#first impression of theses teachers is probably going to be

[xo-cuteplosion-xo]

I don't know what i was stung or bit by but my toe is very swollen, like purple conserning type of swollen O_O

[breanime]

Heartworm (Part Six)

Double posting takes so long! WARNING: this part has mentions and descriptions of violence, read with caution!

*gif not mine*

You decided that Detective Mahoney was the only good cop in New York City. After he’d introduced himself, he’d asked if there was a place you could go to talk. You knew Trish would have questions if you stayed at the office, not to mention your coworkers, so you took the detective to a small deli a few blocks away. He had assured you that he only wanted to talk, and you decided to play it cool until you could get a final read on this guy. So far, all you could tell was that he was a genuinely concerned cop who was actually interested in justice.

It was his poor luck that you were only interested in Billy.

“Is this okay,” he asked, “I mean, you won’t get written up for leaving early or anything, will you?”

“No, this is fine. I was on my way out anyway,” you answered, “So, um, Detective Mahoney—”

“Call me Brett.” He smiled.

“Brett,” you faked a smile back, “How can I help you? Oh,” you widened your eyes, pretending to remember something, “is this about the noise compliant I made with the city a few months ago? I told the super people had started loitering outside, but he didn’t seem to care…”

“No,” he shook his head with a chuckle, “That’s unfortunately outside my realm of influence,” his smile turned into a serious look, and you braced yourself, “Actually, I’ve, uh, I’ve been looking for you for most of the day. There’s something I need to tell you—to warn you about.” You nodded, silently encouraging him to go on. “Billy Russo has escaped police custody.”

This was, obviously, not news to you, but hearing it from the detective made your breath hitch. “When?”

“Yesterday morning,” he answered, “We have cops staking out his last known addressed and every badge in the city is looking for him.”

“That’s… That’s good,” you swallowed. You tried to bring back all the confusion and helplessness you felt when Billy had first been arrested and recreate it now. Mahoney—Brett—seemed like a kind man, but you couldn’t let him get to Billy…not yet, at least. “But why are you telling me?”

“It’s on record that you and Russo were a couple.”

“That was over three years ago,” you shook your head, “I haven’t seen Billy since then—at least not in person.” You ducked your head down shyly. “I did… I did watch the coverage on the news.” You looked back up at Brett. “But that’s it. I hadn’t heard from Billy since we broke up.” You shrugged. “I could give you a list of places he could be, maybe? I don’t know if it would be any help…”

“I would appreciate that, Ms. Y/LN,” he said, “but I don’t think you understand the danger you’re in. Russo’s dangerous, unhinged. It was reported that he asked for you by name the day he escaped. Now,” he folded his hands on the table, “it’s been three years since the two of you have talked… Why would he do that?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know,” you answered, “I mean, he was locked up all this time, maybe he was just going through a list of exes and my name happened to be the one he said outloud.” You shook your head. “I imagine Billy wasn’t doing well in a cage.”

“He wasn’t in a cage,” Brett said, “We were keeping Russo under constant surveillance at a psychiatric hospital.” You made an effort to make a confused face. “Russo sustained some major injuries and some significant memory damage,” he explained, “His therapist said he might not even be competent to stand trial.”

“So he’s faking,” you said, knowing he wasn’t, “Billy’s a smart man, I’m sure he knows it’d be better for him to get off on a plea deal than admit he’s guilty.”

“It’s possible,” Brett shrugged, “His therapist and doctors think he’s legit. Either way, you might be in danger.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a card. “I want you to give me a call if you hear from Russo,” he instructed.

“Of course.” Another lie. “I mean, I don’t—I don’t think he’d bother coming after me, but I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“I appreciate that.” Brett gave you a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry to have to come to you with this, I can get a squad car to stay outside of your apartment if you want…”

“Oh no, no,” you shook your head, “That’s not necessary, I wouldn’t feel comfortable taking up police resources. Besides,” you gave him a weak smile, “I’m telling you, there’s no way Billy would waste time with me. He’s probably halfway out of the country by now. And even if he’s not, Billy never tried to get in contact with me theses last three years, there’s no reason he’d try now.”

“Maybe,” Brett agreed easily. Too easily. “But still, keep an eye out; make sure you’re locking your doors. Maybe see if you can stay with some family or friends until this blows over.”

You chuckled. “You make Billy sound like the boogeyman.”

Brett didn’t laugh. “He’s dangerous, Y/N. He took down a room full of guards and killed at least two men in the last 24 hours.”

Two? You knew about Arthur, who could…? Your mind conjured up an image of Billy in his blood-soaked clothes. He probably didn’t get that hideous shirt and fur-lined coat from the hospital. “So,” you took a steadying breath, “it’s all true? Billy… Billy really did betray Frank?” You had spent so much time trying to block that out, to ignore and deny it in your head, but you had to know—especially since Billy, as he was now, didn’t know.

The detective nodded. “And that’s the other thing: Castle will be looking for Russo. If he comes to you…”

“Call you,” you waved his card at him with a half-smile, “I will.”

Brett stayed with you at the deli for a while longer before he had to head out. You waited until you were sure he was far away to finally take a breath. You whipped out your phone and typed in ‘NYPD Detective Brett Mahoney’ into Google. Of fucking course. Your hunch about him was right—he was a hero cop. There were pictures of him next to Daredevil. He arrested Frank back when he first became “The Punisher”—Brett was a badass with the face of a choir boy. Your respect for him grew as you scrolled through the news reports, interviews, and list of accolades connected to his name. He was vocal in his disdain for Wilson Fisk—a bold move for anyone who lived in the city, let alone a cop—and was an active member of the community. He seemed like a really nice guy, a good guy…

…a threat.

As much as you didn’t want to, you decided to take the long way home. You lingered in the deli for another 20 minutes after Brett left, then made your way to a bookstore, a pet shop, two music stores, three boutiques, and killed an hour watching some teenagers breakdance on the sidewalk. You were pretty sure Brett wasn’t watching you, you got the impression that wasn’t his style, but Frank… Frank would totally do that. You considered what you knew as you wandered around the city: you loved Billy, Billy didn’t have his full memories, Billy still thought he loved you, Billy was guilty, the cops were after Billy, Frank would want revenge, revenge would mean death, and that would leave you… Alone again. Hell, as far as you knew, you were already alone again. How in the hell would you know where Billy was if he wasn’t directly in your line of sight? You sighed to yourself, stepping into a pawn shop and staring unblinkingly at the assortment of things. You had no idea what you were going to do—you knew what you were supposed to do, what common sense and decent protocol would call for—but your common sense had taken a back seat to your emotions. Sighing again, you looked at a glass case of knives and your mind immediately went to Billy.

“What do you do if I come at you from behind?” Billy had asked you.

You wanted to make a dirty joke, but the seriousness of the situation and Billy’s face made you reconsider. “I go for the eyes and create a distance between us while you’re distracted.”

“Good. But what if I grab you by your hair?”

You swallowed down another inappropriate comment. “I stomp on your foot or try to kick you in the shins to get you to lose your grip.”

Billy nodded. “Good,” he stepped over to you, put a hand on the back of your neck and kissed you, “Now let’s practice how to disarm a man.”

You sighed, but complied. Billy whipped out a knife—because he almost always had at least one blade on hand—and took an offensive stance. This wasn’t a new practice between the two of you; Billy had taken it upon himself to teach you how to defend yourself months ago, after reading about some guys on the subway harassing a woman. His dedication to your safety was sweet, you knew for a fact that the number of people he cared about was a low one, and that these impromptu training sessions were his way of making sure you were taken care of. You took a defensive stance, placing your feet slightly apart and raising your hands to protect your face—just like Billy taught you. He made a move to approach you (much slower than he would if he was really attacking someone), and you side-stepped him, avoiding any close contact before slapping your hand over his wrist, twisting it, and grabbing the knife out of his hands.

“Nice,” he licked his lips, “Very nice. Let’s try it again.”

So you did. You spent the next two hours going through drills. Billy was an excellent teacher, he met you where you were and catered the lessons to best fit your size, strength, and style. You weren’t nearly the natural fighter Billy was, and you damn sure weren’t a Marine, but Billy always said you were skilled. He took pride in telling Curtis how you knocked him on his ass on Tuesday, or showing Frank the bruises on his chest from when he made you practice shooting with himself as the Kevlar-wearing, moving target. You liked the training a lot, too. You got to wrestle Billy and learn useful defensive moves all in one. Truth be told, you almost looked forward to the day some asshole mugger tried to come at you.

You would never forget the day that actually happened.

You had been walking home from the corner store. Billy had texted you saying he’d be home late since he was viewing some properties for Anvil’s home office, so you decided to run out and get some snacks for the house. You had your burlap bag hanging from your shoulder, full of chips and a six-pack of beer, and you were a block from your apartment when you felt a tug on the strap of your bag.

You were yanked forward, and you turned to see a tall man in all black. You stumbled over your own feet as he dragged you back into an alley. He pushed you against the concrete wall and you felt the breath rush out of you. You didn’t get a second to scream or cry out before he shoved a knife under your throat.

“Drop the bag, cunt,” he ordered, hot breath fanning your face. “Or I open your goddamn throat all over the sidewalk.”

You did as you were told, heart racing. The blade was cold against your skin, even in the warm summer weather.

“Now kick it,” he gestured behind him with his head, “over there.”

You gave your bag a feeble nudge with your foot.

“Do you think I’m playing with you, bitch?” He hissed, nose pressing against yours as he glared down at you. You felt the sting of the blade cutting into your skin. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. He was still glaring at you when you opened your eyes and punted your bag across the alley. Your eyes scanned his face, trying to memorize every detail. Billy was going to lose his shit over this. The man sneered at you, and you felt a chill go through you. “Good girl,” he grinned, “now take your clothes off.”

You froze. Suddenly an image of your downstairs neighbor’s daughters popped up in your head. They were 15 and 13, nice girls, and you knew for a fact that they walked to the corner store all the time, night or day. Rain or shine. What was going to stop this guy from doing the same thing to them? What was going to stop him from hurting someone else?

You were going to stop him.

You lifted your arm and grabbed his wrist. You twisted it with all your strength, ignoring his shocked sound of surprise. His grip loosened and you took that moment to snatch the knife out of his hands. The blade sliced through the palm of your hand a little bit, but you didn’t even feel it. You punched him in the face with your free hand, making him fall back a bit. That gave you the perfect opening to kick him in the chest, knocking him on his ass. You tackled him to the ground and straddled him, putting all of your weight on him to prevent him from moving. His eyes widened when you put the knife to his neck.

“Whoa, whoa,” he gasped out, voice shaking, “I was just playing,” he attempted a laugh, “Don’t—don’t you know we were just playing, you and me? It’s a joke.”

You pressed the knife harder onto his neck. You watched the blood bubble up and felt a surge of excitement bloom in you. “A joke?” You asked, smirking down at him. “Would it be a joke,” you watched his eyes water when you grabbed his hair and forced his head back, “if I open your goddamn throat all over the sidewalk…” Your smirk turned into a full-on grin. “…bitch?”

He had started sobbing now. “No,” he begged, “no, please, I’m sorry, I won’t ever do this again, I—”

“—Shut the hell up,” you hissed, pulling his hair. He cried out. You looked down at this man, this weak piece of shit, and wanted nothing more than to stop him from ever drawing breath again. You wanted to be the last person he terrorized, the last women he called a bitch.

You wanted to watch the life drain from his body.

But you couldn’t.

You flipped the knife around so that the handle was against your fists and pulled your hand back. Then you punched him right in the face with all your anger guiding you. You felt his nose crack, but you didn’t hear it because he was screaming. You hit him again, and again, and again. The handle was wet with blood, and your heart was pounding. You kept punching him until he wasn’t screaming anymore. A quick glance showed he was still breathing, so you got off of him, grabbed your bag, and walked home.

You thought more about that day as you waited in line at the pawn shop. You had tried to block it out, to forgot about the fear that went through you that day, followed by that feeling of absolute power and control…it had been intoxicating. It had been frightening. But Billy had been there, and he had been your safe place.

You waited until you got home to call Billy and tell him what happened. You barely got the words—“I was attacked”—out of your mouth before he was asking you a hundred questions and rushing home to you. You assured him you were fine, and you were, but he hadn’t seemed to hear you. By the time he got home, you’d bandaged your hand, cleaned off the knife, and put the snacks and beer away. You were on your third beer when Billy came bursting into the apartment.

He didn’t say anything, just pulled you towards him and engulfed you in a crushing hug. You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around him. This was where you were safest, where you belonged. Billy provided everything you needed just by existing.

“I’m okay,” you said into his chest, “I’m okay. I knocked him out.” You had pulled back then. “Oh shit, I should have called the cops. I should call the cops.”

“I already did,” he said, voice muffled as he spoke into your hair, “Left an anonymous tip, saw the squad cars on my way home.” He exhaled, and you felt him relax against him. “I’m so—fuck,” his hold on you tightened, and you leaned into it, “I want to kill him.”

“I wanted that too,” you admitted, looking up into Billy’s dark eyes. They were electric with rage and emotion, and you knew yours were too. “I was going to.”

He kissed you, long and slow, and you kissed him back. You wanted to absorb him, to keep him this close to you always. He stared down at you, unblinking, when you both pulled back for air. “I’m so fucking proud of you,” he said, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you breathed out. “I—Billy, is there something wrong with us?” You asked. “We shouldn’t be so comfortable with this. Because I’m not joking, Billy, I was going to stab him. I was gonna kill him. I—I—”

“—The only reason he’s not in a body bag at this very moment is cause the cops got to him first,” Billy interrupted, eyes hard, “I’ve killed for less, Y/N, and anyone who hurts you,” he put a hand on your face, eyes boring into yours, “is gonna die bloody. It’s you and me, Y/N, I’d do anything for you, and I want you to know that I love you, every part of you,” his lips brushed against yours as he spoke, “and if you had killed him…I would have helped you bury the body.”

That was it. The last thing you needed to make your decision. Billy was a killer. He betrayed Frank, he hurt Curtis, he was a traitor to his country if the news reports were right. Hell, Billy had told you himself that he’d committed multiple war crimes. Those were all facts, undeniable, inexcusable facts about him that you could never change or hope to ignore. But you loved him—that was a fact too. You had never felt more alive, more like yourself, than when you had been with Billy, even up until the very end. He was it for you. So you were in. You were all in, wherever he would go, you would follow.

You practically ran home, heart pounding with your revelation. It was like a bomb went off inside your head—everything you had, you were ready to throw it all away for Billy. You were made for him, and he was made for you. You knew, as you clutched your bag, that from this point on—nothing but death would keep you from him. You had given up on him once, and you had tried to move on with your life, but it hadn’t worked. You had been operating on auto-pilot, just going through the motions and pretending to be okay with being without him, with living in black and white. But now Billy was back, and he brought color back into your life. This time, you would fight for him. You would fight with him.

You practically ripped the door open when you got back to your apartment. You ran into the living room and felt yourself deflate a little. Everything was exactly the way you left it. You checked your room, the bathroom, and the kitchen. Empty. Sighing, you sat down at the kitchen table and put your head in your hands. Where could he be? What if he was hurt? What if Frank got to him? What if… what if he left you? Feeling trapped, you went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. You decided to drink instead of panic. It was getting late, but there was still time in the day. Billy could be back any minute. You poured yourself a drink and went to stand at the counter, contemplating whether you should bother cooking while you waited for Billy to get back when you noticed a manila folder on the counter. This was new…so Billy had been back. You put your glass down and picked up the folder. It had his name on it: Russo, William. The file was packed with papers and packets, full of details of his life. There were little color-coded tabs for Castle, Frank, Hoyle, Curtis, Madani, Dinah, and Rawlins, William. There were notes from what you assumed were his therapy sessions, and pictures of him in the hospital. Words like ‘dangerous’, ‘killer’, ‘psychopath’ jumped off the page. You flipped through the contents of the file, a sense of dread creeping into you. Finally, under all of the papers, was a handwritten note from Billy that had your breath catching.

Y/N,

I’m sorry. I want you to know that I love you. And I’m so sorry.

Goodbye.

******************************************************************************************

Hohohhohohoho! So this was my first time ever writing Brett, how’d I do? Also, anyone recognize where Y/N works? And ohhhh man, let me know what you thought of these last two chapters. Your feedback fuels me! Love you guys!

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[cathalpaint]

MA day 1

This probably could have used a better title, but I wanted to get as much of an initial impression of my first day at Hallam for an MA with little or no time to think about it. I’ll come back later to insert stuff less impression but that I fond funny. I’ve been upbeat most of the day, with the promise of new things and beginnings and the unknown which will build. A constructive unknown. Knowing I can do this because I've done it before when i was less prepared. The day was really just a run down of the ins and out of the course structure the main aspects of it. The assessment stuff and how the modules will unfold. We got to get a more informal feel for each other on the course and sense of where we ( well I did at least) we fit in. The module stuff I’ll come back to. The day culminated in a really informal meeting with the rest of the MA cohort ( there may be other students yet to arrive due to visa and travel stuff.) I got chatting to a few of the other people on the course; 4 teachers by my count which is interesting, and 3 / 4 straight from the BA and one from a non teaching background. I knew we were going to meet the other MA students, but it took me by surprise all the same and I think my mind had had enough just whirring from initial thoughts and ideas from off the basic introduction to the various elements f the course. I get a kind of nervous energy that I expel through chat in some situations, this was definitely one of those. I had lots of odd humorous thoughts that wanted to shout out, but I knew they were just annoying and not funny to anyone but my stupid head. (oh in slips some self loathing) At the end of the thing I stood around, feeling I don't know what. A need to do, I guess. But it was a dead zone in my head and all that was required of me was to either mingle or just go. Most people had just went anyway. I hung around for a bit said some banal shit and left. Leaving the room is where my head/mind/brain whatever my anxiety began to kick in. I was in a whirl, a mad beast in a head, looking for something to panic about. I asked my self what was bothering me. (other than getting work which definitely was not the source of the chaos in my head.)It was just my head my brain looking for an element; a threat to jump upon and blow out of proportion. A reason to say well this wasn’t right or that will be a problem. I’m aware of all the known problems and although I’m not yet on top of them all I have plans. Not great plans, but ways to at least begin dealing with the issues. If only I found my mental health as easy to deal with.

So none of theses things were in a problem. You’d think that realising this would help dissipate the noise and churning of my mind. No. Instead I found my self trying to not just break down in to tears. Having to control my self rigidly. I want a space where these things the tears the panic can just come to the surface and be done with. I'm not even sure it is a panic, it's just an intensity of everything, formless but urgently demanding; all consuming in my mind if I let it be. I’ve just had to bury it for dealing with at another time.

How did I do that. well I made a list of 3 things I wanted to accomplish today. (This was number 4 i.e. not on my list but in doing it I realise how useful this could be for me over the course off the...um course of course. (It might even be a good decompression tool for me.) Then breaking those tasks into smaller elements, that I can work at immediately. I still want to crash and burn at time though. I need that space to be vulnerable, but I can’t do it one my own because I guess I'm worried about it spinning out of control and I want that comfort of an other human. I don’t need them to tell me it will be alright; just a presence that will allow me to know that I have someone there. Just being there would act as a safeguard to me spiralling out of control, to damage levels. I still hurt my self. Less visibly but left to my own self at the moment these overwhelming emotions emerge and a need for them to just stop, just stop, and then I get hurt. The modules are fairly straight forward. 60 credits on ART Practice- In my understanding making things ( mistakes successes and so on) some documentation our thoughts on how and why we are making and having an opinion about it all , Art Context is 4 strands all designed to try to push the way we practice / make produce and display and to think about how we do this. each strand is 30 credits. Basically choose one of 2 choices as they are delivered. First choice is : A) Drawing on/from the archive. or; B) Assemblage and collage. And then: A) Art Writing or; B) Curation - time and place. A very rich layered course. I’m taken by all the strands like everyone on the course was, but being aware of time constraints I’ll opt for assemblage and collage, then curation. That's me on this for now I’ll edit and move stuff around and be back for a bit Thursday. I have a lot of thoughts to think out and this will be where I air them either immediately or after I give them time to breathe. Right now its time for tea, rice and some mysterious veg concoction I made. Tomorrow I’ll try to start moving my stuff over. I also have therapy tomorrow and it will be the last session fora while because, I’m not finding time with everything to work on the therapy. I don’t want to be without that space as its the only one I have that is there for me at the moment. So I'm a bit terrified at the thought of being bereft of a space for a while. So until next time.

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Have a buddy go through it and interact with a person's point.

. Or maybe 20000 words for the report for More rapid Examining Procedures. Also i have got a challenging format of ways the particular report will surely have to pass, even so 'm offered to guidelines. Title not needed although loved. I will completely validate accomplished manage to confirm which matters have been appropriately reviewed plus high-quality is perfectly up to usual. The completed report will likely need to become delivered

We make certain 100% a refund as a dissatisfaction. You'll question a money fulfillment as soon as that customizable paper cardstock is definitely later part of the, as well as its own articles isn't going to get together demands. You have a cash back once again if you've found yourself back once again documentation by way of erroneous style style, grammar slipups. The majority of the company is delighted simply by our own novelists. For anyone who is dismayed, any time there'd get syntax problems, unsuitable format, may well consult a full return. Can perform them if ever the documents are the later part of in case prefer to doesn’t get together demands.

Attention!

If you’re in a situation when you’re all set to state, “Just assist me to write this essay or dissertation online” take a look virtually no farther. EduBirdie takes place when for your needs!

The status of Medical doctor of Science guarantees quite a few privileges. Only MA and Ph.D. holders can count on the highly-paid jobs and impressive career improvement. The one with Ph.D. can become a university’s dean even when we discuss such prestigious educational institutions as Harvard or Oxford. In no way cease around the accomplished - getting Bachelor will not be the limit. You can do extra!

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Due to make sure you terms screen, you locate the software very unlikely to view together with comprehend waterless scholarly articles

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Should my personal secondly dissertation as well give attention to accommodate? * If you can relate isn't your first composition to the reason you are a fantastic match for the main, i quickly would certainly go for it.

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