#apparently. then i go to work class advising then go home again to celebrate my brothers bday then come BACK and go to work class meetings

[babaenghumayo-blog]

Wrapping up 2023

It has been a year again with a lot of self-doubts, adventures, self-discoveries, plot twists, falling in love and new potentials discovered.

I started the year promising to myself to cut-off unnecessary people who only cause me pain and self-doubts. All those times I thought I am the problem but to be honest, sometimes people come to our lives only to teach us a lesson and go. That was a hard pill I had to swallow back then.

Back in February, I was able to celebrate my birthday in Hallstatt, Austria. We had a 5 days trip going from Vienna to Hallstatt to Budapest with my colleagues. It was our first trip abroad all together. Even though the cold during that winter time was unbearable, we were able to enjoy it. Hallstatt is such an enchanting place to be.

It was March when I decided to enroll to a swimming class which lasted for 10 to 12 weeks starting on April. It was a fun experience considering I was able to learn proper techniques of swimming and was able to go swim in the ocean, finally. I'm considering to go for another set of lessons this year for intermediate swimmers.

Later that month of March I was also able to meet a guy whom I didn't believe will make a big impact to me now and whom I'll fall in love with.

April, start of Spring. My flatmates and I hiked around Rivera bay and Marsaxlokk. Then on May, for ate Ja's birthday, we went to Venice and Dolomites in Italy. One of the most beautiful places I've been to would definitely be in Dolomites. Sadly, we weren't able to explore and hike all the areas in there since there were still snowy parts in the mountains and still not advisable to go to the top. Nonetheless, it was such a beautiful place.

I remember June as the month when I made it official with Chad. It was also the time when I had the Switzerland trip with Tiffany. Her aunt happily shared their home with us for almost our whole 5 days stay in Schaffhausen, a city an hour away from Zurich. The stories are all true about Switzerland. It has beautiful landscapes, expensive foods, a very good transportation system and has lots of very clean cities. I heard a rumor before going in there that people goes quiet after 10pm and doesn't go for a bath because apparently your neighbors will hear every water that drops in your pipes. The story is true in the sense that some houses in Switzerland have a thin wall where you can hear the other room's small noises especially waterflows and showers.

July and August were peak summer heatwaves here in Malta. I remember going to the beach almost every weekend with Chad and practicing what I learned from my swimming lessons. During these times, I also meet some of his friends and him meeting mine.

It was still warm when we went to Paris last September. It was not so much of a good experience with the busses having a freaking heater in the peak of summer. It was exhausting and lots of places to go in such a small time. However, I very much enjoyed my time in Disneyland Paris. It was so magical. I finally saw the famous Eiffel tower, Louvre and Palace de Versailles among such.

The adventure doesn't stop as we went to Spain on October. We explored the cities of Valencia and Barcelona. Valencia has lots of good food while Barcelona has an amazing set of architectural buildings. As someone who adores designs, it was such an eye-candy. We also went to Montserrat mountain.

November was a pretty hectic month with the tax deadlines at work. I was dreaded almost every workday. I already expected it but this year has been tougher than last year's busy season. On the last week of November, I was finally able to have my eye laser procedure. It was life-changing! Imagine me without glasses after wearing one for almost 17 years. It's surreal! Thanks to technology. I'm so happy that I was able to tick that goal in my list.

December was an exciting month since it's Christmas season and we travelled to different Christmas markets in Germany, France and Belgium. Exhausting as it was but very fun times. We have been abroad for 7 days from 21st of December to 27th. It was also Chad's birthday on the 28th and I returned to Malta to be able to celebrate it with him from 28th to 31st December. It was really fun times that I cherish.

Overall, it has been a great year. So many places I explored and people I met. The best thing about this year was unexpectedly meeting and falling in love with Chad. But I'll tell all of that in another post. I still miss my family from time to time 'cause I wasn't able to go home this year, but I'm lucky I got people who makes me feel less lonely and loved wherever they are.

2024, I'm ready for ya!

[pepprs]

mutuals i am hanging by threads. THREADS

[lunaverseimagine]

Didn’t Think You’d Remember

Prompt: I don’t know if you remember me

Pairing: Ron x Reader

Summary: Reader has been thinking about Ron ever since she first saw him in Diagon Alley. Now that she’s finally made the quidditch team for her house, will he notice her? (Note: y/h = your house, reader not in Gryffindor)

Warnings: None? (Unless - spoiler - kissing counts? xD )

Word count: 1.9k

Fic:

You jumped up and down, muddy, soaking wet, and absolutely ecstatic. You couldn’t wait to tell your friends - you’d just been selected as a Y/h chaser! You had tried out for the team every year, never losing hope, practising whenever you could. Being on a quidditch team had been your dream ever since you found out what the word ‘quidditch’ meant, and you couldn’t believe your hard work had finally paid off; you were in fifth year and you’d made it!

Your team’s practises began the very next day. They were gruelling, tiring, and everything you had hoped for. Apparently training was even harder than it would normally be this time of year, because your captain wanted you to be prepared for your first match - which was against Gryffindor. When you’d found out who the new Gryffindor keeper was, you couldn’t help the mix of excitement and nerves that danced in your stomach.

The first time you saw him was in Diagon Alley before your first year at Hogwarts. As a muggle-born, you were absolutely awestruck by everything around you. The first thing you did was have your muggle money exchanged for wizard money by a goblin... goblin! To be honest the creatures had creeped you out a bit, and they still do, but you soon got over that when you started exploring all the magical shops. Even the seemingly mundane items, like your History of Magic book, absolutely intrigued you, and you were sure that you were walking around with your mouth hanging open the whole afternoon.

Of particular interest to you were the wizarding families - it was obvious who had grown up around magic and who hadn’t. For one thing, the wizarding families were all wearing quite peculiar clothes, and for another, they were looking at the whacky shops as though they were as normal as a Greggs or a WHSmith. It was when you neared Ollivander’s, where you’d been advised to get your wand, that you saw several redheads, obviously witches and wizards, chatting and laughing outside. You politely squeezed past them to get inside the shop where you saw another two redheads - a boy about your age, and a short, kind-faced woman whom you guessed was his mother. The boy was flicking a wand in the air with a look of determination that you found endearing. Eventually Mr Ollivander gestured for the wand back - it didn’t seem to be doing anything - and the boy glanced over at you with a shy, slightly embarrassed smile. When he was handed the next wand he did the same flicking motion, but this time you saw a glimmer all around his body that looked.. well, magical. The cutest smile you’d ever seen lit up his whole face, although it dimmed a bit when his mum tipped the minimal contents of her purse onto the counter and had just enough coins to buy the wand.

Since then, you’d heard of Ron’s endeavours throughout the years at Hogwarts: that game of wizard’s chess in first year where he nearly died, going into the chamber of secrets in second to year to save his sister who nearly died, that mysterious event in third year where he broke his leg and probably nearly died, and let’s not forget fourth year where he was one of the four treasures in the bottom of the lake to be found in the second task of the Triwizard Tournament (although you don’t think he nearly died that time). And let’s not forget flying his car to school - you knew it was reckless, but at the same time you admired the courage and resourcefulness, and feared that he would be expelled. You were so relieved to see him wolfing down breakfast in the Great Hall the next day.

Despite your attentiveness to activities, you were sure he’d never noticed you. There was the occasional shared smile in the corridor or in classes that you had together, but you thought that was more out of politeness than any specific feeling towards you.

All that was going to change though - he was bound to notice you in a few weeks’ time because you would be trying to get the quaffle through the very hoops that he would be defending. You felt the butterflies in your stomach again.

--

The day of the match had finally arrived. Your training had been absolutely brutal but you were grateful, because at least now you felt a little prepared. After a quick pep talk in the changing rooms, you followed your captain onto the pitch to loud cheers coming from the stands. The Gryffindor team were approaching the centre where Madam Hooch stood, and as you neared them you could’ve sworn Ron shot a smile in your direction. You brushed it off - he was probably just being friendly before the game.

The captains shook hands and Hooch’s whistle sounded. Thoughts of Ron immediately disappeared from your mind as you focussed on trying to gain possession of the quaffle. You didn’t have to wait long - thanks to a bludger heading towards the Gryffindor chaser the ball had been dropped, and you were perfectly poised to catch it. You flew straight for the hoops, feeling the wind rush through your hair, checking around you for any bludgers or players who might compromise your flight. Surprisingly it was smooth sailing to the posts, and you found yourself face to face with him. You shot Ron a cheeky smile - you were always most confident when on your broom - and faked a throw into the right hoop which successfully fooled Ron and allowed you to score through the centre. You heard the stadium erupt with cheers.

Ron had a shocked expression on his face, like he hadn’t quite comprehended what had just happened, and you gave him a wink before flying a celebratory lap of the pitch.

During the rest of the match you had four more attempts at a goal: two successful and two blocked. In the end it was Harry who caught the snitch, leading inevitably to a Gryffindor win, but you were in good spirits regardless. Three goals scored in your first proper match! You’d talked your parents’ ears off about quidditch, and while they still didn’t quite understand the concept (“Why is it 150 points for the snitch? Isn’t that a bit much?”) you knew they’d be delighted to read the letter you were going to send later telling them about your goals.

--

There was a brilliant feast in the Great Hall that evening to celebrate the first match of the season. You took great pleasure in eating one of every type of food that was laid out before you. Your appetite was a force to be reckoned with and your friends always seemed quite impressed at how much you managed to eat every meal time.

As you were making your way through a delicious pumpkin pie, you noticed your friends looking at something behind you. Turning, you saw a familiar face.

“Y/n,” Ron smiled at you. You were surprised that he knew your name, but hoped you’d managed to keep the shock off your face. “Mind if I take a seat?” The people on your left had already scooted along the bench to give him room.

“Of course,” you smiled back, trying to suppress the butterflies that had once again made themselves at home in your stomach.

“Well played today,” he complimented you as he helped himself to a generous serving of chocolate eclairs. If any student in Hogwarts had an appetite to rival yours, it would be Ron.

“Thanks,” you said breezily, hoping he wouldn’t see the blush in your cheeks, “you too.” You busied yourself with finishing off your dessert while Ron spoke to the other people on your table. They seemed very happy to engage in conversation - it appeared it wasn’t just you who thought highly of him. You loved how friendly and open to conversation he was, even with non-Gryffindors. When you’d both finished your food and the hall started emptying, Ron asked if you’d like to walk around the grounds with him. You tried not to agree too quickly.

--

There was an autumn chill in the air but at least it wasn’t raining - not that any weather would stop you from spending time with Ron (who knew your name! and wanted to spend time with you!). You hugged your cloak around you and listened intently to Ron talking about his favourite quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, who just so happened to be your favourite team too.

You’d just finished discussing which Cannons chaser you thought had had the best season when you reached the edge of the lake. You both stopped walking and took a moment to just look at each other. His eyes wore a soft expression, and his hair was slightly ruffled from the breeze, which made him look more adorable than usual. 

“To be honest, I didn’t think you remembered me.” You said quite suddenly, not even knowing yourself that you were going to speak.

“I’ve been thinking about you since I saw you in Ollivanders,” Ron spoke gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “You- you didn’t look put off when you saw my Mum emptying… Well anyway, I thought you seemed really decent.”

You couldn’t help but smile at Ron using ‘decent’ as a flirtatious - is that what it was? - word.

“Anyone who cares about that isn’t worth your time,” you replied adamantly, “especially with all the amazing stuff you’ve done over the years.” Now it was Ron’s turn to blush.

“I haven’t really done anything, Hermione’s the brains and Harry’s done all the hard stuff, I just, sort of, tag along.” Is that really what he thought of himself? 

You reached for his hand, your fingers brushing his. He didn’t pull away, so you took his hand in yours and looked straight at him with an earnest expression on your face. “I bet Harry wouldn’t have been able to do half that stuff without you by his side, without your courage giving him strength.”

Ron searched your eyes, trying to work out if you really meant what you were saying. He seemed satisfied with what he saw, because the next thing you knew he was lowering his face towards yours. He paused, barely a centimetre away, as if waiting for consent. You happily obliged, closing the rest of the distance between you.

The butterflies turned into fireworks. You ran your hands through his hair - you’ve been wanting to do that for so long - and it was just as soft as you’d imagined. You gave it a gentle tug and he let out a quiet moan, grazing his teeth against your bottom lip. You pressed your body against his, revelling in the feeling of being so close, of being one, with this boy you’d been thinking about since you were 11. His hands were on your waist, holding you tightly, and you knew that he’d been thinking about you for a while too. You’d only had one proper conversation with Ron, but your lips were so in tune with his that it was as though you’d been doing this forever.

Eventually you came apart, your heavy breaths mingling in the small space between you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” you remarked. 

With his forehead touching yours, Ron grinned at you and said, “Y/n, that was bloody brilliant.”

End

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed :3 Please feel free to send imagine requests to my ask, and if you liked this please lmk by liking/reblogging/following (it’s super encouraging!)

[dawnwave16]

Reflections - Project Widow Soldier Part 2

I don’t know if I’ll be posting much of my own content again until after the New year so if you don’t hear from m until then, hope you all have a Merry Christmas (Or whichever holiday you prefer to celebrate!) and I’ll see you in the New Year! Also, I don’t think I’ll be continuing this any further as I have no more headcanons for it but I hope you enjoy this anyway.

Part 1

Anyway on with the story!:

Marinette sat in the lounge of the Avengers tower, eyes closed and for once almost completely relaxed. Friday was playing a mix of Christmas music that had everything from Peter Hollens, Pentatonix and Lindsey Stirling to Frank Sinatra and co. Currently, it was 'Grown-up Christmas List' by Evynne Hollens and its wording was making her reflect on the past few months.

When the Avengers had found out she existed she had been worried that she would be dragged away from the life she had made for herself in Paris completely. She had been extremely when Tony had walked into her class and dealt with Lila, Alya and Ms Bustier as it took all the pressure she had been feeling from dealing with those three herself off of her. The fall out from that had been extremely swift with Ms Bustier being replaced by a Ms Pargeter, who was not only a good teacher but made history much more enjoyable! The class had gone back treating her the way they always had before Lila had taken over and while she didn't care all that much about their opinions it was nice to be able to walk through the halls without people trying to trip her. She was also grateful as she hadn't expected them to support her wish to stay with the Dupain-Cheng's nor had she expected them to stick around long enough to help with the Hawkmoth problem. 

That had been interesting to be part of. Not long after they had arrived in France, there had been an Akuma attack that had forced Master Fu to name her as the guardian. Due to this, she knew she wouldn't be able to leave Paris until Hawkmoth was dealt with, and if she was honest with herself, she wanted a true holiday! This led to her asking the Avengers for help, which they were all too willing to provide. When she wasn't working on her hacking skills with Tony to get into the police video archives, she was sparring with Natasha and Bucky to make sure she hadn't lost her skills there. She had gone over her weapons training with Hawkeye too and was pleased to see that despite not actively using her skills she hadn't lost any of them.

They had had their first break when they had noticed that there were no camera's around the Agreste Mansion and gone backtracking to find out why. Seeing the number of bribes the man had paid to various people to make sure the area remained camera free was staggering, to say the least! The next step was to hack all of the computers in the mansion. She knew that Adrian had missed several classes due to photoshoots and she also knew that all the computers in his home were linked so it was simple to slip a program onto a flash drive that would bypass all of Mr Agreste's firewalls and give them unlimited access to all his computers without having to bother about hacking them. Tony had seen the logic in that as it saved time, even if it did require him to have some patience.

Some of the things they had found on those computers, when combined with the police records had been enough to convince everyone that Mr Agreste or Nathalie was Hawkmoth. When Mayura was added to the mix they were almost 100% sure. To be safe, Marinette had lent her mother the fox miraculous to case out the mansion without it being traced back to any of the avengers. Natasha had named herself Kuma Lisa* and her colouring when transformed was a dark red that could easily be mistaken for black. She had almost no white on her and as a result, she tended to vanish into the shadows which was perfect for her spying activities. When she had seen the huge butterfly window and even more damming, the corrupted butterflies that left from it, they knew they had been right. They also knew they would have to be careful as some of the purchases they had seen through the computers had included military-grade hardware and weapons.

With all the evidence they had, Marinette knew she had to bring Adrian in so that he didn't receive a shock during the battle. She had had to think hard about how to break the news to him and eventually decided to slip him a note to meet her at the Grand Paris where she could reveal herself as Ladybug and the Avengers could back up what she was saying. He hadn't taken it well but in the end, he had lowered his head in defeated acceptance. He had then asked what would become of him when his father was arrested and had been shocked when Tony had offered to adopt him. Tony knew of his love of physics and chemistry and had wanted to nurture it though he knew he would need to get Adrian into councilling so that he didn't end up the same way he had. When Adrian had found out about Marinette was adopted her had been more than willing to accept Tony's offer though he was shocked when he found out who her birth parents were.

With the help of her parents and the rest of the Avengers, the battle had gone smoothly. They had Kuma Lisa had waited out of sight near the opening of Hawkmoth's lair and had alerted them as soon as it had opened. With Kaalki's help, the whole team had been on-site within seconds. Hawkmoth had tried to fight back as had Mayura but he just didn't have the skill to go against the Avengers and Ladybug at the same time, especially as for the first time ever, Ladybug had not held back. The fight had been brutally one-sided from the start and within 10min of everyone arriving the fight was over. Chat Noir had been tasked with getting all the hard copies of anything Miraculous related from inside the mansion along with Bruce as they had wanted to spare Adrian from having to fight his father and they hadn't wanted to risk the hulk becoming Akuma bait. 

The fallout all over Paris with Hawkmoth gone was interesting, to say the least. The government had to hire extra psychologists to deal with everyone trying to get used to being able to show their emotions again without fear, yet not knowing how due to having to keep everything suppressed for years. It became a common sight to see adults floundering to situations that they should have normally been able to handle. The mayor had been outed as had several police officials for corruption, new people had been brought in to help and the UN had offered to help out the same way they normally would in war-torn countries in order to help Paris recover.

By the time term had ended she had been glad to get away from her classmates and go on tour with Jagged. She had taken the miracle box with her but had sent all the scrolls and books with Tony to be stored in her room at the Avengers tower. They were in one of her lock boxes for now but she knew they needed to get everything away from Paris as a precaution.

The month she spent travelling was liberating in Marinette's opinion. Sure she had checked every new area for any lost miraculi as Tikki had advised her to but she had also taken the chance to observe what worked the best design-wise for stage vs videos and even event situations. This had led to several wardrobe additions for Jagged and Penny as well as for herself when she found herself dragged on stage to either help translate what Jagged was saying or to sing with him after he caught her singing Halestorm's Amen while she was working on his next stage outfit. The first time he had pulled her on stage for a duet, it had been an instant sensation and from then on it became a regular thing for his concerts. She always insisted on a mask though, she had destroyed her Hydra records but she'd rather err on the side of caution, just in case!

Once her month with Jagged was up she'd headed to New York and met up with the Avengers and with Adrian, who had taken to living in the tower like a duck to water. She had been surprised to find that Tony had given her a whole floor, rather than just a room but apparently each of the Avengers had their own floor too so she just shrugged it off. She had jumped back into her normal training routine now that she wasn't travelling and had enjoyed those first few spars against her parents immensely. It was during one of the no-holds-barred all-out two on one spars they held every so often that Adrian had walked in and been stunned by how fast and hard they were fighting. When they had called an end to it he'd asked how much she had been holding back during their time as Ladybug and Chat Noir. His disappointment when she said that she hadn't used 90% of her skills had almost been tangible but he had understood why she'd done it after she'd explained her reasoning.

They had settled into a sort of sibling relationship soon after that as she tried to teach him moves that would work for him and he tried to learn how to cook from her. It had gotten to the stage that they were banned from the main kitchens due to the number of flour fights they'd had. Somehow they had ended up making sure they had a least one day a week set aside for anime and they had worked their way through SAO, Akagami no Shirayukihime, Seiken-Tsukai-no-World-Break and Isekai Cheat Magician within a week before they decided they needed to slow down. The only downside to watching Anime was that Marinette had picked up the language to the point she no longer needed the subtitles and he still needed them much to his disgust. Especially as she hadn't known any Japanese at all when they started.

She had been at the tower for three weeks when she met Peter Parker for the first time. She had just finished her work out and was leaving the gym area when he'd arrived and had been highly annoyed with Tony, thinking he'd adopted her like Tony kept trying to do with him. She'd laughed but hadn't corrected him and simply carried on her way. The second time they met was when she'd made breakfast for everyone as it had been her turn to do so as one of the few who could without burning down the kitchen. They'd spoke for a while this time and found they enjoyed each other's company. By the time her summer had ended they had become close friends and she was looking forward to seeing if any more would happen. She'd had to go back to Paris for the new school year but Adrian had decided to enrol in a school in NY instead of going back to Paris as he had too many bad memories there. Marinette didn't blame him at all for that.

School hadn't changed all that much when she returned for the new term. There were the same faces, the same subjects even though they had new topics within them and for the most part there were the same teachers. She hadn't held back as much as she had in previous years, blaming her time at the tower for her slightly more advanced knowledge. She was still bored though and although she had missed Tom and Sabine when she had been away from them she had looked forward to coming back to America again. Especially as things with Peter seemed to be getting more interesting.

Marinette was startled out of her memories by several of the Avengers walking into the room.  

“All good there malen'kaya oshibka?” Bucky asked. (Little bug) “Yeah, I'm alright zhuzhzhaniye.” She replied (buzz kill) “Just thinking about how crazy everything has been since you all dropped into my life.” “You wouldn't change it for the world and you know it Bug,” Adrian said even as he settled on the floor in front of her. “True,” she admitted quietly “I'm just glad I have somewhere I can be me, you know what I mean?” Adrian nodded as did most of the Avengers. “Enough with the heavy thoughts, people. It's Christmas! That means presents and getting drunk and possibly eating too much!” Tony said effectively interrupting her thought process again. Jarvis changed the song to 'December Song' and by seemingly mutual agreement the ones sitting closest to the tree started to pass round the presents that had amassed underneath it. The rest of the day was spent enjoying their time together and living in the present. They knew that should anything threaten any of them, they would face it together.

*(Kuma Lisa is a fox from Bulgarian folklore and Russian folklore who usually plays the role of the trickster. Kuma Lisa is encountered with another character known as Kumcho Vulcho - a wolf which is opposite to her and very often suffers from her tricks.)

@northernbluetongue; @liamnl; @vivilakitty

[cocopubpotato]

a thor movie summary notes whatever

heya so nobody asked for this but here goes my entire notes of a summarry of the first thor movie

this was for a class work okay

saved you from having to scroll through this

New Mexico ; a person tries to register an anomaly an astrophysicist okay this movie starts differently than I thought thunder storms coming someone up there appears from the vortex and they run over him explanation of Norse mythology and they tell us about the war between Odin and the frost Giants. Orient took their power sources back to Asgard. Because it's a movie it has a chance to show us how radiant and perfect in comparison to New Mexico the reason the story is being told is to show thor and loki that war isn't good the next thing we see is thor being crowned Crown Prince in the event of a frost giant snake into the Asgardian vault to recover their power source and end up interrupting the ceremony. They failed their mission because security at the vault Teresa beat of a Maniac doesn't think properly of his actions this is a bunch of friends that don't matter.

I'm here thor decides to break the rules and still go to Jotunheim even though his brother Loki, who is a chaotic neutral at best, not to and also his friends advised he shouldn't do it but he doesn't care and does it anyway.

Thor's friends are going through Jotunheim to cause a big mess, Thor demands some answers from the ruler of jotunheim, he mentions theres a traitor(ps it's loki) it odins house and ignores that the frodt giant is actually nice and let's them leave but thor starts a fight anyway.

*insert action scene cause this is an action movie* (we also discover as does he that loki is actually a frost giant that was taken by odin during the war)

we can also see thors magnificent strength, odin come to save thors gang cause thors stupid and almost started a war then they have a fight and odin has to punish thor for his arrogance and stupidity by sending him to earth. While taking his powers away and giving the power to anyone worthy of holding mjiolnir thor's hammer.

now we retur to the start of the movie, thor being run over by a pair of scientists and getting tasered by an intern. thor goes a bit crazy on earth because who are these people doing something to the allmighty thor. we also get astrophyiscist science explained. then he gets runovered again. his friends over on asgard are talking about how horrible thors banishment is and loki reveals that he is the one that alerted odin, one of them suggests that loki might be a traitor ; loki goes for the frost giants powersource to learn more about what he is and finds odin. Now we go back to earth and see that thor doesn't know human etiquette.

talking about the hammer, here people find it and since noone is able to lift it a lot of people go near and try to take it; like the sword in the stone. until a certain organization comes and puts the whole area on lockdown to investigate.

the main scientist is called jane and honestly she makes very bad decisions(love interest) gets recommended not to keep on checking thor out; government takes away all her stuff and she gets pretty mad since they take her research. Shield James science equipment and research since discover for some reason she was there in the day the the aka the hammerfell I have some research basically no illegal wait but it's not illegal because they are the law. at Asgard well now remember at the Berkeley Loki is Apple Dutch angles oh yeah look at those odin link has fallen asleep and can't wake up loki is King in the meantime and denies the request to bring out door of his banishment.

back on Earth it's more about Norse mythology because he's curious about thor and everything. Jane takes by thor to the Hammer because she has nothing else to lose so might as well should we get some bad scenes of them flirting cringly that remind me so much of Star Wars Episode 2 which I hate. I really hate how back and forth to the plug go between now we are not now we are on earth we get a little bit of clear statement that I've actually loved Loki as her son as well no door is going to search for the hammer he's like right there I'll decide he only has two Frankie's weighing to hammer sentence on lockdown with hydrogen's hey I know that now PS he doesn't manage to lift the hammer heme Ethan Ward outfit because a crazy psycho that hasn't learned his lesson listen action scene action movie the good thing is that we get to see more dad even though you're lost his Godly Powers he is still very strong and at least holds his experience since most of what he did was close quarter combat combat that's it's an skis and able to live there he gets really mad barroso kinda sad to Luce these thoughts right now so it depends on the script on the right Bluetooth I submit my book like press that he can't do what he used to what's taken away government police.

Loki appears in front of thor and tells him the biggest lie the golden age that because because the war on coming to banish him kills me from the inside he also told him that because your character Golden Tones that I am the one on the throne home Barbie supplies. yeah I'm going to go to war as long as stars exiled and apparently agrees that he shouldn't come back and he has come to say goodbye the end. also Loki isn't worthy of the hammer.

now we give some bonding time foreign doctor Selvig because we need to to care about humans. but also thor takes note of how horrible person he has been. now we see the Loki is truly Daughtry tour and brought some of the soldiers into Asgard there is a key doesn't kill all them himself is because of the weekend that's suspicious if the new king kill the previous one. Heimdall doesn't believe any of lokis s*** price Val doesn't follow the rules he only believes in what's right it's like the most normal character in this thing

Now we get to see Torrid Jean because dorbrook dr. Selby after he drank passed out. Now we get to see more torrin James bonding okay but Jason is actually Exposition because store tells her about the 9 Realms of Asgard which is Earth and the others he apologizes for being a dick she apologizes for running him over oh and give her her research notebook because he grabbed it from the lockdown no to research more because she's actually right about her research on interpreting they have the look in their eyes pierdas relationship lasts yeah like two movies break up off screen. I want to sleep now. yay we get to see the sidekick Arjun game about going back to Rescue I'm bringing back to Asgard I have a lease on board because he doesn't believe inloki's reign yay now the sidekicks are not aired and they're going to search for tour but loki noticed that they left I never remember the name of this enemy but he reminds me so much of the one from X-Men Days of Future Past

Thor's friends found him yay I hear third Lair devil oketokun was a big lie because all his friends are like to know he's in there he's just asleep and then the enemy that guy Air Jordan wrecks havoc and beats Sidekicks up because they suck now they're evacuating the CD so that the Scythe cakes can keep the evil guy's he doesn't kill anyone going because killing is bad okay so because the bad guy is beating everyone really wants to kill tour Thor goes to find friends and he says some inspiring words to save so that she doesn't die kids and now he is worthy because he risked everything to save the others and has become a better person in the span of 10 minutes. thor tells Jane that he will come by he promises her that he will come back but we all know that he doesn't come back until like two years later because the bifrost is broken at the end of this movie because loki overcharge the bifrost it is going to destroy asgard and he can't let that happen but because of that he won't be able to see Jane ever again and he and Loki are almost falling to the universe and Loki let's go and disappears into the universe.

As a very merry and all the people in osgard are celebrating and everything Contender stories their mother and Thor are sad because Loki has gone and they love him like a son and brother and he also misses jane

[vinca-majors]

Michaela Brown, ScaryMommy:

Upon graduating college with my hard-earned degree to teach high school English, I almost immediately began planning for  my graduate studies. Lots of high schools around the country require their teachers to have a masters degree, so that was a motivator. Plus, it came with a pay raise. And, I truly enjoyed going to school. In fact, at the time, I hadn’t ruled out going on and earning my doctorate as well.

I did end up graduating with my M.A. in secondary education, after writing a thesis I’m damn proud of. My path changed a bit and I never went on for my doctorate, but you can be sure as hell if I had that I’d claim that Dr. title. That my students—even the grumpiest of teenagers whose eyes shot daggers at me as I made them read Shakespearean sonnets—would be calling me Dr. and not Mrs. or Miss.

And as I’ve encountered other professionals with that Dr. title, I’ve never hesitated to refer to them that way. My children’s formal principal went by Dr. Matthews. No one questioned it. I’ve had professors at the undergraduate and graduate level use the title. Again, that’s what we all called them. With respect. And without hesitation. Just as we refer to famous figures like a man we’ve all heard of—Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.— because each of these people put in the work, the years, the money, the commitment, and the dedication. Each of them earned their Dr. title.

So yeah, when Dr. Jill Biden completed her education and earned her Doctor of Education (Ed.D) from the University of Delaware, she rightfully earned the title “Dr.” and deserves to be referred to as such. Just as any other professional with that level of expertise does as well. Is she a medical doctor? No. Does she claim to be? No. Have professionals in academia added Dr. to their titles once they’ve earned their doctorate for centuries? Yes.

However, because some ignorant asswipes remain stuck in 1950, or don’t understand how higher education works, or simply are bound and determined to hate on the Bidens as they hated on the Obamas even though they are kind and supportive of others—regardless of political party, her title is under scrutiny.

The Wall Street Journal stupidly published an op-ed, which has now gone viral, that was moronically entitled, “Is There a Doctor in the White House? Not if You Need an M.D.” And, of course, this piece of trash essay included a byline that reads, “Jill Biden should think about dropping the honorific, which feels fraudulent, even comic.”

Joseph Epstein, the “writer” of this ignorant word vomit, opens by condescendingly calling Dr. Biden “kiddo” and offering her advice, as if he is in any position to advise the First Lady of the United States on literally anything. “Madame First Lady—Mrs. Biden—Jill—kiddo: a bit of advice on what may seem like a small but I think is a not unimportant matter,” Epstein mansplains.

He then goes on to insult her dissertation on student retention at community colleges, calling it “unpromising” and, in the same paragraph, refers to the idiotic but commonly used quip that no one can call themselves “doctor” unless they’ve delivered a child.

Let’s break this bullshittery down, shall we? First of all, Mr. Epstein, your piece reeks of envy. We’re sorry you didn’t have the… guts? courage? stamina? intelligence level? (who knows) to actually ever earn a doctorate, but you sound bitter. It’s not a good look. Also, it’s clear that you don’t respect the value of community colleges, which is where Dr. Biden has spent a large portion of her career. And, finally, the world now knows that you are threatened by smart women. Bravo.

Also, we’ll be sure to let all the medical doctors out there who’ve tirelessly fought COVID-19 this year, holding the hands of dying patients, and also those brilliant scientists who thankfully have brought us a vaccine that offers a beacon of hope, that they don’t get to call themselves “doctor” because they’ve never caught a newborn baby. I’m sure they’ll appreciate that tidbit of info from you—*checks notes*—a man with one single undergraduate degree, no earned doctorate, and zero medical expertise.

Basically, Mr. Epstein, it’s obvious that you have some personal issues you need to unpack. Maybe take some time over the holidays to do a little self-reflection? Like, why do you even care what title Dr. Biden goes by? Why are you so scared of women who are more successful than you?

Your piece then goes on a long, barely coherent rant about “honorary doctorates,” which is not what Dr. Biden has. If you’d like to blast the validity or point of bestowing honorary doctorates on celebrities like Stephen Colbert and Seth Meyers, for example, go right ahead, but that has nothing to do with Dr. Biden. This lack of cohesive argument is why I’ve referred to you as a “writer” a few paragraphs up, because it seems apparent that you don’t understand the need for basic textual support.

(Calling you a jealous asswipe, well, that’s just a reflection of your character.)

Finally, your last “supporting argument” (again, use of quotes intentional here) as to why Dr. Biden should drop her title is because apparently doctorates don’t count anymore. Back in the day, you explain, doctoral exams were far more grueling, but today’s candidates get off way too easy.

“One had to pass examinations in two foreign languages, one of them Greek or Latin, defend one’s thesis, and take an oral examination on general knowledge in one’s field,” your op-ed states. “At Columbia University of an earlier day, a secretary sat outside the room where these examinations were administered, a pitcher of water and a glass on her desk. The water and glass were there for the candidates who fainted. A far cry, this, from the few doctoral examinations I sat in on during my teaching days, where candidates and teachers addressed one another by first names and the general atmosphere more resembled a kaffeeklatsch.”

(I had to look up what kaffeeklatsch meant—it’s an informal social gathering at which coffee is served. Excuse my lack of knowledge there. I’m just a silly woman with a higher degree than you.)

And, as you end with, “Dr. Jill, I note you acquired your Ed.D. as recently as 15 years ago at age 55, or long after the terror had departed,” you not only insult her by addressing her as “Dr. Jill”, but you also imply that because she likely didn’t faint while taking her exams or defending her dissertation, that somehow her degree isn’t real.

That’s the crazy thing about education—it evolves. Today, kids even use these neat little things called computers! You wouldn’t believe it. Another way we’ve evolved is to realize that shockingly, our doctoral candidates don’t have to become physically ill to prove they are smart and worthy of their degree!

(I mean, you never even tried, Mr. Epstein, so I guess even today, doctoral programs are only for the toughest among us, like Dr. Jill Biden.)

Also, it seems that Northwestern University, where you were previously listed as “emeritus lecturer of English,” has scrubbed you entirely from their website, stating that it is “firmly committed to equity, diversity and inclusion, and strongly disagrees with Epstein’s misogynistic views.” Again, evolution! Change is good.

Hmmm. So one of you is a misogynist with no teaching history to even brag about as your previous employer has disassociated with you, and another is a successful educator committing to helping all Americans have access to a proper education. Oh, and the second one goes by Dr.

Looks like the real “comical fraud” is you, bruh.

And just so we’re clear, Dr. Biden has always been committed to ensuring that everyone (not just pretentious twats like you, Joseph Epstein) has access to a fair education. Earlier in her career, she worked in a psychiatric hospital where she taught English to adolescents with emotional disabilities. During that same time she also earned two (yes, TWO) master’s degrees, one from Villanova University and one from West Chester University. In 2009, after earning her doctorate, she began teaching English at Northern Virginia Community College, and advocating for community college education has since been her passion. “Dr. Biden has always said that community colleges are ‘one of America’s best-kept secrets.’ As a teacher, she sees how community colleges have changed the lives of so many of her students for the better,” explains former president Barack Obama’s White House website.

Sorry, Mr. Epstein, but not everyone can afford to enroll in an English class at Northwestern taught by a raging sexist who gets his balls in a bunch when women succeed. For many, community college is a better fit, and Dr. Biden is a big part of that.

“In 2012, she traveled across the country as part of the ‘Community College to Career’ tour to highlight successful industry partnerships between community colleges and employers,” the website goes on to say. “In the fall of 2010, she hosted the first-ever White House Summit on Community Colleges with President Obama, and she continues to work on this outreach on behalf of the Administration – frequently visiting campuses, meeting with students and teachers, as well as industry representatives around the country.”

Imagine all of the hard-working Americans Dr. Biden has helped by supporting community colleges. Future teachers just like her often get their degree while working full time, raising a family, and going to college at night. Who knows, some of them may even—gasp—go to grad school too. High school kids who choose to forego going away to a full-time university and instead, take classes at a community college closer to home, are given that option because of people like Dr. Biden. Kids who go on to be EMTs, police officers, technicians in trade industries, engineers, and find success in the business world. Or, they transfer those college credits to a larger university down the road when they have the means to do so. Single moms doing their best to give their children a good life often attend community college classes online, after their children are asleep, proving that they have the drive and determination to do more and be more.

So, what it all boils down to, Mr. Epstein, is that you really, really hate that there’s about to a woman in the White House who’s smarter than you. And not only that, but she inspires women everywhere to work hard, earn their degrees, and then they’ll be smarter than you too. Yikes. That’s a tough pickle to be in, Mr. Epstein. We’re sorry that you are so insecure and unhappy with your own lack of success.

At least you can still wrote those stellar op-eds though! Good luck with your “writing” career, kiddo.

[theteenygemthief]

The Things That Weigh On You-Chapter 2:

Rating: Explicit   |   Word Count: 2.71K  |  My Hero Academia | HawksxOCxDabi

Warning: The Things That Weigh On You features Sexual Themes, Violence, Drug abuse and touches on topics of personal trauma, mental illness and assault. Reader discretion is advised.

It’s just as easy to justify being a hero when everyone excuses your actions with the amount of glamour and power that comes with it. The media covers all of your triumphs and failures. You get endorsements. It’s almost second to being an A-List celebrity. But what happens when hero’s fall and suddenly, the justification leaves? What happens when ones own inflated ego gets the better of them and how do they bounce back from the rubble? 

Villains Don’t Leave:

      Part of being a villain, meant being able to go from one place to another without grabbing too much attention. Any lovers that you took for an evening could either die, get ghosted the next morning, or—if they were interesting enough—have continued visitation. Usually the third applied to superheroes with a certain level of magnetism, other villains or just quirky people in general. However, in Dabi's case, he hadn't been sure what it was. In the beginning, he figured a one night stand with Fukuoka's number thirteen hero and upcoming poster child for some knock off Dolce and Gabbana company would be enough to satisfy him. He liked the idea of breaking her, leaving her with a lowered self esteem. Maybe as a self entitled pro hero, it would take her down a peg. Sure, he would feel bad, but the momentary satisfaction would have been enough. At least for the five seconds that he would be getting his breakfast on the go. Yet once all was said and done, she right about kicked him to the curb with a cup of coffee and a couple of lunch boxes for the road.

       “Would you like these back?” he remembered asking her.

        “No.” She said blankly. “Do whatever you want with them.”

He remembered the expression on her face being pained, full of anguish even. And when he left, he enjoyed the two meals that she gave him and washed the lunchboxes thoroughly. Yet he recognized her pained expression as one of a person who had already lost everything. He just wanted to hit her in the pride, a little. Not kick a dog while she was down.

     A deep sigh escaped his lips as he stared up at the ceiling of his apartment. The sound of running water could be heard from the next room, which could only mean that Susanoo...no Edith, had woken up before him. If he moved to the right position, he could see her silhouette in the bathroom mirror just by peering through the medium sized crack in the door. He had been hoping to wake up to the same naked silhouette laying right next to him, hoping that he could wrap his arms around her and pull her closer. At least close enough that he could hear her heartbeat.

        “God, it wreaks of high class trash in here.” A high pitched squeal whined.

Dabi flinched at the sound of the foreign voice, pursing his lips as he narrowed his eyes at his bedroom door. He knew for sure that if he made a peep, that Toga would come storming in with the need to join in on whatever activities had long since passed.

And that was something that he desperately wanted to avoid.

        “Does the precut bacon bit ever open up a window when bringing home a snack? It's bad enough that none of us ever get some.” Came another voice. To be more specific, a mans voice. It sounded much smoother, more suave.

        “Man, newbie, you're sounding pretty thirsty.” Toga teased.

        “More put out than anything.”

Over what?, Dabi wondered.

Much to both his surprise and fear, the water in the bathroom came to a halt. The blueflame had to bounce up to avoid the coming moments. And keep from the new recruit and Toga noticing that he had a late night flare. He remained light on his feet as he quickly hopped into the shower, nearly slipping as he accidentally forced Edith into a corner. Her crimson eyes widened in shock as her soaked, jet black hair clung to her face and cascaded over her shoulders in a sleek waterfall. He moved to turn on the water and drew the shower door closed before pressing his index finger to his lips. And the bedroom door opened without a moments notice.

           “Huh...” Mused the recruit. “Guess he's occupied.”

He waited in silence as the soft click of his bedroom door echoed into the bathroom. He turned on the shower once more, allowing the spray to hit the both of them as he pressed closer to the smaller of the two.

          “If you wanted to join me, you could have asked.” Edith teased, smiling up at him.

He couldn't help but laugh as he swept his arm beneath her rear, lifting her into his arms with ease before pinning her back to the wall for added support. The soft gasp he heard from her in that instant nearly sent him into a frenzy. Admittedly, Dabi liked taking things slow and unraveling his lovers and opponents bit by bit. He loved leaving them in suspense as they panicked over being unable to read him or predict his next move.

She was watching him that entire time, knew why it was that he had rushed in to the shower with her. Yet Edith would not deny the surprise she felt when she turned around and saw him nearly sliding into her as she had been attempting to listen to the voices beyond his bedroom door. She even saw the familiar blond hair and visor belonging to none other than Hawks the winged hero, beyond the crack of the door and questioned why it was he was in Dabi's apartment. She damn well recognized the tinier intruder. Toga always wore the tell tale double buns on either side of her head and had a voice that made a person want to claw their ears off. But as her companion moved to cover her and turned on the shower once more, she couldn't help but make eye contact with Hawks for a brief moment. He paused, announced that Dabi was occupied and escorted the smaller of the two out.

        You'll be seeing more of me.

         Was that what he meant?

Edith narrowed her eyes before turning her attention back to her lover and watched as he studied her. His erection was apparent as it settled at her groin as his arm held her fast. The cool metal of his jacobs ladder tickled at her belly and caused her to tense with anticipation.

      “You know, Cinders,” She began. “Sun Tsu wrote that one should know thy enemy as well as one should know thyself. Then the battle is half won.”

She wondered when she had given the man a damn nickname, yet withdrew from the thought immediately. His lips stretched in to a coy smile, complimenting his scars and the staples that some would find monstrous or frightening. To her, however, they were fascinating. She enjoyed tracing her fingers along the seams and the merge lines. She thought it was a handsome characteristic.

           “Cinders, huh?”

Her eyes moved from his lips and his scars, traveling along his jawline before meeting the cool pair of icy baby blue eyes that she had grown accustomed to. Yet this time, they weren't guarded. They weren't detached or empty. They weren't filled with thoughts of someone or something else. They were filled with attachment and adoration. His smile was no longer hungry or sadistic, either.

    It was inviting.

Her heart began to race. She didn't recall ever wanting this to happen. She wanted the opposite. Things were supposed to be casual. Connections were not supposed to be made and she wasn't supposed to get attached. He wasn't supposed to grow attached.

    She messed up.

    “I have to go.”

Dabi's expression quickly changed to confusion as she struggled to get out of his grasp. They had been friends with benefits for so long that he should have known that when she was done, she was done and she wasn't easily startled or frightened by anything. He saw the way she looked at him. That much was obvious. Friends could be intimate. Friends could know a little bit about each other, especially when they were sleeping together. But not like this. She had fallen so far off the deep end that she was falling for her friend and based on the way he looked at her, he didn't need to say whether or not the feeling was mutual. He allowed her to bite him. He allowed her to press against him and wouldn't even try to attack her with how long they had known one and other. But right now, right fucking now, he was holding her still and wondering what had her so panicked.

        “Put me down.” She pleaded.

        “Put me down, right now.”

Dabi paused for a moment as a flash of heartache passed over his features,

yet almost in an instant he was unreadable again.

     “Maybe we should go get something to eat.” He sighed, finally reaching over to turn the water off.

    It had been times like these that he had been thankful for the short attention spans of the other cohabitants of his apartment, and twice as thankful that Hawks, the new recruit, had been nowhere to be found. That had made things all the easier for him and Edith to creep out without any need for interaction. And as the two slipped through the cracks and crevices of the city, her with her sunglasses and deep red lipstick and bomber jacket combo, and him with his simple hoodie and downcast eyes to avoid any memory of his presence. The more challenging parts of their grand departure, however, had been acquiring food and attempting to avoid suspicion from passers by. He didn't like crowded areas or places where pandemonium could easily break out without warning. Nor did he care to be the blame for some other assholes half hearted handy work.

He was more methodical than that.

However, Dabi was unsure if Edith would be able to convince the local heroes and authorities of his innocence with her current fallen hero status. After her fall, he figured she would settle into an early retirement as endorsement after endorsement slowly nullified their contracts with her. And when she had made the decision to become a villain, questions began to rise in his head as to why. She could easily be a vigilante, she would do well as an actress. Sure, he trusted her not to betray him but being a villain just wasn't her cloak to bear.

   He watched as she placed a cigarette between her lips and removed a lighter from the pocket of her vintage bomber jacket. She had probably been on her third or fourth cigarette since they both had left the apartment and it was beginning to worry him. Yet he knew that if he said anything, it would cause her to panic even more.

     Click.

She was struggling with the ignition.

     “Do you--”

      “I'm fine.”

      Click. Click.

       “I could--”

       “Leave it.”

Click. Click. Click.

        “Fuck!”

Her outbursts were unusual for him to see. In all his time he had known her, she had never thrown anything against a wall. Not out of anger or frustration. She was always good about keeping those things under wraps and he prided her for keeping a level head.

      But this?

      This was fear.

He extended his hand out to her, asking for the cigarette between her lips. And with a low sigh of defeat, she surrendered to him.

As he lit the stimulant, he couldn't help but take a small drag for himself. His thoughts going to the shower and her panicked expression as she begged for him to put her down. He recalled how their relationship developed and how they were originally supposed to just be casual fuck buddies. Dabi remembered her specifically saying that she didn't require attachments. Edith didn't need them. He remembered how they would talk and how cold she would be to him in the beginning. Uncaring as to whether or not they saw one and other again as she tarnished her reputation. She had a house and an inheritance from her grandmother to live comfortably for the rest of her life, so such things were affordable to her. He knew that she was only trying to make a name for herself until she had little reason to.

Before she even decided to become a villain he would sometimes see her sitting alone in the park, uncaring of the world around her. Many would greet her and ask her where she had gone and she would smile, saying that she had nothing left to fight for and by that point, it was almost like watching a suicide.

He hated the idea of toxic relations. He hated stalking unnecessary targets for the sake of interest. But by that point they had rolled in the hay with one and other enough times that when he had enough of seeing her sad little display in the park, he walked up, took her hand and dragged her sorry ass to his hideout. Then things moved forward from there.

        But now wasn't the time to think about that.

        Now wasn't the time to dwell on past impressions.

A slow, deep and heavy sigh escaped with slow tendrils of smoke streaming from the corner of his lips and nostrils. The scent of cherries and lilac seemed to be infused with the tobacco of the specific brand he had helped Edith light. Which to him, didn't strike him as strange. She had a knack for finding flavored something or other. Hell, she even told him the flavor of his blood at one point.

        “Can I have my drag back, now?” she asked. There was more of a commanding tone in her voice than a request.

        “I think I'll hold onto it a little longer.”

        “Asshole.”

        He chuckled.

        “What does that make you, then?”

         “Why does it matter?”

   He turned to look at her, wondering what it was that was going through her head in that moment. She had been fighting to keep her eyes on the tracks as the bullet train moved around the corner. And in that instant he touched her hand, curling his fingers around hers as he softened his gaze. He wondered what scared her more in that instant. Slowly drawing her closer, he pulled her into a tight embrace and removed the cigarette from between his lips as a loud screech filled their ears. A gust of wind consumed them soon after, and he could feel her body shiver in his grasp. Moments ticked by in silence as the warning bell tolled. The intercom eventually announced it's departure and how long it would be before the next one would arrive.

“Is having a lover such a bad thing?” Dabi asked. His voice had been low enough so that only she could hear him and as he felt her pull away, he tightened his grasp. The mellow dramatic bullshit and lack of communication was beginning to grow tiring, and not in the fun way. “Rather than be a fucking drama queen could you at least talk to me about this?” The annoyance in his voice had let her know that he wasn't willing to let this one slide. Not anymore.

“What's the point?” She asked. “Lovers don't stick around for very long and grow bored easily. They leave.”

So it was a fear of abandonment? Was she fucking serious?He scoffed and held her by the shoulders as he pressed her back. A grimace painted his scarred features with a mixture of emotions that he found a little too difficult to describe. Yet the most notable ones were probably hurt, betrayal and compromise. Compromise being that he would do his best to reassure her where he could, but not take it upon himself to fix her. Even villains had souls. Their alignments were just a little more twisted. Yet as she looked up at him, he couldn't help but lean down and brush his lips past her own and run his fingers through her hair. If there were some sort of quirk to make her forget all that she had gone through before him, he would find a way to get that person to use it on her. Bring her back to her hero status and perhaps form a star crossed romance between the alignments.

        “Villains don't leave, fangs.” Dabi reassured her. “They simply relocate.”

Authors Note: Hey everyone, thank you for taking the time to read the second installment of The Things That Weigh On You. I am really excited to be writing this fanfic, as it allows for me to practice my writing and help work with maintaining and establishing the work between characters. And as a professional writer this is very much a big deal for me. And also, I just would like to say that the future illustrations that are going to be featured in coming chapters will be done and watermarked by yours truly, unless credited otherwise. So to be that broken record, thank you my beloved readers for enjoying this fanwork. Words cannot express my level of love and appreciation for you. 

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Table of Contents:

P-1 , CH2 , CH3

[chasholidays]

My local minor league baseball team has a community outreach deal with an area nursing home in which every season two of their rookie players will actually live in the nursing home. So, professional baseball player Bellamy living in the nursing home where Clarke works/volunteers.

When Clarke hears about the baseball-player-in-residence program at Eden Meadows, she’s not really sure what to make of it.

On the one hand, human interaction is human interaction, and seniors especially need it. The residents are always happy have visitors, and plenty of their families can’t or won’t make it in very often. As someone who didn’t make that much time for her own grandparents, Clarke can relate, and she doesn’t really hold it against anyone. So bringing in dedicated people to hang out makes some sense.

It’s just that she doesn’t quite see live-in baseball players as the ideal solution.

“Aren’t there people who actually need a place to stay?” she grumbles. “Couldn’t this be some kind of beneficial outreach program? I bet there are college kids who would love to get free room and board. I’d love to get free room and board.”

Lincoln shrugs. “I think the idea is that baseball players will be more exciting. They won’t know them by name, of course, but baseball is America’s pastime. It’s like having celebrities living with them.”

“But celebrities we can actually afford.”

“We’re not paying them,” he points out, but he’s smiling. “Trust me, I was a little skeptical myself when we started doing it, but the residents love it. And it makes them want to watch games, because they feel connected to the resident players. They donated tickets to a home game last year and everyone loved going.”

Clarke smiles too. “Okay, yeah, that sounds pretty great. How much do we generally see them? They don’t get in the way, do they?”

“It’s usually not a lot. They have breakfast with the residents when they can and at least one dinner a month. Obviously they have to travel for games, so they’re only here about half the time. I don’t think they’ll be getting in your way, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Just kind of curious, I guess. This is my first time dealing with this. And I don’t really know what to expect from a professional baseball players hanging out here.”

“I don’t think it’s likely to have a huge impact on your life. They probably won’t be around much when you are. Some evenings, but that’s about it. But if you’re hoping for an autograph, I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“I’m not much of a sports person,” she admits. “I prefer non-competitive, solo exercise.”

“You? Non-competitive?” Lincoln grins. “I don’t believe that.”

“If I’d been good at sports, I would have been competitive, but since I wasn’t, I do stuff where no on wins or loses. And baseball’s never really clicked for me anyway.”

“So, you weren’t fishing for details because you’re secretly very excited about this.”

“Just want to figure out how disrupted my life is going to be.”

“Barely at all,” says Lincoln. “I’m sure you’ll hardly notice them.”

He’s always such an optimist. “I’m sure.”

*

When Clarke’s adviser told her she should think about volunteering at a nursing home, she hadn’t really been particularly enthusiastic. She’s never been comfortable with older people–since, again, she didn’t see much of her own grandparents, or anyone else over the age of eighty–but she wants to go to med school, and volunteer positions look good on applications. Plus, she could just go for a few hours a week after class and get some good experience with a demographic she didn’t know well.

And, to her surprise, she’d actually liked it. After a few months, she added more hours, and she’s actually got a paid position lined up for the summer. She can see this being a career for her, elder care, and while her mother thinks that’s not ambitious enough, Clarke can live with being less ambitious than her mother wants her to be, if she likes her work.

But she’ll admit that she’s also used to being, well, the volunteer. She’s not the only one, but like Lincoln said, she’s competitive. She’s the bestvolunteer, everyone agrees, and she doesn’t really want some random jocks to show up and get to be cooler than she is just because they happen to be a little bit famous.

They’re not even in the major leagues yet, seriously. They can’t be that exciting. But it’s all the residents want to talk about.

“They moved in last night,” Mrs. Alexander tells her, while she’s giving out afternoon snacks. “Such nice boys.”

“One of them stayed up to watch Jeopardy! with us,” adds Mr. Thompson. “He was good at it!”

Clarke smiles, even though she watches Jeopardy! with them, and she’s good. “Better than me?” she can’t help asking.

He smirks; she does like Mr. Thompson. “I don’t know. I guess you’ll have to find out.”

“Do the players usually spend a lot of time with you?”

“Not very much. They’re so busy, you know? And they can’t just bring their homework to do while they sit with us like you can.”

“It’s easier to concentrate here,” she says with a smile. “Even better than the library.”

Usually, that’s true, but today she’s antsy, waiting for the baseball players to show up, not knowing if or when they will. It’s not a big deal, but she doesn’t like feeling unprepared, and until she meets the guys, she won’t feel like she can be prepared. And she has no idea when that meeting might happen; if it’s not tonight, she won’t be back until next week.

She’s prepared to feel annoyed about this for a while, but there’s an unfamiliar young man at one of the tables when she wheels Mrs. Hernandez into the dining room for dinner, and that has to be one of the baseball guys.

Clarke watches him out of the corner of her eye as she gets Mrs. Hernandez set up, studying him as best she can. He’s cute, if she’s honest, curly black hair and tan skin, wearing a pair of glasses with thick black frames and talking to Mr. Peters and Ms. Norris, telling them some story he’s illustrating with gestures from his large hands.

“Is that one of the new baseball players?” she asks Mrs. Hernandez.

“Oh, yes! I met him last night. I don’t remember his name, but he was very polite.”

“You like having them around?”

“They’re nice boys,” she says. “They’re good to spend time with us.”

“It’s not a burden to spend time with you,” Clarke reminds her. “But it is nice of them. I’m sure they’re busy with–training.” She did some cursory googling of what baseball schedules are like, but it was mostly about when games were, not what players do when games aren’t happening.

Other than living in a nursing home, obviously.

By the time she finishes getting everyone set up, all the chairs at the baseball player’s table are taken, and everyone is clamoring to ask him questions. Clarke doesn’t want to be bothered by his surge of popularity–it always happens, with new blood, everyone excited to get their story–but he’s just a baseball player. He’s not even in the major leagues yet.

She’s not going to be bitter.

Her shift is five hours, from three to eight, covering afternoon snacks and then dinner, with a couple hours after of just spending time with the residents. She usually sets up in one of the common spaces with some textbooks, reading and chatting with whoever wants to chat. From seven to eight, she joins in the nightly tradition of watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy! and then she heads back to campus. It’s a nice routine, and she sees no reason to alter it for the new baseball player resident. If he wants to talk to her, he can.

And, apparently, he does. She’s been in her chair with her book for all of five minutes when he sits down next to her. Up close, she can see his skin is dotted with freckles and there’s a small scar over his lip.

And he’s very handsome.

“Hey,” he says, giving her half a smile. “I saw you helping out in the dining room, so I assume you’re not someone’s relative.”

“Volunteer, yeah.” She offers her hand. “Clarke Griffin.”

“Bellamy Blake. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. How do you get signed up for something like this?”

He looks a little amused at the question, although Clarke doesn’t know why. It’s a pretty normal thing to ask. And she’s curious. “They wanted volunteers, it sounded like a pretty good deal to me. I don’t pay for an apartment, and I get a free social life.”

It’s Clarke’s turn to smile. “Free social life?”

“What?”

“I guess I figured being in the minor leagues would give you a social life already. And this isn’t exactly–” She pauses, trying to figure out the best way to phrase it. “I like hanging out here, but it’s not for everyone.”

“So why is it for you?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s quiet and everyone’s easy to talk to. I just like it. But I didn’t think I would. I started coming here because my adviser said it would look good on med school applications, actually liking it was a total surprise.”

“I had a job at a nursing home when I was in high school, I worked in the dining room. I liked getting to know the residents, so when coach told us about this, I was the first volunteer.”

“That makes more sense.”

“Good enough reason for me to want to come here?” he asks, with a smirk that she wishes was a little less charming. “You like it, someone else should be able to too.”

“I just wasn’t expecting it, I guess. My friends can’t believe I hang out here as much as I do.”

“Well, you’re not the only one.” He pauses, but apparently his conscience takes over. “Murphy’s probably not going to be around as much.”

“Murphy?”

“The other rookie. He’s kind of a dick.” He looks around, adorably spooked, like he just realized he maybe should have said the word dick in a nursing home.

“The good news,” Clarke says, low and teasing, “is that a lot of the residents don’t hear very well, so they don’t know that you’re swearing.”

His laughs, a sheepish little chuckle. “Lucky me.”

“You get used to it. Not that some of the residents don’t swear up a storm,” she adds. “But they always act like we shouldn’t know those words.”

“I have some news for them about professional athletes and swearing.”

Clarke smiles, and he smiles back. He can’t be that much older than she is, probably recently out of college, assuming he actually graduated, and that makes her feel better. Somehow, she’d been imagining the resident baseball player as someone like Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own, an older, grumpy guy who wouldn’t really want to be here or talk to her. Which makes no sense with how old rookies actually are, but whatever. That’s her point of reference.

She wasn’t expecting someone like Bellamy.

The Wheel of Fortune music starts, and he perks up. “Sorry, I’m just–”

“Don’t apologize, I usually watch too.”

“Cool.” He gestures for her to go past him. “After you.”

*

Despite Lincoln’s assurances, Bellamy does have an impact on Clarke’s life. Admittedly, the other resident, Murphy, doesn’t show up much, almost never when Clarke is around, but Bellamy really does seem to see Eden Meadows as his home base, the place where he returns to as a default.

Not that he can always be around. With the season in full swing, Bellamy’s got games almost every day, which means he can’t spend all his time hanging out at a nursing home. He’s on the road a lot, or at games later in the day, or training. But according to the residents, Bellamy comes from breakfast as much as he can, and Clarke knows he comes for dinner as much as he can. The games aren’t broadcast on regular TV, but Lincoln has a cord to connect his laptop, so they watch the online stream, and Clarke joins them whenever she’s around.

After a couple weeks, she starts streaming in her dorm too, leaving the game on in the background while she does other things, listening for the announcer calling out that number six is up so she can watch him.

Clarke is not an expert on baseball. She understands the most basic of the basics, that one team tries to hit the ball and run around the bases while the other team tries to keep them from getting around the bases, that three strikes are an out and four balls are a walk, and that catching the ball is good. She knows that Bellamy is a catcher, which is the same thing Geena Davis was in A League of Their Own, and she definitely knows that most of her reference points for baseball are A League of Their Own. It’s weird only because Bellamy doesn’t talk about the game very much, or his career. He talks about college–which he did finish last year–and how much he likes history, about his little sister, who’s starting at NYU in the fall, because he can afford to send her to a better school than he went to. He talks about his teammates and his friends, but not much about the sport itself.

Not that Clarke has admitted to caring about the sport itself yet. She hasn’t told Bellamy that she watches the games at the nursing home, let alone on her own, and whenever anyone comes to her room while the games are on, she slams the laptop shut before anyone can see.

Or, rather, ideally she does. One morning, the weekend before finals, Clarke has the game on her laptop while she reviews flashcards in bed, away from the distractions of the internet, and Raven comes in without knocking, stops dead.

“Are you watching sports?”

“It’s just baseball.”

Raven frowns at the screen. “What the fuck team is that?”

A flush creeps up her neck. “Minor leagues.”

“You’re watching minor league baseball?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing against–” She frowns. “Does that say Rumble Ponies?”

The conversation will undoubtedly get worse before it gets better. And that’s assuming it ever gets better, which is a big assumption. She’s been caught and now she has to explain herself.

“Yeah, that’s our local team.”

“The Rumble Ponies.” Raven flops down in her chair. “Seriously, why are you watching this? I didn’t think you liked baseball.”

“It’s a long story,” she says, and immediately changes her mind. “Actually, it’s really short, I just don’t want to tell it.”

“Tough shit. What’s up?”

“The nursing home has this program set up with the–” She stumbles over the name. “The team. A couple of their rookies come and live in the home and hang out with the residents for a year. All the residents love it,” she adds. “They think it’s so cool that they’ve got real ball players living with them. And they watch all the games, so I watch all the games when I’m there. And then I started watching them here.”

“So, the rookies are hot?” Raven asks.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, but if they weren’t, you wouldn’t be embarrassed about telling me. It’s not actually a big deal.”

Clarke sighs, flops back on the bed. “Just one of them. One of them isn’t around much, but the other one–I think he really likes hanging out with the residents. As long as he’s in town and doesn’t have a game, it feels like he’s always around, doing puzzles or watching TV or just talking to people.”

“Wow. So you’ve got it really bad.”

Clarke shrugs. “He’s hot, he’s smart, he likes to yell at the TV during Jeopardy! I was hoping professional baseball player was something that didn’t do it for me, but it’s not a deal-breaker, apparently.”

Raven leans in close, squinting at the screen. The live stream is always a little pixelated, never great quality, but good enough to mostly tell what’s going on. “Which one is he? Your guy.”

“Number six on the Ponies,” says Clarke. “Bellamy Blake. They’re in the field, he’s the catcher.”

“Huh. He’s got a nice back.”

She smiles. “His face is pretty great too.”

“It must be, if you’re watching baseball.”

“I’m not really paying attention, if it makes you feel better.”

“I’ll feel better when I actually see the guy.”

It takes until he’s up at bat; it’s not a great closeup, and all Clarke can see is the pieces that are missing from this distance, on this scale. His freckles are missing, his hair is under a cap, he’s wearing his contacts instead of his glasses.

Still, it’s enough for Raven. “Yeah, I’d probably watch baseball for him.”

Clarke smiles. “Yeah. It’s so worth it.”

*

“None of the residents are going to remember all the details, so I’m just letting you know that I’m going home for a couple of weeks so you don’t have to figure out what happened from someone else,” she tells Bellamy, once finals are over and she’s about to be kicked out of the dorms.

He raises his eyebrows. “Just for a couple of weeks?”

“Yeah. I’ve actually got a job here for the rest of the summer, but my mom wanted to see me first.”

“How dare she,” he teases.

“I know, I know. I’m not complaining, it’s just kind of a pain. I wish they didn’t kick me out of the dorms, I’d just live there all summer if they let me and everything would be so much easier.”

“Where are you living when you get back? Here?”

“Nope, they just let famous athletes do that. I’m subletting from my professor who’s out of town for the summer. As long as I feed her cat, I’m good. And she’s letting me leave my stuff there so I don’t have to drag it back to DC.”

“So you’re still going to be on the east coast?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You should give me your number so I can text you about Jeopardy!”

It’s not like it’s a huge deal, really. Asking for someone’s number is a really minimal commitment, now. She doesn’t even know if Bellamy is single, or into women, and he really might just want to text her about game shows.

Which, okay, sounds like total BS as soon as she thinks it, but it could be true.

Then again, Bellamy’s not an idiot. He’s a twenty-three-year-old guy who probably flirts and has been flirted with a lot, and he has to know how he’s coming across.

The overthinking is getting her nowhere; she gives Bellamy her number, they watch their nightly game shows, and when she leaves, she tells him she’ll see him in a few weeks. Like a normal person.

The texts start the next morning, when Bellamy’s on the bus to an away game. He asks her when her flight is, which she tells him, and then he has Murphy’s bus singing to complain about, and Clarke gets patted down at airline security because her shirt is bunching and it looks like a bomb or something. Obviously she doesn’t text him while she’s on the plane, but she does let him know that she landed safely, and he lets her know that he’s got his game in about an hour.

“Who are you texting?” Abby asks.

“A friend.”

“A boyfriend?” she asks. “Or a girlfriend?”

“Or a friend,” says Clarke, smiling. “Another volunteer at the nursing home.”

“Oh, that’s nice. What’s their name?”

“Bellamy.”

Abby pauses. “And what are their preferred pronouns?”

She’s trying so hard with all the queer stuff; Clarke has to smile. “He’s a cis-guy, he uses regular masculine pronouns. He’s just got a weird, androgynous name. Not that I can relate to that or anything.”

“Clarke is a lovely name and you should be grateful that your father and I were already fighting against gender norms.”

“So grateful,” she agrees.

“So, is Bellamy a potential boyfriend?”

“Everyone’s a potential boyfriend, I guess,” she says, and tries to ignore her mother’s smile as she returns to her phone.

She watches Jeopardy! on her parents’ TV and Bellamy’s game on her iPad, texts him updates on how both are going. The Jeopardy! updates are more coherent, but she figures he’ll enjoy her completely uninformed baseball commentary too.

Sure enough, when he gets back, he texts, Yeah, this is exactly what I was hoping for when I got your number, and Clarke grins.

Maybe regular flirting is overrated. This is working great for her.

*

The two of them keep in touch regularly through Clarke’s visit at home. She almost feels bad for not knowing more about baseball, considering all the cool insider pictures and stories she’s getting, but Bellamy doesn’t seem to mind that she’s completely ignorant of his chosen profession. If anything, he seems to find it kind of refreshing. She’s the opposite of a groupie; maybe that’s nice for him.

When she gets back, he’s just left for another week of away games, and she spends the next few days in a state of itchy anticipation, wondering how things are going to be when she gets back, if things will be different or if all of the flirting was just in her head, if he’s just been killing time.

The residents, at least, are happy to see her. “It’s been so quiet without you,” Mrs. Hernandez tells her. “Especially when the boys are away at games. And I know Bellamy missed having you around, too.”

Her smile is sly, and Clarke has to smile. Trust the residents to be worried about their love lives.

But she doesn’t want to talk about that. “Have you been keeping up the with the games? It seems like they’re having a pretty good season.”

The job itself is pretty good, especially when people aren’t trying to set her up with Bellamy. She’s working a full forty hours a week as four ten-hour days, which is going to be tiring, but the three-day weekend is nice. And she doesn’t find it as difficult to be a real staff member as she expected to, even when there are gross issues. It really does feel like it could be a career, something she could keep doing. That’s gratifying too.

And every day she works, Bellamy is one day closer to being back, which is pretty great. She’s going to see him soon.

Except that he’s getting back on her day off, because of course he is. That’s the only way it could work out. It’s not even that bad, objectively speaking; it’s the end of her weekend, and she’ll see him the day after he gets back. It’s not like she has to wait that long.

But she’ll be at work, and he’ll be living at her workplace, which is pretty generally awkward vibe for romance. Not that she necessarily thinks she’s going to get laid immediately, but she thinks there are good odds of her getting laid at some point, and if it could happen immediately, she’d be down.

Mostly, though, she just wants to see him. As soon as possible. But it doesn’t feel like she can say that, like she can just ask. It feels like too big a step for her to take just yet.

Flirting sucks.

Luckily, Bellamy takes the issue out of her hands; about an hour out of town, he texts, I just realized I can never ask you to come over to my place.

Me: I’m at your place all the time

Bellamy: You’re in building where I currently liveWorking and caring for the elderlyYou can’t really just come chill with me

Me: Yeah that’s trueThe residents are already gossiping about usIn case you hadn’t heard

Bellamy: Yeah, I got thatThe whole time you were gone, they were asking me how much I missed you

Me: What did you say?

Bellamy: You know I missed you

Me: You could always come over here insteadNo audience except my prof’s cat

Bellamy: Which isn’t awkward at all

Me: Depends on why you want to come see meIf all the cat’s going to do is watch us watch Jeopardy…

Bellamy: I figured we could watch Jeopardy and go from there

Clarke flops onto her back, grinning up at the ceiling. It’s not really like hooking up with a celebrity, not even close. Even if Bellamy does end up in the majors, she doesn’t really care about him as a status symbol. But it is finding out that the boy she likes likes her too, and wants to come see her as soon as possible.That’s always going to be exciting.

Me: I’ll order pizza or somethingSee you soon :)

*

“This must be very exciting for you,” Mrs. Alexander tells Clarke. “Seeing your beau in action.”

It’s August and the complimentary tickets to the Rumble Ponies game finally came, and Clarke really is excited, although she’s trying to keep it in check. She’s not here as Bellamy’s girlfriend, she’s here as a chaperone for the residents of Eden Meadows, which is actually a real responsibility. It feels weird, doing attendance for actual adults, but the residents can’t walk for that long and can’t really be left to their own devices. Her job is to make sure they have a good time.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever called him my beau before,” she tells Mrs. Alexander. “That one’s kind of old-fashioned.”

“I think it’s a nice word,” she says. “It sounds so much more romantic than boyfriend. And a little more serious. The two of you do seem serious.”

“You know this is none of your business, right?” Clarke asks, but she can’t keep the amusement out of her voice. “Whether or not Bellamy is my beau is no one’s business but ours.”

“Of course it’s not,” she says. “But he is.”

“But he is,” Clarke admits. It’s definitely a little awkward, but she cleared it with Lincoln–which was even more awkward–and it’s going well. She’ll mostly be happy when he moves out of the nursing home and into his own place, but she’s also glad he’ll probably still come visit. He wasn’t just being nice to the residents to get on her good side; he really likes them. He’s a really good guy.

“And it’s very exciting, isn’t it?”

She lets herself smile as they find their seats. “Yeah, it really is.”

let the record show the binghampton rumble ponies are a real minor league baseball team and I love them based only on their name

[shiningamongdarkness]

Chapter 08. A horrible feeling

Shining among Darkness

By WingzemonX 

Chapter 08. A horrible feeling 

Be a homicide detective was always an obvious goal for Cole Sear. That was, after all, the perfect way in which he could fulfill the purpose that had led him to join the police force from the start. This achievement reached him relatively quickly, becoming one of the youngest elements to get it. A lot of it was thanks to his hard work, of course; but it would be quite stubborn of him to pretend that it was not also due to his unique abilities which gave him an advantage over other competitors.

If he had learned anything during those years he was leading, not only as a homicide detective but as part of the Philadelphia Police Department itself, it is that almost all criminals, not to mention people in general, had the instinct to run away ; or, failing that, attack at the first sign of danger. This behavior was very characteristic of animals; the one that was not so was the desire to attack, torture, and murder their peers for no reason, beyond wanting to do so, or a selfish and twisted search for pleasure and emotion.

Strangely, he had realized that those with this behavior were, in fact, less likely to flee. As he saw it, the violent and ruthless killers, even within their twisted way of seeing the world, were smart enough to understand that what they did was wrong; for other people, not for themselves. And although several of them could not fully digest all the implications of it, they used to accept with remarkable tranquility the fact that they were discovered and even celebrated about it.

Andrew Stuart, the son of a bitch who was chasing on foot at the time in the center, was not one of them. This coward, as soon as he understood why two officers had shown up at his appliance store looking specifically for him, threw a shelf to them and ran out terrified by the boarding area. Cole's partner, Tommy, went to the car, while Cole decided to run after the suspect. Although of course, to call him suspect for Cole was a mere formality; he already knew that he was guilty, and enough.

It was a little before 6 pm; the sidewalks were somewhat crowded, as several people had recently left their jobs. To Andrew, this seemed to matter very little to him, as did not matter to him the life of the innocent women who trusted him when they got into his vehicle during the dawns, in search of somebody that took them safely to home. He pushed everyone without the slightest hesitation to break through, even knocking them to the ground if necessary. A part of Cole wanted to behave himself that way, as long as he could reach that bastard as soon as possible. But, for better or for worse, he was a law enforcement officer, so he just went as far as he could, while announcing himself shouting: “Police! Off to the side!” That seemed to be enough most of the time for people to stand aside, between surprised and frightened.

He would not let him escape in any way. Not after everything he had done, and everything he had to pay for. Cole would catch him, and put him in the darkest and most humid cell he could find, but not before beating him as God commands.

Andrew turned out to have enough stamina and condition, but Cole also had it. It took him three blocks, but he finally managed to tack and throw Andrew to the ground. Both rolled; Andrew hit his forehead against the sidewalk, and it opened in a long wound. Still stunned with his forehead bleeding, he got back to his feet, and without thinking, he threw a punch at Cole. The detective dodged him by a few millimeters, but Andrew kept trying.

And there was the second common behavior: attack in a desperate way, fed by anger.

People surrounded them, but all were limited to watching the show. During the first punches, Cole only covered or dodged, but just when he saw the opportunity, he hit a straight right on his jaw, which made Andrew stumble back awkwardly. Cole could have taken out his gun and forced him with that threat to throw himself to the ground, but he did not do that. He felt a lot of satisfaction, more than he would admit, in being able to advance that beating he had thought of right now and with his fists.

Andrew was not as helpless as he looked. In their exchange of punches, he managed to give Cole a pair, of which the second almost knocked him down, but he remained standing.

Cole could see out of the corner of his eye how Tommy arrived and parked his beige Cadillac on one side of the sidewalk. Then he got off, with his gun in hand, but remained in that place, doubtful whether to intervene or not.

"Do you want help, friend?"

"No, thanks," Cole said, just before ducking to avoid an Andrew hook. "I have everything under control."

At first glance, it did not seem that this statement was right, but in the end, the detective managed to shoot the suspect behind a strong hook to the face, which made him turn on himself, fall flat on the floor, and stay there. Once there, Cole stood over him and placed the handcuffs on him, perhaps applying a little more force than required.

"Andrew Stuart," he began with a vengeance as he handcuffed him, "you're under arrest for the murder of Rebecca Snyder, and five other women whom I will name you shortly, I promise."

He lifted him and then pulled him violently towards the car.

"This is stupid!" Andrew exclaimed furiously; his face bloodied and bruised. "Based on what you are doing it?"

"Based on what?" Murmured Cole, apparently furious at the mere idea that he questioned such a thing. "How about six corpses buried in the same corner of the forest, all with enough of your DNA to send you to a death sentence individually?"

Andrew's expression filled with astonishment and amazement suddenly, trying to look at his captor over his shoulder as his firm grip allowed him.

"That, without mention the word of a witness" the detective added sharply, already being right next to the car.

"Witness?" Andrew exclaimed as if he did not know the meaning of that word. "What witness?"

"Rebecca Snyder, asshole."

"What?"

Before giving him enough time even to digest that strange response, the officer placed his hand on his head and lowered it suddenly intending to put him in the backseat. However, in the process he smashed his forehead against the top frame of the door, causing him to become even more disoriented than he already was.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did it hurt? My carelessness."

Cole pushed it into the car almost pushing it, and slammed the door hard behind him. The people, by then, had already begun to retire.

"Well done, Sear," Tommy said, almost scolding. "Do you think that enough time has passed since your last slap of ears for police abuse?"

"You saw it yourself, he fought it hard," Cole said, shrugging nonchalantly. "You will back me up, will not you?"

He added a wink of complicity behind his words, to which the other cop quietly sighed.

"While I can, my friend."

Tommy was ten years older than him, with a mustache of a somewhat old—fashioned style. In theory, he was supposed to be his senior, in charge of teaching him and taking care that he did everything according to the rules and procedure. In practice, Tommy turned out to be quite condescending with it. Although he was not so old, he seemed to share many of the old guard's thoughts, in which it was considered understandable, and even advisable, that they should treat the criminals as necessary. The difference between Cole and him is that Tommy most of the time he only thought about it, while Cole applied it to every opportunity.

The reason for Cole's actions, however, was not due to an attachment to old ways. While many of the homicide policemen saw everything in a rather cold way, without getting involved in a personal way and without seeing the victims as more than just corpses (something that was quite recurrent mentioned on the academy), Cole had a completely different perspective of each case. That perspective led him to get a vision on the matter that none of his colleagues could match.

That was, precisely, his happy advantage although many would see it as the opposite.

Tommy went to the other side of the car and headed for the driver's seat. However, Cole did not go to his respective place.

"Can you get ahead to take this idiot and process him?"

His partner turned to see him, somewhat confused by such a request.

"Sure. But, where are you going?"

"I have to take care of another business."

"Business? What business?"

Cole did not say anything. He just smiled and tilted his head a little to one side. That was enough to be understood.

"Ah, a business of that class?"

Again, he did not respond with words.

"I'll see you in a little while." Cole pointed out and then started back up the street. "Don’t miss that bastard."

"Of course not. Tonight, he will sleep in the shadows."

Tommy climbed into the car, turned on it, and then drove in the opposite direction.

— — — —

Once the adrenaline and emotion of the fight subsided, Cole began to feel the heat of the blows received in the face, and also of the hits provided by knuckles. Definitely, he was not in the best condition to go on a date, if that was the case. He would have to put ice on that wounds when he got home, and clean his knuckles with alcohol. But he did not care; to a certain extent, he was already used to it.

His destination was not very far. A few meters ahead of the scene of his fight, he entered a narrow, somewhat hidden alley. There was nothing in that space, beyond some trash cans and a fire escape stairs on the side of the left building.

He looked around, making sure there was no one, not inside the alley, as if outside. He took out a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his jacket. He put one in his mouth and lit it. From the first breath, he was already feeling more relaxed, and the pain eased.

He remained standing in that place, just waiting. The person who had gone to see was already there; he knew that. He could feel it in all his bones. It was a sensation between pain and tickling; hard to describe, and more to imagine.

A slight cold air snorted, touching his face delicately. Beneath his suit, his skin bristled. He released a thick puff of smoke into the air, and then turned to the side, further down the alley.

And there she was: Rebecca Snyder, with coppery hair in a tangle, and her face pale, except for the blows that had left brown and purple spots that stood out remarkably. Her long neck was marked by the prints of long and thick fingers that had left furrows on her skin when pressed with excessive force; the fingers of the same fists that a few minutes ago were trying to hit him. Her blouse was torn, leaving one of her breasts exposed, and her skirt lifted. Her thighs were stained with blood, drawing thin threads that ran down his legs to almost reaching her ankles.

Her sight was lost, set somewhere on the dirty floor of the alley. Her arms fell to the sides without the slightest force in them.

Cole, more than feeling scared or disturbed by such an image, every time he saw her he could only feel tremendous anger. If he could, he would have killed that bastard right there, and possibly he would have won a medal with it; not in that life, but maybe in the next. But he was a policeman, and he had to behave as such. He had joined the force precisely to help people like Rebecca, but even so, he must continue to follow the rules of the living.

He threw his cigarette barely started on the floor, and stepped on it with his toe. He kept his distance, waiting for Rebecca to turn to see him, but she did not. She kept looking at the floor, as if that ball of paper near her feet, moving slightly from side to side just a few centimeters by the wind, was something exciting.

"It's over, Rebecca," he informed her after a while, very softly in her voice. "I caught him. He will pay for what he did to you and the others. And he won't hurt someone else again."

She continued without reacting as if his words were distant murmurs in the wind that were not addressed to her.

Cole approached cautiously; the closer he came, the colder the air became. He raised his right hand intending to place it on his shoulder, but at the last moment decided not to.

"You can rest now. I will take care of everything else."

Then it followed a few seconds of complete silence and calm. Even the sounds of the street, the walk of people, the noise of the cars, everything seemed to have vanished.

Suddenly, Rebecca began to raise her face slowly and to turn it in the same way towards him. Her blue eyes, in those reddish and absent-minded moments, rested on the detective, to which he responded only with a modest smile.

"Thank you..." the woman whispered slowly, but still her voice resounded loudly in Cole's head like an echo.

Silence comes next, another breath of cold air, and then... nothing. The noise of the street and people returned, the usual heat returned little by little, and Rebecca Snyder disappeared without a trace. It would be the last time Cole would see her, or that was at least what Cole expected.

Already at that point, he did not remember when it had started. In his almost thirty years, looking back, it seemed as if it had always been like this: to be able to see and talk to the dead. What he did remember clearly was the moment in which he decided what use to give to such a singular quality. When instead of running away from that girl who had been poisoned by her mother, agreed to listen to her and prevent the same thing happening with his sister. He learned that way the spirits that came to him, for the most part, they did not intend to hurt him but fed by their own confusion and fears. They saw him as a beam of light that could help them, and he decided that within his faculties, he would try to be one.

Of course, not all the ghosts that came to him did it with good intentions. But over time, he managed to control even more his skills including understanding that they had much higher qualities than he had expected as a child. These qualities could help keep such entities away, or even invoke them if required.

But of course, Cole did not achieve all that alone; if so, he would possibly remain as the child hiding behind his blankets, in a false attempt to protect himself from beings he did not understand. But thanks in particular to two people, he managed to take the right steps. The first of them, surprisingly, was another ghost, and he was who encouraged him to no longer be so afraid of them. Cole knew the second person when he was about to enter adolescence; when the apparitions became much more frequent and much more dangerous.

That person, precisely, was about to call him.

Cole left the alley with the clear intention of lighting another cigarette. He had just placed it on his lips when he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pants. He hurried to get it out and saw displayed on the screen an unregistered number. But, besides that, it started with the code of another state.

He tried to remember which city the code belonged to, but it did not come to his head quickly, and the phone kept ringing. His immediate decision was to answer. It was not uncommon for people of unknown number to call him since he often distributed his presentation card among people he felt might need it. However, what was a little more unusual, was that these types of calls would come from outside the city... except for a particular case, which was the one that came to mind just after responding.

"Detective Sear," he answered firmly, as his years of police had accustomed him.

"Good fight, Detective Sear," he heard a woman's voice on the other end of the line pronounce; a very, very recognizable woman's voice. "Have you ever considered a career in boxing?"

A broad smile of emotion crossed Cole's lips.

"Eleven? What a surprise!"

He heard a small, modest giggle from the other side.

"That didn't sound sincere."

"Because it is not, I'm not really surprised. Were you spying on me? You won't be calling me just to scold me for the fight, will you?"

"Actually, it was a coincidence. And I'm sure that guy deserved that facial rearrangement."

"I guarantee you that he deserved that and more."

Again, some friendly giggles from both. Cole started walking along the sidewalk towards the headquarters, having the phone at every moment against his ear."

Jane Wheeler, Eleven for friends, ran a Foundation dedicated primarily to helping children like him. With her guidance, he learned to understand how to use better his skills; or, as she called it, his "Shining."

"I'm sorry to bother you so suddenly," Eleven murmured, once the initial greetings had passed, "but I need to ask you a favor."

"For you, I do whatever, you know it," Cole said to answer immediately. He did not work regularly at the Foundation, but he was always open to doing so as soon as the opportunity presented itself. "Any other Foundation child is frightened by incomprehensible phenomena for the rest of your assistants?"

"Something like that. But I suspect that it could be a case closer to the other type of phenomena that you tend to see."

Cole's right eyebrow arched with intrigue.

"Other type?"

"You know, those who are not precisely ghosts."

That single clarification was quite clear to him; he did not say it in words, but his silence indicated this to his interlocutor. Also, that made something more worrying about the reason for her call.

"It is a girl who has skills and behaviors that are quite worrying, in many ways. I assigned the case to Matilda Honey, one of my most trusted and committed collaborators. I think you've never had the opportunity to meet her before."

To Cole, the name did not come to mind; he would definitely remember someone whose last name was "Honey." It lent itself so easily to a couple of jokes that it could even be considered a boring challenge.

Eleven continued.

"She's a woman quite capable of anything, and I say it almost literally. However, she doesn't have the kind of experience you have with cases like this."

Cole thought a little about everything he had heard. Much of his attention had been left behind in the conversation.

"What do you think it is, Eleven?" He questioned with notorious seriousness in his tone.

Eleven took a couple of seconds before answering.

"I don't know for sure. It's more like a feeling; a horrible feeling."

"It's better not to take your feelings lightly, especially if they are horrible. What do you need me to do?"

"Originally I intended to ask you if you could take care of it, but Matilda expressed very strongly her refusal to leave the case. Even so, I would feel calmer if you saw this kid and gave your opinion to Matilda about her. And, if you can, support her in the following steps to follow."

"Sure, there's no problem. When should I be there?"

Eleven stammered, confused by the unexpected response.

"But I still don't give you all the details of the case. I haven't even told you where you should go..."

"Hey, I said I'd do anything for you," the detective interrupted firmly, "so I don't need any more details. Also, I just closed a complicated case, and I could use a short vacation. Just give me a few days to finish the paperwork, and see what dates I have to appear in court."

"You're all charming, Cole," the woman murmured with a warm tone. "Then we will be in contact to talk more calmly about the case."

"Sure, you always know where to find me."

Being about to cut, Eleven stopped him.

"Ah, one more thing, Cole. Try to be... careful with Matilda. You've never met anyone like her before."

"Why do you say that?" He asked, intrigued. "Does Miss Honey have two heads or can she blow up mine?"

"Unmistakably, she doesn't have two heads. About the other thing..." Eleven left the words in the air, leaving Cole a bit confused. "I think you two will get along, after a while. I leave you to finish your paperwork. We talk this night."

"Sure. Say hello to Mike by me."

When he cut off the communication, Cole stopped for a moment to meditate, standing there on the sidewalk. He sounded pretty sure a few moments ago on the phone, but actually, he was not so much.

He moved a little closer to a bench, and let himself fall into it. He took out his cell phone again and started dialing a number. On the other side, the person attended by the third beep.

"Father Michael," he said enthusiastically, though solemnly. "Do you have time to receive me later...? No, nothing terrible especially. It's just... a horrible feeling."

— — — —

After several days of meetings and agreements, Ann Thorn, with maiden name Rutledge, decided to take a night off on her business trip in Los Angeles and go to the Opera. And what better companion for a night like that than his beloved nephew, Damien? After all, those same meetings and agreements they had also occupied him; although not as much as she expected.

Damien was reluctant at first, but in the end, he hesitantly agreed. They both get ready right on time, and they climbed into the limo with Billy to take them to the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. That trip, however, was a little silent.

Ann was a woman who was already forty—five years old, elegant and very good looking. She had long curly black hair that fell loose on her shoulders that night. She had put on a long black evening dress, with bare shoulders, and matching high heels. She was also retouching her lips with an intense red that stood out in her white face. She was, in a few words, a stunning woman, one of those who each year they live, they look even better.

"The critics had spoken very well about this opera," Ann commented just after finishing painting her lips. "Let's hope it's worth it."

"Yes, I'm sure you want to see it for the good reviews," said the boy beside her, with marked sarcasm.

Damien wore a suit of black coat and pants, a dark gray shirt, and a red tie with diagonal white lines. While his aunt did her thing with her lips, while both were sitting in the back seat of the limousine, he boringly checked his cell phone. There was a significant distance between them, which could hardly have been accidental.

Ann was the second wife of his uncle Richard, the older brother of his father. When he orphaned at a very young age, he remained in Richard and Ann custody. Time later, his uncle died in an accident when he was twelve, and since then he was in the care of Ann as his legal guardian.

But of course, much of that was lies, or at least almost nobody knew all the details about how his parents and uncle died, or who Ann Rutledge really was, or the purpose and means by which she had come to Damien's life.

"Occasional public appearances are sometimes necessary," Ann pointed out. "I thought I taught you that."

She then kept her mirror and lipstick, and immediately afterward she glanced at her companion.

"That tie suits you very well. You should use it more often."

"It works when I want to disguise myself as a clown," replied the boy with reluctantly.

His attitude was quite negative, and although Ann tried to hide her annoyance, it was indeed hard not to feel assaulted by her tone. That state had already lasted a couple of months. And although at times it seemed that everything was improving, abruptly they returned to the starting point.

The limousine approached its destination by North Grand Avenue.

"Leave us here, Billy," Ann pointed out, indicating the long stairs that led to the plaza of Los Angeles Music Center. The driver stepped aside, despite the red line, and both got out. First Damien, and then Ann, who had to get out without the help of her young escort, who still did not take his eyes off of his cell phone.

In any other similar case, that attitude would be a clear example of how deteriorated the current youth were. But that boy was not any young man, and his attitude toward her was due to more than youthful apathy.

On the sidewalk, there were many people, but from their position, they could notice that there was still more up in the square; all of them waiting for it to be time for the event to start.

The limo pulled away, and they both started walking toward the stairs. However, a voice behind them stopped them.

"Mrs. Thorn," said a tongue—in—cheek voice behind her, making the woman in black turn around quickly, and Damien did the same. Approaching by the sidewalk was a man of medium height, with a half—grown beard, striped shirt, jacket, and gray pants. And, perhaps most striking, a press badge hanging from the left pocket of his jacket. "You are Ann Thorn of Thorn Industries, right?"

Ann smiled gently, as she could. There were several reporters in the vicinity, some much more recognizable than others, even without distinctive badges on their chests. But that one, in particular, did not seem to be a show reporter. Also, Ann did not believe that many show reporters could recognize her so quickly on the street.

"If you want to know my opinion about the performance, you'll have to wait until after the end, boy," she said politely, and somewhat mockingly, and immediately set out to follow her progress; Damien followed her in silence.

"I'm not a show reporter, Mrs. Thorn," the reporter hurried to explain, creating some personal pride in Ann when she saw that she had been right. "I was waiting for you precisely. Can you give me just a second?"

"I don't have much time," Ann explained, as the three of them climbed the stairs. "The first call will be at any time. Besides, how did you know I would be here anyway?"

"With all due respect, but the CEO of a business consortium as big as Thorn Industries can hardly go unnoticed; especially if she comes with the young heir."

The man's attention focused on the boy who was walking beside the elegant woman. This one, when he felt his eyes, looked at him equally over his shoulder with his deep and cold blue eyes. The expression of the boy came to cause a slight jump on the reporter, for no reason.

"Damien Thorn, right?" He extended his hand in greeting, once they reached the bottom of the stairs. However, Damien did not return the address in any way.

"I'll get ahead of you, Aunt Ann," he said brusquely, and then walked away to the building on his own.

Ann looked at him for a few seconds, between surprised and annoyed; the latter was not sure if it was to his young nephew, or to the impertinent reporter who was bothering them.

"It will be quick," she heard the man say at her side with the same tongue—in—cheek voice as before, which did not do much to lessen her bad mood. "I just want to know your opinion about the rumors that hover in the financial sector, about your visit to Los Angeles is due to the possible purchase of Winston Motors by Thorn Industries."

From his position, the reporter could not see her face; and if he could see it, he might have thought twice before harassing her with such questions. Her inside boiled with the desire to take his stupid head and crashed it to the ground again and again until in her hands there were only bunches of flesh and bone. Unfortunately, that would be quite disturbing to the public relations of the company. So, instead of opting for that option, she decided to turn to him and smile normally.

"If I had something to say about it, why do you think I would tell you, dear? Especially if I consider that anything I say, or doesn't say, would cause a disturbance on Wall Street in the morning."

"You said it yourself," the reporter stressed, confident in his voice. "Sometimes refusing to deny a statement says much more than affirming it."

Surely he had felt brilliant for having done such a cunning observation. Ann continued smiling, but the option of the head and the ground seemed more and more tempting to her.

"If you didn´t come for that, why don't you tell me what is the real reason for your stay in Los Angeles? That could calm rumors and riots, don't you think?"

"Tonight, I only come to spend a nice time with my beloved nephew. And you're spoiling me." Ann straightened her comment, giving him a pair of friendly pats on his cheek. "You can write that if you wish. About Winston Motors..." She paused thoughtfully, tilted his head to the side, and then smiled confidently again. "No comment."

After saying that she began to move quickly to the auditorium, and even being him behind her, she could feel his proud smile, and how he took out his cell phone and called someone.

She could guess how he would take his refusal to deny as an affirmation. She could see the tomorrow business section of a local newspaper, with a new without stating anything directly, but between the lines would inform to the world that Thorn Industries would absorb Winston Motors, and even give some predictions and theories of what that purchase could bring to the future. The shares of Winston Motors would start to rise, and those of Thorn Industries might drop a few points, but it won´t be something out of the ordinary.

But in the end, everything would be just reverend nonsense. Of course, the president of Winston Motors and she already had an alliance, and of course, they had seen her leave and enter their building several times throughout that week and a half. But this alliance was many things, but not commercial; not in the conventional sense that inept reporters like that understood, at least. The principal heads of Winston Motors were part of Them; followers of the same cause, allies in matters that were much deeper and more complex than a business purchase, or any other idea that the mundane mind of that individual could conceive.

But there was no point in continuing to think about it; there were more relevant issues that still worried her.

Already inside the auditorium, an usher did her the favor of guiding her to their private box, in which her companion was already seated; again, with his attention on the cell phone. Ann wondered if he really was seeing something interesting or if he was just doing it to annoy her.

She decided not to show her annoyance, and instead just smiled and sat in the chair next to him. There had been too many fake smiles for an afternoon. The stage was on the right side of the auditorium, and the position was more than adequate to contemplate it entirely without problems. The seats had been provided by their friends of Winston Motors.

"The view is perfect, don't you think?" Commented the woman in black, but did not receive an answer; at least not immediately, although it was not as such an answer to her question.

"Was really a coincidence that we met that reporter?" The boy questioned with annoyance, without taking his eyes off the screen.

"What do you think?" Ann answered with an air of mystery. Actually, it had been a coincidence, but she considered a good idea to make him feel that she had some control over any situation. She just hoped he would not try to get in her head to verify it. "It would be good if you stopped shying away from the public eye like you have been doing these last months."

"I agreed to come with you here, or not? And it wasn't by of the good reviews. Also, I've been busy with other things to focus, more important than public relations."

"That's what I heard," Ann murmured with weariness in his tone. "Do you think it's the best thing for your image to be walking around in those places?"

Damien smiled, amused at the subtle questioning. Only that moment he finally turned off his cell phone and put it in his pocket.

"Of course you know it," he said. "I was wondering when you were going to mention it."

A few days ago, Damien had asked Billy to take him to a neighborhood on the south of the city, to look for a person. That neighborhood, however, was one of "those places" to which Ann referred so contemptuously.

"Don't get involved in my business. I know what I'm doing."

"And if someone had recognized you?"

"Someone like who? The councilors and the police sergeants who pass by there every two days?"

"It was not necessary for you to go yourself. You could have asked any of your men to take care of that... business for you."

"You mean your men; yours and Lyons."

Ann turned to see him directly, stunned by such comment.

"Of course not. You know that any of the members of the Brotherhood would do anything for you. Including us."

Damien smiled again amused.

"You will forgive me if I put myself some skeptical of that affirmation."

There was a small silence, in which the echo of the footsteps and the murmurs of the people who were accommodating in their places resounded. The second call occurred during that time.

"What do you expect to get together with these girls?" The woman in black questioned, abruptly.

"I still don't know exactly. But I'm sure it will be an enlightening experience."

"You expect too much from these worldly and low beings," Ann exclaimed with might in her voice. "These girls are not worthy of you, beyond prostration at your feet. All beings in this despicable world, even those who think they are special, are nothing but insects before you. Don't try to find your peers among them, when you are so above all of us..."

"Leave that already, will you, Ann?" He interrupted her violently, giving her a furtive look of anger. "I'm not in the mood for your nonsense."

Ann's breath cut as soon as he rested his gaze on her. Those eyes no longer reflected the boy's usual coolness and tranquility, but a genuine and deep rage; of that which, if it were a little bigger, would have had a disastrous effect on her person.

Damien turned back to the stage, and crossed his legs, adopting a posture that seemed to indicate that he was the only person in that box; or, at least, the only one that interested him, even if it was a whim.

Ann lowered her gaze thoughtful and subjugated. She had not been aware until then of the dire situation between the two. Everything had started just a few months ago, after that stupid Economy Congress in New Hampshire. A single moment of carelessness, just a moment of not paying attention to everything that surrounded him, to everything that could be a potential danger, and everything ruined. Before, she was confident about it, sure that eventually it would pass and would be something unimportant. However, everything seemed to indicate that it would not be like that. It was not something that he would forget easily and could bring horrible consequences.

Everything she had done and sacrificed for the greater good, for the rebirth of a new era, at risk of being thrown away by the intervention of a young idiot girl who did not know with who she was playing.

"If I have done something to offend you, my lord, you know I will do anything to regain your trust." She raised her hand then, intending to place it on top of his. "Anything…"

Before she could even touch his white skin, the boy quickly removed his hand from his back, as if that possible contact provoked disgust on him. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, with the same feeling he had just moments ago. He sat up straight in his chair and turned back to the stage.

Ann lowered her eyes, resigned. The third call came a little later, and the rest of the night fell in silent.

END OF CHAPTER 08

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

—The character of Cole Sear is based on the child protagonist of the film Sixth Sense of 1999, having at this time already around twenty-seven or twenty-eight years, in contrast to the nine he had in that film. The events of the film are respected as they are shown in it, without any change at the moment. The skills of Cole, however, will have some evolution compared to what we saw in the film, which later chapters will explain.

—The character of Ann that appeared in this chapter is based and inspired by the combination of two characters. Her role and relationship with Damien are based on Ann Thorn from the movie Damien: Omen II of 1978, while his image and personality are based on Ann Rutledge from the television series Damien of 2016, although both characters were never specified as the same. The main difference is that here it will be considered something younger so that it is more in line with current Damien's age. In addition to this, several of the events of Damien: Omen II will be taken and will adapt to the story, but in the case of the outcome that the character had at the end of that film, it will be changed.

[monkeyspawnskydiamond]

Don’t ask me to feel sorry for my rapist - Nina Funnell

Nine years ago I threatened to kill a man. I did not know his name or anything about him. And yet when I threatened to kill him, I meant it.

To this day I still wonder what would have happened if, by some fluke, the box-cutter had made its way into my own hand.

I wonder if I would have pressed the cold blade against his throat, as he had done to me just moments prior. I wonder if I would have found it in me to stab him as he lay there on top of me, strangling me, bashing me, indecently sexually assaulting me.

I still don’t know.

What I do know is that by threatening to end his life, I saved my own.

I know that if I hadn’t wrestled him for the box-cutter, if I hadn’t screamed and kicked and thrashed about like a wounded animal, I might not have survived the night.

I do not say this to imply that women who have acted any differently in sexual assault situations have done the wrong thing. On the contrary, a different perpetrator might have killed me on the spot for fighting.

So my story is neither cautionary nor instructive. It’s just my story and there is no way to tell it without including certain details.

I was 23-years-old and an honours student at the University of Sydney. I’d woken up that morning and showered like I would have on any other day. The only thing that was different about this particular morning was that it was the day of my honours presentation — a day I had been working towards for months. It should have ended in celebration and elation.

Instead it ended with me at a police station.

I’d gone out for some drinks after class had finished (yes, I was drinking, as women are permitted to do from time to time) and I was making the 20 minute walk home to my parent’s place in Sydney’s lower north shore.

I was a few hundred metres from my front door when I was suddenly attacked from behind.

A solid-built man I had never seen before had seized me. He held a box-cutter blade to my throat and began dragging me into an adjacent park.

I didn’t see or hear him coming as I was listening to music from earphones. (Later I would be told that this was just one of the many reasons why I was to blame for his decision to attack.)

He then said point blank: “I am going to kill you”.

He punched me in the face and the force of the blow was so powerful that it knocked me off my feet and onto my back.

I lay in the dirt, immobilised by fear, as he moved on top of me. They call this the “freeze response” and I have since learnt that most sexual assault victims experience this sort of shock and paralysis.

Then I felt the life being choked out of me. His hand was on my throat, my trachea was being crushed, and I could taste blood in my mouth. I was also vaguely aware of a deep pain beginning to grow in my shoulders and back.

Hours later at Gladesville police station I’d be photographed and swabbed. I’d be asked to go into a small room and remove my top. Once in there, I would examine my body in the mirror and find what would soon become dark bruising across my back — bruising that was apparently caused by large, protruding tree roots that had been grinding into my back while the weight of my attacker’s body pushed my flesh into them.

During the assault though, I didn’t process that sort of detail. All I could think was “How can this be happening to me? Is this for real?”

Then my mind went somewhere else altogether. I shut my eyes tight and an old, forgotten memory played like a video before my eyes. I remembered being a young girl, maybe six or seven years in age. I was standing in that same park and I was watching my older brother play soccer on the field. I remembered how at half time, I’d eaten quartered oranges with him and it had made me feel special that he’d included me and talked to me with his older friends around.

That was it. That was the simple memory that I shut my eyes and held on to. It seems odd, doesn’t it? That a man is trying to rape and kill you and you think about eating quartered oranges with your big brother.

I’ve since been told that my brain was valiantly trying to protect me from the trauma of what was occurring to me. In transporting me to another time and place — a safer time and place — it was trying to shield me from what was happening.

And yet, just as quickly as I’d slipped into that dissociative state, I slipped back out of it again. And when I did, I found myself looking directly into my attacker’s face which was only inches away from my own.

His grasp was still on my throat. I couldn’t breathe and couldn’t move. I felt a sharp pain across my body and I remember thinking: “I don’t want to die. Not like this”.

****

When it comes to sexual assault, women are forever being asked “why didn’t you say no?” or “why didn’t you fight back?”

As though a rapist would ever listen.

As though victims are the ones who should be responsible for preventing the violence we experience.

If you really want to know why most women don’t fight back, it’s because of one of two things: we are either immobilised by fear, or we assume that fighting back will make things worse. This is, after all, something that has been drummed in to us all from a very tender age.

But that night I did fight back, not at first, and not because I am courageous. The only reason I fought was because adrenaline took over and I had nothing to lose.

My mind had eventually caught up and computed that I was in a kill-or-be-killed situation. And if I was going to die anyway, why not fight the f***er? Get his DNA if nothing else.

I began thrashing and resisting, and then I exploded yelling “I’m going to kill you first”.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

I’ll never forget the look of shock and surprise on his face when I said that. What I don’t remember, is exactly what happened in the next few moments.

Again, this is not uncommon. The nature of trauma means that survivors often have memory gaps or recollections that don’t add up. One counsellor explained that if your memory is like a filing cabinet system, a traumatic event will effectively toss all the files onto the floor, mess them around, and then shove them back in.

Some files get lost. Others get out of order.

She also told me that she’s never once met a sexual assault survivor who had perfect, chronological recall.

Such is the nature of trauma.

And yet I’ve also been told that if I ever do go to court, defence lawyers will almost certainly try to use my memory gaps against me.

I can look forward to some smug lawyer arrogantly trying to discredit me by painting me as an “unreliable witness”. The fact that I’m even classified as a “witness” frustrates me to tears. I wasn’t sitting outside my body, eating popcorn watching this happen from the sidelines. It was painful. It hurt. I didn’t “witness” violence, I endured it.

I’ve also been advised that in addition to my memory gaps, the fact that I had been drinking that night will almost certainly be used against me.

I’ll be painted as licentious. As slutty. As stupid. As a liar.

But to be very clear, my memory gaps are not evidence that I am lying. To the contrary, they are evidence of the traumatic nature of the violence I have experienced.

So here is what I do remember from that point on. I remember a sudden feeling of lightness on my chest and an awareness that there wasn’t a heavy body on me anymore. I have no recollection of climbing to my feet but I do remember being in a standing position and noticing a small amount of blood on my hand. I remember wondering if it was my blood or his (this would later turn out to be a defensive wound.) Then I remember picking up my bag and reaching for my mobile and dialling triple 0.

****

I wasn’t technically raped that night. And boy do people love to remind me of that.

“I know what happened is bad and all, but he didn’t actually, you know, get it up you, did he?”

This was the question put to me by a male manager at my casual job, a week after the assault took place. My bruises hadn’t even disappeared but the implication was clear: if there’s no P-in-V, it’s not so bad, is it?

Sure, I’d been indecently sexually assaulted, physically assaulted, strangled, told I would be killed, and held at blade point. But in a phallocentric world, sexual violence isn’t measured by the trauma the victim experiences, but by the perpetrator’s assessment of the event: and if the penis didn’t get its way? Then what right should I have to expect the same supports and police resourcing that a “real rape victim” would get?

This wasn’t the only insensitive comment people made.

“You’re a pretty girl, you know. You could take it as a compliment that he selected you.” (This piece of unsolicited advice was kindly offered by a female journalist working for a women’s magazine).

“You have to admit Nina, you were pretty stupid for walking home alone”. (This gem was offered by an old friend I went to school with.)

One woman asked in all seriousness: “Do you ever think this might not have happened if you had a closer relationship with God?”

Another woman took the time and trouble to email me to inform me that she had real pity for me until, that was, she learnt that I had been “doing all the wrong things”.

Since then, I’ve been told it’s my fault for drinking. My fault for listening to music. My fault for travelling alone (as though women should only ever venture out in public if they are in the company of a chaperone).

People have called me a liar and an attention seeker.

I’ve had one stranger persistently request that I share the police photos taken that night with him.

I’ve had other strange men send me messages of sympathy, immediately followed up with a sunny little dick-pic. For condolence, I guess. (No, I do not want to commiserate with your boner).

I’ve had schools ask me if I will come speak to their female students about the “risky situations” that women put themselves in (no, I won’t, don’t ask me again).

I’ve been asked whether the problem lies in girls “not respecting themselves” (and here I was thinking that my assault happened because my attacker has no respect for women, for me, or for my right to live a life free of sexual violence.)

I’ve also had someone suggest that the poor guy probably “just had no money, otherwise he would have gone to a prostitute”. As though sexual violence isn’t about power and control at all, but a man’s simple desire to have certain sexual needs met.

Over and over I have been asked the questions that so many other survivors have also been asked: “What were you wearing? How much did you have to drink? Don’t you know how stupid you were being?”

And each and every one of these questions (and so many more) serve to silence women. They do this by deflecting attention away from the actions and choices of perpetrators, and by insinuating that women are responsible for the violence we have experienced.

And finally there was this remark made by some clever chap who wanted to discuss my attack online:

“What a conceited bitch for thinking she’s even worthy of rape. The guy just probably wanted to give her a good bashing in which case job well done.”

Charming stuff, isn’t it?

Of course, this is only a fraction of what women deal with when we speak out publicly about sexual violence. And in many ways my own assault was easier to speak out about than many others. That’s because I was assaulted by a stranger and there was physical violence involved. But most victims aren’t assaulted by strangers and rarely are there physical signs of violence, and this makes it even harder to be believed.

And this is why so women stay silent. Why so many choose not to report.

It’s also why perpetrators feel so entitled to keep on offending: because our society continually affirms for them that women are in the wrong. That women are untrustworthy. That stranger-danger rape is the only “legitimate rape”. That women make-up sexual abuse in order to assuage sexual regret. That the word of a man is worth far more than the word of woman.

Over the last week I, along with so many others, have read the extraordinary victim impact statement made by the young woman who was raped by Brock Turner behind a dumpster at Stanford University.

Her words resonate deeply.

In addition to exposing the systemic victim-blaming that occurs when survivors disclose, she has also elucidated all the ways that perpetrators attempt to minimise responsibility, shift blame and discredit victims.

Her analysis of how some media will humanise perpetrators (by including references to their skills, hobbies or interests) while reducing victims to nothing more than invisible, silent “others” is equally compelling.

And in her words so many survivors the world over have found recognition and comfort. They’ve also found the courage to speak out and own their status as survivor.

I suspect this is because she is radically rewriting ideas about victimhood.

In the cultural conscience, victims are often presented as broken, voiceless and downtrodden. At best, we are pitied. At worst, we are despised and devalued as “damaged goods”.

Yet though her victim impact statement she has debunked those stereotypes and advanced a new image of a survivor who is intelligent, articulate, analytical, insightful, bold, brave, reflective and persuasive.

Her words are resilient, strong, and hopeful. She reminds me that even though my assailant has never been caught, and even though I am yet to have my day in court, recovery and hope is possible, and above all, I am not alone.

https://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/rendezview/dont-ask-me-to-feel-sorry-for-my-rapist/news-story/36d4af5f0cc287ba53eeb163bbe28841

[dat-town]

Bowling date

Characters: Jeongguk & You 

Genre: fluff fluff fluff (i was supposed to write something else but watching his vlive distracted me and apparently i haven’t written fluff with him before)

Words: 2422

Summary: Jungkook is trying to be cool but fails (because he’s too cute for his own good) featuring you trying to impress him with you non-existing bowling skills.

It definitely wasn’t the wisest idea to say yes to a bowling date. Yeah sure, your crush of more than two years finally asked you out and you would have been an idiot to turn him down… But bowling? You had absolutely no idea about it. Yet, you were too delighted to care about sweet little nothings like this when he walked up to you after art class and asked if you are free on Friday and if you liked bowling. Your response was immediate, you didn’t even think until it hit home: you will go bowling with Jeon freaking Jungkook, the class’ ace and most popular boy. And you will probably humiliate yourself while trying to act like you know how to play because your chatty mouth said that you loved bowling very much. Is it too late to turn back now? you wonder and your steps halt in the middle of a busy street in Hongdae.

Jungkook even offered to pick you up but your mother would probably get a heart attack if she saw you get on a motorbike with someone. In the end you agreed to meet at the bowling centrum which is now in front of you in all its glory. Based on its shiny, trendy colours alongside with the modern architecture it must be a popular place among high schoolers. Maybe it won’t be that bad. You fidget with the end of your shirt and brush a reckless lock behind your ear while texting Jungkook that you arrived. It makes your heart flutter that he answers right away: come in, i’m at the reception!

You take a huge breath trying to calm down your rattling heart and you walk up to the entrance on trembling legs. Just as you want to push the glass door, someone opens it wide for you and said someone welcomes you with a heart-warming smile.

“Hi! I’m glad you could make it.” Jungkook ushers you in while holding the door for you You thank his chivalry with a shy nod as you quickly make your way inside.

“This way,” he beckons you towards the playing area and you guess he’d already booked a lane for you.

While walking next to him, your breath hitches in your throat when you take a proper look at him. You rarely see him in anything but the school uniform and you are taken aback how good he really looks. Of course, he looks dashing in plain button-ups and the boring grey jacket you have at school but this is different. Good different. You feel your heart skip a beat at the sight of him in a simple black t-shirt tucked into his ripped jeans. His tan skin glows under the neon lights and a strand of dark fringe is peeking out from under his beanie. You aren’t even aware you’re staring until he catches you red-handed in the act. You look away bashfully but you’re not the only one blushing.

“Do you want anything to drink? I can grab us something while you change,” he offers like a gentleman but you panic for a moment and almost choke on your own saliva.

“Ch-change?”

You didn’t know bowling requires any special equipment or outfit. You decided on something nice but comfortable when you chose your white A-line skirt and a pretty light blue blouse. Maybe it’s not the most appropriate outfit for a date with sport activities but you wanted to leave a good impression. Your skirt reaches your knees anyway so you should be okay. Unless you were supposed to bring something to change into. Which you didn’t do because you had no idea.

“Your shoes,” Jungkook explains with a confused frown while pointing at your feet and you visibly gulp.

“Oh yeah…” you giggle nervously, a part of you already wishing the ground to swallow you up before you make an even bigger fool out of yourself. You add in a quiet mutter. “ How could I forget?”

You glance around quickly and feel relieved when you catch a glimpse of the shoe rental station in one corner. It would have been way too awkward to admit you don’t even have bowling shoes to begin with. You snap out of your momentary trance by his sweet voice calling your name and you look up at him. God, he’s so tall and handsome. Like a Greek statue sculpted by one of the finest artists of its era.

“So do you?”

“Do I what?” you blink at him still dazed. What did he ask again?

“Want a drink?” he flashes you his signature wide smile. Luckily he seems rather amused than annoyed by your slow-witted reactions. You clear your throat as you try to get a hold of yourself.

“Uh… yes, a Coke will be fine,” you manage to get out and sigh while you watch him turning his back to you, heading to the bar to get your drinks. You bury your face into your hands with a groan and overcome the urge to stamp your feet on the ground at your helplessness.

You’re already here, you shouldn’t screw up now, you remind yourself and walk over to the guy in the corner asking for a shoe in your size. It’s an understatement to say that you are dumbfounded by the poor design. It looks straight out of a 1960’ American movie but you don’t comment on it and thank the employee for his help. You quickly return to your and Jungkook’s booth and manage to put both shoes on successfully before the boy arrives with two bottles of Coke. Only then you notice that he wears the exact same kind of shoes as you. Even though you know probably everyone here has the same brand, you can’t help those nasty butterflies in your stomach at the thought of your couple look.

“Are you ready?” Jungkook turns to you excitedly and does some weird warming-up ritual with a few squats and hand gestures. You shyly imitate him and look at the long bowling lane in fear.

“Well, it’s been a while since I last played so I will be quite rusty,” you warn him trying to sound confident while praying that beginner’s luck will be on your side today.

“Me, too. I might have lost my touch,” Jungkook says with a reassuring smile and steps to the machine to start a new game. He stops at the step which requires the addition of players’ names in order. You’re about to tell him that he should go first when he speaks up: “Do you want me to go ahead?”

“Yes, please,” you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He must have sensed your insecurity but he doesn’t tease you about it. For that you can’t be grateful enough.

You take a sip of your drink while you watch Jungkook choosing from the neon coloured balls and settling with a purple one. You try not to stare too obviously as your gaze follows the graceful motion of his body as he releases the ball and knocks down eight pins under one try.

“Wow! It’s you out of practice? Then how are you at your best?” you exclaim in awe and clap eagerly when his second shot leaves the alley with no pins standing and apparently it’s a thing called spare.

Jungkook just shrugs shyly and then the machine signals that it’s your turn. Your blood turns cold as you walk up to the balls. You only hesitate a little before picking up a pretty pink that caught your eyes. However, it barely budges as you try to lift it.

“Woah,” you groan frustrated. You haven’t expected it to be so much heavier than a regular ball.

“Check out the weight first! I usually play with the one that weighs thirteen pounds,” Jungkook comes to your rescue again and you laugh at yourself when you realize you tried to lift up the ball that had the number 15 printed on it.

“I know, I just wanted to try it,” you lie and you hope it isn’t as transparent as you think so. You go for the nine pounds ball and fortunately it’s much lighter than the former one. You are confused because of the three holes in it but since you try to look totally in control, you experimentally stuck in random three of your fingers. You try to copy Jungkook’s fluid movements but you almost end up falling forward when you reach the line but forget to release the ball. When it eventually drops out of your hand, it goes straight into one of the two semi-cylindrical channels on both sides of the lane. It earns you zero points that’s called gutter according to the screen showing your results.

“Oops,” you try to mask your awkwardness by being funny about it and based on Jungkook’s light chuckle, it’s working.

“Don’t be disheartened. You just have to keep trying,” Jungkook encourages you when your second ball ends up in the gutter, too. He’s way too nice and considerate.

After a while your constant failures can’t be blamed on being out of practice. Especially because when you do hit a pin or two, you literally throw a celebration way too happy for somebody who has played this before. But you have Jungkook to cheer you on and he even offers to help you improve your technique and posture.

“Let me help you. You are too stiff,” he declares at one point probably having enough of watching your miserable attempts. He walks up behind you and put his hands gently on your waist. You freeze immediately, not knowing what to do. You can feel his warmth close to your own and his breath keeps hitting your neck.

“Here like this, you should bend your knees and lean a little forward while you give a push to your ball,” he explains in a serious tone demonstrating by guiding your arm back and forth while you stare straight ahead targeting the pins that stand stubbornly after you successfully knocked down three of them. “Make sure not to spin it by turning your wrist. Okay, so four small steps and then do it like I showed.”

He lets you go and you do as he advised. Your ball is rolling in a straight line unlike your previous ones and you can’t do anything but gape when you miraculously manage to hit all the remaining pins in one go.

“Oh my god!” you squeal loudly and before you could stop yourself, you jump into Jungkook’s arms. He tenses up for a second, clearly not expecting your sudden outburst but recovers smoothly by patting your back a few times before you step back hesitantly.

“Uh… sorry,” you offer lamely. It’s so freaking embarrassing, you can’t even look him in the eye.

“No-no, it’s okay,” Jungkook coughs and you’re a little late to realize he does it to mask his own shyness. It’s cute. Just like the way he acted all sweet the whole evening and it helps you loosen up a bit. Bowling is actually quite fun once you get the hang of it. You enjoy taking turns, cheering for each other and chatting about literally everything - school, art projects, songs, video games, yourselves - while you’re at it. In the end, your time runs out way too quickly.

“You didn’t even have to try so hard. You would have won anyway,” you comment while you’re packing preparing to leave after two hours of playing. It was harder than you imagined, it physically tired you but you’re still all hyped up.

“I just wanted to impress you,” Jungkook shrugs next to you and freezes when you stop mid-action to look at him. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Yeah, you did,” you answer with a nod and find yourself smiling. Happiness blossoms in your chest as he stares at you like a bunny caught in highlights. Maybe it’s time for you to be honest with him, too. Without sincerity, there’s really no point of this, no matter how much you’d like to get on his good side. You have watched him for two years from afar, you’ll be fine even if he decides he doesn’t like the real you.

“Jungkook... I have to tell you something…” you begin while biting your lip nervously and intertwining your fingers in front of you.

���Let me guess:  you have no idea how bowling works,” he cuts in with an evident smirk on his handsome face and you gape at him.

“You knew?”

“I figured it out pretty quickly but you were too cute trying so I didn’t say a word,” he seems genuine when he compliments you and you find yourself blushing even harder when he continues: “By the way, you are really pretty tonight. Not that you look bad on other days, you’re beautiful no matter what, I just… Ahh, I didn’t said it earlier because I wanted to seem cool but I guess I’m ruining it now...”

“Thanks,” you interrupt him before he could say more because you’re already so flustered, you feel on the verge of combusting. Nobody has ever told you anything like this before.

However, Jungkook still looks a little uncomfortable, the way he tucks his hands into his jeans’ pockets and looks anywhere but you gives him away.

“Didn’t I disappoint you, though? I know my reputation is more…” he pauses for a moment to search for the right word. “...interesting.”

Oh. A bad boy with a motorbike, they say but even since you took the same art class and you watched him working so diligently at every lesson, you knew it’s bullshit. You didn’t fall for the rumours about him but the boy with doe eyes.

“No, you are way more interesting. Perfect,” you blurt out before you could stop yourself but the beaming smile on his face worth it.

“So are you up for another date?”

“Absolutely!” you reply without hesitation but this time you are smarter than saying yes to anything. “But not bowling.”

Jungkook pouts.

“Why not?” he looks at you with pleading eyes and you nudge him for his childishness. “I’m kidding. I’m fine with whatever. Though, I’d be happy to properly teach you bowling one day.”

“Okay. One day,” you promise because you have a feeling you’ll have lots of time to go on dates in the future. And maybe someday, you’ll let him take you to a bowling date again.

[bitter-ramblings]

Tw: rape, sexual abuse

Pretty heavy stuff, major viewers discretion advised. 

I’ve been sexually abused for as long as I can remember. Boom, that’s a fucking bombshell.

As with a lot of people who were abused young, my abuser was a family member, my cousin in fact. He’d got only one year on me, but that year was enough. I don’t remember a time when we weren’t playing with each other, every Sunday we’d be locked in the back kitchen after dinner and be left to our own devices. I remember one time we were caught naked covering each other in ink stamps.

Of course, as he got older he learned more and wanted to explore more, and I didn’t know enough that I needed to stop him. Not till I was 11 and received sex education from a shitty video at primary school, prior to that I had no idea about anything. After that, I became a lot more wary, fearful of pregnancy (hadn’t begun menstruating at that time but I was scared all the same). He wanted to have sex properly, but I was scared of the pain, so his answer to that was anal.

In order to alleviate my fear of losing my virginity (an outdated concept I fucking loathe) I broke my own hymen using a fragrance bottle, hurt like a bitch but I didn’t bleed. I kind of felt a surge of pride that no one would ever be able to hurt me like that. By the time we were 16 this behaviour had dwindled practically into nothingness, he visited less and less and we both moved on. He got himself a girlfriend, and I… Was terrified of everyone. I very rarely see him these days, only at family gatherings and then he refuses to be alone with me.

When I was 14 in high school there was a boy I talked to called Carl, again he was a year older than me. Carl was previously in a relationship with my friend Mousey, and he pined over them something terrible and decided that he’d try and worm his way back in by taking advantage of me. Me, being the naive kid that I was. He invited me over to his house to meet his dog, who he punched and abused, he does not deserve a dog so sweet and loving at all.

He’d just come back from holiday and had brought back some absinthe, which I then foolishly drank and it put me on my arse. I remember him pulling me upstairs and pushing me onto the bed. I was unable to speak coherently, so I put my hands over myself. He flipped me over and had his way with my backside. It was quick at least. Afterwards, I staggered to the bathroom and cleaned myself up, he followed me and laughed when he saw he’d made me bleed. He then left me where I was and went downstairs to watch Scrubs. I fucking hate that show. I had to walk home.

I wasn’t sexually active again until I was 18 and going to Reaseheath College, studying to be a zoologist. It strange I used to have ambition, but that was squashed pretty quickly. I wasn’t friends with anyone (had a really bad time, more on that another story), I was just wandering aimlessly around the campus in the cold, trying not to cry because of how fucking miserable I was. I was approached by Dei, a welsh farming student at the college, 1-3 years older than me. He approached me and asked me if I was okay. I was in such a bad place that I actually just tried to sidestep him. He persisted and introduced himself, asking if I needed a friend and somewhere to go. He told me he’d find me later as he had class.

Soon I was invited back to his room and we spent out time together watching Eddsworld and Tomska, at first. He was pursuing a girl called Becky but somehow deluded himself that he thought I liked him. I liked him as a friend, but he’d always say “don’t fall in love with me okay?” And it pissed me off to no end. For someone so interested in someone else he was eager to stick his cock in my mouth. He’d frequently urge me to do things because he wanted to help me ‘learn’. He frequently treated me like a child because of my inexperience and would talk down to me. 

I’d go to his room for a nap, or just to get away from the hell I was already putting up with at college. I started just blanking him out, letting him go about his business, just focusing on the videos. Ironically Darksquidges sex education is one I remember watching. (Funnily enough, Tom Ridgewell, the owner of both Darksquidge and Tomska, his videos are a good coping mechanism for me, both he and Edd from Eddsworld were very dear to me growing up, and I managed to regain joy in watching them.) Dei bit my ear so hard he damaged the cartilage. He never knew when to stop.

At the same time, this was happening I met Tyler, also at Reasheath, also 1-3 years older than me. (Not Tyler Durden, but close.) The first time I ever met Tyler I was in the library doing some work, he approached me and told me I sit funny. He then sat beside me and started telling me his life story of being born in Malaysia and how evil his parents are. He also hated Dei, and was friends with the aforementioned Becky. He told me he wanted to save me from Dei, which I thought was complete bullshit.

After meeting me twice he declared himself my boyfriend. He’d frequently touch me in public, and once I got him off in the library. He’d frequently drag me into the disabled toilets. The first time we went in there, he made me give him a blowjob and he came in my mouth, which I specifically asked him not to do. His cum was gross, and he started doing it regularly. He’d buy me a strawberry YOP as an 'apology’. He told me he loved me and it made me feel sick, but what was worse was that he seemed to genuinely believe that he did.

Once I reported him for assaulting me. Do you know what they said to me? “Are you sure? He’s such a nice boy. Did you lead him on? Maybe you misunderstood.” That made me feel like absolute shit and nothing was ever followed up with it. I eventually left Reaseheath with no qualifications because of all the distress I was in.

When I was 20, I’d gone back to my local college and was once again studying animal management. And I was so happy. It was the first time I was openly trans, and I was accepted and validated by my classmates every day. They were false friends and I couldn’t stand any of them, but they made me feel good about myself. One person, in particular, was a lad named Reece.

We had a lot in common and I liked him, but he wasn’t into guys and was pining after the resident pretty girl of the class. She made it pretty clear he’d got no chance and he took it really hard, I supported him throughout. One time we were watching Full Metal Alchemist brotherhood on his bed and he turned to me and kissed me. I was understandably thrilled and soon had his shirt off. Everything was all well and good as he undressed me, except for the fact that I actually neglected to tell him I don’t have a penis. Him being a straight guy you’d think this would be a good thing but apparently not. He went down on me, but soon just straightened up and announced: “this is wrong.” And stomped away. He actually left the house, leaving me in his bedroom naked. I got dressed and went down, asked his mum to keep an eye on him because “I think I made a mistake” and then walked home. He refused to talk to me or even look at me for the rest of the academic year, and still to his day ignores me if he sees me walking by.

That same year, Tyler was in Stoke and invited me out for drinks, I foolishly agreed because apparently I never fucking learn. I went to Wetherspoons with him and his friend James. They got me drunk, drove me to the local park and they took turns with me. This was the first instance of vaginal penetration via a penis I’d encountered, so by conventional standards, I lost my virginity at the age of 20, in a threesome whilst being guilty as all fuck over Reece.

My asexual pal Mousey got sick of people saying “you can’t be asexual if you’ve never had sex” and I was chosen as tribute. It was quite an honour to be honest, that they trusted me with their body in this way. They came and offered to reciprocate, but I declined the offer. I didn’t want them to do something they’d regret. This happened a few times but they are most definitely comfortable in their asexuality.

For my 21st birthday, I went on a tinder date with someone who became very dear to me. Sex with him was easy and passionate, I wasn’t afraid, I trusted him so easily. What I wasn’t aware of was that he was in a relationship at the time (shit was really fucked up and it’s not my business to go into details or judge), and his having sex with me brought an end to the relationship. He taught me the poly ways and introduced me to his other partners.

I was so happy, I felt included and cared about for the first time. We got together officially after Halloween, with some very passionate hotel sex as a celebration. Things were good, he introduced me to his friends and I went to the pub quiz with them. I felt like I’d found my place. But then as so often happens with me, shit got fucked real quick.

He had to break up with one of his partners due to issues they were having, he got together in a neat little triad (like holy shit they are so cute), but his mental health took a dive so badly, he couldn’t spend any time with me. At that time I was going through some bad shit myself, in fact, I attempted suicide. I started drinking too much and making a nuisance of myself. I didn’t feel appreciated, called him pompous. He always felt he knew best and treated me like a child. Probably because I was acting like it, but I’ve never liked ‘holier than thou’ attitudes. 

I started to feel that he didn’t want me to be part of his world anymore. The invitations to go places with him stopped, the kisses and the murmured 'i love you’s. He outright refused to take me to kink events, “it’s too much for you” “you don’t have to get into kink” without any regard to the fact that I wanted to explore who I am. He labelled me a “blue player” meaning I can't reach orgasm with another person. Maybe that’s true, but I didn’t appreciate him not trying very hard.

Because of my past history, he wouldn’t treat me roughly, he wouldn’t hold me down and take me. I think he choked me twice and that was more to show that he could after I goaded him for being a chicken. He always treated me like I was delicate, and I ended up resenting him for it. The roughest thing he ever did, he did when drunk and can’t remember it. (A lot of the sex we had was when we were drunk, maybe that says something) He held my head and throat fucked me then came on my face… Then fell asleep. And they say romance is dead.

There was one time I really needed him with me, and he physically could not get out of bed to help me, utterly crippled by the weight of his own depression. I didn’t blame him, I know how he feels. That’s when I knew I needed to let him go. He didn’t need me, we couldn’t help each other the way we were now.

I let him go on valentine’s day. I miss the time I used to spend with him, but we weren’t doing each other any favours towards the end, I think I made the right decision for the both of us. He is happy with his partners, and it brings me joy to see them so happy together.

Last time I had sex was January 25th, at a cuddle and play party. There were so many lovely people there and it was such a lovely environment. Curse my shyness. But I did meet up with the two people I’d been most eager to meet. Now that was a good night. Lots of exploration and good times, it was very playful. (Best dick I’ve ever had was attached to a woman) I was fucking baffled when I was asked what I like and how I like it. I was never really given many options previously. But after all was said and done, my mental state just crashed and I froze, I went to sit under a table away from other guests because I was so overwhelmed by everything. Both of them were so understanding, and I managed to talk to a few more people before the night was through.

The thing that fucks me up most in regards to sex is that I can have someone completely at my mercy, pinned under me and begging for me… And then I look down… And I don’t have a penis. The shock and horror I feel is incomparable to anything else. The fact that I will never be able to feel myself sliding into someone and fucking them senseless is honestly something that brings me great distress.

Maybe that’s why I like Doggystyle so much, my eyes are facing forward, I don’t look down and see what I’m missing. It’s such a headfuck to just not see a penis there, I cannot explain the bizarreness of it. Mostly just rambling. At some point, I’ll be doing a post about kinks as I’ve been specifically asked about what they are and where they stem from.

[thecrazydragonlady]

“Shall We Dance?” Chapter 9

Author’s Note: I’m still not strong enough to stand up but thankfully, the pain is subsiding which means I’ll probably be back at work tomorrow. Not that I’m complaining, I actually was looking forward to be there all this week but oh well. That’s life. So since I was stuck at home again, what better way than to eat my Sunday update words again than through another update? Enjoy! (P.S. Sorry this is focusing so much on Marichat right now. I promise that it’s going to switch to the another part of the love square soon).

Chapter 9

Plagg rolled his eyes as Adrien paced the floor in front of his window, hand over his mouth, face still scarlet. A date? Why had he called it a date? Was it creepy to call it that when Marinette had no idea that he knew she was Ladybug? A groan of frustration left his throat. He collapsed on his couch, staring up at the ceiling. All he saw in his mind were two brilliant blue eyes, framed ever so delicately by milky white skin, topped with dark, raven hair. Heat rushed through his body. Plagg gagged.

“Oh please. Your hormones smell worse than my cheese.” Adrien shot him a glare. “Look, if you like the girl so much, why don’t you just confess to knowing who she is and reveal yourself? Happily ever after.”

“Sure, let me just waltz up to Marinette and go, ‘Hey by the way, I happen to know you’re Ladybug, who I have a massive crush on, and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind being my date to the Masquerade ball so I can at least say I danced with Ladybug at least once officially before dying.’ I’m sure that’ll go over well.” The little black kwami shrugged.

“Sounds about right.”

“You’re absolutely no help when it comes to love.”

“I’m the God of Destruction. Love’s not my thing. Sue me. That’s Tikki’s job.” Adrien tilted his head.

“Tikki?”

“Ladybug’s kwami. What? You thought I was the only one?” Adrien looked a little abashed.

“I guess that makes sense.” He stood from his couch, moving to his computer screens where he pulled up the Ladyblog. Alya had recently updated it with candid photos of Ladybug and Chat Noir leaping through the night sky of Paris, off to make sure all was right with the world. That was before they started dancing on the viewing platform the other night. That was before he was able to tell that two amazing and beautiful women were actually just one. His heart fluttered again. The picture stirred his emotions. He wanted nothing more than to fly back to her side and stay there. The words he’d said in parting came rushing back to him, turning his face red once more, and it made him so tense that he just dropped his head to the desk.

The pain didn’t rid his mind of his thoughts.

Plagg eyed him, working on his third piece of cheese for the evening. “Alright, so revealing yourself isn’t going to be that easy. What’re you going to do?”

“Lose my mind,” he mumbled from the table. Large, green eyes rolled at his human’s over-dramatic nature. “Honestly, I have no idea. Telling her straight out won’t go well. Flirting with her suddenly as Adrien will seem suspicious to everyone around her.”

“Then why don’t you make her fall in love with Chat Noir?” Adrien blinked, shooting his head up, to eye his friend.

“What?”

“I said: Make. Her. Fall. For. Chat. Noir,” he annunciated before swallowing his fourth piece of cheese. Adrien grimaced. He would never understand how or why his partner enjoyed the smell or taste of camembert or how he managed to stay so small with the amount he ate. “Think about it. If she falls in love with you in that mask, there’s no way she won’t fall in love with the civilian.”

“Yeah but she isn’t particularly fond of me now is she?”

Plagg wanted to scream and throw his cheese at the idiot’s head. Fond of you? Fond of you? The damn girl loses her mind every time she’s around you. Of course she’s fond of you you oblivious idiot! Instead, he shrugged, “I mean, it worked for you right?”

This caused Adrien to pause. Plagg was right. When he had first met Ladybug and seen how awesome she was, he promised himself and the sky and whatever else was listening, that he would love the girl behind the mask no matter who it turned out to be (yes, Chloé included). He had fallen in love with the hero first. Now he wanted to focus solely on the civilian. Why wouldn’t it work on Marinette? He swallowed painfully. “What should I do?”

“For starters, not start losing your mind over it.” Plagg flew up and landed on Adrien’s head. This forced him to nearly go cross-eyed as he finished with, “Just be yourself. Don’t try to force anything. Forced isn’t real and a relationship built on unrealistic things won’t last and will only break both of you.”

“I won’t,” he breathed, “I won’t hurt her. I’ll hurt myself before I hurt her.” Plagg took off again, this time heading for a dark nook somewhere to sleep.

“Whatever. Do what you will Romeo. I’m going to sleep. Night.” He disappeared into his hiding place. Adrien grumbled but turned back to his computer. He stared at the screen for a minute more before deciding that sleep would do better for his worry rather than him stressing over it so he turned the computer off, stood, changed, and flopped onto his bed, where darkness came to him almost instantly.

****

Monday came rather quickly. Alya noticed that Marinette was fidgeting in her seat more than usual, doodling more than usual, and essentially being more nervous than usual. She narrowed her eyes at the half-Chinese girl.  Ms. Mendeleiev eyed the room suspiciously herself, watching for any talkers or anyone not paying a bit of attention, and only quick foot taps from Alya, managed to save the girl from a fate worse than death at the hands of their sharp-featured teacher. When they finally were dismissed for the day, Alya wasted no time in grabbing her hand. Marinette looked up shocked but before she could protest, Alya dragged her from the room and outside to a secluded bench in the nearby park. In total, Mari almost tripped about three times.

Alya pushed her down onto the bench. She crossed her arms, cocked her hip, and finally said, “Alright girl. Spill. What’s got you so edgy today?”

The dark haired girl blinked. “W-wh-what….”

“Cut. Wrong answer.” Marinette flinched and immediately looked abashed. “I know something’s going on so you either tell me willingly here or I find out for myself and make your life very difficult afterwards. Spill.” The newswoman tapped her foot waiting. Mari looked down at her hands tucked between her legs and breathed deep before saying, “I… um… well, I have a … a date… tonight….” Alya squealed. She lunged forward and wrapped her arms around her neck which sent them sideways onto the bench. It didn’t last long. Alya sat up excitedly.

“O-m-gee Mari! A date! Why didn’t you tell me? Who’s the mystery boy? What are you wearing? What time is he coming to get you?”

Mari raised a hand to stop her friend. It worked because now Alya sat there, hands at her sides, eyes wide, and vibrating. It would only be a matter of time before she exploded again so she told her quickly, “He’s a friend of mine I’ve known for a while. I’ve had a feeling he’s liked me for some time but I only just started to develop feelings for him because of the whole Adrien thing. He’s funny and witty and kind and really I can’t do him justice in words alone.” She paused long enough to take a breath. “Look, I didn’t tell you because I don’t actually know if this is going to work between us and I didn’t want you to get your hopes up for me like you did with Adrien. I want to establish this relationship on my own terms. So, until I’m sure this is going to work, that’s all you get to know.” Alya pouted but she respected her friend’s wish and kept her nosy questions to herself. Instead, she reached out and wrapped the girl in another hug.

“I’m so proud of you Mari.” She held her out at arm’s length, her eyes shining with mischief. “But you best believe come tomorrow, we’re playing twenty questions again and I’m going to want every single detail.” Mari smiled and nodded.

“Thanks Alya.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a couple of macaroons her father had given her that morning and they ate them in celebration of Mari’s wonderful night to come. As she chewed slowly, she finally said, “I really hope this works. He’s a good guy.”

“Well, don’t be upset if it doesn’t,” Alya advised. “But what are you doing to make him fall for you?”

“I… okay, I haven’t thought that far ahead,” she sighed. “I guess that’s part of why I’m nervous for tonight. What if I prove myself to be a total dorkasaurus and mess things up with him? I could lose not only his love but his friendship too and… well, I don’t think I’m strong enough to lose both of them at the same time!”

Alya patted her hand. She smiled at Mari, before stating, “Take it easy girl. You’re going to be alright. Let’s start by thinking about what he likes.”

“How is that going to help?”

“Girl, figure out what he likes, use it to your power, and it’ll lead him straight into your palm.” Marinette bit her bottom lip, contemplating what she just said.

“Well… I know he likes… cats… and the quiches my parents make….” And chin and ear scratches and cuddling and apparently teasing me.

“Great. That’s a start. Do you have any clothing that is cat-esque?”

“Yeah, a black hoodie with some cat ears.”

“Wear that when he shows up. Also, make sure you have some quiches around as a snack. Oh, and wear your matching bra and underwear set.” Marinette’s face turned red.

“W-what?!”

“Wear the matching bra and underwear.” Alya leaned back on the bench, a smug smirk on the face, “Girl, you are in charge tonight. Even if you two don’t do anything, just preparing for it means you’ll be large and in charge the whole time. You’ll have him eating out of your hands before your date ends.”

“Really?”

“How do you think I hooked Nino?” Alya laughed as her friend looked disgusted and shot her a wink before standing up. “We better head back. Class is going to start back soon. I’ll swing by your place after school today to help set everything up.”

“Thanks Alya.” She paused. “Um, there’s just one thing. My parents don’t know he’s coming by. He won’t be there until after they go to bed so….”

“Ooooh look at you,” she elbowed the girl, “You really are trying to get with this guy. Alright. Mum’s the word. I won’t say a thing. Promise.” Marinette relaxed and then hugged her tightly around the neck, both of them giggling suspiciously as they returned to class, earning a scared and confused look from both Nino and Adrien. They then refused to share anything they talked about with either boy. When they were finally released for the day, Alya grabbed Marinette’s hand and they left with quick good-byes to them and again, the boys shared a concerned look. Adrien silently hope that whatever they were giggling about had nothing to do with him. Well, Chat Noir at least. He didn’t know if Marinette would tell her best friend about their upcoming- uh- date but he also wouldn’t put it past her to find out one way or another.

Maybe it would be best to be on his guard tonight.

Thanks for reading! As always, likes, re-blogs, and constructive criticism are more than welcomed. I’d love to hear ideas if you’ve got’em. I’ll also be going ahead and updating the Master Post since I have two new chapters published already.

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[idadayalla-blog]

Brazil’s emotional election period got me emotional ...

So it has already been two weeks since the elections and the news about Bolsonaro have spread globally meanwhile. On the night of that election Sunday, I had actually been very calm. I picked up the result at the counter of a bakery as a cashier quietly updated another cashier and it was just my turn to pay my bill. I was on my way home by bike from a little hike with friends. Some cars honking had been passing me and I heard noises of firecrackers justifying me that Bolsonaro had won. This behavior of victory celebration, like after soccer games, personally matched my notion of Bolsonaro voters.

The week before the second ballot I had become very emotionally touched because of all the news considering street violence linked to the elections, conversations with friends about politics and experiencing the effort at my university to demonstrate resistance against an anticipated far right shift for the country. I became extremely worried about what is actually going on in the world right now. Right-wing populism isn’t just a phenomenon in Brazil; it is gaining more and more popularity in many countries of the world right now and has already settled within positions of power. If I am thinking of going back to Germany, I would certainly not return to a soil not being infected by that cancer yet having the AfD as the third strongest party right now within the Bundestag (German parliament).

Well, I literally felt that major bricks regarding democracy are breaking right now. Usually I used to not take myself and the world I am living in too serious, however these days something just felt so profoundly serious about this planet leaving me literally unable to focus on stuff I wanted to do during the day like writing this text.

The internet totally consumed my mind shortly after the election Sunday.

- The Pittsburgh shooting (to me: a brutal evidence of anti-Semitism and basically hate)

- Angela Merkel’s (Germany’s chancellor) speech to announce her retirement after the current election period (although I am not an elector of her party, her speech left me impressed on her rhetoric capability and honest attitude regarding the current government’s work. But the intention of her speech also left me sad.)

- chatting with my mom and my former host dad from the states regarding politics, as my host dad writes that they would “joke (for now, at least) about civil war between far right and the left, problem is, the far right has all the guns!” (right after that message, I saw and read a then recently posted vice article with the headline “A new American Civil War feels closer than ever after Pittsburgh”)

- youtube documentaries on Brazilian politics

- the usual random madness within the facebook feed: Seeing the latest news on post elections violence in Brazil: A kid being killed by a gun during Bolsonaro victory celebrations, vandalism in indigenous communities, people wearing T-Shirts with the number “64” which dates the initial year of the past military dictatorship in Brazil (comparable to Neonazis wearing shirts with the number “88”.). But then also videos plopping up about positive thinking vibes, a kitten drinking milk “to brighten your day”, some holiday pics from long forgotten classmates, a video about an American motel trying to give shelter for people which are basically totally lost in their life, a video collecting all homophobe statements of Bolsonaro and so on… within the mess theres had also been a call to sign a petition to attack the plan of a pro Bolsonaro student deputy (as far as I understood the news) who wants to led professors be videotaped while holding lessons. The student deputy says: ‘what do they say which society is not allowed to hear as well?’

By the time I saw news that the “Nigerian army is using Trump’s words to defend gunning down dozens of protesters” (vice), I’ve luckily already made my way out of this depression trap called internet. However, when I was walking along my street for instance and passing neighbors I just felt so little trust in the faces I saw. Like I was thinking meanwhile: “Oh she/he probably voted for Bolsonaro as well”. And many of them did so for fact, as there is apparently a lot of arguing going on in my street’s groupchat on WhatsApp, which is what my hairdresser neighbor told me the other day while giving me a new look. Gosh, am I glad that I am not in that group. I am hating group chats in general. But anyway she voted for him as well, as she didn’t really answer to my concerns and criticism on Bolsonaro except “He might had been kidding a lot” and “Well let’s see”, in Portuguese ‘vamos ver’, also belonging to one of the most outspoken sentences over here and expressing the uncertainty within the Brazilian mentality pretty much on point. Well, she might had voted for a radical candidate but during my appointment she had been a bit afraid and hesitating in giving me, as she said, a ‘radical haircut’. I was asking her to do me a very straight-lined hair. “Do many people have that haircut in Europe?” Me: 🙄. Well, back to the group chat misery:

A guy I met at a friend’s birthday said that the group chat of his apartment complex is full with pro Bolsonaro content and he wouldn’t dare to text something contra. Most of the people he is sharing the building with are apparently evangelic. “I’d be probably screwed leaving a red scarf or so on my door handle”, he was joking. Because the Pro Bolsonaro side argues/d that the left-wing would want to turn the country communist.  

So now, post elections, many people are very afraid, especially the ones belonging to minorities or being activist. Uruguay is a considered country among those and professors and artists and maybe other people as well to emigrate to. Some of them have already left the country prior to the elections because the victory of Bolsonaro had been a pretty save prediction. A friend of mine told me that he basically doesn’t see a future for him. On election day he held a specific meditation, to mentally prepare himself for a new era. Within the WhatsApp group of my university, ‘UDESC against fascism’, a five screen long guide with security advise in fascist times had been dropped immediately after the result was final. And last week in my ceramics class I could definitely feel a despondent mood capturing the studio.

But how am I feeling eventually? First of all, the major voting motivations seemed very ridiculous. At the second ballot, the majority of people would vote for one of the two candidates to not let the other win. I mean, voting for a party based on being supportive on their political plan is totally left out in this sort of voting scheme. In general, many people voted for Bolsonaro as a matter of protest against the past year’s corruptive politics by the PT. On the other hand, had many Haddad voters (in the second ballot) not been convinced by him or his party, but basically voted for him to save democratic values in their country. A fact that made me very angry is that many people of my social environment haven’t gone vote because they didn’t transfer their voting region in advance. They moved to Florianópolis within the past years, e.g. to go to university here, but they didn’t officially change their location of residency to then be able to vote at the polls here. They are all against Bolsonaro and saying that his voters are ignorant but to me this way of letting the election just happen is ignorant as well and letting shine through a pretty lazy attitude on top. Some people drove back home over the weekend to go vote but many whose parental residency are farer away, like outside of Santa Catarina or its bordered states, didn’t due to the travelling effort and expenses.

Postal vote isn’t possible in Brazil which is what I am usually doing in Germany. Thus I suppose all the Brazilians living in the exterior, which certainly aren’t just a few, didn’t influence this election at all. So, I guess there could have been a chance on flipping the result if left orientated people would have made use of their right to vote having been more urgent than ever to make use of, and if the voting conditions for people living outside the country would be sorted out in some way. I mean, ultimately the voting difference had only been 10% and something between the two candidates.

Above all it is kind of crazy to already feel that this election will very likely divide the country’s society in two sides, as already happening in the United States. Over here, the two mindsets clash with each other even within inner family circles. In many families the older generations, parents and grandparents, are pro Bolsonaro and the children contra.  And so it is in the family of my former flat mate, thus he decided to not travel back home for Christmas this year.

In general, it is very disillusioning to see another success of an election campaigning targeting to create fear and anger within the people and doing this mainly via social media platforms. It feels nasty that there is a specific agency supporting Trump, AfD, Bolsonaro and surely many more right-winged politicians and parties in other countries besides USA, Germany and Brazil, and thus supporting that antidemocratic and inhuman behavior becomes accepted again. It is kind of ridiculous to see that people turn very nationalist again while everybody is making use of a globalized world on a daily basis. And yes, here you can receive a “Go back to your country” as well, as this sentence became very common to hear in public in Germany after its refugee wave in 2015.

Well, but Ida come to a point: I realized that living in a democracy had been something very unquestionable for me. I guess people of my generation take it very much for granted. And so far, my political interest had been very low or not there at all. But I can feel that the circumstances over here and the emotions I am absorbing are making me aware to become more involved. We, the generation Y and close by generations, are spending so much time by dealing with ourselves. We are so busy in discovering ourselves, finding the sense and fulfillment for our lives. But meanwhile, the shelter to do so, to develop our personalities freely, is losing its power. And that is frightening me. I surely do not want to live in an environment where repression is ruling, where being oneself, being authentic in public, is in danger.

[joshrweinstein]

Repost: Laptop stolen from Princeton, returned from Guatemala, suspect dead

Originally posted on Medium, reposting here for safekeeping / easy access https://medium.com/@joshweinstein/laptop-stolen-from-princeton-returned-from-guatemala-suspect-dead-498682dbc1f2#.v4p9spdyd

I was going to go for a clickbait headline, but I figured the truth would be the most compelling — you’re reading, so I guess it worked. In late May of 2016, Princeton University convened its annual Reunions — one of the craziest events out there. It’s an amazing event where 25,000 alums from all different class years to celebrate friendship and Princeton.

Princeton’s campus is notoriously quiet and safe. The former obviously changes with the introduction of 25,000 people, but the latter still holds true. In the primary festivity of the weekend, every Princeton alum partakes in the P-rade (Princeton, parade, portmanteau, you get the idea). I left my bag alongside a friend’s outside Dillon Gym and marched onward. After hours in the sun, I refueled at Tower — one of Princeton’s famous “Eating Clubs.”

When I returned, I noticed that my bag was no longer hidden under the tree I left it by, but conspicuously moved out in front of it. Though the flap at the top was closed, it was unzipped. My Macbook was stolen, along with the charger. Everything else was there.

As the former student body president, I had heard a lot of complaints, suggestions, etc. about Princeton and its campus, but theft or any crime were out of sight and out of mind in the sleepy suburban college town. It was unconscionable to me that something would be stolen on Princeton’s campus. You’d think a New Yorker would be more savvy.

I reported the issue to Princeton’s Public Safety, filed a report with with one of the officers (we’ll call him Officer Phil, for Princeton), and they advised me that pretty much nothing would or could happen, as there are few security cameras on campus. I reflected that this — the lack of constant surveillance, not my stolen laptop — is probably for the best. There was key data on my laptop (only partially backed up to the cloud, long story for a separate post), so — unhappily — I escaped New Jersey and headed home immediately.

As someone who is constantly on their computer, I didn’t turn on Find My Mac for performance reasons. I always knew where my Mac is/was — it’s right in front of me, as it is now. I left my Dropbox, Facebook, and gmail passwords unchanged, though, in the hope that the thief would inadvertently connect (as Dropbox automatically does on login).

I checked for a month — nothing. Resigned, I put it fairly out of sight and out of mind — a life lesson for the internal autobiography.

In September, I perused my Dropbox screenshots looking for a few things when I came upon a file in Spanish. It was the Facebook homepage of a Hispanic teen, let’s call him Greg, for Guatemala. I was about to write it off as a bug or other aberrance when I noticed the Dock — the array of Application icons at the bottom of a Mac. Internet Chess Club. Curse (VOIP system for gamers). This was MY computer!

Naturally, I did what anyone would do — I made a Facebook account for a 21-year old Guatemalan girl, friended all of this guy’s friends, joined all of his groups, and in parallel told Officer Phil. Phil had another Princeton administrator who spoke Spanish get in touch with local Guatemalan police and Greg’s school (which was conveniently listed on the Facebook screenshot), but neither party wanted to get involved.

I noticed that one of the friends was with Greg the night before. I got the impression he was his uncle and did what anyone would do: I Skyped his workplace. I don’t speak Español, so I asked if there was someone there who spoke English. Someone answered the phone, I asked for the man I believed was his uncle. It was him. Awesome. The man informed me that Greg got the computer from a relative who lived in New Jersey and linked me to his Facebook, let’s call him Nathan (you get the naming conventions by this point right?). As you can imagine from our prior futile effort, getting information and help from Guatemala was going to be a challenge, so a lead in the US was a major victory.

I spoke to Nathan through his daughter, as he said his English wasn’t very good. I later found out his English was fine, but it was a helpful conversation nonetheless. He let me know that the computer was purchased from Columbus Market, a flea market in central NJ, apologized for the inconvenience, and offered to send the computer back to me (I’d pay for shipping). Apparently shipping a computer from Guatemala to the US is basically like buying a new computer (~$200), but I needed the data.

After some back and forth, the computer was on its way, hope was in sight after nearly six months and a crazy Central America voyage for which I didn’t get frequent flyer miles. On the day that it was supposed to arrive, unsurprisingly, it did not. Why did it not? I called Officer Phil and he, along with his colleague, discovered that the laptop was stuck in customs in Guatemala. Naturally. Apparently, I’d need a lithium permit to get the computer back in. They worked some magic and got it through customs and then again through the same issue in Miami a few days later.

Eventually, by some miracle, the laptop was back in my possession. The contents were moved to the trash, but still there. Sweet. So that’s a great story — laptop stolen from Princeton, goes to Guatemala, returned, happy ever after — great. Greatest story…but it continues.

I let Phil know that I had the laptop, but would like to know who stole it so I can go after damages (new computer, shipping, etc etc). Phil spoke with Nathan and found a series of important details — it was Nathan’s coworker that purchased the computer from Columbus Market. Unfortunately, that co-worker recently go into a car accident and is now dead. I asked Nathan where he works, and he said he is a groundskeepers for Princeton University.

It seems unlikely that a groundskeeper from Princeton would buy a stolen laptop from a random flea market that was stolen from the grounds of Princeton. Based on the conversations, Officer Phil and I agreed that it was likely that Nathan’s coworker was indeed the primary suspect rather than Nathan himself. In particular, Nathan is known to be a conscientious worker who often returns valuable electronics to its owner or the University.

I thanked Nathan and Officer Phil for their help, and the matter is now put to rest. Thanks for reading. Lesson of the day: Princeton doesn’t have a theft problem because when something does get stolen, it will magically (thanks to goodwill and technology) come back to its owner. More seriously, a few kind individuals’ goodwill can go a long way. There are definitely more lessons — interested to hear your takeaways in the comments section below.

Thanks Shahed Serajuddin, Monique Yashaya, and Mike Borohovski for help with this post!