#Crafting Effective College Courses

[capsulelabs08]

Art and Science of Crafting Effective College Courses

In today’s dynamic educational landscape, the traditional methods of teaching and assessing are undergoing significant transformation. The tectonic shifts in technology and pedagogical research are compelling educators worldwide to rethink course designs, especially in higher education. At the heart of this transformation lies the quest to understand how students genuinely perceive and interact…

[idesofrevolution]

Never Sleep with Your Phone On

Throughout recorded history, humans have been terrified of the dark. They created stories of sordid creatures of the night that would creep out from beneath your bed and drag you to some subterranean lair to languish in your final moments; or slither out of your mirror if you left it uncovered when your lights were extinguished to steal your soul from your snoring lips. The tales and cryptids across all cultures were all effective in terrifying their communities once the sun set on the horizon. Though that is not necessarily to say that every tale was crafted from pure imagination.

When technology bloomed, humans believed that the horrifying superstitions of yore were long behind them. They had evolved past the primitive fears of what lurks in the shadows, where in reality they had become complacent, arrogant, and lulled. Certainly some of the eldritch creatures had subsided, as all creatures do eventually. Though for every dead legend, a new myth sprouts, and each of those grew and evolved right there along with us. Which, of course, brings us to Asher.

Asher West was, by all accounts, a fairly normal guy. Graduated from high school, going straight into college on a modest academic scholarship. He played frisbee golf with his friends on the weekends, studied hard from 9 to 5, and was seldom seen without a cup of Starbucks in the mornings. He had a sizeable social media following, as was expected for someone with a traditionally handsome visage and adequately charismatic personality. Every day he'd happily post a quick selfie, posting for his thousands of admirers a run of the mill shirtless pic, often without so much as a filter. It'd almost become muscle memory for him: tap the camera icon, snap the pic, post with some benign emojis as the caption, and boom. 900 likes as the day meandered on. Did it provide him with a momentary burst of endorphins? Yes. Was it satisfying? Somewhat, at least he thought so. Years of his staggeringly average life had been all but usurped by this second life online, where he was glamorous, exciting, and adored.

It was so much easier to live in that fantasyland than to truly be present in the real world around him. He, as many of us are, was living his life as someone else- and a life that spectacled easily caught attention. It was easy to come across him in the sea of countless names and faces. It was easy to stumble upon that pretty face. It was easy find, attracting more than just starry eyed fans. Skulking in the void between lines of 1 and 0, buried deep in the infinite cosmic vacuum of the world electric and technological, another pair of eyes would befall him.

It had slinked into his vast sphere rather quickly, and it had begun to watch. Watching each and every 'tasteful' selfie, every vapid thought that he'd post, and every like and pin he'd make, it watched him with empty, expressionless black eyes from within a fragment of his phone's memory. It studied him, curious at first. Things of its nature were always curious, always inclined to watch and analyze and replicate. Even as he slept, his phone siphoning it's charge from it's cable, it would read. The more it saw, the more it had learned about Asher. In fact, it knew more of Asher than perhaps he himself was aware of, if not able to admit.

It had seen those intimate moments he'd taken careful measure to hide from the vast majority of those watching eyes. Second accounts under pseudonyms, gave way to countless of hidden alternate lives he lived: Tumblr blogs dedicated to bad-boy thrist traps and queer erotica, Twitter accounts cataloguing pictures and videos of his closest kept kinks, a well used and well loved Chaturbate account with his face tastefully cropped out of frame... all these lives immortalized in the endless archives of the internet. And after all it's patient watching, all the hours of analyzing, all the months of consuming his information, it had grown an attachment.

Asher had come home late one night. Not unusual for him, as the occasional party wouldn't derail his real life ambitions. After a few libations, and no small amount of cannabis, he'd made his way back home to his small apartment above the corner store. Just as he'd done numerous times before, he stripped himself of his shirt, pulling his camera from his jeans pocket, and snapped a slightly inebriated picture of himself. It'd be enough to boost his ego the next morning, enough to power through the long haul of his draining daily agenda.

SNAP. The flash of the camera went off, and his beloved face was shared for all to see. Though, that night, he mis stepped. Perhaps it was the booze, perhaps it was the toke, perhaps he was simply too tired to notice that he'd left the screen on. By the time he'd hit the bed he was out like a rock, collapsed onto the bed and quietly drifting to sleep. There on the brightly lit screen, in the darkness of the unlit bedroom, it saw its opportunity.

From it's perch on the nightstand, the phone began to spark. Small sparks at first, a quick fizzle and quiet pop. Then more: louder, brighter, faster. It began to rumble against the wooden tabletop, sizzling and sparkling as it danced before the screen went black and dead. Slowly, electric crackling gave way to a bubbling sludge. The glass subtly started wave and bellow, as if it were liquified, not taking long to begin to spill over the edges of it's metal frame. The black sludge fell like oil onto the hardwood floors, collecting in a growing, bubbling pool.

From the primordial ooze burst forth a long, slender arm; it's taloned fingers scraping as it braced itself on the ground. A second arm clawed it's way out, and with an echoing slosh, it had begun to pull itself out of the sludge. It's long, emaciated torso and thick muscled legs had slithered out, landing on two massive, clawed feet. It towered above Asher's bed as he slumbered, bent over so as not to hit it's back onto the eight foot ceiling. It stood there, looking at the person it'd observed and studied for so long. The image presented in the world it'd pried himself out of was nothing of what lay before it. From what it had gathered from his more clandestine dealings, it had noted that he was far from the archetypes he'd collected on Asher's behalf.

He did not have the tattoos like those he'd pinned on Pinterest. He was not wearing the dark, heavy clothes like those he'd saved on Instagram. He wasn't well endowed like the video's he'd favorited on X-Tube. He didn't give off the aura of some rebellious casanova like the stories he'd reblogged on Tumblr. To a creature of symmetry and consistency, this was an error to be corrected; a dichotomy requiring integration.

It crouched down above his drooling maw, gently caressing his head to face it's clenching claw. The talons pressed ever so tenderly past his lips and over his tongue, becoming the very black ooze it had crawled out of once more. It flooded down his throat as it's second arm made it's way into his mouth, as if it were being sucked into Asher. He was drinking it's essence, it's aqueous body slurping down into his core. It's torso compressed as it wriggled down his gullet, ringing out splashing squelches as Asher gargled it down.

As quickly as it had entered, it's long legs slithered into his mouth, leaving only its large feet thrashing about in the air. Asher's stomach was bubbling and undulating under the sheer pressure from this invasion, growing to a large gut spilling over the waistband of his jeans. One loud slurp and a crisp pop, and the feet slipped into him, leaving his writhing body squirming on the bed. It expanded within him, incorporating itself into every fibre of his being. Pressing into his arms, his legs, pushing up his throat until it met the top of his palate. The pressure began to mount, black goo dribbling down the corners of his mouth, until a wet crack sounded in his cavernous head, and it flowed into his skull.

It took mere seconds for it to reach his brain, which it flowed freely into throughout the grooves and nooks. Entirely coated, imbued and inoculated with it, the deed was done. Asher opened his eyes, tiredly sitting up in his bed. He looked over at his phone, tapping it with his finger: 3 AM.

At first it seemed like a nightmare. He could recall moments here and there, though the majority of his 'dream' was a blur. From what he could remember, it was nothing visual he could recollect... but it he could recollect the sensations. Wet, slimy, invasive, and cold- much like he felt drunkenly sleeping in his cold sweat. He brought himself to his feet, dragging his feet on the slippery floorboards to his bathroom.

Flipping the switch, the harsh fluorescent light flickered to life above him, as he turned the nozzle on his shower. Immediately, his jaw nearly dropped to the floor. In the mirror, Asher finally caught a glimpse of himself: strange black bruises and undulating bumps were scattered across his body. That pristine, smooth skin was now covered in sprawling web-like lesions from head to toe. He had mere moments to process the horror reflected in front of him before an immediate pain in the gut had him doubled over the counter.

His stomach started to bubble and groan, and through the foggy haze of his blurred vision he saw his feet begin to ripple and swell. He could feel the slick sweaty soles slide across the tile floor as they expanded and grew. As they reached a substantial size 13, the swelling crept it's way up his calves and into his thighs. Asher wobbled on his feet, as if they were filled with gelatin beneath his slippery skin while his knees began to buckle. He collapsed into a crouch, the fumes of sweaty footmusk bellowing up to his nostrils as his legs cracked and stretched above. He'd never truly experienced scentplay as he'd so dearly fantasized about throughout countless hours of edging to such content, nor had this funk ever emanated from his own soles. In the moment, he felt something within him prod into his brain. As if poking the individual folds of his cerebrum with thousands of tiny needles, causing cascades of thoughts to enter his mind- all of which telling him to embrace. In his mind's eye, he could see himself burying his face into his sweaty sole, between his long toes, lapping up every droplet of sweat that was spewing from his pores. The thought was buried deep in his subconscious, pried out with expert measure, by something now within him.

Grasping for anything to steady himself on, Asher gripped the edge of the sink, pulling himself upright once again and now towering above the countertop. He hung his aching head low, watching with strange newfound fervor as his cock began to feel heavier and heavier. Drool started to drip from the bottom of his lip, landing square onto the lengthening shaft. Like a sandbag, his balls dropped and swelled while he got harder and harder. Another onslaught of pinpricks in his head brought forth another command: stroke.

Steam started build in the bathroom as the hot water continued to fall from the shower, intensifying the scent wafting from now both his feet and his pendulous sac. Each breath of hot, wet musk hit like ecstasy, and with bated breath, he softly grasped ahold of his python and began to pump. Each knead of his engorged member was accompanied by a change. His fingers grew long and sinewy, smooth and slick with precum. His arms remained thin but toned, growing longer and packed with lean muscle. His torso lengthened, topped off with a firm pair of pecs above his sinewy abdomen.

As pressure began to build in his balls, his mind began to feel the needles one last time, imbuing his brain with one last injection of a single trait: pride. He didn't need the approval of anyone else, he was aware of how fucking hot he was. He didn't need to heed the rules that society had straddled him with, he always forged his own path. He had no fears of recompense for his attitude, his ego, his spirit- the world would either stand with him, or he would step on top of them. Either way, what bliss. As the last of his inhibitions and fears had gathered in his groin, he cried out in elation as he erupted. Rope after rope of black sludge shot from his cannon, washing him with a sense of relief he'd never before known. He released his grip on his softening cock, hanging at an obscene eleven inches. He smirked at the sludge coating his mirror and pooling beneath his toes. A sight like that would have shocked and terrified the old Asher, though as he stood before his reflection, devoid of any tension, he relented to the entity within him. It had delivered onto him a new self, a new image, a new viewpoint. As tattoos both vulgar and delicate began to sprawl across his skin, he happily admired his new likeness.

The entity had bestowed a gift to him; throughout the horror, throughout the fear, he was becoming the true Asher that had only ever peeked out from the abyss of his psyche. He leered, bringing his thumb and middle finger together before snapping loudly. From his pores, the black sludge began to spill across his body until he was nearly covered from the neck down in what appeared to be a rubber suit before it began to become a bit more defined. A plain white tee shirt, classically fashioned with a black and white varsity jacket from his college. Skinny, weathered black jeans barely containing his sizeable commando bulge beneath it's thin fabric. On his feet, a pair of white socks and tightly tied high top Chucks, quelling the ripe stink of his soles within the sneaker for some sub to pry off and enjoy.

He grinned, posing and modeling for himself, before he finally turned off the steaming water. After the long, arduous, painful process, the entity had incorporated itself entirely within him- now completely indistinguishable from parasitic to symbiotic. It had rewritten him, completely remade him in the likeness of who he had shown the vast virtual world. There was no cognitive dissonance, there were no lies, there was no deception. All that remained was the Asher he had created in his fantasy, now ready to fuck the real world and all within it.

Thus, as our creature feature comes to an end, I leave you with a modicum of friendly advice. Don't leave your phone on as you slumber, for those that are watching, those that are waiting, those that have been learning are a mere sheet of glass away from finding their way inside. Take my counsel, or ignore it. But do so knowing the outcome, and whether or not you are prepared to weather such a storm.

[bellaxgiornata]

Break the Tension [Chapter Two: "The Rehearsal Dinner"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.7k

[Full summary and series chapter list can be found here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+; Enemies to lovers, sexual tension, smut, semi-public sex, light angst

a/n: So this fic won the poll for which one I'll update today! I also feel like this part really sets the tone for this series... Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @mattkinsella @danzer8705 @pazii @paracosmic-murdock @xxdrixx

It had been years since Matt had last been around you. Graduation day at Columbia, to be exact. And yet from the moment you'd stepped into Fairfield Manor and made your way down the hallway towards him with Marci at your side, he'd known one thing remained true.

You still drove him absolutely crazy. 

Though not in the way you'd probably always thought. Matt truthfully never meant to be the way he was with you–harsh and teasing–but for some reason every time he got the taste of your pheromones on his tongue, his sexual frustration came out in the sharp way he spoke to you. He figured it was a sort of defense mechanism, one he hadn't initially meant to implement. Especially since it made him feel like a ridiculous school boy pulling his crush's ponytail because he couldn't just use his words.

Matt had picked up on your physical attraction to him from the very first day you both had met in the lecture for Critical Legal Thought. And back then, he'd always been terrified that if he flirted with you–even just a little bit–and you became the least bit aroused around him, he'd lose his mind completely. He didn't think he could handle the smell of your arousal mingled with your natural pheromones, not without pathetically throwing himself at you in Columbia's hallways. So he'd been crass and rude instead, still craving your attention but unable to handle you being further attracted to him. But to his surprise, you always held your own against him, which somehow only made you more attractive to him. 

But for some damn reason when you'd shown up tonight, he'd found himself initially torn between wanting to keep you at a distance and wanting to finally have you. Admittedly he'd forgotten just how good you always smelled because no one else ever had quite the same effect on him. It was like your particular pheromones were crafted specifically to drive him wild. 

You were Matt’s weakness and he so desperately wanted to be yours.

Earlier tonight, back at the venue for the rehearsal for tomorrow's ceremony, things had gone fairly uneventful after the initial interaction Matt’d had with you. Though he had noticed the way you'd reacted to his fingers barely grazing you below the hem of your dress. He had reveled in the way your skin had prickled with goosebumps, your heart accelerating in your chest as your face heated. His cock had stirred awake in his dress pants almost immediately, the faintest hint of your arousal hitting his nose and then his tongue. Your response had shown him that you still found him attractive, possibly even more than he remembered you being back in college, even if you still seemed incredibly annoyed by his presence. 

But Matt didn’t care about that. He’d find a way to change your opinion of him this weekend, at least enough so that his presence didn’t frustrate you. Because knowing you still found him attractive after he’d gotten a taste of your pheromones once more ultimately had him deciding that he was going to pursue you over the course of the wedding weekend– relentlessly . Matt refused to end the weekend without ever having a taste of you. Without ever hearing the soft, breathy moans he always imagined you'd make when he dove between your thighs. Without feeling all the soft, sweet lines of your body beneath his fingers– and his tongue. Without burying himself deep inside of you, fucking you so tenaciously that you could barely hold onto him, clawing at him as your your smart mouth moaned his name instead of cursing it for once.

Fuck. If he kept thinking like this he'd be needing to excuse himself to the bathroom just to take care of himself in one of the stalls. 

Shifting under the table, trying to alleviate the sudden uncomfortable strain of his dress pants against himself, he attempted to focus on his dinner. On either side of him sat Foggy’s brother along with a few of Foggy’s cousins that were also members of the bridal party, but directly across the table from him was you. And the scent of your perfume mixing with your pheromones wasn't helping his situation right now.

For most of the rehearsal dinner you'd been focused on your own food shortly after everyone had been seated and served. Though you’d chatted with the bridesmaids around you until Marci and Foggy’s parents had given their toasts before the meal. Oddly enough you didn't seem as conversational as he usually remembered you being tonight. Instead, you'd kept your head ducked over your plate, eating your food and occasionally responding to comments.

Frustrated because you’d stayed true to your earlier words, not making conversation with him anymore than you had to, Matt's foot slid forward underneath the table. He knew this would probably irritate you further with him, but he also didn’t know how else to catch your attention. Anytime he’d tried to start a conversation with you this evening, you’d answered in clipped replies, quickly pulling others around you into the conversation when possible so you wouldn't have to converse solely with him. 

He noticed your foot tapping anxiously in your heels as he slid his dress shoe forward until it finally bumped against yours. Across the table you stiffened in your seat, your foot halting its movements instantly. Bringing his fork to his mouth, he slipped the bit of steak between his lips as his head rose, his covered gaze focusing on you as he chewed. He could hear the tension growing in your muscles as your head rose marginally from the table, probably looking at him from across it and wondering if that had been an accident. Seconds later your foot slid a few inches backwards from his and resumed its anxious tapping.

Swallowing down the bite of food, Matt’s resolve didn’t disappear. He cut off another piece of his steak, spearing it with his fork and slowly drawing it up to his mouth. At the same time, he slid his foot forward again, bumping his into yours for a second time. This time he heard the way your hand tightened around your fork, your head rising up fully as you looked at him from across the table. He sent you a smirk before he took another bite from his fork.

“Goddamit, Murdock,” he heard you mutter under your breath. 

His smirk only grew wider as he chewed, his focus on you while the rest of the table remained oblivious to the silent interaction. Though in that moment, Matt would’ve given anything to hear you moaning out his first name instead while he felt your cunt tightening around his cock.

Entering your room in an irritated huff, you closed and locked the door behind yourself. For a few minutes all you could do was pace the room in frustration, walking back and forth as you ran your fingers through your hair.

Matt had gotten under your skin and you hadn’t even been here a full day yet. And tonight Marci and Foggy were having a fire out in the courtyard for anyone who wanted to join them for the evening. You’d wanted to go, hoping to catch up with some of the girls you’d met through Marci and become friends with over the years, but the thought of running into Matt and dealing with his strange and annoying flirtatious teasing had you considering staying in tonight. 

You didn’t understand what had gotten into him. He must’ve heard from someone after graduation that you’d once drunkenly called him attractive and he was now trying to make you admit it. Either that or he’d found out and figured it would be funny to tease you because of it, to make you think that you could ever draw his attention. Either way, you weren’t thrilled with his unwelcome flirting. 

But that weird game of footsie he was trying to rope you into at dinner had been so odd. It was almost as if he knew how much it was making you mad. Which was strange considering he couldn’t see your reaction each time he touched his foot to yours. 

With a sigh you told yourself you needed to stop thinking about Matt for the evening. You’d just stay in your room, clean off your face, and maybe get to bed early. That way you’d be rested for tomorrow. Admittedly the couple of glasses of wine from dinner were making you a little tired, anyway.

Heading back towards your bed, you picked up the clutch purse you’d brought with you to the restaurant. Opening it up, you reached inside for your phone, but your fingertips only brushed along your lipstick, your ID, and your debit card. Panic shooting through you, you opened the clutch wider and peered inside. Your phone wasn’t there.

A surge of fear raced through you as you tried to recall when you’d last had it. You know you’d used it at the rehearsal dinner tonight, but you could’ve sworn that you had put it back into your purse before you’d left. With a groan you realized you must have left it somewhere at the restaurant, which meant you were now going to have to borrow someone’s phone to call a ride back there just to pick it up.

“Great,” you grumbled to yourself.

Two brisk knocks at your bedroom door startled you, causing you to jump on the spot as the sound broke through your thoughts. Turning, you made your way over towards the door, wondering who it could be and also hoping they had a phone you could borrow. But when you unlocked and opened the door, you were vexed to see Matt standing there in the hallway. That stupid smirk was on his mouth again, too.

"What the hell do you want, Murdock?" you ground out. "I'm sort of in the middle of something right now."

"Oh?" he asked, his brows rising up high over his glasses. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing that concerns you," you answered. 

Peering around him in the hall, you searched for signs of anyone else you could ask to borrow a phone from. Unfortunately the hall was entirely empty except for Matt.

"Well, does the something wrong happen to do with you accidentally leaving your phone at the restaurant?" he asked. 

Your attention swiftly returned to him, watching as he reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat and slid your phone from within it. Relief flooded you instantly at the sight of it, a soft sigh escaping you. Though when that smirk grew on his lips at the sound of your relief, your left hand balled into a fist at your side. You didn’t like that he was pleased at having helped you.

"Heard you'd left it on the table from one of the bridesmaids," he explained. "So I offered to bring it back to you, considering we have rooms next to each other." 

"How very gallant, Murdock. Thank you," you said in a clipped tone, accepting the phone from his outstretched hand. "But now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get ready for bed."

Before you could close the door more than an inch, Matt’s hand darted forward. Your eyes widened in shock, staring at his large palm as it spread wide over the wooden door, halting its movements. 

"You aren't going to the fire tonight?" he asked, head tilting curiously to the side. "With everyone else?"

“If it means interacting with you? No, I’m not,” you replied bitterly. “Can you please let go of my door now? I think we’re done here.”

Matt said your name, the sound of it coming out low and sultry from his lips. Your hand gripped the door tighter in response, your eyes fixed to the red lenses of his glasses. It was as if his voice had suddenly put you in a trance and you couldn’t look away from him, your heart speeding up just a little faster in your chest.

“Why don’t you just admit it?” he questioned softly, taking a slow, calculated step into your room. “Just admit you want me. That you’ve always wanted me.”

Brows jumping up onto your forehead in surprise, your mouth fell partially open. Taken so off guard by his words and his boldness, you didn’t have the chance to stop him from further entering your room. Blinking rapidly a few times in shock, you took a step back from his imposing form passing through your door. Someone must have told him that you’d once drunkenly admitted to finding him attractive and now he was being an asshole about it. That had to have been the reasoning for his behavior so far.

“I’ve always thought you were a conceited asshole, actually,” you shot back.

You hoped he hadn’t caught the tremble in your voice as he continued to close the small distance between you both. For some reason you found him more attractive than usual advancing on you like he was; you couldn’t exactly explain why it was beginning to turn you on. He looked intimidating and strong with those broad shoulders tugging at his suit coat, the buttons of his dress shirt pulling beneath his tie which was askew along his chest. He looked good–better than he ever did at Columbia–but you did not want to be feeling that way. Not for Matthew Murdock. Because he was an asshole .

“And I think you should go,” you ordered, finding your voice again.

“Is that what you really want?” he asked, voice dropping an octave to something deeper as he took another step towards you. “Because I’m not buying it, sweetheart.”

Matt continued to gradually stalk towards you, one hand reaching out behind himself and pushing your door closed. It shut with a soft thump and your heart stuttered in your chest at the sound. Because you were alone with him in your room now, and for some reason that was having an effect on you that you’d rather never admit to him.

“I think,” he continued in that gravelly, deep tone, “that you’ve always wanted to know what it would be like with me.”

“That’s what you think, is it?” you questioned weakly.

“Mmm,” he hummed out, lips curling upwards. “Mhmm.”

Unable to move, your eyes fixed on his smirking lips, Matt closed the remaining distance between the pair of you. His hands very gently landed on your hips and your breath hitched in response, catching in your throat under his touch. In all the years you’d known Matt in college, he’d never once touched you. Not once. Not until that brief graze of his fingertips along your thigh earlier at the rehearsal. But right now it felt like the heat from his fingers were searing into your skin beneath the thin fabric of your dress, burning you from the inside out. It felt far too good, especially when his hands tightened further on your hips, gripping them more firmly as he balled your dress in his fists, pulling the fabric higher up.

Still transfixed by his face, you could see the sharp flare of his nostrils as he repeatedly expelled harsh breaths from his nose, his chest lightly heaving each time. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as his head tilted to the side, almost like he was studying you in the silence that had fallen. Even behind the dark lenses of his glasses that he wore you could see that he was focused on you.

And that’s when a thought struck you as you took in the sight of him, trying to keep your knees from quivering at his proximity. He didn’t seem like he was remotely teasing you right now. This didn’t feel like the Matthew Murdock you’d known in college who’d taunted you and made jabs at you. He wasn’t here doing any of that.

No, it seemed like he genuinely wanted you. 

Something stirred low within you at the thought, a heat beginning to grow inside of you. One you’d never anticipated when it came to this particular man, no matter how attractive you’d found him over the years. Because he’d always been such an asshole to you. But yet…

“Except,” you found yourself saying, surprising even yourself with the way your tongue had been loosened by the glasses of wine you’d had with dinner, “I’m pretty sure it's the other way around. Because looking at you right now, Murdock, I’d say you’re the one who wants to know what it would be like with me.”

You saw the moment his jaw clenched, the muscle jumping agitatedly in his cheek. He bit down harder on his bottom lip, his shoulders tensing at your voice. 

A jolt of curiosity sparked inside of you at his reaction, your nerves dissipating. Had that been it all along? Had Matthew Murdock actually wanted you back then? Was that why he was being an asshole to you now, coming into your room uninvited and making these flirtatious advances? Because he still wanted you?

Oh that was an unexpected twist indeed. One you were going to enjoy in more ways than one this weekend. Because maybe you’d thought about fucking Matt in college, back before he’d become quite so mean to you that you couldn’t bear the sight of him, but now you considered taking what you wanted from him. Maybe you’d find out if he really was as great in bed as everyone praised him to be, but that’s all you’d do. Take what you wanted from him. And you weren’t going to make this easy on him in the slightest–he was far too cocky to begin with.

Consider it payback , you thought. You beautiful asshole .

When he hadn’t denied your comment outright, you figured now was as good a time as any to test your theory. You took a step closer to Matt, leaving the pair of you now only inches apart. Immediately you heard a rumbling within his chest at the movement, the noise something almost animalistic that sent a shudder straight up your spine. A pleased smile grew wide across your lips when he fisted the fabric of your dress even tighter in his hands.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” you murmured, tilting your face up towards his. “Tell me, Murdock,” you whispered, bringing your mouth closer to his as you spoke, “how often did you think about fucking me?”

“You’ve got a mouth on you, sweetheart,” Matt shot back.

“And how often have you thought about it on you, hmm?” you countered.

Matt’s bottom lip rolled out from beneath his teeth, his lips twitching as they thinned out along his face. It looked like he was struggling before you, torn between making a snarky comeback or fighting the urge to kiss you. Especially with how you’d leaned up towards him, your mouth only the slightest distance from his. You could feel his warm breath brushing over your lips as you stood there, the rush of adrenaline from having such an unexpected effect on him easily going to your head–and your cunt. 

Almost as if in slow motion, Matt dove forward to press his mouth to yours, but you abruptly stepped back from him. He immediately froze in place, head canting to the side as his dark brows knitted together beneath his glasses. His lips pressed firmly together as his expression shifted to one of confusion, and the sight left you grinning in satisfaction once again. 

Reaching out, you placed your hand against Matt’s chest, noticing the way his lips parted and a faint whine barely spilled out between them. With a gentle push, you nudged him backwards. Surprised, Matt stumbled back a step, his hands releasing their hold on your dress. The fabric unbunched, sliding back down your legs.

“I’m not going to kiss you, Murdock,” you stated. 

“Oh come on, you clearly want to,” he snapped. “I may be blind, but I can’t be the only one seeing the sexual tension here. Just admit you want me. That you want me to bend you over your bed and fuck you senseless here and now.”

Eyes narrowing, you shook your head. “No,” you answered.

“No?” he questioned, surprised.

“No,” you repeated. “I don’t want that, Murdock.”

He huffed out a laugh, that stupid, smug smirk spreading back across his lips. “Now, I’m not going to believe that for a second.”

“Believe what you want, sweetheart ,” you replied, tone intentionally condescending, “but if you want me, you’re going to have to beg for it.”

Matt openly scoffed, shaking his head as he let out a humorless laugh. “Absolutely not. I’m certainly not one to beg, and I sure as hell won’t beg for you ,” he ground out. “You’ll change your mind real soon, sweetie. I can tell you want me. Then you’ll be the one coming to beg me to fuck you and it’ll be that much sweeter .”

“Tell yourself whatever you want,” you told him. “Just do it out of my room that your desperate ass barged into. I need to get ready for that fire.”

He pulled a face at your words, his mouth opening and closing for a moment. The sight almost had you laughing but you bit your tongue, trying to fight it back. He somehow looked even more confused.

“I–I thought you said you weren’t going to that?” he asked.

“I changed my mind,” you answered with a shrug. “Might be fun to watch you squirm now that I know what you’re really after.”

Matt shook his head, turning around and heading back towards your door. You almost offered to help him as he felt around in front of himself for a second, but then he’d grabbed the door handle and twisted it open. He took a step out into the hall, grabbing his cane that he must’ve rested against the wall out in the hallway. Before he left, he turned over his shoulder back towards you.

“You have absolutely no idea what I’m after,” he told you.

You watched as Matt unfolded his cane, making his way next door to his own room. Standing in the middle of your room, you were left staring out of the open door wondering what the hell he’d meant by that.

[dianels]

Willow 2022 In Memoriam (for now)

Willow 2022 is no longer available for legal viewing in any format, anywhere. We hope it will be resurrected at some point, somehow, but TPTB at Disney have given us no concrete reason or timeline to expect its return. (Jon Kasdan, the show runner, has tweeted cryptic messages but is not in a position to make key decisions, nor to share details.)

First and foremost, I grieve for kids who now will not have the chance to stumble upon this wonderful show with a diverse/queer cast on a platform with the reach of Disney+. I can’t express in words how much I appreciated being able to watch this show with my enby 11-yo kid. Of course I also regret losing the opportunity to build the fandom over time with new viewers, as the Princess Bride did after a lackluster box-office opening in 1987, and I feel so angry on behalf of the creatives who poured their efforts and craft into this project. But I grieve even more the potentially life-saving representation that young people might have benefited from, and I fear for the chilling effect Disney’s decision might have on greenlighting queer/diverse projects aimed at younger audiences in the foreseeable future.

On a personal note: Actor Erin Kellyman has mentioned in interviews that playing the role of Jade Claymore helped her work on childhood issues, and I feel similarly about what watching the show has done for me. I was raised in central Kansas in the 1970s and 80s, a gender-non-normative “tomboy” lacking any mainstream queer representation. I don’t recall even learning the words “gay” and “lesbian” in the queer context until high school, and of course when I did, they were corrupted by ridicule and shame. Fortunately, I had a very strong sense of self and managed to survive and to thrive as a lesbian as soon as I went elsewhere for college.

I grew up as a fan of all the Lucasfilm franchises (including the original movie Willow, released in 1988). While I identified with both Leia and Han to a degree (and shipped them), something always felt off. There was something lacking in that magical Lucasfilm world. It was not just overt queer and diverse representation; it’s also the case, for example, that the entire original Star Wars trilogy does not pass the Bechdel-Wallace test. The original Indiana Jones trilogy barely does. (Criteria: there must be at least two named women who talk to each another about something besides a man.) Willow 1988 is the rare exception in early Lucasfilm that satisfies the Bechdel-Wallace test without our having to squint. As a fan of the original Willow, I found that Willow 2022 matched its spirit brilliantly and expanded its potential in such interesting directions.

I can’t begin to say how much it would have meant to me growing up to have had Willow 2022 within the Lucasfilm universe, for all these reasons. I really believe that a series like this would have changed the whole trajectory of my life - I am turning 50 soon - even when I count myself so very lucky to have had a supportive family and a strong sense of self. I am grateful that the first season of Willow 2022 exists at all, and it truly has propelled me to do a lot of important healing work around the childhood trauma of growing up queer at a time and place that was totally lacking in positive mainstream representation.

But it’s not enough: Willow 2022 should be made available for legal viewing in some form as soon as possible to keep saving lives and changing lives for the better.

[esoteric-chaos]

Let’s Talk Money Magic

Money bowls. Green candles. Magical Cashbooks. These things all work but how effective are they really in the brand scheme of things?

Let me let you in on a little secret. They aren’t that effective. Well, they are, but they aren’t, and I’ll tell you why. Have you ever done a spell or a manifestation for money, but your car may have broken down, and your insurance gave you a large sum of money to fix it? You still have your money, but at what cost? Or perhaps you came into a large sum of inheritance out of nowhere due to a family member passing. This is more of an extreme example, of course.

This all ties into mundane and magical. If you don’t have a mundane path for that financial sorcery to fall upon, how else are the spirits/universe going to give you what you desire? They are going to find a way, just might not be in the way you want.

At the end of the day we live in a capitalist society, everyone is one paycheck away from becoming homeless these days. In order for financial magic to work we need multiple lines of income. Either that be a job, investments, a business, etc. That’s just the reality of things. You may receive that occasional sum of money from the government for an unclaimed amount but how often does that actually happen? The answer is not often.

Money and Mindset

I’m order for us to become successful with money we need to change our mindset about money. A lot of us have trauma stemming from generations having to due with finances. Some might call these energetic blockages that stop us from reaching our full potential. Which in a way that is true. It stops us from deciding and reaching our goals.

Through changing our relationship with money and our mindset. We start to notice a shift in our life. Maybe we find our passion that leads us to what we want to do as a career that’s more prosperous. Maybe we go into a business and we have great sales. We look into proper investing techniques and make a big decision and it happens to pay off.

Look at your ancestors relationship with money, your parents, and yourself. This is where you need to dig deep and look at it. Once you change your relationship with money, it flourishes in other aspects of your life. Healing that wound with finances is what’s really going to help you.

Being abundant is not about getting a check here and there. It's about enchanting your life.

Money Magic and Disabilities

In a world where we need to constantly learn, adapt and change we need to look at ways for us to make money in order for us to be financially abundant. However we run into situations like being disabled and not being able to work a career, relying on the government. Not everyone will be so lucky to even be able perform successful constant money workings.

Pushing this financial magic can be harmful, especially to those who are disabled and can’t work. So what can we do in the meantime? Here is my post on what we CAN do in the meantime.

For those who are able-bodied, the reality is that in this day and age, you will have to monetize your craft and seek higher education if you are to be financially abundant. Here is a link to a post on different avenues to do just that to build upon skills.

Also, bad grades? No problem. Check out your local community colleges; they sometimes offer free course upgrades.

The Mundane Before Magic

The spirits cannot grant you wealth without a direct avenue for it to deliver itself.

For example, you want a job but are not searching for one. If we look at probability here, there is a very low chance you'll be getting that job without actively looking. Magic can only give you so much before you have to start putting work into it.

Now, if we consider you wanting to get a raise at your job, you've put in the mundane work, lined up all of your avenues, and finally done the magical to set it all up. Your chances of getting that raise are much higher.

Now, the more avenues of income you have, a business, a job and investments, AND you did prosperity workings on top of that. That's where you'll get the real results. However, let's be honest, who has the time for all of that? It is true, though, that the more avenues of income you have, the easier time prosperity magic will come to you.

How to use Money Magic

Now let’s go into how to really work with financial magic. I talked a bit about this in this post.

Prosperity altars are so important, in my opinion, if you want to start building wealth in a magical sense. What not a better way to build wealth than by working with the spirit of money itself?

Here are some basic item suggestions to get started. You're going to want to keep within the gold and green colour scheme, which symbolise wealth and prosperity.

Altar cloth

Corresponding prosperity crystals

Corresponding herbs

Money tree

Prosperity incense

Candles

Coins

A money bowl, Jupiter cashbox, manifestation mirror box, etc

(Realistic) Petitions

Alcohol offerings (Rum or Whiskey)

Want to change your mindset when it comes to money?

In Jason Miller's Book Financial Sorcery, a ritual called Moving Your Setpoint helps you transform your past mindsets into your desired mindset. I have not personally tried this ritual, but I've heard success from those who have.

Alternatively, you could try a dedication/values ritual where you dedicate yourself to the best version of yourself or even a phoenix ritual of transformation.

Blessings

[waltj]

Having Mr Driscoll thoughts.

He was lost for a long time. It was a short time to you, but for someone who just spent 6 months in a cell it was a wonderfully long time to be lost, walking along streets and reading post notices, sitting in diners and drinking coffee, closing his eyes and getting to open them somewhere where there's a door. Todd gave him black coffee in the compound. He drinks his with milk.

When he was driving the 40 miles from Ed's drop-off to Haines, he didn't think about the future. Only the past. But now he's met with the knowledge of time marching relentlessly forward. Time doesn't wait for Jesse Pinkman. As far as the world is concerned he's already dead.

Trailer parks are anonymous places. He cooks on the gas stove, eats silently out under the stars. Listens to families - kids - playing at dusk. He coughs a lot - side effects from cooking without protection, smashed bones never healed properly. The scars on his face don't bother people as much as he thought they would. Sometimes people smile at him. He keeps conversations short. Maybe there's a girl. He hopes she can't feel his eyes burning into her head as she walks back to hers. Don't get close.

Where did you move from? Idaho. Mr Driscoll has a high school diploma too. Late one night he submits an online application to a community college. He gets in. Not Business, not Sports Science, but for Childhood Education.

For a while he doesn't know if he's Jesse Pinkman or Mr Driscoll. He wonders if Jesse has to live inside Mr Driscoll, if he needs to be snuffed out entirely, if that would be for the best. Five years on, when does [____] stop being an alias? What about when all the people who love him call him the latter? He can't remember the last time he heard his name spoken in a loving tone.

It's 2023. After finishing the course, he became a kindergarten teacher. His health is... fine. He developed a twitch for a while a few years ago, but that went away. The pain never leaves him. He's never been happier. The kids and their parents love him, one of them especially, and he married her. He does crafts with them. Draws superheroes with them. Lets them spin on the chairs if they want, but patches them up when they fall. On his next birthday, Jesse will be 40. He is just starting to go gray.

[theresattrpgforthat]

THEME: Magic and Mystics

This week's games are all magical in nature, whether they be solo games, supplements, or something as big and as grand as a wizard's tower!

Tower & Town, by Ari Calix.

After years at the Mages’ College, you have finally completed your studies and acquired a tower of your own. What better use for your new arcane residence than pursuing a wizard’s favourite pastime: magical research! The College, of course, has high expectations and anticipates regular reports on your progress.

There is, however, a complication. Your new tower is far from the distractions of the city, but it’s only an hour’s walk from a small town very eager for your magical assistance. You may have plans to revolutionize magical science, but the townspeople are really more interested in your warding their chicken coops against thieving sprites.

Tower & Town is a solo RPG about a rural wizard managing their time, making friends, and changing magical scholarship forever—while trying not to be driven out by an angry mob or lose research funding.

This is a neat little game that provides you with a balancing act: keeping up on your research while also doing favours for townsfolk in order to keep you in their favor. You’ll use two skills, Arcane and Mundane, and two specialties, one that informs your magical abilities and one that demonstrates your non-magical competencies. Your Reputation exists as two tracks that will move up and down depending on your success in meeting demands. The game provides a structured set of stages to ensure your wizard will receive many requests, and there’s enough moving pieces to keep your game playing over an extended period of time - so you can play a little bit every day.

Spellchitects!, by Viditya Voleti.

You craft and design the spells and rituals that are being cast all around your world. Using your advanced knowledge of how magic is weaved, you mark out the symbols, colors, and components to craft the desired effects. 

Sometimes you make spells for customers, sometimes you make spells just for the heck of it! As Spellchitects, it’s all about experimentation, collaboration, and fun!

As a spell-crafting game, this can be a fun little exercise on its own, but it could also be a way to design a magic system for a larger game. Each player will use a variety of different-coloured writing instruments to create elements of the spell. The colour and the marking involved in the sigil will each communicate something about what the spell does. The players will also have to assign a spell component for each extra symbol invoked in the creation of the spell. 

If you bought the Bundle for Racial Justice and Equality a few years ago, you already own this game! 

Summoner’s Fate, by Rae Nedjadi.

You are STUDENTS at a Learning Institution that focuses on the esteemed and complex art of ARCANE SUMMONING. You have learned how to call upon beings to be an extension of your own will and power.

A CONFLICT has arisen, an ADVERSARY reveals themselves. The stakes are high, things are dire! You few are the only thing standing in the way, there’s no one else. You have to rise to the challenge and trust that you’ve got what it takes!

This game takes inspiration from both Spindlewheel, by Sasha Reneau, and Royal Blood, by Grant Howitt. It has a Game Facilitator, also known as Fate, as well 2-4 players. It uses a Tarot deck to determine elements of the game: the Major Arcana provide story aspects and character elements, while the Minor Arcana are used for moments of the story where your summoners will make a wager in order to overcome a challenge. Your characters can summon Powers or Daemons to help them - but doing so also means that you could lose that which you wagered, cracking or shattering one of the crystals from which you draw your power. 

If you like heavily interpretive games, or you like playing with Tarot Cards, this game might be worth checking out!

Research Arcanum, by J. Evan Nyquist.

Research Arcanum is a PbtA game about learning the secrets of a fantasy world for 2-5 players including a GM. It can be used as a supplement to augment an existing tabletop roleplaying game or played on its own to generate the academic history of an Arcanist or to plumb the mysteries of a setting’s magic.

This game is something that you could run as a one-shot inside a larger campaign to give your characters a chance to really delve into the lore of a world, or to role-play the arduous journey of tracking down a specific magical solution to an urgent problem. If you like the idea of magic being something you can study in an institution, this game will give you a chance to really explore that.

I can also see this game being easily hacked into a sci-fi setting as well! Instead of a wizard university, your characters may be seeking information from an alien repository or a Jedi library. Just make the sources places like The Library Planet or Xritex, an alien researcher, and spheres things like Warp Travel, Robotic Intelligences, and Twi’lek Culinary Techniques. 

Wizard Pals, by Tadhg Lyons.

The world is a wretched place, and life is awful. Thankfully, You Are Magic, and even better, you can Do Magic, and it rules. Anyone can be a Wizard, and a Wizard can be anyone.

Wizard Pals is a lighthearted TTRPG/collaborative storytelling game in which every hero is a mysterious and magically powerful being known as a Wizard. To play, you need some pals of your own, some 12-sided dice, and an adventurous spirit. The game itself is easy to learn and approachable, open-ended and chaotic, and perfect for new TTRPG players and veterans alike.

In Wizard Pals, the colour of your robes denotes your area of expertise, your Signature Spells are powerful but require a re-charge, and all of you will go upon a quest to complete a Wizardly Task! There is so much room to make this game as goofy as you like - it’s hard to keep a straight face when one of your wizards is a frog in a top hat, or an ominous floating orb. 

There’s a number of mechanics that remind me of other games, including two abilities and a target number that you must roll under or over, similar to Lasers & Feelings. (The game uses d12s, which is what makes it slightly different!) However, when you’re in combat, your characters will be rolling using something akin to attack and defense, with a stat layout that you have to assign to both. 

This game comes with two supplements: The Bastard of Undertower, and The Haunting of Hobble. These are adventures that a GM can lead the characters through, which is great if your game master wants a little guidance, or just less prep to do. 

What’s So Cool About Street Magick?, by Vincent Quigley. 

So what IS so cool about Street Magick ?  Well... It's a micro-rpg where you play people that have shed the burden of banality and that yield terrible magick for it.  It's a game about the homeless, the vagrant, the people that tend to become invisible in our regular boring ass lives. 

It's a game about finding the fantastic within the rotten. 

It's a game that will need you to make your own. 

This is a simple hack of What’s So Cool About Outer Space?, about magic users on the streets. Follow rumours and fight of arcane threats that nobody else seems to care about. You have power now, but a happy ending isn’t going to just fall in your lap - you’ll have to fight for it. 

This game uses just d6’s and a bunch of imagination. I’d love to see this game in combination with a city-builder, such as I’m sorry did you say street magic, by Caro Acercion, or What is Here? by Matthew Gravelyn. I love the idea of creating a city and then exploring it - it gives me a lot of the same vibes as Urban Shadows or World of Darkness, but with less fiddly bits or chapters of lore.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hello! I feel un gran oso (shame, cringe, etc) for this, but I wanted to request a morpheus one shot hehe. I just NEED this situation to be written or something cause in my opinión its ✨✨

Based on the song Ballroom of Romance of Celtic Woman, where the reader is a human that somehow fell into morpheus grace, and as such she can enter the Dreaming every time she wants through a earring that morpheus crafted, and she wants to celebrate the Day of the Book or the day of the Librarian in honor to Lucienne, and for unknown reasons she gets permission to make a ballroom and well, a lot of dancing and a beautiful dress and Morpheus from his throne like: 🙂 (💓💓💓)

Mutual pining of course ✨

Thank you very much, have a nice day/noon/night!

Here's the song;

😊

Granny's Superstitions

Dream of the Endless x College Student!Reader

Summary: Your grandmother told you stories of how her grandmother was friends with the King of Dreams. You didn't think much of it, not even when you inherited your great-great grandmother's earrings on your 18th birthday. I mean, why would you? They did not correlate. And yet, your granny should have told you it did, so you weren't so surprised when you found yourself in the halls of the Dreaming.

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: Dark post capture!Dream, fem!reader, themes of misogyny, exasperated college student!reader, reader has a potty mouth, angst, enemies to lovers(?), typos, etc.

A/N: this was an exciting request! I love that you even added a song <3 I enjoyed it very much!! The syncopation in the chorus, its UGH SAUR GOOD. Because of this, I made reader a music major, like me HIHI. I will say, this became quite a dark and angsty fic and for that 😅 im sorry ig. ALSO I CHANGED SO MUCH ABOUT YOUR PROMPT I- ASODHASFOIAHFAHSF:HASF I do hope you still enjoy it my dear T_T [CRIES] IDK WHY I DID THIS TO YOUR REQUEST AND MYSELF IT WAS THE EARRINGS I HYPERFIXATED ON IT AND EVERYTHING JUST WENT BOOM T_T this is literally escapism PS the character Tim Henson in this fic is real, he's from a band called polyphia, which I love, and you don't have to imagine him as Tim, but I sure did LOL

I was effectively buzzed by the alcohol in my blood stream, and yet no amount of booze would make the unwanted stares from my classmates ever palatable.

Had I known making an effort in dressing up would merit the reaction I got for attending this party I didn't even want to attend in the first place, then they should all be glad that I wasn't in fashion department but in music.

Yet another rando turned to me and smiled, complimenting my outfit, to which I forced out a chuckling thank you.

I don't know why they're so upset that the guy they liked thought I was hot! It's not like it's my fault I got attention I didn't want.

I huffed as I pushed the restroom door open. I wash my hands as I stare at my face in the mirror. I behold the efforts I put on painting my face, on doing and redoing my liner, on perfecting the color on my lips.

I clench my jaw tightly at the feel of tears pricking from my eyes.

I thought they were my friends, finally I had friends, and yet all it took was one guy to ruin all that.

I close the faucet and lean on sink, releasing a sigh. I look at my reflection, watching the sapphire earrings dangle by my jaw.

I scoff at myself. I wore my heirlooms for them?

"Gosh, I miss home," I say, screwing my eyes shut as I straighten myself up. I begin to fidget with the small jewels on my lobes and head for the door. "Who cares if I leave early," I pull the door open, "no one's gonna-"

My ghost leaves me and I still when I see the dark expanse of the hall. There was no way this was the room I just exited, no way it was a dark, high-fricking-ceiling hall with marble floors, and massive stained glass windows that were broken. There was no way because there was not a single piece of furniture or intoxicated student in sight, only debris.

From my frozen stance, I push my hand behind me in an attempt to catch the knob I just let go. When I turn, my heart drops when I am faced with the fact I was in the middle of an empty hall with no door in sight.

Did they drug me?

I begin to pant as I do a 360 of the area.

I choke on my spit and go reeling back when I see a dark face in front of me. I am not nearly fast enough in my movements as the man's large strides allow him to quickly catches me in his tight grip.

"How have you come here, intruder?"

His voice is impossibly loud and deep that it seemed it was spoken by the very room itself. My hands dart up to cover my ears, but his grip on my biceps prevented that.

I open my mouth to speak, but the furrow of his brows and the tension of his jaw bring render me mute.

His darkened blue eyes widen a fraction. He scoffs, "I see. You are a thief."

My brows knit at the accusation.

He steps closer, fingers digging into my flesh, "what did you wish to achieve with those earrings?"

A shiver runs down my spine and I begin to stutter.

"What did you do to its owner?" his voice demands, going an octave lower. My eyes widen when his form begins to grow larger and the room begins to darken, "did you hurt her?"

My sight begins to blur with fearful tears when his pale skin disappears into nothingness, "I never met my her! She was dead before my mother was even born!"

"What?!" his voice echoes, seemingly endlessly.

"I NEVER MET GRANNY JOSEPHINE!" I scream, "I just inherited the earrings, I swear!"

When his form begins to revert, I decide it was do or die. I break away from his grip and manage free. However, when I pull away from him, I fall on my butt and freeze at the pain. I crawl away from him as far and as fast as I can, but as much as I didn't want to, I halt when pain shoots up from my palm. I pull my hand toward me and find blood on it.

"You are her progeny," he says.

When my eyes dart back to him, he is just a man in with black hair and a trench coat.

My pulse quickens when he walks over to me.

In an act of self preservation, I grab a concrete rock nearby and throw it to him as hard and best as I can. I goes right through his form and my eyes blow wider than they already are.

I push myself back, through the pain and blood on my palms, "STAY AWAY FROM ME! I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT BUT-"

"I apologize," his voice mutters, silencing me in pure bewilderment.

I look up to the man and examine his face and his outstretched hand.

He cannot possibly believe I would take that.

I prefer the pain of pushing myself up and make sure not to break eye contact with him as I do. Once I am back to my feet, the man looks at me then the blood dripping from my fingers.

"What the fuck are you?" I shudder out, slowly backing away from him.

His eyes lift back to me and he raises his nose, "I am the King of Dreams."

My body trembles at his words. My hands shake as I chuckle in disbelief, "no way- no fucking way. My grandmother- those bedtime stories- you're-"

"Real?" he finishes for me, "as real as your blood staining my floors."

My eye twitches at his remark. I scoff, still on edge, and yet I cannot withhold the retort in the back of my throat, "you're annoyed by my blood dripping when your your filthy floor?"

The Dream king seems not to enjoy that comment and yet I could not help myself, "my blood is the least of your problems, don't you think?"

I grip my injured hand.

"Leaving unwanted traced of yourself is not good for my domain."

I raise my brows at that, "well if you didn't shapeshift and scare the living shit out of me, then maybe I wouldn't have had to crawl away from you."

"I thought you were an intruder."

"But aren't you all knowing, or some shit," I heave, "so much for a king."

"You dare insult me in my own abode right after I've scared you out of your wits?"

I dare a step forward, "well to be humbled, your majesty, for bringing me here just to intimidate me-"

"I did not bring you here," he cuts me off, diminishing the space between us.

And though my pulse was loud in my ears, I remained steadfast in my place.

His hot breath hits my face as he speaks, "you thought of the Dreaming and travelled here yourself."

I pull my face back as it contorts, "I did not think of this hellhole. I thought of home."

"Yes, and this place is a home for all who are weary."

I hum, "you mean before it crumbled to the ground."

My breath hitches at the sound of his growl, "you inherited not an ounce of congeniality from your great-great grandmother."

The way he knows how far off granny Josephine was to me really struck a chord in me. I press my lips together, "well, I'm glad to have disappointed you so soon so that you wouldn't expect anything from me."

He bellows, "mortality never loses its audacity," he brings his face down to me, making my skin rise with gooseflesh, "I would withdraw the earrings you clearly do not deserve, but out of respect to Josephine, I shall allow you to keep it," he seethes, "but for your insolence you will know how much of a king I really am."

BUZZ.

BUZZ.

BUZZ.

BUZZ.

BUZZ.

BUZZ.

BUZZ.

BUZZ.

I slam my hand on my alarm and rip my heavy lids open.

I groggily groan as I struggle out of bed.

Ten days it's been since the last time I slept properly. If falling asleep wasn't the problem, then it was trying to wakeup from the horrible nightmares that plagued me.

I slam my books on my desk, making my seatmate turn to me and watch as I sit down next to him.

"Well, good morning to you too, zombie girl," Tim greets with a shit eating grin.

"I am not in the mood, you ass," I grunt, crossing my arms as I lean back on my chair.

"You haven't been in the mood for two weeks," he says, "Don't you think you should do something about it?" he leans on the table and knits his brows in concern.

I wipe my face and give an annoyed chuckle, "what can I do when I'm literally beefing with the king of dreams," I carefully word, "and nightmares."

"Poetic," he rests his hands on the back of his tattooed hand, "a true sign of insanity."

"Go fucking annoy someone else, you rat."

"Nah, if I do, you'll be lonelier than you are."

I shoot him a dirty look as he then places something in front of me.

I look at the grey packet as he explains, "sleeping pills."

I turn back to him and push the medicine away, "don't work. I've tried."

He raises a brow, "without prescription?"

"There is such a thing a over the counter drugs, Tim."

"Spoken like a true druggie."

I scoff.

He continues, "this was why I told you not to attend that snobby party. You ever noticed that ever since then, you've gotten fucked up in the brain. It's no coincidence."

"Again, thank you captain obvious," I slam my hands on the table and turn to him, feeling my head pulse in exhaustion, "and so sorry that not everyone can be a cool and popular as you."

"Why'd you even wanna make friends with them when you-"

"SHUT UP!" I scream, making the entire class turn to me. I feel embarrassment rise up my neck, and was only lucky that our teacher wasn't here yet. I sink down into my arms and bury my face as I mutter, "Enough. Enough! I get it, Tim. 'I told you so.' Geez, just get off my ass."

He calls my name, making me groan, "I'll do something about my insomnia! Just please, shut the fuck up."

"You better," he scoffs, "or else I'll plant a pea shooter in your lawn."

And so later that day, I did what I perhaps I should have the very moment after I met the Dream King.

I called my grandmother.

"Hi, granny," I smiled, holding my phone up to my face as I waved at the harshly zoomed face of my grandmother on the screen.

"How are you there?" she excitedly answers, "I'm so glad you thought to call."

I nod and chuckle, "me too, granny."

She takes a moment before responding, "you look tired. Have you been sleeping and eating well."

"Yeah, about that..."

After explaining everything to her, her voice grills the audio of my device because of how loud it is, "HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO DREAM OF THE ENDLESS?!"

"Granny, that-"

"YOU MUST APOLOGIZE TO HIM AT ONCE-"

"I think we're past apologies. I have to do something more to make it up to him if I'm to ever sleep well again."

"Darn straight," she mutters in agreement, "now, oh goodness, let's see..." she sighs and wipes her face, "PIE!"

I raise a brow, "pie?!"

"My grandmother absolutely loved baking and everyone who ate her apple crumble pie adored-"

"Hello," a voice calls, making me turn to whom spoke. I see a woman with glasses walking over to me and I give an awkward smile as I raise the tray in my hand, "hi... is Dream here?" Once she is before me, she takes in my appearance then raises a finger, "ah, you're the one who inherited the Sapphire Dream Walk." "... do you mean my earrings?" "Yes. I-" "What are you doing here, girl?" I look over my shoulder and see the annoyed expression on the Dream of the Endless, as my grandmother put. "A peace offering," I release a sigh and hand him the tray, "my grandmother said that granny Josephine made you pie and you so enjoyed." The two of them only stare at me. "It's most definitely not as good-" "Lucienne, I don't have time for this," he says, turning to the woman who greeted me. Dream turns about and debris from the room begins to float up. Lucienne places a hand on my arm then gratefully accepts the tray from me, "I thank you on behalf of my master for your most generous gift."

"Yeah, that's not gonna work," I sigh, running my hands through my hair, "I did not inherit any homemaker skills."

My grandmother says my name gravely.

"What? It's true!" I shake my head, "if I did, then I would have been better off marrying a rich man," I dryly joke.

My grandmother ignores this as she suddenly says, "if your baking skills are that bad, perhaps just make an effort to eat with him every lunch."

I make a twisted face, "you want me to waste my precious free time on that emo prick-"

"Hi," I raise a hand, making Dream and Lucienne, who seemed to be getting into a heated argument, halt and turn to me. Dream scoffs, "you again." I awkwardly chuckle and rub my arm. "What? No bribe this time?" he narrows his eyes at me as he walks over. I purse my lips and twist to reveal my backpack, "I bought lunch for all of us..." There is a sound of thunder from the outside. I look away from the stalking man, finding there was even less debris now compared to yesterday, "it seems your efforts to liven up the place are-" "Silence."

"Oh, so you have a better idea?!" my grandmother quips.

"Granny, I can already imagine-"

"You said," I grip my earlobes tightly in my fingers, "you wouldn't take my earring back for the sake of Josephine." "But that was before," he presses close to me that our bodies were nearly touching, "you were turned out to be a meddlesome insect." "How is being friendly to someone who clearly needs friends meddlesome?" "Friends?" his deep voice darkly chuckles, "it is you who needs friends," his voice echoes, "you think I did not sift through your memories to verify your words? I know well the day you came here you were at a party on the pretense of making companionship," he leans in that his nose nearly touches mine, "but they turned you away, did they not?" My eyes glass at his words and my breathing grows jagged at the words he next spoke. "If your fellow mortals do not want you, what makes you think that I would?" "My lord!" Lucienne calls. I do not grant him the satisfaction of another moment of my time and will myself back to my room.

"-how bad it'll be-"

I hold up a cupcake in a plastic container to the man who was reading on his throne. "Your insolence knows no bounds, girl." "Actually, it's chocolate chip cheesecake." He eyes me darkly, slamming his book closed, "you think you can win me over with food?" "I can tr-" "It is by my own power than I am sustained," he stands and swats my cupcake away, "and by my mercy that you have not slipped into madness." I gulp as he adds, "not yet."

"-if I force myself-"

I try to contain my giggles as Lucienne and I sit on a picnic blanket I bought for today. "It's so weird to know that without him, Bach would've never finished his most famous piece, which is so gentle and sweet and-" I finish with a whisper, "unlike your boss." She sighs as her lips press into a soft smile, "you know... he's not actually that bad. He's just... going through something." I roll my eyes, "what puberty?" Lucienne shakes her head "he has been hurting for a long time." "Just because you've hurt doesn't justify the hurt you inflict on others," I mutter, "you don't have to keep defending your petty king." Dream, who had just finally fixed and tidied the last of the rubble, speaks up "you are aware there is no such thing as hushed whispers in my realm?" He turns to us and walks over with a storm cloud over his head, "every crude remark you've uttered as you stuff your face with your cheap, store bought snacks has echoed in my ears." I look up at him, opening my mouth, but Lucienne's hand grabbing mine silences me. "If you wish to insult me as retribution, then perhaps I should darken your mind more than I already have." "Dream! She has not-" "I've had enough of you as well, Lucienne," he quips, "you tell her things that is not yours to tell." "But you have withheld rest from her, my lord!" she says as she stands, "and for what? Because she told you the realm was in shambles, when it clearly was?!" "I shall heed none of your flippant words and continue to do so as I see fit."

"-to hang around him when he clearly doesn't like me!" I exclaim, already frustrated by the idea.

"Then, do something you like... together."

I release a sigh.

"Perform for him, you are a musician after all, and he is every musician's muse."

Lucienne claps as I release a sigh and allow my guitar to rest on my shoulder on its strap. "A splendid performance indeed," she smiles at me. I awkwardly thank her and turn to Dream beside her. "Pitiful that talents are wasted on a girl as unsavory as she." I shake my head and release a scoff, "aren't you tired of being an asshole?" His lips curl in disgust, "perhaps nightmares aren't enough. Maybe taking your voice-" "You think just because you're powerful and fucking old, all your actions are justified?" I remove the guitar strap and begin to put it back in its case, "I just want to sleep! And I've been making an effort to pacify you, but you're acting like a child." "I'm acting like a-" "THEN I'M ACTING LIKE A CHILD, DAMMIT," I heave, "and you are the perfect Dream of the Endless!" I get on my knees and bow to him mockingly, "none could defy his will."

"Granny, that's-"

"Oh! I've got it. I've got it! I remember. The king is absolutely fond of ballroom dances. Perhaps you can convince him to allow you to plan a dance for him."

"Granny, where would I even plan such a thing?"

"The dreaming of course," I press my lips into a smile, watching Dream's dark face eye me impatiently. "I've had quite enough of your games, girl," he snips, "first you bribe me with food, now you're trying to fool me into dancing with you." "What-" I whine, "is it going to take-" I huff, "for your petty ass to forgive me." He scoffs, "well perhaps you could start by dropping the unnece-" "But I have! I did! I tried being nice, but you do nothing but attack me." He scoffs, "and if that were true then you would not be sufferings still." "I JUST WANT TO SLEEP!" I scream, lunging at him as I grab his stupid collar, "you have NO idea what it feels like to be so tired but restless." "I think I would know-" "BUT YOU DON'T! Because you don't need sleep, or food, or anything! You are just an all powerful monster, devoid of emotions and any sense of compassion." He shoves my hands off him and I pull back as I heave. Dream tilts his head at my tear stained face with disdain. "Lucienne told me you were captured-" "It was not her place to tell you anything." "You would know what it feels like to be trapped!" I release a shudder, "or perhaps you are so caught up in your own self-pity that you will never believe anyone else can suffer, at your cruel hands, no less."

I slam my head on the cafeteria table repeatedly until I feel my forehead sting. I feel tears prick my eyes in frustration.

I just want to sleep.

"I just wanna sleep, you royal douche bag-" I whimper, "can you fucking hEAR ME-"

"Hey!" someone catches my forehead, mid head bang, and I crane my neck up to see the worries and breathless face of my classmate, "where have you been? I haven't seen you at lunch in forever."

I groan and straighten up, just to slump down on my chair and rub my eyes in frustration. "I'm so fucking tired, Tim."

"Yeah, no shit," he says, right as the sound of a chair being dragged back fills my ears, "you look like shit."

I let out a whimper, unable to withhold the tears from my eyes, "you think I don't fucking know that?"

I break down against my palms, incapable of keeping my emotions in anymore. Tim stiffens at the sight and lets out a string of curses before placing a hand on my shoulder, "I didn't mean to-"

"Look, if you're here to annoy me too, just leave, Tim."

"What?"

I rip my hands away and look at him with my wet eyes, "I don't know why you're here, but just leave!"

He scoffs, "you don't know why I'm here?" He crosses his arms, "well maybe because I'm worried about you?! Because we're friends?!"

"..."

His brows furrow, "how's that, asshole?"

"... we're... friends?"

Tim's face twists, "are you fucking stupid for real?"

I don't get to reply as my name is suddenly called. I turn to my side and feel my blood still at the face before me.

"You called me," Dream says, turning from me to Tim, "are you in trouble?"

I still and turn between the two, as an incredulous chuckle leaves my throat, "now hold on," I scoff, "hold on just a damn second."

Dream turns back to me and I peer up at him, "are you trying to tell me that you came here because you thought I called you and that I was in some sort of trouble."

"You did call me," he mutters, completely ignoring the rest of what I just said, "I am not one to lie."

Tim turns to me as I laugh. His face is warry as when I stand from my seat. The serious expression Dream's face disturbs me and I chuckle yet again.

"I'm so sorry," I place a hand on my chest, "where are my manners? I should introduce you two first: Tim, Dream, Dream, Tim," I turn to the latter, "you wanna know where I go at lunch? This is the Dream Lord I've been duking it out with every time."

Tim rises from his seat, grabbing my arm.

It seems, Dream does not take kindly to this and shows it by stepping close to the man. As Tim turns to the glaring Dream, I scoff and push the Endless to face me, "you're insane. Aren't you?"

Tim speaks my name softly.

"No," I turn to Tim, "he's the reason why I can't sleep because I questioned his kingliness or some shit-" I snap back to Dream, "in fact I'm so fucking tired I don't remember why you've been giving me nightmares in the first place."

"Okay, calm down," Tim tugs me towards him as he repeats my name, "we should just go to my place now and have lunch there."

"And who are you to take her anywhere?" Dream demands, making Tim's face contort in anger.

"I'm her actual friend, dipshit."

"Except she doesn't have any friends."

Tim snorts in annoyance, "as I'm sure you've been gaslighting her to believe."

With that, we walk away from Dream, even though I was so ready to lunge at him. Tim gave me an absolute earful about something, not that I actually listened. But still, even as his words entered one ear and out the other, I still cringed at the severity of his harsh but concerned tone.

Out of spite of myself, I told him I would skip the rest of my classes and sleep the entire day. After arguing about it, Tim eventually walked me back to my home and I punished myself by actually trying to go to sleep.

You have no idea how shocked I was when it worked.

I didn't realize I was sleeping because I was suddenly in a glimmering black dress.

Lucienne came running over to me with a wide smile, "You did it! You did it, dear, you did it!"

"What?"

"You've put sense into that old fool's head," she grabs my face, "and convinced him to throw a ball in honor of the reconstruction of the Dreaming."

"Wait," I shake my head, "so I'm-" I grip my earlobes and find only the smoothness of my skin, "dreaming?"

Lucienne beams at me as tears glass my eyes.

"Now, is not the time for sadness," she sighs, grabbing my hands, "today we celebrate!"

Seeing all sorts of beings dancing and making merry in the grand halls with such festive and upbeat music made it hard to resist. Of course I was reluctant and in denial. It was all happening so quickly, But when I was drawn into the middle of the room by Lucienne, who linked her arm in mine, and started spinning around, I couldn't help but laugh and dance with her.

My spirit is livened by the sound of the fiddles and the sweet voice singing to the music.

By the time the chorus comes along, I am relaxed and try to hum along with the music as Lucienne and I giggle at how poorly we were dancing.

I am promptly halted when the arm linked in mine pulls away and I slam into a firm dark chest.

I grip on a pair of biceps and tilt my head up. Dream he looks down at me with an expression I have never seen before.

I pull away quickly, but he catches my wrist, "it was your idea to have a dance," he leads me back near to him, "might you share one with me?"

I'm surprised he actually waits for my response. And so I reluctantly nod my head.

The moment I do, he does the weirdest thing. His lips curve upwards and he spins me to the beat of the music.

All the stiffness and unwillingness begins to melt away as Dream leads me to the music. Though his gaze on me is heavy and scrutinizing, I cannot bring myself to look away.

"It really took a man showing his concern for me for you to finally change your mind," I mutter.

"No," he readily denies, "it was you who made me change my mind."

I roll my eyes, "but it took Tim to set the wheels in motion."

He shakes his head, "you truly could not be farther from your great-great grandmother."

I huff, unable to understand him, "she must have meant a lot to you."

"She did," he pauses for a moment, "she was the gentleness to my indifference."

"So, what? Is this the part where you tell me you're my great-great-granddaddy?"

He spins me around and presses his chest against my back, "if Josephine were here, she would be horrified to know how filthy her daughter's lips are."

"I'm not her daughter..." I mumble, feeling my pulse rise at our proximity, "I'm her great-great-"

Dream spinning me cuts me off. When he retrieves me by my waist, he softly tells, "you were right. I have been cruel and devoid of emotion."

Our dancing comes into a stop as he willingly admits this.

"My own hurt and the unjust expectations I had of you to act like someone you are clearly not is what lead me to be so," he mutters with a solemn expression, "it does not make it right, and it is not an excuse, but I wanted to tell you this."

My brows furrow tightly at his words. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"I apologize for my wrongdoings. I do not enjoy what I have become, and I know I am disgracing the memory of my friend for being so brutal to her child."

I feel a shiver run down my spine. In pure disbelief, I grab his face, "are you seriously Dream of the Endless?"

His teary eyes crinkle in amusement and it causes me further bewilderment, "I am."

When he places hands on my wrists so gently, I feel goosebumps form on my arms.

"You are so familiar yet so foreign to me all at once."

I pull away from him, not knowing what to say.

Just then, the music ends and everyone but us breaks into applause.

When another song plays, I press my lips and extend my hand out to him, "how about another dance?"

Tim was lying on the other side of a cafeteria table, while I was sat opposite to him as I typed away on my laptop. He was playing on his electric guitar connected to his tiny, rechargeable amp, which was propped on the table. His nonchalance while expertly riffing made passersby stop, watch, and swoon. Typical Tim. He sits up just as I turn back when I hear my name get called. A small smile finds my lips as I greet my caller, "Dream. What are you doing here?" "It's lunch time and you have not come to the Dreaming yet." Dream catches the fact that I was not wearing my earrings, just as I chuckle, "and why would I go to the Dreaming?" Tim had already straightened up and stopped playing at this point. I shake my head and shrug, "I'm not going to pretend like I didn't go to you to convince you to stop my nightmares. And now you've gotten rid of them, I won't bother you." I examine Dream's expression, but there was nothing to examine, he was as still as a statue. "You don't have to worry about me. You can do your work in peace now," I nod and turn back to my laptop. Tim's eyes widen at what he hears and he decides to just lie back down and play again. I stop myself in the middle of typing to steal a look behind me in case Dream was still there. When I found no one, I pushed the thought of him away and finished my homework.

[fgfluidity]

pincera (part 1)

Summary: pincera- Latin, 'cup-bearer, one who mixes drinks' || Damien and the lessons he learns from his friends, with the catalyst of alcohol.

Pairings: Damien/DA, Celine/Mark, Celine/Will

Tags: Alcohol, Bootlegging, Adultery, WWI, Fights, implied Overserving, Abusive Parents, Autistic!Seer!DA

thank you all for your patience- this will have several parts and then a sequel that is planned, so thank you for your Continued patience kdfshdjk

find it on ao3 | donate to my kofi

@opprose @statictay @volbeast @otterlyinluv @flerpdederp (and if anyone else wants to be tagged lmk!)

Alcohol had been in Damien’s life since his childhood-- in his family, for generations.

It could be an alarming thought, but it’s a lot more innocent than it may seem at first glance; he didn’t start drinking until his university days, and not really in excess. At least, not to excess outside of a party.

His father was the mayor for some time. First, he was a councilman-- a path Damien finds uncomfortably similar to his own, years later-- but a politician all the same. Politicians and alcohol go together since time immemorial, and in a much more tolerable way than any of their other vices, to an extent; after all, a bit of social lubricant helps to turn over potential voters as much as a winning smile and the perfectly crafted sentence.

Damien had a skill for it-- part practice, part innate ability, and part grueling training from his father on social graces and charisma-- but his father was good. Sickeningly so.

His father’s charisma only extended so far, of course, and his parties were awash with the stuff, even before Damien became aware of much more than the noise downstairs. It helped to keep people merry, and keeping him in office through their votes and donations kept them rather pleased, in turn. A strange symbiosis, yes, but effective.

Even once he knew that these weren’t simple get togethers, he and his sister sat cloistered in their rooms under the close watch of their nanny, listening close as the band played on, the dull roar of a bunch of adults talking politics. It tapered off eventually, but he couldn’t deny he was curious about the goings-on.

(He was never brave enough to venture down on his own, not with the risk of his father’s wrath looming like a dark cloud. If anyone found them out, a pair of eight-year-olds slipping through the crowd to cause who knew what kind of mischief…

Celine held no such fear, it seemed, as she marched right to him one night, eyes hard as flint and determined. “Nanny’s asleep,” she’d said, reaching out for his arm. “We’re going to go steal some snacks.”

The fear kept him from enjoying the first snack, some piece off a crudite tray that carved the vegetables so to render them unrecognizable; after a few more pieces, and no Father waiting for him when he glanced back over his shoulder, the knots in his shoulders began to loosen.

The food was good, but the champagne they managed to swipe from an inattentive waiter dried his tongue more than a day in the sun. Celine wasn’t so expressive in her distaste, but she’s the one who dumped the rest of the glass into the ficus in the corner.)

He wasn’t sure he would ever be quite so brave as to sneak alcohol again, but university changed things. He was on his own, no father or even mother to watch his every move, the freedom of adulthood calling him just as much as the chance to properly socialize. After all, he’d need to make some good connections if he wanted to follow his dreams, and what better than a college party to do just that?

It seemed like a good idea, at least, until he woke to his alarm clock drilling into his head, the sun itself seemingly on a mission to burn his eyes out of their sockets. His mouth tasted like rot, and sitting up made the room swoop dangerously.

What a day to try and sit and write his midterms. If his friends noticed at all, they had to have chalked it up to late study sessions, because word never got back to his parents about his drinking. If anyone had said anything to his family…

Thankfully, there were few questions, and those that remained were explained away easily enough. A few dropped points were just… the new difficulty getting to him.

He didn’t stop drinking after that, but at the very least he got smarter about it-- never before a planned test, never before returning home, and always chased with plenty of cool water. It spared him the worst of the pains-- eventually, most if not all of the pains-- and kept his grades high enough to be above suspicion.

His friend, the lightweight, was never so lucky, but he was happy to stick around and tend them while they were miserable.

The relationship matured as he did, through his underclass graduation and his graduate’s. Drinking didn’t vanish entirely, no, but he was too busy to drink quite so much at these social gatherings, and the interest was shifting from getting as drunk as possible to relax, and more towards alcohol as a concept.

No, it wasn’t an obsession, but it was a fascination. These elixirs held such power, taking commerce and politics by storm, capable of enrapturing scores of people before they realized, taking their higher function and suppressing it. A simple potion-- really a poison-- taken so regularly, all in the name of purported social grace and amusement.

Incredible.

He studied composition, creation, and set up small stations in his basement to experiment.

A station for beers, both hoppy and malted, provided lightly bubbly and yeasty drinks-- not the most to his taste, but rather easy, comparatively.

Next came meads, wines-- fermented juices, fruit under the right conditions creating something much more complex. They were a little better, whether from experience or more to his taste. His friend favored these tiny bottles, sweet and flavorful.

It’s ironic, in some way, that the day he bottled his first attempt at a vodka was the day that ‘U.S. Is Voted Dry’ graced the front page of the paper lying on his front porch.

Obviously, he hadn’t been in agreement. Excess gave way to trouble, sure, but the mere existence of the stuff wasn’t a sin in his eyes; besides, he had full notebooks of notes, ideas, further experiments. Why should he give up his mostly-harmless hobby for a bunch of people he hardly agreed with at the best of times?

He kept his work in the cellar, where it always was; literal underground work wasn’t likely to bring him under any suspicion, and his status as a newly-minted councilman with sights on mayorship didn’t hurt his efforts to remain secret. With his reputation-- and to his chagrin, his pedigree-- no one would imagine him breaking the law, of all people.

He kept his head down, working on his pet project now and then as his duties drew him a bit further every day-- not enough to quit the endeavor all together, but cutting down on his output. Even then, anything he didn’t keep to test, or have a tiny glass of after a rough night, went straight down the drain.

Then, one day, Mark came to him.

“They stopped supplying my parties,” he said, blowing in like an errant wind, the door nearly slamming into the wall behind it from the force of his entrance. “Can you make brandy?”

Damien looked over the back of his chair, eyes wide. He had an open-door policy for Mark, among a few others, but… he couldn’t have really been asking what he imagined he’d heard. “Excuse me?”

Mark huffed, sweeping further into his home and only stopping a spare moment to tug off his shoes. “Your floors will be fine,” he grumbled, finally coming around to him in the living room. “Can you make brandy? Or vodka? Gin? Rum? Hell, I’d even take a bottle of your mead, if you haven’t already given it to--”

“Mark, what makes you think I make any alcohol, let alone keep it any longer?” He set down his book, resigned to the fact that he may not finish it this evening as he’d planned. “Didn’t you read the papers? Prohibition’s been in effect for a few weeks.”

“Damien.” Mark gave him his ‘suitably unimpressed’ stare. “You can fool everyone you like about your hobbies-- everyone except your nearest and dearest.”

“You are my nearest and dearest?”

The look shifted from unimpressed to withering. “I know you brew it. You never stopped, and you’re still brewing it. Will you give me some of it? I’ll pay you.”

That was the thing about Mark-- he never gave up, not once he caught the scent. A bit like a bloodhound, really, or a shark; talented as he may have been, he got every last bit of his prestige through that determination.

A bit of guile and ruthlessness didn’t hurt him much, either.

Damien sighed, reaching up a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. It only just lessened the throbbing pain. “You’ll get it out of me one way or another. I have a mead I was experimenting with… would that happen to suffice?”

Mark grinned.

His order was small, really, hardly more than a favor: that single bottle of mead, as quickly as he could make it taste nice. It didn’t need to be especially fancy, nor specially flavored during his aging process. It just needed to be enough alcohol to supply a toast among fellow actors, celebrating a job well done and a brutal schedule finally coming to an end. As Damien had done much the same after long debates, he let it go. “It’s a gift,” he said, as an excited Mark reached into his pockets. “Congratulations on your film, and all. Besides-- it’s just one bottle.”

That’s all it seemed to be for a short while-- a one-off deal to help celebrate his friend’s blooming career. Then, scant weeks before the mead would be aged to his liking…

Well, he really needed this one done, Damien. A few bottles, for some producers; if he was ever to get his new script off the ground, he must have some friends willing to hand over capital. A brown spirit would be best, something really fine and old and expensive-- he was willing to pay.

Never mind that those brown spirits need years of aging, and never mind that he wasn’t trying to either get arrested or blow the roof off of his own home due to the buildup of fumes in the basement. Especially never mind that Mark, himself, is independently wealthy from his fame, with his sprawling home as proof.

“I can do you an orange brandy,” he’d said, instead. “It’s not going to be aged at all, but they’ll like it for after dinner. Just give me your oranges.”

Eau de vie doesn’t take years, thankfully, and with the amount of orange trees covering Mark’s estate… he had his bottles just in time to impress.

Of course, Damien kept his distillers going, because once is a favor, but twice, and so soon, is the start of a pattern. Mark found a source, and Damien knew better than to expect he’d let go so soon.

By the time Mark showed up with an invitation to poker and a burning question on his lips, he’d already bottled up some more brandy, a bottle of gin, some vodka. “You were going to ask,” he said, world-weary as Mark looked over the bottles with delight. “I thought I’d be prepared.”

All this being said, he didn’t really mind bringing along alcohol to those poker nights. He could enjoy the fruits of his labor and good company besides, let loose after the still-worthwhile grind of council busywork; even after he stopped-- which was a police matter and the single stain on his pristine reputation, and not something he liked recounting-- he still provided the drink in some way, whether sourcing out others in the same underground industry or serving the drinks, themselves.

Learning the balance of spirits wasn’t easy, but it came along with something unexpectedly: learning that they told a story, the story of whomever drank them. Certain people gravitated towards flavors, styles, presentations, all as particular and distinct as their fashion choices, their other preferences.

If he wanted to learn about his friends, about anyone, all he had to do was watch them drink.

[lcnelypainter]

( mason gooding, cis male, he/him ) have you met Chester D'Aramitz yet? you know, the 23 year old undergraduate student. i think they’re a senior majoring in art. ring a bell yet? every time i walk past their dorm i hear am i dreaming by metro boomin blasting through the door. everyone who meets them say they’re golden-hearted but can also be a little blundering. guess when you meet them you’ll figure that out yourself.

sports/clubs: ice hockey (center), art & media club, lgbt+ club

Brief Biography:

Chester D'Aramitz was born in Martinique, one of the larger islands of the Lesser Antilles in the Caribbean Sea. His mother had lived there for most of her childhood, before spending some of her adult life in France (though technically, Martinique is still a Departement of France) where she met Kristopher D'Aramitz, a baker. While it may seem a humble occupation, Kristopher took the craft very seriously, having been a baker's apprentice for many years. The two married and moved to Martinique, where Kristopher started his very first, very own boulangerie.

Chester was born five years into their marriage, and when he was only four years old, the family packed their bags and made the drastic decision to move to Montreal, in Quebec, Canada. Marie-Josephine had some family there already, who had offered to help watch Chester while she attended classes at a local college. It took a while, but Kristopher managed to open a new boulangerie, which over time knew great success. In effect, Kristopher became, in addition to being a baker, a veritable business-man, as well.

The move occurred during a crucial period of childhood development for Chester. The instability was expounded upon by his mother and father's respective self-improvement pursuits. His mother and aunt thought it would be beneficial to find an activity for Chester-- a way for him to make friends, occupy his time, and perhaps even channel any negative feelings into something productive. So, he began ice skating lessons.

Skating lessons were expensive. They kept the cost down by only sending D'Aramitz to group classes and opting out of private lessons. Kristopher worked hard to make his business a success. Marie-Josephine studied hard at school. And Chester began to carve his life into the ice.

After a while, it became evident that skating wasn't a temporary thing, but rather a major investment. Uninterested in other ice-based sports, Chester joined a peewee hockey team. During the small mock-tournaments that the club put on for the younger students, it was clear that Chester (or Chess, as his teammates began to call him, because that's how they said he played the rink-- like a Chess board) was an up-and-coming force to be reckoned with. The older and better that Chester got, the more costs mounted. Between private lessons, club dues, equipment, clothes, and tournaments, Kristopher basically had no choice but to expand his baking business by opening more stores to fund it all.

Chester fell in love with the sport more than anything, and he knew, given that his other club members were considerably more well-off than his own family, the only way that he could convince his parents to allow him to stay in the club was to be better than everyone else. For Chester, being in the rink was like being on another planet; All the worries, all the oddities of being in a weird place, having to put up with being picked on by his older cousins, all of that faded into nothing. On the court, it was just him. Hockey was like the Way, or the Tao, for Chester, he just existed in the rink.

Chester became good friends with the other kids in the club, as his parents had hoped. Of course, it was easy to think, from his perspective, that everything was fine; How could he, at that age, empathize or imagine that anyone would be jealous of him? Or even resentful toward him? Being at the top of the pack meant that Chester was somewhat blind to the negative attitudes that some may hold.

Things really took off when Chess hit high school age. Chester maintained a steady C average, spending most of his time absorbed in hockey, though he tended to coast through on his sheer talent. At this point, he would travel for tournaments and return with sparkling trophies under his arm. However, despite having many shallow acquaintances, he felt very alone. He found solace in another hidden talent of his: art. Chester documented almost his entire youth through sketching it into graphic novel panels.

One year, after taking home the championship trophy, Chess was scouted and invited to come to the United States to try out a club league in Minnesota. The best academy for up-and-coming hockey champions, they said. His parents were skeptical, but agreed. In the end, Chess hated it; for the first time, he was being challenged at a level that he wasn't sure he was ready for, and all of his peers, rather than just a select few, were competitive, arrogant, and blood-thirsty.

According to Junior Rankings, Chester was one of the best players in Canada, by the end of his High School years. It remained to be seen, except for his stint in Minnesota, how Chess stacked up to international players. This would change when Chester accepted admission to Radcliffe. His first year as a University D-1 athlete was an absolute polar plunge of a wake up call. Hard work triumphs over talent, and Chess realized he would need to focus more than ever on the sport if he had any chance of turning pro, which is what he wants most in the world.

Quick Facts:

Nicknames: Chess

Sexuality: Bisexual, biromantic

Nationality/Ethnicity: French/French Canadian, Mixed-race

Languages spoken: French, English

Star Sign: Leo

Stature: 6'3", athletic, less than sure-footed off the ice

Tattoos/Identifiable marks: None

Allergies/Ailments: Shellfish allergy

Occupation: Student athlete

Personality: Very easy-going, and a loyal friend, though can also be full of himself and over-confident. Those who don't mind having their ear talked-off would probably get along with him well, and if one could see past the brazen and shameless exterior, one would understand that Chess seeks desperately the same kind of understanding from others that he affords to just about anyone.

Pets: None (no time to take care of them).

Likes: Hockey, running, dancing, music, poetry

Dislikes: Heat and humidity, unwarranted hostility, sitting still, and shrimp

[nawtponchoesquire]

Oh god, this manga is about me: Dead Dead Demon's Dedede Destruction

On December 2nd, 2022, a YouTube livestream broadcasted the rollout of Northrop Grumman’s latest technological marvel to thousands of people. Countless hours of R&D, cutting edge engineering, and assembly all lead to this moment. Northrop Grumman CEO Kathy Warden spoke from a podium about “the next generation of capability” and “defining what this nation is capable of when we work together” while the livestream chat gawked and called her Mommy.

After Warden’s speech, the hangar door behind her slowly opened. Blue stage lights cast a powerful aura over a hulking monolith draped in a white cloth. Cinematic orchestra music blared and the lights pulsed with the music. The chat screamed “TRUMP 2024”, “METAL GEAR”, and “MOMMY” still, if you can believe it. The music reached its explosive crescendo, and the curtains dropped: the B21 stealth bomber was introduced to the world in all its glory.

Admiral Christopher W. Grady called it an “Airborne Extended Deterrent”. In his speech after the reveal, Grady waffled a bit about national security, and about how this plane REALLY matters and was, like, TOTALLY worth the tax dollars, guys. “This isn’t just another airplane. It’s not just another acquisition. It’s a symbol and a source of the fighting spirit that President Reagan spoke of” he said.

Livestreams and marketing of this nature aren’t uncommon in today’s late capitalist dystopia. Gun manufacturer Heckler and Koch shows off flashy trailers of their submachine guns, edited with a slow-mo Booj and the musical timing of a Battlefield trailer. At the time of writing, there’s even an extremely late sale on their website for “MARCH MAG-NESS”, with a toggle at the top for civilian and law enforcement of course.

When looking at these pieces as part of my research for this post, I’m left with a sinking feeling that’s hard to describe. I feel swallowed by a culture and a system so determined to casualize warfare, to justify violence against a perceived, sometimes invisible threat. As the planet warms, the rich elude responsibility, and I whittle away my days at an office job, precisely one thought bounces around in my brain: “I can't wait to go home and play videogames”.

This exact feeling is captured in amber by Inio Asano’s latest finished work, Dead Dead Demon’s Dededede Destruction! (henceforth referred to as Dead Dead Demon’s). Set 3 years after a UFO appeared above Tokyo, Dead Dead Demon’s follows two high school grads just living their life while the literal and figurative “end of the world” looms overhead. What starts off as an unassuming pre-apocalyptic slice-of-life unravels into a deeply fascinating vivisection of our current geopolitical climate and how its effects trickle down to the youngest generations like countless streams of Ronald Reagan’s piss.

It’s impossible not to see the political implications of Dead Dead Demon’s. After the giant UFO suddenly appeared above Tokyo, The Japanese military panicked. They shot down the countless smaller UFO’s that poured out of the main craft, raining debris down on Tokyo’s denizens. Thousands were killed, including Kadode Koyama’s father. Kadode’s mother, left traumatized and paranoid after this tragedy, becomes the manga’s version of a conspiracy truther. 3 years after 8/31, Kadode’s mother leaves Tokyo and her daughter behind to live in a commune with her new boyfriend.

In the midst of her high school graduation and early college career, Kadode is left alone. Or, she would be, if not for Ouran Nakagawa, her childhood best friend. Ouran is Kadode’s rock-solid foundation. As the manga comes back to time and time again, they are absolute; an unwavering, unconditional love connects the two in a way that’s rarely portrayed in manga. A running theme throughout the manga is that the people you love can pull you through anything, not through fixing your problems, but simply by being by your side. Or at least, it would be. More on that later.

The duality of Kadode and Ouran is explored throughout the manga in such a way that it builds the two protagonists to be distinct but codependent. Kadode, a victim of bullying in elementary school, developed a discomfort with how easily society labels its ingroups and outgroups. Her only respite from relentless bullying was Isobeyan, an ongoing gag manga that her father worked on.

The titular Isobeyan and his incredible technological gadgets allow a neurotic teenage girl named Debeko to find wacky solutions to her problems. Debeko, unable to escape her own cycles of narcissism and self-loathing, constantly relies on Isobeyan’s gadgets to get her way. Kadode sees her own destructive tendencies in Debeko, and fantasizes about using Isobeyan’s gadgets to fix her own life; it’s a potent fantasy to give someone who is marginalized. Full-color snippets of the fictional manga bookend each volume of Dead Dead Demon’s, serving as a clear visual and structural metaphor for the invaders and how their advanced technology would seem to be able to fix anything.

While Kadode Koyama is cynical but reserved, Ouran Nakagawa is a firehose of sparkly anticapitalist rage. She’s brash and completely unfiltered, swinging from scathing cynicism about the future of Japan to raucous joy about the latest patch for her favorite FPS within literal seconds. Ouran is the candle that burns twice as bright and twice as long, loudly proclaiming herself to exist in equal parts joyous laugh and viscous battle cry.

However, that’s not the whole story. Beneath the mask is a deeply empathetic high school girl who really just loves the people she surrounds herself with. She may tease her friends after a bad date, but she’s there to hug them while they cry. Although she talks a lot of shit, she clings to her friends like they are the most important people in the universe to her. Ouran embodies both the hopeless circle-jerk of being at the bottom rung of late-stage capitalism and the boundless love that powers us through the worst of times within that system. And yet, further beneath that, something stirs within her. More on that later.

The alien invasion is a clear allegory for (INSERT HOT-BUTTON GEOPOLITICAL TOPIC HERE). It’s equal parts climate change, refugee crisis, and 9/11. The so-called invaders don’t exactly live up to their name, being about the height of a grade-schooler and waddling around with cute old-fashioned submarine helmets on. They are about as unassuming as an extraterrestrial threat could possibly be, and we even get some chapters with the invaders from their perspective as they try to survive in Tokyo’s quarantine zones. To them, Earth is a hellscape they did not intend to die on. And oh my god, do they die.

This is the part of Dead Dead Demon’s that pulls on some horrible discomfort deep within me. The genocide of the invaders is sponsored by tech industry giants like Samsung and Google, literally mowing down crowds of child-sized invaders with machine guns, while Kadode and Koyama go about their daily lives just a few blocks away. The dissonance between high school antics and the screams of what look like dying children hits close to home. It’s impossible not to see the parallels between how we, as consumers in a post-industrial society, often live willfully ignorant to the cruelties our lifestyles enable.

I’ve grappled with the question, “what is Dead Dead Demon’s Dededede Destruction about?” ever since I first sat down and read it. After a third re-read, I’m not sure that I could boil it down to one specific, sexy thematic clause, and that seems intentional. Inio Asano, the manga’s author, is notorious for creating stories that revel in complexity. Dead Dead Demon’s welcomes, interrogates, and explores a whole host of questions about life in the modern era. And then… the big reveal happens at the midway point; the truth of what this story was really, always about.

Spoilers from here on out, folks. The manga takes a pretty significant turn, one that I actually really like, but it will give you whiplash if you aren’t ready for it.

Okay. So. Time Travel.

The Ouran we’ve seen throughout the first half of the story is without a doubt eccentric. The glimpses of her that we see in flashbacks, however, look like a totally different person. As a child, Ouran is shy and quiet and rolls with the punches. She even stands idly by as Kadode is bullied by her awful classmates. For lack of a better term, she’s perfectly normal. Somewhere along the way, something seriously changed for her.

When Ouran and Kadode were young, they barely spoke. The story goes that they grew close over a summer cram school stuck together, but the secret that brought them together builds out the world and history of Dead Dead Demon’s in a pretty surprising way: Kadode and Ouran found an invader 8 years before the invasion of Tokyo.

Kadode and Ouran go full ET mode and keep the invader disguised in Ouran’s bedroom. After some debate on what to do, the invader finally speaks up for themselves using a small alien device as a translation tool. The invader’s purpose for coming to earth is clear; they are a scout sent by “the home country” to see if Earth is a good place to finally come and colonize.

The interaction here between the scout and these two schoolchildren is fascinating. The scout speaks in vague terms, but they make it clear that humanity exists on earth to create a breathable atmosphere for the invaders, much like how trees create a breathable atmosphere for us. Invaders are beings that aren’t so strongly tethered to a body or physical form; compared to humans, the invaders are actually much more spiritual and transitory. Their child-like bodies only exist as a vessel through which they interact with the world around them.

Kadode and Ouran are bestowed with an impossible burden. They believe that they must prove themselves, and by extension humanity, as welcoming and friendly to this alien civilization. The scout is content to watch this with scientific, unobtrusive collectedness. If they can get a clear read on humanity and its potential threat to the home country anyways, the scout might as well entertain these two girls’ efforts.

Through actively volunteering to do good, the girls feel like they are painting a good picture of humanity for the invader to see. However, it soon becomes clear that the system they are a part of is too big for two small girls to change. Kadode and Ouran can’t do anything about the scandalized politicians, con artists, and criminals. Kadode, fully grasping the situation and its implications, decides that she can do more. No, she needs to do more.

Kadode manages to steal a few powerful tools from the Invader. A small device that sends a devastating force out from its tip, enough to send a car tumbling sideways. An invisible cloak that perfectly obscures its wearer. A device worn on the head that allows one to fly. When these technological marvels are put together, Kadode goes from being an unassuming grade schooler to something else entirely: a vigilante dead-set on purging the horrible people from this world.

Before long, news started to break of a train wreck, and of a politician turning up dead after a hospital stay for a minor medical issue ended with a bullet-shaped wound. Ouran’s favorite pop band member quit, and suddenly the concert was canceled thanks to a technical accident. Over the course of a few days, Kadode has been tracking down horrible people, nearly killing them, and asking them one simple question, “Tell me the worst person you know.”

Ouran finds out that Kadode has been doing this vigilante work, and for the first and only time in the manga, they fight. Kadode, grappling with the sheer weight of trying to fix our world, is left cold, distant, and apathetic. Ouran finds this new side of Kadode to be frightening and alien, like she doesn’t even know who she is talking to. After an argument and a brief physical confrontation, Ouran is left alone for the first time. She is devastated.

Kadode doesn’t show up to class for a few weeks. Then she moves away. In one last ditch effort, Ouran goes to Kadode’s new home and asks to speak with her. Kadode is disheveled, but seems somewhat happy to see Ouran. Therapy has convinced her that Kadode hallucinated or dreamed up her vigilante spree, but talking to Ouran reminds her all too well that what she did was real. The people she killed, the burden of proving humanity to be good, and the destruction of her relationship with her best friend, all push her beyond her limits. She can’t do this anymore.

In the middle of their brief conversation, Kadode jumps from the fourth story of her apartment building.

This series of events, observed by the invader, force them to come to one conclusion: Earth cannot be trusted and should not be visited by the Home Country. Hopeless and devastated, Ouran asks the invader if there’s anything they can do to bring Kadode back. While the invader can’t bring back Kadode, he can do something else: transplant Ouran’s consciousness to a different timeline. This would come with all sorts of risks, such as mental deterioration, but it would allow Ouran to relive her summer school cram days to do things right. Ouran could direct the timeline so that the two never encounter the invader all those years ago. Ouran ultimately accepts the invader’s offer.

I’m kind of obsessed with this decision because it underscores the tragedy and beauty of Ouran as a character. The crazy, chaotic Ouran we’ve been with for the entire story is actually a time traveler from another timeline. Since she never met with the invader, the Home Country was not notified that Earth was dangerous, and thus they appeared above Tokyo, killing Kadode’s father among thousands of other people as collateral damage. When given the choice between inadvertently destroying humanity and losing the one person that gives her life meaning, Ouran chose for herself. I really can’t blame her for that. What good is humanity anyway?

There’s more to this story, entire twists and plotlines I’ve glossed over and cut out of this post, but this moment speaks to the core of what this manga is about. Dead Dead Demon’s is about aliens, time travel, and corporate espionage, but it’s also about the people that need to live beneath those exact colossal forces battling overhead. When the system is this fundamentally broken, filled with flashy ads for the newest line of submachine guns, giant alien-destroying mechs sponsored by pop stars, and live streams where the CEO of a death machine company is called Mommy, it’s impossible not to feel weighed down by it all. The sheer scope of capitalism has never been more visible and more damaging to its denizens.

I often feel like my life is a rollercoaster. Right now, I feel like I’m at the part of the rollercoaster after the big buildup, where an amazing view beckons to me. I’m at the top, but I can feel gravity subtly pulling me down. In our current moment, the system is buckling under the weight of problems created generations prior. The rich are getting richer, the poor are getting poorer, and basic hopes like owning a house or even a new car are well out of reach for many, many people. Without sweeping change, we’re fucked.

I can’t wait to go home and play videogames.

[alfieabansale]

What is STEM?

STEM is an acronym that stands for Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics. It is a Senior High School strand, a specialized educational track, and development that studies the areas of Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics. STEM-related education seeks to develop the expertise, ability, and capability of each individual to work effectively and efficiently across disciplines and generate skills, knowledge, concepts, and ideas through learning this kind of field.

The first letter in the word STEM stands for Science.

Science helps us to develop our interests and understanding of the real world. It also enables us to develop skills and knowledge in the way of research, critical thinking, experimentation, exploration, and discoveries.

The second letter in the word STEM stands for Technology.

Technology is the practical and technical application of knowledge, processes, and methods. These cover a wide range of fields including computing science and services, business, craft, design, engineering, graphics, and applied technologies including those relating to microbiological, and food technology.

The third letter in the word STEM stands for Engineering.

Engineering is the scientific method of applying mathematical skills and knowledge to each individual including those relating to construction, buildings, transport, and the built environment.

The fourth and last letter in the word STEM stands for Mathematics.

Mathematics, which includes numeracy, operations, abstractions, and problem-solving, and teaches us with the skills we need to interpret, analyze, and generalize information, and make right decisions. Numeracy and Mathematics aim to develop the abilities and capabilities and essential skills for life, careers, and occupations.

The strand also emphasizes the importance of communication skills and teamwork. These skills are essential so that students work effectively and efficiently in teams and communicate complex ideas and concepts to others.

The following are list of College Courses you can take or pursue when you're under in the STEM Strand:

Science

• BS in Biology

• BS in Geology

• BS in Physics

• BS in Chemistry

• BS in Food Technology

• BS in Medical Technology

• BS in Nursing

• BS in Pharmacy

• BS in Physical Therapy

Technology

• BS in Computer Science

• BS in Information Technology

• BS in Information Systems

Engineering

• BS in Aeronautical Engineering

• BS in Chemical Engineering

• BS in Computer Engineering

• BS in Civil Engineering

• BS in Electrical Engineering

• BS in Electronics Engineering

• BS in Marine Engineering

• BS in Mechanical Engineering

• BS in Petroleum Engineering

Mathematics

• BS in Mathematics

• BS in Applied Mathematics

• BS in Statistics

• BS in Secondary Education major in Mathematics

Examples of STEM majors:

• computer science

• electronics and other technology-related disciplines

• engineering

• mathematics

• natural, physical, and life sciences

The following majors are often included as STEM:

• accounting

• anthropology

• economics

• medicine

• nursing

• political science

• psychology

• social science

Top STEM careers:

Computing

• computer systems analyst

• database administrator

• IT director

• network administrator

• software developer

Engineering

• audio engineer

• biomedical engineer

• civil engineer

• electrical engineer

• petroleum engineer

Physical science

• chemist

• cartographer

• agricultural technician

• physicist

• science teacher

Life sciences

• anesthetist

• clinical research associate

• oceanographer

• orthodontist

• science teacher

Mathematics

• accountant

• actuary

• economist

• financial analyst

• math teacher

• statistician

In conclusion, STEM teaches critical thinking and innovation. If we want a country or nation where our future leaders, workers, and people can understand and solve complex challenges of today and in the future, and to meet the requirements of the dynamic and rapidly evolving world, building student's skills and knowledge in STEM fields is essential. We must also remember that no matter where the student lives, they always have access to quality education and environment.

References:

>https://www.strand.ph/stem-strand-introduction#:~:text=STEM%20Strand%20%E2%80%93%20The%20Science%2C%20Technology,future%20careers%20in%20these%20fields.

>https://education.gov.scot/improvement/documents/sci43-definingstem.pdf

>https://www.techtarget.com/whatis/definition/STEM-science-technology-engineering-and-mathematics#:~:text=STEM%20(science%2C%20technology%2C%20engineering%2C%20and%20mathematics)

> https://www.ed.gov/stem

>https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fthephilippinestoday.com%2Fk-12-shs-program-stem%2F&h=AT0w6_i3XhuJVkNS-Zg85lNKLyBM3T6PtcTDVpfYn5NLFrKU-7fgEcXBUhIUf3r5NpjZas9OZJCNzfav7gprtN4RKaSN-TtEKUa1yPU678QXXbJgJ2NcMil7VCSmn3NL5oPSt--mGs78NuVqF5rkBcybSzg

Image:

>https://images.app.goo.gl/JtcvUNScS3JNHPmw5

[eliteprepsat]

You should be thinking about your college application essays now. Like, right now.

No pressure—think of it more like an invitation.

Why start now? Because whether you know it or not, you’ve already started writing those essays.

That might seem like a strange idea. Let me explain:

Your college application essays will ask you to tell a story (or stories) about your life. Many students struggle to find an angle worth developing in their essays. I’ve heard a number of students say something to the effect of, “I don’t think there’s anything interesting about me, so what can I write about?”

But that’s never true: everyone has a compelling story to tell. The issue is not that high school students don’t have meaningful life experience, as many adults might think. It’s that most teenagers have not yet figured out how to view their experiences as meaningful.

So, when I say it’s never too early to begin thinking about your college application essays, what I really mean is: you should start thinking about how to tell a story out of your day-to-day life.

Or, better yet, you should start thinking about how to make your day-to-day life worthy of a story. In order to do that, you have to fill your days with meaning.

What are you doing right now, or tomorrow, or this weekend that will help you create a compelling story about yourself? Think about the next few months or the next few years as a chapter in a book. What actions can you take to create an inspiring beginning, middle, and end?

No matter what you think about your day-to-day life right now, you can do this. In fact, you can do it really, really well.

Consider how you would answer the third Personal Insight Question from the University of California:

WHAT WOULD YOU SAY IS YOUR GREATEST TALENT OR SKILL? HOW HAVE YOU DEVELOPED AND DEMONSTRATED THAT TALENT OVER TIME?

I had one student a couple years ago who was really struggling to pick the right PIQs (if you’re applying to UC schools, you’ll need to complete 4 of the 8 options). Over the course of several weeks, we spoke for hours about his interests, hobbies, future goals, family life, extracurricular activities—nearly everything under the sun.

When we got to this question, I asked him if he had any special talents.

His answer? Blowing bubbles.

Not with bubble gum. Not with those bubble toys for kids. His talent was blowing bubbles with his very own saliva.

Yuck. Obviously, he couldn’t write about that—or so he thought.

We talked about how he started blowing bubbles, if there were patterns to when he blew bubbles, and how people in his life reacted to his bubbles. This is where a story started to emerge. He had real, convincing accounts of how this seemingly silly (and pretty gross) habit made people laugh and deflated conflicts.

His response to this PIQ was probably his best because it was filled with details about using this seemingly meaningless talent to help others. It was funny, it was relatable, it was detailed, and it was really, really compelling.

When this student blew bubbles, he was unwittingly writing his college application essays. It took time, creativity, and serious reflection to craft a narrative out of those bubbles, but he did it.

What will make your job easier is developing meaningful habits today. Start by reading some of these personal statements, which are filled with beautiful insights and turns of phrase that might help you when you sit down to write.

And then, get working toward—and thinking about—how to craft your own story.

[businesscollege]

BA degree courses in Bangalore

Explore Exceptional BA Degree Courses at IIBS College in Bangalore

At IIBS College, we take pride in presenting a comprehensive array of BA degree courses that cater to various academic interests and career aspirations. Our programs are meticulously crafted to ensure that students receive a well-rounded and holistic education. With a blend of theoretical knowledge and practical applications, our BA courses provide the ideal platform for students to thrive.

Why Choose IIBS College for Your BA Degree?

Academic Excellence: IIBS College is synonymous with academic excellence. Our BA degree programs are designed by industry experts and experienced educators, ensuring that students receive a curriculum that is up-to-date, relevant, and intellectually stimulating.

Experienced Faculty: Our faculty members are not just educators; they are mentors and guides who are dedicated to nurturing the potential within each student. With a perfect blend of academic proficiency and industry experience, they provide valuable insights and guidance.

Practical Learning: We believe in learning by doing. Our BA courses incorporate hands-on learning experiences, case studies, and real-world projects. This approach empowers students to apply their knowledge and skills effectively in practical scenarios.

Holistic Development: Beyond academics, we focus on the holistic development of our students. Personality development sessions, soft skills training, and extracurricular activities are an integral part of the BA degree programs at IIBS College.

[moorheadthanyoucanhandle]

CRITICAL RACE FEARY

Now playing:

The Blackening--Eight attractive African-American college friends gather at a fancy cabin in the woods for a Juneteenth reunion. After a short stretch of playing spades and drinking over-sugared vodka Kool-Aid, they quickly find themselves at the mercy of a maniac, forced to play a twisted board game called "The Blackening" with their lives as the stakes.

The game is focused on black identity; the questions involve black history and culture, and the group is forced to single out a victim on the basis of which of them is "the blackest."

The director is Tim Story, who helmed the Ride Along movies. Here he's working with a really well-crafted, intricately funny script by Tracy Oliver and Dewayne Perkins (based on a short by the sketch-comedy group 3Peat) that teases the long and intense love-hate relationship between black audiences and horror movies. It does this less subtly, perhaps, than Jordan Peele's films do, but with a solidly higher ratio of out-loud laughs.

Story generates a fine ensemble buzz with his excellent cast, all of them unknown to me except for SNL veteran Jay Pharoah, and Diedrich Bader as the token "Ranger White." The comedy outweighs the terror here, although the masked, crossbow-wielding killer is a creepy presence. Overall, this movie is the meta-slasher send-up that Scream only thought it was--truly witty, and truly about something.

The Flash--This feature vehicle for the venerable DC superhero has a terrific opening. It involves [spoiler!] a collapsing hospital building, and our harried hero's efforts to corral a maternity ward's worth of newborns plummeting from a window. There's an inventive panache to the multi-tasking gags here that Buster Keaton himself might have appreciated. But the exhilaration of this set piece isn't reflected in what follows.

Launched in 1940 as Jay Garrick with a Mercury-like helmet and rebooted, with the winged cowl, as Barry Allen in the '50s, The Flash can move so fast that he can not only dodge bullets or cross a continent in seconds, he can literally do what Cher only wishes she could do: turn back time. In this story, Barry (a charmingly callow Ezra Miller) decides to go back and prevent the murder of his mother (Maribel Verdú) which of course screws up the space-time continuum. As a result he must team up with a slacker version of himself from a different time-stream to undo the mess he's made, and deal with multiple versions of iconic characters, including Michael Keaton enjoyably returning to the role of a rather Howard Hughes-like Bruce Wayne/Batman.

If all this sounds to you a lot like the "Multiverse" from over at Marvel, I can only tell you it seemed that way to me too, and not to this movie's benefit. Despite some playful uses, the Multiverse's bottomless stockpile of do-overs and variant replacement characters was already getting on my nerves in the Marvel flicks, and this DC spin on it has the same effect: a dilution of the dramatic stakes.

There's some amusement, I suppose, in the many cameos by various versions of the characters, but it's a dorky, narratively inert amusement, more like a Renaissance masque or pageant than an epic. It feels like fan service, of a particularly OCD kind; like Charles V winding and re-winding his clocks, it's a futile effort to synchronize different versions of pop myths that should simply be enjoyed in their wonderfully irreconcilable diversity.

[ryqoshay]

Tri-Arame: DS9 Game

Primary Pairing Trio: YuuAyuSetsu Mentioned Pairings: AiRina, ShizuKasu Words: ~1.1k Rating: G Fandoms: Love Live Nijigasaki, Star Trek Deep Space Nine Parent Fic: Tri-Arame Time Frame: Sometime after college Event: Wake Up Challenger 2022 Source: Idol Fanfic Heaven Discord Challenges: 1, 2

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Author’s Note: For the first week of this event, four challenges have been posed, and we are allowed to use up to two per entry. Challenge 1 is to write a fic using only dialogue, no narration. Challenge 2 is to do a crossover with another franchise. Neither need be Love Live, at least I do not believe that to be the case, but it doesn’t matter, as LL has enjoyed more than the lion’s share of my attention for the last decade, so of course it will be one of the franchises for my entry.

Summary: Setsuna wants to DM a new TTRPG she found

---------

“<Space: The final frontier.>”

“Yuu-chan…”

“<These are the voyages of the starship Dreamverse.>”

“<Dreamverse?>”

“<It’s continuing mission, to explore strange new worlds,>”

“Yuu-chan, we haven’t even started playing and you’re already naming the ship?”

“<to seek out new life and new civilizations. To boldly go where no one has gone before.>”

“That was wonderful, Yuu-san! I love it!”

“But, why did you say that all in English?”

“Aren’t the original lines in English?”

“Yuu-san is correct. And the version I watched was also in English, just subbed in Japanese.”

“I suppose… wait… Dreamverse… Yuu-chan, did you name the ship after Setsuna-chan and I?”

“Ah ha ha. Looks like you figured it out.”

“But… what if Ai-chan and Rina-chan want to play?”

“I doubt they’d mind.”

“… That may be true, but what about Shizuku-chan and Kasumi-chan?”

“Yeah, Shizuku-chan definitely won’t mind, but… maybe I suppose Kasumi-chan might get jealous and want the ship to be named after them instead.”

“Well with the game I have in mind, I can give Shizuku-san and Kasumi-san their own ships, if they want. Ai-san and Rina-san as well, if they want.”

“So, we’d all get our own starships to command?”

“Not starships, per se, rather battleships. Escorts, actually, as the Federation doesn’t, or didn’t, believe in creating warships. You see…”

“Hee hee. Setsuna-chan’s already getting excited about diving into lore.”

“I… but…”

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just can’t help thinking about how cute you are when you’re like this.”

“Uuuu….”

“Yuu-chan…”

“What? I know you agree with me, Ayumu.”

“That’s not what I… never mind. Setsuna-chan, please continue.”

“… R-right… Anyway… Uhm… The ships I have in mind are Defiant class, which are significantly smaller than the average starship, and require much smaller crews as well. They’re not loaded up with science or exploration equipment and have the bare minimum in crew amenities. The bulk of the craft is dedicated to fighting, which pretty much makes them warships, even if the Federation doesn’t want to call them as such.

“Also, just because they are smaller, doesn’t mean they are less powerful offensively. Or defensively, for that matter, as not only do they have the standard energy shields, they also have ablative armor that can continue to protect the ship even after shield generators fail.”

“I’m not sure I know what ablative means.”

“Uhm… It’s kind of like sacrificial material that can be destroyed without risk to vital components or structural integrity or the like. The rulebook has tables that go into specific detail about what types and how much damage can be dissipated by the armor. And the shields of course.”

“I see.”

“Oh, and also, the Defiant class ships are far more maneuverable than bigger starships. As such, they can more easily perform effective evasive maneuvers.”

“So, not only are they meat shield tanks, but also evasion tanks. Double tanks!”

“You’re not wrong, Yuu-san, but the ships are made of metal, not meat.”

“You know what I mean. Oh, and with heavy offense, they’re also DPS. Triple threat!”

“Yes. That is why the Federation made so many for the Dominion War.”

“Dominion War? We’re going to fight against a group called the Dominion?”

“Yes.”

“And all this talk about space craft means we’re going to be role playing a giant space battle?”

“Yes, that is what I had in mind.”

“That sounds thrilling!”

“I am happy you are looking forward to it.”

“Ooo, Changelings. I wanna play one of them!”

“Eh? But… Yuu-san, the Changelings are the enemy. They’re the leaders of the Dominion. You’ll be playing on the Federation side.”

“But, uhm… where was it… ah here he is. Isn’t Odo a Changeling who is on the Federation side?”

“True, but he is a unique case.”

“Hrm… what else we got in here… Oh, she’s cute. Jadzia Dax. Trill. Hey, Ayumu, you should totally play someone like her.”

“A joined Trill with a symbiont? What’s that, Setsuna-chan?”

“The Trill is the humanoid host for a longer-lived symbiont that retains memories of the lives it lived with prior hosts.”

“So, like a multiple personality thing, like the character Shizuku-chan played in one of our earlier games?”

“Not really, no. Each joined Trill becomes their own individual being, just with memories of prior hosts.”

“Hrm… I still think that sounds more like a character more appropriate for Shizuku-chan to play.”

“Alright then, how about this one, Ayumu? She’s also cute. Kira Nerys. Bajoran.”

“Are you just trying to get me to play a cute character, Yuu-chan?”

“Of course! Someone as cute as Ayumu should play a cute character.”

“… … Fine. But I get to pick the type of character you play then.”

“Works for me.”

“So, I take it you two want to play.”

“Very much so. This game is already getting my heart racing and we haven’t even started playing.”

“I’ll reach out to Ai-chan and the others to see if they want to play and when they might be available.”

“Thank you, Ayumu-san.”

“Woo! I can’t wait to start playing! Hey, we should totally watch the show before we play.”

“Uhm… that might take a while, Yuu-san. It’s 176 episodes. And not twenty minutes anime episodes, full length forty-five-minute episodes.”

“But you already watched it all, right?”

“…”

“Setsuna-chan, did you sacrifice sleep to binge it all on your last tour?”

“…”

“Setsuna-chan. No wonder you looked so tired when Yuu-chan and I visited you over the weekend. I thought maybe you were spending too much time practicing again.”

“I’m sorry… I was just so excited about the rulebook I found and wanted to know more about the world in which the game took place.”

“What are we going to do with you…”

“I’m sorry…”

“Well, what’s done is done. We shouldn’t harp on her too much, Ayumu.”

“I suppose… But you still need to take better care of yourself, Setsuna-chan. Especially when you’re on tour.”

“Hee hee…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“…”

“Hee… I’m just imagining Ayumu tagging along just to keep an eye on Setsuna-chan.”

“You make it sound like I can’t leave her alone.”

“You say that, but you’ve been watching over me for years. Also, your expression tells me you’re considering it anyway.”

“Moh!”

“Ha ha. And it looks like Setsuna-chan isn’t opposed. Well, if Ayumu can’t get that much time off, maybe I can go along instead.”

“Then I’d definitely have to join, to keep an eye on both of you.”

“Is that the only reason? Or would it be because Ayu-pyon would get lonely without us?”

“Mmph…”

“I, uhm… wouldn’t mind if you two came along with me. In fact, I would like it. A lot, actually.”

“Then that settles it, Setsuna-chan. Ayumu and me will join you on your next tour. But in the meantime, let’s watch some DS9 so we can get a feel for the world we’re going to be playing in.”

---------

Author’s Note Continued: So there we have it. My first entry for this new event. I hope it wasn’t too hard to keep track of who was talking at any given point. And I’ve already outlined a good portion of my next entry, so hopefully I can get that written an posted by this coming weekend, when the next set of challenges will be revealed.