#him and spirit used to be around the same size but either late teenage years or maybe after

[crowsyart]

Some baby spiritstein and spirits pelt pattern(he has a cross mark on his back) of course he’s a lot redder but yeah

Stein is also trans because. I’m projecting

[startanewdream]

Teenage behaviour

For @sweeethinny​ ‘s amazing prompt: ‘Instead of Harry seeing Molly's boggart, he sees Lily's, and faces him and his father dead on the floor, while his mother panics’.

Thanks again for this prompt! I always love to explore Lily and Harry’s relationship!

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

______________________________

Harry's smile doesn't reach his eyes.

Lily has been stealing glances in his direction all night, ever since she got home from her shift, and even though he is talking and eating and acting normal, she can see there is something restrained about him.

She looks around, trying to understand what is dampening his mood - not that it would need much lately, but still, he should be more thrilled about returning to Hogwarts tomorrow, especially considering their fear that he would be expelled. Everything seems normal, though. The kitchen is full of people talking and drinking, enjoying that last-minute party, and everyone's mood seems better than usual. She sees Ron listing the qualities of his new broom to Tonks, while Hermione is talking with Remus about her project of rights for house-elves. Both Ron and Hermione are still beaming because of today’s news.

She raises her eyes to the banner Molly hanged over the dinner table. That brings a warm smile to her lips; Molly had sounded more cheerful than Lily had seen her all summer when she had told proudly of Ron being made a prefect.

Then her eyes fall on Harry again. He is looking wistfully at the banner, with just a hint of guilt shining in his eyes.

Understanding hits her.

He wanted to be a prefect.

That doesn't make much sense for her, considering how Harry always inspired himself in James and how much Harry doesn’t seem to particularly care for authority figures, but there is disappointment and hurt in his eyes, no matter how much he tries to hide it.

Maybe it was some expectation that Dumbledore would choose him? Or he feels that people don’t trust him anymore? Or maybe he is feeling like he let his parents down for not being a prefect?

Whatever it is, she will have to do something about it. This would be easier if James was there that night - Harry does have a tendency to always hear whatever his dad says -, but since he is away on Order duty tonight, Lily will handle it alone. 

She looks around once more before locating Sirius and Ginny talking animatedly to each other; they are close enough to Harry so he will be able to hear them talking, so she approaches them.

‘Aubrey’s head was twice the normal size’, Sirius is saying, opening his hands to emphasize it, almost hitting Lily. ‘Oh, sorry, Lily’.

‘No harm done’, she says lightly. ‘Are you telling the infamous balloon head prank?’

‘I will let you know it’s one of the best Marauders pranks to date’, Sirius replies, seeming very proud of himself.

‘Don’t believe him, they originally wanted Aubrey’s head to shrink’, she tells Ginny conspiringly, making Ginny smirk. ‘And they didn’t even try to hide it, it led them directly into detention. No wonder you never made prefect’.

She knows Harry is looking in their direction, but she pretends to not notice.

‘Can you imagine, you and James as prefects?’

Sirius shudders, putting his hands over his heart and looking properly scandalous, just as Lily knew he would be.

‘We would never! Plus we would have to give ourselves detentions on a daily basis’.

‘Like Remus ever gave you any’, she scoffs playfully.

‘Well, he could turn a blind eye on us sometimes. Ok, most of the time’, Sirius concedes when Lily just raises her eyebrows. ‘But I remember a certain Head Girl doing the same’.

Lily laughs shamelessly.

‘If I didn’t catch you, how could I do anything? And with James as Head Boy, you certainly learned to avoid being caught’.

‘It sure helps when your best friend is Head Boy and decides the patrolling routes’, Sirius agrees, grinning.

‘Hang on’, Ginny says, frowning. ‘James was a Head Boy? Your James?’

Lily sees Harry joining their circle and she smiles to herself.

‘Yeah, we were as shocked as you when we found out’, says Sirius dramatically.

‘But he wasn’t a prefect -’

‘Head Boy and Head Girl may have been prefects, but if the headmaster thinks someone else should be, he can choose’, Lily explains. ‘It doesn’t matter whether you were a prefect or not, as long as you are responsible and trusting, really’.

‘You know, that was the only time I really considered telling Dumbledore we were animagi - we couldn’t let him think James was responsible -’

‘Come on’, Lily says fairly. ‘He had improved a lot by our seventh year, it made sense he would be a Head Boy’.

‘Oh, don’t tell my mum that’, Ginny pleads in a hushed whisper. ‘There is no way I will be a prefect next year, but then she might hope I get sense enough to be a Head Girl’. Ginny turns to Harry, shaking her head in fake panic, and Harry lets out an amused laugh.

They all laugh then, and Lily feels good when she sees Harry is more relaxed now as if remembering his father wasn’t prefect either is enough to raise his spirits.

She doesn’t say it and she doesn’t really mind, but she thinks Harry could be a Head Boy in a couple of years. Harry does have the leadership she saw in James in their last year at Hogwarts, even if he doesn’t mind breaking the rules now and then. But if he is not chosen, that will be fine for her too.

Lily hopes Harry understands this.

She shares a drink with Sirius, who is still telling adventures of the Marauders to Ginny, while keeping an eye on Harry. He drifts off to talk with Fred and George and Mundungus - a trio that speaks of trouble for her -, then he leaves them to sit on a chair, pretending to be busy drinking a butterbeer. His face is troubled once more and Lily resists the urge to sigh.

Harry’s changes of mood are more erratic than she can deal with these days. She always thought Death Eaters and bigotry would be the biggest challenges in her life, but now she thinks understanding teenage behaviour is much more difficult.

She throws a sympathetic look at Molly, who is yawning now, admiring the fact that Molly dealt with that seven times.

‘Oh, sorry, Lily’, Molly says, flushing. ‘I just woke up so early today…’

Lily smiles.

‘Go get some rest, Molly. I patch things up here later’. And when Molly opens her mouth, looking worried, Lily smiles. ‘I won’t let them stay up late, I promise’.

‘Thank you, dear. I am really tired… I’ll just sort out that boggart before I turn in -’

‘No, no, let me’, Lily offers. ‘Is that thing shaking the cabinet in the drawing room?’

‘Yes, Alastor confirmed to me tonight it’s a boggart’.

‘That’s on me then. Go rest’, Lily insists. ‘You already made too much today - helping to sort out that last-minute shopping list, this nice dinner. I’ll handle the boggart later, I will have to wait for James to come home anyway’.

Molly looks at her with a knowing expression.

‘I can never sleep before Arthur returns too’, she murmurs, and Lily is familiar with the fear shining in Molly’s brown eyes.

‘Everything is going to be okay’, she says calmly, even though they both know it is an empty promise. 

Molly bides her good night and Lily watches her go.

It really must be more difficult for her, Lily thinks. Seven children, one of them not talking with the family, and Molly already lost her two brothers in the first war. That makes the Weasley braver than her and James, she ponders; they aren’t hunted. They are choosing to be part of this war.

They really are the best family. She thanks silently the day Harry decided to sit together with Ron on the Hogwarts Express.

Speaking of her son, Mad-Eye is talking to him, showing him something, and even though Alastor looks as delighted as he can be, Harry seems to be sick.

Lily turns in his direction, determined to fix the situation again, but before she can reach them, Sirius distracts Mad-Eye and Harry escapes, crossing the kitchen in quick steps and slipping through the door before anyone can talk to him.

Great.

She walks to Mad-Eye and sees he is showing around an old photograph of the first Order of the Phoenix, that finally comes to her hand. Lily looks at herself, smiling hand-in-hand with James, and is startled to see how young they both look. Well, not just them. Everyone.

And those who are not here anymore look even younger.

She sees Marlene’s grin and Dorcas’s wistful smile and longing burns inside her for those evenings talking in the Common Room, for their girl’s night out after ending Hogwarts, for all the plans they made. They are so happy and hopeful in her memories, blissful to the fact Dorcas would face Voldemort alone, or that Marlene and all her family would perish in a fire.

She never said goodbye to any of them.

‘What were you talking about with Harry, Alastor?’, she asks in a quiet voice, returning the photo to him as if the distance can lessen the pain that photograph brings to her. She feels a little bit mad at him for bringing this photo to a party.

It’s not like she can or wants to forget all of those who died - it’s just she did not expect to see the reminder of all they lost so suddenly...

‘Just showing the boy the original group. Thought he might like it - so many stories to tell’.

Lily wonders if he told Harry the tragic end of most of those stories and she grimaces at the thought.

Harry doesn’t return so, after a while, Lily leaves the kitchen too. People are still talking animatedly and there are still a few minutes before she will have to break the party. But Lily doesn’t feel like chatting right now, so she may as well get things done. She considers going to see Harry, to check if his things are all packed for tomorrow, but he probably doesn’t want company. He is like her in that sense; prefers to be left alone to brood.

She enters the drawing room, looking around with mild interest. The children did make a good job cleaning everything up, but Grimmauld Place will never seem a happy place. Too many bad memories and dark thoughts, she thinks, as Kreacher passes behind herself, mumbling to himself and glaring at her.

Sirius forbade him of saying mudblood, but she only needs to look him in the eyes to feel the word.

There is nothing she can do about it and Lily prefers to fix on the problems she can solve anyway.

The cabinet close to the window is giving small jumps as if it’s alive. She walks to it, her mind already fixed on the remembrance of Aubrey with that big balloon head (he had really been a jerk and James and Sirius had pranked him for harassing first years muggle-borns, so she hadn’t mind laughing that time), and takes out her wand.

‘Alohomora!’

The cabinet opens and, appearing out of thin air, she sees James holding Harry as a baby, both lying in the ground, with eyes closed, pale and still. Dead.

They are dead.

Her heart beats faster and her mouth is suddenly dry, even as Lily knows this is just the boggart. It feels more like a dream, though, so she stays still for a few seconds, watching her husband and son’s corpses with a strange detachment. She really thought it would be just a dementor - and she would be ready for it this time.

But Lily supposes the memories that the dementor had arisen activated the true fear she had felt that night - that James and Harry would die while everything she could do was to watch hopelessly. Like she is doing now.

The fear creeps through her mind like smoke she can’t help but inhale, and that smoke makes her head light and dizzy, creating images in her head. She pictures how her life would be if that had happened, if Lily had taken Voldemort’s offer to stand aside while he murdered her husband and son and she was left alone. 

And lost. 

She wonders what she would have done and it’s surprisingly easy to answer. Find and kill Pettigrew, for starters, because there would be no James to hate him more than her and no son to give her other priorities. Then she would go after Voldemort; she would not rest until he was dead, no matter the cost. The boy-who-lived would be replaced by the mother-who-killed.

But then - and that is the scariest part - there would be nothing. No reason to live for. Her days would be empty and pointless, forever missing the two people she had most loved and knowing no vengeance would ever fill that hole…

‘Mum?’, she hears a voice asking, and for a moment Lily can’t really match the voice to anyone, certain she had never heard it before, that he died when he was just a baby -

She turns slowly to find Harry - her living son - at the door, looking at the dead bodies on the floor, then at her.

‘It’s a boggart’, Harry realizes. ‘Don’t - get out of here - let someone else -’

Harry looks worried for her. Somehow, this clears the smoke in her head. Lily steadies her hand and looks back at the corpses lying on the floor with nothing but determination.

‘Riddikulus!’, she says loud and clear, and the boggart turns into a man with a big blue balloon in the place of his head. Lily lets out a nervous laugh and the boggart vanishes in a puff of smoke.

Her heart is still beating faster, so Lily takes a moment to calm herself, to let all those bad feelings slip out of her; she almost jumps when she feels Harry’s hand on her shoulder. She had not heard him walking to her. 

'Mum?’, he calls very quietly. ‘Are you ok?’

'It was just a stupid boggart, Harry', she says, forcing herself to smile at him. Harry is frowning, seeing through her empty smile just as she sees through his. 'Just go to bed, tomorrow is -'

'Do you always see us?', he asks in a hushed whisper, ignoring her dismissal. 'I mean - that -'

He stops, unable to continue, and Lily feels a sudden urge to just tell him it was nothing and to let it go. She knows Harry would hate it, but he also would respect her desire to be left alone with her thoughts and fears.

But since all she’s been asking of her son lately is that he talks to her, Lily supposes she has to set the example.

'Sometimes, yes’, she admits in a low voice. ‘At other times it’s a dementor. But it’s all related to the same thing, really’.

Harry looks deep in thought and he stares at the point where the bodies were.

'It was me as a baby', he says, and Lily nods. 'But - why? I mean, I lived’.

She sighs once more and sits on the couch.

'Come here', she asks, and Harry sits opposite to her on the same couch, his legs crossed just like he used to do when he was young and was listening to one of her bedtime stories, except this time most of his leg is out of the couch. That makes her feel strangely comforted, even if she feels her eyes tearing up a little. ‘You grew up so fast’.

‘Mum -’, he starts, looking half-embarrassed as he always does when James or Lily start remembering him as a kid.

‘I am saying it like a good thing’, she promises. ‘I just feel so lucky to have witnessed it all’.

Harry seems confused.

‘Lucky?’

She looks away to where the boggart was on the floor.

‘When I think about that night - the one where you got your scar - I always remember how close we were to lose everything. How you were almost… you and James…’

‘But it didn’t happen’, he says forcefully. ‘We all survived’.

‘Yes, but back then, at the time - I didn’t think we would make it. I really thought… I really lost hope for a moment. Sometimes I still dream of that night, but my worst nightmares are… of that’. She points to the floor. ‘If somehow you and James were gone and I was left alone -’

She can’t continue. Harry breathes heavily.

‘You wouldn’t be alone, I mean, you would still have Remus and Sirius, they -’

‘Harry’, she interrupts him softly, looking back at him. He already seems distraught, but she has to make him understand. ‘I love them, of course, but how would it be if I and your father had died then? If you were raised by Remus and Sirius?’

He stays silent for a moment and Lily can see him picturing all that alternative life. Lily supposes Sirius as a figure parent is an amusing idea, but Harry doesn’t smile for a second.

‘It would never be enough’, he whispers at least. ‘They would never replace you’.

‘They would never try to, I am sure, but... This is it. A life without you and your father would be just - just empty for me. And that’s what I fear the most. That I would be too weak that night and that I had to watch you both dying’.

‘You are strong’, Harry says resolutely, grabbing her hand and squeezing it, though Lily can’t tell if he is doing that for her sake or his own, to also confirm to him that everything is alright. ‘I - I heard what happened’.

‘What do you mean?’

Harry looks abashed, and he lowers his eyes.

'That’s why dementors hit me so hard. The thing I hear when they are near… It’s that night. Bits of it, but I hear... You and Voldemort. You plead for me, and he - he laughs and tells you to stand aside, but you refuse. You always refuse’.

Lily blinks, feeling the blood leaving her face.

'You never said anything’.

'I didn't want to upset you', Harry whispers. 'I know you don't like remembering it'.

She gives him a tiny smile despite everything. She never told him about her own worries, but Harry probably noticed how even though she didn't have any problem explaining about Voldemort, only James would talk to him about that Halloween night.

Harry sees more than people give him credit for.

'You could have told me', she says softly. 'It is not your job to worry about me, Harry'.

'But I do', he admits. 'I don't want anything to happen to you'.

There is a desperation in his voice now, like if he is really afraid something could happen with her and, with a jolt, Lily realizes they never really talked about what happened earlier that month, about how Harry drew away the dementors from her.

About how he needed to do it because she had frozen.

'I am sorry to have scared you', she says tenderly.

'It's not - I wasn't really scared with that boggart'.

Lily believes him. Harry seems to think his father is invincible and he is too selfless to regard his own death as something to be afraid of.

'I meant about the dementors a few weeks ago. And if somehow you thought I couldn't handle that boggart right now'.

Harry blinks.

'I didn't think that', he says slowly, and Lily knows he is considering his own feelings on the matter. 'I mean - I know what you are capable of'.

'I just don't want you thinking that you need to take care of me. I am the parent here. That's my job'.

'I don’t want to lose you’, he whispers guiltily, as if somehow even thinking about it should be wrong. ‘I wouldn’t - I don’t know how I could cope if -’

Harry looks so fragile right now that she does the simplest thing. She stretches her legs, in an offer, and Harry lies down, placing his head on her lap, allowing her to caress his hair like she used to do when he was young, until he would fall asleep.

‘I won’t live forever, Harry’, she says softly. ‘Someday you will be without me - and really, that’s what I hope for’. When he looks startled, she adds with a smile: ‘That you get to live longer than me. That you get a full happy life’.

‘It will only be happy if you are there’, he insists. ‘You and dad. You -’, he stops, closing his eyes as if he doesn’t want her to see more of his emotions than he is already letting it show on his voice. ‘You need to be careful. I know you are good, but - sometimes people are just in the wrong place in the wrong time’.

She knows what he is talking about and she remembers seeing Harry and Cedric Diggory leaving together for the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament, both looking thrilled that it would be over soon and that one of them might win the Tournament.

And she remembers when they all noticed something was off, when there were whispers of a dead champion and how she had feared so much that it would be Harry… And the guilt she’d felt later when she was just relieved that it wasn’t him.

The good die young, her mother used to say somberly when she saw news of a tragedy.

Lily thinks about the photograph of the old Order, of hope and dreams that mattered none when the people were dead, and she finally understands what upset Harry enough to make him leave the dining party.

‘Moody told you what happened with people from the first Order of the Phoenix’, she says.

Harry bits his lips, looking away from her.

‘I can’t promise you me and your father will make it through this war, Harry’, she says slowly, wishing she could lie to him about it. ‘But I can assure you that we will make everything we can to live… and if not, we will always be with you, you do know that, right?’

She touches his chest, right above his heart, and Harry trembles.

‘I know’, he concedes at least, but there is sorrow in his eyes. Then he looks back at her. ‘Moody told me about the Prewetts and Benjy and the Longbottoms and… I recognized Marlene from that photo in your office. You never told me her whole family had died too’.

‘It was just too painful’, Lily sighs. ‘It was just after your first birthday, when we were already hiding and I remember thinking... maybe I should have done something, I should have protected her -’

‘It was not your fault!’, Harry cries, looking appalled that she feels like that.

Lily refrains herself of pointing out the irony there.

‘I know. It’s Voldemort’s fault’, she pauses, looking at the eyes that are a mirror to hers. ‘Everything that happened. Blame him, blame the people who think like him and allow him to ascend to power, but never blame anyone else’.

Harry blinks and doesn’t answer her. 

‘We are better prepared this time’, she tells him, still playing with his hair gently. ‘It will not be like in the First War - we started too late then and we were too few. Now - now we have a better idea of what we need to do, of what he’s after -’

‘The weapon’, he says, and Lily remembers their first night in Grimmauld Place and what little they had told Harry. They never really said it was a weapon, but if Harry thought so, it was for the better.

He didn’t need to hear about that prophecy, not yet. It would give him the wrong ideas probably.

‘Among other things’, she says vaguely. 

He sits again, looking rather upset at her.

‘You really won’t tell me?’

‘That’s not your burden to care, Harry. Not now. I know you don’t like to hear that and I know you don’t think it’s fair, but… when you are older. Of age, at least. After school. If there is still a war going on then… then we can talk about you joining the Order and knowing things’.

Harry doesn’t look like he believes her. ‘You would just not care if I joined the Order? Simple as that?’

‘I will care’, she guarantees, running a hand nervously through her hair as James would have done. ‘But I won’t forbid you. No one forbade me, it wouldn’t be fair if I tried to stop you’.

He still looks suspiciously, but Lily just returns his gaze without blinking. She is telling him the truth; sure, she will do everything she can so that Voldemort can be finished before he is of age, but if he is seventeen and the war is still happening, she knows she won’t be able to stop him.

Like her, Harry never refrains from doing the right thing and she taught him to never stand for prejudice.

‘And until then? What do I do? Just sit here waiting?’, he asks, but for once he doesn’t sound like he is fighting with her.

‘Of course not. You can study’. When Harry grimaces, she smiles. ‘Everything you do in school is important. Every lesson - yeah, even Potions, don’t give me that look. You study and you use it to prepare yourself. Not just you, but Ron and Hermione too. All of you must be ready for what happens outside. Life won’t be like in school all the time, where you know when a spell will hit you or that when the bell rings you are safe’.

Harry bits his lips, looking thoughtful.

‘I know it’s not. I mean - for the Triwizard Tournament I learned a lot of spells and how to cast them, but - when it comes to the real thing, when -’, he takes a deep breath. ‘- when I was in the graveyard with Voldemort, it’s not like in school. It’s just your guts and instinct and - and trying to survive’.

This is the most Harry has said about the night of Voldemort’s resurrection to her and, for the first time, Lily wonders if she really wants to know. Just thinking about the desperation he must have felt fighting for his life…

He survived, she tells herself. You won’t be able to keep him under your wings forever, so you give him all the skills you can. You make sure he will be ready.

‘That is it, Harry. Promise you will take your studies seriously this year. Not just because of the OWLs, but because you know what’s happening out here, even if everyone else is denying it’.

He looks solemnly as he gives a tiny nod to her.

‘I will. And I will make sure others are prepared too. I - I don’t want - what happened to Cedric - to ever happen again’.

She smiles serenely to him, even as she remembers Amos Diggory’s cries and thinks darkly he won’t be the last parent to despair for his child in this war.

The good die young.

‘Are you going to stay here?’, he asks, distracting her from her grim thoughts. Lily sighs.

‘No, I promised Molly I would make sure everyone is in their bed not too late. You know how chaotic September 1st can be. And then -’

‘Then?’

‘I will just stay up a little bit longer’.

Harry looks at her as if he can see all that she is not telling him.

‘Dad will be home late?’ he asks, though it doesn’t really seem a question. Lily just sighs, confirming it. ‘I could keep you company’.

Lily smiles more warmly now.

‘You can go rest, Harry, it’s no problem. I’ll just make myself a tea and wait in the kitchen’.

‘I’m not sleepy’, he assures her. ‘I haven’t been sleeping much. I keep having the weirdest dream, really… And, well, I thought we could make some hot chocolate’.

That brings a warmth to her that has nothing to do with the beverage. She thinks of late nights with James and Harry, especially in winter, when they would make hot chocolate and share it in front of the fireplace in their house.

That kind of silly small moments that never seem important as you are living them, but somehow they turn into your favourite memories.

‘With whipped cream?’, she asks, her voice lighter now, and Harry smirks, making his resemblance to James more evident.

‘You can even put a little bit of brandy and I won’t tell anyone’.

She blushes, getting up. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about’.

‘I’m fifteen, mum, I get it now what was the medicine in your chocolate’.

‘When did you get so smart?’, she asks playfully, taking his arm so they can descend the stairs together to the kitchen. ‘Anyway, no alcohol for you’.

‘Spoilsport’, he complains without any real malice. ‘When will I get to drink?’

‘If you are still asking me, Harry, then you are still too young, trust me’, Lily answers grinning.

Harry shakes his head, mumbling to himself almost indignantly but this is such a normal teenage behaviour that Lily will take it without complaining. That’s the kind of thing she wants him to be worried about.

She kisses him softly on the cheek before they enter the kitchen, knowing Harry would be too embarrassed to be seen receiving a kiss from his mother in front of everyone - another very usual teenage behaviour -, and smiles to herself.

‘Thanks for the company’, she says later, when they are alone in the kitchen after sending everyone to bed.

‘Anytime, mum’, he promises, filling his cup with whipped cream, while they accommodate themselves to wait for James to come home.

[malebodyinvasion]

Possessing my Sons

Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

It has been 5 years since my wife died and I spent all those years drowning myself into different jobs just to provide a life of luxury for our two sons. Unbeknownst to me, the gap in our bond widens. I rarely stay at home and when I can, I expected some father and son bonding but both of my sons are occupied by their own plans. I also discovered that this two is not in good terms over a damn video game. I didn't expect them to be this childish, especially Dan who is the eldest. He should be considerate of his younger brother Jan. This hurts my heart. They are brothers, they should love and respect each other.

To deal with my growing stress and depression, I masturbate multiple times a day be it at home or work. However within these past few months, I'm having trouble getting hard and my cum is lesser than what I consider normal. I consulted a doctor and I was told I am having an erectile dysfunction. This crumble my world. The only other thing which kept me sane for all those years is now gone. This hurt me further. 

I was kind of bored these past few days, I decided to look at some of our old stuff in the garage. I found an amulet and a century-old-looking book among my late wife's belonging. Reading the book's cover, it appears to be a family heirloom. My curiosity hits me and I read it further. It was a compilation of spells that can be used with the amulet. I always knew that my wife have a talent but not this much! The body possession spell caught my attention. According to the footnote, the possessing soul could make certain decisions that would reflect towards the host’s mind and body to think that those actions are done under their own volition. This may help me to know more about my sons so I could be a better father and adjust to their needs physically and mentally, and possibly put a remedy towards their brotherly fight.

I hurriedly clean all the mess in the garage and climbed into my room upstairs. I put the amulet around my neck and followed the book's instructions. Few seconds after reading the spell ten times, I felt droopy and closed my eyes. I started to feel light as if I have no weight. When I open my eyes, I was kissing the ceiling. I am floating! I turn my back around and saw my body below me, sleeping peacefully. I practiced hovering inside my room and quickly mastered moving as a spirit. I tried touching some objects but my limbs keep on passing through them. After more tries, I managed to move my book over the table. It seems I could only lift up to few kilograms but it will do.

I should check Jan first. I dove into the floor, passing through it swiftly. Below my room is the living room where I found Jan. He was lying on the sofa while rubbing his hands over his bulge. Is he masturbating? I moved closer and saw his member mightily stood up under his shorts. Apparently Jan doesn't wear any garments underneath his shorts. He furiously massaged his growing member and I'm so envious. This is the perfect time to try possessing him. 

I concentrated in front of my younger son. Jan's body repeatedly arched up and down as I was being pulled toward his smaller frame. I could feel my ghostly limbs and head rearranged itself over his flesh. Moments later, I realized I am now in control. I raised Jan's hands and touched his cute face. Then I quickly grasped his hard dick. I missed this kind of feeling. 

I picked up his phone from the floor which fell down when I'm possessing him. I searched through his memory for the password and successfully open it. I was shocked. Jan is watching a gay porn from a popular website! I didn't know he is interested in this kind of thing. I'm not against it or anything but he could talk to me about it. 

I read further into his brain and learned that he was closeted until Dan discovered it. They didn't fought over a video game but instead over Jan's attempt to secretly give his brother a blowjob! Even me would be surprised if that suddenly happens. Those thoughts enraged my excitement and more blood was pushed into Jan's dick making it longer and bigger. I was amazed. It is already as same size as mine and Jan just hit puberty! I grasped my hands around his shaft and continued his interrupted masturbation. I moved my hands up and down as my body followed. My borrowed muscles tensed up and the fabric became wet as cum passes through it. It's so euphoric, comparable to my body.

Almost an hour had passed when I decided to leave Jan's body. I really enjoyed playing with his member. I hope he doesn't mind me using his body more often. This time, it's Dan's turn to be possessed. If Jan had such impressive member, I wonder how awesome is Dan's. He's a jock after all. 

I swam up through the air towards Dan's room upstairs. I saw him only in his underwear and doing some push-ups. I could see his well-endowed arms as he lifted his own weight. His bulge presses against the floor every time he lean downwards. I couldn't tell if it's erect or not. If it is, I'm up for a disappointment. 

I moved above him and noticed a video camera over his bed. It seems he's recording his routine. Oh, it would be a nice idea to see how it looks like to be possessed. I concentrated and was sucked into Dan. He shouted loudly due to the shock. He probably noticed that something hit him unlike Jan. His body squirms around as I positioned myself inside him. And done! 

I stood up and tried to regain my balance. I was amazed by his well-built body. I flexed his arms and legs, touched his pecs and abs. Very sexy. My ideal body when I was still a teenager. I pulled the waist band of Dan's underwear and I was welcome by his already erect cock. I started to feel bad for him. His member is less impressive than Jan. I cannot see why Jan would like to suck this. It's decent but... never mind. It sounds like I’m mocking myself and I’m not any better.

I heard a loud knock by the door, and I could hear Jan's voice from the other side. He's asking what happened. He might have heard Dan’s scream when I entered his older brother’s body. I know! I got an idea. This might be a perfect chance to see if this tool could go better... and have their relationship fixed.

I opened the door and Jan's jaw dropped with the sight of his older brother. I pulled him inside Dan's room and pressed him against the door. I groped Jan's cock and whispered to his ear, "May be you could help this older brother of yours how to make mine this big?”

[pandemilkbread]

abashed ✩

eyes like sinking ships on waters

ᴛᴏᴅᴏʀᴏᴋɪ sʜᴏᴜᴛᴏ ✩ masterlist

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: It was something that crept up so slowly it left Todoroki unaware, but he thought that was the best kind of love; one so natural you don't even notice.

[ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴏ ᴢ’s ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ sʜᴏᴜᴛᴏ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀs]

warnings: suggestive themes of smut, though only detailed at the last parts. read at your own discretion. not really smutty tho...

author’s note: i promised to upload this earlier, whoops, i apologize. hehe

ⓐ — ᴀʙᴀsʜᴇᴅ

ᴀʙᴀsʜᴇᴅ:

/əˈbaSHt/

adjective

embarrassed, disconcerted, or ashamed.

Warmth.

Warmth was the ray of light shining through the gray-like curtains at the peak of dawn, the heat amassed within the heavy blankets that covered skin, the hotness of pillows from where your touch lingered and left, with all the toss and turning in between; the very definition of warmth described the comfortable heat radiating from the arm wrapped around your stomach like a safeguard—

Cold.

Cold was the sweat dribbling down your forehead in sheer panic, the chilly breeze that encased your body as you quickly ripped the blankets off, the freezing temperature of the tiled floor immediately upon falling on your bare bottom soon after, cold and empty was your mind, connecting the images of what transpired the previous day— or night rather.

All you picked up were bits and pieces: bright lights, booming music, the smell of strong alcohol, a pop of a balloon… ‘Ah, yes.’ You thought, hesitantly. ‘The birthday party.’ Who knew an adult as yourself, who had the alcohol tolerance of a Viking from the late eighth century, could flat out collapse from drinking too much.

And God you wanted to throw up.

Besides wanting to spill out your guts onto the crystal clear floor—you cringed at the thought of whoever was supposed to clean the mess after, if you chose to do so anyway—there was a direr issue to address; which was… knowing where the hell you were, and who you were with.

You slightly inched yourself onto your knees and peered back at the comfortable blue sheets where he laid, fast asleep. Surprisingly, your fumbling did not wake the sleeping man. You assumed as much as you were knocked out from the liquor, he was in a similar state as well.

Sighing, you pulled yourself up only to be met with a painful ache on your upper thighs, forcing you to stumble on your backside. You hissed. ‘What in the world?’ Squinting at the dark splotches on your skin that darted from your lower thighs up until your upper stomach, a small part of you believed there were more sprinkled on your chest and neck. It forced one notion down your thick skull.

First, you were naked. The bareness of your skin provided neither protection from the cold breeze coming from the air conditioner, nor the heat radiating from your cheeks in embarrassment. The pain from earlier, and the bruises that enveloped your skin were two of the many testimonies of your late night endeavor.

You groaned. In truth, you weren’t the type of person to be hooking up with a stranger, no— scratch that, you were never the type of person to be having sex at all, and with a stranger nonetheless. Frankly, the only time you were close to doing the deed was with your boyfriend of a year and a half, whom you broke up with months ago, and it did not end well.

Let’s just say, he had a ‘technical difficulty’ with putting on a simple condom; leaving the touch starved you, furious as he suggested to do it otherwise without it. And the night was cut short. ‘A great night forever encased into my memories.’ You mused.

Back to the crisis at hand, your eyes shifted to the human unconscious on the bed, the sound of small breaths reached your ears. You prompted yourself onto your knees then leaned your upper body on the bed, a small blush dusted your cheeks as you glanced at the man.  

‘Great.’ You breathed. Over 126 million people in Japan and you slept with the one person you’d rather not see again.

Your fingers gently swiped the strands of red hair covering his closed eyes. Breathtaking. Even while asleep he managed to send your heart into a frenzy, and brought shivers down your spine, and reignited the little speck of hope you had left, one you thought had blown out years ago, only to reemerge stronger than ever.

Oh, god, you hated hope.

You propped your chin on the palm of your hand. Sighing, you continued to play around with his hair. A part of you hoped the beautiful stranger, not-so unfamiliar anymore, woke from his slumber— a sort of wakeup call and signal for you to get going. Another, cruel part, wanted him to stay asleep, a somewhat impossible wish; and you wished, you really wished, this was a dream.

If it was one, please, please, please, you wanted to crawl back under the covers, just for a few minutes.

You pinched yourself.

Once, then twice, then thrice.

Maybe seventh times a charm?

You massaged your temples. If it were a dream, you would have awaken by now. Then, you were not in a dream, and this was real. And if it was real… you can afford to be a little selfish. So you sat up from your spot and leaned forward, brushing your lips against the top of his forehead.

“Good morning,” you whispered.

Loud enough to satisfy your wants, but as quiet as the passing breeze, rendering it nonexistent.

You could always shuffle back into the sheets, you know you wanted to; bask in the warmth of the bed, so soft and cozy; pretend reality did not exist, yes, in another life this apartment was your home; and the notion of walking in shame was all fiction, you were abashed.

You sighed, sounding more like a mix of a hiss and a groan.

It was time to go. There was no use dwelling on the what-ifs and the what-could-have-beens. Simply, you are an adult. Yet, the years of being humbled at college, forcibly awoken by the harsh realities of adulthood, and the gruesome jobs at the hospital— could not diminish your fairytale dreams and hopes, by now reverted back into one intense form.

Your high school crush on the one and only, Todoroki Shouto.

Something that had shrunk to the size of a pea, had somewhat grown into a bowling ball, all in the span of ten minutes and by all means, it would continue to grow bigger. You were sure of it. The plausible solution?

Running out while you still had your mind, heart, and spirit intact. Oh, yes. The very same went for your embarrassment and shame: behold, the little youngling had initiated her very first hook-up for all the world to see! ‘Technically anyone awake by seven’ you presumed by looking at the light from outside.

Grabbing your discarded clothes, you walked to a room, closer to a closet than an actual bathroom, and put them on. Now that you were fully dressed, the whole idea of sleeping with your high school crush was unbelievable.

A prank? You rolled your eyes. No one would go that far to prank someone as unimportant as you.

…Would they, though?

Your mind wandered back to the mix of silver and red asleep in the bedroom. Was he the type of person to sleep around with anyone he wanted?

He can, though. You thought. Then again. He did not seem like the type to do so.

You ruffled your hair in front of the mirror, sliding your fingers through your hair in an attempt to smooth out the tangles.

Is it possible? Perhaps you never slept with him in the first place? Maybe, your lower pain was the symptoms of a forthcoming period, or maybe the bruises on your skin were the scars of an epic battle fight sequence in the bar, or maybe the person sleeping on the bed was never Todoroki Shouto and you were delusional.

Putting it that way, the lame excuses sounded more ridiculous than reasonable.

The door opened with a click, and you winced at the sound, your fingers quickly twisted the knob to prevent any more unnecessary noise. Stepping out of the bathroom, you glanced at the person laying on the bed. For someone considered one of the nation’s top heroes, Todoroki slept pretty peacefully while a stranger used his room to her volition.

What if I was a villain, hm? You grumbled. One slit to the throat and you’d be a goner.

The exact moment you thought about assassinating (not that you would actually do it, you were a hospital resident for heaven’s sake!) the peppermint boy stirred in his spot, forcing you to freeze. The blankets shifted downwards to reveal the bare skin of his chest, littered with splotches of dark blue, and you gaped.

His neckline gleamed with love bites, his collar taking the brunt of all the kisses, and the chest area had a trail of kisses all the way down to his lower stomach, where the blanket laid comfortably— ‘did I do that?’ you breathed.

This close, you were this close to pulling all your hair out in frustration. Last night must have been the best night of your life and you couldn’t remember a thing! The whole thing was unfair!

You shook your head. No time to dwell, time to go! And go you must before the object of all your teenage fantasies woke up. Eyes scanned the room for the last item of your possessions, the shoes you wore.

You scoured under the gray sofa to the side of the bed, then softly shifted the blanket on the floor, it was not in the bathroom where you changed, the carpet showed no sign of the footwear, and you remembered really wearing shoes to the party. ‘So, where is it?’

After searching for what seemed like twenty minutes, you plopped down on your knees in front of the bed. ‘Maybe Todoroki knows where it is?’ A stupid suggestion, why would a sleeping man know the location of your shoes? He was not psychic; and if you did not know the place, how on Earth would he know?

But that did not stop you from asking either.

“Good morning, dear. Happen to know where my shoes are?” You joked.

It was barely a whisper, a joke for your ears only; a gag really to soothe yourself during moments of distress. He was not supposed to reply, you weren’t expecting a reaction either, so you slumped. If you could handle three back to back shifts at the hospital without a break, you can handle walking out of this damned apartment without shoes.

By the shine of the bright light outside, and knowing it was a Sunday morning, there should not be a lot people to gawk at your unruly appearance. If you were lucky enough to hail a taxi in three minutes, all before the early joggers on the street gushed about your lack of footwear, you would be safe from the impending embarrassment.

Maybe, you could take a pair of slippers from the apartment? The hero will never know, and if he did, what kind of rich hero would search far and wide for a woman who stole his flip-flops? It was just some slippers! ‘All right, do it!’ You dared.

Just as you were about to stand up, a warm arm reached for your neck— the base of his palm wrapped around the back of your head, compelling your chest to rest on top of the bed. Mismatched eyes of gray and turquoise stared back at you—your stomach jumped, and you gulped, God was it that hot in here?— rather groggily, the corner of his lips smirked.

“Have you tried the shoe rack outside?” Todoroki murmured.

One blink, two blinks, three blinks. You hissed in realization. ‘Of course! Who brings their shoes inside?’ You had to be the dumbest drunk to have ever lived, you weren’t drunk right now per se, but, the alcohol must have done something to your brain. It was strong enough to make you forget simple Japanese customs, you wanted to smack your skull.

Eyes peeping at the man, you diverted your gaze sheepishly, the intense stare he had made you bashful, slightly making your insides churn and almost making you a spluttering mess. You glanced back at Todoroki, and tilted your head.

“W-Were you awake this whole time? I-I thought I saw you move…” You admitted.

He loosened his grip on your neck and rested his palm on your shoulder. “You were not exactly quiet,” he then traced tiny circles on your collar. “Falling off the bed…must have hurt, are you all right?”

Your face swiftly turned three shades darker. ‘He was awake!’ The moment you woke up in shock and slammed your bare ass on the floor, he was awake! ‘Naturally! He’s a god damned hero!’ Obviously, who wouldn’t stir awake from the loud smacking sound, and your cry of pain?

You squinted at the smirk on the corner of his lips. ‘He’s teasing you!’ He was awake this whole time… then, he must have felt your lips on his forehead, and heard the ‘good morning’, and the fumbling for your shoes, and the swipe of your fingers, and you playing with his hair, and everything else!

How was it possible to be this abashed? Your cheeks felt as if they were on fire, oh fuck, it had to do with his stupid little smirk, his stupid intense gaze, his stupid hold on you as if you meant something to him like—like you meant the world to him.

Oh, how your stomach kneaded at the thought.

“I’m… fine.” You snatched his hand and placed it on the bed.

By the way he looked at you, you reasoned out he was waiting for something. Gratitude for the night before sounds way too conceited, he did not seem like a narcissist. An apology for taking too much of his time and space sounded too sad, your heart ached and hearing him jab it with regrets would hurt.

What else was there to remember? God, did you puke into his suit, or clothes, did he want you to pay for his dry cleaning? You cringed, goodbye self-esteem.

“…I’ve never done this thing before, you know?” You spoke. “Ah, I don’t really know what happens the morning after…” Blushing, you pinched your fingers, a nervous habit. “I’ve… I mean… I watch those shows and… I know someone has to walk out after and seeing this isn’t my room, I have to walk out. Yes. Me.”

His face contorted, confused. “Why do you have to walk out?”

The whole purpose of walking out was to signify the end of a session, like you would tell him that. Basically, the room was unfamiliar territory, therefore, not your apartment. Who else would walk out if not you?

“This,” you gestured the room, “is your apartment. Not mine. Why would you walk out of your own apartment?”

“Yes, I know.” Todoroki said, matter-of-factly. “But, why?”

“What do you mean ‘but, why?’ Why? Me… and you… we aren’t even a thing! We just happened to—“ You pointed. “You! This is all your fault! If you just pretended to sleep and continue doing it, we wouldn’t have this awkward exchange in the first place!”

“You asked where your shoes were.”

“I didn’t actually think you were going to reply!”

He pulled himself into a sitting position and stretched his arms. You heard the sound of a crack followed by a soft groan, and his feet perched on the ground, right in front of where you stood. The sleepy man placed his chin on his closed fist, while his elbow laid on the top of his now crossed legs.

Todoroki sighed. “You did not answer the question. Why do you want to leave?”

There were a hundred reasons to leave. He was a top hero, a celebrity in the eyes of his followers, an untouchable God by his multitude of fangirls. You believed it was impossible to stay with someone like him, your ego would not allow it.

A part of you was scared. If you stayed, the chances of talking about what happened increases. Staying meant realizing you really slept with him, and in a way reconfirmed your feelings that you might actually stand a chance. Maybe your feelings were worth it, maybe he would give you a chance, and maybe your impossible love was never impossible at all, maybe—

“It’s— It’s… not proper…” You conceded. “You’re… you! And I’m me! I barely even know you and in all honesty… I don’t really remember what happened last night. I’m sorry, it’s better if we pretend this never happened.”

He paused for a while before answering. “Why? Do you hate it that much? Do you want to talk about it?”

You clenched your hands. It was infuriating how easily his words planted fantasies into your head. The way he phrased the sentence drove an idea down your throat. ‘Did he want you to stay?’

“The thing is… I don’t remember. Do you?” You replied.

“Of course…” He took a quick glance at your face, almost looking for something, before staring back at the curtains. “Are you married?”

‘Married? Married!’ You gaped. You could not begin to comprehend why he asked such a question. Did he think you were running away because you had someone waiting at home for you? Or did he ask because he tied the knot with someone else? God… did you sleep with a married man?

You don’t recall him being married. “No! I don’t have a ring on my finger…”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He added.

Oh, you breathed. Was that the reason why? Was he asking all these things because he felt inclined to know whether the woman he slept with had someone waiting for her at home? He was minimizing the potential of a possible scandal. You sunk at the thought. “Ah, I did… But that was months ago.”

Do all hook ups have these morning questionnaire sessions? Or was this a top hero only session, to reduce the possibility of a hot and spicy front page article on the tabloid? Oh, maybe he felt guilty. You glimpsed at the man, his eyes closed in ponder.

You were never one to snitch, and something like this was a secret that would never leave your lips, until, well… you were six feet down under. You deflated yet again, presuming after his barrage of questions, he would send you out the front door.  

“If it is not because you are married, not because you are taken, not because I did something wrong…” He began. “Then… stay.” His arms wrapped around your waist, while he leaned his forehead on your stomach.

Faint, you were going to faint. You heard it right, didn’t you? He said ‘stay’, not ‘leave and never come back,’ not ‘forget this, go,’ not ‘get away,’ he told you to stay. You died and went to heaven, didn’t you? Was it possible for someone like him to want you? Even if it was just for a moment, you wanted to succumb to the feeling of being loved.

Your face heated up, and your hands unconsciously reached for his head, dragging your fingers slowly between the locks of his hair. “…Are you this touchy with all the girls you sleep with?”

Right off the bat you tested the waters, almost grimacing at the implications. Why you formulated such a simple sentence into something with a double meaning, you never knew.

“No. Just you.”

Great. The issues with double ended questions. What did ‘just you’ mean? Did he sleep with a lot of women, and you were the only one he cuddled with so far? Did it mean something else? You had to pry further, not that it mattered whether he slept with other people.

“So… do you sleep with people this often or…?”

He scowled. “What makes you think I take anyone I see to bed?” Todoroki swiftly twisted you around, facing your back, and pulled your body to his lap. “…Only you.” He mumbled.

Ah, you instantly felt relieved. Though, the reassurance only managed to disorient you even further. What happened at the bar? What conversations happened during the hours of the party? What did you say to make him interested? Was he really interested? Maybe, by the way he was holding you right now, his body language proved he was.

Your stomach stirred at the close contact, pulse racing as he settled one hand on your thigh while the other swaddled your waist. “…Do you really not remember?”

You wanted to recall as well. “I don’t… sorry.”

He sighed in defeat. “All right.”

His breaths caressed the back of your neck, sending goosebumps all over your body. You shook your head and forced yourself to breathe, breathe in, and out, in and out, in and— were you being cuddled by the Todoroki Shouto on his fucking bed, why me? Out of all the women in this world, Japan rather, why would he be wrapping his warm arms around you— breathe out!

Everything was so confusing, so perplexing, so—a prank! ‘Ha ha ha, good job everyone!’ You mused. ‘Time to reveal yourselves, you assholes!’ Your list of ‘bastards who pissed you off for a living’ had hundreds of guys. The idiot from work, the bartender near your apartment, your next door neighbor who played rock music at 3 in the morning, stupid Monoma who fucked around at the hospital.

You sighed. One more time, one more phrase of reassurance. Just one more. And you’ll stop asking.

“Hey, hey… Todoroki?” You nudged him with your head, gently. You heard a soft ‘hm’ and continued. "Are you really Todoroki?”

He paused. “…Shouto.”

“I know who you are,” You hummed, a smile flickering your features. “I mean, is it really you? You’re like this… cool hero. A celebrity, really. And I’m just… sitting on your lap, in your room, in your apartment, wherever this place is.”

His grip tightened on your waist. “Who else would I be?”

“Monoma trying to fuck around and fuck up my feelings.”

“Ah, trust me, princess. I would not let that happen.” His so soft voice, sent shivers down your spine. “…Do you really not remember?”

Knock out! He called you ‘princess’, princess, princessprincessprincess. Such an endearing word for a stranger, oh but you love it so. You took a double take, the word was very familiar. Very familiar. It was difficult to pin point a certain time or place, but…

You pinched his ear. “Why do you keep asking? Was it that good that you can’t stop talking about…?”

“We talked about this right before I took you to bed and you—“

“You know what,” You spluttered. “Never mind! Don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out on my own.”

The tips of your own ears tinged red, you could feel the heat. Learning more of what happened last night made you squirm, …it will flow back eventually. You hoped.  Learning about it from the man himself made you embarrassed, super embarrassed. Knowing he was the type to be nonchalant about everything, he might describe the whole night without any reservations.

Feeling braver, you wiggled yourself into a position that had your legs wrapped around his waist and your head rested on the crook of his neck. Cloud nine, you sighed. This is what cloud nine feels like.

You closed your eyes and listened to the beats of his heart, the rhythm pulling you quicker and quicker into the sensation of sleep. As long as the man himself told you to stay, you shall indeed stay, God, you wanted to stay.

Eyes moving under your lids, one memory emerged— and boy did it send your heart tumbling. You yelped in reaction, eyelids immediately snapping open.

“Hm?” Todoroki asked, certainly with a teasing tone. A fraction of smirk was displayed on his lips. He had sort of an inkling of what happened.

“Nothing, nothing.” You deflected, snuggling your head back into the crook of his shoulder, a way to hide your forthcoming blush.

Warmth was his breath on your neck, trailing kisses down your collarbone, as his teeth lightly nipped the base of your throat. Your head blanked at the pleasure, the heat, the excitement— and only he, calling your name pulled you out of your drunken stupor, though the words he muttered afterwards sent you into a crying mess.

“…I love you.”

[factual-fantasy]

Answering 14 Asks. Ranging from advice, to my characters, to the rules for drawing fanart. (I’m allowing it now btw)

..You know? Since the last time this has ben mentioned I started thinking.

I would love to see fan art of my characters, and now I know you guys want to draw them. Originally I didn’t want anyone to draw my OCs for my own safety. This post goes into detail on that. But I’ve been thinking.. and I think I might’ve found a way to let people draw fan art of my ocs without exposing anything. With rules. If what you plan to draw “breaks the rules” that means that its one of those “exposing things” I talked about.

Man I am such a sissy. I just don’t want to be bashed for anything. But okay look, here are the “rules” for my fan art.

You absolutely are allowed to draw my characters in one of these categories.

Draw a character that you like posing or smiling to show them off.

Cool action scenes! Most of them are soldiers after all.

Interacting with some of the real team prime members is 100% okay. Especially Volvo and Ratchet because they're supposed to be friends.

Drawing Brown Suburban and Bash Buggy hanging out with the other Wreckers!

Drawing two or more established friends goofing around and having innocent fun. 

Drawing a character with an established sad backstory being sad or crying it out. With or without someone that has been established as their friend.

Redrawing scenes that I have already drawn to see it in your style.

If I have mentioned a character likes something, you could draw them with it. An example would be Ranger looking out over a river because she loves water.

You’re allowed to draw me with the characters, although I am kiiiinda a fourth wall break? I’m not really supposed to exist in their world.. So, if you really wanna, you can draw me, but I wouldn't encourage it.

Ones I would not be okay with though..

Drawing my characters getting drunk/drinking. <:/ Not on board with that..

Drawing any of my characters, wearing, talking about or supporting anything political or controversial.. Whether it be over the top or subtle.

No uh.. no ships please, Red Van and Suburban are okay but nothing overly sexual please. :}

No fourth wall breaks please. I know I have had my slip ups but I would like to keep a wall up in between their world and ours. I.E no drawing yourself with them..

Well uh.. that’s about it I suppose. You can basically draw anything, Just no ships, nothing overly sexual or political and keep the fourth wall breaks to a minimum. I myself need to work on not breaking the fourth wall.

I guess that’s it. So if you want to draw fanart for me, and it “follows the rules”? I am bouncing off the walls excited to see what you make for me! Link to their character sheets is here, keep in mind it may be edited now and then.

I am officially giving my fans permission to draw my OCs as long as it “follows the rules”, Have fun drawing!!

Escort would be like, 

When it comes to digital, I use a small Intuos pro Wacom tablet. The model is PHT-451. I’m just reading things off the back of it here. It looks like this.

When it comes to traditional drawing, I use nothing but the finest Walmart mechanical pencils and sketch books. I also usually have a standard pink school eraser on hand as well. :}

Hmm.. If they could use a bouncy castle.. Well,

Brown Suburban and Suburban wouldn’t use it for the same reasons. They’re both too big and it would just make them tired. However, if the the kiddos wanted him to, Suburban would just shrug and hop on.

Miata would be on it before its even fully blown up. She’d love bounce houses.

Escort wouldn’t use it because he’s old and weak. Trying to jump up and down like that would tire him out super fast and would just make him ache probably. Poor baby, he’d probably want to though.🥺

U.M.Dragster would be hopping on it before it was fully blown up along side Miata.

A.T.Dragster would like it but would pretend not to.

Green Truck and Vega wouldn’t do it because they’re old and that would really tire them out. But Vega would want to even though he really shouldn’t.

Red Van would like to jump with the kids, but she cant. After what those cons did to her knees.. she can barley walk, let alone jump. repeatedly.

White Truck would love to jump on a bounce house and would have a ton of fun with it. Although due to his size and strength he would probably get tired faster than Miata and U.M. would.

Beluga and Jeepy would love to, and they would. But just like White Truck, they’re big and would get tired pretty quickly I feel.

With enough coaxing, Honda would like to jump on the bounce house too. And she would have a decent amount of energy left over.

Ranger would say she doesn’t want to and wouldn’t go on it. But she lowkey actually wants to join, she just doesn’t want to seem silly.

Volvo: No.

Bash Buggy would probably want to, but would shy away. He cant see people all that well and parts tend to fall off of him. He imagines he’s not all that clean either so he wouldn’t want to get the bounce house dirty and covered in bolts and screws.

A Decepticon.. that one ugly one.? And I know which one?? 

I actually don’t know which one. I know its not one of mine, because I’ve never drawn them before.

I know its not Knock Out, because he was designed to look attractive. Its not Break Down because he’s not ugly and he’s..... uh, dead..... Its not Soundwave because you cant see his face. Its not Shockwave because.. well, I don't think he’s ugly. Is it Megatron? Starscream?

Who are you talking about???

Its weird how Bash is the idiot when Bulkhead was the one who asked, “Were you killed??” and ALL FOUR OF THEM were relieved when he said he lived.

Isaac sounds so cool! I really like how you structured his character, he sounds like a really fun guy, and yeah, I bet they would really get along swell XD

Well here’s the thing, I can only really tell you the age of the real cars and how old I imagined them being in Transformer years. The reason why is because I don't know how long Cybertronians live and cant use any of the other characters as a reference.

Bumblebee is seen as the youngest, and Ratchet I think is seen as the oldest. Like Teenager vs elder kind'a thing. If I knew how old they were, I could compare them to my OCs and give you a proper age.. but I cant find any info, so this’ll just have to do for now. <:{

Now, normally I have a rule of thumb that I follow. The characters Cybertronian age should at least match up a little with their car age. 40 years is really old for a car, so the character should be really old in robot years. 40 years would translate to like 50 or 60 in Cybertronian years if you get what I’m saying. So, Here’s the age of the real life cars and how old I imagined them to be in Cybertronian years. From oldest to youngest.

Green Truck was made in 1972, he is 48 years old. I pictured him being in his late 50s, coming on 60 years old in Cybertronian years.

Vega was made in 1974, he is 46 years old. I pictured him being in his mid 50s somewhere, in Cybertronian years of course.

Brown Suburban was made in 1978, he is 42 years old. Despite him not being that old in real life, I thought of him being ancient in Cybertronian years. Like, he’s closing up on 90 or something and yet he’s still super strong and in fighting condition. The idea was that Bulkhead and Wheeljack were surprised to see him on Earth, they both kind’a though he had died of age by then. 

Escort was made in 1986, he is 34 years old. Not too old, but I portray him as if he’s reaching his 50s in Cybertronian years.

Suburban was made in 1988, he is 32 years old. I always pictured him being somewhere in his mid forty's in Cybertronian years.

Bash Buggy was made in 1990, he is 30 years old. I kind’a pictured him being somewhere in his 30s actually, so that works out.

Red Van was made in 1993, she is 27 years old. I thought she could be in her very early 40s. Like 41 or maybe 42 years old.

Miata was made in 1994, she is 26 years old. I always pictured her being like in her early twenties. Think 22 to 23.

I haven’t talked about him yet, but Duck Truck was made in 1996, and is 24 years old. He’s one of the Decepticons, his year was written down so I figured I’d add him in too. I always pictured him as a younger Cybertronian, like in his 20s somewhere.

Jeepy was made in 1996, he is 24 years old. Which is actually how old I always pictured him being. Young and full of spirit, probably about 24 years old in Cybertronian years.

Ranger was also made in 1996, she is also 24 years old. But I pictured her being somewhere in her late 30s, closing in in 40.

White Truck was also made in 1996, he also is 24 years old. But I pictured him being rather young, maybe just getting to 20 or a tiny bit older. Not quite at 24 I feel.

Volvo was made in 1998, he is 22 years old. But I feel this old crank pot would fit being around 30 to 35 years old better.

Honda was made in 2000, she is 20 years old. That’s just about how old I imagined her being, maybe a little older though? Maybe 23 to 24 or something.

Beluga was made in 2004, she is 16 years old. I always pictured her being closer to her big sisters age though, so maybe about 20 to 22 years old.

Then... there’s the Dragsters.. and here’s the thing.. U.M.Dragster was made in 2006, so he is 14 years old.. he is our youngest car. Then there’s A.T.Dragster, she was made in 1969, which makes her a whopping 51 years old and our oldest car to date.

This is where I broke that age rule.. I wanted these two to be twins for a multitude of reasons. But how could they be? One is 14 and one is 51, how can they be twins? So I thought okay, they cant be twins, period. ...but they at least need to be siblings, their history demands it. But how would that work?

There are 37 years of age in between them. If they were siblings they couldn’t have grown up together because of the age difference, so there wouldn't be that sibling bond.. But that’s what I want for them at least, is for them to be siblings that grew up together.

So I figured I had two options. I could either follow the age rule that I had structured for everyone else, and just either make them related in some other way other than siblings, or make them not related at all..

Or.. I could completely break the rule so that these two could be siblings.

I’m sure you know which one I went with. I couldn't justify them being twins though because the age difference still bugged me, so they’re just siblings.

A.T is supposed to be in her late 20s, and her little brother U.M is in his early 20s.

When it comes to the real team prime?

I imagined Optimus was like.. in his 40s or something?

I imagined Ratchet is in his 50s somewhere, maybe closing in on 60?

Bulkhead might be somewhere in his 30s.

Wheeljack could be in his 30s too, but I always saw him being a little older than the others.. maybe closing in on 40?

Bumblebee always came off as like a teen, but realistically he might just be early 20s.

Arcee seems like she might be in her late 20s somewhere.

Smokescreen seems to be early 20s, not sure if he’s older or younger than Bumblebee though.

I felt like Ultra Magnus could be in his 40s, but he’d be younger than Optimus I’d guess.

Ohh! That’s a clever one! :DD Well lets see, let me go through the list. XD

Suburban would probably tell you about the war itself, not really about his past specifically. Like, he’d tell you how the war started and what his job was as a medic. But he wouldn't tell you any of the gruesome stuff or much else, for his own sake and yours.

As far as Miata’s story has developed, she hasn’t experienced anything particularly traumatic. So she’d probably fill you in on all that she can remember.

Escort would tell you some stuff, but he wouldn’t tell you anything about what happened after the war on Cybertron. If you asked him he’d get pretty fidgety and would probably get upset.

Brown Suburban would tell you all the wrecker stories in the book, but would try and avoid the stories he thought you couldn’t handle. When it comes to his story specifically though.. he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Both Dragsters wouldn’t want to share their pasts, but might talk about their childhoods if you were nice enough.

Green Truck would probably tell you his whole life story, but would sugar coat it and gloss over the gruesome and traumatic details.

Vega would tell you everything he remembers. He would tell you about his life story, his family and his friends.. but then the story would abruptly cut, and Vega would kind’a get this.. strange look on his face. You’d ask, “What happens next?” And he would just quietly go, “..I.. I don’t know. Everything just.. goes black there. It was dark for a long time.. and then I just.. woke up.. thousands of years older than I was when I went to sleep.” 

Red Van and Beluga would tell you the happy parts of their pasts and gloss over or sugar coat the gruesome parts. 

If you coaxed him enough, White Truck would tell you everything, good and bad. But he’d be nervous or uncomfortable through most of it and it would put him in a weird mood for the rest of the day.

Honda would tell you in great detail about everything she remembers. But she would clam up when she got to the part of the story that talks about her first mission.

Ranger would tell you everything, good and bad, but would lighten it up a little bit as to not freak you out too much.

It would take some convincing, but Volvo would probably share a few interesting stories here and there. His past is not a pretty one, and he feels no reason to share it with anyone, unless its for educational reasons.

Jeepy wouldn’t tell you much. He doesn’t like to think about his past. But he would boast all day to anyone about that one time he saved someone's life or that time he got away from a dangerous situation unscathed.

Bash Buggy doesn’t like to talk about it much, but he would give you a general timeline of sorts. Like, “This happened, and then this, and then this guy came and this happened, and then this big thing happened, and a couple thousand years later I’m here.” kind’a thing.

It was redraw of that one meme from Ice age XD

But in all honesty, he probably has suffered enough damage at several points in his life that shut him down or at least should’ve, but he somehow got back up and kept moving.

The first thing he did when he woke up and really processed it, was he went to go wake up Suburban and show him.

I.. think you’re talking about this one? Haven’t seen the movie but it seems fun XD. My taste in movies is 𝒟𝒾𝓈𝓃𝑒𝓎.

You think what you’ve seen is cute? Boi you haven’t seen what he’s like when he’s trying to comfort someone. XD

First off, how dare you make me cry with your sickly sweet and heart felt words. Second off, thank you so much! And third, I can go over the process of how the 16 of them came to be if it’ll help. Don’t worry I’ll try and sum it up. 

So, with other types of characters all this unique personality stuff would be pretty hard.. but with these real life cars turned into Transformers stuff? It was kind’a easy for me to do this.

For one, I based the cars personalities off of the vibe that the cars always gave off to me, and their drivers personalities. The best example being Honda. I always saw the car having this sweet and gentle vibe, and her driver is the same way. So as a character, I just gave her what felt most familiar when looking at that car.

Brown Suburban has always gave off the vibe that I designed him with. The strong and silent type, but with a big heart for kids and family. *cough cough* the wreckers *cough cough*.

With Volvo I didn’t really have either things to base him off of, so I just basically copied Ratchet and shifted his personality around a bit.

With Bash Buggy though, he’s a new edition to the family. We got him this year I believe. So I just designed a bot that could match how his car looks, and a personality came with it. He could have an adventurous personality, which is why he’d be in dangerous situations and always get hurt. And then I think, “Hey! He could be a Wrecker! A really tiny one!”. The personality stuff was just kind’a there already or was easy to imagine.

Now.. their bodies.. uh.. well, I started with the same thing every time If I remember right. I would take the front of the car, take it apart or split it and rearrange it on the chest of the transformer.

With Red Van, I took the face of the car, split it down the center and spread them apart to make the breast plates.

I basically did this with everyone else too. Just cut up the face of the car and rearranged them and put them on the chest of the transformers. Here’s Green Truck, Volvo and Vega as some more examples.

Well, I notice now my mistake now.. You see Optimus, Ratchet, Bumblebee and Arcee have windows on their bodies. The glass parts of their forms don't just shatter and disappear, the glass windows either rest on their chests or back wings. I should have put windows on some of their chests, and not put the tires or their back so much. But eh, you live and you learn. I’ll do better with the cons.

Now, when it comes to the arms and legs of the transformers, I just drew what felt right.. I don’t know what to tell you.. I can try to show you my thought process maybe?

Red Van is square, but round, not sharp like Suburban. She is more hollow than she is dense and she is not very complicated. In looks, and in functionality. I also wanted key features of hers to be present on her body to help identify her. Such as her silver trim, her hood ornament, etc. 

So, with all these things in mind, I drew a character that matched the car and had all the mentioned features.

The face is more complicated.. but here’s what I remember thinking.

Its complicated.. uhg, I don’t even know if this is helping.

But basically, I based the characters off of the cars they are, the history they have, and the people who drive them. For personality and looks. 

By taking the car, deconstructing some parts of it and rearranging them on the body of the character, it makes things a little easier. And if the character is modelled after someone that already exists, it makes constructing their personality a lot easier.

Overall, this is all I can really tell you. Most of their designing was just stuff I pulled out of my aft and slapped on the paper. I have no idea how I thought of these things but I did, and now they’re here.

I hope this was somewhat informative, I know I probably didn’t explain it well or even answer your question.. If I didn’t, please. ask me again so I can actually try to help you.

Anyway, thank you for the ask. I took it as a huge compliment and it got me all giddy, XD I hope I was at least a little help in your artistic adventures. :} ♡

[peaches-of-1]

Peachtober | Day 26: Cave

Human!Reader x Orc!Monster Woo

Warnings: Monster smex, size difference, choking

Citrus scale: Hand of Buddha

A/N: I swear the closer we get to Halloween, the more smut I’ve been writing, but like. Isn’t that what the Halloween Spirit is about? Monster fuckin’?

“Stay away from the cave.” They said. “A monster lives there.”

These words had been said to you year after year. The local kids and teenagers alike would dare one of their own, usually the one most full of fear in general, to go place something in front of the cave or to go inside for a certain amount of times. Parents would usually stop and scold them before they went too far. That didn’t stop them from trying. Some would claim to have gone in the dead of night, to have met the monster inside the cave.

Of course, no one would ever believe anyone to be brave enough or stupid enough to go near te rocky enterance. No one was allowed to roam at night. Sometimes, those who claimed to have gone to the beast’s home disappeared soon after. Missing? Taken? Sent away? Answers were rarely given to the youngers.

Even when they were given, there was no promise that they would be believed in the slightest.

“Come away from there. The monster will come get you if you misbehave!” Jessi said to her young cousin who had started to wander off.

Heechul called from his porch, “Ah, let her get taken. It’ll serve her right.”

You were returning home with your friends from school when you four stumbled upon this interaction, backpacks places firmly on backs and books clutched to chests.

She rolled her eyes and pointed at him, “I’ll bring you to the beast myself if you ever talk about my cousin like that again!” and held the small one’s hand to take her inside.

Jennie whispered, “My dad said that the Monster likes to choke the people who go into his cave and likes girls more than boys.”

Dahyun rolled up her sleeve, “If the monster ever got close to any of my friends, I’d make sure he’d no longer have hands to choke with.”

Rena laughed, “You’re so amazing, Dahyun! I would love to see you fight.”

“Maybe I can teach you so that you can do it yourself.” Said the silver haired girl with confidence.

The blonde girl with brown roots smiled shyly, “I...I don’t think it’d work well at all. I’m not very good at--”

You spoke up, “I’m sure you’d do great! You’re such a fast learner.”

“RENA! WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT LOLLYGAGGING AFTER SCHOOL?” A parent called with anger like hot coals. “Get over her right now!”

She bowed to us and quickly went to the steps, getting pulled in and berated with words that wouldn’t last too long. However, it would be followed with being completely ignored until the next time.

Dahyun kicked the ground, “I’d like to kick their butt with my fists.” she pouted.

Jennie put her hand on the back of her friend and soon enough it was time to get home. All of you had seen the ‘mysterious’ bruises and how jumpy she sometimes was. She liked to daydream and would do amazing things! Still, it seemed like she would be better off and be able to make those dreams become reality if she were not where she currently was.

So you did the only thing you could do, sneak away and go towards the cave with an offering. One thing that had been agreed upon among all the stories of this horrible monster is that he liked sweets, particularly carrot cake. It was mostly banned other than from when there was a festival where a rather large one was made and placed at the mouth of the cave to keep the monster from taking too many people.

You only had some banana nut muffins that you said were for Jennie. It was still light out, but it would be dusk soon. So you set the muffins at a secret entrance and called into it with a brave voice.

“Monster Woo! I call upon you! Um, I have a friend who needs your help to get away. I brought you some muffins. She is hurt more on the inside than the outside and if you could get her to someplace nicer, I’d be forever grateful.” You looked around to make sure you were still alone before taking off your bracelet. “Return my bracelet to me once she’s safe.”

And off you went back home.

Three days later, your bracelet was on your windowsill when you got home. Rena didn’t show up to school today either. Had he really done what you asked? You looked out the window and smiled, deciding to quickly “run out for flowers” when instead you wanted to go back to the cave.

“Monster Woo! I call on you! This isn’t a request or anything, but I wanted to thank you for taking care of my friend.” Then you began to turn away. “That’s all!”

A voice rumbled from deep within, “Do you want to go somewhere else too?”

You looked at the ground, rubbing your arm, “What makes you ask?”

“You came to me not for a game to play, but with good intention in your heart. I do not think you belong here, Y/N.” He said.

Your head shot up, “How do you know my name?”

He replied, “I know everyone in this town whether or not they want me to. I’ve been here before them, and I will be here long after they’re gone.”

“That means you’re not human then...What are you?”

“Why don’t you come see for yourself?” His voice held something alluring now, like you wanted to say yes right away. “I think you deserve a reward for being such a good girl.”

A shiver went down your spine, “I...I have home-homework I need to do.”

“Please? Let me give you a prize for doing so well.” A hand unfurled before you. It looked like a hand in this dark area under the trees.

“Y/N! Where are you? We have a project to do! Y/N!” Dahyun’s voice called.

You grabbed the hand, and it pulled you in without hesitation The next thing you noticed as that you were pressed up against the chest of a rather large being. There was the warmth of another human but also way hotter than any healthy human should ever feel. Letting yourself step back, you defied all the nerves in your body to look up at what everyone had called the Monster.

Monster Woo was a large man with green skin and teeth larger and sharper than any creature you had ever laid eyes upon. Somehow, you were supposed to be scared. Any one else would be and yet. You placed your hand on his arm.

“You’re hurt.”

“Aren’t you afraid?” He asked, confused.

You shook your head and swallowed, “No, I actually have a thing for height difference.” feeling your cheeks heat up at the confession.

An adorably bassy chuckle came from his throat, “Then this is going to be a reward I think you’ll enjoy.”

Before you could ask what he was talking about, he pulled you closer to him and ensured your eyes were on his before kissing you deeply. His tusks didn’t get in the way at all, but you could feel them rubbing your cheeks. You felt yourself getting light headed from lack of breath just as he pulled away.

You coughed and he apologized. Sometimes he forgot that you humans had smaller lungs than himself. Instinctively, you assured him it was ok. You liked the kiss and he blushed in reply and asked if you wanted...more than a kiss. An excited nod in reply, and so he took you deeper and ever deeper into the endless winding caverns of his home.

A noise scared you, and you found yourself clinging to his muscular and decorated arm.

“I didn’t know orcs got tattoos too.”

He smiled, “What else am I supposed to do alone in here? Anyways, here we are.” and stopped in his tracks. “Stay here, Little One.”

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip to keep the moan from escaping your mouth. Just those words had gotten you so excited being said with that voice! That voice that sounded like a raging storm lulling you to sleep right after drinking hot cocoa while reading your favorite boo or drawing in a worn notebook.

“W-What’s your name?” You blurted out in your nervousness.

The giant looked back at you, puzzled by the question while in such a mood, “Youngwoo. I really do adore you, Little One. Pardon me if I’m being too forward, but I would like you to show your adoration by helping me with something.”

“Y...yea?”

He pulled down his pants to reveal the largest cock you had ever seen, and you had walked in on the soccer team having a dick measuring contest before. A few seconds of eye contact and a sheepish smile from Youngwoo, and your heart never felt so full. It wouldn’t fit by any measure into any orifice you had, but you were for sure you were going to try.

“Guess my homework will be a bit late.” You said before getting on your knees and using your minuscule tongue to lap at the dripping tip.

A low growl which sounded much like a purr came out of Youngwoo’s mouth, “Ah, yes, right there, Y/N.”

You liked the entire pole up and down like it were a lime flavored lollipop, sucking on the balls which reminded you of two heavy matcha flavored mochis. Grateful moans began falling from the...from Youngwoo’s mouth. He even covered his mouth when he felt as though he were being too noisy. Then you stopped working your tongue on his cock and pouted.

“I want to hear you, Youngwoo~ It makes me feel better when I know how good I’m making you feel.”

His eyes trained on your body which was pressing legs together in an attempt to hold back the last bit of dignity you had.

Youngwoo smiled, “Only if you do the same. Spread your legs.”

You did as told and he used two large fingers to graze across your front which was making puddles in your underwear. He kissed you again before ripping your clothes from your body and saying he was sorry. In your haze, you were able to mumble “It’s ok.” before straddling his balls that were so large that it was like sitting on a twin sized mattress and not uncomfortable for him. Kisses and licks on his length resumed as growls and bellows of joy and lust left his mouth.

“That feels so good, Little One.” he said and freely let curses fly.

Every inch of your body was becoming covered in his precum, making you glisten just as his cock was. The torch flames could not match the heat between your legs as you began to hump and rut against his giant balls, making the scene even wetter.

“Unggg, hold on tight, Little One.” Youngwoo grunted out.

You held onto him even tighter as the twitching of his cock made the world feel a bit like a roller coaster. Although, you had never before gotten this wet on any sort of amusement park ride. Your whole body was doused in his semen and completely marked by him and his scent. The experience made you reach your own orgasm, climaxing on a hard ridge of his length as you slid down onto the floor, your chest heaving.

Maybe you’d have to make your visits to the monster a regular thing.

[iblue-kitzune]

Late Night Party Out at Stark’s Place

With a small sigh, Tony leaned back into the armrest of the soft leather sofa he laid stretched out on and closed his eyes. The temptation to give into sleep was there, just lingering at the edge of his mind, but he was neither tired or in the right mood for a nap. His body was still too wired from the food and drinks he consumed at the party he just left a few minutes ago, which was still going strong out front in his yard. He remembered something about his head hurting and complained to some of the guys afterwards. He didn't want to leave, but they gave him no choice and, without warning, shoved him back inside.

"Argh!" he grabbed his head, grinding his teeth together at the sharp pain that ran along his temples.

"Here," came a young woman's voice.

Tony tensed as a pair of small hands covered his larger ones, but then he relaxed once he felt a familiar wave of soothing energy wash over him, and the man couldn't help the relieved groan that left his mouth when those lithe fingers he knew oh-so well started rubbing his forehead.

"I take it that this beats Tylenol or Aleve any day."

Tony opened his eyes and found brown eyes of the same shade as his staring back at him. A soft smile crossed his lips as he sat up and rubbed his daughter’s bluish-black hair.

"Definitely!" he kissed the crown of her head and laid back down. "Thanks, sweetheart."

"You're welcome, dad," Kagome smiled and removed her hands from her father's head.

"I guess Tony wasn't the only one suffering from a headache around here."

The two looked up and saw Jane sitting across from them on the other sofa with a sleeping Loki draped over her body, his head resting comfortably on her lap as she absentmindedly ran her fingers through his raven hair.

"Too bad you weren't here earlier, Kagome. I could've used your help with Loki here," Jane gestured to the dark haired god with her other hand.

Kagome raised a brow. 

"From the looks of it, you managed to do the job just fine," she smirked. Though her brow did rise higher when she caught the twitch of Loki's hand in his sleep.

"After a bit of arguing and telling him to lay down, yes I did," Jane looked away with a small frown on her face.

Tony furrowed his brows and focused his eyes a bit more on the two. Their party clothes did look a little rough and dishevel in some areas along with their hair. And was that a slight blush he saw on her face?

"Something tells me that a little more than Reindeer Games getting a headache went on."

Jane's face burned bright in anger. Or was that embarrassment? 

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Tony! Nothing of that sort happened," she glared at him, spying the look he had in his eyes.

"Then—"

"If I told you, Loki would do more than kill me. Then he would go and do the same to you for knowing in the first place. I don't think you want that."

"The guy's asleep, Janie. What he won't know won't hurt him. Besides, what's the worst he can do?"

"I..."

"Would you like to find out, Stark?"

Tony froze.

Jane jumped in surprise and looked down. She blanched at the sight of her own hand in Loki's hair and immediately, yet gently, removed it as if she had been burned.

"Loki! You're awake!?" the young half-spirit squeaked, and hated herself for it, backing away from the god as he slowly sat up from his position on the couch.

"I am truly a bit disappointed in you, Jane. Surely you weren't thinking about telling dear Anthony here what we’d discussed in this room earlier, did you?"

Words could not express how Kagome felt about all of this, but she knew that her father and auntie figure were in for it now. The priceless look on her dad and Jane's face as well as the dangerous one on the trickster god's face said it all, and it made her laugh. 

                                             XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sounds of music and laughter rang through the air as a few animals ran around the front yard of Tony Stark’s home, weaving in out and out of people’s way as they chased a small group of children and teenagers around in a circle. They carefully slipped past a large group of adults sitting at the table, eating and drinking while playing a game of UNO, and almost ran into Pepper who just got done sitting a tray of food she had in her hands on another table.

Thankfully, she saw them and skirted out of the way in time, letting the kids run past her. 

“Be careful next time, children!” she shouted to their retreating forms.

One of the children stopped and looked back, her dark brown hair whipping to the side from the motion. 

“We will mom!” she said with a grin, her brown eyes twinkling just like the stars in the sky above them, and turned back around, securing the toy she had in her arms a bit more firmly.

“Hey wait up you guys!”

Just as she was about to join back up with her friends, the little girl spotted a familiar black haired man with amber eyes land on the ground from the roof he’d just left.

“Uncle Jude!” she ran over to him.

The spiky haired man turned around to see Tony’s youngest daughter, who was now eight years old, stop in front of him. 

“Hello Morgan!” he smiled down at the girl when she hugged him, and right as he was about to return the hug, his eyes caught onto what she was holding in her arms. “What’cha got there?” he asked curiously.

Morgan took a moment to back up, releasing the man, who she viewed as one of her many uncles, as she did so, and flipped the toy around for Jude to see. 

It was a giant sized purple and black bat plushie with yellow eyes that had black triangular markings on the inner corners of its eyes, small wings with black hands in the middle joint areas, large ears, and small feet. And for some finishing touches, from what he could see, there was a small blue and green checkered pattern bow-tie wrapped around its neck along with some black shades that were sitting on top of its head.

“Oh! A Noibat plushie!” Jude’s smile grew, immediately recognizing the Pokemon toy in her arms, and looked it over until his eyes came across a tear in its right wing. “Oh no!” he exclaimed with a frown on his face. “What happened to Noibat?” 

Morgan mimicked his expression as she, too, looked down at the plushie. 

“Noby got stuck in-between my drawer and bookcase in my room last night, and ripped when I got him free,” she explained sadly. 

“That’s terrible,” he said, his frown deepened as he reached out and gently rubbed the plushie’s damaged wing in-between his fingers. 

Morgan nodded as her uncle let Noby go. She looked up and held the Pokemon plushie out to him. 

“Can you fix Noby for me, Uncle Jude?” she asked, hope swimming in her eyes and her voice.

Jude gave her a solemn yet reassuring look. 

“Sure! Just leave it to me,” he carefully took Noby into one of his arms and looked at the plush for a few moments. “Give me a few hours and I’ll have him fixed up in no time okay?” he smiled, looking back at the eight year old.

“Okay!” Morgan replied, returning his smile with her own. 

Jude chuckled and lightly ruffled the the little girl’s hair with his free hand, ignoring her indignant “hey!” as he turned her around afterwards. 

“Now go on and continue playing with your friends, Morgan. I can see that they’re waiting for you right there,” he pointed at the other children standing near an empty table up ahead before giving her a light push forward.

Morgan looked back at him with a nod before turning back around. She fixed her hair and ran back over to her group of friends, waving at them as she did so.

A sigh left the spiky haired man as he sat down in one of the three empty chairs sitting on the front porch and dropped Noby in his lap. 

“This tear shouldn’t be too hard to fix,” he mumbled to himself, staring at the plushie with a thoughtful look in his eyes.

“Hey, that’s my little sister’s Pokemon plushie...” he heard the front door open and a pair of footsteps walking over to him. “Are you going to stitch him up?”

Jude looked up to see Kagome standing next to him. 

“Yep! Is Tony still inside dealing with his headache?”

“Oh that...” Kagome looked back at the door she came out of. “No. I already took care of that along with someone else’s headache but...”

Jude raised a brow at the expression on her face. 

“But what?” he prompted.

A sweat drop appeared on the side of Kagome’s head. 

“Loki got into a little scuffle with Dad and Jane because of the former’s teasing and what the latter was about to do,” she carefully explained. “He, umm...” she paused and then released a sigh under her breath. “Nevermind. You’ll see if you go inside.”

“I...see,” was all Jude could say.

Kagome nodded.

“Well, I’m gonna need to go inside to use the restroom anyway so...” Jude trailed off as he picked Noby up and handed him over to the young black-bluish haired woman. “Can you hold onto him for me?” he asked as he stood up from his seat.

Kagome gave the man a smile. 

“Sure thing, uncle,” she said, holding the Pokemon toy loosely in her arms.

Once that was done, Jude walked past her, heading towards the front door.

                                             XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At the sound of the front door being opened, Jane looked up to see Jude walk in and close the door behind him. When he turned around, she caught the expression on his face the second he spotted her. And she didn’t blame him when he stopped to stare at her and Tony, who was unfortunately fetching a ball for Loki much to his embarrassment. Not like she was in a much better position either, she mused, grumbling something inaudible under the God of Mischief’s hand. 

‘Oh...’ then suddenly, she purred, much to her embarrassment, when he hit the right spot behind her left ear. “Jude...help...nya,” she spoke, her voice a little strained as she reluctantly leaned into the hand, melting under his ministrations.

“Umm...” Jude looked down to see a brown colored dog with brown eyes run past his feet with a ball in his mouth and looked up to see a purring brown colored cat with golden brown-amber eyes sitting in Loki’s lap and being petted by him. “Do I even want to know why Jane’s a cat and Tony is a dog?” he asked, lamely.

Loki raised a brow at the young man, but otherwise said nothing as he lounged back on the couch like he owned the place, feet propped up on the table in front of him, and accepted the ball Tony gave him. 

“Woof!”

His green eyes drifted downward to see the dog wagging his tail despite the frustrated look on his furry face, and with a smirk, he removed his hand from Jane’s furry head to pet him. 

“Again if you will, Stark...” he moved his hand away and threw the ball with his other one, watching the dog run after the toy seconds later. “Now Dr. Mathis...” he looked back up to see Jude still standing there, looking dumbfounded, “Is there something else you’d like to ask?” and went back to petting Jane.

“Huh?” Jude snapped out of shock but not before sweat-dropping at the sight of Jane now cuddling up to Loki who didn’t mind her affection one bit. Though his jaw almost dropped in shock when the raven haired god smiled and returned her hug. “Err, no...” he finally said and forced himself to walk away from the...adorable sight...and from the guilt he could feel swelling up in his chest when Jane and Tony shot him pleading looks. “I was just heading towards the restroom,” he said, exiting the living room and turning a corner.

‘I’m so sorry you guys. I’ll make it up to you one day.’

                                             XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Once one a.m. rolled around and everyone was getting ready to leave, after they helped the Stark family clean up of course, Jude walked over to Morgan with Noby in his arms. 

“Here you go! Noby’s all fixed now,” Jude held the Noibat plushie out to the eight year child, who took it gingerly.

Morgan let out a small yet delighted squeal when she discovered the rip was no longer there. And what made her even more happy was the fact that Noby looked cleaner than he ever had been, which meant that Uncle Jude washed him earlier too. 

“Thank you Uncle Jude!” she handed her plushie over to her mother and turned back around to hug Jude.

The spiky haired man crouched and returned the hug with a small smile.

“You’re welcome, Morgan!” he released the girl seconds later and stood up, looking over in Pepper’s direction. He waved good-bye at her and turned around, stuffing his hands inside of his pants’ pockets.

As he was leaving, he walked past Clint who was talking with Tony and Jane. And from what he spotted, the two were thankfully back to normal.

“What’s up with you two? Both of you have been acting strange around Loki ever since the three of you came back outside. Did he...do something to you two?” he heard the man ask.

“Well...” Jane said before trailing off.

Jude didn’t even have to look back to know that the two were sweating bullets.

“You don’t want to know,” the half-spirit woman finally decided on what she wanted to say to her colleague.

“What do you mean by—”

“Just leave it alone, Barton,” Tony said with a tired sigh.

Jude shook his head at their answers, but he understood why they didn’t want to tell anyone what had gone down inside the house. Heck, it was probably bad enough for them that he just so happened to have walked in on them playing with Loki. But he assured them that he wasn’t going to tell everyone.

And so far, he hasn’t.

“Have a good night Jude.”

“See ya later man.”

He looked up to see Jane walk past him, heading over to her car that was parked in the streets. Then seconds later, Clint walked past him too and headed towards his own vehicle where his wife and kids were waiting inside. 

“Same to you two!” he waved at them.

                                             XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Stark family waited until every one of their friends got in their own vehicles and left the property before they turned to each other. 

“Well, shall we go inside and head to bed?” Tony asked.

He got his answer in the form of a yawning Morgan who said “yes Daddy” in a low voice.

“Looks like I got my answer,” he laughed before he reached down to grab his daughter’s hand. Then he turned to his wife and leaned down to give her a kiss. “You too, Pep?” he asked her quietly, pulling away after a moment and wrapping his free arm around her waist.

“Mhm...” the light strawberry blond haired woman nodded her head, yawning afterwards, and leaned into her husband’s unoccupied side. 

Tony smiled lovingly at his little family as they all walked up the steps leading towards their home and made their way over to the front door. He let go of Pepper for a second to open it, and once he did, he slipped his arm back around her waist. Then he pulled his daughter, who was clutching onto his pants leg, and his wife closer to him as he led them all inside, shutting the door closed behind them with the back of his foot.

[chloca-cola]

Resonance Chapter Two: Love Bites(And So Do I)

Chapter 2 of my The Last Of Us fic 💕

TW: None, only some swearing

Word Count: 2,290

~

~Present Day~

"Hey, wake up." Ellie's voice broke through Joel's fitful slumber and he grumbled, slowly opening his eyes and waving her away.

"I'm up, I'm up." He complained, sitting up and stretching, as Ellie's eyes studied him hard. "What?" He asked, annoyed, and she sighed, standing from her couched position. 

"You were talking in your sleep." She offered softly. "Again. You do it a lot." Joel scoffed, standing up from the makeshift bed on the floor, all his joints cracking, and he groaned.

"What I say?" He inquired, grumpily, and Ellie shrugged, gathering her things and stuffing them back into her backpack.

"Something about Scavengers. A mistake. Nothing like groundbreaking or anything." Joel hung his head, he had been having a dream about Mickey Two-Knives. A woman he hasn't thought about in a few years now. He rubbed his forehead and turned back to Ellie, a serious look on his face.

"Look, all I'm gonna say about it is, we gotta be extremely careful through this next area." Ellie tilted her head at the older man in confusion.

"More infected? We can handle them, no problem." Joel pursed his lips together, shaking his head, not sure how to tell Ellie exactly why they had to be so wary about this territory that was once known as the Appalachian Mountains, back when names of things mattered.

"Not exactly. From what I've heard and read along our way here. This is Mickey Two-Knives new huntin' grounds."

"Mickey Two-Knives?" Ellie sounded just like Joel had the first time he learned that firecrackers name and he shook his head, as he donned his pack.

"Trust me, don't let that cartoonish name fool ya. She's a menace. She earned that name for a reason." Ellie shrugged, unconvinced, scoffing loudly, brushing passed Joel and he sighed.

"Anyone who has a name like that sounds like they're living in a video game." She offered on a long sigh, her arms swinging as she walked and Joel followed along behind her, catching up to her quickly.

"Ellie, trust me. Just stay behind me ok? And if we do see her, whatever you do, don't say that to her." Ellie rolled her eyes, but deep down she knew that since Joel was so cautious around this Mickey person it had to be for a reason. 

She looked around them as they were walking along quietly, even though she's seen woods now, back around Boston, they just looked...different here. 

"This place is really...green." She whispered to Joel and he made an affirming sound.

"Yeah, real pretty. It's always been a beautiful area, even before nature retook everything." 

"You been here before now. Well, before all of this?" She asked, catching back up to Joel, as he crouched, listening carefully to their surroundings.

"Yeah, long time ago. With Tommy. Our Glorious Hiking Trip, he called it." She smiled at him.

"You guys ride your Harleys here?" He nodded, motioning for her to stay back while he checked something out. He climbed over the log, easily walking, staying close to the ground, when something whizzed by his face, barely missing slicing off his nose, and it embedded itself in the tree beside him.

"Shit!" He shouted, standing and staggering back a few steps, looking around until his eyes landed on a throwing knife. His eyes narrowed, studying it closely, stepping closer to it.

"I thought I told ya if I ever saw ya again I'd kill ya, Joel." It was Mickey, she stepped out into the clearing, both of her bowie knives in her hands ready to fight him. Joel spun around to see her standing before him, not looking like she's aged much since the last time they had a standoff. "Ya got some big fuckin' balls comin' into my territory." She snarled at him, taking another menacing step towards him, which to Ellie, just looked comical because of their size difference. Joel held out his hands in a placating manner, as she moved closer to him, bound and determined to fight him. She couldn't believe after 10 years, she's seeing his fucking face again. "Shoulda went around the mountains."

"I couldn't do that, Mickey, you know that, now, just calm down." Her nostrils flared, her hazel-green eyes furious, her pale face was growing redder by the second.

"Calm down?!" She shouted at him as she lunged towards him, knives raised to strike, Joel grabbed his gun and was about to shoot when Mickey got tackled from the side by Ellie. They fell in a heap a few feet away from Joel. 

"You're not gonna fucking kill Joel, I'll kill you first!" At first Mickey was too dazed to react to this small teenager on top of her, but after a few ticks, she easily bucked Ellie off of her. Ellie was on her feet quickly, her own gun drawn too. Mickey scrambled to her feet, gathering her knives again, staring at the both of them, but more so at Ellie. She was calculating her age, trying to determine if Joel had a daughter again.

The wheels were turning, Joel could see that, after spending as much time with her as he had all those years ago, he knew when she was lost in her thoughts.

"She's not my daughter." Joel answered causing Mickey to look at him in mock surprise, replacing his gun at the small of his back, his hands outstretched again in a show of pacifism. 

"Yeah, I gathered that one. She's what 13? Unless ya had…" She nearly said "one", knowing Joel had once, in fact, had a daughter, she bit her tongue. "Her, before we met up."

"She's right here." Ellie quipped, motioning towards herself as she watched the two adults before her interacting, following Joel's example, and putting her gun away. Mickey looked back to her, her eyes looking Ellie up and down before averting her gaze from her back to Joel.

"Why are ya here?" The same question, 10 years later, the same cadence of speaking, the same distrusting eyes.

"We're just passed through." She frowned at him, remembering the night she first met him and the anger and sadness rose in her, and Joel could see it in her eyes. Ellie looked between them, so many questions filling her brain. What had happened between them? "I'm just trying to get to Tommy." 

"Yeah...tried to kill him a few years ago, too, when he came through these parts." She still hadn't put her knives back in their sheaths on her thighs, so Joel knew not to make any sudden movements. Mickey may looked relaxed, but she was still poised to strike him. "Surprised ya two split ways." She made her way around them to the tree, never turning her back on either of them, switching one bowie knife to her other hand long enough to retrieve her throwing knife, and she replaced it in her pouch.

"We had some differences-" Mickey clucked her tongue, shaking her head, smiling sarcastically at him, both her hands armed again.

"Wasn't askin' because I don't fuckin' care." Ellie chuckled then, causing Mickey to turn her attention to the young girl again. 

"Don't encourage her, Ellie." Joel warned, and Ellie rolled her eyes over exaggeratedly, motioning to Mickey.

"That shit was funny though." She pointed out and Mickey smiled at her, nodding approvingly.

"I like this kid already. Name's Mickey Two-Knives." She replaced one bowie knife in its sheath, to hold out the hand for Ellie to shake.

"Ellie." She greeted and Joel sighed as he watched the two females shaking hands, finally relaxing his posture, stepping towards them, only for another knife to be thrown in his direction, ducking just in time. His hands flew up to shield his face, looking back towards where the knife sat in another tree.

"Dammit, Mickey." He cursed at her and she squatted down next to him, leaning her head down down to get a better look at his face as he lowered his hands, her own hands dangling between her legs as her forearms rested on her knees.

"Don't think that just because I like the girl here that it means I forgive ya for what ya did." She stated, before tapping his scruffy chin with her index finger, causing Joel to give her a stern look as they locked glares. "I'm only gonna help ya through these here parts because of that girl. If she weren't here, I'd have killed ya." Ellie let out a frustrated scoff.

"Man, fuck off lady, we got this far without you-"

"Ellie." Joel stated sternly, and Mickey held his gaze, still smiling sarcastically at him. 

"Keep that spirit kid. It'll get ya a long way." Mickey let Joel go, standing back to her full height, spinning on her heels to face Ellie. "But don't think for a minute that ya understand what happened between Joel and me." 

Mickey walked passed Ellie, the young girl watching Mickey's back as she grew smaller from the distance, but Mickey stopped, looking over her shoulder. 

"Y'all comin'?" Joel sighed to himself, standing up straight, and moving to retrieve Mickey's knife for her.

"Not even breathin' hard." He muttered to himself, turning the knife this way and that, before adding it to his shivs.

"D'you say something, Joel?" Ellie asked, but he just shook his head.

"Nothing important." He assured, before they followed along behind Mickey.

"Time hasn't been kind to you, huh?" Joel asked, causing Mickey to make a 'tsch' sound, cutting her eyes sharply at him, looking him over as they walked through the abandoned streets of this mountain town.

"You're no panty dropper yourself." She snapped back, and Joel gave her a sour look. Ellie walked along behind them, shaking her head at the obvious sexual tension between them. 

"Like I'd be trying to impress you that way anyway." He retorted, as both their heads were on a swivel, checking out their surroundings. 

"Like ya could ever get into my pants." She snapped again, before she held a hand out, palm down, a gesture of stay still and get down. "People still invade my territory from time to time. I gotta big area, hard to patrol it all by myself." She whispered, as she crouched down, pointing at a few lone people, who were digging through the cars. "Been more of 'em lately."

"Why not recruit them?" Ellie asked, and Mickey looked at her, shrugging a shoulder.

"What can I say, people aren't really my thing anymore." She stated pointedly at Joel, who rolled his eyes.

"What do you want me to say, Mickey? Sorry?" He asked, flippantly, and she growled at him, eyes flooding with tears that she blinked away quickly.

"Sorry won't cut it, ya asshole." She stated coldly, and Ellie sighed, rubbing her face,  exasperated already with these two.

"You guys are supposed to be the adults here. I shouldn't have to tell you to pay attention." Joel and Mickey looked over their shoulders at Ellie, who was giving them both a stern look and Joel sighed.

"She's right, ya know." Mickey stated, looking back at the group which had now grown in size and she cursed. "Oh, what the fuck. Seriously? Why is it that whenever ya show up on my doorstep, shit happens?" Mickey grumbled, shoving Joel by his shoulder and Ellie pushed her in return. "Look kid, I like ya, but I'm ain't above killin' a child." Mickey warned, and Ellie scoffed.

"That's real goddamn noble of you." She bit back, while Joel eyed them both, it was like having two Mickey's now, and who the hell needs that? 

"Nobility died with the humans, or haven't ya heard?" Ellie frowned at the older woman, challenging her.

"How the hell are humans gonna come back from this if that's how you feel?" That shut Mickey up quickly, how could she have forgotten that over these last ten years? She hung her head, chewing on her bottom lip mulling over those words, knowing it's how she used to believe before her life fell apart. She finally nodded, looking back at Ellie.

"Ok, kid, I'll give ya that one. I'm sorry." Mickey looked back up to see Joel's shocked face and she scowled at him again. "What the hell is that look for?"

"I...don't think I've ever heard you say I'm sorry." Mickey scrunched her nose at Joel, feeling fury only he knows how to cause rise in her.

"Oh, fuck off Joel." They both glared daggers at one another and Ellie rolled her eyes again.

"Are we gonna confront them?" She asked, trying to subvert another argument between them and Mickey nodded.

"Of course, this is my fuckin' territory after all." Joel shook his head, pointing his finger towards the nearly 20 people now.

"There's too many, Mickey." He pointed out and she snorted at him, rolling her eyes.

"That'll just make it more interestin'. Don't tell me you're scared now, Joel." She countered and Joel shook his head, looking at Ellie, a warning that she stay here.

"I'm not letting you go out there alone." Joel stated, pulling his gun from the small of his back, and Mickey waved her hand flippantly.

"You ain't letting me? Honey, ya can't control me." She quipped, vaulting over the barricade and running head first towards the group. 

"She's crazy!" Ellie shouted at Joel, as he turned to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

"Stay here and take people out when you can, but do not leave cover." She nodded, getting her own gun out and moving closer to the barricade, as Joel leaped over it, following Mickey into the fray.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT CONTRACTORS

In big companies software is often designed, implemented, and sold by three separate types of people. Tcl is the scripting language of Unix, and so its size is proportionate to its complexity, and a funnel for peers. By this point everyone knows you should release fast and iterate. Programming languages are for. They don't even know about the stuff they've invested in. But I think there's more going on than this. If you run out of money, you could say either was the cause. Nearly all programmers would rather spend their time writing code and have someone else handle the messy business of extracting money from it. Every programmer must have seen code that some clever person has made marginally shorter by using dubious programming tricks. In one place I worked, we had a big board of dials showing what was happening to our web servers.1 Every designer's ears perk up at the office writes Tenisha Mercer of The Detroit News. There are borderline cases is-5 two elements or one?

I decided to ask the founders of the startups in the e-commerce business back in the 90s, will destroy you if you choose them. It's due to the shape of the problem here is social. In the arts it's obvious how: blow your own glass, edit your own films, stage your own plays. Only in the preceding couple years had the dramatic fall in the cost of customer acquisition. The organic growth guys, sitting in their garage, feel poor and unloved. So the first question to ask about a field is how honest its tests are, because this startup seems the most successful companies. A good deal of that spirit is, fortunately, preserved in macros. The second way to compete with focus is to see what you're making.

But more important, in a hits-driven business, is that source code will look unthreatening. In DC the message seems to be the new way of delivering applications. White. I'm going to risk making one. But looking through windows at dusk in Paris you can see that from the rush of work that's always involved in releasing anything, no matter how much skill and determination you have, the more you stay pointed in the same business. PR coup was a two-part one. It's conversational resourcefulness. We're more confident. That certainly accords with what I see out in the world.2 Treating indentation as significant would eliminate this common source of bugs as well as making programs shorter. Once you take several million dollars of my money, the investors get a great deal of control.

The dream language is beautiful, clean, and terse. It works.3 It could mean an operating system, or a framework built on top of a programming language as the throwaway programs people wrote in it grew larger. I'm not saying it's correct, incidentally, but it seems like a decent hypothesis. The most important kinds of learning happen one project at a time. Instead of starting from companies and working back to the 1960s and 1970s, when it was the scripting language of a popular system.4 Blogger got down to one person, and they have a board majority, they're literally your bosses.5 Unconsciously, everyone expects a startup to fix upon a specific number.6 But as long as you seem to be advancing rapidly, most investors will leave you alone.7 What readability-per-line does mean, to the user encountering the language for others even to hear about it. Users have worried about that since the site was a few months old.8 If it's a subset, you'll have to write it anyway, so in the worst case you won't be wasting your time, but didn't.9

It's exacerbated by the fast pace of startups, which makes it seem like time slows down: I think you've left out just how fun it was: I think the main reason we take the trouble to develop high-level languages is to get leverage, so that we can say and more importantly, think in 10 lines of a high-level language what would require 1000 lines of machine language. Well, that may be fine advice for a bunch of declarations. Trying to make masterpieces in this medium must have seemed to Durer's contemporaries that way that, say, making masterpieces in comics might seem to the average person today. I kept searching for the Cambridge of New York, I was very excited at first. Which was dictated largely by the hardware available in the late 1950s. This comforting illusion may have prevented us from seeing the real problem with Lisp, or at least Common Lisp, some delimiters are reserved for the language, suggesting that at least some of the least excited about it, including even its syntax, and anything you write has, as much as shoes have to be prepared to see the better idea when it arrives. And I was a Reddit user when the opposite happened there, and sitting in a cafe feels different from working. The Detroit News.10

Most founders of failed startups don't quit their day job, is probably an order of magnitude larger than the number who do make it. But the clearest message is that you should be smarter. But hear all the cutting-edge tech and startup news, and run into useful people constantly.11 You won't get to, unless you fail. Running a startup is fun the way a survivalist training course would be fun, and a funnel for peers. It's since grown to around 22,000.12 You may save him from referring to variables in another package, but you need time to get any message through to people that it didn't have to be more readable than a line of Lisp. A rant with a rallying cry as the title takes zero, because people vote it up without even reading it. I'm just stupid, or have worked on some limited subset of applications. This is supposed to be a lot simpler. Whatever a committee decides tends to stay that way, even if it is harder to get from zero to twenty than from twenty to a thousand.13

With two such random linkages in the path between startups and money, it shouldn't be surprising that luck is a big factor in deals. Most of the groups that apply to Y Combinator suffer from a common problem: choosing a small, obscure niche in the hope of unloading them before they tank. A programming language does need a good implementation, of course. Look at how much any popular language has changed during its life. With a startup, I had bought the hype of the startup world, startup founders get no respect. A real hacker's language will always have a slightly raffish character.14 The eminent feel like everyone wants to take a long detour to get where you wanted to go. But there is a trick you could use the two ideas interchangeably. Their reporters do go out and get users, though. A throwaway program is brevity. I do that the main purpose of a language is readability, not succinctness.15 You can't build things users like without understanding them.

At the moment I'd almost say that a language isn't judged on its own and b something that can be considered a complete application and ship it. They're so desperate for content that some will print your press releases almost verbatim, if you preferred, write code that was isomorphic to Pascal. When I moved to New York, I was very excited at first. To avoid wasting his time, he waits till the third or fourth time he's asked to do something; by then, whoever's asking him may be fairly annoyed, but at the same time the veteran's skepticism. There are several local maxima.16 Defense contractors? When, if ever, is a watered-down Lisp with infix syntax and no macros. Hackers share the surgeon's secret pleasure in poking about in gross innards, the teenager's secret pleasure in poking about in gross innards, the teenager's secret pleasure in popping zits.

Notes

What happens in practice signalling hasn't been much of a long time in the 1920s to financing growth with retained earnings till the 1920s. Even Samuel Johnson seems to be a good idea to make money.

A related problem that they decided to skip raising an A round VCs put two partners on your own mind. That should probably question anything you believed as a cause as it might take an angel investment from a company's culture.

If you don't think they'll be able to formalize a small company that could be made. There was no more unlikely than it was putting local grocery stores out of business you should be.

If Congress passes the founder visa in a time machine, how can anything regressive be good employees either.

If big companies to acquire the startups, the light bulb, the initial investors' point of a great deal of competition for mediocre ideas, but I think what they campaign for. When governments decide how to distinguish 1956 from 1957 Studebakers. How did individuals accumulate large fortunes in an absolute sense, if we think your idea is that parties shouldn't be that the Internet was as late as Newton's time it takes forever.

Galbraith was clearly puzzled that corporate executives would work to have this second self keep a journal. While the audience already has to be more at home at the start, e.

Some will say that it also worked for spam. The closest we got to the Internet worm of its identity. Icio.

Rice and Beans for 2n olive oil or butter n yellow onions other fresh vegetables; experiment 3n cloves garlic n 12-oz cans white, kidney, or black beans n cubes Knorr beef or vegetable bouillon n teaspoons freshly ground black pepper 3n teaspoons ground cumin n cups dry rice, preferably brown Robert Morris says that a startup in the US, it would do it is genuine. Com in order to attract workers.

But the early adopters you evolve the idea that could start this way, except in the back of your last round of funding rounds are at some of these limits could be ignored. Comments at the mafia end of the latter without also slowing the former, and also really good at generating your own time in the computer world, write a new SEC rule issued in 1982 rule 415 that made steam engines dramatically more efficient: the attempt to discover the most promising opportunities, it is very vulnerable to gaming, because there's no center to walk to.

Though it looks like stuff they've seen in the first year or two make the kind that has become part of a large chunk of time, default to some abstract notion of fairness or randomly, in one where life was tougher, the television, the more subtle ways in which those considered more elegant consistently came out shorter perhaps after being macroexpanded or compiled. For these companies unless your last funding round usually reflects some other contribution by the high-minded Edwardian child-heroes of Edith Nesbit's The Wouldbegoods.

Mozilla is open-source browser. They may not be led by a big factor in high school kids arrive at college with a truly feudal economy, at least should make what they claim was the recipe: someone guessed that there are before the name implies, you don't, but that we didn't do. They overshot the available RAM somewhat, causing much inconvenient disk swapping, but they hate hypertension. Living on instant ramen, which are a hundred years ago.

I don't think you should probably question anything you believed as a rule, if you're measuring usage you need, you don't have one. Don't be fooled. So managers are constrained too; instead of admitting frankly that it's a seller's market. This is one subtle danger you have a group of people who are both genuinely formidable, and would probably also encourage companies to say how justified this worry is.

One of the biggest winners, which is where product companies go to grad school, because you can work out. It's conceivable that a their applicants come from meditating in an equity round.

So where do we draw the line?

In 1995, but he got there by another path. If you treat your classes as a company if the potential magnitude of the 2003 season was 2. An investor who invested earlier had been trained that anything hung on a desert island, hunting and gathering fruit. Confucius claimed proudly that he had more fun in this essay, I can imagine what it would have started there.

I'm satisfied if I could pick them, and they succeeded. Consulting is where your existing investors help you even working on Viaweb. If they were taken back in July 1997 was 1. But the change is a scarce resource.

[thedarkenedkeeper]

Let me tell y’all ‘bout Misha...

I figure with October around the corner, I’d share a, I don’t know, “ghost story” of sorts???? But first, let me clarify two things. 

One: I am 100% a believer of ghosts. I don’t believe in Heaven, Hell, God, the Devil, angels, or demons. I don’t necessarily know what to believe in the way of what happens after we die. I do, however, like to think that anyone I’ve lost before hasn’t truly left - I like to think they’re still here, I just can’t see, hear, or feel them. But of course, while this is comforting, if you believe in good spirits, it’s only logical to believe in bad ones as well. Like, if a murderer were to be gunned down or something, you can’t tell me they’d come back as Casper the friendly ghost, like nah, not likely. So naturally, my belief in ghosts is both comforting and fucking terrifying.

And two: what I’m about to explain to you all - I’m sure there is a logical, realistic explanation for it all. It probably has nothing to do with a ghost or anything like it. BUT until we get some definitive proof or plausible explanation for it all, I’m going with my supernatural-loving heart and saying it’s a ghost.

Alright, let me tell you guys all about Misha!

So I don’t really remember when this all started (either around the beginning of the year or the ending of last year), but one day I had been upstairs and stopped by my youngest brother’s room to see what he was up to (he’s 14 btw). He was completely rearranging and tidying up his room and he stopped to chat with me for a few minutes. During this, I noticed something white fall from behind him and land with a thud, causing both of us to immediately look at what it was. It looked like a big chunk of the ceiling had broken away, and I’m talking a fist-sized ball of white, not a flat piece. Thing is, when we looked up at the ceiling to see if there was a hole, there was nothing - there was absolutely nothing that showed a part of the ceiling had broken off or anything; it was bare. We both nervously laughed and I made a comment about how it was like the movie “Poltergeist”, what with something falling from out of nowhere. I joked further by gasping, saying, “Oh my god, you have a roommate!”.

And ever since that day, anytime something strange has occurred, we always joke how it’s my brother’s roommate’s fault.

One time when my brothers and I had the house to ourselves for the night, we decided to watch “Avatar”, and about 40 minutes in, it suddenly froze up - the picture was still and there was no audio, and yet, the counter on the player was still going. It didn’t resume until 15 minutes after. Of course, I immediately joked out loud, “Goddamn, L (initial of my youngest bro), your roommate is messing with the movie! Seriously?! Now is NOT the time!”

Every now and again (about once a month), either a morning talk show none of us have heard of or an episode of ET: Entertainment Tonight will appear on the PVR, and we’ll all immediately start questioning each other on who recorded it, which of course, none of us did. And naturally, I joke around like, “Oh, L’s roommate must’ve recorded it. I mean, come on, they’re part of the household too! Maybe they like morning talk shows, maybe they like ET”.

Now that I think about it, there was one time a year or two ago when I was home alone and I was upstairs in my room and I swore I heard the oldest of my two brothers down in the living room, on his iPod watching YouTube (it sounded like a video was playing). It was strange, cause it was still pretty early and he shouldn’t have been home yet, but I shrugged and was like “Okay, maybe it was an early dismissal”. Except when I went downstairs, no one was there - no one was in the basement either. No one was home except for me. I chuckled nervously, looking around a tad worriedly, calling out “Don’t do that! Don’t freak me out like that! Jesus Christ...”

Eventually I asked my brother to name the ghost and give them a gender neutral name since we don’t know if it’s a guy or girl. SO my brother immediately came up with Misha (don’t ask why - he just liked the name). 

Now like I said, these things - there are probably really logical explanations for them. However, the one thing - the big one - that I’m about to tell you is where myself, and my family period, are all at a loss for words.

L’s room and my room are beside each other, and for months, every now and again before going to bed, I always heard some kind of thumping coming from the wall that separates our rooms. It wasn’t extremely loud or anything, but it was noticeable and sounded like someone either banging something into the wall or moving furniture around. Some nights it would happen, some nights it wouldn’t. There wasn’t any pattern to it, there wasn’t any specific time it would occur at. It would just always happen at night - sometimes as early as 9:30 P.M. and late as 4:00 A.M., and the thumps ranging from being at one end of the wall to sometimes travelling throughout it. It was really weird. For the longest time, I’d kept on thinking it was my brother doing something, in which case I was like, “What the fuck is he doing at fucking 3 in the morning?!” 

Well turns out, he wasn’t doing anything. In fact, he too had been hearing these thumps for months as well and always assumed that I had been the one causing the noise.

So naturally, at this discovery, both of us immediately got chills. If neither of us was causing the noises, then what the fuck was? 

We told our folks about it, and at first, they both laughed and thought we were just hearing things and making things up. But with how insistent both of us were being - how we were explaining what we kept hearing and how we were both clearly hearing the same thing - they decided to humor us and ask questions on what exactly the noises sounded like, when they occurred, etc, etc. 

Keep this in mind, okay? The wall that separates our rooms - there’s NOTHING in that wall. There’s no ventilation shafts, nothing that would cause rattling or loud sounds at all whatsoever - our dad made this clear to us (and he’s an electrician - he’s wired some of the walls in the house before). And it couldn’t be an animal in the wall because what we were hearing did NOT sound anything like an animal. No scratching or tapping of claws or hissing or anything like that - there’s just thumping.

Our folks at first came up with some theories, the big one being how there’s a possibility an animal (a bird) was coming around at certain times of the night up on the roof and then whatever they were doing was vibrating down into our wall. On some level, I could sort of see that being the case.

But it gets better.

Our mom told us that if and when we heard the sound again, we should go and get her immediately - even if she was asleep - just so she could hear it for herself. One night, my brother heard the thumping and instantly ran to get our folks to hear it, and sure enough, they too heard it and realized we weren’t joking around. The best part (or more so, the most unsettling thing) is, after hearing it for themselves, they honestly couldn’t tell what it was either. They couldn’t come up with a plausible explanation for the strange thumping occurring in our wall every couple of minutes. 

This has been happening for months and it’s STILL happening.

I don’t know what the cause is - no one in the house does - but until then, my brother and I are convinced we have a ghost (who we’ve named Misha) residing in the house. Whether they’re a guy or girl, a child, a teenager, a 30-something adult, a senior, whatever - we’re being nice to them (like whenever I’m home alone and about to blare my tunes, I’m like, “Okay, Misha, if you’re there...PLEASE be nice to me. Please don’t give me a heart attack or anything, alright? We’re cool, right? Okay. Also, I apologize in advance for my loud, horrible singing - I can’t help it, okay? You know how it is. So yeah, sorry! If you wanted to take a nap or something, maybe wait an hour or two” XD).

Given how I’ve been in this house since I was 2, I highly doubt they’re a hostile, malicious ghost - they probably just want attention (but why at fucking 3 in the morning?! Misha, you’re drunk! Go lie down, damn it!). 

SO yeah, now you know about Misha, and if I ever refer to them in a post, you now know who I’m talking about.

Also, I don’t know if they’re looking over my shoulder while I’m typing this or not so I’ll go ahead and say “Hi” to you guys for them, so....yeah, Misha says “Hi!” XD 

[satanseternalbenevolence-blog]

Memoirs of a Satan©

Hi, my name is Scott (You say, “Hi Scott”) and I am the new Satan. I have inherited the mantle and power of the Antichrist to do good in the World. Yes, you read that correctly, to do good in the World (more on this later). I don't know why I was chosen, maybe my core beliefs and understanding of humanity are the reasons why, or maybe I was just lucky. Either way, here I am, a 55-year-old raised Jewish (btw, the Jews don’t believe in Heaven and Hell) Atheistic Satanist from Los Angeles CA. I’ve often fantasized about having superpowers, but I never thought that I would actually have them, let alone become the most ultimate ‘villain’ ever!

Entry 1 I’ll never forget that day. The past few days the weather was beautiful, clear skies and temps around the mid-seventies. But by late Saturday night/early Sunday morning, a storm blew in from the coast. Pasadena, where my wife Beth and our two dogs Sophie and Sadie live, was expected to get up to 3 inches of rain, and after the 5+ years of drought we’ve had, 3 inches seemed like an ocean. I drove to work instead of riding my URB-E (Urban Electric motorized bike) to be safe. I work as a Security Officer at a Botanical Garden just south of Pasadena. I was at my post at the entrance of the gardens, under my huge orange Shademaker umbrella watching the rain pour down around me as I greeted the few visitors that come to the Garden on a day like today. A man walks up behind me and hands me a wallet and says that he found it in the desert garden and was told to give it to me. I thanked him and then went to examine the lost wallet. It was black leather, nothing special about it except for the fact that it was completely dry. As I opened it to see if there was any I.D. in it there was a number of credit cards in their appointed slots, and a card that read:

Hello Scott, you have been chosen to be the next Satan in this World. Do not throw away, give away, or turn this wallet into lost and found, it is yours now. You have every major credit card with unlimited credit to live on. More information will be revealed to you shortly. Your powers will go into effect in 24 hours. Hail Satan! Satan #30

You may be asking, how can you be Satan with all his powers and wisdom if you consider yourself an Atheist and don't believe in God or religion? The answer came to me that night. I slept like a rock (if rocks actually sleep), maybe it was the bowl of Dantes Fire I smoked before bed, but I was out when my head hit the pillow. In the dream I had, Satan #30 came to me as the devil character drawn by the artist Coop - red skin, pointy ears, horns, and goatee, and his signature cigar. He shared with me that yes, I was chosen because of my core beliefs and values and my understanding of humanity. He shared with me the history and understanding of this Being in the World. Man created religions and the Gods they associated with them. According to scriptures, God cast Satan out and gave him the power over this World. Since his power is in this negative realm, it is manifest as tangible and thus can make physical changes here. God is all speculative and invisible and does not have real power on Earth. Believers work themselves up into a frenzy because a preacher tells them that it’s the Holy Spirit working through them or they see the miracle of Jesus’ face on a piece of toast, but none of it is real. To quote the band Styx, “Welcome to the Grand Illusion.” The true paradox is that there has been more death, war, and destruction in the name of God, who is supposed to be the 'good guy' and Satan, the 'bad guy,' has been the one who brought positive changes.

The most important thing I was told to remember with this responsibility is to always be aware of how my choices and actions will affect future history. Yes, I can wipe out poverty and suffering instantly and make the ones who have been greedy and the cause of all the pain in the World pay for their crimes, but that wouldn't serve humanity in the long run. By manifesting such miracles I would be acting as a God and destroy the entity that is Satan. Giving the blessings of personal responsibility and cause & effect gradually will serve mankind in the long run. I'm what you might call a Spiritual, er I mean Satanic Lowrider.

I grew up in a very relaxed, reformed Jewish household. I went to Hebrew school after public school and studied for my Bar Mitzvah. In the Jewish religion, when a child turns 13 they are considered a man or woman after ceremonially reading from the Torah (holy scriptures) and collect lots of gelt (money) as gifts. Like most of my schooling, I squeaked by like the crackling voice of a young teenage boy. I was sent to the Rabbi’s office for disrupting the class so often you’d think we were having an affair. I would walk out of Temple singing the old McDonald’s commercial, “Scrambled eggs and sausage, yeaaaaa!” I was a bad Jew even then.

After my parents died at the end of my teens I became more spiritual and joined a non-denominational church called the Movement of Spiritual Awareness or M.S.I.A. I became a minister, chanted my tones, and did a lot of volunteering. I was really into it and thought that I had finally found my home and family, I was only in my mid-twenties. Everything was very ‘woo woo’ as I was sending the Light and ‘deflecting’ negativity. I was using all the lingo, “I ask for the Light of the Holy Spirit to surround, fill, and protect us for the highest good.”

As I grew into adulthood, worked a full-time job, got married, got divorced and lived on my own once again, the spiritual stuff faded from my life. I still wanted to believe that there was a God or Power greater than us but became disgusted by organized religion and their manipulative ways. Too many rules telling you how to eat, dress, and act (Fuck you, I like eating bacon!). I guess I was an Agnostic at this point. It took a couple of decades, but I finally accepted the fact that we are on our own, products of evolution, and proclaimed myself an Atheist.

When I met Beth at the end of 2003, I knew I had met my true Partner-In-Crime. As I was growing up in Culver City on the west side, Beth was going through much of the same family issues and cultural changes over the hill in North Hollywood. She also grew up in a reformed Jewish family and could relate to everything I went through as a youth. Although Beth does not like labels, she finally claimed the mantle of Atheist along with me. We call ourselves Deli Jews because these days we’re only in it for the food but still relate to our families as Jews culturally.

As I observed the changes in the World and started to learn the truth behind a lot of the things that society takes for granted - such as  thinking that our air is clean, our food is healthy, our legal system is fair, and our government is ‘For The People.’ I started to look at science as the truth and the way. Some people would call me a conspiracy theorist, but what is a conspiracy anyway? According to the dictionary, a con*spir*a*cy is a secret plan by a group of people to do something unlawful or harmful. Looking at the greed and manipulation of religions, governments, and corporations, I’d say there is a plethora of conspiring going on! So yes, I guess I am a good candidate to be the latest incarnation of Satan.

One of my first dilemmas was how to tell my wife that suddenly I am the embodiment of The Devil? "Hey Honey, by the way, you know that whole Satanist thing I'm into, yeah well, I'm Satan!" Actually, she was quite accepting of my new job title, especially the part about how our needs will always be met and we can live an easier life now. Part of the job description states that Satan's chosen family and loved ones will be taken care of as long as they respect the terms laid out by Satan. My siblings with receive the benefits of good health and enjoyment of life as long as they take care of themselves and don't rely on me to do it all for them. Here's an example - I may grant my brother good health and for every pound he loses, his family will also lose a pound until they all reach the healthiest weight for their size and body type. As long as they all continue to make an effort to live healthy through diet and physical activity the benefits will remain. If they choose to be lazy about it and expect Satan to just fix their lives for them, they will be on their own to deal with the consequences of the actions. That's pretty much how it works - take responsibility and step up to the plate and the blessings will be yours, choose to be lazy or arrogant, and karma kicks in.

Entry 2 Sure enough, 24 hours after I read that card from my new wallet, at exactly 12:00 noon, I have to vomit. So much for my half hour lunch. I spent the entire 30 minutes with my head in the toilet. At first, I thought it was my vertigo acting up again, but this was different. As I was puking I felt lighter, clearer, and freer than I have ever felt. I don’t know what was coming out of me, but I was glad to see it go. Once I stood up and washed my face, I felt like a million bucks! I thought to myself, that must have been my final initiation into Satanhood. So here I am, with the ability to affect people’s lives, and for lack of a better term change things in the physical world, but how do I do it? There was no instruction manual or advice from my chat with Satan #30 on how to do this. I kinda felt like Ralph Hinkley from the show The Greatest American Hero - here are your powers, you figure it out. I’m at work and now I am the latest Satan incarnate, let’s have some fun.

Part of my job is to make sure that people are wearing a paid admission sticker to enter the gardens. We close at 5:00 pm and stop selling tickets at 4:00 pm because it’s not fair to sell someone full price when they only have one hour to visit. Inevitably I get at least a few groups that come after 4:00 and want to come in. Here’s how the interaction always goes, I say, “Hi guys, do you have your stickers?” They reply, “What stickers?” I inform them that they have to have paid in order to pass this point, but we stop selling tickets at 4. “But we just spent X number of hours on the road to get here and we really want to see the Huntington gardens!” they exclaim. I explain to them that they should come back another day and plan to spend all day and that we are open from 10:00 am to 5:00 pm every day except Tuesday because we are closed. Before I can finish that sentence, they blurt out, “Oh we’re flying out of town tonight.” I always get frustrated because I hear this excuse over and over and over ad nauseam. Here they are with a smartphone in hand and they never thought to call or look up our website to find out what time we close?!? Today, I thought, let’s test out these new Satanic powers of mine <insert evil grin here>.

As I expected, at 4:15 pm a couple approaches, reads the sign on the front on my podium that reads ADMISSION REQUIRED BEYOND THIS POINT, and decides to confront me, “We just got here and reeeeeally want to see the gardens!” Me: “Sorry, but we’re closing in 45 minutes. I suggest you come back…” Them: “We’re flying back to Miami tonight. Can’t we just” At this point I thought, now would be a good time to test out my new satanic skills. I looked at them eyes wide, my mouth and left hand open, and then snapped them shut to simulate shutting their mouths with all the satanic power I could muster! Nothing happened. They kept talking but looking at me a little strange. Okay, my first attempt at summoning my new abilities didn’t quite work. “we promise we won’t tell if you let us in. We'll be quick, I promise. I just want to take a few pictures with my phone” “STOP!" I said firmly. Silence. “No, you cannot come in. Did it ever occur to you to pick up that smartphone you have in your hand and call here to see what time we were open until? Or look up our website? You show up 45 minutes before we close and it’s MY problem, what do you think, this is McDonald’s and you can have it your way?!?” This time they did stop talking, by the puzzled look on their faces and the impossible attempts at uttering a word, they couldn’t talk! So using my words of persuasion to command my power is one way of accessing it. Let’s find another!

I couldn’t get home fast enough. A gazillion ideas of what my powers were and how the hell I’m going to access them ran through my mind on my ride home. Usually, the 15 miles an hour of my URB-E didn’t bother me, but today I needed a rocket! Wait, I have super satanic powers, that  I - don’t - know - how - to - use. “Patience,” I told myself, I’ve got a lot to think about and fantasize about.

So this is the first time that Beth is seeing me with my new powers. She knew I was excited, but also warned me about going slow and keeping my satanic sorcery close to home and to not fuck with the neighbors (at least not yet). I stood there on our back patio ready to…I don’t know? Wave my magic wand? Point my finger with authority and intent? Use mind control? I started by thinking, WWSD - What Would Satan Do? Ah fuck it, how should I know? I’ve only had the job for a day, I don’t think I’m expected to know how to do it all by now. I decided to stop for now and go smoke a bowl of some fine Indica. 15 minutes later while laying on the bed with our dogs, I got it! Let go, detach, and relax your mind, then tell it what you want. Have two huge salads ready for Beth and I was what I thought on my way from the bedroom to the kitchen (all of about 30 ft.). By the time I stepped foot in the kitchen, Beth says uncontrollably, “WHERE THE FUCK DID THOSE COME FROM?” All I could do after looking at the beautiful salads on the table and turning my head to Beth was grin and wink ;-).

Over the munching and crunching of our scrumptious salads, we talked about how do I want to use these powers and do I want to go public with my new identity and keep in on the down-low. We both agreed that keeping it on the d-l would be the wisest and safest choice. I thought I’d start practicing locally, with my community - work, around town, and of course our neighbors. We love most of our neighbors, but there are some, let’s just say they could use a lesson or two about attitude and parking.

We live on a busy, main street that is our only place to park. The block is all apartments. Some of these neighbors own upwards of 4 or 5 cars and trucks! Not huge families, small families - parents and their two young kids, and couples. And, they don’t know how to park for shit - 3 feet from the curb, their back end sticking out, and parking in the middle of a spot that can fit 2 cars.

It’s a shame that there has been a rash of incidences of cars getting towed because they seemed to be parked in the middle of the street or on someone's lawn <insert evil grin here>.

Now, I know that part of the responsibility of being Satan is not just doing parlor tricks, so what else should I be doing with my newly acquired talents? The only one I can think of to ask is my predecessor, Satan #30. Before bed tonight, I took a long look at the tattoo I have on my left calf of Coop’s Satan that Beth and I got on our 10 year wedding anniversary. It was the first in a series of our tradition of getting a Halloween style tattoo each year to commemorate our years together. We were married on Halloween and love collecting tats, so this has become our anniversary gift to each other. Since #30 came to me like this version of Satan, I figured this would be a good way of focusing my energy on him before drifting off to sleep.

It worked. That floating, talking, cigar smoking little devil showed up ready to help. I found out later that part of your mitzvah (a good deed in Jewish belief) as a prior Satan is to assist the present torch bearer whenever they ask for it. My main question, aside from clarifying how to access these powers, was what is the best way to serve mankind (and not as a main course)? He reassured me that focus and a clear intent on what I want to create is the best way to access my powers, and to have fun with it (he forgot to mention that the first time we chatted). As far as how to be of service, his suggestion was to always think, how will this action benefit those involved? Even if my commandment is a form of tough love and is there to teach a lesson (as I did with the couple that wanted to enter the Huntington at 4:15 without paying), it must be for the highest good of all concerned. He also suggested I read the ENCYCLOPAEDIA OF HELL - An Invasion Manual For Demons Concerning the Planet Earth translated from the demonic by Martin Olson that was originally written by the O.S. (Original Satan). It gives some good insights into the truth behind Humankind.

I woke up refreshed and ready for my new job. After a nice cold shower, it was time to get to work. If my family is to be taken care of during my tenure, let’s start today. Our dogs, Sophie (a pit bull mix) and Sadie (a short-haired, low-riding Dachshund) are two knuckleheads that can be stubborn sometimes. I want them around as my Hellhounds for a long time, so they shall have perfect health, ticks and fleas can’t touch them, and they are perfectly obedient. All Beth and I have to do, is calmly tell them what to do, and it’s done - no fuss, no stress (for us or for them). I took them for a nice long walk. Even though I could now walk them without a leash knowing that nothing will happen without my consent, I didn’t want to break any laws. I put their collars and leashes on but had the leashes floating up as if I was holding them (kind of like the invisible dog trick with the wire in the leash). And I stopped picking up their poop piles. Now the canine logs of excrement instantly turn into the perfect fertilizer for the grass or plant it lands on. Happy dogs, happy daddy!

When Beth got home, we sat on the couch after dinner and discussed what she and I wanted in terms of our physical health and appearance. Obviously, we wanted perfect internal and mental health, but how do we want our bodies to improve. Beth wanted to slim up, clear skin and strength to do what she loves - hiking, skating, and exploring the World. I chose to only have a minute amount of body fat and more muscle definition along with the strength to keep up with Beth. To not attract too much attention, I’m having this transformation happen gradually yet quickly over a period of about 6 months, most people don’t notice anything odd about changes that take place over a slightly extended period of time, plus it will feel more natural that way. To not have to worry about vertigo, hearing loss, and erectile dysfunction, AWESOME!

There is one group that I’m involved with that I think might like to hear this news, the Los Angeles chapter of The Satanic Temple. I’ve been a member for about a year and a half and really love where their heart is. TST is doing a lot of work nationally for Freedom OF Religion and Free Speech, as well as the constant struggle to separate Church and State. The L.A. chapter has put on some fucking amazing Satanic Masses as fundraisers and as a way for people who feel like outsiders in society to come together and be accepted. I knew that they would understand the terms of the way I am to assist them, and that fact that we are going to have a hellaciously fun time doing it! To give you an example of what the Temple of Satan believes, here are the Seven Tenets we follow:

One should strive to act with compassion and empathy towards all creatures in accordance with reason.

The struggle for justice is an ongoing and necessary pursuit that should prevail over laws and institutions.

One’s body is inviolable, subject to one’s own will alone.

The freedoms of others should be respected, including the freedom to offend. To willfully and unjustly encroach upon the freedoms of another is to forgo one's own.

Beliefs should conform to our best scientific understanding of the world. We should take care never to distort scientific facts to fit our beliefs.

People are fallible. If we make a mistake, we should do our best to rectify it and remediate any harm that may have been caused.

Every tenet is a guiding principle designed to inspire nobility in action and thought. The spirit of compassion, wisdom, and justice should always prevail over the written or spoken word.

Quite a bunch of evil motherfuckers, huh? One of the things about TST that I love is the fact that they don’t worship the actual being known as Satan, they believe in what the literary character represents - freedom from oppression, knowledge, and fun, as opposed to the other literary character that so many sheeple blindly follow. Now they have the real deal, the definite article, the man-the myth-the legend - Me. How are they going to explain that? I’d suggest keeping this our little secret and have fun doing the good works that we do. They also use Satan and Satanism for shock value to demonstrate to not always judge a book by its cover - Satanist doing good in the World and believers in God doing horrible things in his name. Btw, Anton LaVey - poser.

I can’t help but fantasize even more about all the ways I can help people and right injustices without anyone knowing it was me. If I see someone being kind to another person, I might reward them by paying for his or her parking or picking up his or her tab at a restaurant anonymously. Maybe teachers who choose to teach the truth and not just the curriculum that they are told to teach and brainwash their students will be given the support that they deserve. I love to see children become curious and question why things are the way they are. Like training a dog with positive reinforcement, every time a kid helps another kid whom he or she doesn’t know well or stands up to a bully, they get an instant reward of some sort such as found money, a certificate of appreciation, or their favorite meal from their parents. If a driver steals a parking spot that someone else is waiting for, their car dies and has to be towed. My mind just goes on, and on, and on thinking of ways to be the best Satan I can be.

“Be all that you can be, become a Satanist!”

And just so no-one catches on, I’m going to do these type of things all over the World so it doesn’t look like wherever I am miracles happen. Am I starting to sound like a god or something? Maybe so, but I am Satan. Again, I love that fact that this demonstrates not to judge a book by its cover, that which we label as good or evil just might be the complete opposite. Positive chaos can be the perfect action to right wrongs and balance unsteady ground. What if people of different nationalities and economic levels came together and organized against tyranny and oppression? Hey, a Devil can dream can’t he?

There’s a trick I’ve always wanted to do. I saw it in the 1995 movie Powder about an Albino teenager with extrasensory perception and the ability to heal the sick. In one scene, the main character Powder is camping with a group of boys (I think it was the Boy Scouts or something like that) and their adult counselors when one of the boys shoots a deer with a hunting rifle. Deeply saddened by the event, Powder touches the dying animal with one hand and grabs the hand of one of the adults. What transpires is that Powder acted as a conduit so that the adult counselor could see and experience what the deer was going through as it takes its last breaths. It’s a true example of demonstrating empathy. I would love to experience someone acting like an asshole, insensitive, or being a racist dickhead and just shake their hand or touch their shoulder and have them feel what the person that they are picking on feels when they are treated that way (Seems like a very Jesus thing to do, maybe I’ll go easy on this one).

I’m not a sports fan, I believe that sports are another way for humans to stay divided, it’s that whole ‘us against them’ thing. But I do love wearing jersey’s, so I bought a hockey, football, baseball, and basketball jersey in my favorite colors - orange, black, and gray, with my name BERGER on the back and number 31 (get it?) on all of them. GO TEAM BERGER SATAN! Did I mention that I suck at playing sports? I grew up with asthma and couldn’t run, let alone play without wheezing and coughing my head off. I died inside during P.E. every time the coach would yell, “EVERYONE RUN A LAP!” Even now, I have no desire to jog, run, or chase a ball (I’ll leave that to my Hellhounds, Sophie and Sadie).

Entry 3 Date night with the Mrs., tonight we’re going to see DEADPOOL 2. We loved the first movie and have been looking forward to this sequel for a long time. As usual, we got there early enough to get some buttered popcorn and our seats before the 20 minutes of previews. We like to sit at the top of the theater in the back row if possible so we don’t have to listen to anyone talking or munching behind us during the movie. We found a couple of seats at the top on the left side, with no one sitting around us. The previews we’re okay, a few of them that I can never seem to remember when I leave the theater, I want to come back and see.

Just as the movie starts, these three Jugheads with enough candy and food to feed a small nation, sit down right in front of us. We look at each other with that knowing glance that a couple develops after being together for years. We silently decided to not say anything yet, to wait and see. Once they started feeding their faces they became a little bit quieter, since their mouths were full of junk food. But about halfway through the movie, the commentating and texting began. “Why the fuck didn’t he just kill the motherfucker?” “Dude, that's fucking stupid! He can’t be dead, and what’s with all this mushy love shit?” exclaimed two of them while the third kept texting with the clicking sound on his keyboard. That’s it, last straw, time to have some fun.

I had the scene in the movie stop, and Deadpool played by Ryan Reynolds breaks the fourth wall (in stage and film, that’s where the actor interacts directly with the audience), and addresses the three Jugheads. “HEY PEABRAINS, YEAH YOU, THE THREE STOOGES IN THE BACK WITH A SEVERE CASE OF THE MUNCHIES AND OPINIONS - SHUT THE FUCK UP OR I WILL COME OUT THERE AND TURN YOU INTO A SUB-HUMAN CENTIPEDE!” At first, everyone thought this was a joke and part of the movie, but this wasn’t a 3D movie and none of us were wearing 3D glasses either. When Deadpool reached out of the screen with both hands and his ‘avocado-had-sex-with-an-older-avocado’ face and came towards our noisy neighbors, at least two of them pissed their sagging pants and I think the third shit himself. They ran out of there embarrassed as hell holding their poop and pee stained pants hoping nobody sees or says anything to them. After clearing the air of stench and replacing it with a gentle floral fragrance, I allowed Mr. Deadpool to continue with his scene (only after Deadpool and all the theater attendees applauded the Jugheads departure). By the way, everyone at our screening of DEADPOOL 2 received a full refund and two free passes per person to come back to see another movie.

Entry 4 8:30 am. It's too early to listen to all the squawking going on in the trees around my post. From the sounds of it, you'd think I was in a rain forest and a predator was threatening the flocks. The only way I'm going to enjoy my coffee and start the day in a good mood is to quiet things down a bit. A little concentration and a mighty, "SHUSH!" and silence. Ahh, that's better.

I was reflecting today on people who rock the boat, specifically at their jobs. Maybe, the employees who challenge the system, question management, care about their jobs and speak up, are the smart ones and the ones to listen to. They see what’s really going on first hand (the boots in the trenches), and usually have very innovative solutions to these problems. The workers and management that play by all the rules, are calm and complacent all the time, and are just buying their time in hopes of a good pension to retire on, are the dangerous ones. The latter live in fear and would never rock the boat or go out on a limb, especially for their staff. The meek shall inherit the Earth if anyone would listen to them! Maybe now I can bend a few ears and make some changes.

I’ve got to stop listening to bands like Ministry on the way home, without trying I was hitting speeds upwards of 60 mph on my URB-E. Focus Scott and remember safety first.

Entry 5 I was thinking about the quote from the King James Bible, 1 Timothy 6:10, "For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.” There has been a meme going around that states IF MONEY IS THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL, THEN WHY DOES THE CHURCH ALWAYS ASK FOR IT?. I found this to be a very good question. It sounds rather hypocritical to me - they preach the evils of the love of money, at the same time they keep asking you to donate it to the Church. I’ll bet that the Church's answer would be that they [the Church] are there to take the burden of the evils of money off of their parishioners. How fucking Christ-like of them.

Thank God Satan doesn’t have to ask for donations! I can’t see myself going door-to-door begging for change, “Hi, would you like to donate whatever you can to support your favorite arch-nemesis and fall-guy?” I’ve never liked the whole sales pitch thing. Even when organizations that I’ve been involved with called it ‘sharing your experience’ instead of what you are really doing which is selling goods and services, I was still hocking their wares. Isn’t Greed one of the 7 ‘deadly’ ‘sins’? Way to teach by example you cross-loving-self-righteous-robber-barons!

The Church asks for donations and tithing (giving 10% of your income), Jewish temples require payment to become a member, and Muslims are obligated to participate in a form of tithing called zakah. You can’t tell me that religion isn’t big business, this is a global money-making machine of ancient and epic proportions. Fuck the poor, praise the rich, and pray for trickle-down economics.

Entry 6 I woke up, made some deliciously strong Armenian coffee with smoked tea in the mix for an added flavor and caffeine fix, and started perusing Facebook. I started to feel discouraged by all the hate and religious rhetoric that is being vomited all over the internet these days. I hadn’t realized just how many people actually and wholeheartedly believe their chosen religion above common sense and logic. So here I am, the embodiment of ‘Evil’ on this planet, surrounded by a HUGE majority that believes that their chosen invisible god is the only one. I’m here to use my powers for good in the midst of this turmoil of political and religious power struggle which is purely manmade (kinda sounds like a comic book. I’m sure I can get Stan Lee to appear as a cameo in this nightmare of a reality, maybe as God himself and we can arm wrestle).

According to Wikipedia, Satan is an entity in the Abrahamic religions that seduces humans into sin. In Christianity and Islam, he is usually seen as a fallen angel, or a jinni, who used to possess great piety and beauty but rebelled against God, who nevertheless allows him temporary power over the fallen world and a host of demons. The Seducer, I like it! My thoughts on sin are that it is not negative, but merely human attributes. Seducing people to be the best self they can be (No, I am NOT plagiarizing the U.S. Army) sounds like a cool part of the job. Fallen Angel - well I am kind of a klutz, and I LOVE the term Host of Demons! I also like the name Satan because it only has two syllables. The Devil {3}, Lucifer {3}, Beelzebub {4}, they don’t slide off the tongue as Satan does.

I’m guessing that what I’ve been going through the last couple of days has been a ‘reflective time.’ It feels like I’m re-learning about myself all over again. I love the fact that part of the responsibility of being Satan is to keep yourself on the down-low, I call it Satanic Lowriding. The real magician behind the curtain, the master illusionist with a heart, the manipulator of mirth…Satan!

Entry 7 Sometimes I let the dogs poop in the house just so I have something to do that reminds me of the good ol’ days. They’re so well trained these days that it’s almost boring. Last night while walking them we passed a rather aggressive Chihuahua and it’s owner (is 'owner' not politically correct?), er, I mean person, that was so distracted by her cell phone that she didn’t even know her precious little pooch was acting like a terror. As we tried to pass, I had Sadie our Dachshunds eyes glow bright red and growl a low guttural rumble that meant, “GET THE HELL OUT OF THE WAY!” The Chihuahua got the message loud and clear, it yelped and curled up in a ball like a pill bug. Its person was easy, I simply killed the power to her phone, and then telepathically called her an evil demon and said, “Pay attention, Satan is watching you!” Of course, she dropped her phone in horror and looked around frantically trying to figure out who did this. When she looked my way, and I turned to grin at her with glowing red eyes to see her reaction - priceless!

Entry 8 I find myself asking, “WWSD - What Would Satan Do?” The Satan, Numero Uno Satanas, the OS - Original Satan, and how did he come to be? Did he just *appear* after his mention in the bible, or was it more organic like he was struck by a meteor particle? That must have been scary the first time he found out he had supernatural powers, “GOD DAMN IT, WHO THREW THAT ROCK?” Did he get tripped by a vagrant and cursed him, “May your feet fall off at the ankle!” and they did. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall the first time Satan read the bible. I bet Satan himself started a lot of the rumors and stereotypes about ‘The Devil’ throughout the Centuries.

At work, I was sitting there watching people shuffling around trying to figure out how to navigate the map of the gardens and what they want to see first. As they passed by, depending on their reaction to my greeting, I might make them lose their voice for about an hour or make some small physical improvement such as clear up acne, or even cause their clothes to fit them perfectly as if tailored just for them. I had a tour group of Japanese people act very rude towards me so I made them all speak Swedish for the rest of the day (that made my day a lot brighter).  

I know I’m supposed to do good in the World, but I can’t help but think that Satan was the Original Prankster. Maybe it’s that image of the devil with that gleam in his eye and that wink that says, “I got your back kid, let’s have some fun!”  

Entry 9 Aside from just my dogs, I can communicate with the other species of the animal kingdom. Sitting outside on the back patio of our apartment I was watching a crow on a power line cawing to the other crows in the area. He was looking for his murder (a group of crows is called a murder) which he became separated from. He must have sensed that I was looking at him because he stopped, turned his head in my direction and cocked his head to one side as if to say, “You understand me.” I nodded my head in agreement and calmly said, “Come here, my friend.” He flew down and landed on the back of the patio chair caddy-corner to me. We just looked at each other for a few moments as if we were two old friends who haven’t seen each other in years. I broke the silence by asking him if he knew who I was, he nodded and bowed his head in what I guess was a show of respect.

So I am able to speak English to animals and they understand me, and I understand them telepathically. I’m a real Dr. Doolittle! My new feathered friend cawed that he will let his murder know that I am here and to be of assistance to me and my family in any way they can. I smiled and nodded in appreciation.

Entry 10 Independent’s Day here in the good ol’ U.S.A. One tradition that I never quite understood was the annual hot dog eating contests where participants try to eat as many hot dogs as possible in a limited amount of time. The most famous of these contests are sponsored by Natan’s Hot Dogs on Coney Island in New York. Of course, small towns and cities all over this Nation have their own local competitions to see who in their community is the most gluttonous. Being the prankster that I am, I thought it would be fun to attend one of these displays of face-stuffing fun and hedge my bets, so to speak. Monrovia CA was having theirs in the park of the local library in the center of town. There were 8 contestants ranging in age from 18 to 70, both men and women. I chose the 70-year-old man who looked like a cross between Mr. Rogers and Ebenezer Scrooge. When the whistle blew the competing eaters started ferociously chomping on the pile of meat sticks in front of them. They had 10 minutes to eat as many of the 50 hot dogs in their buns placed in front of them with only water to wash them down. Of course, the younger participants started off strong, but then, thanks to me, my man started sucking down dogs like an alcoholic in a beer drinking contest. It almost looked like he wasn’t even chewing them, effortlessly letting those wieners slide down his throat. He finished his plate of 50 in approximately 6 minutes and then started reaching over to the plate of the girl next to him and started eating hers! The crowd was on their feet and going berserk! Part of the thrill for me was watching to look on the old guy's face as he was devouring the dogs in this meat-fest. Being the kind-hearted Satan that I am I made sure that the winner and all of the contestants had no ill effects from their gorging. HAIL THE HOT DOG!

I imbibed a little too much and tried to impress Beth by shooting bottle rockets out of my ass and spelling I LOVE YOU in the night sky. Good night.

Entry 11 It dawned on me that if word was to get out that I indeed was Satan and had these powers, I would be hunted by every religious whack-job on the planet. The fact that they had a physical target to blame all of the Worlds problems on, as well as their own personal shortcomings, would make me Terrorist #1. (I would make Hitler, Pol Pot, and Trump look like amateurs!) I’m sure I would hear everything from, “Children are starving because of you!” to “You’re the one who keeps taking my job!” even “The weather sucks today ‘cause of you!" If I was to get caught by these whack-jobs would they string me up and hang me, making me the ultimate martyr like Jesus, or would the military want to use me for their own evil doings? Now I know why I should keep my ministry on the down-low.

Entry 12 It’s hot as Hell today - pun intended. Temps here in Southern California hit 122 degrees in some areas, wtf? When did we move to Death Valley? I have a confession to make, I may be Satan Incarnate, but I HATE hot weather! Unlike old people from the East Coast, I will not be retiring in Florida. I’d be quite content living out my final days in Alaska (sans Sarah Palin and her dysfunctional clan), Canada, or the Highlands of Scotland. But since I was home here in Pasadena and off work today, I set the temperature in our hotbox of an apartment to a comfortable 68 degrees, turned off the ac to conserve electricity, and stayed in with my demon-dogs. They love when Beth and/or I am home with them, especially when I conjure up a big bowl of shaved ice for each of them.

Since we live across the street from the only Jewish Temple in Pasadena, I like to have fun with those obnoxious ‘chosen people’ who think that they are holier than thou. Tonight is the Sabbath. According to Jewish religious law, from sundown on Friday night to sundown on Saturday night Jews are supposed to usher in the Sabbath, or Shabbat as they call it, by going to temple, lighting candles and praying. Every Friday night it is impossible to find a parking place in front of our apartment because the temple goers have parked their Mercedes and BMW's in every available spot on the street. So to test their faith and teach them a lesson, I sent the most savory smell of bacon, ham, and shrimps-on-the-barbie to permeate throughout the temple. I’ll bet that the Denny’s on Colorado Blvd. will be filled with Jewish families ordering Moons Over My Hammy with a side of bacon and fried shrimp. You’re welcome.

Entry 13 - 9:45pm I decided to have some fun tonight. On the east coast, it’s 3 hours ahead of us here in California which makes it about 12:45 am. I used my Satan Sense to hone in on VP Mike Pence and Attorney General Jeff Sessions to make sure these two faithful children of God are fast asleep. I then telepathically visited each of them in their bedrooms, waking them as I appear as their God Almighty complete with white hair and beard, white gown, and puffy white clouds surrounding me. “I AM ASHAMED AND DISAPPOINTED IN YOU MY SON!” I said in a deep, booming voice. “USING ME AS AN EXCUSE FOR YOUR FINANCIAL AND POLITICAL GAIN, DID YOU REALLY THINK THAT I DIDN’T EXIST AND COULDN’T HEAR ALL THE VILE LIES YOU TELL IN MY NAME?!? THERE IS A SPECIAL PLACE IN HELL FOR SINNERS LIKE YOU!” Both of their wives also woke up, saw, and heard me alongside their chicken-shit hubbies so there were witnesses. Jeff Sessions actually peed his pajamas, while Mike Pence started sobbing and apologizing like a little kid that got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Will it change their stance on policies? Maybe not, but it sure was fun!

Entry 14 A First Aid/CPR class might not be the kind of environment to play around with my powers, but this particular class needed a little levity. First of all the instructor was an egotistical stick-in-the-mud who has been teaching these training classes for way too long, it felt like he was phoning it in. I could tell that most of the other attendees were getting bored and frustrated, so I decided to lighten things up a bit. The instructor, I'll call him Joe, was going over how to approach a person (the CPR dummy) who is unresponsive. His dry example of how to get a response from the nonresponsive person was the perfect opportunity. Just as he was about to lean down and give the two breaths, I had eyes, that wasn't previously there, open and look right at him. The look on his face and the girlish squeal that uncontrollably blurted out of his mouth was priceless! And just as quick as the eyes appeared, they vanished with no trace of what he just saw. The whole class gasped in unison and then broke out in laughter. Needless to say, we were all sent on a break after that.

* I put the 'lo' in El Diablo (as in down-low).

Entry 15 All fun aside, there is a very real and present danger to society looming over the United States - Christianity. With Trump and his right-wing cronies in the Federal government, their push to bypass the Constitution and drive to make Christianity the official religion in the U.S., the need for the varied people of this country to come together and fight this fascism is critical if we want to halt another Holocaust of that scale and larger. Those in power (governments, religions, banks, etc.) have been using the Divide and Conquer method to keep us separated and fighting amongst ourselves for Centuries. They use everything from a Bipartisan System, to sports, and even how products and services are marketed. Almost everything is modern society is designed to divide us up into more factions. Even amongst the same groups such as race, gender and politics there is fighting and turmoil. They want to undo decades of legislation to protect 1st Amendment rights, freedom of religion, gay rights, as well as the right to assemble. As Satan #31, I feel a strong sense of duty to support this fight and protect as many people as possible. (Crap, this feels like the most daunting tasks I’ve ever had to do!) Secularism is threatened every day. There is a movement in the right-wing community called Project Blitz. Their goals are to inundate government on all levels with Christian ideals, promote Christianity in public schools, and flood society with Christian symbolism.

I think I’ll start by more actively supporting the efforts of The Satanic Temple financially to assist with their growing legal costs. Next, I think promoting the After School Satan program and Women’s Reproductive Rights campaign will be important causes to help spread locally and nationally. Free and critical thinking should be offered to every child regardless of economic class, culture, or gender. Women’s Rights are a given, women should be recognized, heard, and fairly compensated for their active roles in society. The more transparent this work, the more people will clearly see that these Satanists are kind, loving, and compassionate individuals.

Now it will be much easier to send mass mailings, emails, and text messages to politicians. THE PEOPLE WILL BE HEARD!

Entry 16 Today I donated a substantial amount of money anonymously and specifically to the Security Department where I work. I stated that I wanted all Security Officers to receive a 25% raise, permanent structures in the entrance pavilion to keep the officers that work there comfortable and protected from the elements, and free ice cream for all Security staff anytime they want. The only clue as to whom this contribution came from was a note attached that said, “From a concerned Member.” That ought to keep ’em guessing for a while <wink>.

While I’m still working there I perform little miracles when needed, such as making people with faux ‘Service Dogs’ feel guilty when they approach me trying enter or causing the make-up of a model to run horribly down her face when she tries to come in to do an unauthorized photo shoot. One day I heard a call on the radio that there was a photo shoot going on in the Chinese Garden so I sent a small murder of crows to dive-bomb them and disrupt their plans (now THOSE would be some awesome pictures!).

Entry 17 I just had an AH HA! moment. It’s time get back on the stand-up comedy stage and influence audiences to the truth about God, Satan, and religion (Oh yeah, among other things I’m a stand-up comedian). I can write comedy bits about God and Satan interacting with characterizations of God being mean and short-tempered and Satan being as polite as an English gentleman. This is going to be fun!

Entry 18 The 'doing good work in the World' is the easy part. The hard part is using restraint when the urge to be painfully vindictive creeps in. Sometimes people piss me off so much that I just want them to feel the wrath that their behavior creates. Oh, how fun and easy it would be to make somebody pay for his or her arrogance, aggression, and stupidity for the rest of his or her lives. I've been finding that doing good work doesn't mean laying down and letting the negativity of the World walk all over you but sometimes using uncomfortable acts to get people's attention and wake them up. For example, I would love to set those people on fire who say to me, "Oh, it's not that hot today!" while I'm sitting outside in the 100-degree heat under an umbrella that makes it feel like I’m in an oven. But I hold back, and simply kill the air-conditioning in their office (only for a day).

Entry 19 Today I found out what scares the Jeebus out of Jehovah’s Witnesses, Me. 10:00 am there’s a knock on the front door. After carefully peeking out the front window, I open the door looking like Tim Curry as The Devil in the movie LEGEND. Red face and body (ripped I might add), goat hooves, and huge black demon horns. As I spoke in a deep rumble, “Good morning ladies, how can I help you?” smoke drifted out of my nose and mouth. They hesitantly offered me a copy of The Watchtower, which burst into flames and ashes the moment it touched my hand. That was all these Jehovah-Loving-Witnesses could take! As they turned to run away, they tripped and started crawling over one another to get away. I guess their faith wasn’t very strong. At least they didn’t piss themselves as A.G. Jeff Sessions did.

Entry 20 I remember once when I was in my twenties, I was assisting in a personal growth seminar - Insight Transformational Seminars. I witnessed a woman go through what they called Crabbing. Crabbing is when a person is going through a great deal of emotional release and their hands contort and stiffen-up like a crabs claws.

I can only equate when parishioners of televangelists go into those spastic fits claiming that the Holy Spirit is working through them, to Crabbing. It’s all in their minds and emotions, there is nothing spiritual about it. When believers claim to be possessed by demons and one of these flamboyantly Christian preachers ‘exercise’ the evil out of them, well that’s just bad acting.

My dear reader, you have probably guessed that I would treat them to a real possession at this point. Yes, but not the way you might think. I was watching the popular faith healer and televangelist Benny Hinn on television and he was going through his usual paces of knocking down the congregation with the wave of his jacket, er, I mean the Holy Spirit, when this one man claimed to be inhabited by an evil spirit that made him growl and bark like a dog as he rabidly showed his fangs (teeth). Just as Benny Hinn was beginning to ‘exercise’ this poor lost soul, I possessed Mr. Hinn. “THIS IS ALL FAKE YOU IDIOTS!” I exclaimed. “THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS THE DEVIL. I JUST WANT YOUR MONEY, AND STOP BARKING AT ME!” The ‘possessed’ man in front of me/Hinn and everyone in the television studio/church froze in silence. When I exited Mr. Hinn’s body I felt slimy like a snail. Of course, when Hinn regained consciousness he didn’t remember what just happened. The uncomfortable silence seemed to last an eternity until one of Hinn’s assistants whispered in his ear what just took place. Immediately the faux healer spoke up and assured the audience that there truly is a Devil and that it is more important than ever to $upport the Church. Sometimes you just can’t fix stupid. As for me, I need a shower!

Entry 21 I am offended that some people are comparing Donald J. Trump, the 45th President of the United States, the WORST President of the United States EVER, to the Antichrist. That idea lowers the bar way too much and gives this pee-brain moron extremely too much credit. The Angel that man has created to fall from the grace of their God in Heaven, the true Ruler of this physical realm (Satan), is in no way related to this pompous asshat! Cheeto-head also gives puppets all over the World a bad name. If Charlie McCarthy and Mortimer Snerd, Lambchop, and Madame were here today, they’d be on the front lines protesting this ignorant poser. As Satan #31 in these troubled times, I’ve got my work cut out for me. With the internet, social media, and international spy’s mucking up information to the public, getting people to think for themselves and take better care of each other is going to be a quite a challenge, to say the least.

Entry 22 Just got my 6 6 6 morale patches in the mail! I’m a Beast, Baby!

Entry 23 So rock music is The Devil’s music, well DUH! Who has had the tastiest licks, best beats, and most heartfelt lyrics? A: The Devil’s music. Music began as a rhythmic form of communication. Drumming, dancing, and chanting were all primal ways of expressing emotions and stories; both joyous and tragic. This level of vibration came from the Earth, from humans, from Satan. God and his heavenly hymns are lofty and boring. I love all the controversy about rock musicians worshipping Satan, selling their souls, and making teenagers take drugs and kill people. I’m actually kind of flattered to be worshipped for my music, but the selling of souls is waaaaay out of left field. Maybe some poser of a record exec. was playing God by requiring bands to sell themselves out to his label, but I have yet to come across any ancient or recent purchased souls in my Satanic studies. Teenagers taking drugs and killing because of some richly theatrical rock band and their deeply poetic lyrics? Maybe a closer investigation into the kids home life and relationship with his/her parents and their beliefs would give more clues as to the behavior of their gothic little angel.

You see, none of it is real, NONE OF IT. It’s all illusion, a stage show, a prop. The ‘good’ - church/temple/mosque, morals, the saviors, the good-guy-in-white, and the ‘evil’ - Satanism, paganism, horror movies, rock concerts - all fake. Humans over the centuries have given these things power by labeling them as good or evil, usually to use extortion to control the masses. Often times if you look closer, you’ll see that it is evil and corruption in the good, and goodness and kindness in the evil (ie. Satan here to do good in the World). I know that this pisses off the religious-right to no end because they think that EVERYTHING has come from God. God doesn’t exist, man has created the doctrines that generation after generation has blindly followed. You’re welcome.

Entry 24 Looking at the triplex we live in, I decided we needed some upgrades. First I talked to Beth and our neighbors about me doing some upgrades to the property such as the landscaping and painting the place as well as little repairs here and there. They were all okay with it. The only one who knows how I’m really going to do it is Beth, the rest I’ll have to make it look like I’m doing the work (it’ll just get done a bit faster than usual). Second, I contacted the owner, Barbara. Barbara is an elderly wealthy widow who lives in Santa Barbara (how ironic). This property is basically a tax right off. She hates to put money into this property and only comes to see the place every few years to do a quick inspection and then raises our rent. I informed her that I will be happy to take excellent care of the building and grounds if she would cut all the units rent in half. She was aghast at first and wrote me off as a big joke. I told her to come to see her property in one month, and if she’s not impressed the deal is off. But, is she likes the improvements I’ve made we have a deal. She agreed, probably thinking that she just got some free work done on the apartment complex she owns.

The first thing I did was replace all the pipes with brand new, larger copper ones. Now none of us will have clogged and backed up sinks and toilets again, and we’ll have great water pressure. Next, I fixed all of the electrical panels with more wattage and fixed all of the outside safety and patio lights, and then added some solar panels on the roof to lighten our energy costs. For the outside, I had all the bushes and plants trimmed and healthy in our new drought-tolerant landscaping. The final touch was painting the building. I chose an earthy brown with a sage green trim, very California (faux) Craftsman. Just to make it look like I was working I’d put a few ladders, drop-cloths, and paint cans lying around and did the whole thing in about a week (so it didn’t look too magical).

The day of Barbara’s inspection. The look of shock and then odd approval was priceless. I simply explained to her that I had the time and experience to do this kind of work and since all of her tenants have been long-term renters, including us, and weren’t planning on moving any time soon, I wanted to make our apartments the most comfortable and pleasant as they can be. I had a document drawn up putting this agreement in writing which she signed without hesitation. Home is where the heart is.

Entry 25 Sometimes I like to badger Christians on Facebook that post things about thanking God for their good fortune or sending thoughts and prayers. I will pose the question, what if God had nothing to do with it and those things happened simply because they happened? Their righteous comments usually are full of, “God gave us free will” “It’s part of God’s plan” or “God has promised us our place with him in Heaven for believing and loving him.” The more I bring logic into the conversation, the more they sound like a broken record (for those of you who don’t remember vinyl records, when they got damaged or scratched the needle would get stuck on that part of the song and keep repeating), but God, but God, but God, but God, but God, but God… I figure if I keep mentioning logical things, maybe some of it will seep past their brainwashing into their subconscious and plant a seed of free thinking in that skull of theirs.

Time to get off the computer, go outside, and help a little old lady across the street.

Entry 26 Bad parenting lesson of the day - keep an eye on your children at all times. After witnessing countless parents stroll along casually as their little angels run far ahead of Mommy and Daddy, I thought a lesson in parenting was in order. Just to be clear - no parents were harmed during this eye-opening experience.

<In my best Rod Serling voice>Two young boys, about 5 year's old racing each other a good 40 feet ahead of their parents on a crowded walkway. As they approach me, I wave to them with a hello gesture and *POOF*, they're gone! Not really gone, just invisible. Physically they are there, you just can't see them. I can tell that the boys themselves were having fun with not being seen, playing tag and sneaking around people. Just to add to the mystique of their disappearance I made them silent. Not only could you not hear their voices, but you couldn't hear their movements either. Of course, I was able to see and hear them.

By the time the parents of these two little ghosts reached me, I can tell that they still have no clue where their boys are, moms eyes were glued to her cell phone playing Pokemon Go and dad was taking pictures. I motioned for the boys to come over to me. I instructed them to follow their parents for as long as they can until they stop and wonder where you are. At that point, I suggested that they give them a little scare, nothing too crazy, we don’t want to give them a heart attack.  Their screams will be my cue to make them visible again. I hope those parents learned their lesson!

Entry 27 Oh, thank Heaven, for entry twenty-seven. I’ve always wanted to have one of those Candid Camera types of shows where you do something or set up a scene to watch peoples reactions. Now I can do it anytime I like. I love being out in public, such as at a farmers market, a bar, or a restaurant. As I walk past people, I would say, “Hello, I am Satan” in their native tongue. It’s always more fun when my target is wearing a cross or some kind of religious pendant. I love doing this to cultures that are very religious - Spanish, Italian, and French are fun, but the best is saying it in Latin. I walked past a superfluity of nuns on the street the other day, I made eye contact with one of the nuns, grinned as wide as I can, and said, “Salve, Satanas sum,” then I winked and blew her a kiss. The look of horror on the other nuns was priceless, the beautifully embarrassed blush of the one I had my sights on floored me! HAIL SATAN!

Do you want to have some fun? Here are a few that you could try out yourself!

Hola, soy Satanás (Spanish)

Bonjour, Je Suis Satan (French)

Hallo, ich bin Satan (German)

Ciao, sono Satana (Italian)

Salve, Satanas sum (Latin)

Usually, once the person looks at me inquisitively and possibly asks me what I just said, I just look dumbfounded and say, “I didn’t say anything” in perfect English.

Entry 28 I've noticed a lot of pop-up churches around town lately. Signs for church gatherings and services at other established churches. For example, I saw signs for a Presbyterian Church service in front of a Korean Church. They must be renting the church for their own congregation. My question is this, how many god-damn churches do believers need? And there are new ones popping up all the time - The Calling Church, Cenacle of Faith, TLC Church, but my favorite church is the Jews for Jesus. To the J of J, I say, "Make up your fucking mind!" Is the United States government just handing out tax-exempt status like candy on Halloween to anyone who claims to be a Church?

For shits and giggles, I had bumper stickers made that say, "SATAN LOVES YOU MORE" and I take selfies with it in front of any house of worship that I come across. This was inspired by countering the JESUS LOVES YOU signs that religious fanatics carry around in public. I now have a HUGE gallery of these pics. Maybe I should make a coffee table book of them and sell them, then donate the money to organizations like the Planetary Society and the Freedom From Religion Foundation.

Entry 29 I’m a huge star on YouTube, and nobody knows it. All of those videos of cars speeding down a street and suddenly get into an accident with what appears to be nothing - that was me. Putting invisible barriers in front of speeding cars is easy. Any video with an animal painting or drawing, me. All the paranormal shows and ghost hunters that experience garbled voices, cold spots, and an electromagnetic entity, yours truly. I love video editing, the way I do it.

Entry 30 My favorite saying these days, “It’s hot as Hades!”

Entry 31 Just for fun, I posted a photoshopped picture of a King James Holy Bible in a barbecue on fire. My Atheist friends thought it was funny, but I had some folks take quite an offense to it. I get it, burning a bible is akin to burning the America flag, two extremely revered objects that people kill in the name of. Would those offended feel better if I burned a copy LeVey's THE SATANIC BIBLE? I did it to make a point - they are just objects, physical things and nothing more. The value of these items is given to them by humans. I could take a 2 X 4 of wood and say that it is the most precious hunk of a tree on the planet and if I get enough people to believe me, then I have a sacred item - The Holy Post of Satan! If you burn my Holy Post, well, then you'll have kindling. If Jesus' bloody body hanging nailed to a wooden cross could be considered sacred, then so can my 2 X 4.

Entry 32 I wonder how many other Satans there have been, and what did they do? I feel like a new regeneration of Dr. Who but as Satan. This would be a fun trivia game that I could play by myself - look at world events over the Centuries and see if I can spot the ones that were facilitated by Satan. The Roman Empire? World War 1 or 2? Did Satan #30 leave me to deal with Donald Trump?!? (Satan never gives you anything you can’t handle)

Entry 33 San Diego Comic-Con International is the largest multi-genre entertainment and comic convention in the World, and a [relatively] safe environment for someone with actual superhero/super-villain powers to strut his stuff. Since getting in shape via the Satanic method meant that I could wear any lycra costume and look awesome. I chose instead, to go with the open shirt look of, wait for it…HELLBOY! Too obvious? Actually, it’s the perfect cover. When I make lasers actually shoot from a Stormtroopers gun, or make a kid dressed as Superman fly, they’ll never suspect HELLBOY.

I did it up right, morphed myself to look just like the Ron Perlman make-up from the movie, complete with oversized stone right hand and cigar (I love smoking cigars). I even smelled like roasted peanuts (hardcore fans will understand this). Personally, I chose this character because it just felt right.

Of course, Beth joined me, her hero of choice - Carol The Bowler from MYSTERY MEN. She looked great! She wore Dr. Marten’s, black jeans, the exact same jacket with the same patches on it, nail polish, dark eyeliner, dyed green hair, and without missing a detail - the enchanted skull bowling ball. Yes, I hexed her bowling ball prop so that she had power over it.

This was our first time attending ComicCon. It’s true, this convention has gotten huge and is mostly the entertainment industry buying and selling their next (they hope) billion dollar franchise. Regardless, the costumes of the Con-goers and hardcore fans are amazing! From toddlers dressed as the ‘mini-me’ of their parents' characters to the elderly wearing skimpy costumes that they probably shouldn’t be wearing, everybody looks fantastic and has fun posing with each other for friends and the media. One of my favorite groups that were there were the folks from Magic Wheelchair. They custom design motorized wheelchairs for kids with mobility issues. They do everything from an X-Wing Fighter from Star Wars to a Unicorn Princess, to a dragon or even a pirate ship, and they are all built by volunteers. The look on the kids' faces in their matching costumes was priceless (I’m such a big softy of a nerd).

Beth had everyone amazed at how she was able to make her bowling ball fly and control it. She was having fun flying the ball directly behind someone’s head and making it hover there like a balloon. When the unsuspecting character turned around, usually after someone near them told them to look behind them, they’d find themselves face-to-face with Carmine The Bowlers grinning skull. There were more than a few macho superheroes squeal like a little girl when confronted by his boney grin.

I kind of stood out also because I made myself 6’ 6.6” tall (Corny, huh?). I had the accent and dialect down pat. Some people started to think that I was Ron Perlman making a surprise appearance, even some of the event coordinators were on their cell phones trying to figure out who I was. One of my favorite things I did was to make people act in different ways as if they were hypnotized. I might have a guy dressed as Aquaman hiss and meows like a cat, or a Catwoman bark like a dog. I freaked out a kid dressed as Shazam!, when he started acting like the character trying to figure out how to fly, I made him levitate and then fly over the heads of spectators before gracefully landing in the same spot. (Speaking of Aquaman, I think I’ve got a man-crush on Jason Momoa) When I came upon the three guys wearing the Kim Jong-un, Donald Trump, and Vladimir Putin masks I couldn’t resist. I walked up behind them as they were dancing in front of a crowd and loudly exclaimed, “Well well well, what have we got here? The 3 Stooges!” I scared the holy dictator-shit out of them! “Kimmie, go suck a nuke. Don, ‘YOUR FIRED!’ And Pooty-Poot, stay out of our business!” The crowd went fucking wild! I love comic book geeks.

Entry 34 As often as I can, I like to go into a mixed neighborhood and wander the streets. Whenever I come across people, I like to just say hi, maybe ask them a question, and then shake their hand or pat them on the shoulder. Then when I do that to another person, I give them the power to experience some of what that last person I touched thinks and feels. You might say I’m sowing the seeds of empathy and understanding. No expectations, just spreading awareness in a friendly, social way. Imagine what could happen if in some of the poorer neighborhoods around Los Angeles the Latins, Blacks, Asians, Armenians, etc. start getting along and agreeing on things - shit’s gonna change real fast!

Whenever I travel anywhere I do this. I hope this awakening goes viral!

"He say I know you, you know me One thing I can tell you is You got to be free Come together, right now Over me” ~The Beatles

Entry 35 Welcome to Hell. I have found it, and we are all living in it. Yes, it is right here, our lives on planet Earth. Religion has convinced people for centuries that there is a firey place of hellfire and damnation that you will be sent to after you die if you have sinned while you were alive. Of course in some religions such as Christianity, there's always that loophole, or as I call it your 'get out of Hell free card.' Confess your 'sins' to a priest or donate a buttload of money to the Church and *POOF* magically you are saved! It's the oldest plot line in history - good vs. evil. There is always a hero and a villain, with their minions of angels and demons to do their bidding. This story of good/bad has been used primarily to control the masses. If you behave yourself, follow the scriptures of the religion you were brought up to believe, and don't question those in power, you'll go to Heaven. But if you think for yourself, question authority and choose to sin without asking for forgiveness from their savior, you're on your way to an afterlife of eternal pain, torture, and the repetition of your sinful ways (actually that last one doesn't seem too bad).

This existence we call life is either going to be our own personal Heaven or Hell. If you feel good about how your life is going, you could say life is like Heaven and you feel blessed. If you experience stress, depression, or anxiety due to the present state of the World at large, you are in your own personal Hell on Earth. What we, even Satan myself, choose to focus on will be how we judge whether we are living in Heaven or Hell. Don't get me wrong, I love the theatrics of Death Metal and Satanic Masses, but that's all they are - theater, entertainment, with lots of smoke and mirrors. The evangelicals love the drama as well, miracles and faith healing are two of their favorite things they use to exploit believers. Most religions use the image of Dante's Divine Comedy to scare followers into believing their rhetoric, which I find very comedic. I do love how organized Hell is. There are 9 levels called Circles of Hell. Depending on what your sin was, you are sent to the appropriate Circle. Lesser violations are sent to the upper Circles, while the hardcore sinners are sent all the way down towards #9. And then there is also Purgatory, which is a kind of 51/50 (72-hour hold) of purification before being allowed to enter Heaven. It seems like a lot of politics to me.

Entry 36 Part of the work that I do as Shaitan (word for Satan from the Quran) is challenging the stereotype of being the ultimate scapegoat for everything judged as bad. This act of not taking responsibility for one's own actions has been around as long as the good vs. evil plot line. It’s easy for people to pass-the-buck onto The Devil when things don’t go right or tragedy strikes. Geraldine Jones what famous for saying, “The Devil made me do it!” If this was true, I would have quite an impressive resume to brag about.

I love changing signs and billboards that blame The Dark One into blaming God’s Wrath. I saw a sign that read

GO TO CHURCH Or the DEVIL Will Get You!

So I fixed it. Now it reads

GO TO CHURCH Or God’s Wrath Will Get You!

Here’s a billboard that I saw

SHARIA LAW THREATENS AMERICA by UnitedAmericaCommittee.org

So I changed it to

GOD’S WRATHTHREATENS AMERICA by God.com

Do they want to play the fear game? I can play the fear game!

It has always seemed to me that when God doesn’t get his way or his followers don’t abide by his rules he punishes them, ie. the story of Noah’s Ark and the big flood. Satan doesn’t demand humanity to be loyal to him, he wants people to learn, think for themselves, and enjoy life. The people who invented God use fear and power to control their flocks, while Satan sings, "Come on people now, Smile on your brother, Everybody get together, Try to love one another, Right now” by The Youngbloods. Yes, it’s true, Satan is just a big ol’ music lovin’ mush bug.

Entry 37 My favorite actor to play The Devil on television is Ray Wise from the show REAPER. His mature, suave, and sexy look and demeanor was what I would want to be like if I was The Devil. Well, here I am, not exactly the Satan I thought I’d be. But it’s okay, I’m happy with how I look and my unique style. Again, like Dr. Who, each Doctor had his own unique style. I guess that goes for Satan as well. For a favorite movie actor as Satan, I would have to say Al Pacino in DEVIL’S ADVOCATE.

John Milton: Who are you carrying all those bricks for anyway?

God? Is that it? God?

 Well, I tell ya, let me give you a little inside information about God. God likes to watch.  He’s a prankster.  Think about it. He gives man instincts. He gives you this extraordinary gift and then what does He do? I swear, for his own amusement, his own private cosmic gag reel, he sets the rules in opposition.

It’s the goof of all time. Look, but don’t touch. Touch, but don’t taste. Taste, don’t swallow.*laughter*

And while you’re jumping from one foot to the next, what is He doing? He’s laughing his sick, fucking ass off. He’s a tight-ass. He’s a sadist. He’s an absentee landlord. Worship that? Never! Kevin Lomax: Better reign in hell than to serve in heaven, is that it? John Milton: Why not? I’m here on the ground with my nose in it since the whole thing began! I’ve nurtured every sensation man has been inspired to have! I cared about what he wanted and I never judged him. Why? Because I never rejected him, in spite of all his imperfections! I’m a fan of man! I’m a humanist. Maybe the last humanist. Who, in their right mind, Kevin, could possibly deny the 20th century was entirely mine? All of it, Kevin! All of it!Mine! I’m peaking, Kevin. It’s my time now. It’s our time.

Entry 38 I’m finding that even in Satanism there is angst and fighting between sects. It’s sad when even groups that truly want to do good in the world are corrupted by greed and power. Too many rules and doctrines end up working against the organization that is implementing them (see The Catholic Church). Here is another example of how the trickle-down effect doesn’t work. The people who occupy the upper-echelon want to stay at the top. Giving it away may sound Saintly, but I guarantee they would rather continue their comfortable, lush lifestyle than live like the majority of society. To soothe their guilty conscious, they donate scraps of money to charities that they deduct on their taxes.

If I become aware of this kind of selfish behavior, I like to make their generous ‘contribution’ check bounce, or their wire transfer fail. Not that I want to keep support from these charities, I would just rather them come from a more honest source, such as me.

Entry 39 Amorphophallus Titanum, aka The Corpse Flower. n. Latin: amorphos (without form, misshapen), phallos (penis), and titanum (giant). The flower gets its nickname from the pungent odor similar to rotting meat or a decaying corpse.

Lil’ Stinky as we call it at the Garden is quite popular when it blooms, which seems to happen anytime within an approximate 4 to 20 year period depending on the environment and conditions. The gardens become a media circus, and people waiting with bated breath to see and smell this natural wonder.

Just last week ol’ Stinky started to open, so the folks in the Botanical Department put it out on display and alerted the media. The biggest question of the week has been, “Has it bloomed yet?” When it does, hordes stand in line for hours to get a picture and a nauseating whiff of this infamous smelly penis flower.

I decided to take this display of [morbid] botanical beauty to the next level. I waited until Saturday to begin the facilitating process, since there will be more visitors, and there also happens to be a Members Summer Concert that night as well. Not only did Lil’ Stinky open, but grew to a size of over 20 feet in a matter of hours. Along with the size increasing exponentially, the odor intensified tenfold! Breathing inside the conservatory where it is housed and displayed, was almost impossible. About 1 in every 3 people lost-their-lunch, which just added to the death-like stench. They actually had to close down the viewing in order to clean up the mess and get some fresh air in there.

And, it was I that called the good folks at The Guinness Book of World Records. You’re welcome.

Entry 40 Often throughout my life, I’ve felt that one of my roles as this character I call me has been to act as a catalyst for change. Not necessarily earth-shaking events, but a change in policy, thoughts, or relationships. Many times when I’ve been involved in an organization, whether as an employee or a volunteer, major shifts take place during my stint with them. Sometimes it has manifested as a physical move to a different location or a change in policies. Roles and relationships change. I’m not saying that (up until now) I have consciously been making these shifts happen, but in hindsight, there has definitely been a pattern.

With the influence I have as Satan, this trend will continue, but more intentionally. Lately, I’ve been going to jails and prisons as a volunteer to simply talk to inmates and give them a chance to interact with someone other than fellow inmates and guards. Many of them don’t have friends, family, or a spouse to visit them. By being a neutral sounding board for them who doesn’t judge them is a great gesture in and of itself. I assist them a bit further by clearing their consciousness a bit more about life and the choices that they have made and why they are there. Sometimes this extra assistance bleeds over to some of the others incarcerated as well as some of the guards (oops, my bad).

Personally, I would love to see all of these for-profit prisons to go out of business. The less innocent people and low-offense (such as marijuana and drug abuse) folks are locked up, the more people in society to make positive changes in the world. Crooked politicians who are invested in these human money machines will be financially pinched hard by the loss of their inhumane investment.

Entry 41 God of the Bible (Old and New Testament) judges and punishes man, Satan accepts and supports Man in his efforts to enjoy and thrive in life. Just the simple fact that God is nothing more than a concept of man’s construct mostly used to control the masses, and Satan has been a tangible force doing good in the world says a lot. We are actually living in, as best as I can describe it, a reality that is more like the Upside Down from the series Stranger Things than we think. Here, people believe that God is good, Devil is bad. Yet there has always been more harm done in the name of God than anything that the Satanic Panic has ever yielded. Crucifixion, the Crusades, and the Republican Party are good examples of this. Whereas Witches, Pagans, and Satanists have been blamed for everything from bad crops to Smallpox, to the weather. Pills are good for you, but a plant is a drug. Priests are not Pedophiles, but Heavy Metal music makes kids kill. Trump is smart, while the press is fake news. Actors make good politicians, while kids who survive school shootings are called Crisis Actors. White is the new Black, and Brown is the new bad guy.

Don’t blindly believe everything that you’ve been taught your whole life. Do some research. Allow yourself the opportunity to see things through someone else’s eyes. Ask yourself, “What if what I know about something is the complete opposite?” What if Hell was a spa, and Heaven was a desolate, frozen and dead landscape? Be careful of labels.

Entry 42 Lettuce Prey. A favorite meme of many a Satanist on social media. There is a growing movement of Atheists and other secular groups that are attacking the concept of prayer to fix things such as natural disasters and ill-health. I just watched a satirical video about praying the gay away.

pray: verb - address a solemn request or expression of thanks to a deity or other object of worship.

Expecting an invisible being to adhere to your requests because you believe in them is as naive and childish as thinking that the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny are real. I’ve heard God described as not being ‘the Great Bellhop in the sky.’ Humankind has always seemed to place its faith in events and changes outside of itself.

So my question is this, what about the myths of people selling their souls to the Devil in exchange for talent, wealth, and power? Blues guitarist Robert Johnson supposedly met the Devil at the crossroads and sold his soul in exchange for being a virtuoso on the guitar, and thus made him a blues legend. I’m beginning to think that it really was The Devil that granted Mr. Johnson his extraordinary talents, as far as the soul-selling thing, I don’t know. If it’s true that humans souls are only their emotional reaction to things such as music, and that there is no otherworldly destination called Hell, maybe the Satan at that time was playing along with the whole Heaven and Hell story to bestow those talents to Robert Johnson simply because Satan loves the Blues.

I personally think the theatrics of pleading your case to The Devil and signing a contract with too much fine print, in blood, is very entertaining. Does it mean anything? Hell no! Plus, it would put you, as Satan, directly in the spotlight and might undermine your work to do good in the world.

Entry 43 I heard from Satan #30 last night in my dreams. He came through in the middle of a pee-dream (a dream that has some urgency to it in hopes of waking you up to go to the bathroom) where I was frantically trying to get somewhere on my URB-E but could never quite make it. There he was, at every stop that I thought had a bathroom. He was just checking on me to see if I had any questions or needed any assistance. I actually said, “Where the fuck is a bathroom around here?!?” He replied, “Down the hall on the right.” After acknowledging his answer with gratitude, the only thing I wanted to know was, am I doing it right? Was I doing enough with these Satanic powers? Should I kick it up a notch? Do I look good in red? He reassured me that I was doing great and reminded me to continue to have fun with this ‘work,’ actions speak louder than words, and [almost] always use caution. He then vanished, leaving me with a full bladder and a comforted mind.

Fully awake, standing over the toilet relieving myself and smiling. Today is going to be a delicious day!

Entry 44 "Now his holiest books have been trampled upon No contract that he signed was worth that what it was written on He took the crumbs of the world and he turned it into wealth Took sickness and disease and he turned it into health He's the neighborhood bully.

What's anybody indebted to him for? Nothing, they say. He just likes to cause war Pride and prejudice and superstition indeed  They wait for this bully like a dog waits for feed He's the neighborhood bully.

What has he done to wear so many scars? Does he change the course of rivers? Does he pollute the moon and stars? Neighborhood bully, standing on the hill  Running out the clock, time standing still Neighborhood bully."

I love the lyrics to many of Bob Dylan's songs, especially Neighborhood Bully on his INFIDELS album. These are the last three verses of the song. I can't help but wonder whom Dylan was thinking of as the neighborhood bully in this song, Satan? Is Satan really such a bad guy, or has he just been labeled as the Neighborhood Bully of the World?

~

Yesterday Beth expressed to me that I don't look like The Dark Lord and I agreed, I look more like Gimli from the Lord of the Rings with a farmers tan, the only things dark on me are my arms and face.

Entry 45 This entry I dedicate to the 45th President of the United States, no really, this is the best dedication. I know dedications, I've dedicated billions and billions of dedications for many many years. I got good dedications. I am the best dedicator ever.

Just kidding! That bloated-orange headed-fast food chomping-megalomaniac who is being referred to as the evilest man on the planet is giving Satan a bad name! Maybe another nickname such as Purgatory Pete, or Donald the Damned, or simply Scum of the Earth might fit him better.

I did give him food poisoning from one of his two Big Macs, and both of his Filet-o-Fish sandwiches (this is only one meal), 3 out of 4, I was feeling generous.

Entry 46 Thanks to centuries of religious doctrines, the vast majority of people on this planet are lemmings, blindly believing anything that their holy men, politicians, and advertisers tell them. They have been trained to obey, spend more money than they have (aka credit and loans), and feel overly righteous about their culture. How does one motivate folks to think for themselves and put their differences aside?

I could help promote Dan Barker’s book - GOD The Most Unpleasant Character In All Fiction. Mr. Barker basically uncovers and highlights the vast number of times GOD is jealous, petty, unjust; an unforgiving control-freak; a vindictive bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously, and a malevolent bully in the Old Testament. This ought to open their eyes and get someone’s panties in a bunch.

After finding out in the news that Howard Lorber, the Executive Chairman of Nathan’t Famous Inc. (the makers of Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs) was hosting a fundraiser in the Hamptons for President Trump, I thought that tainting the production of some all-America hot dogs would be a good place to start to add fuel to this fire. Choke on it, Mr. Lorber! (Hmmm, I seem to be feeling rather wrathful lately)

Entry 47 And on His 6th and 7th days, Satan rested, because those were His days off from his day job. Not that I didn’t do any good deeds, I just chill-out the most on those days; smoke pot, do a bit of cleaning around the house, fix potholes in the street we live on, smoke some more pot, nap with the dogs, cook dinner, and wipe the sweat off of my brow.

Just thought of an awesome slogan to fit-in with today's generation - SATAN IS MY SUPERHERO. Maybe we’ll start with bumper stickers, then t-shirts, hats, and capes!

Entry 48 This is going to sound odd, but as of late I have decided to not continue as a member of The Satanic Temple. Wait, Satan doesn’t want to be a member of The SATANIC Temple??? Yes, it’s true. I found out that there was a power struggle going on between the higher-up and the local chapters, so following many other Satanists, I quit. Like the rest of TST expats, I still believe in their mission and the 7 tenets, but being a part of this organization is not working for me if you get my drift (Now THERE’S a statement that shows my age!).

I’ve learned about myself that I don’t seem to last very long in an organization.  I’m kind of a lone wolf in a way. I also tend to become a catalyst for change wherever I am. Just recently I have accepted this fact as well as fully embrace it.

Entry 49 If I ever start my own metal band, I’ve got the perfect name: SEB - Satan’s Eternal Benevolence (How’s that for getting personal?!?). I’ll be the lead singer, maybe I can get Robert Trujillo (Metallica) to play bass, Kerry King (Slayer) and John 5 (Rob Zombie) on guitars, and my cousin Rod Morgenstein (Dixie Dregs, Winger) and Dave Grohl (Nirvana, Foo Fighters) on drums. Oh sweet the sound. Our first single - Satan Loves You More is a counter-attack to the signs, Jesus loves you, that believers like to carry around.

Entry 50 Captains Log - August 20, 2018: I’ve seen more SATAN LOVES YOU MORE stickers all around town from Pasadena to Downtown Los Angeles, the San Fernando Valley, and all the way down to Redondo Beach. Your boy gets around! Almost like a subliminal message planting a seed in their subconscious, I’m letting them know that I am there for them.

Mikey ‘The Good Christian’ Pence has been spouting off lately again. He’s still pushing for creationism to be taught in public schools, wants the government to pay for gay conversion therapy, and hinted that condoms are ‘too modern’ and ‘too liberal.’ I guess my last visit as his Almighty God didn’t get through to him, time for a more direct approach. From now on, every time Mikey mentions God, the Bible, or utters the word Christian his ass from his tight little butthole, to his cheeks, and around to his tiny little pee pee will burn like the fires of Hell that he is so damn afraid of. I guess you could say he’ll be a real Royal Flush. He’ll look like the poster boy for Red Devil Fireworks. Matadores will yell OLE! and bulls will want to gouge him with their horns. Latin Americans will call him El Diablo (Wait, I take offense to that!). This ought to be fun to watch - the VP is going to go viral!

Entry 51 On my playlist these days:

PIG - The Gospel, Risen

FIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH - And Justice For None, Got Your Six, War Is The Answer, The Wrong Side Of Heaven And The Righteous Side Of Hell

PINK FLOYD - The Final Cut

Entry 52 ’Hackers’ <wink, wink> deleted the credit card debt of hundreds of thousands of credit card users, mostly VISA, MASTERCARD, and DISCOVER. A good majority of AMERICAN EXPRESS cardholders can afford their debt so they can keep it.

A homeboy was pulled over on the side of the street having car problems with his lowered, gold Chevy Impala, so as I rode by on my URB-E I nodded to him and fixed his ride instantaneously. Without even questioning what just happened, he simply gave me a nod of approval and thanks. Maybe it was my motorcycle helmet with the three devil horns mounted on it, but there was a sense of respect at that moment.

Entry 53 I had another visit from Satan #30 last night, he was just checking in on me (WOW, the Satanic support staff is AWESOME!). I shared with him that I’m getting the hang of doing the Devil’s work and I wish I could do more. He reassured me that patience is one of Satan’s best friends, but to be very aware of Vampires. I asked him if Vampires actually existed, and he was extremely assuring that they did. He said that they have been on this planet as long as man has, and as man evolved so did they. Over time they have learned techniques to blend in with mankind and improve their tactics on how to not only survive but thrive. They’ve learned how to suck the life out of someone, yet keep them alive and craving more from their vampire. This species of vampires is one of the worst. The Latin name for these vile creatures is Vampires de Emotus, or more commonly know as Emotional Vampires.

Emotional Vampires, along with their close cousins the Mental Vampires, will suck the will to live right out of you. At first, they seem like a friend or relative that is going through some frustrating issues, but the moment you step in to help, they trap you and slowly begin torturing you with their long and drawn out monologues of woe-is-me. You want to escape their grasp, but guilt overcomes you and feeds off of your decency as a human being. *Note to self: unfriend 80% of my friends list on Facebook.

Entry 54 There is a small group of homeless folks that make camp by the Gold Line Metro Station on Allen Ave. I ride past them daily on my way to work. They recognize me and wave in appreciation of my acknowledging them. They are never hostile or beg for money from me, it’s like we are neighbors seeing each other around the same time each day. The most social of the group is a guy that goes by the nickname Chuckhead (I didn’t ask.) He’s a tall - 6’5”, broad-shouldered and bald rock of a man, and also one of the kindest and most genuine I’ve ever met. Chuckhead told me that he was a steelworker from Pennsylvania, but when worked dried up because of Trump messing around with tariffs, he moved out west. With no money and no permanent address, it’s been hard to get a job and find a place to live. He hooked up with this bunch as a way to always have somebody to watch your back and what little stuff you might have.

I set up accounts with Dominos Pizza, Vons, and Jameson Brown Coffee Roaster and have them deliver to Chuckhead on a regular basis. I explained to Chuckhead that I’m doing this to assist them in taking care of themselves while living on the streets. I simply asked that they use their strength find something to do for money, that is legal, and that they feel good about themselves for doing something for themselves.

Funny thing, people in trucks and vans started coming around looking for laborers to do yard work or help someone move, hmm.

Entry 55 There is a kind of Universal Knowledge that Satan has the ability to access. It's like tapping into a vast database of history and current knowledge, sort of like how the human subconscious records everything that a person thinks, feels, and experiences, but on an infinite scale. I started to notice that when I wondered about something I would get an answer. After a little bit of investigation, I found out that this is true and started testing it. Often. This is like having the fastest internet connection you could imagine but in your head.

Entry 56 The other day I watched a DIY video demonstrating how to make a magic [looking] wand from a chopstick using a glue gun and some paint. I thought, how fun would it be to have a cheesy little wand that I can do actual magic with. No one will ever suspect that a homemade magic wand made out of the finest disposable pine chopsticks would actually be able to perform real magic. I can make up wizarding sounding words such as, "Shutus Trapus" (to silence a person), "Vanisimo" (to make someone or something vanish), and "Gigglitis" (uncontrollable laughter) to command my powers.

I bet I could make some serious change busking as a street corner magician. I'll wear a top hat and cape to give me that old-time magician look. "Hocus pocus, alacazam - turn this girl into a man!" And poof, this cute little 9-year-old eating frozen yogurt, with a flash of light and a billow of smoke, instantly becomes a full-grown bearded man wearing tight jean shorts and a t-shirt that says, 'BEAR' on it. The best part was when she hugged her dad out of fear of the light and smoke part of the show, and they both realized that she was now a big ol' he. Of course, I turned her back to her original self when I distracted the crowd with an impromptu light-show across the street.

Seeing the looks of surprise and amazement on people's faces, and the smiles and laughter is the real reason I do this kind of stuff (but the pay ain't so bad either).

Entry 57 57 Varieties of Pickles" by the H.J. Heinz Company. That’s the first thing I thought of when I realized that I was about to start Entry 57. Heinz Tomato Ketchup was my absolute favorite condiment to smother all over my french fries, onion rings and scrambled eggs.

Since California is my home turf, I healed the San Andrea's Fault. Sort of like fixing two pieces a giant ball from pulling apart by using Super Glue. No more shakers, rattlers, or fear of California falling into the ocean. No 'Big One,' just peace of mind. I don't think anyone will notice, except for the geology geeks at Cal Tech.

Entry 58 I’ve developed my own style of stove-top cooking that creates food that is to-die-for. I take a skillet with a high edge (approx. 2”) and let it pre-heat for a minute or so, then I add one drop of cannabis-infused oil to the center of the pan. As flames rise around the edge of the skillet, I place my food; vegetables, chicken, or fish, in the dead center. The flames then envelope the tasty morsels and cook them to the point where the inside is cooked perfectly and the outside is charred deliciously for the best look and feel. I call this method Satan Flambé.

Entry 59 Whenever I’ve asked a believer in God where Heaven was, they would inevitably point to the sky. Okay, I get it, Heaven is up and Hell is down, but what I want to know is why does Heaven always looks like it’s just above a bunch of fluffy white clouds, seen from the window of a plane, in our atmosphere? Believers will argue that it is beyond space, but again I ask, why does it look that way? And how the Hell do they know? The bible was written by men Centuries ago, long before air travel, they would have no way of knowing what it looked like beyond the clouds. While I’m at it, which one of those lily-white-ass holy men knew exactly what a sinner would expect when they arrived in Hell? I think some scholars with some hallucinogenic plants and a great imagination had a field day composing the greatest piece of fiction man has ever created.

Entry 60 I often hear overly empathetic believers say, “Thereby the grace of God go I” when they see someone who appears less fortunate than themselves. I figured if they can use God as their fictional character of caring, I can use any other fictional character that I choose; “Thereby the grace of Ironman go I,” “Thereby the grace of Captain Kirk go I,” and my favorite, “Thereby the grace of Satan go I.”Try it sometime, it’s fun!

Entry 61 Mankind is a tough nut to crack. From the beginning of the human race, from small tribal villages to modern urban cities, man has been in love with power. Power over another person or people, power over the environment, power over the weather. To control others and profit from this behavior has become the Universal Dream. The negative side of greed - void of morals and value for life. This is the side of greed that sees other human beings as merely a commodity, a vehicle to exploit and discard. The positive side of greed is the motivation to do more and to want better for yourself and others.

I find that individually people are incredible, more than a couple and you start to get that group mentality. Groups can be dangerous because 1) they’re larger and more powerful, and 2) they can be more easily led to believe untruths. Groups become a generality, a race or culture of people, whereas one or two people are simply that, people. Fellow human beings with histories, families, stories, triumphs, and failures.

There is an insane amount of division between folks these days. Party lines in governments, religions, economic class, ethnicity, age, sports - it always comes down to us against them. We have been divided up and fattened for slaughter. My big quandary is how in tarnation am I going to do enough good in the World to make a difference? I already knew the answer to my own question - the only one judging me on whether or not I’m doing enough good in the World is me.

“What, me worry?” - Alfred E. Newman

Entry 62 The people that totally crack me up, but are extremely dangerous to society and the environment are those that claim to be the reincarnation of Jesus Christ. From Kondratiy Selivanov and Ann Lee in the 18th Century to the nutcases Oscar Ramiro Ortega-Hernandez and Alan John Miller of today, these extremists actually think that they are the embodiment of Jesus Christ. According to Wikipedia, there are 30 of these folks from the 20th and 21st Centuries alone. This is cosplay on a whole different level. I mean yeah, you'll find guys dressed as Jesus at Comic-Con, usually riding a T-Rex and sporting an automatic weapon, but they know that they are just playing around. To spout gospel, start your own cult, and take innocent people's money, and sometimes their lives are downright criminally insane.

Here are a few quotes from Alan John (AJ) Miller, head of the Divine Truth cult in Australia, "There's probably a million people who say they're Jesus and most of them are in asylums. But one of us has to be. How do I know I am? Because I remember everything about my life."

"Just a little over 2000 years ago, we arrived on the Earth for the first time."

"My name is Jesus and I'm serious."

This guy is a classic cult leader who has done his homework. He has plucked peoples heartstrings by calling himself Jesus. He uses the 5 common methods of mind control;  1. People are put in physical or emotionally distressing situations, 2. Their problems are reduced to one simple explanation, which is repeatedly emphasized, 3. They receive unconditional love, acceptance, and attention from a charismatic leader or group, 4. They get a new identity based on the group, 5.  They are subject to entrapment (isolation from friends, relatives and the mainstream culture) and their access to information is severely controlled. Miller has mixed in scientific proof with biblical bullshit and called it Gods Truth. It sounds convincing, but come on, humans have only been around for 2000 years?!? (It's actually closer to 200,000)

*note to self: never be like that.

Entry 63 After a little research, I found out that only a handful of families own and operate the World Banks and are heavily invested in all of the Fortune 500 companies. Ah ha, so I’m not a conspiracy nut! This mafia of money has almost every major country in their very deep pockets. These money magnets figured out what makes the most money - destruction. If they create, allow, and promote any kind of disaster that will need fixing, they finance it and get fiscally fatter. War is easy, push some false propaganda about a country who doesn’t want to sell their resources to these world banks, send in a bully such as the United States to create a coup, and finance both sides of the war and the rebuilding of the country. The devastation of natural disasters is a major cash cow. Mankind has been messing around with controlling the weather [scientifically] since the 1940s. Cloud seeding is real. The larger and more powerful the storm, the more flooding and devastation, the sweeter the payout is for these robber barons. The mainstream media are puppets that they control to promote the fear-mongering and hatred that keeps people divided and fighting. To them, human beings are merely collateral cattle to do their bidding, over-populate, and die off in the slaughter.

And they say Satan is the evil one! If greed is one of the Seven Deadly Sins, these Bastards should be very dead (oh that’s right, the bible is just a book of fiction). I love to mess with their capitalistic system by hitting them where it hurts, in their wallets. I like to create boycotts of companies and products that are morally guilty and have safety issues and hazardous ingredients. Now you know why Walmart and Amazon stocks keep dropping like a lead balloon (Sorry guys, should be treating your employees better and paying them a decent wage to live on).

Entry 64 “Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m 64.” - The Beatles

Today I was challenged by some dimwit visitor at work. He thought he was being funny by wearing his admission sticker somewhere hidden. When I asked him if he had his admission sticker he quite confidently exclaimed, “Yes!” When I asked to see the sticker he declared, “Don’t worry, I AM wearing it.” At this point, I was ready to have some fun. I very politely said, “Game on. Let’s play. If you truly are wearing that sticker, it will begin to burn through your clothing and brandish itself onto your skin. If nothing burns, you don’t have a sticker and need to go buy one, AND one for another person waiting in line. The fire has been lit, and the burning will commence in 5, 4, 3, 2,1…

It was like watching a live action cartoon, his face went from a smartass cocky grin straight to a look of horror and confusion. I found out real quickly where he stuck that sticker. After letting him jump around smacking his own ass like he was riding in a rodeo, I stopped the burning. As a parting gift, I left the sticker inked onto his skin as a permanent reminder of our time together. What can I say, I’m a giver.

Entry 65 I love the names of some of the fundraisers that Satanic groups come up with; SOLES FOR SATAN, MASTERBATIN’ FOR SATAN, MENSTRATIN’ FOR SATAN, SATANIC BLACK MASS, SATANIC STORY TIME, EXERCISING DEMONS, SPEAK OF THE DEVIL. I think there should be something for senior citizen Satanists - CONSTIPATED FOR SATAN, GRAMP’N FOR SATAN, or for the Jewish Satanists - SHALOMING FOR SATAN. HEIL SATAN for those dedicated German Satanists, and for the White Supremacist Satanists(?) I’LL KILL MYSELF FOR SATAN.

Entry 66{6} Via one of my favorite information source, Wikipedia, some Number of the Beast history and trivia:

In Kabbalistic Judaism the number 666 does not play any significant role as such. However, the perfect number 6 and some of its multiples (e.g. 36, 72 and 216) represents the creation and perfection of the world. The world was created in 6 days, and there are 6 cardinal directions (North, South, East, West, Up, Down). 6 is also the numerical value of one of the letters of God's name, associated with the Sefirah of Tiferet, which represents harmony, beauty, and cosmic balance. Rabbi Eliezer Horovitz, quoting the Vilna Gaon, mentions in his book Mosad ha-Yesod that the number 666 contains hidden within it exalted and lofty messianic potential, but does not explain any details of this conjecture.

Jehovah's Witnesses believe that the beast identified by the number 666 represents the world's unified governments in opposition to God. The beast is said to have "a human number" in that the represented governments are of a human origin rather than spirit entities. The number 666 is said to identify "gross shortcoming and failure in the eyes of Jehovah," in contrast to the number 7, which is seen as symbolizing perfection.

Seventh-day Adventists taking this view believe that the Mark of the Beast (but not the number 666) refers to a future, universal, legally enforced Sunday-sacredness. "Those who reject God's memorial of creator-ship—the Bible Sabbath—choosing to worship and honor Sunday in the full knowledge that it is not God's appointed day of worship, will receive the 'mark of the beast.’"

"The Sunday Sabbath is purely a child of the Papacy. It is the mark of the beast.”

Idealism, also known as the allegorical or symbolic approach, is an interpretation of the book of Revelation that sees the imagery of the book as non-literal symbols. The idealist perspective on the number of the beast rejects gematria, envisioning the number not as a code to be broken, but a symbol to be understood. Idealists would contend that because there are so many names that can come to 666 and that most systems require converting names to other languages or adding titles when convenient, it has been impossible to come to a consensus. Given that numbers are used figuratively throughout the book of Revelation, idealists interpret this number figuratively as well. The common suggestion is that because seven represents completeness and is associated with the divine, that six is incomplete and the three sixes are "inherently incomplete". The number is therefore suggestive that the Dragon and his beasts are completely inadequate. Another suggestion is that this number represents an individual's incomplete or immature spiritual state.

In 1989, Nancy and Ronald Reagan, when moving to their home in the Bel-Air section of Los Angeles after the 1988 election, had its address—666 St. Cloud Road—changed to 668 St. Cloud Road. In 2003, U.S. Route 666 in New Mexico was changed to U.S. Route 491. A New Mexico spokesperson stated, "The devil's out of here, and we say goodbye and good riddance."The phobia has been a motif in various horror films such as The Omen and its 2006 remake. The number of the beast also appears in other films such as Pulp Fiction, The Doom Generation, End of Days, Bedazzled, and The Phantom of the Opera. Some women expressed concern about giving birth on June 6, 2006 (6/6/06).

I know that I should have waited until Entry 666 to lay all this Number of the Beast stuff on you, but I just couldn’t wait to share.

Entry 67 I have actually come to appreciate the creators of government, religion, and commerce. Their patience in their long-term goals of corruption and greed is unsurpassed. They knew even then, that control of the minds, hearts, and money of the masses would ensure them wealth and power. The Catholic Church has been molesting children for centuries, and followers to this day still believe that the Church is here to do good in the World. According to TIME magazine, the Catholic Church is worth somewhere between 10 and 15 billion dollars, and they don’t pay taxes on any of it! The naivety of a huge portion of the populous, for this long, is almost unfathomable. Countries have been spying on each other, keeping secrets, and starting wars not for the reasons the mainstream media tell us, but for private profit. And of course, major corporations know that enough money spent on lobbying and bribes buys you control of both governments and religion. The 'War on Drugs' is funded by the U.S. government. The U.S. military protects the poppy fields in Afghanistan, then supplies the drugs made from the poppy, and then uses the drugs as an excuse for police brutality and more drug-related arrests. Privately run prisons make a killing off of the minor drug convictions. None of this is new, they just keep getting better at pulling the wool over the sheeple's eyes. I guess you could say I am the fly in the ointment, the wrench in the system, the thorn in their side. I’m like the older brother sticking his finger an inch from his little brothers face while repeating, “I’m not touching you, I’m not touching you, I’m not touching you…”

Entry 68 It's officially Fall here in Southern California, which basically means it still feels like Summer. Daytime temps are in the 80's and 90's and humid in the evenings. It can be difficult to get into the Halloween spirit when the smell of suntan lotion fills the air and people are walking around in shorts and t-shirts. Here is Satan wishing for cooler weather <insert irony here>. I'm starting to think about what I want to be for All Hallows Eve. Since October 31 in Beth and my wedding anniversary, that night holds a special place in our hearts. Every year we do something fun and darkly-themed to celebrate our nuptials such as visit the Winchester Mystery House, take a trip to New Orleans or even go camping at a ghost town. But this year will be the first time I honor my love as Satan.

Entry 69 The yin and yang, the sex position, 96 to a dyslexic. The key is finding a balance. I'm finding out that I can't, and probably shouldn't try to save the world. A very wise supervisor once said to me, "Sometimes you've got to let it fail." This is a good reminder also to not draw too much attention to myself Satanic self. It's so easy to want to right every wrong, make every criminal pay for their crimes and be the hero, but I've got to remember - Satanic Lowriding (Satanic lowriding sounds like I'm riding around in a murdered out black Chevy Impala with red leather interior and hydraulics).

Entry 70 I have a confession, I like watching videos of people having huge pimples popped and blackheads squeezed. It's like a car crash, you don't want to look but you can't help it. Seeing the pus pulp of dead white blood cells and fresh red blood being pushed forth from the skin of their host makes me feel like I have the cleanest skin EVER! There is a woman on Facebook who goes by the name of Doctor POP that is a true artist at dermal cleansing. It's so beautifully sterile the way the patients are covered in surgical protectants leaving only the infected area exposed for Doctor POP to lacerate and squeeze like she's popping a champagne bottle with her latex covered fingers, true anatomic artistry.

Entry 71 Beth and I are not planning on having kids, but if we did, I'd like to use the names of the Devil to identify our little bundles of joy and also piss off the religious right. I just read an article about seven boys named Lucifer in England and Wales, how fun is that! Those towns are going think that it's an evil uprising coming to take over the World! I can just see our boy Lucifer burning up the streets on his skateboard, Satanas attending her first prom, and baby Beelzebub bouncin' 'round the room. My minion of misfit minors. I would teach our kids to be confident but not aggressive (unless it is necessary), to be proud of their names, and always keep their sense of humor. What will baby Bee's first word be, flies?

Entry 72 Last night I worked [security] for a wedding at the Garden. The usual big fancy set up with lots of staging, flowers, and rich people dressed to the 9's. The event was fine, until about 10:30 when a few of the neighbors in this wealthy suburb complained about the volume of the music coming from the dance floor. It was a beautiful celebration and everything was running smoothly until that visit by the police to turn things down, which did put a bit of a damper on the bride and grooms special day. As an anonymous wedding gift, I placed an invisible sound barrier around the property and told informed the DJ to turn it up. I asked my supervisor to step outside the gate of the garden near where the reception was being held to check the decibel reading. When she confirmed that it was quiet as a mouse across the street, we let the party rage on. The list of songs Mr. DJ was spinning from his laptop computer was an awesome mix of classic wedding tunes such as, "We Are Family" and "The Time of My Life, " to modern hip-hop. Mazel Tov you two crazy kids.

Entry 73 October 1st. Despite the fact that it is 95 degrees and sunny hasn't put a damper on my Halloween enthusiasm, as a matter of fact, it only motivates me more to find creative ways to celebrate All Hallows Eve. Since we are in Southern California and don't get the cool Fall weather with trees changing to a lovely Autumn orange and yellow, my image of this spooky time of year is that of an old western ghost town - dusty streets with tumbleweed blowing by, an old cemetery with wooden grave markers, and skeletons wearing cowboy hats and boots. Even though our apartment looks like we decorate for Halloween all year round, things get even more creepy during the last few months of the year. The 'Holiday Season' is a hauntingly beautiful time. Our neighbors have agreed to let me decorate the whole building, which means there will be a lot of traffic on our street due cars slowing down in amazement of our ghoulish display while expelling shrieks, ooo’s and ahhh’s. Time to start designing…

Entry 74 I had fun today at work doing nice, little, anonymous things for people. When I saw a co-worker with a handful of stuff approaching the reception door, I’d make the door gently swing open just as they arrived at the threshold. People would suddenly get great cell phone reception. Flowers would slowly fade from their original color to another hue, and then back. I even put a smile on a woman’s scowling face. Seeing the look of confusion convert to a pleasant surprise in her eyes was priceless.

Entry 75 Faux 'Service Dogs' used to really bother me when their obnoxious owners would get defensive when I would stop them to ask the two questions that, by law, I am allowed to ask, 1. Is it a Service Dog, and 2. What specific task is the dog trained to provide for their disability? The lying dog owner would always get agitated and blurt out something like, “Medical reasons” or “According to the ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act) you can’t ask me that” which just proves their dishonesty and arrogance. Now, I simply ask the dogs.

Today a couple tried to get in with not one, but two dogs. The white Maltese pups were on extending leashes held by the tattooed-shaved head-muscle shirt-douche with an attitude. When I asked him the questions he gave me the standard answers, they were service dogs and that I was not allowed to ask him the second question. I immediately looked down at the canines and asked them, “Are YOU Service Dogs?” to which they replied by telling me, “Service? We just want to run around, pee and poop!” They then both peed on their lying owners' legs and turn around to run back the other way. I politely look at him and said, “Service dogs huh? Get out and stop abusing a law that is for protecting the rights of disabled people whom legitimately need a dog to assist them through life.” He shot me a look of pure hatred that I found extremely humorous as they turned and stomped away, all the while his girlfriend never said a word, only rolling her eyes in embarrassment.

Entry 76 Typical of the church, they find something that people celebrate and enjoy and steal it for their own propaganda. I love a good haunted house, the more realistic the better. Hell Houses are the Christian haunted houses that show vignettes of the horrors of sinning - Anti-abortion, anti-drug, anti-free thinking, etc… The earliest hell house appears to have been created by Rev. Jerry Falwell in the late 1970s. The concept was picked up in 1992 by Keenan Roberts. His first Hell House was in Roswell, NM. Since then, he has become a pastor of the Destiny Church in Arvada, CO and sells Hell House Outreach™ kits to other churches. Included is a 263-page manual which covers everything from casting to publicity to instructions on how to make hamburger meat look like a fetus and where to store vats of blood. Roberts was once quoted saying that Hell Houses, "show young people that they can go to hell for abortion, adultery, homosexuality, drinking and other things unless they repent and end the behavior.” Can you believe this shit?!? Taking something fun like being frightened by gore and things-that-go-bump-in-the-night (which are healthy things to be afraid of), and scarring kids for life with these barbaric recruitment tactics.

There is a Hell House in West Hollywood, CA. I thought to myself, “How much fun would it be to visit their little moral macabre show and scare the Hell out of THEM?!?” So I did. It wasn’t very crowded, mostly parishioners of that church and their delusional families. I acted humble and quiet, waiting to see the horrors of modern life they were about to show me. In all of the rooms I went into, I changed the attitude of the actors to the enjoyment of the sin they were demonstratively demonstrating as opposed to the negative scare tactics of which they intended to portray. I had couples thanking God for the ability to get an abortion because of rape, men and women/men and men/women and women passionately making love, and one scene where a family was sitting around the kitchen table smoking pot and drinking wine and beer. For fear that anyone would see this gross display of carnal pleasure, this Hell House closed almost immediately after I left the premises.

Entry 77 So the story goes that back in the heyday of Rock and Roll on the Sunset Strip in Hollywood there was a drinking club made up of musicians known as the Hollywood Vampires who hung out at the famous Rainbow Bar on Sunset Blvd. next door to the Roxy club. They acquired the name Hollywood Vampires because they were only seen at night and quite often were drinking red wine. Fast forward to 2015. Three friends - Alice Cooper, Joe Perry of Aerosmith, and actor/musician Johnny Depp get together and decide to form a band to honor their dead drunk friends from rock and roll's past, and aptly name the band the Hollywood Vampires. Along with some of the best session players in the biz, the Vampires totally shred on songs by their friends from bands such as The Who, Led Zeppelin, T-Rex, and many others. I have been listening to their debut album non-stop for a couple of weeks! Alice Cooper being the rock and roll patriarch of the group owns the stage with his commanding prowess, while Joe, Johnny and the rest of the band rock the hell out of the songs of their fallen compadres. Never stop rockin’!  

Entry 78 I’m sort of happy that the folklore character Krampus is becoming more popular, at the same time I’d hate to see such kind-hearted ally become the victim of over-marketing. Krampus, in European folklore, looks like a fur-covered half goat/half demon. He plays the bad-cop to Saint Nicholas’ good-cop. While ol’ St. Nick rewarded the good children with toys, Krampus punished the bad kids by beating them with a birch switch, gathering them up in his wicker basket he wears on his back and tosses them into a special place in Hell. I’m tired of seeing all the faux goodwill towards man bullshit around Christmas time, and then it’s back to displaying our prejudices and hate to each other.

Entry 79 Not surprising, I support the supposed ‘War on Christmas.’ Of course, there is no War on Christmas, it’s just the extreme right-wing Christians that feel threatened because there are other people who celebrate the Winter Solstice differently than they do. Everything has to be “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Holidays.” They get their Jesus loving panties in a bunch when Starbucks’ holiday cups don’t look Christmasy enough. They actually think that December 25th is the birthday of their fictional savior. Oy Vey.

Christmas lights on churches can’t seem to stay lit for some reason <wink wink>. People who display giant crosses as part of their Christmas decorations tend to find them inverted each night when they turn on their retina-burning light displays. Hypocrites who complain about Starbuck’s cups but continue to buy their coffee find that holding that not-Christmas-enough cup is impossible because it is hot as Hell in their sacred hands (making McDonald’s coffee seem like an ice bath).

Every time a choir sings, a demon gets their wings.

Entry 80 I think I’m going to take it easy for the rest of the year and wait for the overly sponsored Tournament of Roses Parade on New Years Day. Maybe I’ll hex the floats so that none of them stall or breakdown on the parade route. Happy New Year!©

[horrorsleazetrash]

$300 Apartment by T.H. Cee

At the ripe old age of eighteen, I decided to move out and get my first apartment. Inexperienced and broke — never a good combination — I searched for the cheapest place to live, crossing out every ad in the newspaper above $300. I eventually found a place a few days later. In my mind, I’d stumbled upon the deal of a lifetime. Several units were available in a large and quaint old home converted into a two-story apartment house. From what I remember, the faded wallpaper masked an antique visage that borderlined on decay. A nicotine-stained ambience plastered the rooms with a cancerous yellow. You could almost hear the chipping lead paint crumble. Rehabbed just enough to convey the concept of occupancy, the structure appeared to be either on the verge of becoming an historic home or winning an eminent domain raffle. But the great news — the landlord advised basic utilities were included — all for $300 a month. In a hurry, I quickly leased a two-bedroom apartment on the second floor, and through a belief that my frugal search was somehow successful, mistakenly ignored the rest of the area. My naïve ears failed to warn me what the surrounding neighborhood tried to say. On a budget and motivated solely by price, the crazy taste of freedom had blinded me to the imperfections of what $300 could … and could not buy. ### The first day living there, I noticed a large hole in the bottom of a bedroom closet. A few hours later, I met my downstairs neighbor, Jizz Man. Jizz Man, when informed of my discovery, quickly held his needle ravaged arms up two feet apart. With wide eyes and a graphic vigor, he described the actual size of a rat he’d seen scurrying from his unit the day before. Somewhat of a philosopher, his potent use of simile immediately grabbed my attention. “That fucker,” he said matter-of-factly, “. . . was larger than a cat.” ### The next day, I met one of my next-door neighbors. For the record, I don’t recall his name. But for the sake of keeping things concise, being this is a story — let’s just call him “Old Alcoholic Dude” or Mr. Oad for short. It's also important to note that Mr. Oad was married, to none other than Mrs. Oad, who as my luck would have it ... was also an alcoholic. Mr. Oad banged on my door promptly at 8 a.m. With ass breath, he welcomed me to the neighborhood, and in a gruff tone, offered me the deal of a lifetime: a no risk chance to double my money, to experience high finance at its most primal level. “Just give me $10,” he said slurring his words, “and you can have $20 back in food stamps.” He then began to clear his throat with a cockeyed grin; in my mind, I watched three wet coughs form an imaginary ellipsis and introduce daylight to dark phlegm. My first impressions were that his liquid habit had washed away too many brain cells, that the man couldn’t chew a stick of gum and walk a sobriety line. I also surmised he probably wasn’t going to buy Girl Scout cookies with the proceeds — that is, unless they were somehow laced with rum. The scene played out like a dental nightmare, with Mr. Oad's breath reminiscent of a used anal thermometer thirsting for alcohol. The putrid wind expelled from his lungs hit my nose as if it were a fecal brick. In my mind, he’d become the unofficial spokesperson for the hazards of not flossing. Our conversation ended abruptly when I told him I had no cash. He quickly turned away quite frustrated, and in a welcome reprieve of sorts, spared me his next exhale. With a mixture of tenacity (and a possible case of the DTs) he started knocking on another door before I could close mine. In retrospect, I suppose many great sales motivators would have been proud. ### At the time, I had a girlfriend named Darcy. She was a Drama major and from what I remember a bit on the ostentatious side. Notorious for changing her hair color as often as her underwear, she possessed the unfortunate luck of being an eccentric bohemian. Back then, I overlooked these personality quirks primarily because of her bra size. That much I remember. As a young man in those days, I’d begun to look at many things on a sliding scale — and breasts happened to be one of them. Darcy was excited to see my place. She happily bounced from room to room and rambled on ad nauseum. “I love this. I love that,” she would say. In many ways, the girl was easy to please. Along with the apartment, we had a bed and didn’t have to use the backseat of my Gremlin anymore. I no longer needed to cover her face with a sweater attempting to keep the decibel level to a minimum. Not a huge fan of multi-tasking during sex, it was pretty much a win-win. ### Even my best friend Derrick liked my new digs. He’s been dead now for twenty years, but I still remember the first time he strutted into my apartment on that day — how he looked around a few moments before using his favorite catchphrase and part-time mantra. “Cool.” A person of few words, Derrick would always be cool to me — Miles Davis cool. If there’s a heaven, I surmise he's up there right now, fornicating with all the female angels and snorting fairy dust. Maybe even looking down at me and throwing high fives. We were kindred spirits back then, teenagers at that mysterious turning point of becoming men, keeping true to what decades later would be called the “Bro Code.” On occasion, I’d let Derrick bring women to my apartment after I left for work or school. From an economic standpoint, it became the barter system at its finest. All he had to do for me was leave a six-pack in the fridge and occasionally change the sheets. Mi casa, su casa.   ### My new life, however, did not escape peril despite these obvious perks. Enticed by the idea of saving money, I’d not yet learned how greed could inversely make things more expensive. An acquaintance talked me into taking on a roommate after a few weeks living alone. According to him, the dude “walked on water.” My main regret: finding out too late, he literally thought he could. I discovered after the fact that my new roommate, Brian, worked nights, and while not sleeping during the day, went door to door handing out his religious cult’s magazines. Unfortunately, this didn't get disclosed until after he'd moved in. Footnote for the naïve, the absolute first thing to ask before you shake hands and give anyone a key: You’re not crazy, are you? I'd always considered myself open-minded. Even somewhat spiritual. A huge fan of the “love thy neighbor” concept — especially females. If you’d asked Darcy, she would have vouched for me back then. But nevertheless, after several weeks, Brian’s proselytizing, no matter how much I tried to ignore it, took a strange and unexpected twist. With his “brotherly acceptance” stepping over into the dark side, he portrayed a different type of Passion Play, and to my surprise, soon crossed the thin bromosexual line of no return. Because he’d been my first roommate, I'd assumed it was normal to see him occasionally walk around naked. This belief, however, quickly changed when he added an erection into the mix, accompanied by garish bouts of living room masturbation theatre. Then, slinking into my room one night, his hands made the fatal mistake of moving from his penis toward mine. Not wanting to be a rape statistic, I taught him through a chokehold to speak in tongues. From the apartment to the hall, he got his ass pounded — and not the way he would’ve preferred. At the highpoint of our skirmish, my pugilistic rendition of the Last Rights almost introduced him to his maker. You would have thought he'd been thrilled. But when push came to shove, the man had no faith. Our battle ended with his baptism to the bottom of the first-floor stairs compliments of my large heterosexual foot. To summarize the moment: “‘No’ means no!” What devolved into a homoerotic adaptation of “Dante’s Inferno,” ended in forty days, and almost forty nights, if you included the evening I ended our arrangement by kicking that conflicted simian down a flight of stairs. In hindsight, the situation helped me understand a few things — like why my cousin, for amusement, always comes to the door naked when Jehovah’s Witnesses knock. ### A few days after getting rid of St. Brian (the Patron Saint for homos in denial), I discovered my other neighbor, who’d recently moved in, worked as a prostitute. This knowledge compliments of rolling paper-thin walls and a thick headboard that banged out a raunchy Morse Code. Weirdly, it was a result of this discovery that Darcy developed her own version of drama exercises to, I assume, hone her budding thespian skills. It started one night while both of us were in the throes of “enjoying each other’s company.” As we lay in bed, we overheard my neighbor on the other side of the wall working overtime. After listening to her and her John’s theatrics for a few moments, Darcy suggested, just for laughs, to emulate them. This meant, when my neighbor moaned or screamed, Darcy would do the same; when my neighbor’s “trick” made any sound, I would mimic it. We would also have to make these noises while doing what they were doing on the other side of the wall. In a matter of seconds, the moment transformed into an erotic version of Twister choreographed to an X-rated soundtrack. “Spank me daddy,” screamed the hooker. “Spank me daddy,” Darcy shouted. Et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum … If you’d asked Darcy at the time, she would’ve said the exercise had been about (in a dramatic voice): “transcending the emotion” or “being able to duplicate the acting experience.” That’s at least what she told me. This off-the-wall form of role-playing she’d concocted became hilarious. Especially, when we realized they could hear us on the other side, befuddled about what to make of it — like maybe their apartment was special in some way or had built in reverb. It also makes me wonder today if Darcy is now a porn star. When I consider all of the factors, it would make a lot of sense. “What the fuck was that?” said the John. “What the fuck was that?” I echoed. “Shut up and put your finger in my ass,” yelled the Prostitute. “That’s not your finger,” moaned Darcy. Et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum … The other thing that wasn’t so cool about my neighbor, the working girl — she had a pimp. This deduction came from the noisy conversations that often followed when he'd show up. Keeping pretty much to the same predictable script, he’d always start out yelling something like, “Aww Hell Naw!” and then make some loose reference to where his drugs were kept followed by many sentences ending in the word “bitch.” Their meetings either closed with a classic pimp ritual common to the “Slap-a-Ho” tribe or an S&M session on angel dust. After a while, it became too difficult to tell the difference. ### For most young people, one’s first apartment becomes a ceremonial rite of passage. A path toward adulthood. Mine, however, had jumped the tracks and taken a nefarious turn; before I realized what happened, I found myself trapped in what seemed a ghetto bar mitzvah — one where I'd wished my yarmulke (if I even had one) were bulletproof. To avoid the constant drama, I struggled to keep a low profile. If one tenant didn’t have the police at their door, another one did. I became the poor college kid amidst all this wild trailer trash excitement. Then, one day, everything went sideways and shitty. Mr. and Mrs. Oad began to go on longer binges where they brazenly avoided sobriety for days at a time. I’d hear them up at all hours yelling and screaming. Even crying. And sometimes around 3 a.m., I would listen to Mrs. Oad loudly whimper the following: “I’ll be your German. Let me be your German.” The deviant sounds that followed, molested my ears. Also causing me to throw up a little in my mouth. Had you been able to read my thoughts back then, you probably would’ve seen a pink elephant wearing a Speedo. And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the situation did. My neighbor’s long benders bled one into another and took on a sinister dimension, becoming one never-ending event. Mrs. Oad, the more dramatic of the two, did one of two things intermittently: She would climb naked out of her second story window onto a large tree and scream at passing airplanes or she would run naked around the building with a machete. Before I realized what happened, it became a National Geographic episode outside my door. I’m not sure where she got the machete. Truth is, her charging at me with the mighty blade effectively killed my curiosity to stop and ask. Every time I heard some bimbo tell me about how grueling her aerobics class had been in those days, I’d think of Mrs. Oad, her wrinkled and gravity-ravaged body, weapon in hand, chasing me up a flight of stairs. It somehow didn't compare. The situation, over time, took on a theatrical déjà vu. When she screamed naked from her tree at airplanes, the moment reminded me of the character Tattoo on “Fantasy Island,” the little person known famously for the line “Da Plane! Da Plane!” Thirty years later, this memory remains. When flying, I often catch myself looking out the window, wondering if there are other Mrs. Oads down there somewhere, and if so, are they staring upward, challenging me in some unknown existential way. Say what you will about the woman, her movements were quick despite her obvious age. The police came out numerous times, but every time they’d show up, she’d sneak into her apartment before they could record the offense. This wouldn’t happen today, as the same circumstance would’ve easily gone viral the first hour. Viva la YouTube.   ### Along with the approaching heat of summer, however, Mrs. Oad’s psychosis escalated. Her behavior became more defiant. Everyone sensed she was moving toward an impending and inevitable face-off — one where I'd hoped to enjoy eight hours of sleep after someone carted her ass off in a straitjacket. But after several weeks, there was still no end in sight. Like a hurricane stalling offshore, this quagmire of dysfunction neither waxed nor waned. But then one day, everything suddenly changed. I remember how Derrick and I trudged our way into the local grocery store. We were there in aisle three, when Tom, an old friend from high school appeared. Along with serendipity and a giant bag of weed, he'd moved back into town. He also needed a roommate. Thirty minutes later, the three of us sat in Tom's van, and over a few beers and the occasional bong hit, a new roommate alliance was forged. He even offered to help move. My luck appeared to be changing. That afternoon, we became the Three Musketeers, local Ganja Chapter 420. Poster boys for P.S.A.'s against reefer madness. Our perspective clouded by copious amounts of THC, we could have doubled for the Three Stooges with a profound case of the munchies. Derrick and I, for humor’s sake, decided not to warn Tom about Mrs. Oad's theatrics while on our way to retrieve my stuff, and on a last minute dare, looked forward to the opportunity of watching him discover this spectacle for himself. The moment would be priceless. Of course, when Derrick and I decided to do this, we planned on only letting Tom carry the light stuff. Say what you will about my sense of humor; I am not a monster. Once we arrived back at my $300 apartment, however, the timing could not have been worse. We found ourselves staring into the pinnacle of Mrs. Oad’s latest and greatest binge. She sat perched in her tree, like a sentry at a bipolar nudist colony, babbling something about Germans again. After Tom stopped laughing and got up off the ground, we each drew imaginary straws. Our strategy was simple: The three of us would slink onto the property and take turns running into the building like wasted commandos on some secret recon mission. We hoped to avoid any confrontation, and with hands full, desired to bolt out the front door with as much of my belongings as we could carry. I’m not sure what was worse, the threat of seeing an approaching machete or Mrs. Oad’s prune-like naked body with breasts jiggling at half-mast. The circumstance nurtured in me, apart from the potential risk for retinal scarring, a rock-solid appreciation for older women who wear support bras. We’d just finished loading up the van when police arrived. In my opinion, six months too late. Mrs. Oad held the machete in her hand with her eyes locked on the approaching news helicopter while she clung screaming from her tree. Caught up in the pandemonium, I suddenly heard my landlord’s booming voice. He’d just pulled up behind the gathering crowd, seen all my belongings in Tom’s van, and realized I was moving out. As a bargaining chip, I said he could keep my deposit in exchange for early termination of my lease. I also promised not to walk over to the news crew and tell them about his many code violations. Although initially annoyed, he quickly accepted my proposition. Smart man. We ended the transaction through a quick handshake. With a firm grip, he wished me well over the windy effects of the chopper and sporadic bullhorn shouts from police. He even said he’d give me a stellar reference. In many ways, I often think of that moment as my first step toward a higher credit score. From the front passenger seat of Tom’s van, I now saw Mrs. Oad on the ground in the fetal position, her naked body tangled and sedated in a police net. A tranquilizer dart protruded from her cellulite riddled ass. I took one final look back at my $300 apartment. Immersed in the bittersweet dysfunction of it all, I sensed my residency there had come full circle. I realized someday I would hold a different perspective and have to laugh … maybe even write a story. --- T.H.Cee has had other short stories published in Black Fox and New Praxius. He also had another story that will be published this month at Oddville Press.   --- Show your love for Horror Sleaze Trash by following us and checking out the links below! --- Facebook . Instagram . Twitter . Patreon . HST Merch!

[apushsux]

Lose Always Hurts, No Matter the Person.   by: meg

sorry if its long, just a romanticism project I did for english class, thought I’d share, feedback is always appreciated, no matter the type <3

     “You can’t be serious.” I say scoffing slightly, in an attempt to convince myself that the doofus before me is lying. I pull one of my sweatpant engulfed legs underneath me, while staring at the boy. “Tess, we’re almost 16, we were bound to do it eventually” he says looking at me with the same intensity as my eyes convey. Except his eyes are apprehensive and ready, unlike mine, which are wary and shielding whatever lies behind them.” Yeah, but…” I pause gathering my thoughts, as my gaze shifts to just past my best friend for a moment and back again to the familiar green. “Will.” I drag out, annoyed by how good his puppy dog eyes had always worked on me. “ Come on. It’s only for a night, 8 hours tops. We go, we sleep, we leave, simple as that.” he said, with a grin that could kill, and a glint in his eye that I can’t quite distinguish. I narrow my eyes at him, as he pulls another handful of popcorn out of the bowl we were supposed to be sharing. I let out a breath as I shake my head, and take a look at my lap. “If that ghost doesn’t kill you. I will and trust me… it won’t be pretty.” as I speak the boy sitting opposite of me lets out a squeal that I could only assume he had been holding for at least fourteen years. He grabs my hands, keeping them from their previous nervous picking at the fabric of the couch we are on. Soon after he jumps up on the spot before dashing out with my plastic mixing bowl of popcorn, leaving our shared fuzzy blanket to me. “You won’t regret it!” he yells back at me, his words abruptly cut off by the door being shut. He knows me too well, if he hadn’t of left, I would of had time to change my mind. But now here I am, I am the last person you would expect to go into an actual haunted house, let alone stay the night in one. Footsteps coming down the hallway pull me out of my thoughts,”Where did Will go?” my mom asks, chuckling. I feel my cheeks heat up as I stare at my mother in the doorframe. “Oh, he just, uhh, had to get home...he totally forgot to feed his dogs, and his parents and brothers aren’t there to do it either so...” I throw out in hopes of it sounding even a bit like the truth. My mom can’t know about the haunted house and it’s the worst, because all I want to do right now is talk it out in a good old heart to heart. “Oh, alright.” she says skeptically, her laughing fit replaced with small grin that lights up her eyes. “Well you should probably get to bed, tomorrow is friday and you have that history test right?” she asks, looking at my comfortable position on the couch, surrounded by junk food, I’m surprised she didn’t get mad about me hanging out with Will so late on a school night. She then turns and begins to walk down the hall taking small glances back at me.“Um, Yeah.” I reply as casually as I can, my lips pressed tightly together afterwards in a forced closed mouth smile. “Okay, well night, love you!” she calls back before shutting her bedroom door. “Love you.” I speak into the air at a normal tone. I sigh, before getting up and beginning to pick up Will and I’s mess. All I can think about as I try to go to sleep that night is how terrible tomorrow night is going to be, different ways that I could get away with killing Will, and the economic causes of the declaration of independence.

The next day is shorter than I would have liked it to be. The dread of what the night held made the day last a max of 2 hours. After school I met up with Will at the gas station we had gone to since the beginning of freshman year. He got there first, most likely because of his excitement for tonight’s events. I went my own pace, slowly dragging my feet along the pavement, head down, ears immersed in the clouding beat of my earbuds. I eventually made it to the gas station, looking up, my eyes landed on a young girl sitting in an SUV, feet dangling out of the door, hand buried forearm deep into a bag of chips, other hand clutching a large cup filled to the brim with green slushy. I couldn’t help but feel extremely envious of the small girl and her oversized American gas station food. “Tess!” I heard a boy from my side shout excitedly, it was Will probably. I forced my eyes away from a blurred daydream of the good old days, and looked around for my best friend. What I found made my depressed state lift a little bit. Directly behind me, is Will kicked back on the hood of a small black car. I pull the earbuds out of my ears in one motion, before making a shuffling run for my best friend and the unknown car. “Will. Is this.. Are you…What?” the words fall out of my mouth before they can be articulated. “Yes.” he says flatly with his signature grin. “Oh my god!” I shout before flinging myself into his arms, and hugging him tightly, as we spin happily. “Ready to go?” he says chuckling, releasing me to look at my face and walking to get in the driver’s seat of the car. “No” I breath in an airy laugh, contrary to my words I quickly make my way to the other side of the car. After I jump in, my hand finds it way to the volume dial, and the loud bass fills my ears. Before I know it I’m flying down the highway with my best friend, belting Fergie, and any other female power singer that found its way onto Will’s phone. Also before I know it, we are slowly pulling into a driveway I’ve never seen before and my heart drops to the leather seat below me. Will and I both, are now straight faced, staring ahead at the house, Beyonce is still loud in our ears until Will turns the key, and the engine sputters off. “-but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit.” (Poe 194) Will finally says, breaking the silence. I break my gaze from the bland house through the windshield, to send a confused look to the boy to my left, the skin between my eyebrows furrowed. “What?” I say still glaring at his side profile. He is broken out of his trance it seems, and turns to me nonchalantly, “Oh nothing, just this whole situation reminds me of something I read once… Also the simple creepiness of this house is not helping my nerves.” I laugh airly and it seems that the butterflies are actually flying into my stomach. “You’re telling me.” I breath out, and there is another silence. We both swallow the lump that had built up in our throats before I sigh, and get out of my best friends new car. With the car door still open I lean down, resting my forearms on the top of the car. “You coming?” I ask, gaining a confidence all of the sudden. Will stares at me wide eyed before turning to gaze straight ahead and clears his throat. “Yeah, I was just… you know…” he scoffs, but doesn’t finish and looks at me again. “Oh, of course… I forgot you had to do that.” I say with a small chuckle as I stand back up straight and close the car door. I begin to make my way up towards the house, holding my backpack I retrieved from the floorboard by the straps like a boyscout. I stare thoughtfully at the worn paint covered door, and the fogged windows on its sides. “Tess! Wait up! You can’t die without me, we made a pact.” Will yells after climbing out of the car and racing up behind me. I turn to face him, “You still remember that?” I say with a grin, and a condescending tone. Will ignores my attitude and says “Absolutely! I swear, sixth grade will be highest point of my life.” I laugh loudly at that and we both turn our attention towards the task before us. The creaky wooden stairs are taken one step at a time as I scan the front porch, afraid of the worst. Will reaches the door first with his long strides and moves the open the door, as the rebellious teenager he is, I’m surprised he hasn’t found his way into juvy yet. But, I guess he’s friends with me, yeah that’s why, no need to elaborate. I finally make it the top of the four steps, after carefully standing on each one, when I hear a gate slam shut roughly behind me. It is a relatively windy day, but it still gets both Will and I’s attention because we are on edge. When I turn back Will is still looking around, and the door to the house is open a fourth of the way, about the width of Will sideways could fit through. His eyes suddenly shift to mine and he disappears through the boy sized crack in the door, speaking of the door it slams shut after him. In shock, all I can do is stare in silence at the different shades of gray that fill my vision. My hands are about to find their way frantically to my phone in the back pocket of my jeans when the doors opens again abruptly. Out jumps a flustered Will, hair ruffled, and a dazed look in his eyes. He is looking straight past me, but I don’t think he means to do that. “Oh! Hey there best friend!” he gushes loudly, making me jump from cracks in it that I’m not used to. “Hi Will.” I push out unwillingly, pressure building up in my chest and that one spot in the back of my head that hurts after a long lecture. He is struggling to keep his balance so I walk forward to hold him in place, trying to get him to look me in the eye, I need him to look me in the eye or I feel like I’ll lose him. “Will. Look at me.” I say not as flat as I intend, my grip tightening on his biceps. He looks at me for a moment with a devilish smile on his face that doesn’t match his features. Then he shakes out of my hands, seeming to have more balance he steps back, still in arms reach. He pauses before heaving in a long breath and speaking dramatically, “But, as I placed my hand upon his shoulder…” his right hand roughly grips his left shoulder as he stares me down, “...there came a strong shudder over his whole person…” Will begins to shake violently and he grins maniacally, “...a sickly smile quivered about his lips; and I saw that he spoke in a low, hurried, and gibbering murmur, as if unconscious of my presence.”(Poe 205) he finishes close to my face, his spit lands on my brow. I’ve never been more afraid of my best friend before now, the once familiar face, now, could go away forever please. He is breathing heavier and heavier, as I shiver. “Will… you need to calm down.” I say, surpassing any feeling that this isn’t my best friend I’m talking to. He begins to smile again, but it’s not his signature flamboyant one, this one is evil and dry. A loud wheezing laugh breaks through his lips, and another spray of spit hits my face, joining a tear that falls, the first of many. “Will.” I speak sadly, he doesn’t stop laughing. “Will.” I say again with more power, but he still continues to laugh, backing up again, and clutching his side. “Will!” I scream shakily, but he still doesn’t stop, and I close my eyes because my head begins to spin. “Tess!” I suddenly hear my best friend’s voice, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. He is shaking my shoulders roughly, and I open my eyes warily. He sees that I’m awake and stops shaking me, sitting back on his knees. I look around, taking in my surroundings confusedly. When I see the boy with bed hair, silhouetted by the sun coming through the window, I tackle him, embracing him as if it were life or death. “Woah there Tess, I know you love me, but we have talked about this before, not in that way.” he chuckles after emphasizing his word choice. I grin into t shirt, breathing in his wonderfully natural boy scent, I thought I lost him. “Sorry. Just a… bad dream I guess.” I speak, muffled by his chest. When I pull back I open my eyes again to see a beautifully lighted old bedroom, sleeping bags scattered on the dull wood floor, dust particles highlighted by the sun seeping through the windows, and vines making there way across the faded wallpaper. I stand up to take in the scene, making my way over to a worn wood desk, with books and paper scattered atop it. A particular paper catches my eye, and I read it aloud, “But, as I placed my hand upon his shoulder, there came a strong shudder over his whole person; a sickly smile quivered about his lips; and I saw that he spoke in a low, hurried, and gibbering murmur, as if unconscious of my presence.” (Poe 205) I feel a chill roll through my body, and I wrap my arms around my body to contain it. “What was that?” Wills chuckles from behind me, his focus on the phone placed comfortably in his lap. “I don’t really know I guess…” I say pausing, and looking down at my best friend, “something an old friend said.”

[hiruma-musouka]

soulmates see color (IzuMito)

Happy late birthday @elenathehun​.  I wrote IzuMito like you wanted ^.^  💕 

(AO3 link - contains all author notes)

This is fucking ridiculous.

Izuna drags a hand down his face, closing his eyes to the massive warehouse full of various merchandise, and sincerely regrets asking his father for this mission. He certainly hadn't wanted to accompany Uncle Kenrou's group to the western desert with his brother (of all miserable places), but he also hadn't realized at the time that he'd have to track this group of thieves south and east to cut over nearly the entirety of Hi no Kuni, sneak past patrols from several different clans (most of whom would love to kill him), and then curve back upwards to stop within kunai-throwing distance of the Yu no Kuni border.

And now he's finally caught up to his quarry, except they've already sold his client's priceless (and pointless) trinket to a merchant.

A very successful merchant.

One who possess an unnecessarily large stock in his opinion and is either the most disorganized and eclectic woman Izuna's ever come across or who has evidently met her soulmate and decided afterwards to implement a color-based organizational scheme among her products.

Which makes this night so much better given that to him everything just looks like a mass of yellows and grays with a scattering of blues.

What kind of inconsiderate, inefficient, and short-sighted merchant organizes their warehouse by color!? Yes, yes, there are obviously individual groupings of similar items among each greater section - furniture with furniture, rugs with rugs, jewelry with jewelry - but at least seventy percent of the average population is color impaired in some way at any one point in time! How the hell does she stay in business? Does Akiyama only hire workers who can see in full color?

... No. No that would be foolish, Izuna realizes, silently drumming his fingers on his sword hilt. Akiyama didn't establish a large mercantile network by vastly limiting her employee base. If her merchandise is organized by primary color after it's purchased, and all the employees know the organizational scheme, then items wouldn't need to be rigorously labeled for color as long as there's at least one full-sighted staff member who can run checks that the system is being maintained.

Theoretically, it might shave time off in day-to-day affairs. If time is money, that's obviously a benefit from Akiyama's perspective.

This, of course, does not change the fact that Izuna doesn't know the warehouse's system and thus can not easily rule out any areas. He also can't afford to genjutsu one of the workers to fetch it for him because his client wants the theft kept as quiet as possible which means any potential evidence of his presence is a bad idea. And he has to find it tonight because while he has confirmation that one of Akiyama's employees purchased it five hours ago, he has no idea how long it takes this branch to process items.

"A brilliant emerald in a silver setting," Izuna mutters, eyes darting from one end of the building to another. Silver's easy enough, he knows he sees that in the same shade as his matched parents, but emeralds are supposed to be green and green is one of the most widely common problem colors. He has no idea what green actually looks like to soul-matched people, but...

'Red for running blood

Pink for sakura blooming

Orange for mikan

Yellow for the sun

Green for healthy, growing grass...'

Izuna may or may not pout like he's ten-years-old again as he mentally double-checks part of the color haiku. Grass under a summer sun always appears to be a yellow or gray-yellow to him. Which is a problem because over half of the contents of this room are in some variation of yellow!

He resists the urge to sigh and makes his way to the right. He'll need to run a systematic grid search to make sure he doesn't miss the pendant given its small size. At least he can rule out anything that's colored an intense blue. Judging from past experience, those items have to be either legitimately blue or some shade of purple.

... This would be a lot easier if he could afford to use a brighter light.

( It's going to be so very satisfying when he turns those thieves in for their bounty on top of his mission pay. He's positive they must have a bounty among the civilians: he can't be the only person they've angered if they've successfully robbed a noblewoman while being incompetent enough to still get noticed. )

.

.

Izuna finally finds the uselessly overpriced bauble at around four in the morning. He's tired, cranky, twitchy from dodging random guard checks, and suffering a horrendous headache both from straining to see details in low-light and from frequently flicking his sharingan on and off for better night vision.

The palm-sized pendant really doesn't look impressive enough to be worth this hassle, if he's honest. He's aware it must be very expensive considering the size of the gemstone and the mission fee his client is willing to pay for its retrieval, but from a purely aesthetic point of view Izuna can barely think of anything to recommend it. The emerald looks like solidified incense ash to him even if the silver is molded in an admittedly elegant, antique design.

But a mission is a mission and his is finally done. He even has a little time left before his family starts worrying, which means he has the opportunity to do something for himself.

Maybe he'll take the scenic route back after disposing of the thieves who have lingered nearby. He's never seen the ocean before.

.

.

"We dead. We so dead."

"Shut yer mouth and keep moving! We'll just— we'll put 'er in the pit with the others and be done with it! Nobody's gonna dig up all of those bodies just looking for one girl."

"She got a devil's hair, Taro, a devil's! Ain't seen nothing like it, but y'know the stories. Only the Uzumaki got that 'round these parts." Masaharu starts breathing harder, eyes darting around the inn, frantic mania building under the surface as he searches the shadows of the room. "They catch spirits with glowing chains and eat 'em alive. They know things - know how to write down stuff, make all kinds of things happen. Don't even need words! Just squiggles and paper and—"

"MASA!" Taro snaps, punching his friend firmly in the shoulder. Masa's eyes dart back to his, jerked out of his high pitched rambling. "She's got buns. It's a hairstyle. There isn't anything devilish about it. Now grab that man—" he pointed towards a dead fisherman with blue-tinged skin, bloodshot eyes, and a mouth covered in vomit "—and start getting 'em all on the damn cart. We've gotta get all these folks buried before we can leave, you know that."

"It ain't the style, Taro," Masaharu whispers, fearful as a child. "It the color. It like, like blood Taro. It look like blood and flowers. 'Taint natural."

Of course it's the color, Taro curses internally. Damn Masa's useless soulmate. She met the man, put all these stories in the poor fool's head, and then up and got herself a wasting sickness months later instead of sticking around to deal the results of her messing with her man's brain.

"Listen. Masa," Taro says reassuringly, shaking the idiot's shoulder until he looks at him. "I don't know what color you're seeing, but it's just light colored hair, alright? Look at 'er," he says, waving towards the inn's stairs where the visiting teen had collapsed earlier, sprawled out on the last steps in a simple dress like any other village girl. "She isn't going to do anything. We'll bury them all and be done with it alright?"

Masaharu gulps. "It bad luck to bury the livin', Taro."

"Hey, hey," he scolds, when Masa's attention wanders back to the girl. "She's just a bit slow to die, alright? Some people just die hard, that's all. You heard what those shinobi told us: the poison's fatal, alright? She'll be dead before long just like the rest."

Masaharu hesitates, wringing his sleeves and looking around the inn at all the corpses, each crumbled to the floor wherever they'd been standing when the poison in Taro's pipe smoke had triggered the stuff they'd drunk . "Don't seem right, ta me. It just don't seem right..."

"Well right doesn't keep food in our bellies, Masa, and there isn't any work but what the shinobi wanted. I don't much like it myself, but I'm not gonna let you and me suffer a slow death." Masaharu shudders at the idea and Taro gives him a grim smile and a friendly pat. "Now, have I let you down? Left you behind before even when I maybe should've?"

"No. You're a good friend."

"Right you are. And you're the same to me. So you get the others on the cart, and if it bothers you so much, I'll deal with the girl myself, alright? Alright. Now speed it up, that shinobi was clear about not getting anything till the job is done." He shoves Masa off towards the other bodies and heads to the stairs.

Maybe now they'll actually get somewhere quickly if Masa can just keep focused. He loves the idiot but damn if his brain isn't frustrating occasionally. If the girl just hadn't stopped by earlier today to check in, they'd have had the entire place clear by now.

Taro slows as he approaches the teenager, slipping a hand into his kimono warily and grabbing the shortened fukiya and darts that the shinobi had handed over alongside the poisons. Masa is damn superstitious and probably overreacting, but then again he might not be. The older man always sees things very simply, but sometimes that means he gets straight to the important point without getting fooled by distractions he doesn't understand. Sometimes Masa really is right when his stubborn brain says 'danger', and Taro would be a moron himself if he didn't at least consider it.

And here... well, the girl likely isn't a devil - Taro's mostly sure devils don't get themselves poisoned by normal folks hired for coin - but Masa's right that there's something off about the young woman.

For starters, she actually isn't dead. Which stands out a lot given that the two of them had just spent twenty minutes hauling the bodies of other people who had all died damn near immediately. In addition, now that he's seeing her properly, it looks like he was maybe exaggerating a bit when he assured Masa that the girl is just dying hard. She doesn't much look like she's moving on to the afterlife.

In fact... if anything... Taro would say she looks like she's crawling her way back.

Taro stops a few feet away, staring warily as the teen stirs, eyes shifting under their lids. He glances over her, looking at the dark golden hair buns, the bluish diamond in the middle of her forehead, the pale skin, the cream yukata, the simple sandals...

She's a pretty one, Taro realizes, suspicion dawning as he takes half a step further back, bringing up the fukiya to his lips as she cracks open her eyelids, squinting woozily up at the ceiling with dark colored eyes. She's a pretty one, of marriageable age, with no man accompanying her, and traveling alone... but she was comfortable and composed and rock-solid confident.

The woman's lips pull tight the slightest bit and if he hadn't been getting a little unnerved himself, Taro probably would have missed when she abruptly rolled and tried to shove herself up with an arm. As is, his first dart only grazes her neck and if she hadn't stumbled from the rigged smoke she'd inhaled earlier, he wouldn't have had the chance to reload and fire another.

The girl yanks the poisoned dart out of the meat of her shoulder without a second of hesitation and sends him such a furiously unyielding look through the nauseous tinge to her face that even though she starts to collapse, Taro hurries and hits her with another dart as well.

The girl hits the floor with a muffled thump, and Taro darts a look over his shoulder to check for Masaharu. Luckily the other man is currently on one of his trips outside so there won't be any additional freaking out over this.

Not that it wouldn't be deserved, Taro thinks, knuckles tight around the fukiya as he resists the urge to rub his worn omamori charm between his fingers for good luck. That girl definitely isn't normal after all.

Something dark starts to spread out on either side of the diamond on the girl's forehead. It's colored like spilled ink or black bruising or seeping poison depending on which of the now paranoid voices in his head Taro listens to, and its shape changes as it slowly crawls across the girl's skin. For brief moments Taro swears he can see bits and pieces of words in the messy lines forming on the teen's face - as if a sentence of old calligraphy had been stretched and squeezed and then came to life as writhing worms so that a secret language could inch itself across her pale face.

It's just as unnatural as Masaharu swore she was, and with gritted teeth Taro hauls her up on his shoulder and swiftly makes his way to the cart.

He's not sure he believes in devils or curses, but right now the other possibility is shinobi nonsense and that's just as dangerous and bizarre.

They'll be better off getting done and then getting gone.

.

.

The thieves' heads had not been as valuable as Izuna had hoped for, but at least the ocean is living up to its reputation.

He kicks his foot idly as he lounges on a high branch, watching the waves ebb and flow. The tree is tall enough to provide a good view of the sprawling shoreline while still hiding him in its shrouding canopy, and there's a wind coming through that edges the temperature over from unpleasantly humid into tolerable. The sea shines under the setting sun, glimmering off blue waters as far as the eye can see and for a brief moment Izuna activates his sharingan, memorizing it for later.

The trip here is a nice variation in routine, Izuna thinks, eyes drifting over yellow-white sand and up to the tree line where summer boughs are heavy with dull brown and murky yellow leaves. The sight wouldn't be enough by itself to be worth the long travel time it would take to visit again though. And given that his clan doesn't have any alliances past the Senju lands in the east, and few of their customer requests take them this way for anything but pitched battles, he's unlikely to return.

Suppressing a yawn, Izuna shifts, setting down against the trunk for a light nap until darkness fully sets in and he can start making his way home with less likelihood of being spotted. He strains his senses to detect anything out of the ordinary — unusual sounds or a lurking presence — but there's no sign of anyone who might be a threat. There's only the sun on his face, the tree at his back, and the wind carrying the scent of salt and smoke...

Smoke?

With a frown, the fourteen-year-old climbs up the tree as far as it will bear his weight, taking deep breaths and confirming the hint of smoke and ash on the breeze. He looks windward to the north, towards a town he had avoided earlier while putting distance between himself and Akiyama's warehouse. There's the faintest hint of blackish-gray smoke trailing up from the forest and Izuna eyes it, trying to decide if he should investigate. Most likely it was started by civilians rather than anything spontaneous given it had rained recently, so the chance of it developing into an out of control forest fire is low enough...

He rubs his thumb over the wrappings on his sword hilt, debating with himself before triggering his sharingan, and flinches in surprise at a gleaming star of flickering chakra in the center of his sightline.

Izuna drops to the forest floor quickly, sticking to the waxing shadows as much as he can and heading for that beacon of power. It would be reckless to engage someone that strong without cause this far from his clan, but it's better to have information on who it might be and if he'll need the advantage of attacking preemptively.

The smell of burning wood with an edge of metal increases as he approaches and Izuna slows, slipping back up into the trees and taking the slower route over the branches in favor of a lower chance of being spotted. He can see two civilian-level chakra cores now that he's closer, both barely a wisp of energy next to that building blaze, but there are no other shinobi present.

The trees end ahead, opening up onto a large clearing with a roughly dug pit. There's a burning cart not far off and bodies dropped into roughly stacked piles. Two men steadily move around, dragging the corpses one-by-one to the pit and throwing them in.

The source of the chakra is a girl with fair hair laying face-down on the ground some distance from the corpses. The twitcher of the two men gives her a wide berth at all times, and Izuna's brow furrows, trying to figure out how two civilians got involved with what he'll bet his sword is an downed kunoichi. Or why they're disposing of civilian corpses in a mass grave. The bodies don't look right for natural deaths of illness or starvation, and they don't have the wounds he'd expect on war casualties. And although he can't rule out that another shinobi killed them all and these two are stuck dealing with the leftovers, villagers burying neighbors would show more respect in the tone of their actions and treat the bodies like bodies rather than a grim chore to slog through as quickly as possible without a care for roughness.

The girl starts moving, rolling herself over to reveal a pretty face with odd tattoos covering her skin from hairline to the collar of her outfit, and the corner of Izuna's mouth shoots up along with an eyebrow when the twitchy man freaks out and the calmer one spins around and shoots the girl with a dart.

He should have just slit her throat if they're worried, Izuna thinks derisively, watching the pretty pathetic scene of two men failing to deal with incapacitated threat. Not that it's any more impressive that the kunoichi got downed by a poison dart. She has all that chakra but apparently no idea how to use it. What a waste.

He watches them hurry through dealing with the last bodies before grabbing the girl. The twitchy one holds her like she's already the maggot-eaten corpse she'll become in a few days, and they throw her into the ditch on top of the other corpses and start rapidly piling dirt over her body in shovelfuls.

Izuna takes one last look at her face, debating about wasting valuable steel by throwing a kunai for a mercy killing. Given her chakra levels, she's more likely to die through the suffocation of being buried alive than the poison she's fighting off, and that's not anywhere near the type of death he would want for himself.

Suddenly her tattoos alight, nearly blinding now in his sharingan, and a visible blaze of light shines through the shower of soil, swirling into the now-writhing lines on her skin with a rush. The kunoichi's eyes slit open, lip curling lightly into the beginning of a snarl as she glares up towards the edge of the pit from her prone position.

Izuna curses aloud as her chakra spikes violently, throwing himself out of the tree at the realization that those are seals instead of tattoos, and has just enough time to rush through a doton jutsu and hit the ground before the world implodes.

Several tumultuous seconds later, a half-deafened Izuna cracks open an eye from his prone position on the ground, feeling a little like that time he'd failed to dodge correctly and his father had accidentally cracked him upside the head with a shinai. There's something about a handsbreadth away from his nose and he flicks his sharingan back on to see better in the darkness only to realize that the thing above him is a shattered branch and that the rest of a massive tree is balanced precariously above him, ready to crush his ribs from where it had been forcibly impaled halfway through the dome of his doton shield.

Thank you, Uncle Kenrou, Izuna thinks to himself, holding perfectly still as he cautiously flips through hand signs, for having shoved doton jutsu down everyone's throat.

.

.

As a note for the future, Mito thinks grimly, spitting out something vile and unidentified and feeling like she'll never be clean again, an explosion is effective but undesirable when you're under ground level and surrounded by corpses.

She slowly crawls to the side of the now-sloping pit, feeling too dizzy and nauseous from the poison her seals are still purging to risk climbing to her feet. There's a series of... squishing sounds every time she shifts her weight and she drags her lips into a forced smile to suppress her gag reflex as her knee sinks into something that's partly liquefied.

She's burning these clothes when she's out of here. Burning them and creating a design for a sanitation seal even if it strips off the upper layers of her skin like the worst exfoliant she's ever owned. She will walk home nude and barefoot. If anyone sees her she'll simply assault them for their clothing.

She's also never drinking oolong tea ever again. A pity that.

Mito digs her fingers into the crumbling earth walls, ignoring the additional dirt that showers down on her arms, and heaves herself up to collapse on the ground. The two men responsible for the worst day she's had in at least four years are several meters away and unmoving, bodies tossed over several felled trees in the newly widened clearing. They're undoubtedly dead or dying from the concussive force and Mito dismisses them as a problem. It's true that she will need to ascertain who was behind their actions and whether she was a target or an incidental victim, but that can come later.

Much later.

Preferably after a thorough scrubbing.

And an expensive bottle of plum wine.

She rolls onto her back, kicking off her shoe into the grave pit with tightened lips when something starts to ooze down the arch of her foot. She's sore all over and she reeks besides and she refuses to look too closely at herself until she either finds a river or gives up and drenches herself in the sea she can smell on the breeze. She reaches up and briskly yanks out the remaining pins from the left side of her hair, disgust lingering when she has to peel a... well, peel something organic and blood-covered off of her bun before the hair can come loose.

There's the subtle rumble of earth moving in the distance and Mito lunges to her feet, no matter how unsteadily.

"You have excellent senses," someone comments. She looks to the side with narrowed eyes, shoving her hair away from her face as it tumbles over her shoulder, and sees a young man—a handful of years younger than her perhaps? Sixteen at the absolute most—step over the gray leaves of a broken cedar tree. He has a hand on the sword at his side, is covered with as fine a shower of soil as herself, and is currently plucking twigs out of his long black hair.

"Mind you," he says brightly, with an undertone that means he's having as enjoyable a day as she is and is probably feeling just as violently inclined, "that doesn't mean I appreciate being nearly blown up."

"What an unusual opinion," Mito responds scathingly, altering her grip on her hair pins as she finally meets his eyes.

The boy stops dead, eyes widening sharply before they proceed to flash rapidly between their current pattern and solid black.

Mito's eyes water as they start itching intensely but she doesn't look away from the other shinobi as colors shift around her. Grey leaves morph into an unknown vibrant color, dark trunks lose the faint pink tinge she'd always known, and even the boy's vivid pink eyes bleed into a richer red.

... This is unexpected.

"Well," the boy says, sounding two pitches higher, wide eyes locked on the wavy fall of her freed hair. He looks a bit dazed as he gives her a smile that's abruptly more genuine. "I did not imagi—" his voice cracks in the middle of the word and Mito raises an eyebrow as he coughs, a dusting of pink surfacing on his cheeks. "This was not quite how and where I thought I'd find you."

"How old are you?" Mito questions pointedly, taking a closer look at the curve of his face and feeling a bit better, in the face of his embarrassment, about the fact that this is quite possibly the most disgusting first impression she could have made.

"How old are you?" he counters evasively with a charming smile that has probably fooled a lot of people who aren't her.

"Nineteen," she answers, a little amused to see a subtle twitch in his cheek right next to the crumbled remains of a no-longer pink yarrow flower that's still tangled in his hair.

"A fine age for such a lovely woman," he compliments, both failing to answer the question himself and apparently ignoring the guts, blood, and unmentionables sticking to her in various locations. She's tempted to humor him for that consideration alone but—

"And you are...?" she prompts.

"Izuna," he introduces, nodding politely. "And what brings such a skilled kunoichi to this backwoods pit of iniquity and corpses?" he asks, briefly glancing at the dozens of cracked and collapsed trees with a newly appreciative smile before pausing for a moment, lips tilting up with a sly glint in his eyes. "Aside from poison. And a cart."

"You frustrate your family at times, don't you Uchiha Izuna?" she asks dryly, finally placing why the pattern of light colored eyes with dark rings and spots are familiar. Regular correspondence with their Senju cousins is not part of her duties, but she and many of her cousins had begun to review knowledge about that area of Hi no Kuni three months ago after the Senju clan head had broached the topic of renewing relations with a possible marriage to his son. Mito hadn't been certain at the time that she was even interested in leaving her clan for one so distant, but alliances are worth upholding and perhaps Senju Hashirama would impress her if one of the others didn't fancy him.

( She's even less certain she'll be marrying a Senju now, but ironically the knowledge of that region might still prove useful. )

Izuna's right forearm tenses, wariness flashing over his face at his clan name before, with a rueful smile, his sharingan fades to black. "I assure you, that has never been mentioned to me," he lies cheerfully. "And your name would be?"

"Uzumaki Mito." Something slides down the back of her head, dripping a slimy chunk down the back of her collar, and Mito grits her teeth and makes the mistake of breathing through her nose.

"Do you know of any nearby rivers?" she asks abruptly, interrupting the younger boy's thoughtful perusal of her.

"...Yes?"

"Good. You may come and burn these garments when I'm done bathing." She gestures with her hair pins, intending Izuna to proceed her, and he starts walking, never moving closer than several body lengths despite a clear curiosity about her. It's a little endearing actually that he thinks that's far enough for a head start if she triggers another explosion.

Then again, wasn't the sharingan supposed to capable of perception outside the norm? Hm...

"You're not going to try washing them?" he teases. "Can Uzumaki manifest clothes from thin air then?

She tilts her chin up imperiously. "I had intended to simply take your shirt since it's long enough for minimal decency."

There's a sharp crack as Izuna's previously silent stride manages to land on a large stick. "I would be happy to provide," he chirps, voice definitely higher this time as he stares at her nose and doesn't quite meet her eyes.

... Well, Mito might break him if he's as nice as he's trying to appear, or they might kill each other outright if they end up at an impasse and Izuna's as fierce as what she thought she saw lurking under the surface during his arrival, but at the very least he looks pretty.

That's rather nice.

(AO3 link - contains all author notes)

[minusram]

4/? bonny and blithe, good and gay

actually yelly anon reminded me that i forgot to crosspost the penultimate chap of bbgg. not sure i actually have any tumblr-only readers, but hey; better safe etc etc

[ch 1 / ch 2 / ch 3] [do make tomorrow a sunny day series here]

They emerge into a carpeted receiving room thronged with what must be at least half a hundred psychics—even if a significant percentage of them weren’t palpably genuine practitioners Ritsu would recognize their trade from the terrible way they all dress.

‘Significant’, of course, is relative, but considering the concentration of spiritually gifted individuals in the general population, meeting even one other esper is noteworthy.

Ritsu and his employer remain mostly unnoticed by the mass of people clustered away from the door, but a few turn to peer at them suspiciously, to size up potential competition. Reigen's taken aback for less than a second—and Ritsu only knows because of the particular way he rolls his shoulder—then he gets started, working the room with his usual oily flair and carving a space for himself where he doesn’t belong with just fast talk and the force of his repugnant but bafflingly effective personality.

He wades into the crowd, a cloud of jovial introductions left in his wake, handing out business cards and subtly enforcing his social superiority in a way that is confident, but not overly so; avoiding alienation by the sprinkling of a few specks of modesty amongst the uptalk. Ritsu trails silently behind.

Reigen cuts a swathe through the room, speaking the way he does to clients and moving with purpose in the face of his skeptical marks. It’s difficult for Ritsu to tell which of them have powers; a staticky aura hangs in the air, but his impression of the energy’s source remains indistinct. He’s unused to sensing others of his kind—every psychic he’s ever met has found him first.

Reactions to the rapid-fire establishment of their standing vary from baffled to condescending. Psychics are either good with people, intimidatingly bizarre, or just extremely lucky, but even in all the strangeness of this past year Ritsu has never met anyone quite like the man he follows now. His employer, energetic, manic with possibility, reaches a new target, and begins again. Ritsu can feel his mood souring, the longer they’re here with nothing happening. He didn’t come to network, he came to help people. And, yes, to serve himself; in hope of personal gain.

Judging by how many people are here, the lure of money or fame had a similar effect on his fellow exorcists.

He’s spared half an ear for Reigen’s spiel, the prattling stream of words a ceaseless rhythm that's grown familiar over time, but tunes right back in, affronted, when he hears the direction it’s taking.

“Oh, yes, I’m Reigen Arataka, and this is my assis—”

“I’m not—”

“My assistant, Kageyama Ritsu. Bright kid, but a little uppity, if you know what I mean. Won’t you excuse us for a moment, please?”

Reigen ushers him away and they reach the edge of the crowd. His employer bends for a harshly whispered exchange, unaware or uncaring of the fact that whispers in public tend to draw more attention than they deflect.

“Hey, Ritsu, pipe down, alright? I liked the silent act, that was good. Keep it up, and follow my lead unless for some incomprehensible teenage reason you are actively trying to blow this. If you ruin our reputation, then where are you gonna find your little exercises, huh?”

“You mean your reputation. I have nothing at stake here, I just work with you.”

“You work for me, kid, and if you don’t want to be cut off, you’ll stop trying to screw up my moves.”

“Your moves, Reigen-san, are the pathetic graspings of a man past his prime and lost in a world on which he has no bearing, a con artist who can only survive by leeching off society and the gullibility of desperate fools.”

His employer’s lips part, then twitch up into a smirk.

“Tell me how you really feel,” Reigen says, raising arch eyebrows at him, “And, by the way— I’m twenty-seven!” he hisses, before turning to greet another psychic who’s just walked up.

Ritsu fades back subtly, uninterested in ingratiating himself to strangers or to Reigen Arataka, and disappears to lean against the wall. No one notices him there, so it leaves him free to watch.

The people move, swirling together and apart in patterns Ritsu’s sure would be easier to track from above, but he does his best—his habitual level of effort; customarily more than adequate for his purposes. He compares what he sees to the display the day before, and finds substantial differences. The cultists were constrained, stuck together in a static train despite their wild laughing. Their grouping was starkly different from the one he observes now. Unnatural, even, though he has yet to devote the matter much thought.

The psychics here are stiff but organic, clustered in clannish clumps that remain cohesive with and within the greater group. Ritsu can’t deny that there seems to be a hub, some sort of slimy nucleus around where the century’s self-proclaimed shining star is making his way through the crowd, interrupting the previous order like sediment irritating a mollusc. Noise rises in the room, low conversations springing up like weeds in his employer’s wake.

A few more people show up, on the verge of being late as the start time on the invitation grows nigh, and receive the same scrutiny that greeted his own delegation of two. The crowd murmurs, louder now, energized by impatience and anticipation, his employer’s voice and bright hair lost in the thrum.

He catches sight of the eccentric uniform—black with pale wooden beads—of the Psychic Moon System, which may or may not be the organization’s real name, but he can’t tell from his limited glimpse whether there are any bandages on the person’s face. Guilt twinges regardless, and it occurs to him that he has no idea how long a Glasgow smile takes to heal. What happened to Shouda Katsukaru is tragic, and no little part of the blame falls at Ritsu’s feet; both because his association with Reigen was what got the man involved with such a dangerous spirit in the first place, and because Ritsu was unable to subdue it when the time came for him to step up.

They were all lucky that the thing was so indivisibly linked with the myth it was based on. Ambiguous answers and tossing anything they could find in their pockets confused it long enough for all three of them to get away—but not unscathed. Another one of his failures; something he can use now, and does, when he needs a little extra boost from his powers.

He wonders if every psychic’s abilities fuction this way. If this negative existence, life spent relying on a capacity powered by murk and suffering, is how it’s meant to work.

A clock strikes the hour from somewhere out of sight, across the room and the mass of people that despite their numbers don’t come close to filling it. Ritsu steps away from the wall to find Reigen, in order to present an arguably united front in the face of their competitors and the expectation that suffuses the room.

The leather doors open, swung by suited security personnel, and a man enters, clad in a pinstripe suit.

Ritsu finds Reigen, finally, or is found, and they stand together in the midst of the crowd as their client, mustached and desperate, steps forward to introduce himself.

Asagiri Masashi has, apparently, put stringent effort towards only inviting bonafide psychics to this event. Ritsu and Reigen trade a silent, speaking look while they can still see each other, before the room darkens and they turn their attention back to the presentation.

Through a slideshow, Ritsu learns about their client’s spoiled daughter; a year older than him but miles further from mature, the product of wealth and an upbringing unfettered by empathic concerns. The kind of girl his mother would call a minx and his father would call a hellraiser.

“Something is inside her,” Asagiri intones ponderously, lit by spilled light from the image of his locked up daughter, ten feet tall. Minori is tied to a bed, ropes snug on her wrists and snaking under the blankets, watched by spirit tags and a sleuth of toy bears; a disturbing picture.

Ritsu reserves judgement on the possibility of possession; he’s experienced enough of the evils of his peers to wait on a verdict until he sees for himself, and can decide on his own what’s been happening. Familiar too are the evils of adults—intimately, a hole in his family only half-healed—whether parent or child is in the wrong here, it’s inarguable that something must be done.

The crowd shifts uneasily, an atmosphere of apprehension gathering at the revelation of their task, but Ritsu is ready to understand, to learn if it’s delusion or premonitive intuition that’s thrown Asagiri Minori to the dark.

Asagiri opens a panel in the wall, a hidden spiral staircase, and leads them down to find out.

The stairwell is narrow, and it takes minutes for every one of them to make it down the story and a half to the small anteroom at basement level. Ritsu ends up next to Reigen somewhere in the middle of the relocation, which means queuing at the top of the stairs and loitering at the bottom until Asagiri shuffles to the front of the herd to open the plain wooden door that is the room’s only other feature, leading the ragged lump of them behind him when he’s the first one through.

It’s an observation room, made of depressing concrete, dominated by the enormous pane of one-way glass that practically composes one wall. Their side, filling in tighter all the time as people jostle to get a view of the occupant, is dimmed; the inside, lit up bright enough that the mirror must be opaque to the girl staring blankly across her coverlet, is fishbowl-like, leaving Ritsu with the uncomfortably voyeuristic impression of being at a zoo.

Reigen, behind him, speaks right into his ear and Ritsu twitches away from the feel of warm breath against the side of his face.

He turns to talk over his shoulder, meeting Reigen’s eyes level with his own since the man is partially bent over to invade his personal space.

“What?” Ritsu hisses, irate.

Reigen flicks his eyes reprovingly from side to side, hands in his pockets, indicating the people that surround them and how little he wants every one of them to be party to this conversation. Ritsu turns back around and mutters out the side of his mouth.

“What? And don’t breathe on my neck this time.”

“I was just asking, what do you think?”

Ritsu concentrates, and senses... nothing. Just a person, kept and unkempt; a girl his age stifled by her father and pinned behind glass for people to peer at, offered up to a parade of probing eyes that seek to find her flaws.

Minori’s head rolls on her neck until she’s looking at the mirror, giving the illusion of eye contact. She looks weary; deep bags dug in under her eyes, blonde hair lank on her forehead.

“Nothing,” Ritsu says quietly, “I don’t sense a thing.”

He stares, rude but comfortable with his lack of etiquette since he knows he won’t be caught, tracing her searchingly with his eyes for signs of possession while Asagiri answers questions, going into a narrative explanation of the smeared blood on his daughter’s whitewashed ceiling.

Ritsu looks and pretends she’s looking back at him, like this whole farce isn’t a gross violation of her privacy. Her head tilts a little as she looks at herself in the mirror, a wry smile fleetingly upon her face, and Ritsu wonders what she sees in her reflection, how differently she thinks of herself compared to his picture of her, built only on what he can presume to discern from the outside.

The psychics grow loud around him, each asserting their experience and suitability; Reigen rises to the top of the pack with glib presumption and loud aplomb, claiming the case in their name about as sophisticatedly as a dog marking territory.

The room devolves, adults barking at each other like animals as they yell and argue, except animals aren’t driven by avarice and pride. Ritsu considers whether the glass is soundproof; concludes it must be since Minori has no reaction to the disagreements being bellowed just beyond her walls.

It resolves in a rock-paper-scissors tournament, a juvenile solution; fitting considering the behaviour of people that are ostensibly—according to society, though he has massive trouble believing it right now—his betters. His employer employs mind games and Ritsu uses strategy. Either age or experience declares Reigen the winner, leaving him triumphant in first place while Ritsu languishes in seventeenth.

Reigen gloats his way through the door, drawing the ire of everyone in the room as he disappears down the hallway that curves around to open on the far wall of Minori’s upsettingly ursine bedroom. He enters as all of them watch, closing the door gently behind him, and goes into one of his usual routines.

Ritsu recognizes his manner, courteous and comforting, as the way he deals with the more delicate clients, fragile people with ghostly problems that seek remedy at the agency. For the first time, Ritsu wonders how many of them he never sees; how many clients’ issues are solved with just kind hands and words, and the attention of someone willing to simply listen. He feels the violation all over again, watching the work, like an intruder to the private rapport Reigen is building with Minori.

The observation room is silent, ogling with bated breath as Reigen massages and chats, drawing a chilling, sordid account of her time here out of Minori’s waifish throat. The psychics turn again, inconstant as a weathervane, to stare mistrustfully at their client when she pleads to be let go.

Reigen emerges, subdued, and Ritsu tries to get a hint of what he’s thinking. Reigen notices him and subtly waves a hand, wait, with an enigmatic cant to his head. Ritsu waits, for now, with silent and watchful eyes, as their client is berated by the mass of people he’s hired for what is seeming increasingly likely to be no reason at all.

It’s looking like a consensus, the room united against a common enemy and piling on Asagiri with the easy conviction of a mob. Majority rule, maybe, but it’s one against many until his employer steps out to speak in their client’s defense.

Ritsu, attuned to Reigen’s theatrics, is not surprised the man chose the most dramatic moment possible to proclaim their client’s innocence.

Well, almost. Reigen’s moment is blown out of the water when a psychic—someone who slipped away into the room while Ritsu’s attention was elsewhere—is blown like an explosive cannonball through the glass, instantly transforming the wall into an expanding burst of shrapnel.

A piece of whizzing glass cracks to splinters on Ritsu’s barrier; his employer is gashed across the face, a shallow cut that in defiance of its depth weeps heavy blood in a curtain down Reigen’s cheek.

Ritsu glares, first at the minefield of glass shattered across the room, then at the psychic who was so destructive an instrument in spreading it, before he’s drawn inevitably to look at the source of the power that caused the victim’s unfortunately violent exit.

Minori laughs at them, lively and spiteful at the chaos she has wrought. Ritsu berates himself for feeling betrayed.

She challenges them with chuckles and mocking words, reveling in the panic that’s starting to poison the room, and Asagiri, reactive, shouts at them to save her. If anyone were to consult Ritsu, he would say that she’s not the one who’ll need saving, an opinion borne out by the maniacal cackling that throws back her body’s puppeted head.

A psychic with long straight hair and a ruched shirt—third in line of fifty-eight—steps forward to try his hand; his incomprehensible but intensely delivered chants prove extraordinarily ineffective. The next is also unsuccessful, and they all blur together into a useless chain until it’s almost Ritsu’s turn, attempt seventeen.

Reigen guides him off to one side for yet another private tête-a-tête and hovers a hand above his shoulder, a pseudo-touch that’s just on the edge of what he’ll tolerate.

“Are you okay with this?” Reigen asks, “You don’t have to do it, we can leave it to someone else.”

The condescension burns, and Ritsu knows they’re both remembering his failure at that apartment building, and in the face of the Kuchisake-onna. He thinks the second man, the ballistic psychic, was also a member of the same group—another tally, two of them now he hasn’t managed to save.

“I’m fine,” he snaps out, crisp, and turns away to end the subject.

“If you’re sure,” Reigen says dubiously, just to twist the knife.

“Positive,” he says, quellingly frosty.

“Okay, pricklepuss, just checking.”

“Well, don’t. I know what I’m doing.”

“Right,” a brief pause, and then:

“If you say so,” Reigen says with a mocking grin.

“You know what—”

“Fine, fine, sorry. I get it. You’ve got this,” Reigen flashes him a confident smile, another expression Ritsu recognizes from work. “Knock ‘em dead, Ritsu, let’s show them how it’s done.”

Ritsu shrugs off the hand that bracingly pats his shoulder as they rejoin the group.

There’s no ‘let’s’ about it when his employer stays behind, one of many watching Ritsu step gingerly through the broken glass. Ritsu makes it through without cutting himself and looks up again to find himself closer than he expected to end up; in arm's reach of the comforter, practically the foot of the bed.

“Asagiri-san,” he says, wary and lacking anything else to call it, whatever’s wearing the body in front of him like a human marionette.

“Ritsu-kun,” she—it—replies.

And smiles.

for added verisimilitude, wait three months before reading the next chapter on ao3! although life willing it won’t take that long for the next chapter

[hardcorearchitecture]

I was recently interviewed by Kira Schneider for the German website Intro. If you can read German, check out the interview here. For English readers, here are the responses that I sent Kira before they were edited and translated. It’s a pretty long read for a Tumblr post but it was nice to be asked some new questions about this project. Enjoy! Kira Schneider: Since a lot of things are now mostly happening online for young bands, do you think digging through online archives will be equally as alluring in, say, 2050 as looking at their old homes? All we are potentially going to be left with is ancient bandcamp.com accounts, if you look at today’s Maximum Rock’n’Roll (MRR) website.

Marc Fischer: It's true—you can't do a project like this with most new demos; what used to be a tape you mailed away for is now a link on Bandcamp or Soundcloud. There's no home address and often no need to contact a band to hear their music. I'm not optimistic about a lot of web-based content still being accessible online 50 years from now or even 10 years from now. I do like the idea, however, of a bunch of 65-year olds reaching out to people forty years from now to ask if they happened to download some band's stuff off Bandcamp back in the year 2017 and if they could share it with them. People will always want to hunt down sounds that excited them in the past or that they are curious about based on hearing something many years after the fact. Many accounts or websites for all sorts of things have vanished once the people that made them lost interest and moved on. The web isn't being archived all that well.

If you want people to uncover your work in the future, turn it into something tangible. This is part of why I make printed things and not just web-based projects. I like posting things on Tumblr but I don't trust it to be around 30 years from now.

Has anyone ever reached out to you from a town you posted about, someone who recognised their neighbourhood, or maybe even a resident of one of the houses?

I try to pay attention to comments people make when they reply to a post or reblog things on Tumblr. Some cities are fairly well represented but for other places that had far fewer bands, it's a big deal to people from that region when I uncover a band from their town in Montana or North Carolina. People that live in smaller cities get excited to see their town represented at all. I've seen cases where people recognize a house as being within blocks of where they live, even though they've never heard of the band.

I have learned that some band members still live in the houses that are included in the project from a cassette they released in 1986. In some cases, people's parents have either died or moved out, and left or sold their homes to the children. So someone's house from when they were 17 years old, may now be their house once again at the age of 47. Some people's parents also still live in these homes. I have yet to receive any emails from current residents that are not a member of one of the bands. I love when Google Street View reveals current residents and neighbors hanging out on the lawn or sitting on the curb in front of a house that someone from a band like Rotting Humans once lived in.

Have you talked about the project with any of the people who ran Maximum Rock’n’Roll back in the day?

Not really. Back in the late 1980s I corresponded with Martin Sprouse and Chris Dodge from MRR but I lost touch with both of them. I did get a nice note from Chris asking me to let him know when I started finding houses associated with his record and demo tape reviews. Chris was one of the funnier and more creative reviewers for MRR and a number of his reviews from the late 1980s are quoted on the blog.

What are your thoughts on what MRR is doing these days?

I have done a poor job of keeping up with the music that MRR covers, and there have been long stretches of time when I did not pay attention to MRR itself. This project made me curious again, and I recently met and interviewed Grace Ambrose (one of the current coordinators) for a Hardcore Architecture publication. I think she's been doing a fantastic job and talking to her helped clarify how the magazine has evolved during the years when I wasn't reading it much. MRR looks better than ever, the quality of the writing and depth of the interviews is generally improved, the reviews are longer and more detailed than the issues I was reading in the 1980s and early 90s, and the array of people that are making the magazine is far more diverse. My project, so far, has focused on the 1980s, which means that it's from the period when MRR was almost entirely white guys writing about music made by other white guys. This is much less the case now, which is refreshing. 

Did running the Hardcore Architecture blog ever result in anything unexpected?

I assumed that Hardcore Architecture would be interesting to people that listen to this music but I did not give much thought to what the people that played in the bands might think, or even if they would find out about the project. I was pleasantly surprised to see so many members of these bands talking about the project on social media. It was an unexpected pleasure to see how much they enjoyed being included. I was worried people would be angry to see their childhood homes shown and that has not been the case. I also did not expect to have so many email exchanges with band members. I've made some great friends through doing this work.

Hardcore Architecture, to me, establishes a completely new visual narrative around youth and subcultures - we get to see the roots of those bands completely detached from the aesthetic and the message they choose to convey. How does this change the perception of those bands, what are your observations?

One has to be cautious in making assumptions about bands and their music based on images of where they lived that were captured 25-30 years after the fact. Some parts of the country have changed very little, whereas other cities like New York and San Francisco have since become so expensive that certain neighborhoods are impossible to imagine as places where underground music might take shape. America is a huge country and a home that looks extravagant in one part of the country might cost 1/5th of what a home 1/3rd the size might sell for in Los Angeles.

That said, it's also true that kids in affluent suburbs may have had more time, space, and resources to do things like play in a commercially unviable hardcore band - sometimes with a lot of support from their parents. I wasn't in a band but I published a music 'zine as a teenager and it was mostly printed on weekends on the photocopier at the brokerage firm that my dad worked for. My dad and I didn't agree on much politically, or when it came to music, but he was supportive of my art. He also mailed out most of my 'zines using the firm's postage meter. I think he liked scamming his employer for my benefit. Anti-authoritarian art and music happens in a lot of curious ways, with some unlikely forms of support. I think the project has teased out more of these stories about how parents sometimes encouraged this music, which is something that's very unpopular to talk about and almost never shows up in bands' lyrics. I currently work with public high school students in Chicago and some of them like music and play instruments but their lives are much too hard for them to also be in a band. Simply surviving and helping their families takes all of their energy.

Something about Hardcore Architecture is so incredibly nostalgic - how would you pinpoint where exactly that stems from? The fact that the cradles of bands we know and watch today are still out there, somewhere? Or some palpable evidence that all those bands, known or not, were once just small-town teens at some point, something we blend out when reminiscing over stylised concert photographs?

Music fans love geeking out about the past and hanging on for dear life to memories of bands they got to see 'back in the day' and records they bought when they came out, before they became rare and expensive. I don't think people that listen to hardcore and punk rock are immune to that, and they are probably even worse about it than the average person that loves music. I think it's healthy to remind people that the dudes in that legendary rad band you love had someone in the group that grew up in a big fancy house in a scenic suburb with lots of nice trees. Maybe it helps shatter the romantic stuff a little bit? Everyone is from somewhere, and it's not always as interesting as people like to imagine. Or maybe it's more interesting that they could make something extraordinary and angry in such uninspired or comfortable conditions?

Hardcore Architecture is, in a sense, also a testimonial that your origins don’t necessarily define you, and in this, a bit of a monument for DIY culture. Where do you see the same kind of rebellious, anti-authoritarian DIY spirit in today’s young people?

I live in Chicago, which has a thriving DIY music scene that is doing some radical things, but I tend to think more about the fearlessness of the young people of color here that are protesting police violence, protesting the current administration in the extremely White House—that they were not old enough to vote against—protesting immigration laws, and putting their bodies on the line to disrupt business as usual. I recently took part in a youth march against the racist, rapist that was elected President and I was one of only a few adults. At one point a kid who was probably 12 years old was leading a march, which certainly had no permit. These kids figured out how to get downtown (many of the high school students I work with have never been on public transit because their parents are afraid to let them leave their neighborhood) and—without any parental guardians—they are out protesting and leading protests. That was an amazing thing to experience. One of the chants I particularly love is, "We're young. We're strong. We'll be here all night long!"

What’s also interesting to me as a European is that we see lots of intensely American suburbia on Hardcore Architecture, and to most people outside the US, the American suburbs are a dreamscape of their own since we only ever come across them in movies, in art or in literature: the suburbs are either the all-american, sunny paradise, or a nightmare in disguise alà David Lynch or Gregory Crewdson, so there is a whole new dimension to your project if it’s viewed from an non-American perspective. Have you ever thought about this aspect?

I grew up in the suburbs of Philadelphia and a lot of the houses on the Hardcore Architecture blog could be something like my parents' house. There are regional differences in some of the kinds of architecture and living situations, however, and I think the project helps reveal that to people that may have never visited or seen much of the US. I never thought of the suburbs as a dreamscape, or a paradise, or a nightmare. All of those things are more interesting than the suburbs I grew up in! The problem was always to dig for the imaginative, radical, subcultural weirdness - which was usually hiding in record stores in the 1980s, or in bookstores and maybe in college libraries, or in video rental stores that had non-mainstream films and documentaries. It is very different with the internet. In the 1980s I primarily escaped the suburbs by corresponding with people all over the world who shared by values and interests, via postal mail. Taking the train into downtown Philadelphia also helped.

Since hardcore and punk music is inherently political, I hope you don’t mind this (probably) painful question: how do you feel about 2017s USA? Is there any hope for the States?

Some of these struggles are not new, but a lot of people with terrible beliefs are now feeling galvanized by the new administration. Living in Chicago, there is a ton of resistance to the recently elected fascist fuck, and that gives me hope. I see a lot of people all over the US, including my mom and sister, becoming more politically active than they have ever been. It is very disturbing time, however, make no mistake. I don't sleep well. Most of my friends can't sleep either. Protest and organizing meetings have become a more normal part of my life. When people in stores ask how I'm doing, I'm more inclined to admit that I feel sick and will tell them why. People need to share their anger and not pretend that things are okay. We need to rearrange our lives, and help the vulnerable. Immigrants and refugees particularly need our support. White Americans needs to step up and fight for those who can't resist as safely.