#litertature

[imaginaryfriend20]

The moment you realise as a STEM girly who does English litertature to fulfil her humanities requirements, with 3 entire chapters to be dissected on your own and analysed since you weren't taught because your teacher had no time to and write whatever the hell comes in the general exam hoping whatever your perspective tallies with theirs that you are fucked

[fabiansteinhauer]

römisch

1.

Der homo rhetoricus kursiert in 'der Deutschland' und 'die Brasilien', im Recht und in der Rhetorik, in der Wissenschaft und in der Praxis, in der Geschichte und Theorie kursiert.

Im Juni betrachten wir sein Kursieren als Kursieren in/ über die Kreuzungen, die im englischen Intersections genannt werden. Mein Beitrag betrachtet, das sagt man so und dann erwarten die Leser dass man sagt, was er denn betrachtet. Das ist einfach und völlig eindeutig zu sagen: Der Beitrag betrachtet die Geschichte und Theorie juridischer Kulturtechnik, durch die/ dank der der homo rhetoricus in/ über Kreuzungen kursiert und so auch in Deutschland und Brasilien, Recht und Rhetorik, Wissenschaft und Praxis, Geschichte und Theorie kursiert.

Das ist einfach zu sagen, aber bleiben wir nochmal beim Anfang des Satzes, nämlich der Bemerkung, dass der Beitrag betrachtet. Das ist eine Tautologie und noch was. Das fällt etwas auf sich zurück, rekursiv. Diese Passage ist sehr kurz, sagt nur, dass der Beitrag betrachtet und noch gar nicht, was er betrachtet. Und schon fällt etwas auf sich zurück. Was anderes soll er denn tun, der Beitrag, also zu betrachten? Tragen und Trachten sind insoweit doch Wiederholungen, wenn auch Differenz darin mitläuft. Bei, be: auch das sind Wiederholungen, auch wenn Differenz mitläuft. Zu sagen, dass der Beitrag betrachtet, das sagt man aber so und es hat Gründe, deren Zählung zuviel Zeit schlucken würde, dann käme ich nicht dazu, am Workshop teilzunehmen.

Einfach gesagt, nur die wichtigsten Gründe: Das hat was mit Grammatik, Logik und Phänomenologie zu tun, damit, dass man von der Situation ausgeht, in der ein Subjekt etwas macht und dem Objekt etwas getan oder gemacht wird. Ich akzpetiere das herzlich gerne und damit auch launisch wütend, zur jeder Zeit und in jeder historischen Weise, wie sich das dann so äußert und niederschlägt. Mit den Gründen haben ich mir jetzt leicht gemacht, gut so, das Leben und die Wissenschaft sollen leicht sein. Mit einem Haken machen ich es mir dann aber auch leicht. Man sagt, dass die Leute eine Sprache sprechen. Oft fragen dann die Leute gar nicht nach, welche das denn sei, selbst wenn das nicht abstrakt, sondern konkret gesagt wird. Flusser fala alemão, das sagen die Leute leichten Herzens und wütender Laune. Flusser spricht Deutsch und sie schreiben das Objekt dann sogar groß, das tut man so.

Fabian kocht deutsch. Na toll, dann schreiben die Leute das mal wieder klein. Ist ja mal wieder typisch! Und das, wo ich doch so groß bin! Immer wollen sie mich beleidigen, niemand sieht, wer ich wirklich bin. Richterin Britz zur Hilfe! Niemand hat die Absicht meine Majestät zu beleidigen und ich meine, das wäre ich. Wollen die mit der Bauptung, dass ich deutsch koche, sagen, dass ich immer soviel Tippfehler mache und die deutsche Sprache verhunze, zerkoche, fermentiere, reifen, gären und schimmel lasse, anbrate und anbrennen lasse, oder wie oder was? Ich koche Deutsch, merkt euch das mal, ihr angefocht'nen Seelen! Ich schreibe deutsch, nehmet an des Glaubens Flügel!

2.

Passionen beiseite geht nicht, aber Passion mal nicht so hochkochen lassen, das geht eventuell. Der Haken des Umstandes, dass der Beitrag betrachtet, soll klein gemacht werden. Es gibt eine Welt, da sprechen Wesen keine Sprache. Da sprechen sie, aber es ist keine Sprache. Oder sie sprechen das Sprechen, dann ist die Technik rekursiv und kocht nicht so besonders hoch. Kinder sind solche Wesen, Tiere auch. Nach Deleuze und Guattari ist sogar Kafka so ein Wesen. Darum sagen die beiden, dass die kleine Litertatur von einem Hund geschrieben wird, der eine Kuhle buddelt. Das ist im Chinesischen ein Ausdruck für Rechtsprechung (paraphrasiert) und bei Luhmann ein Ausdruck für das Schreiben (paraphrasiert), der sagt Kerben dazu, wie in Curb your enthusiasm (Passionen kühlen/ nur in Kuhlen passen lassen, nicht hochkochen lassen).

Kinder sprechen. Im Alter zwischen 2 und 5 gleiten sie vom Deutschen ins Russische, wechseln sauber vom Deutschen ins Russische, ohne zu wissen oder erklären zu können, ob sie eine Sprache sprechen oder ob es zwei sind oder ob die Sprache entzwei ist. Ich habe es mitbekommen, so ist mein Sohn aufgewachsen. Man schmeisst sie ins Wasser und sie schimmen, ein Wunder, dessen Geschwindigkeit schwindelerregend ist. DIe ersten 24 Monate stottern manche etwas, ab da haben in der Regel alle kapiert, worum es geht, behalten das Wissen praktisch und solange irritationsfrei, bis ihnen der Surealismus und der Lettrismus, DADA und die PHANTOM Avantgarde sowie der Situationismus ausgetrieben wird, weil sie in die Schule müssen. Bis sie 12 Jahre alt sind, bleibt ihre Zunge so wendig, dass sie mehr als eine Sprache mütterlich nutzen. Leute, die wollen, dass ihr Gott tanzt und die darum gerne Baseler Archäologie lesen, sind auch Leute, die physiologisch davon sprechen, dass die Hirnhälften aber langsam auseinanderdriten würden und dann etwas an der Zunge verkümmere, ihre Wendigkeit. Wer weiß.

Wenn Kinder sprechen, sprechen sie nicht nur. Sie sind wie die Rhetoren, die reden, aber nicht nur reden. Sie sind wie die Säuglinge, von deren Tun der Vatican seinen Namen haben soll, wenn man die attischen Nächte ernt nimmt. Sie sprechen, aber es ist nicht eine Sprache, die sie sprechen. Wenn es etwas ist, was sie sprechen, dann ist es das Sprechen, ein Sprechen. Ein Element schleicht sich ein, wenn man diesem Objekt einen Artikel zuordnet und das Objekt groß schreibt. Das ist mit dem it in itAlien vergleichbar. Zu diesem it sagen Deleuze und Guattari, dass es kein Artikel, weder einen bestimmten noch einen unbestimmten Artikle verdient habe. Es schneit, nicht das Es schneit. Es regnet, nicht das Es regnet. Nicht so schlimm, wir wissen, was gemeint ist. Mit dem Sprechen passiert etwas, sobald gesprochen wird, dass eine Sprache gesprochen wird. Man fügt das Element einer Hochsprache ein, indem man das Sprechen hypostasiert und sogar nationalisiert. Homo rhetoricus macht das, als Subjekt und Objekt, muss es aber nicht tun. Und selbst wenn, nicht so schlimm. Man hypostasiert halt was. Als Rechtfertigung könnte man immer sagen: vitam instituere/ debent. Das Leben gehört (wir haben Juni!) angerichtet, zu Speis' und Trank. Stimmt nicht ganz, das was man sagt, aber geschenkt, das Leben ist doch super gerade, was will man mehr. Völlig richtig.

2.

Die Geschichte und Theorie juridischer Kulturtechnik betrachtet rekursiv, via detour und kooperativ. Betrachtet sie Kreuzungen (Kontrafakturen oder Simulation/ Dissimulation) historisch, theoretisch, juridisch, kulturtechnisch und...kreuzend. Der Begriff Kreuzung spielt u.a bei Luhmann eine Rolle, dort bezieht er sich auf ein Formenkalkül. In der Situation, in der die Kreuzung durch Brasilien/ Deutschland, Recht/ Rhetorik, Wissenschaft/ Praxis und Geschichte/ Theorie kreuzt, nimmt die Komplexität ein Maß an, in dem jeder Eintritt ein Austritt ist. Das soll die Hypostasierung nicht abschaffen, weder den Eintritt noch den Austritt. Das passiert ja so, Kreuzungen nehmen eine Komplexität an, dass sie absichtlos los sind, ohne sogar ihre Absicht zu verlieren. Ihre Absichtslosigkeit ist kein Verlust, auch wenn Leute dann sagen, die Welt hätte ihre Eindeutigkeit verloren oder ihr Sinn sei fragmeniert. Das sagt man so, wenn man ein Sprache spricht und trotzdem die Sprachen wechseln kann.

Die Geschichte und Theorie juridischer Kulturtechnik, das ist für mich der Titel einer Wissenschaft, die ich erfinden oder re-artikulieren muss, um den Fragen nachzugehen, die sich mir aufdrängen. Ich hypostasiere ja auch. Vier Kollegen haben zu Frage des Verhältnisses zwischen Rekursion und Kreuzung Vorschläge gemacht, die mir für dieses Thema Vorraussetzungen sind. In historischer Reihenfolge sind das (1.) Aby Warburg, (2 a/b.)Marcelo Neves/ Cornelia Vismann und (3.) Thomas Vesting. Die Zeit ist immer diesselbe, ich spreche im Hinblich auf Chronologie nur von einer Reihung, die leicht verständlich ist, man zählt in Sonnenjahren und Mondphasen, nur das Verhältnis zwischen Neves und Vismann ist kompliziert.

Zuerst macht Aby Warburg denn Vorschlag, vom Schwingen und Pendeln zu sprechen, wenn es um das Distanzschaffen geht, dass juridische Kulturtechnik leistet. Er schlägt weiter vor, dieses Schwingen und Pendeln nicht allein hermeneutisch zu entfalten, sondern auch physikalisch, geographisch, meteorologisch, historiographisch, statistisch oder soziographisch und psychographisch zu entfalten (sehr komplex!, zu wenig Zeit bis auf weiteres). Wäre die Skizze nicht ohnehin graphisch, könnte man von Skizzographie sprechen, aber wo ich es jetzt geschrieben haben, fällt mir ein: rekursiv operieren wir ohnehin, warum also nicht skizzographisch?

Neves schlägt vor, von Zentrum und Peripherie zu sprechen, von Kreis und Kreisen.

Vismann schlägt vor, von Groß und klein zu sprechen.

Thomas Vesting schlägt vor, von Oszillation und Vernetzung zu sprechen.

Dazu schlage ich als fünftes Rad am Wagen und rekursiv wie die Passage 'Der Beitrag betrachtet' vor, diese vier Unterscheidungen in die Geschichte und Theorie der Rhetorik zu übersetzen, auf rhetorische Technik zu beziehen, die zwischen maior (hoch/ sublim) und minor (tief/ subtil), Adresssierung/ Polarisierung, juristisch/ juridisch sowie zwischen Luxus und Askese unterscheidet. Ach, und die Kopplungen, ihr Loses und Striktes, ihr Strukturelles und ihr Blitz, die Adressierung/ Orientierung/ Lokalisierung der Gitterstäbe und der Kassiber, das bleibt auch auch noch zu präzisieren. Ich fokussiere derweil, zur Wiederholung: (1.) maior/ minor; (2.) Adressierung/ Polarisierung; (3.) juristisch/ juridisch, (4.) Luxus/ Askese. Wozu hat der Mensch schließlich zwei Augen und wozu schreibt er in Schichten von Schichten?

Fazit: Wir haben ein Forschungsprogramm, das den Terminkalender um 2000 (Akten oder Regel und Fiktion) angefangen zu füllen und in dem bis ins 2037 kein Platz mehr ist, um noch ein zweites Forschungsprogramm zu entwickeln. Also: Dauer, 37 Jahre. Kosten: Gigantisch, Titel: geschichte und Theorie juridischer Kulturtechnik, rein vorsorglich, falls es doch nicht systematisch zugeht in der Welt und sie nicht dekonstruiert werden muss, weil das ihr Alltag ist, die Kinder sprechen und die Hunde buddeln doch prima.

Darum tendiere ich in Bezug auf die Unterscheidung zwischen Luxus und Askese in Richtung Luxus, mit deutlichem bis transgressivem Zug, aber wem sag ich das, it's an ausgeplappertes Geheimnis. Die Zeitschrift Tumult gilt heute als AfD-Blättchen, was soll ich dazu sagen?

[brattyteenager]

I understand that the take that "a play is a piece of literature just like a novel!" Is a good way to get non theatre people interested in the great plays like shakespeare and ibsen and chekov and gives them some sense that this "cringe" art form is AkShUlLy WoRtH tHeIr TiMe but it's just an overt falsehood. If you write your play as a piece of litertature you have failed. It's meant to be seen, theatre is a sensory experience. Screenplays don't need to be legitimized bc movies aren't inherently "cringe" and don't have a stinky aura, but people hate theatre so much you have to go around telling lies about it. It also becomes hyperstitional and now half of the playwrights in america are writing their plays to appeal to lit departments and the cursed "yale drama series" instead of to be performed. What a foul ouroboros. Novels are for contemplation, theatre is for action. Inherently not the same.

[alonzonich1999]

Libra, the scales of justice.  It can help you to see through one's facade to their inner desires, and lays bare the truth that without freedom you cannot have any true justice.

mahou galaxy: chapter 4

[she-reads-and-eats-cookies]

[hardcore-gaming-101]

The Untold History of Japanese Game Developers Blu-Ray

Now available on Amazon for $23.99

Author and journalist John Szczepaniak spent three months travelling around Japan, interviewing over 80 members of the games industry for a trilogy of books spanning nearly a million words. Originally released exclusively for Kickstarter backers, this remastered Blu-Ray documentary, available publicly for the first time, contains a selection of those interviewed.

Read more...

[mahmoodjamal]

The Story of a Night.

There once was a lady called Nada and she’s in her twenties. By her friends and people, she was always judged as a Psychopath, mad and schizophrenic. In a certain point of Nada’s life, she determined not to have any more friends. This was due to pain she felt from them. After losing her friends, Nada started to find out the meaning of Nothingness, Purposelessness, Emptiness and suffering of Nada. Man, in this stance, may execute a lot of actions. One may commit suicide, another might become a criminal, others may do many things! This girl started to try everything offered by life. Nada started looking for new groups of friends but found None! She tried to be a holy person by following each letter of the bible but found so impossible. Nada started to doubt every religion, every holy person, every rule issued by governments and kings. Nada thought it is impossible to live, feel happy and be comfortable. One day, this poor lady entered the life of science, literature and books. She started to listen to intellectual people, reading books, stories, novels and essays thinking that her life is going to improve. At the very beginning, she started to feel happy as she started to understand how authors or scientists think. Even Nada began having discussions with her acquaintance and family. Things went their wrong way. Nada’s life started to get worse and worse, bit by bit, she lost her family’s trust in all her decisions and perspectives. No one wishes to be in such a situation as Nada got all her life complicated and darkened. While Nada was sleeping, a weird apparition showed up and awakened that simple complicated lady. The lady got so scared and covered her eyes with the blanket. The ghost finally started to speak and uttered ‘’ To help I am here’’. Nada was still scared and started reading some verses she remembers from the bible, thinking that her ghost will disappear. The ghost left the room leaving a sign that says ‘’Remember, No One was here to help except for thee, if thou want thee back, call my name Frank’’. That poor pale lady thought many days and nights about what happened and finally got her decision to call out the apparition. In that night, Nada started looking to the sky and cried ‘’Help me frank, my heart is blank’’. Behind Nada, a ghost appeared among much green smoke! Again, Nada felt dreadful and hid in her bed. It seemed the ghost has a few words to say. It offered Nada to own everything in this universe, fortunes, treasures, gold, friends, love, power and intellectuality. Nada didn’t hesitate to accept that great offer as she nodded her head up and down in a shy scared way. The ghost didn’t need her words as it already could read Nada’s mind. Frank hymned and mentioned some weird words and from now on, everything changed. Nada’s Hell turned into Heaven. Her life became awesome. As she wished, new friends are getting close to her, all the family love she got. Money and wealth coming out of nowhere as she gained the respect and the fake love of all people around her. Actually, all what Frank did was giving Nada wealth. Wealth was like a magnet, but a magnet that attracted everything and not only iron. Nada was happy with all the new things she got. She got all her time full. No one leaves her house and she got no space anymore. Nada thought it was the end of all suffering. One thing Nada forgot is that a magnet doesn’t only attract but also Repels! Nada tried to enjoy her wealth as much as possible as she drank much wine, had illegal relationships, smoked cigarettes and finally she forgot her personality. Nada forgot about all her books, science, literature and religion! New Nada was careless, sane one doesn’t wish to be. All her eyes are blinded but with a lie, a big lie! Nada forgot all her previous thoughts that life has no happiness and that one can never be happy. What happened now? Is Nada really happy or she’s lying to herself? After one year of this classy, ‘’perfect’’, and amazing life, Nada was sitting in a café waiting for her coffee to drink. It was night and dark. Where she was sitting, a small brochure was there. Nada picked it up and started browsing… some words got Nada’s attention and stole her heart, brain and mind. Some words got Nada devastated from the inside. All the emptiness entered her heart and soul again! Many ideas entered; many ideas got out and many ideas disappeared. The brochure mentioned ‘’Death can be defined by life, white can be defined by black, land can be defined by sky and good can be defined by evil’’. Finally, that piece of paper said ‘’God can be defined by demons!’’. God, what is this word? Doesn’t it sound familiar to Nada’s ear and mind? It’s been a long time that Nada didn’t think of this word and its meaning and existence. Nada uttered inside ‘’How could I believe in devils after falsifying God’s existence?” Suddenly, Nada left the café and went out home without even paying the waiter. Nada got so scared about her future, death, God, Hell, Heaven! During that midnight, she opened the bible and started to read God’s words as hoping to find some satisfactory words. Maybe it’s not a good idea to read the bible while you are dealing with a demon. Frank suddenly appeared with an angry face uttering:

‘’What have I done wrong? I offered thee everything’’.

Nada said: ‘’you lent me everything but forgot to tell me about GOD!

Then Nada cried: ‘’ It is God who gave you all of this, you are not able to do anything without God’s will!’’.

Frank replied: “Thou must have realized this before uttering my name, now it is over’’.

After this conversation, Frank mentioned taking Nada with it forever to Hell! Frank attacked Nada and choked her to death. In these few seconds, Nada started to fade and to lose all her senses. Finally, Nada found out that it was all a dream and she saw no Frank, no devil and no apparition. All she learnt by the dream is that happiness lies in the unknown. Nada went to the highest building in her town and threw herself to the unknown, to Death, to God, to Hell, to Heaven. People crowded around that poor old lady who is in her youth! All people around there thought Nada was sad and frustrated. Nada now is the only one who knows the Unknown! Nada is finally happy.

[summerdiastleen]

somebody made me a short story for my 20th birthday

The Dreaming Girl in the Sphere

Like any cliché short story, this starts with a ‘Once upon a time’. The difference of this story from every other story which starts with such is that, this was written by a complete amateur and all that follows could just be a product of a night fuelled by coffee and indistinct images of the narrator’s most beloved in mind. This isn’t a sad story nor is it a happy one. Time: 1:02am.

Are you ready?

I’d advise you to stop reading right now but I know you’d keep going. Because you are you. This isn’t a good story, I could tell you for sure. Please don’t leave the narrator after finishing this piece.

Start.

Once upon a time, before time probably even existed, there lived a girl floating in a sphere the size of a room perhaps one would rent to accommodate a friend and her boyfriend in need. Except in this sphere she is alone. The orb of water floats in a concept of a universe nobody knows existed—because nobody else existed in the first place. She is alone. In this place, her sphere capsulated her in comfort. Her clear orb was breathable and transparent, floating into a conceptual space and everywhere she looked, the stars were visible, just like how she likes it.

The girl in the orb didn’t know her name or how she came to be. The conceptual universe loved its creation but it knew that it felt sadness deep down. Years of solitude made her heart hard, not knowing companionship or genuine care from another made her—for the lack of a better word—independent.

There was nothing much to do in her space. No one to talk to. It was hard to keep track of time because time wasn’t even a concept at that point, if there was a point. She spends her infinite days blinking back at the twinkling star—light years away from her. Sometimes she’d catch herself holding her breath as if she was conscious of the worldly logic and knowledge a hypothetical world which definitely does not exist has.

Curious. She was learning without cues, teachers, or social experiences. She was gifted with the brilliance of the universe. And just like its maker, her consciousness was also expanding infinitely. Floating in a concept of space, this girl was endowed with round eyes that sparked with every new discovery. Her eye lashes were long and elegant such that if there was ever a breeze in space, it would sway lightly as if dancing to a slow waltz. Her lips were as soft as a balloon filled with water and her cheeks felt like the bed of a hardworking Olympian after an exhausting day of practice—soft and warm. The liquid atmosphere of her sphere lets her hair sway freely into space and the light from billions of stars made her skin glow. If there were others in that conceptual space, from their view, she’d look like another star twinkling in space, light years away. Except brighter.

She was amazing. But it doesn’t change the fact that she was lonely.

The universe recognized her loneliness and wanted her to feel happiness. And so she was given something.

She was allowed to dream.

“Only for a certain amount of time”, the universe said.

“When you see the star, and you’ll know it’s the right star, your dream will slowly come to an end”. And thus, time was set into motion for this girl.

Like a new born, she stretched her arms and legs, yawned, and closed her eyes. And like a new born, she slept like a baby. For the first time, she has felt sleepiness. For the first time, the girl in the sphere dreamt. The sun and stars illuminated her capsule and guarded her while she slept.

When she came to, she was already in her dream. In a completely new world than the one she floated in, she was already endowed with a sufficient amount of knowledge of this new place—another gift from the universe.

Her eyes met the ocean that stretched far into the horizon. She was standing on the sandy shore, bare and unmindful of her own nudity. She was focused only on the view in front of her. The flaming orange hue of the sunset shone in her eyes, and the warmth embraced her body. This was her first experience of warmth. And the sea, her closest experience of love.

She spent years in that place, living her life, meeting new people who to her surprise were so much alike her and sometimes the complete opposite of her. Her kindness escaped through her words and actions and so people were drawn to her. It also means that other people were envious of her.

More years have passed and her time in the sphere were like a hazy dream that could be easily wiped if not for her astute memory she was gifted with. More years have passed and she felt like this was the only world she ever knew.

One evening, when the sun had just set and the red hues were still covering the plains and trees of the shore she made a house out of, she came across a guy drinking with his friends. On the same shore she first came to when she started dreaming, she forgot she was dreaming.

The guy was conscious of her and found her beautiful immediately after laying his eyes on her. They talked until dawn and got to know a handful about each other. The more he got to know her, the more he fell for her. Their meeting was unbelievable and he thought, so was she. Her sincere smile, her captivating eyes and lashes, her mole around the middle of her neck and upper left corner of her forehead, her dreams and aspirations for the future. He listened, and he talked. And so, under the roof of a bluechip convenience store in the middle of a beautiful island dream, they talked. Until dawn, until one had to leave, they talked.

Days, weeks, and months have passed, the two only grew fonder of each other. They’ve gone through unexpected happenings and their fates intertwined over and over again be it coincidence or not. They’ve gone through so much together. Tears and cries were witnessed by both. Their vulnerabilities and defences were shared with each other.

To him, she was easily one of the most important person in his life. To him, she became everything. He loved her kindness and adored her unconditionally. He adored her more at times when she can’t even like herself. He was her greatest supporter and ally even when sometimes he doesn’t show it. And he hopes she knows. To him, she is the brightest star that warmed his heart. By this time, the boy was certain of her. And the girl, well she was starting to feel the same way. The boy hopes.

One star.

On a rainy day, it only took one star, twinkling far away in the horizon, to remind her of the gift of dream given to her. She never told him of the universe’s gift nor does she know how to tell him. She asked herself over and over how much of everything was real.

By the bed, the boy awoke to her crying. He asked, “What’s the problem, my love?” while he tried to console him with a warm embrace behind her back. She was standing still, looking at the star, tears falling from her round, sparkling eyes. She faced him and he faced her. The room fell silent for some time and he glanced over to the distant star. It was still twinkling but its time was about to come to an end. The final rays of light that travelled years were about to reach their eyes. They looked at each other again.

Odd. No words were exchanged but they smiled at each other with tears in their eyes. Their eyes sore and red. When they smile the bags under their eyes fold and their nose crinkled, also red like the Christmas reindeer of the new world they came to know.

The room felt smaller and their hearts felt closer. When their grins were wiped off their faces and the room felt silent for a mere second or two after a minute or so of drowning in the sound of repressed tears and smiling, the girl spoke.

“Thank you”. Her already dry tears were watered once again as she hugged the boy tightly. His shirt wet with her tears.

“I’ll find you”. Said he, looking at the distant star.

Confused, the girl asked, “what do you mean?” while looking up at him to meet his eye, still embracing him tightly.

“I mean…”, he hugged her back and leaned his head on his shoulder to feel her warmth one last time.

“…you gave me no other choice but to love you, Just Ly--”…

 She woke up from a long dream with only fragments of hazy recollections in her pocket of memories. Her eyes still red and her heart heavy but for reasons beyond her now. The giants around her shone brightly as if to comfort her while she silently weeps of a dream she can hardly remember. She cannot recall much of her time from that world—if it ever existed. Her name, the way she looks in the mirror, and the way he looks at her. Time ceased to exist once again. For her. And for him.

Far away, a sphere holding fragments of radiant memories and a yearning heart was desperately floating toward the brightest and warmest star. There were hearts beating in this conceptual universe.

End.

-----

Time: 4:08am.

 To the girl who gave me no other choice but to love her, I can’t stress enough how thankful I am to have you in my life. There will never be enough words to let you know how much I appreciate you. Not even in a poorly made, pretentious short story. There are other things I wish to say, but not in writing. I hope I made you a bit happy. I will keep trying to make you happy because you deserve so much, I hope you know that.

Happy birthday, Just Lynn. I will always be there for you.

Respectfully and truly yours,

cao

[emotionallybrokeasfck-blog]

I am emotionally broke in this moment. I am making money as a productive member of society but yet I am emotionally drained. How many times has that feeling come across you? You can look at the world around you; appreciate the mug you always wanted to go with the apartment that you always envisioned to go with that perfect mug. But fuck if you get out of bed to listen to someone else’s bullshit about what you could have been doing. Just imagine that if we treated our emotions like the money in our wallet. For every infliction of anger it cost you ten bucks, for every moment of sex it cost you 60 bucks ..emotionally. If we went through our whole lives with this way of thinking would be so emotionally fucking broke or maybe we could be emotionally satisfied (what a dream).

@emotionallybrokeasfck 

[storms-are-evil]

What did he fear? It was not a fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was a nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee. He smiled and stood before a bar with a shining steam pressure coffee machine. "What's yours?" asked the barman. "Nada."

A Clean, Well-Lighted Place (1933) / Ernest Hemingway.

[rosesanthology]

OH FUCK NO. I JUST HAD THE MOST EVIL THOUGHT IM GONNA CRY.

[freckledbastard]

ive never even been that into attack of titan, but when i was younger i read a (sadly incomplete, never made it past the second chapter) fic about titan!eren saving a bunch of children after the collapse of wall maria and i was thinking about that fic recently, because im such a sucker for the monster who is kind against what absolutely everyone expects from them. so i decided to look up some more of those types of those fics (and if anyone knows of any good ones please rec me im always desperate - not just aot either, if theres a fic out there with hollow!ichigo (not his hollow, i mean ichigo as a hollow in his vasto lorde form) or tailed beast!naruto please im begging you let me know) which cover a lot of the first season but then many havent gotten past there so i got curious and here i aM STUCK IN AOT HELL

[wlw-cryptid]

not that anon but hysterical litertature is great!! its just women reading stuff while using a vibe under the table and its v hot

oh good for them

[grazieschillivera]

A day off

Authors note: filled with randomness and comfort here and there, just wrote this to escape from studying

Word count: ca.2400

The third bang on your door, made you give up on getting your sleep.With sloopy steps you made it to your door, only to find Frenchie,Hughie and Butcher happily standing in front of you, once you your eyes could focus propberly.

,,There she is.Morning sunshine.'' said Butcher stepping past you into your dorm.

,,Is that a Star Wars poster?'' asked Hughie following Butcher.

You were far too tired to reacte, too overwhelmed with this situation.The long sleeves of your hodie hid your yawn.

,,Naww petite Y/N.All sleepy and cute.'' said Frenchie bringing you in his embrace petting your messy bun.

,,Guys!Its fucking Sunday what are you doing here?'' you asked with raspy voice, still hiding your face from the sunlight that came in, due to Butcher shoving the curtains away.

,,Right.Perfect timing for some quality time for the group.What could be better for that than a Comic Book Con?'' asked Butcher joining Hughie with getting through your stuff.

,,Fuck off boys.I need sleep.I finished my essays just four hours ago.'' you whined not at all convinced of that idea and resting in Frenchies arms.

,,Shut up Y/N I thought you were into this stuff.'' said Hughie while looking through your merchandise.

,,Can't I just go back to sleep and bring you some waffles later?That would have way more quality.'' you said but already gave in and pulled away from Frenchie.

,,Nope.Actually we have a little mission to do there.'' said Hughie turning with your lightsaber in his hands to you, looking amazed at it , when it turned out to be a green one.

,,Besides Frenchie makes the better ones.You were the one who wanted to join us, go get dressed.'' said Butcher taking the lightsaber from Hughie.

,,Fine.Just give me second.'' you said gathering up some clothes, your lightsaber from Butcher and your washbag and left your room.Only to come back after a moment to throw your weapon onto your bed, when you realised that you still had it in your hands.

,,Hey did you guys ever heard of privacy?'' you asked when you had entered your dorm again and saw Butcher at your laptop and Hughie still going through your merchandise stuff on your shelves.Frenchie layed in your bed, almost half asleep.

You walked strictly to Butcher and looked at your laptop's screen, seeing the text of your essay, but you could swear you saw the screen just had changed.Giving Butcher a daring gaze while you brought your washbag back into your vanity, trying to analyse his hidden grin.

,,What is that?I don't even know that.'' said Hughie looking at your gallyfreyan writing.

,,What ever this might be proves that Y/N is more of a fucking nerd than you are.'' said Butcher.

,,Its Gallyfreyan for fuck off.'' you said when you took the papers from Hughie to put them back into their box.

,,Can we go now?'' Butcher asked standing up from your desk and clapping on Frenchie's shoulder when he walked past him.

,,Just a second.'' you said, when you reminded yourself to do something you insisted on, now that you had Butcher here at your dorm.

You showed him a news article from the university, about your litertature club, writing about their performed works from last weekend praising especially your work.

,,Behind her creativity always lies an interesting critic to several current topics, that is clearly structured and could even knock out Homelander.'' you read out loud, while doing an awful job of hiding your pride.,,See I was right when I said I could at least put you over my knees rhetorically.Appearingly I can do that even with Homelander.'' you added.

Butcher continued to read the article.,,Homelander is a stupid cunt, who somehow managed to get taking serious while wearing latex.'' said he when he had enough of the reading.

,,I don't care about Homelander, I care about you Butcher.'' you said when you took the article and laid it back on your desk.

,,Now you're becoming soft on me again Y/N.'' said Butcher while walking outside of your dorm with the rest.

,,I mean it.Did someone wrote something like this ever about you?'' you said, insisting that this got accpreciated by him, since his critic on your arguments left you frustrated last time.

,,Listen love.I don't need an article that tells me I'm good in putting everyone over my knee.Even though I start to think you wouldn't mind if I did that to you – rhetorically of course.'' he added with a grin leaving you a bit irritated behind him,when he walked further down the hallway.

You were thankful for yourself bringing sunglasses for today to hide your tired eyes, since Hughie listened loudly the radio during the whole trip to the Convention, taking the last chance of sleep from you.

The plan was to talk with a supe about some former actions form Vought he should know of.Frenchie and Hughie were send to do this, while you and Butcher waited for them on the convention, that reminded you of a graveyard that came halfheartedly back to life.

,,Seriously ,did I really need to come with you guys for this?Its not that we do something helpful.'' you said still looking around.

,,We do.We stay here until Frenchie and Hughie are done with their part, I'll do the driving part and you can just take a break from studying.'' Butcher said.

,,Writing.About what?Failed artists or sexual frustrated fans?'' you asked not very convinced.

,,Funny that you mention that.'' said Butcher while he took out his mobile to show you something.

,,You asshole.How?'' you only managed to ask, mouth opened in disbelieve when you recognised your account with your posts.

,,I have my sources.'' said Butcher with a grin and started to scroll through your account.

,,I stayed logged in from last night.'' you said already knowing the answer while palming your face.

,,That answers my first question.All those thirsty posts from you are current?'' asked he while grinning down at his mobile.

,,No!They are in fact very old.Almost as old as you are.'' you said trying to stop Butcher from reading your stuff.

,,Screw this stupid article and you for that - I'm not that old.This is just pure smut- or is there also a perfectly argumented critic behind getting fucked by Eddie Vedder.I can't believe it you're writing texts to jack off to. '' said Billy still amused.,,Our sweet and intellectual Y/N does such naughty things in her spare time.''

,,My only texts to jack off to are my works, once they are approved by my professors.'' you said not interested in talking about your dark past.

,,And thats the problem.You need a day off, even I noticed that you have been fucking tense lately.'' Butcher said, you could tell that the last part was truly concerned.

,,With spending my day at this sad convention.Thank you Butcher.'' you said playing it down.

,,I can't let the guys be alone by themselves love.Besides I think I might can help with that, getting rid of some tension, you know?'' he said in his cocky voice.You eyed him up with a strange grin.

,,Is that an offer? I never thought you could be so generous yet so romantic.'' you said with a snort.

,,Same goes for you, in all this dirty talk and kink stuff I still can find your romantic side between the lines.Even though many seemed not to think so, according to your likes.'' said Butcher with a last look at his mobile while you gave him a last warning look.

,,That was not written from my heart nor my head, and I'm lucky my libido is not supposed to generate likes.'' you said.Butcher had to laugh at this genuily, before both of you continued you walk.

,,This is just fucking sad.When you read all those comics you can clearly read what people need right now and if you compare it to our reality it makes this whole shit even more worse.I hope Frenchie and Hughie can handle this guy.'' you said when you had stoped by a booth with comic books and looked over them.Butcher humed.

,,I guess they will be fine.The only special thing he can do his talk to animals.'' said Butcher and you noded with a chuckle, now you knew what Supe they wanted to meet here.

,,I thought you like this stuff, at least according to your shelves.'' said Butcher looking over your shoulder into the comic you held in your hands.

,,Since when do you look for people to interriogate that I could possibly like?'' you asked with smirk, before you put the comic back.

,,I'm not.That was just a lucky coincidence.Or unlucky - you still seem pissed.What's wrong?'' Butcher asked.

,,Honey I have work to do.Sundays are planed for studying.'' you explained tired but still had to smile since you thanked Butcher for his effort.

,,Honey huh? You really start to become soft with me.'' said Butcher with a smirk and followed you when you turned away from him to continue your walk.

,,You should know by now that I use those names when I just don't want to call you something mean.'' you said.

,,Well if you hate it here we can at least have a bit fun with your writing.'' Butcher said putting his mobile out again.

In the next minutes Butcher managed to get to know about all your preferences that your posts could reveal and he clearly seemed to enjoy that.You would also start to ask him out since you wanted to keep this interriogation fair, that leaded to the both of you having a very open conversation about sex and some weird stories about some experiences, almost in the middle of a convention.But you didn't care this entertained you clearly more than the comic books.

You got interrupted by a call you had to answer.After some time you came back to Butcher to tell him that you needed to go back to your dorm since a friend reminded you of the upcoming test next next week.

You already wanted to turn on your heel and call your friend back again, when Butcher reached out for your hand.A discussion started about wether you would leave this convention or not.

,,Are you mad you can't just forbid me to stay.'' you said after you gave up on explaining yourself properly.

,,When was the last time you just did nothing?You're completly stressed out Y/N.Have you at least eaten something today?'' asked Butcher.

,,No.Thanks to you guys I got kicked out of bed.'' you said, having Butcher cursing under his breath when he realised that.

,,I will make it up for you, just try to stay calm now.Your lips look terrible already.'' said Butcher still holding your hand in his.

,,What?'' you asked clearly a bit confused at this remark.

,,You always chew your lips when you're stressed out and they look awful right now.'' said he and you had to praise him again for being sensitive, recieving an grumpy look.But he was right when you gave him a smile in response you noticed how chapped they were.Great now you looked tired and terrible.

,,Maybe next Sunday.I still need to get a job once this whole detective thing with us is done.'' you said, tears started to fill your eyes caused by your rising stress level and even with the sunglasses Butcher could tell how you felt right now.

In the same moment Hughie and Frenchie ran to you , being completly out of breath but still managed to tell you that they messed up.The Supe had no interest messing around with Vought and called the security.You tried took calm down, that your tears would stay in your eyes and focused on the conversation between the boys.

,,This stupid eco- fucker.'' said Butcher.

,,Did you just asked him nicely or did you also brought some good arguments with you.'' you asked.

,,What should we havve against him? Sometimes you just have to hope that some people still have the balls to do something good.'' said Hughie.

,,Or you have to hope that they also just assholes.'' you said and pulled your phone out to search for something.

,,Here that's a list of women , who accuse him of sexual harassment, there are even videos and pictures on this side to prove their accusations.I thought you were prepared.'' you said and handed Hughie your mobile.

,,Where did you get this from?'' asked Butcher.

,,I have my sources.No matter how stupid the fandom we nerds stay together.'' you said a bit exaggerated.

,,At least something for today.'' you said now a bit satisfied when you looked after Frenchie and Hughie who walked back to the supes booth.

You even allowed Butcher to lay an arm over your should to pull you close to him.

,,That was fucking diabolical.Don't you ever think less of you love.'' said Butcher.

You pressed yourself against him and hid your face in his jacket, afraid that someone would see you start crying otherwise.A deep breath came from him and you could hear his smile out of it, while his hand stroked your hair softly.

,,Thanks.'' you said once you found your voice again, with your head buried in his shirt.

,,Come on lets get you back home.Guess the boys won't take long now.'' said Butcher and brought you to the car with his arm still around you.

While you were driving back you fell asleep.Butcher had decided to take you with them despite your saying but when you woke up after some nice hours of sleep and all cuddled up in your blanket you didn't mind at all.Frenchie had even made some waffles before he and Kimiko went away to spend the rest of the day together.

,,You know when you aren't tired or hungry you actually look kinda hot, even with those chapped lips.'' said Butcher when you stood next to him to you lay your empty plate on the kitchen island.

You gave him a smirk.,,Do you always flirt with women like this?'' you asked.Your gaze on him tried to stay unimpressed, when he pressed you against the table with his familiar smirk on.

,,Only if they are also into quickies on kitchen tables.'' said Butcher, his hands roamed over your curves carefully to test the waters.

,,You really needed my bad writing for this?'' you asked in disbelieve, when you already were sat on the table and started to kiss Butcher.

,,Don't worry love I myself have plenty of ideas for us.'' said Butcher before he started to kiss you again.

[meandnotyou1001]

I keep reading Irondad fanfics (because it's almost life) and so many of them are centered around Peter and his emotional problems, which is all well and good, but it gave me an idea. Here is my first ever one-shot to be posted on Tumblr. (I have others on Fanfiction.net.)

Ask For Help

An Irondad fic. Part 1.

Summary:

Someone needs help and it's not who we're expecting. How are Karen and Friday going to get them the help they need when it's impossible to ignore certain protocols?

Warning: Attempted Suicide. Not a lot of suicidal thoughts, because it’s from someone else’s point of view. If this is going to trigger you, please don’t read. I’d rather you be safe, than have one more reader. Everyone please take care of yourselves and call for help if you need it.

------------------

Peter didn’t notice it happening. He’d never seen it happen before. Hell, he didn’t even think it could happen, but with hindsight (being 20/20 and all) he kicked himself for how stupid that thought was. Mr. Stark was human, of course he had problems like that. But, all in all, Peter was just a little busy. It was finals week. He was doing EOC’s, AP exams, and finals. It was so hectic and stressful he’d even cut his Spiderman hours by nearly two-thirds.

Peter didn’t think much of it when Mr. Stark had texted, repeatedly throughout the last month of school, asking if he’d be by the Tower that day and he answered that he couldn’t, he was busy.

He didn’t think much of it when Mr. Stark called and told him Pepper was going on a business trip to Shanghai and they should get together for a guys’ night. He couldn’t, he was busy.

He didn’t think much of it when Mr. Stark said the Exvengers (or Rogues, Peter prefered that name) had settled back in the Compound to mooch off of him and use him as their punching bag once more. He was sorry, Mr. Stark, he would love to hang out and meet the Avengers, but he was busy.

So, Peter wasn’t really concerned about anything but his stupid AP Litertature exam one Thrusday night when he sat down at his desk to study. He was ten minutes in, when his phone dinged an alert. Looking up, Peter saw a police report about a mugging gone wrong, ending with two injured and one dead. The teen frowned, but reluctantly put his phone down. Aunt May had been very clear about him Spidermanning during finals month.

Ten minutes later, on the dot, Peter’s phone dinged again. Looking up, Peter saw another police report. A jewelry store robbery with nearly four million dollars in jewels stolen. Peter frowned again. Mr. Stark said education came first, before Spiderman. He put the phone down.

Ten minutes. A report on a drug bust that ended in a shoot-off with six dead. Peter stared at the report. “Karen?”

“Yes, Peter?” his AI answered from his phone.

“You know I’m supposed to be studying for my AP final right?”

“Of course, Peter. Stay in School Protocol states you are not to go out as Spiderman, when you are studying for an exam.”

Karen’s response seemed innocent, but why on earth was she sending Peter police reports. She knew how much it irritated him, not being able to help, but unable to disobey Aunt May and Mr. Stark for fear of the consequences.

“You are studying very hard, Peter, perhaps you should reward yourself.” His AI’s voice was kind.

Peter hummed lightly, feeling just a little, like he was being played, but staring at the police report, he found he didn’t care. “This is giving me a headache anyway, maybe an hour or two will give my brain a break.”

Pulling on the suit, he was surprised when Karen automatically stated, “Peter, you are supposed to be studying for your AP exam, I will have to inform Mr. Stark that you are going out.”

“What?” Peter demanded. “You’re the one you said I should go out.”

“I would not do that, Peter,” Karen countered, “as it goes against my Stay in School Protocol.”

Peter blinked. “Screw my homework giving me a headache, all your mixed messages are giving me a headache. Fine, tell Mr. Stark, but while you’re at it, tell him it’s  just for a little while and cause I need a break.”

“Message sent.”

Peter sighed, shaking his head at his AI. “You’re as confusing as any human girl, Karen, but I still love you.”

“Thank you, Peter. I love you as well.”

Peter didn’t respond as he climbed out the window and started his patrol.

It was nearly ten o’clock in the evening, just as he was turning to go home, hoping for a full night of rest and at least part of a chance to actually pass said exam, when Karen sent him an alert.

“Peter,” his AI addressed him, “Friday says there seems to be a problem at the Tower.”

“What?” Peter was suddenly on high alert and the AP exam far from his mind. “Is Mr. Stark there?!” Peter didn’t wait for an answer as he quickly began to throw himself from building to building, as quickly as he could.

“Friday states she is unable to give Spiderman Mr. Stark’s status, as it is against the Boss’s direct orders.” Karen told him.

Peter faltered just for a second. “That isn’t what I asked.”

It wasn’t a question, but Karen answered, “I know, Spiderman.”

Peter’s mind shot to their weird conversation just before he’d gone on patrol and something in his stomach sank. What was going on with his AI, and now Friday to. He pushed himself harder to get across New York City faster. Something was up, something neither Karen or Friday could tell him, something that had Karen loopholing her protocols to get Peter on patrol, because now that he thought about it, now it made too much sense.

Peter slammed into the Tower, crawling as fast as he could up the side of the building aiming for one of the less occupied floors. “Karen, can you ask Friday to open a window?”

“Friday says the Boss had ordered no one to disturb him.” Karen responded, seeming to completely ignore Peter’s question once more. “She also says, any and all defensive protocols are prohibited from being used on Spiderman.”

Peter’s mind faltered again, as he continued his frantic climb. “You two are giving me whiplash with your weird-ass answers,” he remarked. Peter wasn’t stupid though. For whatever reason, Mr. Stark didn’t want him to know what was going on, but Friday wanted him to anyway. Friday was telling him, without breaking any protocols, that he needed to break into Stark Tower, to help Mr. Stark. Or he was going insane as two top-of-the-line AI’s glitched out.

So, he did just that. Busting through a window in Mr. Stark’s lab, Peter let himself in, crouching on the ceiling ready for a fight. “Where is he?” He asked, not caring which AI answered.

“I am prohibited from giving Spiderman the Boss’s location or state of being,” Friday remarked, Peter could have sworn she sounded frantic, and pissed.

“Karen, where is he?” Peter begged, not even wanting to know why the two had suddenly taken to calling him Spiderman, instead of Peter.

“There is a heat signature in the penthouse, in Mr. Stark’s suite, the bathroom,” Karen answered, showing Peter on his HUD. “The temperature of the body is extremely low.”

Peter’s stomach dropped to his feet and suddenly he felt like throwing up, but he pushed it it a side, deliberated only for a second, before diving back out the broken window, to launch himself up the side of Stark Tower, crashing into the penthouse, and tearing toward Mr. Stark’s suite. His heart was pounding, his head at war as desperation told him he was imagining things, but logic told him he was right on the money.

Peter burst into the bedroom, making a beeline for the bathroom. Not even bothering to knock on the door, Peter tore it off its hinges and tossed it aside. “Mr. Stark!” Peter froze upon seeing his hero, his mentor, his father! slumped against the bathroom counter, pale as a ghost, just as still and in a pool of his own blood. It was Uncle Ben! It was Uncle Ben all over again! But worse! It was worse! Way! Way! Way! WORSE!!!!

“Peter, the best course of action would be to put pressure on his wounds, secure his airways, and get him medical care immediately.” Friday’s frantic voice cut him out of his spiralling panic attack.

“Y-yeah!” he gasped, dropping to his knees, trying not to hurl as he splashed blood everywhere that it already wasn’t. He latched onto Mr. Stark’s bleeding wrist, his hands trembling as he tried to stop the bleeding, without accidentally hurting Mr. Stark more. “M-Mr. Stark?! Tony! Can you hear me?! Don’t you have those Iron-medic-bots, Friday?!” he demanded as he laid Mr. Stark on his back, practically in tears when he realized the man was breathing. He couldn’t clam his own heart long enough to hear if Mr. Stark’s was beating, but it seemed to be, if he was breathing.

“I do, Peter, but without an override of the Boss’s orders I cannot use them.” Peter didn’t have time to think about what this could mean, regarding how the two AI’s had gotten him to the Tower in the first place, all he cared about was his mentor.

“Mr. Stark! Tony! How do I override your stupid protocols?! Please! Don’t leave me! Please?! How do I override them, Friday?!” He screamed.

“Ms. Potts.” Friday stated.

“Call her then!” Peter cried.

“Boss’s protocols--”

“Karen!” Peter was desperate, bordering on hysterical.

“Calling Ms. Potts,” Karen responded.

At the same time, Friday said, “Peter, there are towels just above your head. Be careful of your strength, you could hurt Mr. Stark if you hold too tight.” Peter scrambled for the towels, using his web-shooters when he couldn’t reach them without letting go of Mr. Stark.

“Mr--Tony! Please, don’t die one me!” Peter didn’t quite know how in the hell he wasn’t bawling his eyes out, but his eyes remained dry, almost as if his body was aware of how desperately he needed his vision clear.

“Tony, Babe, I love you but seriously, if I’m going to do this stupid share-holder meeting for you, you can’t call me in the middle of it, using Peter’s AI isn’t going to change that. You’re lucky we’re on a lunch break right now.” Ms. Potts' voice suddenly spoke in Peter’s, making him visibly jump.

“M-Miss Potts!” Peter exclaimed. He was honestly surprised it came out, rather than the sobbing mess he felt like he was inside. “Mr. Star--”

“Ms. Potts, Friday needs a direct override of the Boss’s protocols.” Karen interrupted in an urgent voice.

“Friday, directly override every one of Tony’s protocols that you want. Access code: Even when I’m wrong, I’m right. ” Ms.Potts answered without hesitation. “Peter, what’s going on? Where’s Tony?”

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was breaking down. There was an adult present (sort of) he no longer had to be strong. He choked on a sob as his eyes blurred, but hardly had time to really get into it, before several loud crashes echoed through the building and two Iron Man suits erupted from the floor.

Peter shrieked as Mr. Stark was ripped from his hands and placed into a silver and red suit with the American Red-Cross symbol on it. He had very little time to do much else as he too was encased in a suit, though this one was the typical red and gold.

The two sets of armor shot out of the building with a blatant disregard for property damage and shot through the sky toward the north, gaining speed and going supersonic in a matter of minutes, going only as fast as was safe for Mr. Stark.

“I am transporting them to the Compound,” Friday announced in Peter’s ear. “Helen Cho is being contacted. I am sending Happy for Mrs. Parker. Your plane is being prepped and will be ready for take-off by the time you arrive, Boss Lady. Emergency Level: Yellow. Guardian Angel Protocol activated. Rhodey has been notified and is inbound in the War Machine armor. EAT: Five minutes.”

Peter’s mind seemed to blank. One minute he’s shooting toward the Compound at a speed that made his insides turn on each other, the next, he was in a long white hallway surrounded by the Avengers. There was frantic, yet hushed whispers as everyone but Vision questioned Mr. Stark’s wounds.

Distantly, he heard a voice calling his name, but all he could think about was Mr. Stark’s cold prone form on his bathroom floor. Emergency Level: Yellow. He knew what yellow meant. He understood what had happened. He understood now, why the AI’s had been acting strange. He knew everything!

Aside from: why?!

He couldn’t understand! Why would Mr. Stark do it?! Why would he feel that way?! He was Tony Stark! He was amazing! He was always so strong and confident! He was always ready with a snide remark and a smile, teasing Peter, but never lacking in his praise! He was always perfectly put together and understanding and patient!

But you've seen a mask like that before, a voice in his head defended. You knew it was possible.

"But not for Mr. Stark!" he wanted to scream. He never imagined it could have happened to his perfect father-figure, who never so much as faltered.

“Peter!” He jerked out of his thoughts and into his aunt’s arms. Happy appeared behind her, face grim as he went to Vision and Colonel Rhodes, who stood whispering in the corner near the door. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, Baby,” his aunt tried to sooth in his ear.

“Why?” he asked, his voice sounded so dead he almost flinched. Was that really his voice?

“After everything?!” May demanded. “I...no one should have to see someone they love like that, especially a child.”

“So, is someone going to tell us what the fuck is going on?” All eyes turned to Sam Wilson.

“Language!” May and Happy snapped at the same time.

“This is no time for games,” Natasha Romanov countered coldly.

“There is a child present!” May snarled, not even a little intimidated by the assassin-spy turned Avenger.

Before any of them could continue the war, Ms. Potts came sprinting down the corridor barefoot and frantic. “What the hell happened?” She begged. “Nothing has changed!”

Colonel Rhodes and Happy shook their heads looking lost. “Not in the last month, Boss,” Happy said. “Coffee every morning with me.”

“I called at lunch,” Rhodey supplied.

“We had dinner together,” Vision agreed.

All four sets of eyes turned to Aunt May and Peter. Peter flinched in confusion, but Aunt May spoke. “It's a month before school lets out. They've started EOCs, AP testing, and finals. He's been busy, but he texts him all day.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Wanda Maximoff asked, looking particularly at Vision.

But Peter had put the pieces together and he understood exactly what changed. “It’s my fault?!” He gasped, suddenly feeling like the world, already wobbly and confusing, was jerked out from under him. He was free-falling.

“No!” Aunt May turned to him. “No! It’s not!”

“Yes, it is!” Peter cried, tearing away from her as the world spun. “I’ve been blowing him off! I kept telling him I was busy!”

“No, Pete! Baby, he knew you had finals! You text him all the time!” His aunt tried to reassure him.

“It doesn’t matter!” Peter cried, suddenly unable to breath. He couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t think! He couldn’t think past the image of Mr. Stark slumped in a puddle of his own blood! “It doesn’t matter! He comes first! He should always come first!”

“Pete! Peter, breathe! Breathe, Sweetie. Follow me. In, 2...3...4, out, 2...3...4.” Peter tried his hardest to follow his aunt’s words as his mind continued to bake up cruelty after cruelty at his failure.

He’d driven Mr. Stark to suicide!!

“Attempted suicide?” Falcon asked, a conversation having happened during Peter's panic attack.

"That is a coward's way out," Scarlet Witch snarled.

Several things happened at once. Ms. Potts, Colonel Rhodes, and Happy all jerked forward ready to rip the girl a new one. 

"I agree," Steve Rogers stated.

Vision took on a sad sort of disappointed look, Black Widow had no reaction toward the words, but Falcon looked pissed.

Aunt May froze.

Peter...Peter stepped forward and faster than any of them could think, let alone see, a SLAP! and CRACK! resonated through the hall.

And the door at the end of the hall opened to reveal Dr. Helen Cho.

[thetylerdmace-blog]

The next part of my blogs is going to be diving into a deeper understanding of the literature in which I am reading.  These readings are coming from the book African American Literary Theory by Winston Napier.  The first chapter which I am focusing on is based on revision and (re)memberance.  In this chapter, it discusses how works are written in terms of formatting as well as what goes into the writing itself.  One of the early focuses is recursive structures and how African-American female writers create a multiplied text.  This essentially means a text which is layered with a variety of things such as characterization, events, settings, and symbolism.  These layers go on to provide more depth to a piece of writing rather than making it one dimensional in ways.  In addition to this, the (re)memberance aspect is exactly what one might think, the looking back upon the past. Both these aspects of writing can tie into The Gilda Stories.  The way that they tie in is by how Jewelle Gomez has great ability to layer her work with so many underlying meanings but also bringing back historical events and time periods subtly within the story.  Gomez does an unbelievable job of this and it continually amazes me by just how connected she is when she writes.