get deadly with Stark after him and you.

“Doesn’t even know me,” you said easing the box out that rested in the curves of your fingers to allow a smooth of your thumb around the button it dipped onto and gave it a result free tap, at least on your end.

 *

And in the Stark Tower elevator Loki’s brows furrowed and he practically growled to those around him, “Which one of you just poked me?”

They shook their heads and Bruce asked, “You sure it was a poke?”

“I am not ignorant of the meaning-,”

Bruce lifted his hand, “N, no, not what I meant. Our Mate boxes, you can either poke or tickle your Mate. We didn’t poke you, had to be them.”

Nat said as the doors opened and she walked past him, “Congrats.” Heading for her computer to delve more into things to plan ahead as the old friends were already settled in the medical Wing and Rhodey was tasked with showing the Princes their new apartments here in the tower.

“Who would choose to poke their soul mate?” Loki asked exiting the elevator.

And Clint asked with an amused grin, “Would you prefer to be tickled?”

“Certainly not!”

 *

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Eddie chuckled making you groan and stash the button in its pouch you set back on the couch beside you where you had left it.

“I just poked a complete stranger. It’s right up there with waving at a stranger who you thought was waving at you but wasn’t.”

That had him chuckle and reply, “Oh it will be fine.”

“I’m going to sound weird if I have to describe myself.”

“You will not,”

“I talk with an accent when I’m not killing people and I have a practically non-existent date life. I’m going to seem like I am putting all my eggs in my Mate’s basket.”

“Well we’ll just have to find you a few dates then. And what about that Jeremy guy?”

“The one who hooked up with his cousin’s girlfriend while he was supposed to be with me at the movies?”

“Yes, you have that moron and that other guy who asked you to the dance your freshmen year. So you’re just waiting for a more mature partner.”

“Now I sound like a sugar baby.” You said taking another sip of your drink making him give you a challenging glance.

“There’s a million people on this death trap of a state we can find you a couple guys to have shakes with.”

“Why don’t we find you a nice lady out of this death trap first?” That had him chortle and you said, “You have not been on Twitter in a while there’s tons of women who have the hots for Venom.”

“Whoa, what?” You nodded and he said, “That will be a topic we get back to in a very long time. I don’t need to date. I have a baby sister to look after.”

He said on his way up to answer the beeping oven now ready for what he aimed to cook first. And he simply shook his head to the grip of a bag of tater tops from his freezer as you said, “Which the ladies will love. So much better than a puppy, an actual living person makes you super domestic. Just post a picture of you in an apron and that cozy tan sweater you hardly wear and you’ll have them flocking in for cuddles and suppers in.”

“What we have here is a cupid stand-off. Let’s just let fate take its course.” The chime from your pocket had his head turn after adding the tray of tots to the oven he twisted the stegosaurus shaped timer you had bought him and set it down watching as you scrolled through the messages from the classmates you had shared your number with. “Something big? Your school phone, right?”

“They’re sharing with the local Viking that two real life Asgardian Princes are on earth.” With the easy slide of the screen up to reveal the keys you grimaced through the pain of typing back excited messages to video clips from the internet that you couldn’t wait to hear more about them one handedly. “We can only wonder at what Stark has in store for them.”

“Hey, why don’t you date that Spidey kid. You know who he is. Seems a bit jumpy but it could work, shared secrets and all that.”

You shook your head, “Peter’s a good kid, and a girl his year hasn’t made her move yet. Waited through his whole debacle with that Vulture guy who tried to break into Stark’s warehouse last year. Ruined his chance with the guy’s daughter. He should have something simple, plus if he found out who either of me are then he’d be hurt. He doesn’t kill people.”

Your eyes sank and then rose at his lean over and tap on your arm that had you smile as he said, “Hey, I love you. Stingers and all.”

“I love you too, man eater.” That had him laugh and sit up again and turn to face the screen as you continued to pretend through texts to be enthralled with every detail you heard. Food soon had your attention at the table loaded with trays and plates you both devoured to full your aching muscles and bones while you relaxed a bit at being able to bend your still stiff fractured but no longer broken fingers while your forearm was mending its lingering fractures under the brace made of linked bee shaped metal pieces.

.

Painfully under his pile of covers sprawled across his body he laid out eventually as you did across the round couch in your nest of pillows and blankets only to have your eyes open an hour to sunrise at the muffled explosion.

“I’m not going they can’t make me.” You muttered making the groggy Eddie chuckle and roll over as you did ignoring whatever it was going on outside your painful bubble. An alert from your printer hooked up to a mounted tablet had you groan and hunch yourself onto your knees to accept the printed sheet a glowing mechanical bee that woke up beside the printer in its usual job of passing you the news when you were here. “Not even twelve hours,” you muttered and then groaned in a lean over the side of the couch you pulled a laptop out from underneath it you powered up once open and linked up to your database. Across the screen following the blips of disturbances your eyes followed the names of the prison inmates who were still remaining in the prison that had just been blasted open by someone according to the footage who was stealing the vulture guy.

“What is it?” Eddie called from the other room.

“Prison break. I got it.” You replied with a sigh and to the type of a few keys you were in the security footage system and through the internet and electrical systems your swarms flew and around the prisoners they latched into every alarm system was set off to have every cop on duty to apprehend them.

The Vulture guy however had you get a bit more creative and send a glowing bee to latch onto his leg and set off a ping that had Stark up out of bed and suiting up to follow the ping in his system that one of his inventions had been taken. Confusion didn’t come close to the frustration that somehow his nemesis had broken into his system and back out again without a trace that he could manage to find. Enough to spoil the press conference after he called to state the city was safe again as you laid back down to the dim of your eyes and hair and got some more sleep until your and Eddie’s bellies decided it was time to get up again to make breakfast.

.

Halfway through your omelet you grumbled around a mouthful of food in another glance at the printer that went off, “no.”

Eddie smirked as he cut off another slice of his own stack of pancakes he added the slice of omelet to and shoved it between his lips while you swallowed and accepted the sheet from the mechanical bee that chirped gladly as you said, “Thank you, Buster.”

In his flight back Eddie asked, “What is it?”

“Post office, I have a package.”

“Ooh,” he said and you both smiled widely saying, “Super suit!” Both of you hurried to eat and he helped you pull your armor on you layered with a t shirt and flannel from him as your sweater was being washed to be covered by your usual jacket that had been soaked and hung to dry overnight you had to patch up some holes. Out the covered alleyway you both hurried and sprung against the groan worthy strain of your muscles. As he swung from lamppost to lamppost you raced and slid across the stairs and ladders you usually used of glowing bees overhead to waves and shouts from below. Peter along the way having foiled a car thief swung up to your side asking, “I thought the news said you were on bed rest?!”

To which you called back, “We have mail! Got to go fetch it!” Winning chuckles from those down below to his own chuckle.

“Ooh,” he said hearing a smoke alarm a couple blocks over and said, “See ya later, Bumble, bye Venom!” Swinging off to see how he could be of use as you both slid down the slide you made to the front of an old post office you had for your mail for Misique and Venom.

Inside the owners lit up with smiles as you spoke to them in their native Greek and signed for the large trunk that Venom hoisted on his shoulder and you took the bag of mail for yourselves and headed out past the surprised duo who entered behind you on your way out. The younger of which snapped a quick picture of you three for their social page you both waved for since your mask covered all but your eyes and the teen seemed to be bothered by Venom’s twisted tongue extended from his mouth he traded for a wide smile.

The way back was smooth and once safe back in his place you eyes the trunk from Wakanda, the King T’Chaka who owed you according to his own self after you had helped with the poaching problem in the continent and replenished more than twenty dying breeds of animals in your last summer trip there. You had run into them by chance in their own tries to aid in the problem and complimented by their tech yours had kept the reserve boundaries secure and lush with plentiful populations of animals to dwell happily there since you had left.

Out of the box you used the usual password they had given to you on the spinning dial lock the case lit up in its opening. Trays inside and a bottom drawer that sprung out of the side you squeaked wiggling out of your layers and usual armor to accept the honeycomb zigzag bracelets in rose gold that snapped in place on your left wrist for elegant decorations paired with a ring for both your middle fingers.

Folded to perfection in small squares you eyed the matte grey pants to the suit with pale yellow honeycomb patterns etched across it you lifted and stepped into. And eased up to cover your chest and arms that rippled closer to your skin you layered with the stunning bright yellow sleeveless hooded jacket with black wing designs across the back just like a yellow jacket’s. Already close to squeaking a wiggle of your fingers had the suit bond together as one piece and then ripple out higher to coat your neck fully that would match the new mask laid in one of the trays you lifted and eased to snap into place over your face. Securely with the metal woven section that would weave between your usual braids to keep the mask in place unlike your current ribbon secured style you had to repaint soon anyways.

Using the booklet of instructions you learned to control the mask so that if you wanted your mouth could be exposed to eat and drink, which had been a trouble when you had visited last as well as how to have the whole suit hide back in the bracelets entirely to be stealthy in your getaway. All based on your wish to be more modest compared to the pinup suits most of the female heroes wore in comics a belly panel disguised your bust. With zigzag patterns and honeycombs around a subtle two by two inch tall shimmering pale golden crown the panel stretched from your collarbone to the v belt to cinch at your waist. Not baggy or in a poof but almost like a chest plate, seen only detached at the belly from the side with your jacket removed. Details with coloring to match the leaf accents on the sloped skirt panels under the jacket that hung from that belt to mid thigh where they connected to there that in the front facing slit worked as both pockets and cover for another set of holsters for more weapons to carry around more comfortably.

“I have so many pockets!” You said dipping your hands into the hidden pockets in the skirt panels bouncing from foot to foot making Eddie chuckle. Loudly you gasped at the slip of your hands into the front panels sides across your belly, “It’s a pouch!” Many more pockets and holsters were down the inner flaps of your jacket you started to add your ridiculous supply of weapons to it and their usual spots across your legs and back while making use of the pockets for some more of your throwing wasp shaped daggers.

Off the table along the wall a unique ring sounded from your bee communicator Buster. Who flew over and hovered in front of trying both of you as from its back two folded bars popped up to form the holographic screen between them to the light of its eyes in a bright green to show you were being displayed on the other end. Venom when it flew over popped out to cover Eddie’s face to hide Eddie’s identity and you turned to see who was calling your private line from your short list of allies.

Shuri and her father’s faces popped up on the screen with a group of teen guards in training behind them, both who smiled widely at your elated squeak and statement in Xhosa of, “I love you guys so much! I’ve got so many pockets now!!”

T’Chaka laughed with his daughter and said, “Well after hearing your love of pockets we could not resist allowing Shuri to work her magic on the design.”

“Shuri I could just kiss you it’s more than I could have ever imagined!” You said giving yourself a hug making her chuckle again, “Huge virtual hug your way!”

“Thank you, and one for you as well.”

Her father asked, “We were also wondering. Did you get your box for your Mate?”

“Ooh, yes,” you said moving around the bee to grab your pouch that matched hers in a burnt orange box with a hazel button similarly hues to those of the guards behind her of the same age. The lot of you pressed your buttons to check if you were soul mates at the agreed upon thought shared when you had first met. “No pokes?”

“No,” rippled around the room and T’Chaka chuckled saying, “Fair start to the search for your young selves.” Then said, “And in consolation for not being there to offer our congratulations for your step into adulthood we have made certain to gift you a car as well.”

That had you gasp and say, “You did not get me a car!”

“The yellow keychain in the top tray.” Down you bent to collect the small box the size of a lemon you slid the top out to bring out the miniature car that you squeaked at the sight of the adorable miniature coupe sports car in a holographic pale gold and black paint scheme.

“Oh my gosh! I love it! I’m probably gonna be crushed by it but I love it!”

Shuri chuckled and explained how to control the expansion features and explained where the miniature holographic run through of the safety features on the car including the vibranium exterior to match your suit. T’Chaka said in the conclusion of that, “For your efforts to aid the recovery of our endangered species and the depleted forests of our continent this pales in comparison. Yet it is what we are able to accumulate to offer in return. Perhaps when you visit us again we might be able to discover more to share.”

“Thank you, again, really.”

“And you are well after the alien invasion?”

“Oh ya, fractured a few bones and got blasted across the city. Still sore, but I’m good. Still don’t know what the two Princes from the planet of Asgard are up to. But I’ll figure that out soon enough I’m fairly close to their newest Avengers member I can weasel it out of him with a few loose questions.”

“Very good, well we shall let you enjoy your new suit, car, stun blaster and daggers. We shall pass on news of the Princes and invasion we had been monitoring online.”

“I have a blaster and daggers too?” You said in an excited squeak and dropped to the fold of the screen as they ended the call to let you search the open trays to find the giggle worthy sight of the taser like gun you put in the clear holster for it on your hip under the jacket that would recharge itself and fire out tiny charged pellets you could easily make more of by use of the diagram they sent you. Soon added by the spare daggers you added to the inner liner holsters of your jacket and across your back underneath it.

Much like Spider Man had his own official YouTube account you had yours and with a video once you braided your hair and lit up you used to broadcast your new suit to spread the word. Keeping the source of which mum to simply a friend in gratitude of your aid in recovering animal and nature reserves. A gift that had Stark seething as he glared at the video on a play back on one of his holographic screens in his lab to discover what it might be made of and the spare layers and flaps could be hiding. Then got upset even more at seeing Spidey’s account complimenting the new outfit and saying he couldn’t wait to see it in action on one of your usual runs together.

From in front of you to its resting home again the hovering bee moved and chirped with glee to a second well earned bit of praise as you retracted the suit and mask containing all your weapons to easier fold the old suit and armor into the trunk Eddie helped you to carry over to your apartment.

“Come on, let’s celebrate with a film,” he said offering his hand you accepted to walk down with him to his garage to climb onto the back of his Harley for the drive to the mall.

The entire time you sat back against the back rest with fingers smoothing across the mistletoe decorated silver oval locket with a mirror and symbol of the Goddess Frigg inside of your mother’s with the twin silver owl face rings with sapphire eyes the killers had taken from your parents. Small things that meant the world to you as you felt your loose flannel and long braid whipping around to the wind that danced across your bared legs in the stretch of your sore legs in the sun thanks to your denim shorts and wedge booties to fit your usual style after having changed from your clothes from the day prior. Thoughts on them were painful but as you had crossed into adulthood the aching need for them didn’t seem to wane and as you recalled the small bit of years you had with them you hoped they fared better in the afterlife than you had found yourself, even with your new armor to help protect you from whatever was coming. And now that aliens had dropped from the freaking sky that could be a whole hell of a lot.

Pt 3

All –

@sherala007​, @mariannetora​​, @jesgisborne​, @knitastically​, @catthefearless​​, @theincaprincess​, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000​​, @alishlieb​​,

Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​

X Loki - @pastelhexmaniac

[amjustagirl]

Chapters:  one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 2.3k

Summary:

Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dream.He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears echoes of the birdsong in her laugher, the songs to the gods in the wind.

(Loosely inspired by Kimi No Nawa)

Masterlist link here 

AO3 link here

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

‘It’s for my mother’s birthday’, Akaashi says, and the florist tilts her head in thought, a dimple appearing on her right cheek. 

‘What about pink carnations? They’re pretty and well within your budget’.

‘Good choice – plus it means that I’ll never forget her’ he says, nodding in approval and she bustles around to gather her materials, fingers nimbly twining tissue and ribbons around the blooms. 

‘Oh - ’, he begins to say in surprise when he notices she’s included a bunch of baby’s breath in the little bouquet, because a university student’s budget only stretches that much. 

‘Don’t worry, it’s on the house’, she hastily reassures him, her curly hair bouncing as she shakes her head. ‘I just thought it’s sweet you’re buying flowers for your mother.

‘Thanks.’ He smiles at her. She grins back and promptly trips over her own feet as she hands the bouquet over to him. ‘Watch out’, he calls, reaching over the counter to grab her elbow in an attempt to steady her.

‘Sorry! That’s so clumsy of me. Um – I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time, but would you like to grab coffee with me someday?’ she asks, cheeks flushing as pink as the flowers in his arms. 

‘Oh’, he says, dumbstruck. ‘I – uh’ 

She must read the hesitation in his face because she shakes her head self-deprecatingly, saving him from floundering awkwardly. ‘Sorry! I don’t know what came over me – please forget I ever said that!’ Then she bows and ushers him out of the store, waves away his apologies with a laugh and calls after him to ‘please come again!’ 

His mother fusses over him when he presents his bouquet of carnations to her, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek. ‘Why does it look like university is treating you so badly?

‘I’m fine, mum’, he tries to distract her with a hug, but she’s having none of that. 

‘Are you really, Keiji?’, his mother asks, lips pursed. ‘I know my son well enough to know he’s not sleeping well’. 

‘I try’, he offers, but he knows his excuse falls flat when she sniffs. He’s so irredeemably busy with school work and internship that sleep is practically the last item on his list of priorities and things to do and tasks at hand, but he knows if he breathes a word about the amount of work on his plate, his mother would nag him relentlessly until she’s convinced he’s taking care of himself again

So honed by years of dealing with Bokuto-san, he switches tactics to diversion. ‘So mum, tell me how auntie managed to talk Yuji-kun into going on blind dates?’ His mum brightens and immediately turns her mind to her favourite nephew’s dismal love life. 

But his mother insists on him staying over that night, so he finds himself staring at the ceiling of his old bedroom, in a bed that suddenly feels too small for the worries that adulthood is cramming into his head. He’s patient, counting the spaces between his breaths but sleep eludes him and he sits up, determined to sneak in more work at the very least.  

He tucks a pencil behind his ear, ready to get cracking on his thesis when he tilts his seat too far on the back two legs of his chair and loses his balance, falling onto the floor with a thump. ‘Damnit’, he curses quietly, hoping the noise doesn’t startle his mother awake, but from his vantage point on the floor, he can see the omamori he inexplicably refused to throw away on New Year’s Day hanging on the bars of his windowsill. 

‘What are you doing here’, he mutters, untying the charm and running his thumb along its fraying seams. The charm obviously does not respond - it’s an inanimate object after all, but for some reason, he slips it in his pocket when he returns to the dorm when morning comes. 

The frequency of his dreams starts to increase. 

He’s back in her body, curled up under a pine tree on a cool autumn day. 

‘I can’t believe you convinced me to spend an afternoon running around like a forest nymph when we could be studying to ace your exams’.  There is a tinge of disdain in his words because he  knows  her grades are better than decent, though they’d be better if only she’d spend more time on her books instead of flower fields. 

‘Aww, a nymph? Someone’s feeling extra poetic today’, she teases lightly. 

‘Don’t try distracting me from the fact that you really should be studying’, he insists, displeased. 

‘I do study’  she protests, but he hums disbelievingly, the spectre of Waseda’s devilishly difficult entrance exam looming in his mind. 

‘Not enough to get into a decent university at this rate.’

‘I don’t want to go to university, Keiji, I’ve tried telling you this before’, she sighs. 

‘You don’t?’ 

‘Nope’  she responds, popping the word in her mouth. ‘I just want to sell flowers to people someday, is that so bad? It’s simple - they make people happy, and that makes me happy in turn. If we only have a lifetime to spend on this earth, shouldn’t we pursue what truly brings us joy instead of dreams others impose on us?’

‘ I suppose that makes sense’, he says, sounding vaguely convinced.

‘Course it does’, she responds easily, a smile flickering in her voice. ‘I always make sense. Now. Let’s not squabble, it’s my turn to tell you a story today’. 

So he listens, enthralled despite himself, as she spins tales of the Kodama, tree spirits dwelling in the ancient forest, how her mother taught her to always offer a prayer to the gods before chopping down a tree - and if the tree bleeds, to back away because it means it has a Kodama living, breathing within it. 

‘Are they real?’  he asks her, when she finishes a tale of a  Kodama who assumed human form after falling in love with a maiden blessed with cherry blossoms in her cheeks.

‘Of course they are’  she laughs. ‘If you close your eyes and listen carefully, you can hear them sing. ’

He closes his eyes, but the forest remains eerily still. ‘ I don’t hear anything, ’ he says, disbelief colouring his tone. 

‘Maybe it’s because they know you don’t really believe in them yet.’

He wakes up with the scent of pine in his nose, the lingering touch of grass against the soles of his feet. 

‘Electricity is a fickle beast in this household, so the first thing you need to do when you come home is to light the fire in the irori. Even Toya-chan knows how to do that, and he’s eight!’  

He stares balefully at the sunken hearth lined with stone and filled with ash, situated right in the center of the old house.  ‘This is a fire hazard’, he tells her stubbornly. 

‘Fire is life, you spoilt city boy! It only becomes dangerous if you don’t respect it. Now come on, or you’ll end up freezing to death and I won’t be able to save you. I always keep a lighter in my pocket and in the store room there’s coal and if really necessary, some petrol I flinched from the petrol station – ‘

‘You better make sure the teachers don’t find your lighter and think you’ve been smoking – ‘ he interjects and she continues as if she doesn’t hear him. 

‘So you light the fire and hang the kettle from the iron hook, and voila! You can cook porridge or soup if electricity runs out and you can’t rely on the rice cooker or stove. And when the night is too cold to sleep in your room, you can drag your futon out here for warmth. It’s kinda nice, almost like camping. Now, let’s see you try lighting a fire yourself!’ 

Her fingers are thin and nimble, but they’re unfamiliar implements to him, so he fumbles with arranging the coal and scrap paper around damp wood. He has to resort to using a drip of petrol to coax the damp wood to ignite in flames but he counts it as a triumph anyway as fire dances in the sunken hearth.  

He can hear her cheer – ‘Congrats city boy!’ Ignoring the implied insult in her words, he smiles. 

He’s back in her skin again when her voice echoes in his mind. 

‘Y’know you’re not gonna be able to learn how to put on a bra if you don’t open your eyes when doing it right?’  she says, amusement ripe in her voice. ‘Every girl has tits, Keiji . If it makes you feel better, I’ve seen your dick ’. 

‘What?’ he yelps, eyes still stubbornly closed. 

‘How else was I supposed to use the urinals? Goodness, being a guy is so convenient when it comes to peeing, you just point and shoot - ’

‘Right, that’s too much information, thanks’, he huffs. 

‘Well, you’re gonna make me late for school if you don’t open your eyes’’, she sing songs, and he knows she’s banking on his reverence for punctuality and perfect attendance records to get him to look in the mirror, but he’s not sure it outweighs his mother’s lessons of being a gentleman.  

‘Keiji-kun ’, she says again, amused. ‘I do appreciate that you’re trying to protect my modesty, but those rules don’t really apply when we’re in a situation like this, you know? If it makes you feel better, I give you explicit permission to look at my breasts when strictly necessary.’

‘Can you not say it like that’, he grouses before cracking an eye open, somewhat persuaded, and somehow manages to snap the tiny hooks in place. ‘Bras are like torture devices’. 

‘Don’t I know it’, she chuckles.  ‘Be glad you only have to put up with it every once in a while’. 

He snorts, more comfortable once some semblance of her modesty is secured. ‘I’ll count my blessings then’. Twisting at the waist to zip up her skirt, his breath catches at a glimpse of freckles on her back in the mirror. He forgets he’s still standing in front of the mirror as his fingers idly ghost over the constellation, a spray of stardust on bare skin. 

‘Keiji ?’ she asks, confused. 

‘Sorry!’, he startles. ‘It’s just - I never noticed you had freckles on your back before.’

‘Yes - I’m aware I have them, and?’, she replies archly, and the irony that she’s completely fine with him staring at her breasts but not her back does not elude him, but he holds his tongue. 

‘They’re arranged in my favourite constellation’, he tells her honestly and he’s relived to hear her chuckle again. 

‘I’ll show you the real thing next time’, she promises, before switching seamlessly to berate him -  ‘And you can stop staring at my back now, we’re gonna be late for school! ’

The next day is spent wondering if he’s a creep for dreaming about half naked sixteen year old girls – even if there’s nothing remotely sexual about his dream. 

He sees her run through the woods like a fawn discovering spring for the first time, watches her come to a stop at an open clearing framed by trees. There is a shrine in the center of the clearing, cracked and covered in moss, but she approaches it reverently, dropping to her knees. 

‘There is old magic in this shrine’, she whispers, brushing leaves and branches away before laying her omamori down at the altar. ‘ Do you remember the wish you made? ’ 

‘I wished for more time - I got greedy and asked for yesterday to come again ’, he answers, voice hushed. 

‘And I wished for the exact opposite. I got impatient and asked tomorrow to arrive, as fast as it can ’, she replies, tilting her face up to the sun. 

‘I suppose that’s what happened ’, he says. ‘Our wishes got tangled up, and our bodies and souls got thrown through time and space’. 

‘Hm. Do you think we have souls, Keiji? ’ she asks him.

‘Yes  ’, he says, sounding perplexed. ‘What else would we be swapping?’  

‘What colour d’you think your soul is? ’ It’s a strange question, but he’s used to anticipating the unexpected from her. 

‘Blue. It reminds me of the summer sky ’, he replies.

‘Fitting’, she laughs with a cheeky grin on her face. ‘Since the sky is a star’s domain’. 

‘What about you’, he asks, so accustomed to ignoring her teasing about Bokuto-san. ‘What colour do you think your soul is?’

‘Yellow, I hope ’, she says dreamily. ‘It’s warmth and life - like flames lighting up wintry nights, or daffodils on the first day of spring’ .

He wonders if it’s a coincidence that the strange dreams hit him in full force right after he brings back the omamori. 

But Kenma’s right, he’s become strangely addicted to the narrative his dreams are showing him. It’s like the books he snuck under the covers at night, emerging bleary eyed in the morning because he was intent on seeing the story end. And if he’s being completely honest with himself, it makes him feel like that he - quiet, bookish Akaashi Keiji is the protagonist in the Ghibli movies that Bokuto-san makes him watch, so he doesn’t put up a fight against the dreams that re-invade his sleep.

Taglist: 

@1tooru @kageyamakock @animeflower26 @underrated-fruit-tarts-official @bongofrito

[nottonyharrison]

It's taken me ages but I'm finally getting back into Star Wars fic after reading a couple of your one shots do you have any recs for other angsty darkficcy canon divergenty stories? I'm mostly interested in stuff under 10k at the moment but I won't say no to novel length if it's that good! TIA and obviously no need to respond if you don't want to!

Oh trust me I’m more than happy to share recs, I just don’t do it much because I don’t have a lot of SW fandom followers so I’m never sure if anyone will take much notice of them!

Anyway sorry it took a while to respond to this, I wanted to make sure I had a solid list and said something meaningful about each story or author because that’s just the kind of thing that moves my furniture. I’m also terrible at bookmarking and making notes, so a few of these I may have read a long time ago and don’t remember a lot of details of. I didn’t turn on my history function until a month or so ago, so there’s definitely a bunch of stuff (in particular Kalluzeb) that I’ve loved but my memory is a total failure so I can’t remember enough detail to find them again. I figure if you’re asking me then you have a handle on my extremely diverse tastes in ships and premises so I’ll just go all out with this and hope you find something that hits your buttons! There’s a lot of porn.

Also I wanted to get the timing right so a decent number of people see it and aren’t you know... asleep or anything 🤣 I’ve attempted to tag authors in this but I didn’t have a lot of success

Authors:

(These are authors I will read almost anything by regardless of ship or premise, and have read a majority of their back catalogue)

(Sidenote I refer to these three authors as my holy trinity of brilliant TCW authors who can do no wrong)

subtropicalstenella ( @brighteyedbadwolf )

Wrote a story that broke my brain. Brilliant writing. Lots of excellent xeno. Probably some of the best smut I’ve read in my life.

@kaasknot | Ao3

Did you say brilliant use of language and military terminology? Check. Hot? Check. Dialogue you can hear in your mind? Check. This Fox/Fives series that will make you enraged there isn’t more of that pairing? Triple check.

@countessofbiscuit | Ao3

Continuing the theme of brilliant prose, great worldbuilding, and excellent smut. Wrote a fic that I have reread more times than I care to admit.

Individual fics:

(To be clear this doesn’t mean I don’t like their other stuff, it’s just I may have not gone through their profile yet, and there are definitely a couple on this list that the authors sadly only have one fic)

Tell Me No Tales by seastruck

One of the few Codywan fics that has sucked me in. Legitimately could be a published novel, it’s that good. I’ve rambled about this fic on my blog in the past and it’s sadly unfinished however that doesn’t reduce my enjoyment. Have read it twice now. Still brilliant.

Good Order and Discipline by Succorelle

Alternate telling of TCW with added Codex, and I’m not normally into canon retellings so take from that what you will. Really well written. You may feel an emotion

Permission Granted by sushifish

Look there’s like twenty Fivesoka fics out there and this one is HAWT. The author is also writing a five times fic with this pairing and I’m anxiously awaiting chapter 3 because that too, is *fans self*

Commander Fox is Completely Fine by Maddy_B

Fox centric fic that’s just muah *chefs kiss*. Some great action and worldbuilding, slow burn Fox/Vos that makes me want to punch something. Beautifully written with some great smatterings of humour. Another WIP but hey I’m trying to read more of these at the moment and all the fics that are pushing my buttons are still in progress (damnit)

Brute Force by mistr3ssquickly

Honestly I’m just a sucker for force sensitive Kallus and want to read more of it. Really really nicely written. Lots and lots of gut punches. Definitely a must read.

[dweetwise]

A cute Ace x fem reader where they play hide and seek during a trial

i don’t think i’ve ever written a request this fast but hey, strike while the iron is hot and all that! it’s a little dumb and a whole lot of fluff but i hope you enjoy <3 (disclaimer: i don’t actually play immersed in dbd pls don’t mori me)

word count: 2543

Ace X f!reader: Hide and Seek

“You want to do it now?”

You glance up from rummaging through your offerings to look at Ace. He's smiling wide and there's a mischievous glint in his eyes, kind of like whenever he tries to get one of the others to play poker with him—oh, right. You’d made a bet a few days ago. 

“The killers are so blind!” Ace had laughed when you both managed to escape another trial, you without even taking a hit. The others sometimes made jokes about your sneakiness, claiming your ‘blending’ abilities were rivaled only by Claudette. This particular trial, the Pig had been visibly annoyed, completely ignoring Ace after the last gen got done and only focused on finding you, muttering something about ‘losing her fourth stack’. “I run into you several times each trial. You’re not that hard to find,” Ace continued, taking a good-natured jab at your skill to stay out of sight. “Because I don't actually try to hide from you?” you argued, raising an eyebrow. “Wouldn't find me if I did,” you added, challenging. And you should have known Ace never backed down from a challenge. “Wanna bet?” the man grinned. “You manage to avoid me an entire trial, you win." “Oh, you're on.”

It took a while for the opportunity to present itself, as you'd been thrown into trials either separately or with some of your more serious teammates. You're pretty sure Laurie would have kicked your asses for slacking off, and you didn't want to set a bad example for the new girl, Cheryl.

But now, you're waiting by the pre-trial campfire for the Entity to pick which killer it wants to torture you with, taking in the sight of a yawning Quentin and a grinning Nea loading her flashlight with batteries like it was a lethal weapon. You figure this opportunity is as good as any.

“Hey, guys,” you start, getting the duo’s attention. “You mind if we fuck—" ‘Around this trial’ would have been the rest of your sentence, but Nea interrupts you by bursting into laughter and Quentin makes a disgusted face. "Oh my fucking god,” Quentin visibly cringes, glaring at Ace. “Keep it in your pants, dude.” “If you would let the lovely lady finish,” Ace starts with a smirk. “She was about to ask if we can use the trial to settle a bet.” “With hide and seek,” you add before they get any more lewd ideas. “Go nuts,” Nea quips and Quentin just shrugs with a “Whatever”.

You return your attention to the task of choosing an offering, settling for a reagent to increase the mist. When you go to throw it into the fire, you see Ace fiddling around with something, his back turned to you.

“Are you bringing bond!?” you squawk, grabbing his hand and yanking his sleeve up to display the familiar aura-reading twine wrapped around his wrist. "No, no! These are… bracelets! All the rage, back in my day—” Ace hurries to explain, gesturing animatedly with his other hand. The movement causes some cards to fall out of his sleeve. “And open-handed!?” you demand, hands on your hips. “Oh my, how did those get there?” Ace feigns ignorance, kicking the cards under a log. You bite back a laugh at his cheating antics, at this point knowing better than to expect him to play fair. “Guess that means you're scared of losing,” you say, a smirk pulling at your lips as an idea forms in your head. Predictably, Ace immediately perks up, taking the bait. “In your dreams, princess,” he says, puffing up his chest. “How about we raise the stakes? No perks.” You hesitate for a moment. Spine chill and urban evasion have saved your ass on countless occasions, but since you were only going to be hiding from Ace and not the killer… how hard could it be? “Deal.” When you fade back to consciousness, you’re standing by the Thompson house. You’ve spawned right by a generator, but instead of getting to work, you make your way towards one of the outside walls of the trial, crouching down to hide with a good view of two of the closest generators.

Soon enough, you see Ace make his way over to the machine you were just by, pushing through the corn and glancing around. Not seeing anything, he seems to frown before kneeling down to start his repairs. You snicker to yourself and start sneaking to the other generator, keeping an eye on Ace the entire time.

Halfway through your repairs, you hear Nea’s pained scream of taking a hit somewhere within the trial. It seems like she’s keeping the killer busy.

As soon as you hear Ace’s generator pop, you duck down and start making your way along the trial wall. You flatten yourself against a tree when you see Ace approaching, before he disappears into the pallet gym your nearly finished generator is at. With the wall blocking the crucial line of sight, you seize the opportunity to bolt away, the sound of your footsteps drowned out by the machine. You hear him opening a locker and scoff at the action; like you’d make such an amateur mistake.

Another gen pops, apparently Quentin’s handiwork, while you cut through the cornfield. You run into Nea, being chased through the corn, and quickly dive out of the way and crouch in a row of stalks as the killer—the Wraith, good to know—follows, not far behind her. Predictably, he doesn’t see you.

By the time you get to your destination, the second story of the house, Ace has gotten your generator done and Nea has been hooked and unhooked. The killer is once again chasing her, and from your vantage point you can even see her repeatedly clicking the flashlight in the Wraith’s face while looping the cow tree.

The generator on the balcony hasn’t even been started, but you’re waiting for Ace and Quentin to finish theirs first, working on a machine together in the corn right below the balcony.

Ace’s back is turned to you and he keeps glancing around, trying in vain to spot you in the field. Damn, if you'd only brought diversion into the trial, you would have thrown a pebble at him to confuse him further. Feeling cocky, you lean over the railing and wave down at the two instead. You see Quentin glancing your way with a smirk, before looking back at the generator.

“You need some glasses, old man,” you hear Quentin snark. “Huh?” Ace says, getting his wires crossed and making the machine explode as he whips his head around to look at the house, but you’ve already ducked down safely behind your generator. You wait for the duo to finish their repairs and disappear in the direction of the shack before starting the generator in the house.

When your generator pops and the exits gates get powered, Nea is just about to be death hooked, and hearing her final scream, you feel a little bad when you make your way to a corner of the map instead of pressuring an exit gate. But soon enough, you spot Ace running to the house to try to catch you leaving after your repairs, proving your hunch was correct—he’s so predictable, bless his heart. A little while later, you see him come out of the house and look around in confusion, but then you hear Quentin’s pained scream and Ace seems to sigh and utter a curse before running in the direction of a gate.

You try to find the hatch but have no luck, and then you hear a screech as one of the massive gates slides open, followed by Quentin’s wail as he finally goes down. You spot his prone aura by the shack, before it disappears into thin air; huh, guess he managed to crawl out.

Now knowing which gate is open, you start walking to the other, a little on edge not knowing where the killer is after losing his last prey.

To your surprise, Ace is pulling on the other exit gate’s lever, effectively ruining your plans. You start making your way back towards the shack, taking a detour to avoid the killer's patrol route between the gates.

You're a little nervous Ace is going to get found, taking an unnecessary risk in getting both gates open. If he gets caught, you're throwing your little game and saving him, the bet be damned. Though it's not going to be easy, with Nea dead and Quentin out and neither of you having any perks. Even though you’ve known the entire time you were both likely to die from this dumb game, thinking about Ace getting hurt still makes you uneasy.

Exit gate now in sight, you carefully look around for any signs of the killer. The Wraith could just be standing still in the exit, completely invisible to the naked eye. Even if he was there, you could just run out and take a hit in the back before escaping, as you know from Quentin’s chase he doesn't have NOED. Still, you'd rather not get injured at all.

There's no telling shimmer in the gate, so you decide to just go for it. You walk into the structure, and nothing happens. You're nearly out when you hesitate, turning to look back into the trial; what if the Wraith has found Ace? What if he comes out of nowhere, grabbing Ace off of the exit gate lever since neither of you has spine chill and—

There's footsteps right next to you and you try to whip around, but then someone is grabbing you from behind and your heart leaps into your throat as you let out a startled yelp—

“Gotcha,” Ace's voice whispers in your ear. The relief floods over your body even as you shove at him playfully, making him let go of you with a chuckle. “Fuck you! You scared the shit out of me!” you argue even while your face is splitting into a grin. “You're not the only one who can be sneaky, doll,” Ace quips, returning your grin with a self-satisfied smirk. “What are you even doing here? I saw you at the other gate!" “Ah, the old bait and switch," Ace chuckles. “I wanted to get both gates for you, so you didn’t have to risk the killer finding you. And then it was only a matter of luck! A classic 50/50,” he grins.

Damnit, what a stupid and dangerous and— …Kind of romantic… —and unnecessary and idiotic stunt!

“Get over here,” you say, yanking him closer by his shirt. “I missed you,” you mumble softly, hands wrapping around his neck as the surprise makes way for familiar affection. “I missed you too, sweetheart,” he says, eyes softening and a hand wrapping around your waist, the other coming up to cup your cheek. “I missed seeing this cute little face,” he says, pecking your nose sweetly. “You avoiding me wasn't nearly as fun as I'd imagined,” he jokes, but there's a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. “If it makes you feel better, I basically stalked you the entire time,” you murmur, leaning your forehead against his and a hand scratching at the baby hairs on his neck. “Though I almost threw a rock at you at one point.” He chuckles at the confession, a warm puff of air in the space between you. “Can't take your eyes off of me, eh?" he grins. “Not when you're being so oblivious and adorable,” you murmur. “Well, I clearly underestimated you," he admits, and is that a little blush you can see on his cheeks? “Likewise,” you smile. “So, what do you want for your prize?” “Oh I'll think of something, don't you worry,” he wags his eyebrows suggestively and you roll your eyes from the corny gesture. “But here's your consolation prize,” he says, finally leaning down to capture your waiting lips.

You eagerly respond to the kiss, moving your lips against his while your heart flutters from the affection, even moaning a little when Ace pulls you even closer against him. It’s all so familiar; the scratching of his goatee, the way he playfully nips at your lip, the scent of his cheap cologne lingering even after all these years stuck in the realm. You don't even mind losing the bet, not when you get to be in his arms and kiss him silly.

But then Ace is suddenly pulling away, lifting his head up to look back into the trial over the top of your head.

“I think we have an audience,” Ace says and you glance over your shoulder, his arms still around you.

There's a slight shimmer just beside the exit gate where the Wraith seems to jolt from surprise. A small pause later the familiar bell rings, and then you have an embarrassed killer in front of you, looking at the ground and sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. You just stare at him stupidly, a little ashamed over being caught making out in the exit. How long has he been standing there?

“Hey bud, thanks for letting us goof off this match,” Ace is thankfully speaking so you don't have to, but the words manage to confuse you. Was the Wraith in on it? You genuinely thought you'd been able to hide from the killer the entire time, especially since he was so focused on Nea.

The Wraith looks up bashfully, nodding his head and shuffling his feet. Then he pauses, points at you and then Ace, and makes a heart shape with his hands. Ace huffs out a surprised laugh while you blink owlishly, and the killer hurries to leave, ringing his bell and the sound of his footsteps scurrying away from the exit.

“Looks like we have a fan,” Ace muses, turning to look at you again. You smile up at him and you’re just about to lean back in for another kiss, when a realization hits you.

How did Ace know the killer was there? You saw him take off spine chill before the trial, and he hadn't even flinched like the perk usually makes you do when the killer is looking at you. Unless…

“Did you bring premonition!?” you realize, and now Ace does flinch a little from being caught off guard. “So, err, remember when you said some perks are so bad they shouldn't even be considered perks—” Ace hurries to make excuses. “You little shit!” you exclaim in mock offense. “You cheated! No prize for you!” “Aww,” Ace whines and honest to god pouts. “Fair enough. Damn, and I only did it to keep you safe… oh well, still worth it,” he mumbles defeatedly, mostly to himself. “Ugh, fine, get back here,” you grumble, pulling him into another kiss to stop him from moping because it's breaking your heart. 

When Ace just chuckles against your lips, you realize you've been played. Instead of snarking at him some more, you take advantage of his open mouth to shove your tongue down his throat and relish in the way his laugh turns into a needy groan.

And next time you're bringing the pebble, rules be damned.

[bookish-black-girl]

Decompressing My Thoughts and Hopefully Arriving at a Conclusion

I want to preface this by stating and acknowledging that I am a recovering People Pleaser. Some days I have thick skin. Most days I cry, LOL.

The second thing I want to get out of the way is that I didn’t have reader friends growing up. I was the reader friend***. Which means I’ve read many books not because I wanted to, but because I was so starved to talk about one of my greatest loves that I’d read whatever was cool or in vogue at the moment. 

Alrighty, on with the post!

Right now Bookstagram feels like a war zone for me. Half the people I follow love all of Sarah J. Maas’ books and have dedicated stories, reels, memes, and posts to declare this love and appreciation. The other half would probably love to see all past, current, and future books burned to ground, citing cases of misogyny, lack of racial and sexual diversity, tired tropes, problematic tropes, and lackluster characters and plots. 

“Okay Blaire, you’re doing a lot of talk about what others are saying but what are you saying?”

Y’all I’m saying that I’m TIRED. My honest opinion on this whole situation?? People should be able to read what they want to read and enjoy what they want to enjoy within reason and not make others feel like shit along the way.

When it comes to SJM books I think they’re average. I really do. They’re not the pinnacle of fantasy and fae tropes in fiction, I have beef with the fact that they are marketed as YA when they really should be NA (not counting Crescent City), fandom darling Rhysand is....there.... and I have the biggest bone to pick with aggressive Nesta supporters but that’s another post and I’m not getting into that right now. Will my Goodreads and Storygraph pages incriminate me for giving the 3 books I did read (A Court of Thornes and Roses, A Court of Mist and Fury, A Court of Wings and Ruin) 4 stars? Sure would but changing the rating to reflect current feelings would require a reread that I just don’t have the energy or interest to carry out. 

I guess what I’m saying is that I understand and agree that these books are problematic, but I don’t have a problem with you reading and even enjoying them? I’m a proud and obnoxious supporter of The Selection Series so I lost my Judgment Card a long time ago 🤣 What I do have a problem with and can articulate within the safety of this Tumblr space is that I have issues with the mainly white women who praise SJM books and refuse or just don’t put in the effort to also read BIPOC fantasy books?? And/or rate those books lower than the SJM ones??? (Take a drink every time I say “SJM” LOL!) And then go out of their way to shut down meaningful conversation with others (mainly BIPOC readers) who point out triggering content??? That’s ugly. That’s really ugly and I hate it here. 

I want to apologize to one of my best and closest irl friends, who may or may not read this, but I find more enjoyment out of listening to her talk about why she loves the ACOTR books, watching people tear the series to shreds (shout out to Cindy and other booktubers, but mostly Cindy sksksks) and then going on IG to again watch people liveblog their reading journeys. Don’t ask me to explain why I’m like this, we both won’t get answers. ...That’s why I haven’t added Silver Flames to my TBR and skirt around the possibility of the Throne of Glass books. Never say never, but there’s too many other books I wanna read before I die, and some of those are rereads. So.  

To the people who make lighthearted and serious content criticizing these books, who continue to do the work and make the videos and essay chats and IG posts breaking down why you shouldn’t read this series, why it’s bad, why, why, why....I’m annoyed, but I get it? I just think this goes back to respect, something that we could stand to remember. Like, respect that people are going to like books that you think are trash, but ALSO respect BIPOC readers in the community who explain with very good reason why they personally find issues. I know it sounds contradictory but these are dark fantasy books with faries and smut and I’m tired of feeling like I have to defend my friends and mutuals who like the SJM books while simultaneously declaring the books are only HALF as hyped and loved because of a white audience. 

***Which brings me to my last point because your girl is running out of steam and will have to reread this for clarity and grammer before other people read this, damnit. I’ve been trying to figure out why this is one of those subjects that I don’t have thick skin for and my anxiety is having a whole field day without my permission. I think it ties back to baby Blaire trying to fit in as a Black girl in predominantly white situations and being teased about not being the typical Black girl by Black and non-Black friends. Obviously I know how toxic that was and is, but that internalized diminished self-esteem doesn’t go away. 

So I feel some type of way when I see and hear the arguments about SJM books and agree, but also see other Black girls just vibing and loving the books and basking in the community and I feel sick to my stomach for gatekeeping. (I don’t know if gatekeeping is the right word, so I’ll edit this post later once I locate the right one).  It gives off the vibes of “because you’re a Black girl, you shouldn’t like/enjoy/engage in xyz content” and I hate it. It’s a terrible feeling. 

So. In conclusion, I don’t know if I made any sense BUT I feel better and less anxious and stressed so this exercise accomplished what I needed it to.

tl;dr: let people enjoy what they want within reason, don’t be a dick, diversify your reading for Pete’s sake, and I probably won’t read the rest of SJM’s books but will continue to devour all of the think pieces 

[neverlearnedtoread]

Spin the Dawn

⭐⭐⭐⭐; me @ the main characters: so many things would work out if either one of you had a slightly more developed (emotionally, intelligently...) braincell....and one of you is FIVE HUNDRED YEARS OLD 😡🤬

Oh?? 👌😉😏

diversity!! richly described southeast asian inspired-setting. as a southeast asian myself im always into that sweet sweet asian-inspired worldbuilding

inspired by the myth of the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl! at least, im pretty sure. the story itself uses a lot of other elements that don’t happen in the original story but i still got that vibe from the characters

i liked the main character, maia - she was a little feistier than she was cold hard BDE, but! she put her money where her mouth was when it came to a challenge, and worked hard for her victory

lots of weaving imagery, which i love - if you’re gonna have a protagonist who creates some kind of art, you better believe im expecting extensive metaphors and painstaking depictions of pouring your whole heart into something breathtakingly gorgeous, powerful enough to bring the masses to their knees

No.. ❌🤢🤮

male love interest is *hand-wavey motion* much older than the female protagonist, on account of him being a hot sexy immortal magic man. im not too annoyed by this, because the dynamic was relatively balanced in-story, but it does annoy me as a trope on its own merit. why does he need to be that much older, especially when he’s not that much more mature??

not necessarily a complaint, but an observation: some of maia’s decisions were very YA protagonist; as in, i needed her to stop using her emotions as an excuse. if you’re gonna do it for the sake of a good dicking down, at least admit it to yourself, woman! it’s okay to be H word. you and i both know you’re gunning for that ass. just stop lying to me

Summary: Maia, the lone girl in a family of three boisterous brotherss, is a talented seamstress poised with the skills and the drive to take over the family’s tailoring business. Only she possesses both the patience and the artistic flair for making the most beautiful of dresses - so when the imperial palace summons the greatest tailors in the kingdom to become the new empress’s official dressmaker, she disguises herself as a boy (Mulan-style!) to take her aging father’s place. After some Project Runway shenanigans, the emperor’s bride-to-be throws a perfectly staged curve ball on things - she refuses to accept the royal wedding unless her appointed tailor is good enough to complete an impossibly gruelling task - crafting three beautiful, handsewn, uniquely-designed dresses to serve as her wedding gift. Oh, and if that wasn’t a tall enough order for one lone (and relatively inexperienced) dressmaker - the dresses she has in mind are made from the laughter of sun, the tears of the moon, and the blood of the stars. So that’s fun.

Concept: 💭💭💭💭 The cover. The COVER. Whew!! I make no pretenses about being a shallow reader, and this cover hit. right. Her cover artist really doesn’t miss! The blues! The stance! The spinning golden thread! The blurb actually managed to curb my excitement somewhat because I can smell a protagonist-falls-in-love-with-someone-she-probably-shouldnt subplot like a freshly rotting carcass, but I took another look at the cover and thought, I’ve made worse decisions than this. I’ll read it for the weaving metaphors. No regrets.

Vague spoilers under the cut!

Execution: 💥💥💥💥 And the verdict is....no regrets! Guess I will continue to go on being helplessly shallow about beautiful book covers. I didn’t love this story, but it was a fun romp through a well-paced plot and a gorgeously detailed fantasy world (the moon, sun, and star imagery.....monkey brain says huhuhu sparkly things do bring joy and I believe that), so there was really nothing to hate. I’m not too desperate for the sequel (except that I really need to know if my babe Sarhai gets her happy ending) but I want to pick it up eventually!

Personal Enjoyment: ❤❤❤ This book took me 3 days to finish this after taking two months (two attempts! why didn’t I just dnf..) to finish To Kill a Kingdom. It got me out of the bad reading slump so well, so fast! I really liked the writing style - the cadence rolled, instead of stabbed (insert bad weaving / sewing metaphor here). However, I really could’ve done without the rapidly intensifying no-braincell energy (NBE) of the two protagonists. While I’m in no way opposed to NBE, the fact is that the BDE wasn’t strong enough to justify the lack of thoughts - I kept thinking ‘where were the two of you when they were handing out the good braincells?? huh??? HUH????’. Love made them stupid but not more unhinged. *deep sigh* What a waste of a good simp

Favourite Moment: I have the distinct memory of Lady Sarhai stomping around the gardens with a handful of arrows and dead hawks (doves? she was trying to shoot the enchanter if i remember right. BDE honestly) and Lord Xina following after being a simp. maia did some shit too but i was paying more attention to the important stuff

Favourite Character: its a close match between Lady Sarhai and Lord Xina. Lord Xina only appeared like twice in this whole book but damnit im probably more invested in HIS love life than i am with maia’s. maia can figure her own shit out, she’s proved capable, but that Lord Xina dude willingly chose to simp for a highly pissed-off, hotheaded viper of a woman, and that can only mean one thing: he is a Man With Taste. we have no choice but to stan! plus in the narrative it’s pretty clear to me that Lady Sarhai and Lord Xina fully communicate their next moves (desperate, desperate moves on a sparse chessboard, bless their lovestruck souls) to each other before they pull anything. Sarhai’s next moves are calculated, and defiant, and Lord Xina plays his bad hand in a losing game with such precision. I just *clenches fist* we love open communication and clear co-conspirators in this house!!

[serenitysage89]

Twilight Fan Fiction

I realize that this may be a few years too late but they say that “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” - Maya Angelou

So here is a completely re-imagined version of the Twilight by me... Hope you enjoy.

CHAPTER 1

My name is Serenity, I am 15 years old and I live in Vancouver, Canada. A city with a population of over 675 thousand people. It is described as a bustling west coast seaport located in “Beautiful British Columbia” - it is also among Canada’s densest, most ethnically diverse cities with one of the largest Asian populations outside of Asia… If you have ever been there, you know what I mean. I myself am biracial. My dad is German, a tall man with an athletic build, completed by the stereotypical blonde hair and blue eyes. My mother is Filipino, a very short and petite lady with beautiful dark brown skin, brown eyes and thick, jet black, pin straight hair. They are in their early forties, but both look much younger, especially my mom. We would often be mistaken for sisters when we were out together.

It’s the end of June and I am so happy my first year of high school is over. Grade 10 may have been the worst school year yet for me. You see, for as long as I can remember, I was always the shy, quiet type. I had a really hard time making friends, so I was pretty much labelled an outcast at school and ended up spending most of my time alone. My twin brother, Liam, however… well, he was the complete opposite of me; outgoing and popular. Like my dad, he was tall (5’10 and still growing) with an athletic build, sun kissed bronze skin, blue eyes and dark hair - I was just his shadow. The only time people would even bother talking to me, was to ask me about him – girls would ask me if he was single, teachers would ask me where he was, if he missed a day at school, his friends would ask me if he was busy that weekend, etc.

Even though we grew up the exact same way, we turned out so differently. Liam still plays sports; right now, he plays hockey, and everyone is sure that he is destined to play for the NHL someday. He is also part of our high schools’ football team and just an all-around great athlete, who excels in whatever he puts his mind to. I used to play volleyball and basketball (despite my short stature), but I no longer play for any leagues or school teams because I just don’t fit in with the rest of the girls. My brother and I did gymnastics growing up, as well as various forms of dance. We also took piano, guitar and voice lessons from a very young age, because our parents believed that doing sports would help get some of that extra energy out and playing instruments and singing would help us with our confidence growing up. Both of us now have our Piano level 8 and have mastered the guitar (as much as we really need to, for what we use it for). Our parents paid attention to both of us equally, they are both very encouraging and cheer us on in everything we do, they are literally our biggest fans; but somehow, as Liam and I got older, my brother became more confident and I just didn’t (for whatever reason). He enjoyed the thrill of performing for big crowds and relished the attention he received. I always got nervous when I had to perform, almost to the point of throwing up. It seemed as though my parents plan to instill confidence in us through these types of activities failed… well, at least for me.

Despite all this though, my brother and I have always been super close, he is always there for me when I need someone to talk or vent to – he is my best friend… and right now, my only friend for that matter. Because of this, my parents are constantly worried about me; they want nothing more than for me to make some friends of my own. Liam obviously has lots of friends and a busy social life, so he isn’t always around to keep me company. Personally, I don’t know what all the fuss is about – having all this time to myself is glorious. I am able to teach myself new skills and languages, while still having time to enhance my existing skills of playing instruments and singing. Writing and singing songs has become a way for me to express myself, but I only do these things behind closed doors, as I am way too embarrassed to perform in front of anyone, including my own family. (Liam on the other hand has his own YouTube channel doing cover songs and the odd original song I write for him. I usually just do back-up vocals and music in the background, outside of the camera’s view). In my spare time, I have also managed to do a lot of extra schoolwork and am essentially already done most of my high school courses; I am pretty much ready to just skip the rest of high school and follow my dream of applying to some prestigious med school somewhere in Europe… I have wanted to be a doctor for as long as I can remember and since it takes such a long time, why not get a head start!? Besides, I was sure that I would make plenty of friends once I start saving people lives. Now I just had to spend part of my summer coming up with a plan to convince my parents to let me move to Europe… by myself, in order to pursue my goal of becoming a doctor… How hard could that be?!

One night we were eating supper, you could tell something was up because my parents could hardly contain their excitement… Liam and I looked at each other, shrugged and continued eating. Sure enough, after we had all finished, my mom told us that she and my dad had an announcement to make. We all sat at the dinner table while mom and dad argued about who was going to share the news – finally my mom agreed to be the one to tell us. “We are moving!” she yelled excitedly. Liam and I couldn’t believe our ears – we had lived in the same house all our lives – where were we moving? And why suddenly did my parents want to move? “We are moving to Forks, Washington” my dad chimed in, “I got a great job offer as the new chief of Police recently and your mom and I decided to jump at the opportunity. I think a fresh start in a nice, small town will be good for all of us.”

Well… I thought, I never liked Vancouver anyway and this may be the perfect opportunity for me to talk my parents into letting me move to Europe in order to pursue my dream. However, Liam was visibly upset; he had a great life here and “a lot more to lose” than anyone else in the family, so to speak. He got up and stormed off to his room. I quickly got up and followed him to make sure he was OK. I knocked on his door and he told me to come in. I sat on the edge of his bed and asked if he was alright. He looked at me and said that he was fine, but I knew he wasn’t. He was fighting back tears and seeing him this way broke my heart; when he hurt, I hurt too. I gave him a hug and told him not to worry, that no matter what happened, he was going to be fine because “you’re just so awesome”. We let go of each other and he cracked a slight smile at me. “What would I do without you” he said.

“Damnit”, I thought. Why did he have to say that? How am I supposed to move to Europe to pursue my dream of becoming a doctor, when for the first time in his life, my brother needs me? We talked for a while longer and decided that we would both make the best of this situation. My brother told me that this would be a great chance for me to “reinvent” myself – He said “no one in Forks knows us, so you could potentially become whoever you want to be” … I guess in a way he was right, but I wasn’t sure that it was going to be as easy as he thought it would be. Being introverted is not exactly a choice and trying to act extroverted was a difficult task for someone it didn’t come naturally to; but we promised each other that we would do our best and I wasn’t about to let him down on this promise.

We spent most of July packing all our belongings into a shipping container. My brother took some time out of his busy social life to take me shopping for a new wardrobe that would reflect the person I wanted to portray when we moved to Forks. He believed that if I dressed better, I would come off as more approachable and therefore had a better chance of making some friends. His theory definitely made sense but I wasn’t as thrilled about this experience as the rest of the family. I liked my dark coloured, baggy clothes and military style hats that hid my hair, but I went along with it, because it seemed to make him happy and take his mind off other things. Before I knew it, I had a closet full of trendier, more form fitting clothes like jeans and body-hugging shirts. My family thought it would be a good idea for me to donate all my old clothes to charity – I was hesitant about this at first, as these clothes were like my shield, but eventually I agreed to donate them. (I did, however, keep some of my favourite pieces I just couldn’t part with… without anyone knowing)..

.

.

Chapter 2 to follow...

Serenity and Liam arrive at their new home in Forks and Serenity makes her first friend... stay tuned for the deetz

[thisisthedungeonthatneverends]

That’s My Story and I’m Sticking To It

Ships: gladnis, platonic cordio

Rating: T

Words: 1240

Gladiolus Amicitia, Prince’s sworn Shield, bares many a proud scar earned in honorable battle in the name of the crown. Yeah, that’s a load of crap. Here’s how he REALLY got those scars.

When Gladio says "fight with a drunk guy who tried to get handsy with Noctis" what he really means is "juggling knives to impress Ignis." It happened in the staff kitchen at the Citadel. Ignis was so focused on getting the crust for his 6,438th attempt at those dumb Tenebrea pastries just right that he was oblivious to the shields attempts to flirt with him. "He should just be grateful that you're going to all this effort and just be happy," Gladio said as he idly twirled a pairing knife between his fingers. Ignis sighed. "If I can give Noctis the joy of a fond memory shared with Princess Luna, then the effort is well worth it." Gladio rolled his eyes. "That's just like you, Iggy. Happily busting your ass for someone you don't care doesn't appreciate how amazing you are." He punctuated the last line with a flirtatious wink. "I appreciate your attempt at flattery, Gladio, but at the moment I need to focus on measurements." Gladio stopped talking, but could not abide being ignored for long. He eyed the row of knives on the magnetic wall strip and took down two large carving blades. THIS would get Iggy's attention he was sure. He flipped one up into the air and caught it flawlessly. Ignis didn't even look up. So he did it again, then again before soon he was juggling three sharpened kitchen knives. Now Ignis had his back turned. Gladio went on for almost a minute showing know signs of faltering, his dexterity and reflexes learned in years of training serving him well. "Would you assist me for a moment, Gladio?" "Sure thing," Gladio answered. But when he turned his head in Ignis' direction, he forgot in his eagerness that there was a knife in the air above his face, a knife that came down blade first and slashed across the left side of his face, from his forehead down across his eye and halfway down his cheek. "FUCKING SHIT GOD DAMN MOTHER-" Ignis spun around when he heard Gladio's sudden string of expletives. "GLADIO WHAT IN THE BLUE BLAZES WERE YOU DOING!?" Gladio clutched his face, blood already dripping between his fingers. "Juggling knives to get your attention god DAMNIT!" "More like being impatient and stupid," Ignis said while he rummaged through a drawer and produced several hand towels. "Move your hand." Gladio complied and let Ignis press the towels to his wound. "Had you waited until the pastries were in the oven you would have had my undivided attention," he said, his voice softer and more sympathetic this time. Gladio laughed in spite of the pain shooting through his face. "I have your attention now, don't I?" Ignis huffed. "Yes, as well as what's certain to be a gruesome scar to prove it." Gladio wrapped the arm that wasn't covered in blood around Ignis' waist. "As long as I have you to kiss it better it's worth it." Gladio’s face turned fine mild amusement to dread. "Just don't tell anyone about this. A shield is supposed to get his scars in defense of his king, not flirting with his boyfriend." "My lips are sealed. We will devise a cover story to preserve the Amicitia honor." And so was born the story of the night Gladio picked Noctis up from Prompto's house and the two were confronted by a drunk man who showed inappropriate interest in Noctis and drew a knife when he was turned down. Gladio courageously stepped between the prince and the blade, earning a scar of honor.

When Gladio says, "having my strength and worthiness tested by a demigod," what he really means is "using Cor's sword as an air guitar while drunk and alone in a caravan."

Gladio didn't want to admit to anyone else how much recent events had been weighing on his heart and mind. Insomnia had fallen, his father and King were dead, and he had failed his duty as Shield, allowing Ardyn to make fools of them all and Ravus to hurt Noctis. He needed time to quiet his mind, sharpen his senses, and strengthen his will if he was to continue to call himself any kind of servant to the crown.

Which is why, once they had the Regalia safely back in their possession and he was sure Ignis and Prompto could handle themselves in regards to Noct's safety, he separated himself from the group. Some time spent with Cor, someone who he could commiserate freely with, would be just the therapeutic diversion he needed to ensure that he was ready to face the road ahead.

But what Gladio had failed to take into account was the fact that where there was Cor, there was beer. And where there was beer there was a Shield of the King who knew not the meaning of the word "pacing."

Which is how on that night Gladio ended up mostly naked save for boxers and socks with the radio cranked loud enough to summon Bahumut, his Nth beer (he had lost count, really) in one hand and a microphone (ok, it was the hilt of Cor's sword, but really what did it matter?) in the other. Not that he was drunk...but he was, in fact, quite happily plastered. Perhaps had Cor not been on a cup noodle run he would have told Gladio to be careful, but as it stood, Gladio had been left to his own devices.

The song on the radio transitioned into a guitar riff, always Gladios favorite part of any rock song. He set his now empty beer bottle on the nearest counter and held his sword as if it were a guitar. He moved with the music, only not so much in rhythm, head banging along without care for the deadly weapon he held dangerously close to his body.

One particularly strong surge forward and he was falling. He thinks his forehead may have colored with the edge of the countertop and maybe he fell on top of the sword, but it was a blur once he hit the ground.

...............

Gladio groaned as his eyes slipped open against his will. The light was to bright and the drum solo in this song was to heavy. Before Gladio realized that the sound was not from the radio but in fact was the pounding of his own drunk and injured head, Cor spoke in a volume Gladio deemed much to loud (It was a normal inside voice)

"What in the actual hell were you even doing, Gladiolus? You damn near bleed to death."

Gladio hadn't the presence of mind to wonder how he had gotten to a bed, but he sat uobin said bed and instantly felt searing pain in his chest and forehead. He cried out and slumped back down.

"On second thought, I don’t want to know. Just sleep it off tonight so you can meet Noctis and the others in Lestalum tomorrow. Take that sword with you, I do t need it here as a reminder of my pupils stupidity"

Well shit, Gladio thought. How was he going to explain his injuries. It had to sound bad ass.

So somewhere in his alcohol and concision induced delirium, he dreamed up the epic tale of the Blademaster and his trials, a test of a true Shields worth. It was as good a story as any, he supposed. Definitely  better than the humiliating truth.

[donnnoir]

Dallas, TX                                                                          June 30, 2019

Well Friend’s, although currently I suspect there are no readers of my crude blog.  Other than those that may have an interest from the Shadow Government’s perspective.  They always keep tabs and monitor my actions and interactions at large or singular.  An annoying fact of Life as me.  So hopefully at some point and time in the future an interested party will have numerous pages to sort through.  I am trying to get all my material under one or two roofs / forums which can and are accessible to everyone.  At least that is my hope and the intention of all this.  Granted it also allows me an outlet to vent some of my frustrations and the various events, occurrences and histories with this and more that I have Lived and experienced throughout my Life.  Now in such a spirit I am posting a electronic log entries after I arrived back in Austin TX, following the events I experienced in Southern California.  Which events culminated in my being shot twice in my left leg and subsequently ran over by an F-350 dually pick-up, running me over from toes to my head being dragged under the dual tires on the driver’s side of the vehicle.  Needless to say it was an interesting evening.  I was run over on East Anaheim St. about one hundred feet from the intersection with North Henry Ford Ave., on the south bound side of East Anaheim heading back toward Long Beach, I believe the location is still in Wilmington. With the location of my being shot some distance from there and that being approximately 325 North Lecouvreur Ave., Wilmington.  These events happened on or around the 5th of March 2018.  I was transported to St Mary’s Hospital at 1050 Linden Ave. Long Beach, CA..

The following are a series of electronic entries to an ad hoc journal at the time.  I Post this ad hoc journal in its raw form, the only editing being for the most part that of correcting some of the major spelling mistakes.  Hopefully I  have retained the jagged nature of my mind set at the time.  I freely admit that upon my return from California for the first time in my life I was showing signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.   I still have on occasions bouts associated to this PTSD.  I trust as coming events unfold and I have New Obstacles and Challenges to focus my attention and thereby forestall the elements of the Disorder.  Thus I Post this warts and all.  Without regard to its chronological or content of order. Because of this I will no doubt be covering much of the data, information and stories at a later Posting.  I will also be Posting the images of my hand written journal, as the loose leaf entries that I have adopted as my handwritten format.  Since every log or journal I have started has been stolen repeatedly.  So I now write on whatever loose leaf papers I have before me in the moment.  I hope to Post those as packaged folders Postings in their chronological order.  There is a degree of overlapping entries between this Posting and those of my handwritten entries.  Bear that in mind should you actually elect to read all of these.  Most of the entries some date and location headers.   I hope that in doing this that no seeming contradictions arise, especially since I am the source.  I welcome any inquires from any reader of my material.  Thus I submit the following:

Welcome, seems it has come to this. I am going to attempt to compose my thoughts and histories via electronic medium. My reservations must give way to practical realities. Not to mention the fact that each and every one of my previous logs / journals has been stolen from me. A immensely annoying recurring theme.

Thus I am going to try and make a virtual journal. Presumably I will augment this with the additional paper journal. Which will then be uploaded into a file of images. The hope being the combination will effectively accomplish the task. Towit that of providing a record of my life including events in the extreme. Additionally I wish to leave behind in some convoluted fashion my diverse understanding of things. By far I would consider the latter to be a far greater contribution to the brain wealth of humanity. I would like to think that should any of this writing come to light. It does so some time in the future . When the more fantastic elements can be seen in historical context. Such that what would otherwise be seen as speculative ventures into science fiction writing, will be known as simply fact. Because believe me when I say I truly wish and hope to be / will be wrong, regarding that which is to come. For a change!

Sigh… I must take a break, now. Necessity requires I consider many issues, not the least of which is where to start, and how best to proceed. Besides the fact I have not developed the requisite manual dexterity to type with my thumbs.

Monday July 2, 2018 … Killeen Texas

Sigh… damnit all to hell! I am having one of those rare days when I feel anxious, overwhelmed to the point of feeling trapped. I do not know if it is possibly PTSD related. I suppose I have to accept that as a issue with in me from now till the day I die. Regrettable not to mention humiliating for me. Granted, I suspect that the the cannabis Jade bought had a little something extra in it. So she could anesthesias more effectively giving her a reprieve from the increased infra-sound, ultrasound, microwave along with the entirety of the electromagnetic emissions I am at present enduring. I am concerned for her and her son Joey's well being. Despite her being one of the girls / operatives / victims of our government’s illegal covert initiatives know as MK Ultra. She is a bundle of contradictory issues and personalities. Your typical Golem. Her biological father is Warren Causey. He was George Bush Sr. right hand even prior to Sr becoming head of the Central Intelligence Agency. Causey was Sr's go to man for wet works and deep black bag operations. Especially if the back side had a tail which could be exploited for control of any or all parties involved. Causey is a true satanist and worse. He recently developed a rapid onset of Alzheimer’s. Not quite as sever as my own father and name sake Donald Paul Williams. But the timing of both though separate is suggestively coincidentally to events associated to me and those involved in FOXing me. I suspect brother Magnus of being petty. Grinding and hammering on old grudges. Along with becomingly increasingly punitive in operational objectives concerning breaking me to the point of my “losing” it. At which point and time my only anticipated options would be to appeal to their overview and / or full capitulation to their agendas. Thus far I have successfully thwarted their attempts. Yet it has come at an immense cost to me, across the board. Okay in anticipation that I may never acquire the journal I started last year upon my departure from Long Beach, California. A long walk beginning by The Queen Mary and which ultimately landed me in Salt Lake City, Utah. It is becoming increasingly incumbent that I reiterate elements I previously wrote down back then. You would think it would be a simple straightforward process. Naturally such is not the case, for a variety of reasons. Not the least of which are context and my desire to avoid sounding narcissistic, or worse disillusion. Yet failing to do so will ultimately end in me portraying myself as such, even more so. Besides I really hate repeating myself, sorta a pet peeve of mine.

To the uninitiated this is going to sound ludicrous and insane. However, any comprehensive primer would require volumes of esoteric information, along with accompanying commentary and should include appropriate citations. All from tomes that are closely guarded. That I am denied access to permanently and utterly. Thus it is best to proceed directly into the matter wading through the initial convolution, realizing by degrees it will work out becoming about as clear as mudd. The luciferains according to their Canon refer to me as “The Dark One”. It is an appellation pulled directly from their actual scripture as initially iterated  to Cain from lucifer, himself.

Obviously atheist may take exception to these concepts, especially the language used. There is not much I can say in response to their misgivings. Because their beliefs lack the framework from which to attach this model. Hell most individuals beliefs also in like fashion lack similar mental framework. Yet most have allowances or the tools where with the modular architecture of their minds are able to “build out” an additional wing to the mansion in their minds which houses their understanding of “reality”. At the very least they can entertain the blueprints to an “add-on” to their mansions. Similar to the operations of our minds “cognitive consistency”. Dr Richard Alan Miller is fond of noting “I would never have seen it if I hadn’t believed it”. Or by extended reference the belief that if you have enough information to postulate a coherent question, you already have enough to know the answer. You just have to convince yourself of it. The implications are profound. Stretching into metaphysics and the issues of faith preceding the miracle(s), and even magick! All topics I have and will continue to touch upon in my ramblings. But I go too far afield of my primary focus. Simply, I am The Dark One. This is both metaphoric and literal. For the few people whose sight allows them to to clearly see into the underlying spiritual realm of our world. Because all things that “are” where first created in spirit. Elsewise they would not exist or remain lifeless sterile elemental at best. There are also at worst case possibilities, but we will forego any such dialogue for the moment. Everything we see and interact with has a corresponding spiritual aspect providing impetus to the whole. Usually the spiritual aspect even resembles the physical expression, although at times the proportions differ. A fact that I know I will touch upon in other areas as topically necessitated. Nonetheless if one was to see our spirits they much resemble the physical form of our bodies, though a bit taller (note this is a foreshadowing hint, to a vastly different topic I Will Be Addressing. At times I may interject future foreshadowing hints, though sans the extensive explanations). Depending on the scope of vision applied a person may / can see many other things. For my current model I am going to stick to issues of direct correlation to what we perceive as the physical world.

Okay, yes I do know I tend to take a long round about, seemingly loquacious manner, almost tediously so in my explanations. This is due to the fact that words are nebulous, our ability to effectively communicate was fractured becoming compromised long ago. As a consequence, for clarity's sake I find this too wordy manner necessary to minimize confusion later in the discussion. By degrees we lose our way, or perpetuate our lost condition. Therefore it is by incremental degrees I am trying to more properly realign the various skewed beliefs we all hold. It is simple geometry, trigonometry or if you prefer vector math. If your initial bearing line is off by a few degrees, as you proceed further down its vector, or direction of travel where you end up will be considerably different than you meant to be. I wish to be aptly clear as to this fact early in my shared discourses.

Back to the proximate relationship of the spirit to our physical nature / condition. Also know that our spirits are gender specific. The entirety of humanity in this expressed Creation, the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve. Have migrated to this plane and place from Our Heavenly Home. That being a higher plane of existence, a organized realm of Love and Light. We, being all of us from Adam, Lilithe, and Eve till the last child of Eve is born, we are they that kept our first estate. Thereby earning both our right and place to be born here in this that by our common assent / consent / agreement we agreed would be real, thus we call it reality, simple. Wherefore, this being real by our mutual assent, means by extension that our actions here shall have real consequence to our station thereby effecting our progression. Those within Our Divine Family that rebelled and failing to reconcile back into the Family are denied participation in the progression of this estate and the subsequent assignments as to which paths we are to be assigned to in our individual journeys to progress back home.  Meaning, i.e. lucifer and the one third that fell (more properly “that were cast down”) with him. At times I will refer to lucifer as lucy or louie a small affectation I have over the years grown fond of as pet names for he who would seek dominion through his lies. Know that for my part I have always viewed our existence as an ongoing extension of the war in Heaven. Even as a toddler this was simply the nature of the world, in both a literal and metaphoric sense. Lucy is playing an end game gambit. As to our day to day offenses he for the most part cares little, seldom choosing to involve himself.  As I try to tell people; we can do bad all on our own, we don’t need the devil or louie's help. Matter of fact regrettably this particular Creation is an aberration. Most Creation’s do not have a Lucifer, who refuses to repent and reconcile, and worse yet becomes Satanish.  In so doing thereby becomes completely nonredeemable. Fit only to be cast out beyond the dark realms / dimensions. So far that not even a god could ever hope to make it back to Our Heavenly Home. Heady fanciful stuff, with a touch of discordance due to conflicting superlatives, I already know. From the presumed position of our understanding as a whole it is the best I can do with our shared mythos. The presumed contradictions fade as our understanding increases. Please accept I know little, next to nothing. What little I may grasp, has been fought hard to obtain over a tumultuous lifetime.

One of the hopeful eventualities concerning our collective situation in this Creation which I try to communicate to those that appear to show potential for understanding the following idea. Is that, Once we “eventually” progress through this Creation. As our then on going progression continues through multiple future Creations we will in all probability never encounter another such circumstance / Creation wherein any of those will again be with the added burden of a Satan / Lucifer persona to add complications to our individual, group, and familial progress. Who would threaten to usurp Creation from G-d and all of us. We can do bad all on our own. We really don’t require an objective excuse or archetype on which to pin our failings. If you are acquainted with the Book of Revelations, in its pages are the clues to understanding Lucy’s actual focus / agenda for our Creation. For we are eternal beings, Children of Divine Parentage. We live through infinite eternities, progressing and striving to Perfect Ourselves unto the Image of Our Heavenly Mother and Father. Now I sound like a some traveling revivalist preacher. Might as roll out the tent and tambourines, hahaha.

Wednesday July 4, 2018 – Killeen, Texas

Well happy 4th of July, U S of fucking A. Not to be cynical, but here we are celebrating another Independence Day in the Land of the Free. The irony is inescapable. Sadly too many individuals become distracted and lost in the perpetually shifting landscape of dysinformation. Yes the horrors these people revile against are very real and indefensible. Except in the losing of perspective, failing to see that these innumerable struggles are purposely being generated to engage the population to distraction. Usually these horrid distractions are set cross ways of social and cultural lines. This formulaic tactic is meant to ferment hostilities, hate and conflicts across the associated strata. This has been repeated throughout history to create wars, fracture our social structure, warp our values, and indoctrinate the population en mass with beliefs such as to reshape our view of reality shackling all of us to a diminished image and sense of self along with the entire human race. Once we accept this warped view as the archetypal potentiality of us all. We are guaranteed to sell ourselves and our brethren into slavery. In due course I will be discussing at length the geopolitical history within the framework of our limited knowledge of what we recorded since the flood. Rather what we have been permitted to know of said records. The fact that much as been redacted from the common brain trust passed on to us via academia. Those alabaster halls occupied by self appointed guardians of the approved versions of knowledge and information released to us vulgar unfortunate masses. So burdened, I shall pass this Holiday celebrating the antithesis of its traditions.

Continuing in the same vain as previously began prior to the day’s celebrations, in much the similarly convoluted fashion as before… I, The Dark One of Occultic Lore. I have been told; that I have done things no one in the history of the world has ever done previously. Personally I can only cite one quality as being demonstrative of such high praise. Though in all honesty I am more often than not being chastised for lacking focus, being lazy, acting the fool in the face of my enemies, or being cavalier in my affections, or placing myself at undue risk of life and limb, and the list goes on and on ad nauseaium.  This from the select few who know and understand who and what I am.  Those who may actually care about me, and would see me fulfill that which I have been foreordained to do whilst sojourning here. The totality of our circumstance here, now at this moment, we soon shall enter perhaps the most critical and precarious point of our history and that of this Creation.  I am all too well aware of this along with that which shall soon come to pass shortly.  This awareness, I experience across multiple vectors while being cognizant of a sea of permeations which ultimately stream toward a specific Crux in Our Familial Aggregation (I am trying to develop appropriate nomenclature – wherein I avoid certain more readily common labels or descriptors and/or appellations. Whose usage has been subverted into the double speak practiced by the various satanic and blood occultic families which run the world. Who have ritually (via trauma) conditioned and indoctrinated their acolytes, golems / victims to hear and respond to accordingly, never in a positive manner. Wherefore it is incumbent upon me whenever possible to avoid affirming these, even to the point of reinventing the ascribed nomenclature.) within this Creation. As a consequence I must stumble through idiomatic constructs, ungainly though they be. Believe me if you knew and understood the actualities ascribed to words and the double or multiple meanings applied to them within the Families. The evils, the pain, the denigration of the individuals / victims usually by those nearest them; ultimately by extension it eventually infects and corrupts societies unto the world at large.  You would weep an endless river of tears unto filling the seas, if you could see this in your minds eye properly.  As long as this perniciously malicious spiritual / familial / multi-generational / social / cultural pathogenic practice continues, our struggles will end in naught. Hence into this morass I must seek to keep my appointed task. How best to explain this? I have spent the majority of my life in the haze of denial.  Avoiding my differences.  Putting off my preparations for that which is to come.

Since approximately twenty four plus months prior to Operation Jade Helm our covert Intelligence apparati, including elements of the ruling shadow government began a concerted effort at Foxing me. The on set of Operation Jade Helm and its scope marked an exponential increase in expanded efforts against me.  Now, let me make clear Operation Jade Helm’s purpose was not solely to target me, there where many targets across the greater portion of the United States of America.  Death dealers and various squads of assassins executed / murdered an increasing number of American Citizens, most had been identified for some time to be exterminated.  Impunity seems to have become the operational by word.  The extremes demonstrated continuously since that time defy all reason. Defining the architects of this action as being criminals is almost quaint.  This level of criminal insanity goes beyond the point of being treasonous. With the majority of resource allocation comes from “military Intelligence” which then utilizes other military resources and supplies.  Thus it is that we have been duped into financing our own demise.

For purposes pursuant to their agendas, they have labeled me a domestic terrorist.  Thereby presumably justifying illegal exercises and persecution of my person.  Rationalizing by extension similar acts against my family and anyone I may care about and or Love. Death for them would be preferable to the horrors their personages have been and are being subjected. I know I sound ludicrously paranoid with delusions of grandeur in the extreme. Hahaha….  gosh how I wish, hope and pray such were the case. I make this record in defense of myself and my actions. Naturally I fear all my good intentions with their accompanying actions are for naught. I realize that upon my death as allotted to the sons of man, as to the first part, my character will be maligned in the worst manner possible.  A issue I will address at length later in this on going exposition of myself and my misadventures as they may be.

Thursday July 5, 2018.  Killeen Texas

Despite my misgivings it seems I survived all the pops and bangs of our nosiest of American Holidays. A joyous circumstance to be certain. From now till my last day of my allotted life as unto the children of men, my life hangs in the balance. The ante to live my life as it were.

My current accommodation over the past almost six weeks has been with an old flame and friend Jade Causey – Chamlee, and her 18 year old son Joey, whose given name was Freddie. Bless their souls for extending to my worn out arse a place to stay and recover. Regrettably my physical recovery is taking much longer than I anticipated. I am fully aware my expectations regarding the time necessary for a complete recovery was / were unreasonable. But I need to set the bar high to keep from being complacent. Now had my situation been inclusive of adequate financial resources I would be at least relatively close to my timetable. I would have had access to better medical, dietary, living and therapies. Hell my injuries would have been properly tended to at the hospital in my initial admittance. Instead I continued to be the object of curiosity and experimentation. With little consideration to trying to give me appropriate medical care. I have come to know what to expect, due largely to my younger brother's general attitude. Wherein he rationalizing what him and others do to me, as simply a matter of effect associated to the who and what I am. It is rationalized that if  I, Donn am this special chosen person than he/I should be able to survive everything, whatever it may be.  Because if he/I don’t than obviously he/I am not that special and thus not protected from on High.  Horrific logic used to rationalizing a growing list of atrocities committed against my person. A ugly fact of my reality, one I anticipated. What issues make this whole fucked up process unacceptable, malicious, acutely painful and unforgivingly egress is the manner by which they have targeted and used others. Especially my younger brother, father, son, Tiffany, Revaka, Heather, Angie and numerous others. They have been tortured, abused and treated as disposable commodities. All are scared and precious, some are very unique with abilities reaching into arenas not generally accepted or understood in today’s world view. Yet these individuals are denigrated, abused in some of the most deviantly sordid manners. Most are ultimately destroyed, first robbing them of their minds, bodies and in some final insult of their very souls. As it appears that they are being harvested for physical vehicles to have demons placed in their bodies. Yeah, I suppose I could say it in some sort of more politically correct parlance as “aliens” from a lower resonating dimensional reality / realm. Somehow I find that by doing so it fails to communicate the malicious evil inherent in the process. I find the old nomenclature to communicate the Truer meaning. Though some eras of our past carry their own obvious failings magnified exponentially by ignorance while fueled by misguided zealotry. They were not called the Dark Ages for nothing. Similarly different cultures, societies, periods, places and times have fallen to various abysses of Darkness. We have this false mental image of life on Our Earth proceeding in some linar fashion from primitive man (including Adam, for those of a theological inclination) struggling out of caves. Fighting against their own primitive brain / mind which was trapped in a diminished brain pan capacity from questing for fire against ignorance and superstitions. With us being the cumulative beneficiaries of this on going process. Peoples of those ancient times could not have been as intelligent as those today. Therefore they could not have grasped the concepts we do. Some of the most ridiculous fallacies of logic ever presumed to rationalizing and justify conduct or beliefs. Matter of fact the inverse is actually True. But what the fuck could I possibly know!

Sadly my frustrations are rearing their collective heads as it were in my writing. I wish I had been more diligent in securing my journal I started last year upon my departure from Long Beach towards Utah. I was more focused recording relavent issues in a contemporaneous fashion. Not to mention a considerable investment in explanations dealing with a variety of associated topics. Grrrrr… all I did then was walk and write. I may soon be in a recurrence of such, shortly. I can no longer abide where I am. All the more so under these conditions. Deep in my mind I am aware of happenings which require my attention. Not to mention my friend’s household is not psychologically conducive to my state of being. At least not in a healthy way, good intentions not with standing. My largest obstacle to my leaving believe it or not, is my need for acceptable footwear. Flip-flops aren’t going to cut it. Hell they are wholly inadequate to even walk just up the street a block or two. I must admit the sidewalks and streets of California were well suited for walking.

Monday July 9, 2018.  – Killeen, Texas

As Pooh would be apt to say, “Oh bother”. I feel for the most part Tigger. Bouncing all about spinning, twisting, flipping… as well on my head as my tail. I am most acutely wanting to find my focus once again. My communication skills seem heavily compromised. Not that I was ever able to write as effectively as the great Nobel Laureates. Generally speaking I could at least maintain some linear cohesion in my writing.  Physically, emotionally, spiritually and mentally I am shaken.  Much as if my being was trapped in the tremors of advance Parkinson’s. In similar fashion my expressed thoughts and experiences lack focus, my abilities at lucidly articulating my larger life occurrences is choppy at best. Failure is NOT an option! No matter how I feel or how events are or may effect me, I must regain my composure and find my center. While reacquiring my skills of teaching and sharing what I have learned.  Please excuse me if I don’t edit the foregoing entries. As convoluted and murky as they may be, their relevance contemporaneously can not be diminished. Hopefully they will in due course provide a benchmark to juxtaposition future writings and notes thereby effecting a glimpse into my state of being at the time of writing.  Grrrrr…….

They have done a very good job of isolating me. All the more so, as I try to come to terms with the potential cost to those I would seek commerce with across all levels of our socioeconomic strata.  If what I endured while being the object of a Foxing protocol by our shadow government’s covert intelligence community are any indication. Anyone who associates with me, either at mine or their initiation is subject to become targeted for retribution as punishment to me. Too high a cost to blindly impart with out consideration to finding possible means of mitigation. Or at the very least terms whereby I am ultra selective with whom I interact. Along with the rationale for said interactions. Soon enough our social dependency will require I abandon all such pretext or attempts at shielding anyone from consequence. I fear that time shall be upon us/me far too soon. Perhaps I am again being exceedingly naive. My efforts are most probably for naught. An on the at large canvas of the bigger picture my presumption at damage control will only result in a larger area and impact of effect upon our society as a whole. Not that I am some savior or prophet, far from it actually. In the grander scale of things, I might best be referred to as a “wild card”.  Meaning that in any analysis of the interaction of variables, one may with a degree of certainty predict the outcome of any issue, contest, conflict even war. However should certain individuals or a very small dynamic group of individuals enter the forum. Suddenly the landscape of the matter shifts radically to the point that the original outcome no longer applies or is meaningful. We have numerous examples of such occurrences throughout our histories. Of salient import to us here in America is The Battle of Thermopylae, and the 300 Spartans. We all learned about continents in school. Did you ever notice that Europe and Asia were counted as separate despite being one land mass. The reason is that Western Culture and Asian (Oriental) Cultures being vastly different it was traditionally ascribed to them being two separate continents. We may naively presume to ridicule such a blatant indulgence as arrogance. Yet there are fundamental reasons for this error being valid. We as the heirs of Western Culture, need to understand the mythical / legendary impact of these distinctions upon our mameic memory, especially those of us of the West. From Greece to Rome, then following our Angelo – Dutch (Iberian) roots it is transmitted to us. The importance and permanent impact of the actions and sacrifice of Leonidas and 300 Free Spartans against over a 1,000,000 servile basically slaves to a potentate deemed quasi divine, carved out a legacy of Freedom which stands even today. An Epic “wild card”. There are many others, most are lost to us today. With the occasional exception that survives in our Epics, our Mythologies, our Legends. Most such stories are the blending of factual events with older religious or semi religious traditions. Which aliteration was a common and accepted means of teaching the lessons of both convanents in a factual and metaphoric means. Much the way Jesus Christ taught using parables, allegories composed to have layers of meaning dependent upon the degree of understanding had by the student. So a natural continuation of this is to be inclusive of many historical events, along with the trans literal substitution of the individuals to those of prophecy or the the Divine or Angelic intercession of some ancient history. These depending on circumstance would be iterated and reiterated in verbal traditions to be celebrated in the retelling, usually in association to particular annual festivals. Such as the case with the Saga of the Norse Kings. A subject I hope to have the opportunity to entertain at length later in my writings, scribblings. The vast majority of my ideas, concepts, models and histories can generally be attributed to greater minds than mine. As has been said before, the reason I / we can see so far is that we stand on the shoulders of giants, those that have come before us. Yes I paraphrase taking a degree of liberty. More particularly to hopefully retain its original meaning.

Funny I have been much as I am, the entirety of my life. Before I commence an in-depth sharing of many of the somewhat unique occurrences and events that have brought me to this proposition in time. I wish to clarify and reiterate some postulates. Elsewise a portion of my own records and logs may well be used against me. Principally by interests who would wish to call my lucidity and grasp of reality into question, in the hopes of indicting or coloring my character via my words. No doubt they shall do so nonetheless. I only wish that my original is sufficiently vetted in the sane understanding of reality has to be a defense to my honor and mental facilities. Thus, again – I am No prophet! Nor am I an Alien. Hahaha… Nor am I some savior! As far as religion – I will say as was told to me by what would be termed alien contactees, or more specifically those that I felt and believed we’re genuine. Of the many I personally met back in the 1970s. According to these individuals as to the subject of religion and the Bible when broached to the various aliens these contactees interacted. All the aliens responded that yes the Bible was more or less correct and that it was wholly applicable to us, our Creation, and Our G-d. I know not at all what they say on the popular shows in the media today. Hmmm,…. As to my personal religious beliefs and inclinations, I am Mormon by conversation and have been excommunicated for many more years than I care to mention. By the way my excommunication was due wholly to personal moral matters not issues of doctrine or beliefs of Faith. So if somewhere in my upfront acknowledgements, you find me wanting of naïve. Fine, do or do Not as is in you, or as is your want. I make no apologies, nor seek to compromise in some misguided attempt to achieve an accord or consensus. Rather quite to the contrary, I share, present, seeking dialogue broader than an account of the happenings surrounding my life. Simply because I am appalled by the amount of lies and disinformation being used to indoctrinate the populace. Add to this the lack of corrected and broader views from the dreadfully homogenous perspective droning from damn near every sector. The present modalities disgust me, breaking my heart such that I would to weep day and night for Our collective Family. Yet better spent are my efforts in defense of the Truth and an improved accounting of our histories and circumstances. In pursuit of same I find I must submit my private life and experiences to general scrutiny. The majority of which I have never shared with anyone prior to the last six to eight years. I have desired to live a rather conventional life, for the most part. Realizing that soon enough I will forever be denied the Joy of such.

To this end and the accompanying process I submit some of the earliest memories and events of my life and childhood. One of my earliest, if not the earliest is being in my crib prior to the age of two. My father was working for numerous government and governmental contractors at the time. Naturally I don’t recall those details. Our family had just moved to Southern California. We were living with my mother’s sister somewhere in East Los Angeles. Their home was the typical Spanish Colonial. Anyone familiar with the style and form of such. Know that hallways usually converge into a common room, you cross to the hallway leading to the room you have as your destination. In this pass through common room is where my crib was stationed. Probably the best location for it and me. So the various women could occupy my attention should I become fussy. An many times this common room was an area where the women would congregate as my recollection is. Well across this room was a pantry closet, with selves and full of the sundry items found in such for the time. In the coming and goings of my family and relatives there were numerous occasions that would find me unattended, alone in my crib. It was during one such interlude that the commencement of a reoccurring vision / dream began. I having been left alone to my own devices (parenting back in the day). When the door to the aforementioned pantry slowly opened wide. A beautiful female Golem, her physique had the appearance of red bricks. Yet the contours of her form were singularly female. Rather she had distinct curves with aquiline sculptured features. Most hauntingly she had these striking blue eyes. She never spoke a word, her eyes spoke volumes to my initially shocked mind. As the sounds of returning relatives approached, she gracefully returned from whence she came. On the first couple of occasions I witnessed this I raised a bit of a commotion. I was not yet verbal, and in all honesty I was a late talker. Well the relatives thought I might have seen a rat. So they dutifully opened the pantry to inspection. The pantry was then as it always was, with neither a rat or exquisite Lady Golem. This parade continued off and on for the majority of the our short time residing at my aunt’s house. Usually the Lady Golem had those blue blue eyes, though green and grey versions are among the visits. Each and every time she would come to the side of my crib, moving her head, or tilting (cocking) it just so. Always her eyes full of questions and disbelief. Her eyes seemed to express; You? You are the one sent? Hmmm… You don’t look like much! Look more like a little wet rodent, but who knows?. This was more or less the sentiment expressed in her eyes. Following my first encounters I became accustomed to her visits and would actually miss her on the rare occasions of absence. Needless to say from early childhood I saw the “world” differently than others around me. I also learned to accept this altered perception without fear, understanding its validity within the accepted context of what is “actual” or the “concrete” reality of our existence.

If you may recall back in the haze of school days. During various lectures the teacher's would sometimes use what is commonly referred to as an over head projector. Depending on what was being taught, it was also common practice to layer over lays. These would either complete the image or at times super impose other images as needed. Sometimes even as multiple layers of over laid transparencies. Some of you more contemporaneously educated individuals may never have seen such primitive presentations, having known only power point. For those so blessed what I describe next may be Greek to you. For the dinosaur amongst us most should have some recollection. This model is the closest I can use to illustrate how the world appeared to me growing up as a child. Usually I would see what could best be described as up to two transparencies overlapping the “real world” in general. I could even lift these overlays to get a clearer view of what was being presented before me. At times these would both be at in the foreground of “reality”, other times both would be in the background, while at other times it would be split one in front and one in back. Yet there were numerous other configurations, sometimes completely unrelated to the happenings around me (foreshadowing alert). Gradually this ocular affect of the world began to diminish till it no longer was within my field of vision. By the time I was around sixteen to seventeen years of age this effect was effectively gone. Since then I have experienced this only a handful of times. I usually take a different approach, I will address momentarily. One of the proximate results almost immediately of perceiving my world in this manner is that I usually know the scope and degree that anyone is lying. As an adult it is not quite as prominent as in my childhood. Though there have been exceptions. As a direct consequence my earliest life lesson was in due course the hypocrisy of the adults around me. Everyone would profess such devotion to “the necessity” or importance of always “speaking the Truth”. Yet I would be punished to no end for pointing out the hypocrisy of the fact the adults more often than not lied as suited them. I learned to keep such to myself. Something I still do to this day. I tend to filter or make allowances far too much now as an adult. Invariably leading to greater complications. Besides transparencies certain images or objects would “float” across my field of vision in similar transparency manner. Some of which I could not decipher any context or meaning at the time or since. To begin to place elements of this visual experience I need to explain tangent events of recent.

The advent of the Internet and the information highway is as with most such paradigms, both a blessing and a curse. Dependent largely upon the nature and supposed inclination of man. We are all no doubt familiar with the media platforms of Facebook and YouTube. Like everyone else to some degree I have had occasion to surf around doing research or simply for mindless pleasure. Back prior to Jade Helm, when my Old Lady (though she was substantially younger) Tiffany and I were keeping house in Austin, Texas. I noticed a YouTube video regarding the Apollo 20 mission. Oh by the way according to my histories the Apollo lunar missions went up to 20. I wanted to see what was been discussed along with what twists and turns the disinformation specialist spin their distractions. Which if you can determine it sometimes conclude what they are trying to hide or if their direction of spin is a “z” vector you can sight 180 degrees opposite to determine the landscape they don’t wish you to see. You may consider all this a large investment of mental energies, it is just how my mind works at times automatically. Back to the Apollo 20 video. In the video there was some general discussion of aliens, their nature and origins. During this open dialogue, there was a series of various old clips. I presume were some how removed from the archives of NASA. Many of the older non-defined clips I was quite familiar with the images. Not because I have ever seen them as photos, images, clips or video. At the time I was floored, since previous to that moment I was unacquainted with their context or related meaning. These objects I use to see in the exact same configuration and involved in the exact motions approximately forty years earlier as I was growing up. Matter of fact judging from the age of the imagery I would have to conclude I was witnessing them contemporaneously as a child. Without the context of outer space or NASA I had presumed I was watching some complex interactions of some sort of strange protozoal life from. I even remotely as concerned they had some how become infected to my cornea, so prevalent we’re the objects across my vision. So striking was their imposition upon my sight that more than four decades later their association was immediate and most assuredly certain. One less mystery to worry about. Yet the implications are troubling profoundly. Both of myself and the world at large, considering how maliciously the world's population has been lied to and manipulated. The ends of which are too shocking and horrible to ever discuss. Although in previous conversations at moments of weakness I have divulged a greater portion than may have been prudent.

Wednesday July 11, 2018.  – Killeen, Texas

You may right so wish to ascribe or diagnosis me as having a form of delusions inclusive of all types of hysteria, grandeur, psychosis with severe religious obsessions. For what passes for psychiatry today within the public ledger domain, you may be correct. I would offer in defense a extensive lifetime containing a ongoing accounts of a similar or even greater note. Although I am not a Moses, peoples of another time would recognize me as being touched by The All Mighty, as it were. I will at least own any such appellation. Am I some righteous man deserving of beautification unto sainthood, I would argue Not. At best I have tried to be a descent man, who speaks the Truth as much as possible. I am burdened by an additional commitment.

Back in my youth, being around nine years old. I had a singularly profound series of visions / dreams. I repeatedly dreamt my death, accompanied by the various permeations associated to reaching same. The process took several days (nights) between three to five. Being so young I didn’t think to take particular note of the days my dreams were thus occupied. They obviously had a unique feel with a equally sensational intensity, they still abide with me today. I distinctly recall a voice of sorts coming to me following the last night of witnessing this panorama of my life's end (as are the days accorded to the sons of man). Now this voice which came unto me, I presume it was within the precincts of my mind. Not that it would have mattered greatly since I was alone when it came unto me. Nor did I think to ask from whence or whom spoke. I knew and could feel the light of our Divine Home as I heard the intent along with the presumed words. It was a simple dialogue, stating; “this is how it ends, this is what you have come to do. You need not do it. You have the right to choose. However if you are to complete this task. You must choose to do so now.”. Being a precocious and arrogant child, I immediately presumed that if I had been sent to do such, than the obvious was that I was the best candidate to accomplish the prescribed task. Armed with such infallible logic, I whole heartedly accepted my calling understanding it would come at great cost. Now granted, an understanding of the true scope or magnitude or the enormity of the cost or suffering I fully lacked. I have spent my life preparing. I have come to know that even at the prescribed time I will lack of my own what is necessary. I shall present to the task my all, trusting in Our G-d to shore me up to complete that which I would do. Subsequent to acceptance of this appointment I am to keep in the near future, my sight / vision increased. The frequency and quantity began increasing dreams, visions, revelations, transparencies along with my general perceptions increased. I now openly own the fact that I see the world through the eyes of the mystic. Only recently was my sight dampened. A heart breaking topic the occasion of which surrounds losing my Love Tiffany. The subject of which shall also be laid upon the alter for examination by the modern day augers. Find what fault if you will, I care little. Only know that matter and its accompanying are for later. I must at present attempt to continue in this established vain of thought recounting events long past in my short life. Besides the notations contemporaneous to me and my circumstances or any of the other tripe I have need to spew forth. Believe this, if I could accomplish my foreordained task without sharing, discussing or placing ultimately for public review any of this – such would be my desire. Painfully I have had to come to terms with the ugly reality I must prostrate myself to assure I am able to do what needs be done. Onward thru the fog, as it were.

Without going into specifics too much, early on I displayed another aptitude. Sometime around first to second grade. My Dear sweet mother recognized I somehow had a hand in the going ons of the other children that back then composed the group of children who had commenced to being around. Now my mother was blessed with a keen intellect. Which included the wisdom to not over think somethings. Instead wherever possible if there was a direct and simple solution to apply one's efforts to the solution. Thereby allowing life to continue on as meant. Almost elegant in its simplicity, usually quite effective in solving any problem, a quaint provincial version of Occum's Razor. Consequently the solution was simple, as she noted; “son, I don’t know what you are doing. But it is wrong. Apparently you need my help understanding that.”. There after I regularly got my hide tanned. Until sometime around the age of seven plus the realization that just because you could do something; does not mean you should. And that everyone is entitled to make their own choices. Afterwards the occasion necessitating my tanning ceased as a consequence to those particular actions. By no means did I fail to earn other occasions of corporal punishment as befits a young boy trying to find his wings, so to speak.

Growing up making my way through our education system of public schooling. I never cracked a book. Now one should not presume schools and childhood were smooth sailing. Quite to the contrary, in second grade my school in southern California labeled me “retarded”. Lacking a separate facilities or classes you were simply shoved to the back of the class with similarly challenged children. Nor did they have to test the child or give notice to the parents. Following a few weeks at the back of the class I began to demonstrate “odd” behavior. Which my always observant mother was quick to question. She went to the school and raised holy hell. In actuality it was more of a racially motivated issue. My parents being divorced, the school only saw my Hispanic mother. Being profoundly dyslexic, their initial assessment was that I was a Mexican, and you know you can not teach their kind. I was going to a all white school at time. Not to mention kindergarten in Watts. During the riots in 1965. I had to have police escorts to school. While I still have very distinct memories of the entire family sleeping in the living room with all the doors and windows blocked and barricaded against the rioting blacks. A sort of difficult time growing up. Believe me I know what racism is like. I am not going to hold my tin cup up on that lame ass subject. The fact that there are those in this country that hold onto this issues as the reasons for all their troubles. Or that there are groups and individuals who exploit this history for their enrichment. All this does is allows an ever expanding rifts in our society. The age old axiom of divide and conquer. Yet we all seem oblivious to this, instead we rush to our own deaths.

Thursday July 12, 2018,. – Killeen, Texas

Aaagh, fuck, damnit…. I fucking swear. Why do I even try to help anyone. Generally they hold to their own practices of appeasing the least common denominators by which they live. What can I say. As gracious as my hostess and her son may be. I doubt if I can tolerate much more of their dysfunctionality sans any self realization or objectivity. And they wonder about Joey meeting someone (female). I can’t imagine the woman who would find any of this manner or lack of is appealing. I try to maintain perspective because I do recognize the roots of most of the antisocial behavior. Even if it expresses its self differently than one may anticipate. I just don’t have the tolerance I usually do. In my current condition of convalescing from my injuries, makes me subject to the vagaries that define the lives of normal people. Due to the obvious singular quality of my life I have had to come to terms with the fact that I do not process anything in like manner as my peers. An before everyone thinks I am trying to sound all superior or some such, please note that I am continually making stupid mistakes principally due to my own naivety. We all have this aspect wherein we judge our circumstance and that of others from the pigeonhole perspective. Everyone else's view though differing from each other falls within a given area, or a few degrees of each other. Mine falls a extreme distance outside of what could be considered the norm. Nonetheless being very human I continue in the belief I perceive “reality” much as the other person from a similar understanding and values system. Invariably this attitude finds opportunity to smack me in my face by its differences. Each and every time I am recalled that, oh I knew better because I am fully aware of the differences and should have factored accordingly. Even now at this more venerable point in my life I find one of my biggest failings is naive belief in the character of my fellow man. Yet if my assertions as to my last day as are allotted to the sons of man be True. For the greater part I will be doing so for the entirety of Our Familial Aggregation. Even for those who seek only to cause me and those I Love and care about, harm or maliciousness. Because that is the way of things in our Creation. Soon enough the vile evil shall reveal itself, the kid gloves shall come off and life will never be this peaceful again. If it be the will of he who sent me I will seek to balance many scales of injustice. Till then I must endure and prepare as best I can.

Well enough complaining about friends who do their best given the circumstances. I appreciate all they have done on my behalf. Especially since to a large degree they grasp what potentially may be the cost. Even if in some small ways they may have been influenced by the same malicious or “Bees”, that seek to be the cause of my failure. For such is the nature of things in the abyss. Especially considering the length of time I have elected to spend wrapped in the confines of twisting throughout what we commonly refer to as “reality”. I generally feel more comfortable surrounded by its miasma and ickor than anywhere else. As much as it may appear to be a contradiction it ultimately is fact. Sigh!!!

For the time being I guess I will change the temporal focus of my entries. I can seldom stay focused on any particular time frame for an extended period. Doing so usually causes me to shift to the associated memories which become very visceral in nature. Soon it begins to become a tad overwhelming. All the more so once framed in relation to the present context. I sincerely hope that suffices and is remotely coherent. I am usually deconstructing my conceptual models and ideas into a form more acceptable to being understood. Sometimes I become lost in the process to the point I know what I mean despite the fact that the words and or syntax are nonsense. In conversation I sometimes have to stop and ask if what I have postulated or presented in the dialogue makes sense. I know it all made sense and sounded good in my head. Aaah but I can’t always presume to have effectively communicated the same.

Saturday July 14, 2018.  – Killeen, Texas

Well here it is the weekend, somewhere in Who-ville are working stiffs cheering at the arrival of the ritual with its time off. It has been interminably long since I have have lived a life so constrained as to include the simple Joy of a defined weekend of days off. Hell I am usually engrossed in my vocation daily. With my ever prevalent purpose always driving me. For the most part I have become unfit to be amongst civil company. Yes I am conversant. I am genial enough when in mixed groups. I tend to empathic of those around me. I genuinely give a damn as to the well being of others. Even so, the inescapable Truth is that the darkness is too imbued into my being. Because of the darkness of my spirit, I have become rolled into the ubiquitous abyss of our “reality”. Though it does not effect me quite the same as others its taint has woven into my fibers. Not being much of a liar I lack the necessary tools to hide it from general view.

Wednesday July 18, 2018  - Killeen, Texas

Well damn, I sometimes really get fucking frustrated.  At one level I am perpetually detached from the day to day focus and obsessions of everyone around me. I can’t bring my mind to focus on the general ideological concepts propagated by the geopolitical theater. Which resembles an episode of the moppet show as far as I what it appears. Are the offenses and injuries less or non-existent to my sympathies or moral indignation; not in the least. They still represent injustices and crimes which need to be effectively dealt with and hopefully the scales will balance. Even so, I just can not seem to get all worked up over these slight daily travesties. All the more so since I tend to view all these for what they are within the larger perspectives and plans of globalist / occultic families. Typical divide and conquer, or simple distractions from their primary objectives. I can appreciate everyone’s sentiments and attitudes that the scenarios of what is to come are not perceived as real or likely. Hell even I given enough distance and time begin to feel as though none of it is possibly factual. Except for the fact that I have lived a life associated to these eventualities. Even when I was in the thick of things all those involved would tell me bold faced lies as to what was occurring. As if to make me question the obvious, because the obvious Truth of the matter was outside any social norms. I guess there are those for a convenient lie is preferred to Truth too extreme to accept. I have been at this life, spending the majority of my existence living in the abyss. Which is everywhere, it co-exists with whatever social or cultural conventions occupying our realities of the moment.  It is ubiquitous yet invisible to all but those who have had the misfortune to have grown up in its mists, or the uninitiated. Due to my unique occular abilities I am sort of self initiated. It took me a little while to come to understand the meaning of this subset of our world. I have always seemed to rub against this sub culture, even as a child. A odd fact which has taken me many years to come to terms with it. Even then it was a process of educating myself to be able to grasp the entirety of the concepts. Though outrageous beyond belief, it is nonetheless part of a larger pool of knowledge I have fought long and hard to achieve. We are a phenomenal expression of life, even across the multiverse. For all our uniqueness, we are seemingly determined to trivialize who and what we are. More importantly the processes and manner whereby we are to accomplish our purpose “here”.  Truly phenomenal!!!

Yet I digress. I am simply getting on my soapbox, whipping the horse, so to speak. Grrrrr…

How best to convey some of the basics back into the discussions and open forums in our sea of opinions. A perplexing problem one that has vexed my soul for almost three decades. I suppose the real source of my reservations has principally revolved around my own reluctance to be centrist to any reintroduction in a general dialogue. Much to my consternation it is plain that to accomplish this and thereby facilitate me being able to keep my appointment in the future, I must find the where with all and means to personally become directly a part of our social dialogues. I can freely admit to my own megalomania. I try not to buy into it myself. I shan’t feed such feelings or Mali-adpted inclinations. What ever a person's tendencies, we fail our own interests in doing so. To the point of it becoming a all consuming psychosis. Our histories are replete with the villains who are consumed by base desires at the cost of all else. Not that such is my fear. Rather I prefer to do what I can from a position far from the limelight. We don’t always get to choose how best to accomplish our goals. My non-object oriented way of thinking I suppose. Aaagh, this is an area I would deeply desire some assistance. Not to mention the realities of presently being impoverished. I had best get used to my condition, I fear I shan’t know any other for some time to come. I guess I need to find the way and means to broadcast my ugly mug on to the internet. I guess I will start some YouTube type of series. I need to really get my act together!

Amazingly as we and our solar-system has traversed the apogee of its elliptical orbit with its sister star. This having occurred back in December 2012. We are now accelerating towards our sister star on the side closest to our Galactic Center. We will soon be re-entering the flows of Magick. They are part of the natural order of things. Think of it as a higher order of physics. We conveniently suppose a posture of superiority over some earlier more organic beliefs or systems of interactions within our realities. Although witchcraft, paganism, shamanism, and various other practices have been collectively maligned for associated practices related to satanistic practices (which Are very evil). In many such cases we have throughen the baby out with the bathwater. I am not trying to condemn nor make excuses, only to ask for a broader open review of these strangely different beliefs and practices.  Many times they are simply corrupted versions of our Judaeo-christian thought, beliefs and practices. Sometimes I even find missing pages of our religious histories amongst these. An to borrow a quote;  “We are too hasty when we set down our ancestors in the gross for fools for the monstrous inconsistencies (as they seem to us) involved in their creed of witchcraft.” - C. Lamb.

Friday July 19, 2018.  – Killeen, Texas

Now as to my disjointed quaint manner of writing, I am recalled of yet another quote from Webster’s,  “Prolix, Diffuse. A prolix writer delights in circumlocution, extended detail, and trifling particulars. A diffuse writer is fond of amplifying, and abounds in epithets, figures, illustrations. Diffuseness often arises from an exuberance of imagination; prolixity is generally connected with a want of it.” [1913 Webster].  As to which, my confused manner may be likened, I leave such determination to those who due to some pathological compulsions decide to continue on through the disjointed tediousness of my log.  Excuse my quoting, it but appears the best and most eloquent descriptive means external to my own critiques. Wherein Webster provides what I believe is a more accurate description of my loquacious manner and style of communication. Bleck, ugh…

On to more relevant matters. As I continue to play my game of catching up to the current state of affairs in my existence. Jumping back to around August last year, at the time I elected to take my leave of the Long Beach / Wilmington area of the LA Basin. The majority of occurrences I previously wrote down in a contemporaneous log as I walked out of LA ultimately reaching Salt Lake City, Utah. With a brief momentary stay in Las Vegas, Nevada. My mind aches at the memories from that time. Regardless, there may in the retelling be wisdom or beneficial information for myself or others. Sorry if some of this has a choppy feel to it. There are mountains of unresolved emotional context and histories, which continue to elicit extremes within me. I hate sounding apologetic from the get go. Not that any of the vacillating diminishes the importance of the material or what I endured.

In July of last year, my younger brother was arrested and placed in presumably Twin Towers downtown Los Angeles. It was involving drugs and a handgun. I saw him and the P.O.S. , earlier that night. I already knew there were going to be problems. Additionally I had been indirectly informed my situation was about to become difficult. No more niceness regarding my treatment, operational dictums were changed. Initially I was was acutely aware my younger brother was not in police custody. I figured he was being held some where on or around the federal facilities of Terminal Island in the Port of Long Beach. Later parts of my sight of his circumstances were confirmed to me, though the exact location never has been (foreshadowing). Sometime during the second week of his presumed incarceration. He digitally appeared in the system with the appropriate arrest date, and information. To this day I am not convinced of the terms and conditions accompanying this purely “staged” event. No doubt there were days he was in the Twin Towers facility. Anything else is highly suspect at best if not solely manipulated data for the purposes of the Op. Nonetheless, I was sorely put upon. Due to the determinate fact that whatever had previously as well as on going to date are the proximate results of his being “my brother”. I was aware my brother was not my brother. I later would describe the fact as, “my brother was murdered on the mesas of New Mexico 4 (5) years prior”. I freely declared the fact, even with my younger brother present. At the time of his arrest I had invested two years trying to awaken and heal his soul. During this ordeal, he was on goingly conditioned (subject to various satanic trauma assisted by ultra high technologies deployed by our Shadow Government for the purposes of mind control). I can not escape a degree of culpability. Many may seek succor in the belief that I was not responsible, nor the individual inflicting these horrors to my younger brother. I acknowledge the physical reality as being so. However the moral reality is that, We are our Brother's keeper. An for myself it has a immense literal quality. We are all part of Our Larger Familial Aggregation, what we do, say or do not effects all. While in my particular case, he is my younger brother – same Mother and Father. I have known what to expect from the future all my life. I have even attempted to convey this knowledge in abstract to my brothers. Granted I did Not know that in recent times the evil practitioners of these vile satanistic rites had made a huge technical breakthrough. It use to be, if an individual attained adulthood free of these practices or influences, then they would die free of its chains. Obviously a person could freely elect to cultivate any base desires or perverse inclinations. By “choice” being the operative mandate, those chained to the MPD / DID minds of victims of Satanic Ritual Abuse (SRA) are forever robbed of any choice in the matter. Not even I can “set” them free or the chains forged in their infancy and childhoods. I can only unlock the gates and offer them the means to heal. The process is long and painful, requiring more years than anyone can live to hopefully heal. Sadly as each victim is considered chattel to the perspective heads of each “family”, who is in turn property of another. Hence there are functionally twelve Satanic Patriarchs seated at the heads of their “family”. Under Satanic Dogma they consider themselves “gods” of their worlds. According to their beliefs you exist as titled property, if not than you are of no consequence thereby you do Not exist. The worth of you and yours is less than the trash sent to the dump.

Sunday July 22, 2018 – Killeen, Texas

Continuing with similar point of fact as discussed, it may all sound or would be considered linear, a straightforward affair. Appearing almost orderly, locked in some strange perverse dance. When it is anything but. Take into consideration the matter of succession. You might be inclined to infer that being Patriarchal, it is a matter of patrialinacal father to son. The reality is far from such Familial Sensibilities. Simply put, upon the death of the head of any household. He, who inherits is the male gains control of his clan by right of arms, or force. Basically if you are not yet feared enough to demand your seat as the heir to the estate. The one who rules does so because he has murdered and killed all the opposition by blood rite according to Antediluvian Law. Meaning you not only kill your opposition, the action is inclusive of all males of immediate consanguinal association. The wholesale murder also removes any potential blood retribution by those who possess an immediate claim to do so. Secondly it demonstrates to clan members at large the vicious response dissent will meet. Terror then substitutes conditioned context within their trauma-based mindset vicariously confirming that male's natural right to head that Family’s Branch of the Larger Familial Group. If you can remotely rationale order from such chaotic slaughter. You more than likely were raised under such paradigms, or your values are perversely twisted and I recommend you seek professional help from any school of thought practicing a highly structured value system, preferably based on some well established benevolent religion. Notice I qualify said using the word benevolent. Cause if you use the most liberal definition to the concepts of religion you could quietly slip satanism or luciferinism in as established religions. The distinctions are sufficient as to invite debate. One I feel is much a waste of time for all parties. Generally I ascribe it principally to a matter of semantics shackled to vastly differing modalities of operations defining values. Our time can be better spent educating ourselves up and out of overly cerebral arguments designed to trap us in artificial concepts posing as reality. A overwrought process favored by Academia in defense of entrenched theories dressed in the ideology we refer to as the “Scientific Model”.  Yes, I have great disdain for what passes for education and schools of higher learning. They have long since been co-oped into the problems they were meant to free us from being slaves. I will tuck that soapbox away now, thank you for your indulgence.

What is even more incredible is the fact that this insanity is governed by their own set laws and rules. They even have a court system with defined jurisprudence. Not any sort you or I could consider properly legal. Rather it is more a system to maintain the “status quo” based on traditions, precedence, along with a strange quasi religious tones from Antediluvian Laws. Even known lies are acceptable if left uncontested but those who have standing and recognized Familial context. Elsewise the stated lie will stand as fact, enforceable to the fullest extent to which the system can accommodate.

Now if you followed that loose explanation, allow me to attempt to give an overview of some of the semi-societal interactive relationship between myself and these psychopaths. Especially above the standing rank and file victims constituting the entirety of the Families. I have a singularly unique interactive connection to them, their Families, their politics, traditions, religious dogma, technologies of the Shadow Government, including possible contingencies for what is to come. It is a chaotic and confusing dynamic paradox. Perpetually in a state of change, in recent times there has been much difference of opinion concerning how to acknowledge or interact with me. Technically I am a nonentity, because I exist outside the direct consanguineous relationship, nor am I amenable to joining their point of view. I remain in opposition to them, their practices, beliefs to the extent of being fundamentally adversarial to “them”. It is worth noting I have been at this so long that everyone I know or deal with daily belongs to this subset of our society. Almost all my friends, associates, girlfriends or anyone else comes from some blood occultic families. Some even to what capacity they are able seek to support me in my efforts. I am alive today because some evil bastards simply decided not to do as they were instructed. Knowing full well the consequences for siding with me. Try to understand these individuals have lived corrupt malignant lives, they hate themselves but are forbidden to take their own lives. There is virtual nothing they can do to truly cause those over them to flip out or take offense. Yet they do recognize that my stumbling about is upsetting. Having run around everywhere doing what I do. I have always done so without a net, so to speak. It is a source of boarder line amazement, more particularly they think I am “bat-shit” crazy! Nonetheless I am still here. You may know people who collect body art, fashionably tattoos these days. I sometimes joke of my own collection of scars and injuries to my body. Thankfully I heal exceptionally well. Most of my scars heal to the point of being almost unnoticeable, if you did not know my histories. It is an exhausting hobby, painful too! A frequent refrain I hear while being admitted to the ER or ICU has been, “Mr Williams, you are very lucky to be alive”.  “Yeah Doc I hear that allot. Do the best you can.”.  It has become somewhat of a ongoing joke, amongst friends and family. These days those groups have become ultra thin. Another reason I make this record of events in my life including improved contemporaneous writings. We can all hope for such. Believe me if it was up to me, no one would know much if anything about me, or my life. I have been, or more correctly I have allowed myself to be forced into a dreadfully unpleasant set of circumstances, as I have whined concerning previously.

Okay Sherman set the way-back machine to the 80’s and 90’ of the last century. Seeing patterns across the country in the minds of crazy ass bitches, now I do Not mean that in a bad way. I have a immense affinity for beautiful crazy ladies. Now as I was saying, the imagery within their minds was too consistent to be coincidence. The language of our sub- conscience is imagery, archetypal, motifs, iconography, mythical, dreams, visions, will of the wisps and whimsy. I believe we all “see” much more of one another than we choose to accept. The largest hurdle to understanding is this compulsion to read or understand what we “see” before the picture is finished assembling in our minds. This tendency has been increasingly pushed into smaller and smaller bits. Which as a negative exponential inverse function has become more and more confusing as to be nigh meaningless with each subsequent reduction. Hence at a time when we should be more connected to everyone. We find increased feelings of isolation and alienation. No matter how much we communicate with our neighbors next door or abroad we have less consensus or feelings of commonality. We sequester these feeling with their accompanying anxieties, less we inadvertently offend anyone. Like what the Fuck! It is part and parcel of the Adult World. Being offended or offending others is how things get done. Usually for the best interests of everyone. Granted we should strive to be engaging to achieve our goals, short of violence or intimidation. Yet as any honest government would gladly concede. Once negotiations by normal means come to an impasse then comes negotiations by “other means”. The debased conduct of sordid persons is best met with our best foot forward, right up their ass! Like most animals, immediacy tends to be the most effective in correcting Mali-adpted conduct. Back to the horse I rode up on, hahaha.

At any rate, over the years I began to solve the underlying issues. I actually came to my own work arounds prior to fully grasping the centralized source or the impact of its implications. Years later I did begin to hear limited bits of information over the internet. Although it did take me a while before I started to correlate the “conspiracy theory” data with what I was “seeing” in women throughout the country.  Largely because few had any real coherent information. Eventually, information concerning Project MK Ultra and our government's Psy-Ops programs sufficiently surfaced to flesh out the details. As a child, young teenager I was familiar with the government’s LSD experiments for a variety of reasons, mind control being one aspect. Frankly I can not believe there are people today who do not know or refuse to believe that our government conducted such experimentation on the populace. It was just common knowledge in the circles I travel. If you read the Program Outline for MK Ultra it has an extensive list of lines of “study” information was to be explored, accumulated with a focus of deriving paradigms of control on individuals, groups, countries, cultures, and from that to the world at Large. The Globalist, New World Order, G-7, Trilateral Commission, Illuminati the individuals and their constantly shifting panorama of institutions and foundations are continually sifting beliefs and cultures in an multi-generational game of Three Card Molly. Degree by degree all the world’s various societies and Cultures have been manipulated via global misdirection with large quantities of restructuring of values and beliefs. Till everyone on Earth thinks good is bad; and bad is good. I should think we have all heard these arguments before, usually framed as the delusions of conspiracy theorist. All rather convenient as a means explaining away any descent or even an open fair discussion. Our social structure has drifted far from where we should be. Starting in 2020, everything is going to change and never be this pleasant or nice again. Well at least not till after the Second Coming. Hahaha, despite sounding …...

[i-write-watolock]

so, I just watched the very first episode of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (and I loved it) and I would like to ask you a question as your fanfiction reader. How would you portrayed Irene Adler had you planned to write that character into your stories? Would Sherlock and Irene met under the canon circumstances in your version? Would it be a woman at all, granted Sherlock is a woman as well.

omg i’m so honored to have recieved this??? oH hONEY she would DEFINETELY be a woman. I’m a gal’s gal, and i would take any opportunity i get to portray realistic and diverse interactions between women, and Irene and Sherlock present me with an exquisite dynamic we rarely get to see in media: Respectful rivalry. The media is so keen on making us these shallow creatures that hate one another based on superficial reasons (boys), that I would love to see a real mental play, a power play, between two genius women who above all respect each other and push each other to the extreme of their genius.  I’d keep her really close to OG Irene: A brilliant woman- OG Irene was sort of proto-feminist character after all- that “““threatens””“ the wrong person: The son of a bigass company owner or a member of high social/political circles. Irene would be a beautiful woman who knows she holds that power and is not ashamed to use it, damnit. She also needs to make canon society uncomfortable, as OG Irene did. So she’d mess with the high and mighty, the powerful, because she serves one interest and that’s her own. And her insterest is to, not only elope with her scandalous love (a girlfriend), but to also help the world in any way she can. And she can do that using her power to gain secrets, and those secrets to collect what is due to the people.

So she has cost the high and mighty horrendous amounts of money and power. She’s manipulative as she’s pretty, but most of all: She. Is. Damn. Smart. That’s how she plays them. So:

We’d start with a nice fellow, a young promise, a prodigy of sorts. A man with education, drive and potential, whose little misstep lead him to be blackmailed for this “bad woman”, this sort of “femme fatale/temptress/seductress” character. He’s heard of Sherlock by the big man in charge of the police and would like to catch this woman and retrieve the “compromising document” she has on him.

So we start chasing your typical femme fatale, only for her not to be found anywhere. We start learning that her doings prevented some major injustices from happening, we also learn that- blackmailing aside- the people acusing her know nothing of her, can’t even give a physical description as she changed her appereance. Sherlock starts getting suspicious.

At the same time, a very sweet lady in a cat café gives Sherlock some pretty good insight on this “irene” character, she seems to have at least spoken to her once. She also offers good coffee and good conversation. Sherlock leaves to follow the lead she gave her, and does not find her when she returns. That’s Irene’s first appereance.

So Sherlock starts to pay attention the more she chases Irene’s trail, the more dead ends she meets, she realises she’s being teased. Like a game of hide and seek from hell, so Sherlock changes her strategy: She starts treating Irene no like an archetype, but as a brilliant woman, like herself.

They play, they chase, they meet. Upon seeing one another as they are is all congratulations for a game well played, Sherlock knows she has to catch her, but she feels inmense respect for Irene at the same time. Irene knows she needs to run and deliver her charge, but she’s having so much fun. Wato meets Irene’s “““assistant”“” (her GF) and has some helpful insight of her own.

Sherlock finds herself conflicted: She’s being tasked to find Irene and retrieve the document, that’s her reputation and honor at stake. YET, she does not want Irene to lose. We know more of this good fellow she offended and now Sherlock knows he deserved to be stopped, Irene is a roge bullet that always hits the target she needs and harms no one else.

Wato sees right through her- and gets jealous bc this is gay fellas- and calls Sherlock out on not doing all she can to trap this criminal. They have a great discussion about criminality and justice.

But Sherlock has also been spotted by Reimon, who believes that criminal acts such as Irene’s can’t go unpunished, so Sherlock does give it her all, swearing to herself that this is the last time she will try, and if Irene scapes, she will not persecute her.

She traps Irene while her lover is waiting for her on a jet sent by a red of vigilantes that gave Irene assylum. More great discussion, more girly rivalry, they aknowlege each other and Irene explains her motives: How the good fellow had a career sustained on providing the higher circles with ya know- people- and how she has the means to prove it, she shows it to Sherlock and explains how she plans on destroying him and his career to prevent him, and people like him, rising to power.

In the original, Irene beats Holmes on his own game, but I like sorority and I like games, so while Sherlock is distracted by Irene’s evidence, she pulls one last stunt that manages to allow her scape.

Sherlock realises right on time, but keeps the evidence and decides to do nothing, later arguing that she was incapacitated due to *insert weird but probable reason* and could not catch it.

She does return the document to the “good fella”, who destroys it. Wato questions it because he was a ruin man who did not deserve their help.

Cut to a week later, we see the young politician announcing his permanent retirement from politics. We also learn he’s been donating parts of his fortune to several charities while he stares angrily and a picture on his phone.

While he’s signing the money away, we see Irene Adler kissing her girlfriend in some remote part of the world, the original document on her table.

Cut to Sherlock smiling while she drinks tea.

[nega-aria]

Can I ask for tips on how to write a good Darkwing Duck fanfic? Seeing as you are freaking awesome at it

First of all, thank you! ♥ I mean, to me my writing never seems good enough but such is an artist’s curse -__- It means the world to me to know that other people think it’s amazing though, and it is super sweet of you to say so!

Now that the sappy stuff is out of the way, I will do my best to give you some tips! There are several major things that I always keep in mind that I think are important when you’re writing any sort of story: vocabulary, scene setting, and balance... omg I basically just wrote a thesis statement. Damnit college! Anyway, it’s still true.

Variety is important to really make your stories interesting to read so a thesaurus is your best friend. Of course that’s not going to give you every possible option though, so I always like to take note of cool words that I hear on TV or in real life that I’ve never heard before or are just really neat, underutilized words. The more you can expand your word repertoire the more interesting your stories will sound. Saying the same thing over and over never sounds as good. No your sentences don’t need to be huge and hard to understand (that’s just frustrating and sounds pretentious), just seek diversity both in the words you use and your sentence structure.

On that note, it’s important to use said words to paint the scene. Saying “it was a park” does far less to draw a reader in than describing it as “a small, green oasis nestled within a bustling urban dessert”. I certainly don’t claim to be an expert on this, and style is very personal for every writer, but take that extra time to really depict what’s going on rather than just giving a laundry list of things or people that are around.

On the flip side, don’t over describe because a lot can be said for the parts that are left up to the reader’s imagination. This is where balance comes in. Tell the audience what’s going on, but don’t go so in depth that it once again becomes a laundry list but just a fancy one. Let the characters speak and try to make it believable. Give those hints of their mannerisms but don’t say every little movement. A really simple way to channel a character is to binge watch their episodes before you try to write for them. Really get their voice in your head, memorize the sound and the pacing, and make note of how they act when they speak. For example: DW will tug his collar when he’s nervous, and he drags out the word faaaaaabulous pretty much every time he says it (totally not gay af) so really try to add these sorts of details. Those are the important things that really make it that character and not just any person. 

Those are the main things that I have done over the years to improve the way I write, but there are tons of little tips that you can learn from writers, and honestly a good way to do that is to just pay close attention to the stories you enjoy. If you really look at how they write and what you like about it that can do a ton to inspire your own style!

Final tip: HAVE FUN! It’s not worth it if you’re not having fun especially when it comes to fanfiction. Don’t worry about it being self-serving because that’s exactly what fanfiction is supposed to be ;3 Just do your thang!

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT Rewatch 1X04 - The Price of Gold

Week two!!! I’d say my thoughts on this episode are just GOLDEN, but I don’t let me INFANTIZE your experience - go read below the cut if you don’t believe me!

XD We have fun here sometimes!!!!

Press Release Emma tries to help a young pregnant woman escape from the clutches of Mr. Gold. Meanwhile, back in the fairytale world that was, Cinderella makes a regrettable deal with Rumplestiltskin. General Thoughts Past So, Snow gives a very interesting recontextualizing of the Cinderella story. I think it’s important to discuss that because that’s what the Cinderella story (And its many, many indirect retellings) was designed to show to audiences. I once took a theatre class that showed that during times like the Great Depression, theatres were making Cinderella plays and musicals as a way to show that there was hope for improving one’s situation. My only problem with this flashback is that Ella 1.0 is not super compelling. I buy her desperation, which gets a lot more understanding once “The Other Shoe” aired, but otherwise, she’s not exactly pleasant nor interesting to watch on the screen. All of the interesting plans having to do with her are made around her, not with her. That said - in that same vein - she serves as a great introduction device for the theme of “all magic comes with a price.” Her naivete allows us to see just how much can go under your nose when you’re willing to do “anything” to get what you want.

And Rumple plays off her brilliantly, taking advantage of that naivete to get what he wants, and all the while, making Ella feel twisted every way. Speaking of which, finally, I want to touch upon a unpopular opinion I have. Many take issue with the fact that we never see where Rumple stowed Thomas, but I don’t share that concern. It’s pretty clear that where he was didn’t matter and that no matter what, nothing short of the honoring of Ella and Rumple’s deal would bring him back, and in the present, only when Emma makes a substitute deal is the family reunited. Present Regina has fascinated me in that she’s continuously - despite being evil in these moments - delivered the themes of the episodes. While I was mostly talking about the roots line when I wrote that last sentence, the next line below fits this BEYOND perfectly too! “People don’t change. They only fool themselves into believing they can.” To quote Rumple, “when you can see the future, there’s irony everywhere.” Still, at the same time, while she tells the theme, it’s others who show it, providing a very layered level of insight for Emma. For example, in this episode, Emma sees the danger of running away and its effects on the safety and well being of a family dynamic and internalizes the lesson so she can prove herself beyond what Regina thinks. Also, Emma’s speech is just remarkable. It speaks to a more nuanced approach to her cynicism. She’s more than that and has optimism, but optimism on her terms. It’s a mix of the Lands With and Without Magic that genuinely works. I’d also be a fool to not talk about Gold, because wow! Immediately, he knows just the right strings to pull with Emma - someone who he’s only conversed with for a matter of seconds - to get her to do whatever he wants. But even still, while Gold does prevail through similar means, Emma does show that she’s only one or two small steps behind him with how she breaks through hit litigation with real world sympathies.

Now, I said Ella wasn’t too compelling, but Ashley by contrast is super compelling, She’s a foil to Emma, and really shows her dedication to changing her life in every scene she’s in and we get a sense for it as more characters talk about her. While it breaks the “show, don’t tell rule” a bit, I find that it works well enough. Sean too really sells what it’s like to be between a rock and a hard place with his family and his dad is not without a smidge of dimension too! Insights I like how the wands of the different fairies all have different designs. Cinderella’s fairy has a wand that’s like a light bulb - it’s glass on the outside, but there’s light on the inside. Meanwhile, Fiona’s is closer to tree bark mixed with charcoal. I’m going to pay closer attention to the wands going forward. I wonder if they knew when they wrote this episode that Rumple was going to have future powers. “It all comes down to the number seven.” SOMEONE ON THAT STAFF WAS FUCKING PSYCHIC! Maybe Adam’s tweet was real! XD This is our first real appearance of Gold’s shop, and what an introduction! The darkness alongside the creepy music and the fact that it’s a break in allows for an unhinged tone to settle in and we get to see some foreshadowing and call backs in a way that doesn’t take one out of the experience. Why does Regina never hire a babysitter? Henry is ten and he’s snuck out no less than three times in as many episodes. Get Sidney to spend a couple of hours in your house! He will literally do whatever you say! Why when breaking in and out of places do these people not wait ten minutes?! I mean, i know why - narrative shorthand (Same for why Henry has no babysitter), but damnit, they might see you! XD I love that awkward bit between Henry and Gold. Honestly, half of my insights here are just going to be that irony line. Emma’s whine about trying to be responsible is just adorable! I don’t want to be “that girl” who bitches about continuity stuff, but under the curse, does Ella have another step family? Because her real step family is in the Land of Untold Stories. “Anyone who wants to be a mother should damn well be able to be one.” I feel like there’s a lot to unpack about that line but I’m going to choose to interpret it as “anyone willing to dedicate themselves to motherhood and understand the responsibilities that come with it deserves a chance to be a mother.” The gardens are so beautiful in this episode! I wonder what Henry’s nickname for Emma was. “Mom,” perhaps? That would make sense given that’s exactly what he calls her not even a season afterwards. Awww! There’s a Regal Believer parallel. Just as Cinderella’s prince found his True Love’s shoe, Regina found Henry’s shoe!!! Arcs Emma’s journey of belief - What I like about season 1 is that most every episode contributes to the growth of this single arc, and here’s no exception. Just like Emma and Henry’s relationship needs roots to grow, as do the seeds of hope with one firm belief. While Emma doesn’t believe Henry, she does believe in Henry and in their bond, and as that develops, she takes more and more steps to cement it. Emma and Rumple’s deal - While there are mentions if it here and there going forward, as we all know, this arc won’t conclude until season two. Still, I like this deal as it’s created because the idea of keeping a baby and a mother’s life options is so personal to Emma so it makes for a compelling deal but at the same time isn’t something she would back out of. Regina and Graham’s affair - This is introduced here, and I’ll have more to say on it in a few episodes. Favorite Dynamic Emma and Henry. Already, you can see inklings of payoff for their dynamic. Emma is starting to seek Henry out a bit more to spend time together, as evidenced by her insisting on walking him to school. Additionally, when Henry tries guilt tripping her, Emma is much more overt to the fact that it’s working. Their quips are so much more casual and friendly and it just makes me so excited to see more of them! It’s such a far cry from episode 1, and in the best way possible! Writer David Goodman gets his first go around and he gets a strong start here! His strength - at least here - is a delivery of theme. Both themes - the price of magic and the need to not run away in order to create a family - are delivered with precision, but at the same time doesn’t feel like I’m being beaten over the head with it. Rating 9/10. My only problem is - again - Ella. You’ll see later on that I love Once’s diversity in terms of showing women with different qualities to their characters. Some are braver and sassier, some are mean, some are gentle and never fight, and some are scared. I think that that is so important because male characters often get to be all these things and more where as women are often bozed in as either ice women or more or less princesses. By that merit, I should love Ella too, but what I don’t love is that she really doesn’t have all that much agency in the flashback. Apart from her initial deal with Rumple - the character’s best flashback scene in this episode - she mostly just follows what other say and whines. That said, through her, we get to see the first instance of a theme that will occur regularly on this show, “all magic comes with a price,” and she serves that theme effectively enough. But please, don’t take this as me disliking the episode, because there’s so much to like. Despite playing once again a minor role in this episode (Which is funny considering the episode’s title), Rumple/Gold shines like a polished apple here. In the Enchanted Forest, not only does he deliver the theme of the episode brilliantly alongside Ella, gets to finally show off his own villainy. He kills a fairy and tries to extort away an infant. That’s just dastardly and I love it! And in Storybrooke, he tries it again and additionally manipulates Emma. The way he pulls on her insecurities makes him so compelling. We’d already seen it does with Regina, yes, but they have history. Emma - despite Gold knowing her role in the grander scheme of things - is a stranger to him. Also, while not working in the Enchanted Forest for me, Ashley is fantastic in Storybrooke! Finally, just all of the little nuggets of storytelling with Emma. Her various dynamics in this episode really drive the theme she needs to learn as well. Flip My Ship Ella/Ashley and Thomas/Sean: The relationship between Ella and the Prince really works. They don’t get a lot of time together, but in every moment the Prince is on screen, he is kind and supportive in an active way, making me really buy the connection between the two of them. He’s also very no-nonsense, making him a pretty strong character in his own right. And in Storybrooke, the tough position Sean is in, and the decision he makes at the end of the episode makes forgiving him really easily. Glass Believer: In the Regal Believer moment with the shoe, we get some probably not-at-all-intended-but-still-cute-as-hell Glass Believer too!!!!!

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Thank you for reading and to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales for setting this all up! See you next time! Season Tally (39/220) Writer Tally for Season 1: A&E (20/70) Liz Tigelaar (10/20) David Goodman (9/50)

[friendly-neighborhood-michelle]

Losing your virginity to Peter Parker - h.c.

*requested by anon*: Please do a losing your virginity to tom/peter parker story plssss

my first smut-ish based writing okay I can do this sorry if it sucks im not very experienced okay let’s go! thank you so much for requesting 👏🏼❤️😘

I apologise for any grammar or spelling mistakes it was kinda a one shot of a head cannon

*IMPORTANT: I'm so open and supportive of writing imagines for any sexuality, race, gender, ethnicity so PLEASE let me know when you request so I can make it more for you💕 I myself am a bisexual White-Latina female so please I'd love to write more diverse imagines and I'm so open to writing some in Spanish 😘❤️* and if you want to request something just for you that you don't want posted message me and I'd LOVE to do that ❤️💛💚💙💜💖 okay I love you all message me if you're feeling any sort of emotion I love talking to people and it's so healthy to be expressive even if you just talk to me through anon messages*

———-

Losing Your Virginity To Peter Parker:

•first of all the bb would be so shy

• you’d probably be dating for like a couples months or years buts it’s been like one big daydream

- Peter still doesn’t know how he got a girl as pretty as u honestly

• you’d be watching Star Wars on his bed and it’d be your like 100th time watching it with peter

- you’re both huge nerds and that’s why you love each other

• and you’d be super invested in the movie but homeboy was just watching you the whole time 


- ‘dAmN sHe FuCkiN CUtE’ was all he could think

• so he’d finally get the courage to kinda cuddle his way into you and he’d go to kiss you on the cheek

• but you’d turn your head and his lips would land on yours which caused u both to just smile into the kiss

•boy got a lil too excited and went full force make out but like

- u sure as hell weren’t complaining

• boy has got soft ass lips let’s be real here

• and he’d be so in love with u wtf ok continuing

• you’d realize u needed to make the big move so you pushed yourself onto his lap

• he’d be hella surprised but only cause he’s super happy and excited

• he’d be super shy about feelin’ u up but you grabbed his hand with yours and put his hand on ur hip

- boy got the message and put his other 
hand right under the hem of ur shirt

• his hands felt sO gOoD on ur sKiN AJDKFAS

• you’d start to kiss his jaw but like only for a little bit, not knowing if Peter liked it

• so when you went back to kissing his lips he decided he was gonna go for it

• and he just went for it and his lips were attacking your neck and it was the first time a boy has done that and BOI DID IT FEEL NICE

• so when Peter found ur sweet spot you couldn’t help but moan a little bit

• he got so turned on and *you could tell*

• he flipped u over so you were on your back and he was above you

• he’d be so sweet and say “I love you so much”

• and you’d be all “I know petey you tell me every day”

• and he’d be all “I know *kiss* but *kiss* I want to show you how much I care” he’d say while kissing your neck

• *CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW MUCH PETER WOULD LOVE YOUR HANDS IN HIS HAIR MOVING ON*

• by now y'all were gazing into each other’s eyes

• “I-I-if that’s okay?” He’d say all cute

• “god damnit Peter I love you” and then you’d just pull his shirt and kiss him super passionately

• but he’d pull away and say “I need to hear you say yes, it’s not okay unless you say yes.”

- Cause he wanted to make sure you 
 absolutely wanted to

• “yes.” You’d say and he’d smile and let out a sigh and then y'all kept making out and quickly undress each other

• he’d see you naked for the first time and stop his actions and be all

- “holy shit”

- and you’d get scared like “what???”

- but homeboy is just in awe “you’re so 
 beautiful."

- *cue ovaries in overdrive*

• he’d grab out a condom flash had thrown at him one day as a joke but he kept it just in case idk

• and he’d be super gentle and scared as FUCK

• but after going in he’d be all “does this hurt? Are you okay?”

• and it being your first time you were “y-yeah, it’s good”

• and it’d be kinda short and slow but with so much passion and love and care

• Peter would freak out every time you moaned cause at first thought he’d think he was hurting you but then he got all cocky and excited that he would make you feel so good

• and after it all he would be so proud of himself and you’d just cuddle for HOURS ON END

• and once you were wearing one of his Midtown sweaters that’d be super big on you and he’d be in his boxers he’d think it was super cliche but super cute and he loved it and he loved you

• once you had fallen asleep he’d keep replaying it in his head and how much he loved you

• so he kissed your exposed shoulder and neck a little and whisper

- “God I want to marry you someday”

•and he’d lay back down and sigh contently and wrap his arm around your middle and burry his head in the back of your neck

• little did he know you were still awake and maybe or maybe not a little tear of pure joy slipped out cause peter was the love of your life no doubt

————-

LOVE YOU ALL SORRY IF ITS NOT GOOD ITS NOT FULL SMUT IK BUT IM NEW TO THIS CONCEPT BUT I LOVE YOU ANON HMU IF THIS WAS U I WANNA BE FRIENDS WITH ALL OF YOU ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️