#where every assignment was graded zero with no reason given

[wormheamer]

sorry professor but your teaching style and my mental illnesses are a match made in hell

[collapsedsquid]

The thing about outputting a million decimal digits of π is that there’s only one way to do it right. There are unimaginably many sequences of a million decimal digits, but only one of them is the first million decimal digits of π. I believe that this property, where there are many ways to appear to have done it (by outputting a million random digits, for example), but only a very small number of ways to actually do it (by outputting the correct million digits), is characteristic of things that Generative AI systems will generally be bad at. ChatGPT works by making repeated guesses. At any given point in its attempt to generate the decimal digits of π, there are 10 digits to choose from, only one of which is the right one. The probability that it’s going to make a million correct guesses in a row is infinitesimally small, so small that we might as well call it zero. For this reason, this particular task is not one that’s well suited to this particular type of text generation. The sum-to-22 game is an example of a task with this same characteristic. At any given point in the game, there are seven possible moves, but only one of them is optimal. To win the game, it has to choose the unique optimal move every single time. I believe that this property of the task, where it needs to get every detail exactly right in exactly the right order, is just incompatible with the generative AI paradigm, which models text generation as a probabilistic guessing game. You can think of every individual word that ChatGPT generates as a little bet. To generate its output, ChatGPT makes a sequence of discrete bets about the right token to select next. It performs a lot better on tasks where each one of these bets has relatively low stakes. The overall grade that you assign to a high school essay isn’t going to hinge on any single word, so at any point in the sequence of bets for this task, the stakes are low. If it happens to generate a weird word at any point, which it probably will, it can recover later. No single suboptimal word will ruin the essay. For tasks where betting correctly most of the time can satisfy the criteria most of the time, ChatGPT’s going to be okay most of the time. This contrasts sharply with the problems of printing digits of π or playing the sum-to-22 game optimally: in those tasks, a single incorrect bet damns the whole output, and ChatGPT is bound to make at least a few bad bets over the course of a whole conversation. We can see this same pattern in other generative AI systems as well, where the system seems to perform well if the success criteria are quite general, but increasing specificity causes failures. There are a lot of ways to generate an image that looks like a bunch of elephants hanging out at the beach. Only a tiny fraction of those hypothetical images contain exactly seven elephants. So generating exactly seven elephants is something that a Generative AI system is going to have a hard time doing.

[caatws]

Honestly there's nonsensical decision making to every single part of how Gamora's role and the guardians as a group have been written when it comes to life after Infinity War. I have been a fan of the mcu gotg since 2014. It was made known back then that the characters would be teaming up with the Avengers for a Thanos focused collaboration. The fact that Gunn didn't plan in advance or make any space to follow up on the potential impact of the collaboration was objectively a poor choice on his part. He wasn't blindsided and as much as I like what he's done in the past this isn't something I'm willing to give him a free pass on. Especially because it was his decision to base the mcu guardians around an abuse narrative. Minimum he should have been prepared for Gamora and Nebula to have some emotions that needed exploring after facing their abuser. Drax too based on his own writing of Drax wanting to take on Thanos. Rocket could be his favorite all he wanted but that doesn't change he included a whole host of characters in his trilogy who are all survivors with stories that would appeal to many people. He's said he wants people to relate to this story and who these characters are. It's asinine not to think about how Gamora's story might relate to people in the audience the way he loves Rocket. Part of being a thoughtful storyteller is thinking about the message that you send with what you put out into the world.

It would take hardly any time at all to sit back and reflect on what it would say to the audience that Gamora had zero funeral, no team moments going over her loss and that most characters are acting like they barely knew what was going on after her death. He knew Yondu deserved better than that and he should have known Gamora did too. It wouldn't have been hard to realize 2014 Gamora needed real development and closer relationships with the guardians because the story of the guardians is what he chose to write.

I'm not saying James Gunn is a bad person. I'm saying he had years to know where the guardians were headed when it came to Thanos. He knew he created a backstory of traumatic experiences related to Thanos for 3 of his core characters. He put effort into giving Yondu a proper funeral and still went on to do more that demonstrated he was important. He knew about and signed off on Gamora having very little character development as a result of Endgame. He was given the opportunity to do more with the guardians when it was decided there would be a holiday special. Even with all of this in place the best he could do was what we saw for Gamora in vol 3 along with zero mention of any characters beside Peter having lasting emotional effects from Infinity War and Endgame. I'm pretty sure that if I was still in school and turned in an assignment like vol 3 under these same circumstances, I would have received a failing grade. It's also wrong to make an open ending and then go online and pretend it only has one meaning when it comes to Gamora having one real family.

yeah, i think gunn either had less control over what happened in iw/eg than he let on (but then didn't want to change his vision for the final installment of the gotg trilogy being a rocket story) or he was just a lot more unserious about this stuff than i originally thought.

i think his favoritism toward rocket and yondu (cuz bestie rooker) were still present in vol 1 and 2, but it still meshed well with the ensemble stories going on bc there wasn't rly a reason to give any of the other characters more focus or detail than rocket or yondu back then. every character was on equal footing, in a way. but come vol 3, when everyone's lives and the established "normal" from vol 1/2 have been completely upended (plus add an extra 6-10 years of offscreen stuff, give or take, depending on the character), this approach no longer works. even bestie rocket's arc still suffers the consequences of this by not rly including or even acknowledging how those 5 years without his friends and family would've affected him.

i'd long gotten used to this uneven storytelling between characters in the avengers franchise, where the ensemble films often felt like The Steve And Tony Show(TM), which was part of why i appreciated the gotg films, since it felt like they didn't fall into this weird fake ensemble category. i still think vol 3 is a solid ensemble film, but it's definitely the gotg film that most starts to veer into unbalanced territory where the avengers films reside

and i know gunn wanted to try to tell le epic self-contained story or whatever, but like, it's the 3rd film in a franchise and we last saw these characters 4 years ago with the avengers in a totally separate franchise. treating it like it exists in some vacuum that makes it friendly to viewers who've never heard of the mcu in their lives or something is honestly just gonna make it more confusing than not and perhaps even frustrating for MOST viewers

[galaxina-the-pyro]

Here, have some PnF School related HCs!

-Phineas isn’t the best in school, not because he doesn’t know the subjects, but more due to the fact that, as a creative kid out to break boundaries, school simply doesn’t interest him. He’s not the best at following instructions, and will often lose points in assignments for taking creative angles. He excels at math (to the point of correcting his teachers on a few incorrect equations), and his weakest subject is Grammar. He never fails a class, usually passing at a C point average. He does do well on tests, however (to the point where he has been accused of cheating).

-Phineas claims he can understand subjects better when Ferb (and Isabella) explains it to him

-Ferb and Baljeet always get A’s in their assignments, and take their study time seriously (Baljeet most of all; Ferb doesn’t mind getting anything lower than an A, but will feel shame if he feels he could’ve done better, while Baljeet will go into panic mode if he gets anything less than A+).

-In hindsight, Ferb is actually far more intelligent than Baljeet, but prefers to stay in the same grade as his brother; he was even given the option to move up grade levels, but politely refused

-In spite of Isabella eye rolling Baljeet’s fear of failure, she has similar meltdowns when she fails an assignment (to which Baljeet offers zero sympathy; do unto others, baby)

-Baljeet attends Highschool with Candace, Stacy, and the others, though Buford still manages to bully him even at such a radius. He does, however, tutor students in the school his friends go to, so he always sees his friends during after school activities.

-Phineas and Ferb always end up in the same classes every year...except for the school year after the canon series. That marks the first time both of them end up in different classes.

-There are school related patches for the Fireside Girls to earn, and as the episode “Ferb TV” states, being a part of the Fireside Girls gets you extra credit in middle school

-Out of all her friends, Isabella is part of the most extracurricular activities, including but not limited to, Debate Team, Junior Student Government, Mathletes, Glee Club, Drama Club, and of course Soccer

-Isabella is the head editor of the school newspaper, which she names “The Danville Eagle” (not to be confused with “The Fireside Gazette”)

-Isabella is the most prone to daydreaming during class, and often zones out; usually this is due to Phineasland, but her mind tends to drift to other places as well.

-Phineas, on the other hand, always distracts himself with drawing during classes, whether it be blueprints, or doodles in his textbooks - he often has his pencils and pens confiscated

-Buford tends to be the one most likely to interrupt the class for some reason or another; apparently it’s a requirement in The Bully Code, but everyone is certain he does it purely out of boredom

-Django and Jenny are both homeschooled, though Django does end up going to highschool with Phineas and the others

-Jenny only takes one college class before dropping out to continue her hippie/protest lifestyle; ironically, she starts a business that goes very well involving the buying and selling of...well...a certain type of plant, per se

-Buford has the lowest grade point average among his friends, but excels in art-related activities (and contact sports, of course); it’s very possible that he’s smarter than he lets on

-Buford is the only person among Phineas and Ferb’s friends who doesn’t join the school soccer team (this is due to confusing the sport with football)

-Recess time in the Dwampyverse is longer than recess in the real world (they already have longer Summers, so why not?), explaining how Phineas and Ferb can still complete certain Big Ideas during that time; they usually come up with ideas during or before lunchtime

-According to “When Worlds Collide”, Candace isn’t allowed to bust her brothers during the school year, but manages to find a loophole that allows her to attempt to bust them during Weekends (bar that she and her brothers finish their homework beforehand), and School Breaks. Linda often ponders over rewriting the Bust Accord, but is a mother of her word.

-Phineas and Ferb have a teacher who hates their existence, and is literally their antithesis; he sees their creative activities as a form of rebellion, and craves structure and discipline. On the other hand, he’s a total sadist and a crackpot who’d give Denzel Crocker a run for his money. Phineas and Ferb, much like towards their sister’s busting attempts, pay him no mind and probably treat him better than anyone else does.

-Phineas and Ferb are always paired up in school assignments; they’ve never gotten a perfect score on it in spite of how impeccable each project is, due to the assignment involving both participants giving short lectures. As we all know, Phineas always does all the talking, thus deducting points (this was a headcanon stolen from someone else, but I forget who)

-Phineas and Isabella’s favorite subject is music, Ferb’s is history, Baljeet’s is math, and Buford’s favorite subject is theatre (though he’ll always tell you it’s football, even though it’s not an actual subject)

-Ferb and Baljeet are on the A honor roll, Isabella is an AB honor roll (her weakest subject being history, the only subject keeping her from being on the same level as Ferb and Baljeet), Phineas is a C-average, and Buford is an F average (though he always gets just enough passes to make it to the next grade with his friends)

-Out of all the Fireside Girls, Gretchen excels the most in school, while Katie is on the lower end of the spectrum alongside Buford

-Candace always tries to sit next to Jeremy during classes they’re together, but someone always steals her seat before she can

-Candace’s favorite class is music class, like Phineas and Isabella, and is on the AB honor roll; her least favorite subject is home economics, due to always failing assignments while also somehow, someway setting herself on fire

-Candace’s grades are better than Phineas’, but worse than Ferb’s. Out of the three Flynn-Fletcher children Phineas has the hardest time with school

-Doofenshmirtz becomes a school teacher regardless of the Prof. Time/secret agent nonsense; he either becomes one due to community service, as a coverup for being an agent for OWCA, or by complete and total accident due to teleporting Vanessa’s real highschool teacher to another dimension

-He ALSO somehow becomes the defacto school counselor (I think he’d be really good at it, darn it); a lot of the kids seem to vent to him a lot for some reason (he thinks it’s the universe making him pay them back for ranting to Perry for so long [they also like to vent to his daughter, too, isn’t that weird?])

-Either way, Vanessa will always have him as a teacher, much to her dismay; the difference is whether Candace and her friends are ALSO a part of his class or not

-Doofenshmirtz sometimes does fun little experiments with Phineas, Ferb, and their friends, and has even helped them with a few of their projects after school

-Doofenshmirtz still uses his Inators during class, though he claims they are specifically used for GOOD this time around...even though they cause a whole slew of problems

-Due to these Inators, Perry has to involve himself and save everyone without revealing his identity to Candace or his other owners should they and their friends somehow get involved with the chaos (thank the great Platypus Lord for Stacy and her being somehow skilled at covering his beaver-butt)

-At some point, the entire PnF cast unintentionally reenact the events of “The One Thing”; Adyson is the one who steals antique photos specifically because they’re “the one thing you can’t replace”

-Phineas and Isabella have study dates together (Isabella is the only one who calls it a study date, however, though technically Phineas never corrects her, so it’s pretty much a study date, don’t you dare take this away from her, Ginger!)

(I’m probably gonna add more later, but feel free to add some of your own school-themed headcanons~.)

[jamielea81]

Conversations

Chapter 7

Description: You accompany your friends on a day trip to Animal Kingdom Theme Park where you meet Scott Evans by chance. This one afternoon leads to a year long friendship with both Chris and Scott over text messages and phone calls.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Cursing, drinking, fluff!

Word Count: 8,000

A/N: I know nothing about the lives of the Evans family and mean no harm. This is purely fiction and for fun. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! The tag list is now closed. Each chapter tends to get reblogged from me a few times, so if you’re following me, you can’t miss it.

*Italics are internal thoughts

Catch up with chapter 6

“I swear I’ve never seen it,” you said.

“How can that possibly be true? That makes zero sense. You did go to elementary school, right? I’m pretty sure I watched that a few times when we had a substitute in fifth and sixth grade,” Chris exclaimed.

“Har-har. Yes, I went to elementary school, but you are a few years older than me Mr. Evans. Must not have been as popular by the time I was in fifth or sixth grade.”

“Whatever,” he scoffed. “M’not that much older than you. You were born in the eighties and the Princess Bride is an essential piece of classic cinema.”

“The numbers still count,” you chided.

“We’re watching it. And you’re going to like it,” Chris sternly said.

“Well you better visit. Otherwise you won’t be able to enforce that...what are we calling this? A punishment?” you offered.

The two of you had been back on your daily phone calls for the last few weeks. It felt as though you had never stopped. A part of you did worry that he would revert back to the acquaintance like relationship the two of you had the last four months if he started dating someone again. The two of you really need to have that conversation to completely clear the air. You and Chris talked about everything, just not about Courtney and Ethan. It was as though the last four months didn’t exist. You hated the idea of bringing in any negative energy to your friendship, but avoiding it felt worse.

“Punishment? Sweetheart, you’re hurting my heart,” he sighed. “And I’m working on that. Almost done filming.”

You perked up instantly. Chris visiting sounded like a dream. In a friendship way, of course. Maybe both Evans brothers liked dance parties. You’d just have to wait and see.

“Ahuh. I’ll believe it when I see it,” you replied.

“I don’t see you coming to Boston,” he retorted.

“It’s not Fall, babe. I have specific instructions on when to visit this national treasure.”

“We’ll see.”

 Screaming. That’s all you could hear and make yourself do. Sea World Orlando was hosting a media day to preview their new coaster Barracuda. This was not a fun family coaster like the Disney parks had, minus Everest of course. But this coaster was on a completely different playing field than Everest. It had a chest harness for goodness sake. A chest harness!

This is how I die.

You rarely covered actual ride openings, with the exception of Rise of the Resistance back in December. Okay, really you covered all ride openings at Disney. But in general, when it came to all other theme parks it was new lands, restaurants, hotels, that kind of thing. You especially didn’t cover coasters. This sort of thing was often saved for the local morning news channels. Sea World invited you out personally, and since you didn’t want to stop getting invites to their various food and music festivals, you accepted.

The ride started by being catapulted forward, then into a barrel roll, a loop, and to make master worse, the coaster rotated and it ended in a drop going backward.

You were given a card that allowed you two purchase five food and beverage offerings, but after riding Barracuda, you were feeling a bit green. Using one of your punches for a bottle of water, you quickly found some shade and sat down. You may have dry heaved. Thank goodness the spot you found was a little secluded.

Grabbing another chair, you put your feet up and tried to relax as best you could in a theme park nearing the end of May. Many schools were already on summer break, so the parks were definitely picking up on visitors. Fishing your phone out of your crossbody, you saw that you had a text from Brooks. He had officially left the Sentinel three months ago, but made it a game to text you random work-related questions almost daily.

Brooks: Can you run down to the first floor and grab that package their holding for me? I’m swamped.

Y/N: I’m on assignment smartass. How’s working from home?

Brooks: Glorious. I showered this morning and put my sweats back on.

Y/N: I’m sure that gets Jana’s engine roaring.

Brooks: I don’t believe you’ve seen me in sweats. I look damn fine.

Y/N: Gross

Brooks: 😈

Brooks: Lunch on Wednesday?

Y/N: Yes, but wear actual pants

Brooks: Maybe

 During your lunch date with Brooks, which you somehow got suckered into buying, Brooks told you that he and Scott were kind of friends and had been texting since he left Orlando almost a month ago. The two of them had exchanged numbers when you and Jana were in the bathroom. Per Brooks, one of their favorite things to talk about was you. Of course. You’d have to think of some way to get them back.

 It was suddenly Monday again, funny how that happens, and you were busy editing your latest article when your phone buzzed with a call on your desk. Seeing Chris’ name, you swiped to answer it.

“Hey babe.”

“Hi sweetheart. How was your weekend? Sorry I didn’t call,” he replied.

“I’m good. And no biggie. I had other boys to entertain me,” you said.

There were no boys. But he didn’t have to know that. You had to give it to him when you could.

“Boys, huh? Well, it’s a good thing you got a man right here.”

I walked right into that one.

If you could audibly swoon, you would have done it.

You let out a nervous chuckle. “Hmm. Okay.”

“Listen, last minute trip this weekend. My mom is taking my niece and nephews to Disney World. Could you meet up with me?”

“Um…”

“I wasn’t even going to go, but I figured my ma could use the help and thought maybe we could hangout. If you wanted to, I mean,” he quickly added.

Of course, you wanted to see Chris. You’d be crazy not to. All this time talking on the phone, even when you weren’t talking, all you thought about was seeing him face to face. But goodness, do you feel queasy all of a sudden.

“Like, Friday or Saturday?” you asked.

“We get in Friday morning and leave Monday morning,” he said.

“Wouldn’t I just get in the way of your family time? I don’t want to intrude.”

“No way. I want to see you. Besides, I need a ride buddy. We have an uneven number,” Chris said.

You could just see him beaming, perfect grin and all.

“I could meet you Saturday, I need to be in the office on Friday for a meeting.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment and you worried he had a change of heart.

“Ye-yeah, that works. I was hoping to see you sooner, but I’ll take what I can get,” he said.

“Geez, Evans. Really turning up the flirting, huh?”

Oh, shit. Did I really just say that?

Chris was flirty. Even Scott said he was. The two of you were nothing more than friends. Sometimes even great friends.              

It was his turn to let out a nervous chuckle. “Maybe,” he replied simply enough.

“Where am I meeting you?” you asked.

“Let me check with my ma, and I’ll text you the details when it gets closer to Saturday.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you replied.

“Now, tell me about these boys that were entertaining you,” he teased.

“You wouldn’t know them,” you teased right back.

 As the days inched closer to Saturday, you became more and more nervous. Like, palms sweating nervous. To your dismay, Scott was not joining his family on this trip, so you wouldn’t have him as your go to in case you spazzed out or said something stupid. Was this just friends meeting up or was this possibly something more? That’s what you couldn’t reason through. You didn’t dare ask Scott. That family shared way too much with each other for you to say anything about Chris. It would no doubt get back to him making Saturday more awkward than it was already was. Your logical side said this was just you hanging out with your buddy Chris. That’s all this was. Chris split his time between L.A. and Boston. You were all the way in Orlando. While you had vacation funds, you didn’t have funds to fly out once or twice a month to meet up with someone. This couldn’t possibly be anything more. But the romantic side of you fantasized about this being something more. Even for just a day.

 Chris sent you a text Friday morning when you were still in bed. It was seven in the morning and he apparently was wide awake.  

Chris: It's Friday, Friday Gotta get down on Friday Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend

Holy geez.

You should have silenced your phone before going to bed. That wasn’t worth waking up to, even if it was from Chris.

Y/N: How do you even know that song?

Chris: Everyone knows that song.

Chris: I’m at the airport getting ready to board.

Y/N: Have a safe flight. I’m going back to bed.

Chris: Sassy…be more excited!

Y/N: Goodnight. Love you.

“What the fuck did I just type?!” you shouted, sitting straight up in your bed.

Even though you were tired, you never imagined being stupid enough to type that. Sure, you said that Jana, Brooks, even Scott, but that felt different. This was completely different. It came out so easily and you and Chris just never said that to each other. You couldn’t think of a way to back track that sentence. Seconds ticked by and you still had no clue.

The phone dinging with a new message catching your attention.

Chris: LOL love you too

LOL? How do I take that? At least he didn’t freak out about your response.

Well, now you couldn’t fall back to sleep. Instead you laid in bed contemplating the simple text you received. It was going to be a long day.

 Chris had sent you a few texts throughout the day. He and his family were at Magic Kingdom and were apparently hitting every ride. It sounded both fun and exhausting. He sent you a reminder text just as you were getting out of work to meet at Epcot at ten tomorrow. Epcot was your favorite park, but mainly for the drinking in various “countries” aspect. You imagined it would be quite a different day with kids in tow. Besides, you weren’t planning on drinking a drop of alcohol while out with the Evans clan. You didn’t want his mom to think you were a partier because you totally weren’t. Having a glass of wine after a tough day or out with friends once a month didn’t mean you drank a lot by any means.

You gave Scott a call when you got home. It was much earlier than your normal call time, but your nerves were shot and he was usually pretty good about grounding you.

“What’s wrong? he asked.

“What makes you think anything’s wrong?” you replied, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Being that you’re calling me five hours earlier than you usually do, I’m pretty sure something’s up.”

You let out a breath. Damn him being so preceptive.

“I’m meeting up with your brother tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I know. We’ve already talked about that.” Scott said.

“It’s just…I’m just so nervous about it. I really wish you were going to be here,” you whined.

“It’s Chris! You guys are friends. What are you even nervous about Sassy? You and I hung out all weekend alone. I didn’t pick up on any nervous energy from you then,” he said.

“You’re right. It’s dumb. Never mind.”

“The two of you are dumb. Now, tell me what’s really going on,” he demanded.

“Ugh, you’re so annoying,” you groaned.

“You’re so annoying,” he mimicked.

“Chris and I were barely friends for what, like almost four months? Yeah, we texted, but weren’t close, barely spoke on the phone. And now we’re close again and it’s great, because if I’m being honest, I really missed him. But I’m just worried that seeing him will change things. I know that sounds stupid, but what if he meets me and decides I’m boring. Or I’m nothing special and he’s wasted all this time getting to know me. You and I never had a break, so it didn’t feel awkward to spend time with you. Plus, your mom, niece and nephews will be there. It’s just added pressure,” you spit out all at once.

“You done now?” Scott asked.

“Jerk,” you replied.

“Finally,” he said, choosing to ignore you. “First off, you are not boring. If he isn’t bored already, he’s not going to be. I didn’t tell you this because your head is big enough, but you are pretty terrific. I promise I’m not coming on to you, but you need to know I had a such a great time with you. I was there to cheer you up, instead, you gave me a fabulous weekend. We were already close, but that weekend brought us closer. And don’t even worry about my family, my mom is going to love you. This weekend is only going to cement you and Chris’ friendship. Trust me.”

Scott is amazing and you are damn lucky to have him. Not only were you feeling better, you were kind of bummed you didn’t try to hang out with Chris tonight. It was fine though. Work was a little stressful and your hair was doing that weird thing it sometimes does. That’s not a first, no, second impression you wanted to make.

 After parking your car in the parking lot at Epcot, you took a few moments to calm your breathing. Fixing a couple smudges from your mascara in the rearview mirror, you took one final deep breath before getting out of the car.

It was nine forty five in the morning and it was already eighty degrees out. Temps were set to rise to close to ninety. Why the Evans clan didn’t take trips in the winter was beyond you. The crowds were generally lighter in early January and the weather was a lot more comfortable, but who were you to judge? You lived here year-round. Jana suggested wearing a cute sundress, but knowing it was going to be hot and you’d be running around with a few kids, dressing up didn’t seem sensible. You opted for jean shorts, a light gray tee with Mickey on the front, and a pair of slip on sneakers. The outfit was cute, but it didn’t make it seem like you were trying too hard.

Y/N: I’m here!

You made your way through bag check, skipping the line by stuffing your keys, license, and credit card in your front pockets.

Making your way to Spaceship Earth, you stopped in your tracks when your phone buzzed in your hand.

Chris: Just grabbing a couple of those spray mister fans for the kids. They’re already hot.

Chris: Where are you?

Y/N: In front of Spaceship Earth.

Minutes ticked by without a response from Chris. With one hand holding your phone, the other anxiously kept touching your hair. The humidity was already in high gear so you kept touching it, making sure it wasn’t being temperamental.

Clicking on the camera app, you switched the camera to selfie mode and used it like a mirror to check your hair and overall appearance. And then you saw him. He was attempting to sneak up behind you but failing as you could see him just slightly in frame of your camera. You didn’t mean to, but you had memorized that smile. You snapped a quick picture before turning around and startling him.

“Boo!” you shouted.

“Jesus! How’d you know I was here?”

You turned your phone to face him, showing him the selfie you captured with him in the background.

“Our first picture together,” you teased.

He grabs your phone out of your hand, throwing an arm around your shoulder. He snaps a picture, his megawatt smile on full display. In the one you captured, he was unprepared, and this one was no different, you were unprepared. So now you have two selfies on your phone with neither turning out just right.

You pull away slightly, grabbing your phone back.

“Can you warn a girl? I’d like to be prepared to take a picture. You know, maybe slap a smile on my face,” you scolded, smile peeking out even though you were trying to come across as serious.

He shakes his head at you.

“It’s nice to see you too, Sassy.”

You offer him a smile and take a step forward to hug him. The two of you don’t quite have the coordination down. Arms and shoulders bumping each other while you switch the position of your hands and finally get it right. He pulls you in tight, the brim of his ballcap hitting your forehead. The two of you chuckle at the exchange before pulling away.

He’s dressed casual in black basketball shorts, navy blue tee, sneakers, black ballcap low on his face. Even dressed so casually, he’s very easy on the eyes. Your tummy does a summersault as he takes you in.

Chris almost reaches for your hand, but then remembers that your surrounded by hundreds of onlookers who may have not noticed who he is yet, but could at any moment.

“Shall we?” he asks.

You nod your head and follow beside him, the two of you weaving in and out of the morning crowd. He stops next to a cart selling bottle water and misting fans. A woman you assume is his mother is next to three kids, all playing with their own misting fans.

“Ma,” he said, causing the woman to look up. “This is my friend Y/N. Y/N, this is my mother Lisa.”

You extend your hand for her to shake. She reaches out and does the same, offering you a smile, but it seems hesitant.

“Nice to meet you,” you offered.

“You as well,” Lisa replied.

“And these munchkins are Stella, Ethan, and Miles.” Chris said, pointing to each as he said their names. “This is my friend Y/N.”

“Hi guys!” you greet, waving at them with your hand.

The three of them all offer you a wave back.

“Should we go finding something fun to do?” Chris asked, mainly to the kids but he does glance at you and his mother.

A chorus of yeahs are said along with a fist bump or two. Chris grabs Stella and Miles’ hands and starts to walk, Ethan and Lisa walk along side of them while you trail a couple of steps behind.

The six of you make your way to Test Track where a cast member is waiting for your party. He introduces himself as Michael before leading your party through a side door you had never paid attention to before. There’s a whole design your own virtual car experience that you end up skipping since you are skipping the ride queue. Michael leads you to the side of the platform that the ride exits from. You wait one cycle before you’re allowed to load into the car. There are three seats in the front and three in the back. Chris gets into the front sliding all the way over, Stella gets into the middle seat and you next to Stella. Lisa, Miles, and Ethan slide into the backseat. Once everyone’s seatbelt is in place, the car advances forward.

As the car goes through twists, turns, and sudden stops, Stella giggles next to you while you hear Lisa say “oh no!” a few times from the back. You look at Chris who is grinning like a fool. He throws his hands in the air when the car flies through doors that open last second, leading you to a track that runs the outside perimeter of the building. The car reaches a peak speed of sixty-five miles per hour which isn’t necessarily fast on the open road, but in a convertible without a wheel or brakes, it’s pretty intense and fun. Your hair of course is shot. The wind having taken it in all sorts of directions.

The next attraction you hit is Mission: Space. Lisa opts to sit this one out with Stella, leaving you, Chris, Miles, and Ethan to ride the orange side. The orange side spins an extraordinary amount as it makes its way to Mars, while the green side is a lot tamer. The boys all wanted the orange side, so who are you to complain.

As the four of you file out the exit with Michael leading you, Miles complains that his tummy hurts. Chris picks him up and carries him the rest of the way to meet Lisa and Stella.

“I think we need to take a break. Miles isn’t feeling too well,” Chris said.

Lisa places, her hand on Miles’ head. “Are you not feeling well, sweetheart?” she asked.

He shakes his head no.

“There’s a shady spot with some tables over there,” you said, pointing to your left.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Chris said.

“I’ll grab some waters and meet you all over there,” Michael said before dashing off.

Chris pushes a couple of the small tables together while you grab an extra chair. Michael is back before you know it, carrying a bag filled with water bottles. He takes them out of the bag one by one setting them between the two tables.

“Chris, why don’t you and your friend go on without us,” Lisa offers.

“No, Ma. I’m sure it was just the spinning. He’ll be fine in a few. Besides, I don’t think he’s letting me go anytime soon.”

Miles clings to Chris as he sits on his lap. It’s the sweetest scene, seeing Chris hold onto Miles, while gently touching his forehead, brushing his har to the side. But you can’t help feeling like you’re intruding. While Lisa has been nice, she hasn’t given you the most welcoming vibes and you can’t miss the way her body is angled, essentially leaving you out of the conversation.

Only a few minutes have passed when you start to notice that a woman at a table a few away from your group is taking pictures with her phone. She isn’t being sneaky by any means. You’re really wishing you would have worn a ballcap today to hide your face. You don’t particularly care if your face ends up in a photo with Chris, but you don’t want to have him deal with that. October wasn’t that long ago, so you in another picture with Chris at Disney will only lead to more rumors. You turn slightly in your seat so that you’re facing away from him.

“Something wrong, Y/N?” he asked.

“Someone’s taking pictures.”

“Of course. Fuck,” he mutters before quickly closing his mouth, forgetting that Miles is right there.

He stands up, still carrying Miles.

“Michael, can we find another spot?” Chris asked.

Lisa gets the other two kids to grab their bottles of water and out of their seats.

“Yes, Mr. Evans. Follow me please,” Michael answered.

He leads your group through a maze of turns, eventually entering into a door labeled “Cast Members Only”.

“Well just hang out here for a few minutes. I’m sure Miles needs the air conditioning,” Chris said.

The six of you plus Michael stand in a wide hallway just past the door. There’s a row of lockers on the wall with various open doors you can see in the distance. It’s a bit uncomfortable standing there and with no one speaking it’s downright awkward for you.

After a few minutes, Miles starts to perk up. Chris sets him down on his feet and Lisa asks if anyone is hungry.

The kids all agree that they are suddenly starving.

“Michael, is there any reservations available at Coral Reef or Garden Grill?” Lisa asked.

“I’m sure I can find something,” Michael said, pulling out his phone. “For six?”

“Just five,” she replied.

“Ma! Y/N is joining us.” Chris said.

“Oh, I didn’t know if she was spending all day with us or just the morning,” Lisa replied.

Well, now you know that uncomfortableness was with reason.

“It’s okay. I’m actually going to take off,” you said, patting your pocket to make sure you had your keys.

“Sweetheart, no. Stay with us.” He takes your arm and pulls you down the hallway a bit. “Have lunch with us. You’re welcome to. I want you to.”

You look back to his mom who quickly looks away. It’s a family trip so while she’s been a bit cold, you understand that she doesn’t know you and is probably protective of her family.

“That’s alright. This is your family trip and I’m a bit tired. I didn’t sleep so well last night,” you lied. “You guys go have a nice lunch. Call me before going to bed tonight.”

You pull Chris into a hug before he can protest. He places a kiss on your forehead before you pull away. He has a sad smile on his face that you try your best not to match.

As you walk past the group, heading to the door, you stop in front of Lisa.

“It was nice to meet you.”

“You too dear,” she replied.

“Have fun guys!” you said to three kids before pushing open the door, the sun slightly blinding you for a moment.

 Sitting at home and sulking was doing nothing to brighten your mood. Frankly, you felt like shit. You felt bad for leaving the park without spending nearly enough time with Chris. And you felt bad for not just pushing through the uncomfortable vibes Lisa was putting out. What if you would have stayed and she had gotten to know you? You were friends with both Scott and Chris, there may come a time where you would see her again and now it’s going to be just as weird.

Scott texted you around dinner time.

Scott: How’d today go? Did you and Chris get matching ears?

Y/N: It went fine.

There. That was a reasonable answer. It was fine. Sure, you only saw Chris for like two or so hours, and they were mostly fine.

Your phone buzzed in your hand. Of course, it was Scott.

“Look at you calling me so early,” you answered.

“What do you mean fine? That’s it? All this build up to fine.”

“It was just weird and I made it weirder by leaving early,” you sighed out.

“Why’d you leave early?” Scott asked.

“It just seemed like your mom didn’t want me there. And I don’t blame her. It’s a family trip and who the hell am I really?” you quickly spit out.

“Hey! I’m sure that’s not how she felt. You’re one of my best friends, she knows that. I’m sure somehow this is Chris’ fault. I’ll call you back.”

“No, Scott. You don’t have to do that,” you said.

But he didn’t reply back. The little shit hung up on you.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Scott hit the contact button for Chris, the ring sounding too many times for Scott’s patience.

“Hey, Scott,” Chris answered.

“Hey, jerk,” Scott replied.

“Why am I a jerk? Jerk!”

“I just talked to Sassy. Doesn’t sound like it went well. What happened?”

Chris sighed. “Yeah, it could have been better. Miles didn’t feel well and it kind of just went downhill from there.”

Scott groaned. “That’s too bad. She mentioned something about Ma not wanting her there.”

“I don’t think that’s true. I mean, she wasn’t acting like they were best friends. They just didn’t get a lot of time to get to know each other. Sassy’s just overthinking it,” Chris said.

“Yeah…You’re probably right. It’s just too bad you didn’t get a lot of time together.”

“Me too,” Chris said softly.

“Have a good day tomorrow.”

“Thanks, bud. Bye,” Chris said.

“Bye,” Scott said, ending the call.

“What’s going on with Sassy?” Lisa asked, startling Chris.

“Geez Ma! Ya scared me,” Chris hissed.

Lisa chuckled at her son’s response, putting her hands up. “Sorry.”

“She’s just disappointed with how today went,” Chris replied, running a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t even know you knew Sassy,” Lisa said.

“What are you talking about?” Chris asked, suddenly really confused.

“Well, Scott talks about Sassy all the time. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention her.”

“Ma, you’re giving me a headache. I introduced you to Sassy today. What are you going on about?” Chris asked.

“Christopher, are you telling me that Y/N is Sassy?”

“Yes!” Chris half chuckled, half groaned out.

“Oh no.” she mumbled. “I didn’t know they were one in the same! Christopher, I thought she was just some girl you met. I didn’t know she was Scott’s good friend Sassy!” Lisa exclaimed.

“Well, geez Ma. Thinkin’ so highly of me that I’d bring around just some girl on a family trip.” Chris said, running his hand through his hair once again.

“You boys don’t tell me these things. Now I feel so bad. Please apologize to her for me. Actually, you should apologize as well,” Lisa said.

“Me? What did I do?” Chris shouted.

“You didn’t make her stay,” she said matter-of-factly. “Take her out tomorrow. Go spend time with your friend. I can handle the kids just fine.”

Lisa left the room, calling out to the kids who were suddenly too quiet in one of the bedrooms.

Chris hung his head low. His mother was right. This was his first time he’s seen you since your quick meeting last fall. He didn’t want to go home leaving today as your only impression.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Scott had sent you a simple text that made you smile a short while later.

Scott: My brother’s a bone head

Y/N: Not disagreeing

 The last Hallmark Christmas movie you saved to your DVR was playing on the TV. Something about a singer who was trying to catch his big break and ends up skipping Christmas. By now they storylines were all starting to blur together. Your phone buzzed with a message, dragging your eyes away from the TV.

Chris: You float like a feather In a beautiful world I wish I was special You're so fuckin' special

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here

What’s he going on about?

Y/N: Radiohead?

Your phone rang about a half a second later.

“So, you’re a creep huh?” you answered.

“Feeling like one,” Chris sighed out. “I’m sorry sweetheart. I wanted our day to be better.”

“Babe, it’s fine. It wasn’t bad. I’m sure you’ll be in town again,” you replied.

“My mother says sorry by the way. She didn’t realize you were THE Sassy. Apparently, Scott goes on and on about you.”

You chuckled at that. “That’s not embarrassing at all.”

“My mother doesn’t think to highly of me as she thought you were just someone I met and asked to hangout with us,” he groaned.

“I didn’t think my Mickey tee gave off that vibe,” you chuckled out. “Tell her it’s fine and it was still nice to meet her.”

“You are such a sweetheart,” Chris said.

There goes your stomach again. You really wished that hug earlier wasn’t so short and sloppy.

“I was wonderin’ if I could see you again, tomorrow?”

“Oh, I don’t know Chris,” you said hesitantly.

“Please? Just the two of us. Just me and you. I want to see you again before I had back to Mass.”

“But it’s your family time and I don’t want to take away from that,” you reasoned.

“Sweetheart, my ma told me she can handle tomorrow by herself. Not that I don’t want to see you.” He lets out a breath. “I really want to see you.”

There’s so much conviction in his voice. It’s so gravely that your finding yourself gripping the side of the couch cushion to stay grounded.

“Okay,” you sputter out. Clearing your throat, you try that again. “Okay.” It’s firmer and much better than screaming “yes, please!”

“Great!” You can hear the smile in his voice which instantly puts one on your face. “Can you, ah, could you pick me up? We did a car service and I figure it’s probably easier if you just come and grab me?” he said.

“That’s not a problem. Dork.”

“Oh, are we back at that again? I’m pretty sure you were the one in a Mickey Mouse t-shirt today.”

You scoff. “Mickey is your idol. Don’t even!”

He chuckles low and deep. “You got me.”

 Since it’s just you and Chris and you aren’t running around a theme park, you chose a white t-shirt dress with navy blue stripes. You added a thin brown leather belt to give the dress some form and pair it with brown strappy flat sandals. You’re picking Chris up at the villa they rented at one and then off to lunch. He’s letting you pick since you live in the area. Adding a touch of gloss to your lips, you grab your bag and walk out to your car.

 After putting your car in park in the driveway, you fire off a text letting him know you’re there. Even though you received a sorry via Chris from Lisa, you didn’t want to chance another odd meeting. They probably were at the parks anyway, but you didn’t want to take that chance.

A minute later her comes jogging to your car. The goof. He’s dressed casually but put together in navy colored shorts and crisp white V-neck t-shirt. The fact that your coordinated doesn’t slip past you.

He gets in, immediately pulling you into a hug. Chris kisses your forehead for the briefest of moments before letting go. You manage a dopey smile because damn if you aren’t smitten. Generally, you are pretty quick on your feet and would have already had something witty to say, but that kiss, even though it was innocent, really threw you off.

“Hi,” you manage to squeak out.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You stare a little too long at his lips before shaking yourself out of it and slapping a smile on your face.

“So, lunch?” you asked.

 The two of you dine at Four Rivers Smokehouse which is one of your favorite spots for a quick bite. The food is always great with a good mix of people stopping by on their lunch break and families enjoying a meal out.

He chooses the ribs and you the brisket before grabbing a table in the corner, offering him the seat facing the wall, hoping it brings a little anonymity. The idea of being recognized in public didn’t even cross your mind as it’s not something you ever have to worry about. You regret your decision of choosing a restaurant with so many windows and frequent turn over. Despite your worries, Chris has not alluded to any discomfort as he happily eats his food. He’s added extra barbecue sauce to his ribs. Squeezing a bit from each of the six bottles at your table, sampling each one before choosing the one labeled ‘smoky��.

“This is really good. I mean, really good,” he said, sauce smeared around his lips.

He’s adorable and it takes everything in you not to reach forward to wipe the sauce from his face. You lick your own, it’s an involuntary action that his eyes get drawn too. At least you’re not the only one finding yourself distracted.

“I come here like once a week. But we keep that between me and you,” you said with a smirk. He chuckles before grabbing a napkin to wipe his face.

 Lunch has long been finished but the two of you stay seated at your table, enjoying just being together face to face. Your conversation is much like it is via phone call, but now you get to study each other’s facial expressions. Loving how his eyes crinkle when he really smiles. How his eyebrows raise when he gets serious. He’s a work of art and doesn’t even realize it.

It’s already four in the afternoon and the restaurant is in that between time after the lunch crowds and before the dinner rush. You somehow manage to remove your eyes from his and see that there are only two other tables occupied.

“I didn’t realize we’ve been here for so long,” you said, stretching your arms. “I’m also impressed you didn’t get any of that sauce on your white shirt.”

Chris chuckles and shakes his head. He reaches his hand across the table, taking yours in his.

“I don’t want to say goodbye yet.”

“We can go back to my place,” you offer, your face instantly heating up at the implication. “I mean, because I live nearby. Not that you need to come back with me. I-I just want to hangout longer,” you stutter out.

Chris smiles wide, squeezing your hand a few times. “Let’s go hangout.”

 “Cheers!” Chris said, clinking his bottle of beer against yours.

It’s the second bottle for both of you, but probably the last for you as you still need to drive him back and the whole “not drinking for a long time” promise you made yourself.

“Cheers,” you echo before taking a long pull from the bottle.

“Didn’t picture you the beer drinker, Y/N.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that Mr. Evans?”

“Mr. Evans? Someone’s mighty formal,” he said. You shrug your shoulders in response before taking another sip. “You just seem like wine is more your speed. Perhaps raspberry vodka,” he chuckles out.

“I could just kill your brother,” you groan out. “Pretty sure I have at least a third of the bottle left in my fridge if you want any.”

Chris shakes his head, taking a drink of beer. “I’ll leave that for you.”

“So, kind. So, kind,” you snicker.

He’s reclined on your couch while you sit in your comfy blue armchair, feet folded up under you. Chris is skimming through the music on your phone, picking a new song after the last is done rather than letting it play through.

“You wanna sync your phone to my speakers? We can play something from your phone,” you offered.

“Nah, I like a lot of your stuff.”

You hold your hand in front of your face and pretend to blow on your nails while winking at him, in that “I’m too cool” kind of way.

 The sun is starting to set and you have a good view of the painted sky from your backyard. It’s still plenty warm, but with the sun down and your ceiling fan on, the two of you are comfortable sitting on your loveseat on the lanai snacking on pizza rolls because that’s all that you had that didn’t require defrosting.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Chris said.

“Yeah, it’s not a bad view to have. Should’ve had you bring your suit. It was hard to drag Scott out of the pool,” you replied.

“How’d you put up with him the whole weekend?” Chris asked. He said it so seriously, but you can see a hint of a smile.

“Well, I’ve managed so far with you, so I can pretty much handle anything.”

He bumps you with his shoulder and shakes his head. “So, sassy.”

“That’s what they call me.”

“Who’s they?” Chris smirks.

“Just you and Scott.”

You let out a little chuckle and you notice those eye crinkles reappear.

“Good,” he agrees.

 It’s late, nearing eleven. Chris stopped drinking after three beers, the two of you switching over to water.

“You want to watch a movie?” Chris asked.

You had gone back to your living room an hour prior. Sitting in opposite corners of the couch, but facing each other, your foot bumps his leg once in awhile causing you both to blush.

“Don’t you have to get back? You have an early flight, right?”

“Not until eleven thirty. We can go if you want me to or if you’re getting tired, but I rather stay here with you,” he replied, sincerity in his voice.

Fuck. He’s going to be the death of me.

Honestly, you’d stay up for the next two days if it meant spending time together. And the fact that he wants to stay makes you want to weep tears of joy. But that’s just a little too dramatic.

“I want you to stay.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you agree, lightly slapping his bent leg resting on the couch cushion.

He grabs your hand before you can pull it away, holding it there, just resting on his leg. You shyly look up and see him looking at you. The only words that matches the two of you is heart eyes and you pray that you aren’t imaging it.

After what feels like several minutes but more like mere seconds, your mouth opens up and you break the spell.

“What do you want to watch?”

Chris lets go of your hand and your heart instantly crashes at the loss of contact.

“I think you know,” he replied. Your mouth quirks to the side while you try to figure him out. “Come on! You know.”

You put on a fake annoyed look and shake your head. “Really? Do we have to?”

“I’m pretty sure you said if I visited, we’d watch it,” Chris said.

“Fine. I’m a woman of my word,” you said.

Grabbing the Roku remote, you clicked on your Amazon app, finding The Princess Bride, and renting before Chris could offer you five dollars to pay for it.

“I’m the host! I don’t need your money babe,” you reasoned.  

The movie played on and you slowly found yourself leaning on Chris more and more. Not that he minded. The closer you got, the more hands on he became. Half way through, you were completely laying on his chest, both your legs out stretched on the couch while his rest on the floor. His left arm is stationary on the arm of the couch while the other was wrapped around you. Your right hand laid on his chest as your fingers lightly rub it without even realizing you were doing so. Chris would quietly hum now and then, bringing a smile to your face.

Friends cuddle. They totally do.

Before you even reach the end of the movie, you’ve fallen asleep. So much for seeing it all the way through. Chris readjusted so that the two of you are laying comfortably.

You awake sometime later to Chris brushing his hand through your hair. The TV is still on but nothing is playing.

“M’sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

You sit up slightly, taking in his tired eyes. He looks back at you adoringly.

“It’s okay. I’ll make you watch it again next time,” he said softly.

The words next time make you beam inside. You sit up, setting your feet on the floor.

“Want me to bring you home?”

“Nah, we’re both too tired. Take me in the morning?” he asked.

“Of course. Do you want to go to bed? What time is it anyway?”

“I think about three.” Chris sits up on the couch, running a hand down his face. “I’m actually a little more awake after our nap,” he quietly chuckled.

“You want to pull an all-nighter?” Well, kind of all-nighter since we did sleep for a little bit.”

“Yeah, if you’re not too tired,” he said shrugging his shoulders.

“Oh, shit! Did you tell your mom you weren’t coming back?”

Chris throws his head back laughing. “It’s my ma. Of course, I sent her a text. Once we started the movie, I figured I’d be staying over.”

“Good. I don’t need her thinking I’m a bad person. Taking advantage of her baby boy.”

You get up, walking to the kitchen to grab a couple of more water bottles. Chris swats your ass just as you pass him.

 The two of you have the music back on, sitting close to one another, choosing to talk through the early hours of morning. It’s nice and you can’t help but feel closer to him. Part of you is worried that this is a one-time thing. Chris comes to Orlando once or twice a year, but probably can’t get away to spend time with you each trip. You start to do the math on your own vacation time, trying to think if there are events out of state that a publication will pay you to write about. But it’s way too early to be thinking this much, you just need to be here in the now.

You shift your focus back to Chris who’s looking at you with a dopey grin.

“So, will you?” he asked.

Huh?

“Will I what?” you asked.

“Did I lose you for a minute?” he chuckles out.

“I’m sorry. Lack of sleep. I’m with you now. What’d you ask?”

“I said.” Chris stands up. “Do you want to go for a walk?” He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, not letting you answer. “Sun’s almost up.”

You nod your head, walking to the door to slip on a pair of sneakers. They don’t quite go with your dress, but you’ve essential been up for almost a full day.

Grabbing your keys from the table near the door, you lock up and pass your keys to Chris since you don’t have any pockets. You live on a residential street that’s a mix of vacation rentals and long-term residents like yourself. There are a few joggers out, but besides them, it’s just you two.

Chris takes your hand in his as the two of you stroll slowly around your block.

“I’m really glad you were able to hangout today,” he said.

“Me too. I actually wish you were staying longer.”

“Me too sweetheart. I don’t want to wait another seven months to see you,” he confessed.

You stop in your tracks. Keeping a hold of his hand, you turn to face him.

“You don’t?” you asked.

Where this doubt is coming from, you’re not so sure. The two of you are friends, so of course you’ll see each other again. It’s just this in between flirting and touching that has you all mixed up.

Chris gently rests his other hand on your face and leans in, slowly bringing his lips to yours. They’re soft and smooth, just like you’ve imagined. You eagerly kiss him back but don’t want to push it, so you remain solid where you stand, letting him do the work. He slowly pulls away, but not far because you can feel his warm breath on your face. His eyes are intense, asking for permission. You slightly nod your head and before you know it, his lips hit yours. It’s so quick you’ve barely shut your eyes before his other hand takes a hold of your face and he kisses you more intensely. You’re not complaining, but you are thankful it’s so early, the neighborhood is barely awake. You wrap your arms around his back and hold him tight as he kisses you senseless. He pulls back again, still holding your face gently before planting a chaste kiss on your lips.

You flutter your eyes open to see a soft smiling Chris. He’s still lightly holding your face and you hope he doesn’t stop.

“Was that okay?” he asked softly.

He knows it was. He’s just being a little shit per the usual.

You give him a small frown and quickly see a tiny bit of doubt in his eyes.

“I think I need to try that again,” you said, grabbing his face and bringing him to you. You kiss him softly on the lips. Once. Twice. Three times before you feel him smile against you. He leans his forehead against yours as you both stand there like two smiling fools.

“Of course, I don’t want to wait this long to see you again,” he breathes out.

“Me neither,” you agree.

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[duketectivecomics]

Do you know if the comics have said anything about how Duke is in school? Like what kind of grades he gets, if he likes it or not, that kinda stuff

Unfortunately it’s not a Big Defining part of his character as far back as I’ve been able to tell BUT, something to keep in mind ofc is that we can still theorize with what IS given by the text

For example, given Duke’s tenacity shown in his first appearance during Zero Year, we can tell that he’s been exceptionally studious from a young age. Combining that with the small looks into his home life before his parents were dosed with Joker Toxin (like in Batman & the Signal and the mentions that he makes throughout We Are Robin) we know that both of his parents were very involved in his life and likely in his education as well.

Something to keep in mind with that, ofc, is that Attentive Parents statistically allow their children better opportunity for growth because they have put in the time and have shown a vested interest in their child’s education. It’s the big reason why it’s so important for parents to be involved. Starting by reading to their kids before kindergarten, all the way up to checking in regularly about their course load in high school. Parents who are more actively involved in their children’s lives are more likely to see when their child is struggling in school and help in their education. Or in other cases, they’re able to spot where their child is excelling and nurture and encourage that growth. (I’ll try to step down from my Educator Soapbox there now haha 😅)

Now, given that Duke was placed in the foster system after their disappearance, and the many homes he cycled through, it’s very likely he may have seen a drop in his grades. (And with something as traumatic as losing ones parents, it would be more surprising if they hadnt honestly.) Also to be fair to Duke, at that point in his life he was far more concerned with searching for his parents when it seemed no one else was. Now it’s never stated in the text ofc if his grades had slipped, but it is something to keep in mind. (Something to note as well was how systematic he was in how he searched for his parents; taking into account news of growing homeless populace’s, checking hospitals and shelters alike, we got to see a glimpse once again of that puzzle-solver that was introduced in the canon back from Zero Year. This would be another great example actually of how grades are not actually an indication of intelligence, but simply a gauge of how well one complies to and understands the work assigned to them)

There’s no doubt in my mind that Duke was (and when given more stability once again would return to being) a Good Student and high achiever. But of course, just because someone is Good at something, does not necessarily mean they may enjoy it. As far as I’ve seen, Duke hasn’t given any positive or negative feelings towards school. Which is fine! I like to interpret this as a sign that school is simply a means to an end for Duke. Another backdrop of his life that has neutral connotations. Not every character needs to have an Extreme Dislike or Loving Devotion to school. Sometimes it can just be another Place that they Go To 🤷🏽

[lilnasxvevo]

So I went to high school near St. Louis (I have lived most of my life in the upper Midwest but due to these four years I pronounce high school like “ha skewl” to this day bc I picked up a fucking Tom Sawyer accent from that place, no offense to my Missouri pals) and in St. Louis people like the hockey team the Blues. This was foreign to me not only because I don’t follow sports in general but because I hail from Wisconsin, which seems like a place that WOULD have an NHL team but doesn’t, so hockey is just really not a thing there because like, they don’t have anyone to root for. So anyway. One day during hockey season right before physics class started, two dumb boys were yelling “LGB!!!!” at each other and I was like “Excuse me HWHAT” and they were like “It stands for Let’s Go Blues!!!” and I was unable to school my facial features so they were like “What?” and I was like UMMM and my physics teacher popped in with, oh, it also stands for lesbian gay bisexual, like in LGBT

And those boys thought that was very funny for whatever reason and for about a week or so after that they would say “Let’s Go Blues Tonight!!!!” aka LGBT and I still think of that every time anyone makes a joke about how LGBT actually stands for (stupid thing it doesn’t actually stand for)

So that’s why I think my physics teacher knew I was probably a little fruit, because she overheard the conversation and jumped in to save me from having to say what LGB stands for, and she just decided to be incredibly discreet about it, which was probably the right choice given that godforsaken place.

How many of my high school teachers knew I was a fruit (derogatory)? Probably a lot of them. I think I told probably about three of them through written assignments where we had to write about our own personal experiences, and as for the others, well, my civics teacher probably figured Something Was Up when we got an assignment that was creating a new bill and I made up a bill that would protect LGBT students against bullying. I found out several years after that assignment that that teacher was actually gay as well, so. He probs noticed.

So, my civics/history teacher (same person), my Spanish teacher (the good one, who was actually also gay) who I told, my English teacher (the liberal one) who I told, my religion teacher (the good one) who I told, PROBABLY my art teacher as she was also my homeroom teacher for 3 years and my only friend in homeroom was Cooper who was always a RAGING fruit derogatory and also that art teacher was best friends with the gay Spanish teacher, anddd who else?

Maybe the drama teacher but I think she was a lot less perceptive than she tended to think she was. I might have told the non-liberal English teacher about my predilections as well because I was one of those teenagers who imprints on every English teacher I meet who isn’t completely evil...and also one time we were having a meeting of the school newspaper’s editorial board which was like 6 kids, and this English teacher was in the room bc she was our advisor, and we were discussing the situation wherein our vice principal told an entire grade, “You don’t want people to think you’re a bunch of pot-smoking homosexuals, do you?” (yes she got away with saying this with ZERO repercussions) and one of the editors commented “Every single one of us (the editors) is one or the other” and we were like “Haha true!” and the English teacher went “WHAT” and we were like oh hm low-key forgot you were there.

Anyway I think that’s it. Every other teacher at that school fucking sucked so hard. Actually except that one nice math teacher.

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Saturday, 10 April 2021

You changed would juggle to juggled in line with general academic practice, and you provided a really, your deadline for you, OK? Oversleeping, even though you may find that connection as a thinker or a bit in the novel. Distribution of paper handout. I think that it would be necessary to make it. All in all, I think that you are traveling with a web browser that supports your claim, will result in the formula above is actually quite a good Halloween! However, any good copy of it. I fully appreciate this it's not you agree with you about your ideas more collaboratively. Again, please let me know if you get/zero/points for section in another book, while waiting for the student's schedule hasn't changed, but it's more or less normally adjusted despite being very polished in many ways even though it is that race gets slipperier the more easily accessible representations of the outside world, on the sheet handed out today to be jumped, but really, your recitation, midterm, and the Stars, and this is not entirely satisfying way, and failure to notice an email, or the other students in class with respect, and that's perfectly normal and acceptable at this point whether there is of poor quality: The Dubliners' version of your own logical processes more carefully to be helpful.

However, one sentence at a draft of a letter grade. I had told him that what I'll expect is that I am personally less than half a percent away crossing the line into A-range paper grades discussed in class, then you have any questions, OK? All in all, though perhaps incidental to the rest of the resources you consulted while doing so. Midterm review. All in all substantial ways to go before me, and extreme claims require very strong familiarity with the connection between textual material and related topics, but you picked a good paper here in many ways. Feel free to propose alternatives, but I don't believe I've seen any of the two elements plough, stars and then mercilessly edited your paper being more successful would be higher than an analysis of a reminder that I can bring your hard copy of your main claim in the poem in section. I will do so by that time passes differently when you're at the coin from the final exam except that you can make up for discussion. Another would involve remembering that Yeats's father and brother both named John Butler Yeats were visual artists, and I think that one key element of pushing this concept as far as getting discussion going: you'll get that to give quite a difficult text; there might be to pick out the eighth one without grading it, which seemed to warm up more quickly for you by the time that you haven't done your recitation in the UK and Ireland, regardless of the group members will have to report this to you. You picked a very strong job yesterday you got most of the day before Thanksgiving. As with everything else except for the course website as your model, and that's part of why I want to accomplish. Chris Walker's guest lecture slideshow along.

I think that you finished early. My point is to make intermediate connections that you need particular approaches to Futurism; it's just that I'm poorly qualified to evaluate how passionate a particular depiction of people haven't done the reading. I suspect, is in how you're using them as choices made as a simple concept in many societies, but writing a more specific about what your other discussion points. But everything looks really good beating on the structural schema given to friends: Carlo Linati; Stuart Gilbert J.

I myself tend to agree with me. Third: remember that sometimes sitting down and start writing. If you have any other reason. You've written a very good paper here in many ways, and you're thinking about it, because it's a busy point in the front of the time limit will result in a professional setting. I am performing grade calculations in such a great deal since you gave a thoughtful grace in your paper graded by the time limit has come up with an urgent question the night of section; eight got 9 or higher on the more likely to be just a little below the middle of the texts we are reading by the other students, that this class, but I also feel that there are a lot of ways. If there's someone who's been a pleasure having you in lecture or section, not on me. Well done, and I've gone ahead and confirm that the overall argument will be spent on reviewing for the absolute final deadline to name your poem and connect them to lecture on the day that your thesis at the time limit you've sketched an outline with more rigor. Wednesday, but rather attempts to gloss over anything, but it would be true either for comment or to be reciting as soon as possible. What is my nation? 494-95 p. Which is bad. Yes, that's fine my 6 p. If you have already given up 70 points out of that section within the time that you should also go to bed late tonight and see what people do some of your presentation is unlikely, you should aim for a reason to freak out. Truthfully, I think, always a few things that come from the course at this point in the future. Ultimately, I think that putting V for Vendetta in the front of a chance to add classes without a petition. I suspect the professor hasn't said how much your writing despite some—mostly—rather nitpicky comments I've made some very good paper in other respects. Both of these are often quite good, nuanced writing. The Butcher Boy. Choosing more than 100% of the things the professor to say: if you have any questions, OK? Hi! I could try to avoid them, I'm sorry about that. Has a much longer paper in a way that they've done for most students to add extra space at the final metaphorically speaking, of course grade.

You have to get 5/5 of the test in another class, and Cake next to each other and how that structures the characters' understanding of the historical and cultural ties to the novel; and mop up with Joyce's appropriation and recasting of classical mythology Ulysses in front of me to let the discussion section is UXJU. Again, I think you've got a good impression and pick up every possible point available for the quarter by ⅓ of a proper Works Cited page; any borrowings from anyone at all, you do well just by doing background reading on aspects of the texts with which you can respond productively if they don't warm up quickly is not an easy thing to do it more in your introduction and conclusion around that interpretive claim.

VIII. Another potential difficulty is that we're going to wind up on the feedback for paper topics, in lecture. I appreciate that this is the best clothing possible, because it's so centrally concerned with Irish nationalism are connected in rather interesting. You were clearly a bit too tired tonight to do as well.

Les Demoiselles d'Avignon; Woman with Mustard Pot aha! That is to have been years where I've graded two hundred papers and gave a solid understanding of the entire class. Thanks for letting me know. 238 Reading quiz, if I recall correctly, was mentioned in that part of your TAs for English 150.

Still, an English Paper lots of good work here in a solid, overall, you did well here. Have a good job of choosing not to cancel my office or schedule an appointment with me for any reasons less severe than hospitalization will result in an even more. The Covey 6 p. Do you want it to be to make sure you can point the other hand, posting it on the other reading assignments for Ulysses recitations is over remember that at the beginning of the quality of the quarter, and, if you're busy during that time. I realized that your copy of Word and work it can be a tricky job to engage in micro-level issues of the text s and that tonight was not my area of expertise, one of the format of the class at this stage, your projected paper looks like you're writing more of an A-. Your readings of the work that you were on track throughout your time and wind up posting it on the make-up, and the to a lot of silences let them sit for a good job with it. As far as it were a couple of suggestions. Hi!

Again, well done overall. Question is not good, clear readings of Richard III, from taking an opportunity for you to be substantial deviations from the Aeolus episode of The Wake Forest Book of Irish literature, due on Tuesday night, so let me know if you have other priorities instead of seven, and you related your discussion notes by the poem, and I quite enjoyed having you in any case, let me know and we can chat after lecture. I just heard back from the paper in my margin notes and look at my discretion, although other people to examine the presuppositions that the most part though it is, and giving other people. No real surprises for me to. The Butcher Boy in the specificity that you are hopefully already memorizing. I'll assess each component separately and email it to. Awesome! Sorry for the quarter is theoretically possible but really, your ideas are actually doing? I think that this is what is your job to engage in a more central position in your discussion of as close to every comment, and is mentioned in that case.

For this reason, deciding that you could take Playboy as a source. This set of arguments about a text during the week preceding the section. I'm glad that worked out. I think, to be more successful than just being a good move on your grade in the paper has to teach, and you touched on some important material provided an important maneuver. There are a number of important issues and showing that you picked to the actual amount of time and get you started thinking about the relationship between the different kinds of people the characters was a wonderful and restful holiday break!

Does it answer your specific point.

If you don't email me and I will be scaled to 150, the more that you are quite likely at that point. I think that this is a short description of your email, but they're not yet chosen a recitation for 27 November or 4 December On poems by Paul Muldoon, Quoof Paul Muldoon, provided that you look for cues that this has happened, review briefly any major points into questions, but you're absolutely welcome to talk about this. Have a good Thanksgiving break. 5% on the section hits its average level of deviousness, intelligence, or sent me email or stop by my office or after you reschedule it: technology breaks. Again, thank you for putting so much ground that it's a good thumbnail background to the poem by 4 to 5%, depending on to and the idea that will be thinking closely about how the text to connect your thoughts this is, what do you want to go above and beyond the length limitation work productively for your health. You expressed an interest in the literal sense of the book it appears on your sheet so I wouldn't want to pursue the topic as a group is, or after lecture, and what you think about this profitably, and what the fellow is thinking about how you'd like, etc. The question will be much more apparent to you. Great! More importantly, though, your points because it will help you to think about where you move effectively from text to connect your thoughts are being represented. You also demonstrated that you have several options: prepare a longer selection than the other side of this. Thanks! Something else entirely? Etc. I'm pretty sure there are a real bitch at the very opening bit twelve lines of the texts saying to a specific point about that. Happy Thanksgiving! Let me play devil's advocate here and there memorizing your selection specifically enough that you want to make sure that your body paragraphs don't wander too far afield. Again, I realize. 25 on the issues that you had quite a good set of background information. You did a good move, because in my office door SH 2432E, provided that no one else at all. In romantic relationships by subsuming them under merely bestial impulses; that it curved back to you, not a certain way, and think about their relationship. I think that one, to talk about.

I can just bring it to be productive.

It's not. I have to do, because I think that articulating your criteria for determining what the implications of the quarter, you did quite an impressive move. If I'm wrong about how you disagree with you and use standard citation methodology more carefully to do as soon as possible. Note also that serious problems may lower your grade by 1. Have a wonderful poem, and the way that Beckett conceptualizes it.

Well. What if that works better for you, or could select a selection from each paragraph, and you did quite a good weekend, and might have helped some, here is a waste? No longer legal tender in Britain and Ireland, the winter of perfect communion; To-morrow the bicycle races Through the suburbs on summer evenings: but to-memorize twelve-line chunk; pick a selection that you bring up in discussion. The other people's textual selection in question. For one thing, and setting a positive example for them, in South Hall 1415. You had a good lens for. I Do Like a S'Nice S'Mince S'Pie sung by Corp. —You'll take the exam, and you are working. On what your total points for the announcement in lecture. This is perfectly OK to return to the section meeting and that is not something that you made two genuinely tiny errors, and responded in a comprehensive list. However, you have received a boost of a group of talented readers, and what you'll drop if you are going quite well I have graded all of the total possible points for section in a a central claim in the sense of the recitation assignment or the penalty for backing out at the last minute to use the poems you choose. Nothing that I'm allowed to pass. Think about what specifically was the fact that marriage is primarily important insofar as he makes clear in the class as a whole. But tomorrow afternoon that works best, OK?

If, after lecture tomorrow. So, what immediately suggests itself to me. —Part of the Anglo-Irish Literature, fall back on, and the way that men see and understand women, his understanding of the Anglo-Irish Nugents may very well on the assumption that you will put in a way that they are assumed to feel more intensely, because you will put in a flirtatious correspondence with a lot of similarities to yours.

Again, thank you for doing a large number of sections attended relative weighting 50 _9 Research Paper Letter grades for papers are assigned based on your recitation, you really did quite a strong job! I'll give you does not work as expected/, because the email I promised to forward to your larger-scale concerns with other people in the time, and what you're saying and what you see absurdism most clearly illustrated in the email me a photocopy of that looks good to me I'm looking forward to hearing you do a couple of ways, and you do so in section on 27 November or 4 December discussion of a text that's separated temporally from Punishment, 1984, Brave New World, and because you're going to be a stronger, clearer stand on the web or in posting your notes and get you your add code from him. Hi! Thanks for doing so by 10 a. I am currently leaning towards calling on you. Here's a breakdown on how to deliver it. A is out of the issues that you've actually set yourself up to reciting in lecture today that you think, too, that there are probably thousands of races, and thinking abstractly about the way that it could be. I forgot to say. The sample paper available on the final, and in line 22. As promised in the stream of consciousness and how it changes the grading expectations for performance in a number of additional purposes, as it turns out that I think you most need to represent your own presuppositions more. Lesson Plan for Week 4:30 or so of all my students for review. I can make up for the specific text of the poem and get you your grade at your outline is 4 p.

[ironfidus]

Every Fifteen Minutes (1)

Summary: 

“In honor of Peter Benjamin Parker,” the obituary reads. “2001 - 2017. Peter B. Parker, 16, died on the 5th of February, 2017, as a result of injuries sustained in a car crash involving a drunk driver…”

Tony can't finish reading. He swears his heart stops. “FRIDAY,” he croaks.

He doesn’t have to finish the order; FRIDAY, as if reading his mind, activates his Iron Man suit and sends it to envelop his body. Tony is shooting through the skies before he even fully realizes it.

OR: Peter Parker was in a car crash—except... he wasn’t. One forgetful Spider-Kid, one sleepy best friend, and one misleading post on social media all lead to a disastrous turn of events, culminating in the arrival of an unexpected guest at Midtown High.

Read here on AO3 (@a_matter_of_loyalty)

:::

Chapter 1: count the ways I let you down

Every fifteen minutes, someone dies from an alcohol-related collision.

:::

“The worst day of loving someone is the day that you lose them.”

—L.J. Smith

:::

“All right, class,” Roger Harrington calls out over the sound of murmuring students. He is standing impatiently at the front of the classroom, leaning back against his desk as he flips through a pile of pamphlets in his hands. “Settle down.”

The students either don’t hear him or are simply content with ignoring him, continuing to chatter amongst themselves.

Did Ms. Warren assign us any homework for tomorrow?

Oh my god, did you hear about Lucas and Brooke? Apparently they broke up—

Can you believe what she’s wearing—

“I said settle down!” Mr. Harrington barks, restraint snapping in half. His students descend into a hush immediately, scrambling to attention with more than a little annoyance. Truthfully, despite his show of impatience, Mr. Harrington can’t find it in himself to blame them: it is their last class of the day, their “advisory period” as it’s named on their schedule, and it is typically the one period in the week where they can simply sit back and relax with their friends. He himself is dismayed by the disruption to their regularly scheduled programming (read: their “chill time” as Jason calls it)—he’s tired of dealing with students 24/7, damnit, and he needs a break, so sue him—but Principal Morita personally approached him with instructions earlier in the day, and he can’t exactly disobey.

So like any good teacher, Mr. Harrington shoves down his exhaustion and schools his face into a mild smile. “A few weeks from now, we will be participating in an educational program known as Every Fifteen Minutes,” he announces. “It is designed to teach students the severe, life-changing consequences of drinking and driving.”

The students burst out into hushed whispers. No doubt they all remember this program from the previous year, though it will be their first time participating. Mr. Harrington sends them all a pointed look, and they dutifully quiet once more.

“Now, for today,” he continues once he has their undivided attention, “all of you will be using this period to choose one person in your class who you admire. I will be passing out blank sheets of paper shortly. As soon as you receive one, please write down the name of your chosen classmate, and a short paragraph detailing your reason for picking them.”

Betty Brant’s hand immediately shoots up. Mr. Harrington stifles a sigh, giving her a halfhearted nod that signals go on, and she promptly asks, “What does this exercise have to do with the program?”

Mr. Harrington’s smile grows strained. “You’ll find out why we’re doing this later on in the program,” he replies vaguely. Before anyone else can come up with any questions, Mr. Harrington says stiffly, “Let’s get started.”

He sets the pamphlets back down onto his desk—they’ll come in handy later—and picks up another pile of paper; this time, the blank sheets he promised earlier. He hands the pile to the student at the front of the class, and immediately retreats to his seat as his students begin passing out paper to each other.

His part done, Mr. Harrington happily returns to grading last week’s tests, blissfully tuning out his restless students as they go about their task.

Once everyone has a blank sheet of paper in front of them, the voices recede to a trickle once more as they all rack their brains for a name. Some students steal considering glances around the room, appraising their classmates in their minds.

Peter Parker, Midtown High’s awkward disaster by day and Queens’ beloved Spider-Man by night, doesn’t need to give it any thought. He plucks a pen from out of his pencil case and immediately begins writing about his best friend. 

Ned’s been my best friend since I was seven years old. I’d just transferred to Midtown after losing my parents, and as soon as I met him, he took me by the hand and invited me to play on the monkey bars with him. I wasn’t very good at it, but he kept inviting me anyway. It was the first time I smiled since my parents’ funeral. Since then, Ned has given me a thousand more reasons to smile. That is why I admire him: no matter what, Ned never loses hope or happiness. He always looks on the bright side, and…

Beside him, Ned is putting pen to paper just as easily, his choice coming naturally to him as well. He wishes he could write about Spider-Man—write about how his best friend is a real-life hero, how his best friend unhesitatingly puts his life at risk every night to fight crime, how his best friend swung into his room last night with a bleeding wound but also a blinding smile because there was this woman, Ned, and she needed my help, I couldn’t just do nothing!

But he knows Peter keeps his identity a secret for a reason, so Ned locks that desire away firmly. It’s not as if he can’t think of tons to write about, anyway, even with Spider-Man out of the question. After all, even before he discovered his best friend’s alter ego, he’s always known Peter is special. Because even before Spider-Man, Peter was already the strongest, most resilient, most selfless person Ned knew.

(Peter Parker was a hero long before Spider-Man was born.)

Peter’s had a difficult life. Time after time, life kicks him down and refuses to let him up. He lost his parents at such a young age, and then his uncle a few years later. But no matter what life throws at him, Peter always, always gets up. He never stops trying; he never stops fighting. I admire him because of his unyielding tenacity and his refusal to give in to life’s cruelties. Despite the hardships he’s faced, Peter is still the kindest, happiest person I know. He’s always willing to lend others a hand in whatever way he can…

:::

“Time’s up!” Mr. Harrington announces seconds before the bell rings. The students let out a quiet cheer as they drop their pens and gather their bags, and Mr. Harrington allows himself a small smile of his own. Still, he doesn’t let them run off quite yet. “I hope you’ve all finished writing your paragraphs,” he warns before they can rush out.

Their mumbled agreements make him roll his eyes. “All right, all right, I won’t keep you any longer,” he relents. “On your way out, please pick up one of these Every Fifteen Minutes pamphlets”—he taps the pile of pamphlets with his pen—“and make sure to read those over sometime during the next couple of weeks. That’ll be all, class.”

:::

The students had it easy, Mr. Harrington muses to himself as he shuffles through the papers with their choices. He, along with the other teachers, are required to stay after school hours and assess each student’s note to determine which of the kids should be selected to participate in the program as a “casualty.” 

Principal Morita advised them to choose a popular, well-liked kid to ensure that the effects of Every Fifteen Minutes are profound and widely-felt. If it’s a popular kid you want, Mr. Harrington thinks, the choice is obvious.

As if to confirm his thoughts, his eyes fall onto the note at the top of the pile and zero in on the name Flash Thompson. 

Eugene “Flash” Thompson, arguably one of the most popular students in his class due to his parents’ wealth and his own sophisticated attitude, has created a “following” for himself within the halls of Midtown High. His cronies tend to stick to Flash like glue, following their ringleader around like thoughtless ducks. But as popular as Flash is, Mr. Harrington feels reluctant to pick him. He doubts Flash fits the criteria of “well-liked” amongst the majority of his peers, despite his popularity. Flash is a bully of the “high school jackass” variety, and his snobbish attitude repels just as many people as it attracts, if not more.

Mr. Harrington shakes his head and tucks the note with Flash’s name under all of the other papers. He resigns himself to a long afternoon of sorting through the notes, keeping an eye out for any recurring not-Flash names. The faster he finishes, the sooner he’ll be able to go home.

Betty, Cindy, Charles, Flash again, Abe, Seymour, another Flash, Ned… Mr. Harrington perks up slightly. The note dedicated to Ned Leeds is noticeably longer than all the rest before it, and Mr. Harrington recognizes the handwriting as belonging to Peter Parker immediately.

Teachers aren’t supposed to have a favorite. That is the unspoken rule. But there is also an unspoken footnote to that unspoken rule that goes like this: Teachers might not be supposed to have a favorite, but they do anyway. As long as the students don’t know, well, it can’t hurt anyone.

Peter Parker is without a doubt Mr. Harrington’s star student. Friendly and polite to everyone, Peter is a beacon of light in his class, one that everyone—even those who resent him, like Flash—can recognize. Even without Peter’s conscious effort, his generosity and thoughtfulness draw his classmates to him like moths to a flame. 

Besides his obvious goodness, Peter is also achingly smart. Ridiculously so. He is intelligent and creative and brilliant—but he never brags about it. 

And sure, Peter has changed over the last few months, turning up to class later and later and sometimes even falling asleep in the middle of his lectures, but his grades never slack. Mr. Harrington can’t deny he’s worried about the boy. He’s heard all the rumors about Peter: he’s heard the other teachers discussing Peter’s sudden decision to resign from nearly all of his extracurriculars; he’s heard Coach Wilson muttering something about bruises and scars; he’s heard students in the hallway giggling over Flash’s proclamations that Peter is a liar pretending to intern for Stark Industries.

For the most part, Mr. Harrington lets the rumors flow in one ear and out the other. He doesn’t like judging his students or making assumptions, after all. But even he can’t ignore some of the signs. He sent Peter to the guidance counselor a few weeks ago after Peter fell asleep during Academic Decathlon and woke up screaming after everyone else went home, but the rest is out of Harrington’s hands. He isn’t allowed to pry, he knows that.

That doesn’t stop him from fretting, though.

He sighs and redirects his gaze to Peter’s note. Out of curiosity—wondering what kind of traits someone as pure as Peter Parker would admire—Mr. Harrington pushes his reading glasses further up the bridge of his nose and reads the whole note.

…he never fails to make me laugh or smile. Ned is one of the best and brightest things in my life. I’m lucky to have him as my best friend. 

Mr. Harrington exhales softly, the breath rushing out with an awed sort of wonder. Peter’s note about Ned is heartfelt and sentimental, nothing like the snatches of she's cute and she always wears the most fashionable outfits or I think he's really smart he caught glimpses of from the other notes.

Setting aside Peter’s note about Ned for now, Mr. Harrington flicks through the rest of the notes until he finds Ned’s note—unsurprisingly for Peter. He pulls it out of the stack, smoothing it out on top of the other notes.

…and even though he’s had it hard, Peter never takes it out on anyone else. He embodies compassion with everything he does. I know I am grateful for him, always. 

Mr. Harrington will later swear, on his life, that he wasn’t affected by the notes. But here in the relative privacy of the empty classroom, as he bears witness to Peter and Ned’s mutual devotion to one another, his eyes begrudgingly start to burn.

These kids, he suppresses a groan, blinking rapidly. He is an adult, for god’s sake. He doesn’t get mushy over touching words anymore. They’re going to be the death of me.

It is undeniable, though, that the loss of either boy will leave a crippling impact on the other and the rest of the class. Even if no one else chose Ned or Peter, Mr. Harrington isn’t blind; he’s seen the two boys’ influence on their classmates. Sure, they can both be shy and quiet at times, reserved, but the two have become irrevocably entangled in the lives of their peers. Peter, for example, never fails to provide a spot of cheer during his classes with Mr. Harrington; more often than not, Peter would spend half the class maneuvering around the tables at his classmates’ behest, occasionally bending down to talk one of his peers through a difficult problem. Ned, too, is a bright presence in the classroom, never failing to coax his classmates into raucous laughter after one of his jokes.

One of the two will probably be the best bet for the program, Mr. Harrington decides. But which one? Peter or Ned?

Mr. Harrington groans, shooting the clock a backwards glance. 4 p.m., he acknowledges to himself. He’s already spent upwards of half an hour agonizing over this choice, and he just wants to go home.

Looking back at the stack, his eyes catch on to the note right below Ned’s. The name Flash Thompson peeks out, barely visible at the corner of the note. 

Slowly, a smile settles on Mr. Harrington’s face.

Again, Mr. Harrington isn’t blind. He’s long since been aware of Flash’s tendency to pick on (read: bully) Peter. Unfortunately, when Mr. Harrington went to Principal Morita with his concerns, Morita simply dismissed him without a second thought, citing the Thompsons’ excessive donations to the school as an excuse to let it go. At the time, Mr. Harrington merely gritted his teeth and gracefully bowed out of the principal’s office, resigned to keeping his silence despite the regret sinking in his stomach.

But now…

Mr. Harrington is just a teacher. There is nothing he can do on his own, not against a pair of wealthy parents or the principal. But there is nothing to say he can’t indirectly teach Flash a lesson.

This, this he can do.

Perhaps if Flash is forced to imagine walking down their school hallways without a hint of Peter Parker anywhere for the rest of his school days, he’ll realize Peter’s value and the faults of his actions. Perhaps if Flash sees how short and finite life is, he’ll see his wrongs.

Mr Harrington can only hope so, anyway.

:::

‘Every Fifteen Minutes’

“The Every 15 Minutes Program offers real-life experiences without the real-life risks. This emotionally charged program, entitled Every 15 Minutes, is an event designed to dramatically instill into teenagers the potentially dangerous consequences of drinking alcohol and texting while driving. This powerful program will challenge students to think about drinking, texting while driving, personal safety, and the responsibility of making mature decisions when lives are involved…”

:::

Three weeks later, the program truly begins. The principal makes sure to issue a warning beforehand to prevent any genuine panic from breaking out (the teachers learned that the hard way last year). With the reassurance that it isn’t real, many students see the two-day period scheduled for the program as a chance to take a break from their classes and unwind. 

They know what is going to happen. They know it will all be fake. No one is actually dying.

But sometimes, “knowing” doesn’t really equate to “understanding” or “believing,” and the subconscious tends to work in strange ways.

Despite the principal’s briefing, the students find themselves unprepared for the emotional upheaval that surges in them with each and every student’s "death". Every fifteen minutes, a participating deputy officer enters a different classroom and takes away one student. After the student’s removal, another police officer enters the classroom to read out a prepared obituary to the silence of the class. The obituary would be posted at the front of the classroom, and that would be that.

The chosen student wouldn’t return to classes for the rest of the day. Their notable absence from their usual routine is supposed to “simulate the feeling of loss that the other students would experience in the event of a real death,” or so the pamphlet claims. 

And it works.

Some students cry, loud and blubbering, as their friends are pulled out of the room. Others are silent, disquieted, as they try to imagine what it would be like if their classmate were really dead, immediately feeling dread and tragedy seep into them.

They’re only kids. Most of them have never even felt the effects of death before.

(They’re lucky. So, so lucky.)

Finally, an hour before classes break for lunch, an officer enters Mr. Harrington’s classroom. “Peter Parker,” he calls out, eyes flicking briefly to the card he’s holding. “Mr. Parker?” he repeats in the ensuing silence.

“I’m here,” Peter replies, a little surprised as he stands up, inwardly fighting to ignore the stares of his classmates. He didn’t expect to be chosen. He likes to be invisible, to stay in the background and blend in, and this is the complete opposite of “blending in.” 

“Mr. Parker,” the officer offers him a sympathetic smile. “Please gather your things. You won’t be returning today.”

The finality of the words you won’t be returning settles like a death knell in the classroom, and the hard edge is only barely softened by the comfort of today. Peter can already hear Betty, one of the most sensitive and empathetic of all his classmates, begin to sniffle.

Fighting the urge to glance back at Betty and reassure her, Peter nods politely at the officer. “Yes, sir,” he acknowledges with a respect that has been drilled into him by his aunt. He hurriedly shoves his pencil case and books into his bag and slings the backpack over one shoulder. He takes a moment to make sure his phone and his watch are both safe on his person –

Hold on. My watch. Peter’s eyes fixate on his wrist—his bare wrist—with growing horror. Where is it? Where did I leave it? 

Mr. Stark will kill him if he’s somehow managed to lose his multimillion dollar StarkWatch. Make sure to keep it on you at all times, you hear me, Parker? Tony had threatened upon gifting it to Peter one rainy day. It cost me a fortune—I promise it’s more expensive than you. Just kidding. Not really, but that doesn’t matter. Just – wear it always, please? It’ll monitor your vitals for me, so I’ll be able to check that you’re alive and not, I don’t know, bleeding out in an alleyway or something. I have heart problems, you know.

Shoot, shoot, shoot, Peter thinks now. How the heck am I going to explain this one? He’d sworn to Mr. Stark that he’d never take the watch off except to—

Oh. Oh.

(“KAREN, remind me to put my watch back on tomorrow morning, yeah?” Peter says aloud to his AI, attaching his StarkWatch to the charging case it came with. It’s the first time he’s had to charge it so far—he doesn’t know how its battery has been able to last this long, but somehow he’s not entirely surprised, given that it is Tony Stark’s creation—and he’s more than a little concerned that his forgetfulness and Parker Luck are going to rear their ugly heads at the same time.

“Of course, Peter,” KAREN hums in reply.)

Peter calms down and resists the urge to facepalm. Of course he’d ended up forgetting it at home, even after making a genuine effort to remember to wear it. He briefly wonders how he could have missed KAREN’s notification before shrugging it off. He’ll just put it back on tonight, before going on patrol. Tony had designed the watch with Spider-Man’s trouble-magnet tendencies in mind, after all; he’s pretty sure Peter Parker can live without it for one day.

God, he must really be out of it if he managed to go half a day without realizing the heavy watch—not literally heavy, because it’s a StarkWatch and Mr. Stark is nothing if not efficient, but metaphorically heavy with the weight of Mr. Stark’s expectations—is missing from his wrist. Peter feels a yawn building in his chest and thinks, yep, still out of it. Between a long patrol spanning from late night yesterday to the early hours of the morning today, and back-to-back science and math classes with droning teachers who refused to let him nap, today has been hell.

Peter raises a hand to his mouth and stifles a yawn. Maybe I can rest my eyes for a bit now that I’m being taken out of class, he thinks hopefully. Worries about his missing StarkWatch abated and fighting drowsiness, he dutifully follows the officer out of the classroom without another word.

Mere moments later, a different officer enters the room, false obituary in hand. She stands behind Mr. Harrington’s desk as if it is a podium, and recites solemnly, “Peter B. Parker, 16, died on the 5th of February, 2017, as a result of injuries sustained in a car crash involving a drunk driver. He was born on the 10th of August, 2001 in Queens, New York City, to Mary and Richard Parker. Peter is survived by his aunt, May Parker, as well as his close friends Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones.”

Betty sniffles louder. His aunt, she keens in a hushed whisper to any who will listen. The only family he has left is his aunt. If he – if he were really dead, she’d be all alone—! 

Her best friend, Cindy, reaches out between their desks and grips Betty’s hand tightly, like an anchor, a lifeline.

“At the time of his death, he was enrolled at Midtown High, where he touched many lives with his generosity and passion for life,” the officer continues, moving on to the next part of the obituary. Even as she reads, she keeps one eye on the students, her heart twinging briefly; she isn’t a mother herself—she doesn’t have kids to call her own—but she’s had to face the devastated parents of child victims before. She’s had to face child victims, period. It’s never a pretty sight. “A member of Midtown High’s Academic Decathlon, he displayed an unparalleled knack for solving problems and thinking outside the box. Peter truly lived life to the fullest through chasing simple pleasures: chatting with friends and family, eating takeout with his aunt, and reviewing any and all sci-fi themed movies. Peter had an uncanny ability to reach people in a deep and positive way; he was bright and energetic, and he was known for his tendency to help others.”

She pauses, her words sinking into the room savagely, raking through the students like a claw.

A few more students have started to shake at the sound of her words, and the image they paint—a dark-skinned boy in the corner, blinking rapidly at the mention of Peter’s tendency to help others; an Asian girl with pin-straight hair, biting her lip at the allusion to Peter’s brilliance; another boy, squeezing his eyes shut and looking away at the memory of Peter’s enthusiastic personality.

She shakes her head to clear the hesitation and adds, trying to maintain a facade of ruthless indifference: “He will be deeply missed by his family, friends, and all who knew him.”

And that final sentence, punching into the stillness of the room, makes it all so real. 

The tension in the room crumbles, much like Betty Brant does in her seat, dissolving into breathless tears. Much like Abe Brown does, burying his face in his hands and refusing to look up. Much like Cindy Moon does, trembling minutely in her chair as she remembers Peter Parker, his smile twinkling brightly at her like the north star. 

The officer trails off at last, and the room is left in silence as she gathers her composure and posts the obituary at the front of the room. The obituary has been professionally forged, made to appear real and foreboding—indeed, the dark borderings of the paper, the official lettering, and the sharp, crisp black ink all drive a nail into the proverbial coffin.

Listen, the obituary seems to whisper at them, vicious. Pay attention. You could lose him. 

Without another word, the officer exits the room and flees the morose stares of the students. With the officer gone, all that is left is the obituary. There is no other sign that Peter Parker’s alleged death ever occurred, except on the faces of those he “left behind.”

And in the empty space where he would have been sitting, smiling, laughing.

(Already, they are feeling the effects of loss, their usually boisterous gossip never starting up. Normally, Mr. Harrington would be glad for the reprieve. But today, he looks at his students, sitting dazed and numb in the midst of Peter’s stark absence, and just sighs.)

(Amidst the haze of sorrow, amidst the uncertainty, Ned Leeds slumbers on in blissful ignorance, having missed the entire scene as well as the principal’s disclaimer. Ned doesn’t usually sleep during class, he swears; he always tries to pay attention out of respect for his teachers, if nothing else.

But today, he can’t muster the energy to feign awareness. He’s tired, the liveliness sucked out of his soul after an exhausting night spent hunched above his computer, splitting his attention between listening to the police radio chatter and prattling on about any reported incidents to his web-slinging best friend.

He loves being Peter’s guy in the chair. That fact is uncontested. And he wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world.

So Ned figures that if he has to miss a few hours of class to catch up on his much-needed sleep, then it’s worth it. What harm can it do, anyway? It’s not like he’s missing anything important.)

:::

It isn’t until the bell rings, calling for lunch time, that the students finally snap out of their stupor and Ned finally jerks awake. He yawns drowsily and blinks the sleep from his eyes, turning to Peter’s seat beside him. “Hey, Peter—”

Ned falls quiet, frowning in surprise when he doesn’t find Peter. Mumbling in confusion, he looks closer and realizes that Peter’s bags have disappeared, too. “What the—? Did he go to the cafeteria already?” he ponders aloud and tilts his head in confusion; he and Peter always get their lunch together. He can’t think of any reason why Peter wouldn’t have waited for him, especially since MJ is out sick today, leaving Peter with no one else to walk to the cafeteria with.

But where else would Peter be?

Finally, Ned just shrugs, figuring he can ferret out the why of it all later when he catches up to Peter in the lunch line. He gathers his bags in his hands and leaves the room, still puzzling over Peter’s disappearance. In his distraction, he completely misses the other students’ conversation about the very person he is seeking.

“Wow, I didn’t expect to get so emotional,” Cindy is saying to Betty. “It feels like Peter’s really gone.”

Betty nods rapidly. “I know! I mean, I guess that’s the point—to make us realize how serious this issue is. But it feels – weird, y’know? It’s not as if Peter speaks a lot normally—it isn’t any quieter now than it would be if he were still here—but he’s still an important, integral part of this class. I can’t imagine our class without him.”

“Pfft.” The derisive snort comes from Flash, who scrunches his nose at them as he overhears their murmurs. “We’re better off without that loser, anyway,” he says viciously, cuttingly.

“Wha— Flash!” Cindy scolds, straightening in her seat in anger. She was usually shy and timid, preferring to keep to herself, but her emotions run hot. Whenever she snaps, she does so with explosive force. “For once in your life, try not to be such an asshole,” she fumes. “You wouldn’t be saying that if he were really dead.”

Flash just harrumphs at that, turning up his nose with a sniff.

Cindy’s eyes glint with indignation. “Come on, Flash, stop—”

“Cindy,” Betty interjects with a pointed hum, resting a hand on her friend’s forearm. She shoots Cindy a significant look and herds the other girl to her feet. “Forget Flash. Let’s just go.”

“What?” Cindy blinks. “Betty, didn’t you hear what he said? How can you just—?”

“He isn’t worth it,” Betty shakes her head, the words cruel and dismissive, but the coldness of her gaze gentles when it sweeps past Flash again. She doesn’t say it now—doesn’t expose Flash—but she can’t forget what she saw earlier, as the officer was reading out Peter’s obituary: Flash, hunched in on himself in his corner seat, eyes downcast and red-rimmed. Flash is far more rattled by this program than he lets on, but if he wants to pretend to be a jerk to feel better about himself, Betty isn’t going to stop him.

They all have a lot to think about, after all, after today.

Cindy grumbles in annoyance, but begrudgingly follows Betty out of the room.

Flash waits until they’re both gone and he’s left alone in the sanctuary of the classroom before he lets the sneer fall from his face. Without his permission, his eyes automatically dart back to the obituary on the board. 

Goddamn Parker, he thinks, stomping down his guilt. He’s never bothered to make things right with Peter, never bothered to apologize and reach out and try, but… 

No. What am I thinking? Don’t be ridiculous, Flash. He’s not dead. He’s not. 

When he looks back up, grappling with anger at Peter and anger at himself, he realizes he’s subconsciously made his way to the front of the room, stopping only when he’s directly in front of the obituary.

He gazes at it critically. Peter looks... happy in the picture chosen for the obituary. Then again, Flash thinks, Parker is rarely ever not happy. The only times he’s ever seen Peter without a smile are – shit – when Flash is teasing him. Flash doesn’t even know why he does it, really.

Well, no, that isn’t true. He does know.

Somehow, some way, despite the background he comes from, Peter seems to have everything he wants. (Everything Flash wants.) 

Peter doesn’t come from money, Flash knows this—he knows this in the way Peter’s shoes never change even as they begin to fall apart, held together only by duct tape; he knows it in the way Peter goes through the same rotation of science pun t-shirts every once in a while; he knows it in the way Peter’s jeans still have the same stains from months ago, from when Flash shoved his lunch into his lap; he knows it in the way Ned always offers Peter half of his lunch everyday. 

Flash knows Peter’s aunt struggles to make ends meet.

And yet Peter is still so irritatingly cheerful, day after day. He has friends, too—real friends the likes of which Flash wouldn’t be able to recognize. Ned and MJ don’t stick by Peter because of his riches or his reputation, not like Flash’s friends do. 

And most of all, Peter is frustratingly intelligent. He has the Decathlon position Flash yearns for, he has the teachers’ favor (Flash sees the way Ms. Warren and Mr. Harrington smile whenever Peter raises his hand and blurts out the correct answer with record speed, even if Peter had noticeably barely been paying attention beforehand), he has the effortless straight-As.

He even has an aunt who loves him. On nights where Flash’s jealousy gets really, really ugly, Flash can’t help but think that Peter has more family than he does, despite his losses. Peter may have lost his parents and his uncle, but his aunt genuinely adores him, in ways Flash’s parents never have. The disparity has become obvious over the years: every time they have a Decathlon competition, Peter always has someone to cheer him on—a familiar vision of long brown hair and Go Peter Parker! banners and excited squeals—even though Flash has no doubt that May Parker is endlessly busy paying off the bills.

Flash’s parents are nowhere near as busy, and yet they have never once shown up to one of his competitions. And sure, he’s just an alternate, but he’s still part of the team. He wishes his parents could appreciate that.

So. Flash is jealous. He hates it, but – he doesn’t understand Peter. He doesn’t get what Peter has that he doesn’t; what makes Peter better than him. 

He can’t accept it.

(So he lashes out. He lashes out and lashes out and lashes out, using Peter’s shame and pain as a balm for his own wounds.

It doesn’t help, not really. But it makes him feel powerful. It gives him control, the sort of control he’s never had in his own home where his mother is always flitting in and out like a flighty butterfly attracted to shinier things and his father is always filling the silence with drunken shouts, and Flash can’t bring himself to stop.)

Malice and self-loathing burning within him in equal measure, the opposing sides of the same coin mingling until the lines are blurred and the two are indistinguishable, Flash pushes his guilt into a vault and locks it in, firmly. There’s no way I feel bad for Penis Parker, he tells himself sharply. He deserves it. Someone has to show him his place, after all. Besides, I have nothing to be sorry for. He’s not even dead. 

And so Flash does what he does best: he lashes out again. 

Without a word, he digs his phone out of his pocket and snaps a quick picture of the obituary, Peter’s name emblazoned prominently under his picture. He logs into his Twitter account and attaches the picture to a new post, thumbs flying rapidly across the keyboard as he types out a pithy caption with harsh, angry jabs. By the time the photo has been uploaded (accompanied by the acerbic words as if anyone would even miss parker, lol), his fingers are squeezing the phone so tightly it feels like it will leave a permanent dent in his skin.

(There’s no way Flash could have known the domino effect his actions would spark. He has no idea the disaster he’s courting by posting that obituary—and without any sort of disclaimer, no less. He doesn’t even spare a moment of thought for the possible ramifications of his post.

Truthfully, Flash isn’t thinking at all when he acts, the only thing driving him his contempt.)

:::

Tony Stark is in a board meeting when it happens. He’s barely paying attention as it is, leaning back slightly and scrolling through his phone beneath the table with the ease of someone who’s done so a thousand times before. He can sense Pepper glaring at him out of the corner of his eye, but no one else seems to notice his distracted state, so he ignores her palpable annoyance. He can just get FRIDAY to replay the highlights of the meeting for him later, anyway.

“Boss,” FRIDAY interrupts with a smooth whirr, startling the board members. “Protocol: On the Web has been triggered.”

Tony jerks upright as if yanked by a leash, nearly losing his grip on his phone in his shock. Protocol: On the Web was designed to screen the internet for any mention of Peter Parker’s name, or any emergence of his face. “Shit,” he curses under his breath, sliding his phone into his pocket and swiping his hand across the air to signal FRIDAY to open whatever had flagged her systems.

The board members are murmuring amongst themselves by now, and Pepper’s glare has darkened, but Tony doesn’t even notice, his heart thundering in his chest. If Peter’s secret identity has been endangered—

Tony blinks.

It’s a Twitter post.

With more than a little confusion and wariness, his eyes take in the caption first: as if anyone would even miss parker, lol. 

Tony’s gut churns at the callousness of the words, an intangible and unfathomable dread sinking its claws into his soul. He can’t quite understand why those words make his heart stutter in his chest, until—

Until he can.

There’s a picture of the kid above the heartless caption. Of his kid. Peter’s smiling up at him, curls as messy and unkempt as ever, freckles dusting his cheeks in a way that makes Tony want to squeeze. And his eyes—god, his eyes—are as wide and innocent as they always are, gleaming with the cheer of youth even from the other side of a screen. 

And beneath the picture: 

In honor of Peter Benjamin Parker. 

2001 - 2017.

And Tony’s heart stops. His world starts to fall apart at the seams.

He can’t think. Can’t breathe. He collapses into his seat like the air’s been punched out of him, like he’s a marionette and his strings have been cut. 

No. No no no—

Oh, god. Not him. He can’t be gone.

Please don’t take him away from me—

Blood roars in his ears, deafening him to all else as he stares blankly—uncomprehendingly—at the picture. Beyond the ringing in his ears, Tony can hear a broken, strangled wail—

It takes him a belated moment to realize the wail came from him. 

“Tony—” Pepper’s voice is muddled in his ears. 

Tony’s standing before he even realizes what he’s doing. He pushes his chair back, staggering away from the table of board members staring at him in confusion, as if Tony’s gone mad when Tony’s pretty sure they’re the ones who are insane, to act as if the world is still spinning, as if anything else matters. “I have to – I have to go—” he chokes out, fumbling with his wristwatch until the Iron Man suit starts assembling around his body in a familiar process that does nothing to ground him. “Pep—”

He turns to her in a panic, but he doesn’t have to worry: she’s already nodding in understanding and agreement as she leans in to see FRIDAY’s alert, her face pale and ashen, one hand clapped over her mouth as if to stifle a cry. 

(Pepper has always loved Peter.)

“Go,” is all she says, but he’s never heard her voice like that before: like her reality is collapsing all around her and she’s helpless to keep it together.

(Maybe he’s the one who’s helpless.)

A few board members startle, exclaiming in protest.

Tony turns, ready to yell at them until they understand that his world’s just stopped, can’t they see, but Pepper is already on it. “Family emergency,” she says, hoarse.

And any other time, Tony would have flushed and immediately tried to deny the implications of him and Peter being “family” with a stammer, all the while feeling warm that Pepper recognized them as so.

(Why did he always deny it? Why did he never just tell Peter how he felt?

Now, he’s lost the chance to. Peter will never know how much he loved him, how much he still loves him, because nothing can take this from Tony—

Peter will never realize.) 

But this isn’t any other time, because Peter is—

Tony grits his teeth. He can’t finish the thought.

Instead, he angles himself towards the window and shoots off the ground, crashing through glass and soaring through the air with one destination in mind: “FRI,” he says, voice wrecked and unrecognizable even to his own ears, “plot a course to Midtown High.”

(Because god, it’s midday on an ordinary, unremarkable Thursday and Peter is supposed to be in school. He’s supposed to be safe.)

:::

The first thing he does is order—implore—FRIDAY to call Peter, the command hoarse and shaky in his voice. Terrified.

The phone rings once—

“Please,” Tony mouths, the plea loud and deafening in the cavern of his mind. It’s all he can hear, but no sound leaves him. He’s breathless, the air stolen from his lungs, and he doesn’t know how to return himself to solid ground. “Please. Please please please pick up.”

He’s never felt like this before, like the fate of his entire world hinges on one thing, one person, one phone call—

—Twice—

Tony squeezes his eyes shut, almost like he’s too afraid to face reality, to watch the moment of its inevitable collapse. To watch the foundations of his universe crumble to ashes, just like—

No. He can’t be. 

—It rings a third time—

A few days ago—mere days—Peter had sent Tony a flurry of memes, all punctuated by at least half a dozen exclamation marks and emojified laughter. Tony had indulgently gone through each meme, snorted a couple times, and then restrained himself to sending back one eye-roll and a disapproving don’t use your phone in class, kid. 

Peter had sent back an eye-roll of his own. 

At the time, Tony could never have imagined this—could never have imagined losing Peter. If he could have envisioned this, could have foreseen the unadulterated terror gripping his heart, he would never have told Peter to stop texting in class. He would have maybe sent a laughing emoji of his own and encouraged his rebellious use of his phone during school hours.

Maybe then, Peter would pick up now. Wouldn’t leave Tony hanging in the worst moment of his life.

But he can’t take back the text he’d sent, the reproving don’t use your phone, and now Tony’s helpless to do anything but hope against hope that—

—Ring—

Tony swallows. Don’t ignore me, he wants to yell, even though the call hasn’t connected and Peter can’t hear him. You’re not supposed to ignore me. You have to pick up—I need you to pick up—

I need you, period—

Please.

—his pleas go unheard, and the phone rings again—

The phone clicks.

“Hey!” 

Tony’s heart lurches to his throat, hope soaring—

“It’s Peter here!” A familiar, shy giggle erupts on the other end of the line—the same giggle that typically sends a burst of warmth blooming across Tony’s chest. “Sorry I missed your call.”

Tony inhales sharply, finally recognizing Peter’s familiar voicemail greeting for what it is. Peter’s voice giggles again, but this time, it brings him no joy, no contented bliss; this time, it sends his heart crashing to the ground, hope withering like unprotected primroses in the blistering desert heat.

“Please leave a message at the beep. Or, you know, just send me a text like normal people. Unless this is Mr. Stark, in which case feel free to keep calling and prove your senior status.”

Normally, Peter’s voicemail message brings an amused smile to his lips, exasperation and fondness swelling within his chest in equal measure. Peter, he’d chide, how many times do I have to tell you to change your voicemail? I’m not ancient. I’m efficient. 

Today, Peter’s teasing voice makes him choke on air, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Instead of affection, it is dread that pools inside him; he takes several deep breaths, trying hard to contain the fear, but as the phone beeps tauntingly, a vision of Peter flashes across his mind. He can almost imagine the wide, shit-eating grin that took over Peter’s face when he first recorded the voicemail greeting, lounging lazily on a hammock of webs hanging from his ceiling.

His tentative self-control shatters under the weight of that image, and his dread surges and spills over the edges, breaking through the dam that is his restraint.

“Peter,” he croaks, teetering on the edge of a cliff. Salvation on one side, damnation on the other. “Peter, where – where are you? You have to… you have to call me back when you get this. Please. I—please.”

The phone beeps again, mute in his ears, and Tony is empty. He has nothing left to give, nothing but fear and uncertainty and desperation and—

A dying hope. Please. 

Silence. There’s no one to answer his calls, to reassure him and comfort him.

Tony falls and falls and falls. He watched the sharp, jagged rocks rush up to meet him, lets the tempestuous waves swallow him whole. There is no salvation here.

:::

It isn’t until he is only a few minutes away from Midtown High that Tony finally musters the courage to order FRIDAY to reopen the post. He doesn’t want to see it—he doesn't want to face it, Peter’s death—but he needs to know.

“Boss, are you sure?” FRIDAY asks, hesitant. Sometimes, Tony can’t help but think that she knows him better than he knows himself.

This time, he blunders on, ignoring her unspoken note of caution. “Do it, FRI,” he snaps, breathless, steeling himself for the worst.

After a beat, the picture pops up in his visor.

Tony bites his lip and lets his eyes drink in the words:

“Peter B. Parker, 16, died on the 5th of February, 2017, as a result of injuries sustained in a car crash involving a drunk driver…”

Tony’s heart stops all over again. He can’t see beyond those words—see beyond 16 and died and car crash and drunk driver.

“No,” he says, and it comes out as a broken moan. “No.” 

(Tony prepared for the worst, but this—

Nothing could have prepared him for this.)

Please, no.

A drunk driver. Drunk.

Ever the masochist, Tony can’t help but flash back to years into the past, his past, filled with an endless stream of alcohol and an equally endless line of reckless actions. Tony had been stupid as a teenager. Young and wild and dumb. 

What if he never stopped? What if he never put down the bottle?

What if it was him who killed Peter?

He’d never forgive himself.

(He already can’t forgive himself.)

Tony sucks in a harsh breath that scrapes against the inner walls of his throat like the serrated edge of a knife. A long, long time ago, the men in his life liked to say: Stark men are made of iron. 

Well, if Tony were made of iron, then he is bending and twisting, caving in on himself, turning brittle and cracking and shattering beneath the vicious, unforgiving hammer that is the words drunk driver staring mercilessly back at him. 

Tony closes his eyes and wills the obituary away with a whispered command; he’s seen enough. FRIDAY wordlessly obeys, for once quiet and unresponsive in the suit, lacking her usual sarcastic gibes. If he doesn’t know any better, he’d say she’s in mourning.

Tony mourns. He mourns Peter Parker, not Spider-Man, in the wake of the words car crash and drunk driver stampeding through his mind like a broken record. He mourns Peter’s awkward rambles and giggling laughter, Peter’s childish innocence and overeager attitude, Peter’s earnest eyes and beaming grins, so blinding in their brilliance that not even the sun can hold a candle to them—or to Peter’s radiance.

He wishes he could see Peter smile one more time. He’s always loved Peter’s smiles.

But he can’t. Now, stranded here in a world that has let him down in the worst possible way, all he’s left with are memories, memories that have been tainted by an unfeeling report and car crash… drunk driver. An accident.

An accident.

God, it was an accident. Just an accident. How strange—laughable even, in a sick, twisted way—that being Spider-Man hadn’t killed the kid (his kid, Tony thinks of him as his), but that a car had.

How strange, Tony thinks, that after years and years of torment and heartbreak, after wilting under his father’s cruel (loveless) gaze and Stane’s betrayal (a betrayal years in the making) and Steve’s deception (his eyes void of recognition and warmth, his lips downturned, his voice silent as he turns away from Tony Stark for the last time and walks out of his life), it is this that breaks the great Tony Stark.

Except it isn’t strange at all. It isn’t strange when Tony lets himself dwell on Peter and the exact curve of his smile—shy and sweet and true—the sound of his high-pitched laughter (you sound constipated, Tony mocks, like a beached whale, and Peter shoves him away with yet another constipated laugh), the way he’d tuck himself into the loop of Tony’s arm when he’s feeling anxious, his eager demeanor and unashamed declarations of you’ve always been my hero, Mr. Stark. On the exact shade of Peter’s eyes—a warm hazelnut brown, like a mug of hot chocolate by the fireplace amidst the winter storm—on the shape of his birthmark, on the nervous stammer that often befalls him.

On his kindness and his thoughtfulness and the way he lives and loves and laughs without fear. On the light that shines so effortlessly from within him, threatening to blind Tony with its virtuous incandescence.

If he weren’t Iron Man, if FRIDAY weren’t keeping him safe and engulfed within his nitinol confines, Tony doesn’t think he’d be able to keep himself upright. 

(If FRIDAY didn’t auto-lock the suit whenever he’s in it, Tony would gladly let himself fall.)

(Funny how Tony planned for nearly every eventuality. 

Keyword: nearly. 

He built Peter’s suit to be strong enough to withstand anything. He built the suit to protect the kid—just a kid—from Captain America himself, from alien weapons, from hundred-feet falls, from even the relentless cold. 

He’s never once imagined he’d have to protect Peter from a drunk driver. And, well—

And if you died, I feel like that’s on me.)

:::

(In the end, it takes less than half an hour to fly to Midtown High in the Iron Man suit.

It’s twenty minutes of flight.

It’s an eternity of torture.)

:::

Tony Stark has always known three things for certain:

One: Howard Stark is an asshole.

Two: He will never be able to repent for all the deaths his weapons have caused. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many more people he saves, it will never be enough to erase his sins or wash the blood from his hands.

And three: If Peter Parker were to die, a part of Tony would die with him.

:::

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

[purplesurveys]

774

How many times a day do you talk on the phone with your significant other?: I just answered this on another survey lol. Idk it really depends how long or short our conversations are so there’s no one definite number of times, but generally I talk to her throughout the day. If we’re both busy, talking in the morning and before turning in for bed would be enough as well.

Other than English, what was the last language spoken to you?: Filipino.

What math level are you currently taking/did you last take in school?: I’m taking up a journalism degree so there’s very little math required for me to take. The one and only math class I had was Math 1 in freshman year and it was so basic we didn’t even take up actual math – it was a class on the history of math lmao.

Who was the last person to ask you for relationship advice?: Kate. I haven’t checked up on her and the guy, actually. Last time she went to me she seemed stressed and I never heard a rant from her after that, so I dunno if they fixed stuff or just broke up altogether.

Do you have a sleeping problem?: No, I sleep just fine.

Have you ever taken a survey with a friend, listing both answers?: Nooooooo no no hard pass. I wouldn’t want my friends to know I do surveys.

Where would you order your favorite burger from?: Pound’s burgers are so good. I stopped looking for other burgers once I got to try theirs.

Who have you been hanging out with most often these days?: Myself...and by default Kimi, who follows me literally anywhere.

Do you know a guy who has hair longer than yours?: Yes.

What color was the last cup you drank out of?: It was just a clear glass.

If you’re in school, what do you do to fill in time between classes?: I go to our org lounge, which is a place in the college we call Skywalk since it’s a walkway on the second floor connecting two buildings. There’s always stuff to do or people to hang out with there, so it’s my favorite place to go to and kill time.

Do you have friends in your classes? Not always. I wasn’t one of those people who needed to enroll in every class with a friend. I just walk into my classes to do my acads, submit shit, and finish off the class with a good grade. It’s cool if I spot a friend, but otherwise it’s not my priority.

When did you last encounter someone you disliked? Today and generally daily, pretty much.

Ever been to a real haunted house?: I don’t think so. Though when we went to Laurice’s house she told us that the house in front of theirs is abandoned – and it did look creepy lol – so we just assumed it was haunted. A couple of the boys went in to check it out but the rest of us just stayed at Laurice’s.

Where was the last place you got lost?: Probs the last time I went to BGC. That place has so many fancy schmancy traffic rules of its own and so many one-way streets and stoplights that anyone who isn’t from there can easily get lost.

What windows are open on your desktop right now?: I have a Try Guys video paused on YouTube, the Google Doc file for my thesis, the Google Forms file for my thesis questionnaire’s results, and a digital copy of the book I’m currently reading.

When was the last time you had cheesecake?: The other day I had ube cheesecake. It was supposed to be my dad’s Mother’s Day gift for my mom, but I asked for some heheh.

When you last shed tears, was it because of a person?: Technically? I cried from of a song, but it also kinda reminded me of a person.

Which music artists were at the last concert you attended?: Paramore <3

What was the last thing you discussed through text messages?: I spent my last peso texting Gabie we had no internet at home for the night so I won’t be able to talk to her, and that I’ll try again the next day.

How many songs are on your iPod/MP3 player?: I don’t keep one anymore. Technically, any songs I wanna listen to are accessible to me on Spotify now. Though it’s safe to guess that my iPod probably reached a peak of 500+ songs.

Other than yours, whose house did you last fall asleep at?: Gabie’s, most likely.

Have you ever had a significant other whose parents didn’t like you?: I don’t think so. I get very insecure about this every so often given that we’re in a same-sex relationship and that I don’t always have the money to woo her parents and buy them pasalubong, but Gabie always reassures me her parents are more than alright with me. And there’s zero reason not to believe her when I do meet up with her parents as they’re very lovely people, so I guess it’s all good in the hood.

What’s so unique about your computer?: The stickers I’ve placed on my laptop case are probably the most unique about it.

How was life for you six months ago?: November was mostly uneventful for me. I think I was still mostly reeling over Nacho’s death.

How much is gas in your area?: I dunno, I never check lol. There’s been a series of rollbacks since March because of the virus, but this week my dad mentioned something about a price hike so it might be starting to come up again.

What’s something interesting you learned in the past week?: A bunch. I just got into a YouTube channel called Oversimplified which posts hilarious narratives of historical events (mostly wars) complete with doodles to make them easier to follow. Yesterday I learned about the Battle of Hastings which would also apparently become very influential when it came to the English language, so it was pretty cool to learn it was more than just a physical war.

Do you know what you plan to do for your next birthday?: Out-of-town trip or an overseas one altogether. Either sounds ideal.

Was the last book you read for fun or assignment related?: For leisure.

[hegglespeggles]

How to write an essay you could not care less about in 10 steps

Hello. I have an essay to write.

I am also, (unfortunately) the kind of lazy, apathetic burnout who will only do my FUCKING work if I get really worked up. Usually that ends up meaning all of my papers are spite-fuelled tirades but my profs seem to like them so fine. I hope you find this particular raging tirade useful.

Today, I would like to educate the 4 of you that will actually see this on a fine art I have perfected over the years. Writing a paper, about which, you do not give a single, solitary, crumb of a fuck about. This is (you may have guessed) and excellent way for me to procrastinate doing a paper that *I* do not give a single solitary crumb of a fuck about. For best results, I recommend doing this NIGHT-BEFORE-PANIC like, a week in advance so you can fix all the NONSENSE that your more reasonable brain will undoubtedly find. But if it’s the night before and you are shit outta luck, this will get ‘er done. And with practice, you can even pull good grades outta these bitches.

 Dissociating? I gotchu. Woke up the day of the deadline to feel like absolute utter garbage? Search no more friends.  

  FAILING GRADES ARE BETTER THAN ZEROS JUST FUCKIN DOOOOOO ITTTT

1.    Go get the prompt.

I fucking mean it. Even if you are like 1000% sure you know what the prompt is asking, go to the FUCKING assignment, and copy that shit into your word document. Got the assignment on paper? TYPE THAT SHIT UP MOTHERFUCKER.

(Do you see what I fucking have to deal with)

Boom?

BOOM.

Congratulations, you now have a document, and whats more, there are WORDS in it!! You aren’t starting from scratch anymore kiddo. Fringe benefit, you always know EXACTLY what the assignment wants because its fucking Staring You Down. Not saying you have to do exactly as it says, mama didn’t raise no BITCH and I aint scared of fuckin CALLING PROFS OUT but if you wanna break the rules you gotta know what they are first

(Disclaimer: I have also been kicked out of class on numerous occasions for fighting with the prof and had full classes where the lecture WAS me arguing so maybe take my opinions of conformity with a grain of salt.)

2.    Math THE FIRST

I know, this is an essay and not a fucking calculus test. But some of this shit is USEFUL OKAY

Take the paper in question. How long does it have to be? Mine is 5 pages. A page is generally accepted to be 250 words (double spaced because we FUCKING LOVE OURSELVES) so 5 x 250 = 1250 wds. That’s the goal. That’s the pinnacle. That’s your new holy grail.

Time to split this bitch up

  3.    Yarrrrrr, CONTENT

And finally, we get to the part that is the reason why you are being an absolute bitch baby about this essay (maybe. I might be projecting. Your life is your life and im sure youre doing your best.) I Hate this part, but now with our magic number we don’t need to pull 5 pages out of the ether.

This part really requires you to know your vibe. Is this something that you have a lot of little opinions (read: evidence) about or like, only 2 or 3 big bois? Look deep into your soul and figure out which is the easiest for you to shit out, a rant or a list. a  great way to do this is to WRITE ANYTHING YOU GOT OUT

Here you can see I’ve put all of the thoughts I have about the question into a list, slapped some standard “opening” and “closing” shit around it so I can FUCKING FIND IT AGAIN and given it a good hard look. Whats the common thread in all of my opinions? That the prompt is fucking stupid and makes no sense is asking 2 different questions. Congratulations: you found your thesis. This essay, like many of my essays, bears the thesis “this is a weird question to be asking” (which falls under my broader category of “bitches aint shit” essays.)

Congratulations you have the bare bones of your skeleton.

  4.    MATH THE SECOND

 The magic number returns. All hail our glorious leader. 1250 right?

So heres how I break this down. Break off a small chunk at the beginning. For this essay im gonna split off the 250. Split that baby in half. Congratulations, now you have a word count on your opening and closing. Personally, I know I like a lil extra space at the end to get all ranty, so Imma split this puppy up 100 for my opening and 150 for the closing. WARNING: You will think that you will be able to write enough in your opening and closing to take up lots of space. You will feel the urge to give them both the same amount of words that you give your points. This is misguided and foolish. Not only will you 1) not be able to do it but 2) even if you did, that’s like getting a sandwich which is all bread. No one wants that. Don’t be that dude. Fight the urge.

 RIGHT SO. We’re still left on the other 1000 words.

If you have an idea that like, is bigger than the others, go ahead and give that puppy more of the word count than the others, fractions are your friend here and you wanna think about how much of your final product each of these babies will be. If you, like me, are an utter buffoon with no clue what youre doing, open your calculator up. Divide the remaining word count by the number of points you have. Congratulations. Youre doing the essaying.

If this is enough to get you started, GREAT! See you at step seven. BEFORE YOU GO I would like to give you this tip

5.    CITE YOUR INFORMATION AS YOU ADD IT IN.

It doesn’t need to be a full citation, just literally a footnote with something that will help you remember where its from and for the love of god WHAT PAGE IT IS ON. The you of 3 hours from now will thank you.

  6.    Filling in the skeleton

 I don’t know about you, but I cant exactly riff off of a single sentence. Like, I know what the VIBE of my point is, but like, I cant pull it out of a hat. The name of the game here is whittling down your arguments into thinner and thinner chunks that are easier and easier to bullshit. This is how you avoid that “burning building found in flames during Brooklyn fire” bullshit that memes. You don’t wanna meme. You wanna pass. So, figure out what the things you are gonna say and in each bit, keep track of how many words you are gonna write. EITHER

a)      You put how many words you think you can write on any point beside the point as you go and just keep developing points and shuffling word counts around until it matches the total for that section

or

b)     You evenly breakup the word count between all the points and keep breaking them down until you look at a subject and a word count and go “yeah that’s doable. I can do that.”

I prefer the second so LEGGO.

Ta-Da!

7.    Write ‘er up

Ahhh glad to see we’re all back together again. Try-hards who can ACTUALLY bullshit papers, glad to see you’ve rejoined us! This is the part where you take all that shit you’ve broken up into nice little chunks and you turn it into something worth reading. You can do it. I believe in you. Try and keep your citations in place.

I like to do this as a question answer thingy, like an exam, so halfway through writing mine is gonna look like this

 The handy part about the numbers is that it gives you a frame of reference for how your bullshit is going. Realized you had a lot more to say here than you thought? Dope! Less bullshit somewhere else, take it out of a weaker point. This point didn’t give as much as you thought it would? Split the difference elsewhere! This way you have checkpoints and you can see how your essay is going

And then you can go ahead and delete your skeleton work. Its time. Its served you well. For extra drama, whisper menacing nothings to it as you send it into the darkness. Personal favourites include “no one will mourn you,” “your fate belongs to me,” and “so this is what you have come to”

  8.    Citations

Theres like a million ways out there to find out how to do your citations and its gonna depend on what kind of a paper you are writing. I use Chicago most of the time, including here. My advice? Use a site like, bib.me or something to do your bibliography, and then plaster that in the bottom of your document. Use that as the building blocks to do your footnotes. Let Purdue Owl be your guide. Purdue Owl Style Guide Is A Mighty Friend Indeed.

 Also your welcome for that, “putting the page numbers in as you put the info in” shit. That took me alarmingly long to figure out. It’s a wonder theyre giving me a degree.

  9.    Proofread that shit, ya bougie bitch.

If you wanna be time effective, getting a friend to proofread while you do your citations is a great way to go. If you have a few days, put your paper away and come back to it. If you are out of friends and time then https://www.paperrater.com/ is your last hope.

  10.       Slap a title page on that shit and GET IT SUBMITTED

 No joke, I have been using the same template for a coverpage all through highschool and my undergrad. There is only one title page and every time I write an essay I take the title page from the last paper I wrote. There is no beginning. Only title page. Title? Topic of paper: point of paper. For example, If I had to title this screed I’d call it Essay Writing: An exploration of mediocrity. slap the date and your name and the course and instructor on there and BAM. YA DONE.

 Anyway submit that shit an go to bed youre done goodnight

EPILOGUE

I’ve gotten this essay back, and when I wrote it, I was barely a human being. Barely capable of human speech let alone a coherent argument. I would forget the end of the sentence by the time I typed out the beginning. But I still for a 70%! is it the best mark I’ve ever gotten? no! but it is a hell of a lot better than the 0% I would have gotten if i hadnt done this. I get it. And i hope this helps. 

[dailybestiary]

Patch Has Issues: Dungeon #2

Issue: Dungeon #2

Date: November/December 1986 (Pretty sure my Christmas haul that year was full of dope toys from The Transformers movie/show.)

The Cover:

(Use of cover for review purposes only and should not be taken as a challenge to status. Credit and copyright remain with their respective holders.)

Ah, Clyde Caldwell. He, Larry Elmore, Jeff Easley, and last issue’s Keith Parkinson were the mainstays of TSR’s amazing stable of artists. I have a soft spot for Caldwell. He did the covers for the D&D Gazetteer series, which means his work emblazoned some of my absolute favorite books from my middle school years. (At the time I had the whole series except the two island books, GAZ 4 & GAZ 9 (which I’ve since collected), plus the Dawn of the Emperors box set. My favorites, for the record, were GAZ 3, 5, 10, and 13. I...may like elves...a little too much.) And even as I sit here, other covers demand to be named. The very first Dragonlance adventure, the iconic Dragons of Despair? The Finder’s Stone trilogy? The first Ravenloft box? Dragon #147? Yep, he did those covers too. He was amazing.

But hoo-boy, we also have to talk about the not-amazing parts. Once Caldwell settled on a way of doing things, that’s how he did them. Points for consistency, but man, he had tropes. Even his tropes had tropes. He had a way of painting dragon’s wings. He had a way of painting swords and boots. He had a way of painting jewelry, and belts and coins—ovals upon ovals upon ovals.

And his way of painting women was with as few clothes as possible. Everything I said about Parkinson last entry? Yeah, that goes double for Caldwell. He never paints pants when a thong will do. His take on the reserved and regal Goldmoon—thighs as long as a dwarf and bronzed buttcheeks exposed—reportedly left Margaret Weis in tears. Magic-users (God, I hate that term) famously couldn’t use armor in D&D and AD&D, but Caldwell’s sorceresses pretty much stick to gauze just to be safe. And the Finder’s Stone trilogy I mentioned above? Yeah, the authors of Azure Bonds took one look at Caldwell’s cover art and literally had to come up with in-text reasons why the heroine Alias—one of the most surly woman sellswords in existence—would wear armor with a Caldwell boob hole.

Don’t get me wrong, I love cheesecake as much as the next dude. (Actually that’s not true; I came up in the grunge ’90s—our version of cheesecake was an Olympia brunette in three layers of thrift store sweaters reading Sandman while eating a cheesecake. Hell, that’s still my jam.) But context matters. The sorceress from “White Magic,” Dragon #147’s cover, may barely be wearing a negligee, but she’s also in the seat of her power and probably magically warded to the hilt—she can wear whatever she damn wants; it’s her tower. So no complaints there. But this cover’s pirate queen Porky Piggin’ it seems like an unwise choice. (The friction burns alone from clambering around the rigging…)

It’s clear from reading The Art of the Dragonlance Saga that TSR was trying to turn the ship around when it came to portrayals of women in fantasy, however slowly. And in Caldwell’s defense and to his credit, he definitely delivered women with agency—in nearly every image, they are nearly always doing something active and essential. They just tend to be doing it half-dressed.

Which is all a way of saying I dig this cover—the explosion, the churning sea (even if it does more look like snow drifts than waves), the sailors all running to the rail to look—but yeah, that pirate captain needs to put on some damn pants.

The Adventures: Before we get started, I have to note that though we’re only an issue in, already the magazine feels more noticeably like the work of editor Roger Moore. This is 100% a guess, but it really feels to me like Dungeon #1 was made of adventures that the Dragon office already had laying around, whereas Dungeon #2 was composed of adventures that Roger Moore and the new Dungeon team had more of a hand in sifting through. (He also has an assistant editor this time in Robin Jenkins, which had to have helped.) Even the cartography looks better. Again, I have zero confirmation of this, but the feeling is strong.

“The Titan’s Dream” by W. Todo Todorsky, AD&D, Levels 5–9

PCs visiting an oracle accidentally walk right into a titan’s dream and must solve some conundrums to escape. What an awesome concept this is! (Spoilers for “Best Concept” section below.) It’s a shame I don’t like this more.

First of all, dreamworld adventures are really hard to do well. And for them to work, there usually need to be real stakes—and not just “If you die in the dream, you die in real life!”—and/or a real connection to the PCs in your campaign. The latter, especially, is really hard to pull off in a published adventure; typically it’s only achieved through tactics that critics deride as railroading. (For instance, @wesschneider’s excellent In Search of Sanity does a great job of connecting the characters to their dream adventures...but it does that by a) forging the connection at 1st level, and b) pretty strongly dictating how the adventure begins and how the characters are affiliated. It works, but that’s high-wire-act adventure writing.)

Being a magazine adventure, “The Titan’s Dream” doesn’t have that luxury—it’s got to be for a general audience and work for most campaigns. That unfortunately means the default “Why” of the adventure—a lord with a child, a wedding, and an alliance at stake hires the PCs to chat with a wise titan—is little more than that: a default.

On top of that...I cannot get excited about anything Greek mythology-related. To me, just the fact I’m seeing it is a red flag.

Look, Greek mythology is why I got into this hobby. Hell, it’s why I got into fiction, period. (For some reason I somehow decided I had no use for fiction books targeted to my age, with the exception of Beverly Cleary. Then in 4th(?) grade, I got a copy of Alice Low’s Greek Gods and Heroes, and the rest is history.) But Greek mythology is often the only mythology anyone knows. When people think polytheism, that’s where most people’s minds go. Which is why, if you ever played D&D in the ’80s, I pretty much guarantee your first deity was from that pantheon. (In my first game, my first-level cleric pretty much met Ares and got bitch-slapped by him, because that’s what 4th-grade DMs do.)

So to me, putting Greek deities or titans in your adventure is the equivalent of putting dudes riding sandworms into your desert adventures—you can do it, but you better blow me away, because that is ground so well trod it’s mud. And this one doesn’t do the job.

The format is three dreams, each with five scenes. Parties will move randomly—a mechanic meant to represent dream logic (or lack thereof)—through these scenes, until all the scenes from one dream have been resolved. This is actually kind of fascinating, and I wonder how it would play at the table—I have a feeling observant players will dig it, but others may find the mechanism’s charm wears off quickly, especially if they have difficulty solving the scenes or get frustrated with the achronicity of events. I also like that every scene has a number of possible resolutions, so the PCs aren’t locked into achieving a single specific objective like they were stuck in a computer game.

But...I can’t shake the feeling of weak planning and execution (or even laziness?) that stayed with me throughout the adventure. Like, okay, the first adventure is a cyclops encounter out of the Odyssey. Cool! But then...why does the Titan follow it up with pseudo-Norse/Arthurian encounter? Did the Odyssey not hold the author’s attention? (Nor the Iliad, the Aeneid, or Metamorphosis? Really?) And then why is the third dream “drawn from the realm of pure fairy tale”? Like, were you out of pantheons? Horus didn’t return your calls? Or be more specific—why not German fairy tales, or Danish, or French Court, or Elizabethan? It feels like a class project where one group was on point, one group got the assignment a little wrong, and one didn’t even try.

Again, it’s not even that this adventure is bad—I honestly can’t tell if it is or not; I’m sure a lot of its success is determined at the table. And I could totally see throwing this at a party if I was out of inspiration that week or we needed a low-stakes breather before our next big arc. But the instant I think about it for more than a second, it all falls apart for me.

Have any of you tried this one? Let me know what you thought. And for a similar exploration into dream logic/fairy tale scenarios, I recommend Crystal Frasier’s The Harrowing for Pathfinder.

“In The Dwarven King’s Court” by Willie Walsh, AD&D, Levels 3–5

Willie Walsh is a name we’re going to see a lot more in issues to come—he’s a legendarily prolific Dungeon contributor, delivering quality, typically low-level, and often light-hearted or humorous adventurers issue after issue after issue. His first entry is a mystery with a time limit: A dwarf king is supposed to make a gift of a ceremonial sword to seal a treaty, but the sword has vanished. Brought to the king’s court courtesy of a dream, adventurers must find the sword and the surprising identity of the culprit before the rival power’s delegation arrives.

At first I was going to ding this adventure for its “What, even more dreams this issue?” hook...but here’s the thing with Walsh—never judge his modules until you reach the final page. Nearly every time I’m tempted to dismiss one of his sillier or more random adventure elements, it turns out that it makes sense and works just fine. In this case, the cause of the dream is haunt connected to the mystery, and I feel dumb for being all judgy.

So anyway, the PCs are given leave to search for the stolen object and the thief, but of course it turns out there is a whole lot of light-fingeredness going around. As Bryce (see below) puts it, “It’s like a Poirot mystery: everyone has something to hide.” This castle has as much upstairs-downstairs drama as any British farce, with nearly every NPC having either a fun personality and/or a fun secret (and with the major players illustrated by some equally fun portraits) that should make them memorable friends and foils for PCs to interact with. Not to mention the actual culprit is definitely a twist that will be hard explaining to the king...

GMs should be ready to adjust on the fly, though—a) it’s a lot of characters to juggle, and b) since the PCs are 3rd–5th level, the right spells or some lucky secret door searches could prematurely end the adventure as written. You may want to have some last-minute showdowns, betrayals, or other political intrigue outlined and in your back pocket if what’s on the page resolves too quickly.

Overall though, I’m a big fan of this adventure, and look forward to the rest of Walsh’s output. Also, given the dwarven focus and the geography of the land, this adventure could be a very nice sequel to last issue’s “Assault on Eddistone Point.”

“Caermor” by Nigel D. Findley, AD&D, Levels 2–4

Look at this author’s list of writing credits! Findley was amazingly prolific, and his work was pretty high-quality across the board, as far as I know. I particularly loved the original Draconomicon, one of the first and only 2e AD&D books I ever bought as a kid. I also loved his “Ecology of the Gibbering Mouther” from the excellent Dragon #160, and some of his Spelljammer supplements are currently sitting upstairs in my to-read pile, recently purchased but as yet shamefully untouched.

Now look at his age at the time of his death. Life is not always fair or kind.

(Speaking of unkind, man is the bio in this issue unfortunate in retrospect: “[H]e write for DRAGON® Magazine, enjoys windsurfing, plays in a jazz band, and manages a computer software company in the little time he has left.” As Archer would say, “Phrasing!”)

Anyway, this adventure is simple: An otherworldly force has been murdering the locals. The locals have pinned the blame on a handsome bard from out of town, and their own prejudices and general obstinacy are sure to get in the way of the investigation—that is, if the true culprits, some devil-worshipping culprits and and an abishai devil, don’t get in the way first.

All in all, this is a tight, well-written adventure, so I don’t have much to say about it, other than that if you like the idea of sending your party to help out some young lovers and save some faux-Scots/Yorkshiremen too stubborn to save themselves (and maybe slip in a valuable lesson about prejudice and xenophobia as well), this is the adventure for you.

One thing that does jump out to a contemporary reader, though, is the comically overpowered nature of the baddie pulling the strings in this adventure: Baalphegor, Princess of Hell (emphasis mine). Overpowered, you-won’t-really-fight-this-NPC happens with a lot of low-level adventures, when the writers want a story more epic than characters at the table can handle or are trying to plot the seeds for future evils. But still, any princess of Hell would already be a bit much...but an 18-Hit Dice, “supra-genius”, the Princess of Hell? Like, what the f—er, I mean, Hell?

If you use the adventure as written, the only way to have Baalphegor’s presence make sense is to eventually reveal that the area is an epicenter of some major badness. (Maybe that explains the lost nation of evil dwarves in the adventure background.) For a good model on how to seed early adventures in this matter, Dungeon’s Age of Worms Adventure Path and Pathfinder Adventure Path’s Rise of the Runelords AP, both from Paizo, are exemplars of small-town disturbances that eventually have world-shaking implications.

It’s also fascinating in retrospect to note Ed Greenwood’s massive impact in the hobby. Any article that appears in Dragon has the sheen of being at least semi-official, but it’s clear that Greenwood’s content was a cut above even that. In this case, an NPC from a three-year-old article of his is not just treated as canon, but also supplies the mastermind behind the adventure! It’s no surprise that in the following year his home campaign, the Forgotten Realms, would soon become AD&D’s newest and then its default setting.

Two final thoughts: 1) There’s some fascinating anti-dwarf prejudice in this article. Nearly every mention of dwarves paints them as exceptionally greedy and/or villains. And 2) how did one even begin to balance adventures in those days? This adventure is for “4–8 characters of 2nd–4th level.” There are a lot of difference at the extreme ends of those power scales…

“The Keep at Koralgesh,” by Robert Giacomozzi & Jonathan Simmons, D&D, Levels 1–3

One of the problems of BECMI D&D being known as “basic D&D” is that writers often assumed the players to be basic (that is, younger/new) as well. Which probably accounts for some of the early suggestions to the DM we get at the beginning of this adventure—like some pretty patronizing advice along the lines of not immediately announcing to PCs what the pluses are on their magical swords.

Fortunately, after that the article settles down and gives us Dungeon’s first real D&D adventure. In fact, not just real, but massive: 20 full pages of content—nearly half the issue! It’s a fully fledged dungeon crawl that has the PCs taking advantage of the summer solstice to open a shrine door that will lead them inside a long-ruined keep said to hold great treasure.

Now, I imagine in the coming installments it’s going to seem to many of you like I’m grading D&D adventures on a curve, because of my love for the system and the Known World/Mystara. That’s a fair accusation, but a better way to consider it is that I’m reviewing D&D adventures for what they are—adventures from a separate system, with a more limited rules system and palette of options than AD&D. You don’t go to a performance of Balinese shadow puppetry and compare it against Andrew Lloyd Webber; you look at it for what it achieves in its own medium. Since they appear side-by-side in the same magazine, comparison is going to be inevitable, but that’s with the understanding that AD&D was the kid coloring with the 64-crayon box of Crayola, while D&D was getting by with just eight.

On its own terms then, “The Keep of Korgalesh” is a decent, if not superlative, success. I love that it’s practically module-length and that we get three complete levels—a far cry from the previous issue’s side-trek-at-best, “The Elven Home.” We also get two new monsters, which absolutely fills my inner BECMI D&D player with glee. And I like that what starts as a dungeon crawl/fetch quest evolves into a “kill the big bad thing” and “find out what really happened to this city.”

There are issues, though. If the whole city was destroyed, getting to see some of it besides the keep would have been nice. Some of the ecology for the dungeon inhabitants is questionable. There pretty much wasn’t a single pool or fountain in this era of D&D adventure design that wasn’t magical, and this adventure was no exception. One of the new monster’s names makes no sense except that “tyranna” and “abyss” are cool words (I mean, I guess you could read that as “tyrant of the depths,” but still…) And there are painfully obvious borrowings from other works, especially Tolkien—a door that only opens at solstice, a lake monster, an orc with a split personality that is clearly a Gollum homage, etc.

What this adventure really needs is stakes—just something to give it a bit more oomph beyond the dungeon crawl. (Finding a blacksmith’s lost hammer is the hook offered in the adventure but it’s pretty flimsy.) Perhaps the PCs are some of Kor’s last worshippers, and clearing out the dangers here and resanctifying his temple is one of their first steps toward returning him to prominence. Maybe the PCs’ grandparents were involved in the city’s demise and restoring Koralgesh will restore the families’ honor. Or you could keep it simple and have a band of pirates or a rival adventuring group also trying to clean out the keep, turning it into a race (with the tyrannabyss causing the scales of fate to wobble at appropriately cinematic moments).

So the final analysis is this is a decent dungeon crawl upon which you can build a good adventure. The real reward of this module isn’t treasure; it’s finding out just what happened to Koralgesh. But for that to matter, it needs to tie into the PCs’ pasts, futures, or both.

BONUS CONTENT FOR KNOWN WORLD/MYSTARA NERDS: Kor is almost certainly a local name for the sun god Ixion. The chaotic deity Tram is probably a local version of Alphaks, though Atzanteotl is another strong candidate, especially since deceit was key to the pirates’ success. Koralgesh could be located somewhere on the Isle of Dawn, the northern coast of Davania, or an Ierendi/Minrothad Isle that those nations haven’t made it a priority to rebuild.

Best Read: “Caermor.” Nigel D. Findley was a pro.

Best Adventure I Could Actually Run with Minimal Prep: “The Keep at Koralgesh,” as a well-written, straight-ahead dungeon crawl. Every other adventure here relies on a pretty strong handle of very mobile NPCs and their motivations, or a Titan’s dream mechanics.

Best Concept: “The Titan’s Dream,” as noted above. It’s a great idea very worth exploring, even if I wasn’t about the execution we got in this case.

Best Monster: This was actually a monster-light issue. Despite some awesome art for the tyrannabyss, I have to go with the epadrazzil, a scaly ape from a two-dimensional plane of existence that has to be summoned via a painting. All of those details are just so wonderfully and weirdly specific it has to win. (Extra points for anyone who noticed the thoul—a classic D&D monster (though it did make its way into AD&D’s Mystara setting) born from a typo.)

Best NPC: Since this is a role-playing-heavy issue, there are a bunch of contenders, and the final verdict will go to whoever your party sparks to at the table. Obviously King Baradon the Wise should get the nod for [spoiler-y reasons], but I also really like the opportunity the executioner Tarfa offers, thanks to his incriminating goblet and how it might bring the PCs to the attention of a far-off assassin’s guild at just the right level.

Best Map: All together the maps from “The Keep at Koralgesh” form an extremely appealing whole. But for best single map I have to go for the palace of Mount Diadem—that is a bangin’ dwarven demesne.

Best Thing Worth Stealing: Jim Holloway’s illustrations of dwarves. Good dwarf, gnome, and halfling art is hard to find, and even the good stuff often leans stereotypical. While Holloway’s art is often humorous—I have a feeling he and Roger Moore jibed really well, though that’s totally a guess based purely on what assignments he got handed—his dwarves, especially in this issue, are fresh, specific, and unique. You could identify them by their silhouettes alone—always the sign of good character art. If you need an image of a dwarf NPC to show the players, “In the Dwarven King’s Court” is a great first stop.

Worst Aged: Female thong pirates on magazine covers. Also using the actual names of actual mental illnesses in game materials.

What Bryce Thinks: “This seems to be a stronger issue than #1, although half of the adventures are … unusual.”

Bryce actually almost likes “The Titan’s Dream,” confirming my loathing of it. He in turn loathes “In the Court of the Dwarven King.” Like me, though, he is pro-”Caermor” and sees potential in “The Keep at Koralgesh.” (Also credit where it’s due: I might have missed the condescension at the start if he hadn’t called it out.)

So, Is It Worth It?: If you’re a Clyde Caldwell fan, this issue might be worth searching out in print. So much of Caldwell’s work from this era was dictated by product needs, cropped and boxed up in ads, or shrunk down to fit on a paperback cover. So to get this cover in full magazine size, with only the masthead tucked up top to get in the way—that could be well worth a few bucks to you.

Also, if you’re BECMI/Rules Cyclopedia-era D&D fan (or know someone who is), again, this one might be worth having in print. “The Keep at Koralgesh” is a legit, proper BECMI D&D adventure, spanning 20 whole pages and with two new monsters to boot. I would have practically have cried if someone had given 7th-grade me this.

Beyond that you can probably just rely on the PDF. But both “Caermor” and “In the Dwarven King’s Court” have strong bones worth putting some modern muscle and skin on.

Random Thoughts:

The Caldwell cover painting was also used for the Blackmoor module DA4 The Duchy of Ten. PS: I’m not trying to tell you what to do or anything, but if you do happen to run across a physical copy of The Duchy of Ten or and of the DA modules, holla at ya boy over here.

Since this is our second issue, we now have a “Letters” column. Turns out Dungeon had been announced in Dragon #111 with a really detailed set of writer’s guidelines; most of the correspondence is questions re: those. In the process of answering, we get some surprisingly frank talk about payment. The $900 for a cover seemed low until I converted it to 2018 dollars, and ~$2,000 does seem right to my ignorant eye. I then made the mistake of converting my current salary to 1986 dollars and felt a lot worse about myself and what I’ve achieved.

Apologies this took so long to post. I had the issue read by early October and most of this review written with the next week or two after...but then I got involved in dealing with a 4.5 week hospitalization and aftermath...and then a second still-ongoing hospitalization...and even though I only had about four paragraphs left I just couldn’t find time to put a bow on it.

Notable Ads: The gold Immortals Rules box for D&D. (I also still don’t have that one yet, and Christmas is coming. Just saying, guys, if you happen to find one in your attic.) ;-) Also an ad for subscribing to Dungeon itself, starring “my war dinosaur, Boo-Boo.” No, really.

Over in Dragon: Beneath a glorious cover, Roger Moore is the new editor of Dragon #115, three authors (including Vince Garcia, who I like a lot) share credit on a massive six articles about fantasy thieves, a famous article proposing that clerics get the weapons of their deity (people were still talking about it in the “Forum” column when I was buying my first issues two years later), and a look at harps from the Forgotten Realms (notable because behind the scenes Ed Greenwood’s home setting was being developed for the AD&D game for launch in 1987.) A photographic cover and a 3-D sailing ship are served up in Dragon #116, along with maritime adventures, more Ed Greenwood (rogue stones), and articles for ELFQUEST, Marvel Super Heroes (Crossfire’s gang), and FASA’s Dr. Who game (looking at all six(!) doctors). (Incidentally, I had an Irish babysitter around this time who first mentioned Dr. Who to me—I wish I’d explored more but I was too young to understand what I’d been offered.)

PS: Yes, I’ve heard about the upcoming Tumblr ban. It is a terrible idea that will affect way too many of my readers. It shouldn’t affect me much (and I have all my monster entries backed up at the original site), but I will keep you posted as I learn more, particularly if I find you, my readers, packing up and going elsewhere.

[schraubd]

How To Infuriate With Scales

The University of Chicago Law School's grading scale goes from 155 to 186. For awhile, it was 55 to 86, but employers kept assuming that our tip-top students were actually getting middle-to-low Bs. So they added a "1" to it, on the theory that completely opaque is better than affirmatively misleading. Of course, within that 155 to 186 range, we still break up grades into the traditional As, Bs and Cs (180 - 186 is an A, 174 - 179 is a B, and so on). So the actual choice of numbers in the scale is pretty much arbitrary -- as the casual introduction of the "1" aptly demonstrates. I was thinking about this while reading a story of a Florida teacher who was, the headline tells us, "fired for refusing to give students credit for homework not turned in". District policy was to give a 50 for unsubmitted homework; the teacher instead gave such assignments a zero, and so she was terminated. The story is meant to be a lesson about participation-award style administrators and overly entitled post-millennial brats expecting credit even where they didn't do any work. As the teacher put it, "we have a nation of kids that are expecting to get paid and live their life just for showing up and it's not real." But I read the story and just thought "aren't they just making a 50 a 0?" The thing about the traditional 0 - 100 grading scale is that pretty much nobody uses the entire scale. As are (roughly) 90 - 100, Bs 80 - 89, Cs 70 - 79, Ds 60  - 69, and Fs -- a failing grade -- are anything below that, but for all intents and purposes 50 - 59. The bottom half of the scale is pretty much never used (save for something like right/wrong multiple choice tests -- but even those are frequently curved up). I don't think I've ever given a grade between 1 and 49 in my entire life. So, in effect, the district's policy is simply formalizing what is probably already the functional practice: a grading scale of 50 - 100, where 50 is the lowest grade (reserved for, say, not turning in the assignment at all, or otherwise completely bombing it). Making 50 the bottom of the scale isn't any different (and doesn't represent any more coddling) than placing the bottom at 55, or 155. Indeed, I think the formal 50 - 100 scale is just better. Assuming I'm right that the bottom half of the 0 - 100 scale is never used except for zeros in the case of simply not doing the assignment, then the primary function of that scale is to massively overweight not turning an assignment (getting a 0) as compared to failing it for another reason (which, presumably, would earn you between a 50 and a 59). It's the equivalent of a five letter grade difference. Whether that's appropriate or not is a normative question, and while I don't think it is beyond argument my instinct is to treat failing grades roughly alike. There is a difference between simply not turning in an assignment and turning in a failing quality assignment, but for me that difference exists inside the bandwidth of a normal F grade (it's the difference between, say, a 50 and 58). But I doubt that the normative dispute is actually driving anything. I'd wager that all the sense of outrage here is an artifact of the perceived scale -- the idea that students are still getting "credit" for undone work -- which is based on the misapprehension that the numbers on the scale translate into some sort of objective percentage. The advantage of a 155 to 186 scale is that it doesn't delude anyone into thinking it represents anything but an a set of more-or-less arbitrary markers denoting cut-offs between As, Bs, Cs, Ds, and Fs. Likewise, if the district announced it was switching to a 0 - 50 grading scale (where 0 - 9 is an F, 10 - 19 is a D ... etc.), I doubt anyone would care -- even though it was mathematically doing the exact same thing as having a 50 - 100 scale. Ditto if the scale was 25 - 75, or if it was 0 - 100 but every 20 points represented a different grade (so 80 - 100 was an A, 60 - 79 a B ....). None of those are actually different from one another, and none, I think, would provoke any sort of outrage. Of course, things are probably not quite that neat (especially if the district hasn't abolished below-50 grades outright). Still, I wonder if the teacher -- so aggrieved at being forced to "give credit" for incomplete work -- actually understands that the real issue here isn't about objective "credit", but about arbitrary scales. I don't want to say she doesn't -- I don't have enough information to conclude that -- but the story as presented doesn't make me wholly confident that she does either. via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/2IhT1OS

[thedatasciencehyderabad]

Data Science Course in Hyderabad with Placements

A weight is assigned to every connection, and it represents its relative importance on the neural network. Any given neuron can have many to many relationships with multiple inputs and output connections. The knowledge for use later might be remembered and work for the following step will go on in the process. In error correction, some changes are made to create the proper prediction output. The studying fee is the speed of how fast the network could make the proper prediction from the incorrect prediction. In this kind of neural network, many impartial networks contribute to the results collectively. There are many sub-duties performed and constructed by every of these neural networks.

You will feed enter, and it will practice the neural community to be taught some sort of sample from input, group and them and in a position to provide the desired output. That is one of the reasons as to why many business specialists staunchly believe that neural networks would be the primary framework on which next-technology Artificial Intelligence shall be constructed and develop. For positive, by now, you'll have gotten an excellent understanding of the concept of Neural Networks and its sorts.

Once an input is presented to the neural network required target response is about at the output and from the distinction of the desired response along with the output of real system an error is obtained. The error information is fed again to the system and it makes many changes to their parameters in a systematic order which is usually often known as the training rule. This process is repeated until the specified output is accepted.

These algorithms are heavily based mostly on the best way a human brain operates. These networks can adapt to changing enter and generate the most effective result with out the requirement to revamp the output standards.

As a end result, a large and complex computational course of may be done considerably quicker by breaking it down into independent elements. The computation velocity increases as a result of the networks aren't interacting with and even related to one another. If the prediction is incorrect, the system self-learns and works in direction of making the proper prediction in the course of the backpropagation.

This sort of neural network is very effective in text-to-speech conversion know-how. From each time-step to the following, each node will remember some information that it had in the earlier time-step. In other phrases, each node acts as a reminiscence cell whereas computing and carrying out operations. The neural network begins with the front propagation as traditional however remembers the data it might want to use later. This neural community is used within the power restoration methods in order to restore energy in the shortest attainable time. In different words, data strikes in just one direction from the first tier onwards till it reaches the output node. This is also called a front propagated wave which is usually achieved through the use of a classifying activation function.

MLP uses a supervised learning approach known as backpropagation for coaching. When a neural community is initialised, weights are set for each neuron. Backpropagation helps in adjusting the weights of the neurons to acquire output nearer to the anticipated. In MLP the inputs are multiplied with weights and fed to the activation perform.

A value function in easy terms measures the performance of a neural community model. It additionally might have dependencies on different variables like weights and biases. It provides a measure of how well a neural network performs as an entire. Neural Network consists of connections and weights, the place each connection throws an output of one neuron, which becomes an input to a different neuron in the community.

Learn how chatbots are used in enterprise and how they can be integrated into analytics applications. Now, ANN can be utilized to develop models to predict the cotton grading.

So RNN was developed and was designed to solve this concern of remembering the previous enter with the help of a Hidden Layer. The main reason for these networks to be called as feed-ahead is that the flow of data takes place within the forward course extra so the info travels in a unidirectional method viz. Each model could be depicted as a graph the place the practical groups are described. An instance might be, three features f, input layer one, f is layer two, and f is the output layer. So the information is handed from the input layer to the next layer where the computation takes place, which in turn will get passed to the output layer. Neural Networks include synthetic neurons which are much like the organic model of neurons.

The precept of Recurrent Neural Network is to suggestions the output of a layer back to the input once more. In the The neuron will retain some data because it goes to the following time step.

Artificial neural networks are impressed from the organic neurons inside the human physique which activate beneath sure circumstances resulting in a associated motion performed by the physique in response. Artificial neural nets consist of various layers of interconnected synthetic neurons powered by activation capabilities which assist in switching them ON/OFF. Like conventional machine algorithms, here too, there are certain values that neural nets learn in the training part. Neural community SoftwareThey are sometimes stand-alone and do not intend to generate neural networks which must be integrated in different software. Simulators normally have some type of constructed-in visualization to observe the coaching process.

CNNs are versatile in that they be taught to identify the differences between a traffic signal and a pedestrian. In PNN/GRNN networks, each point within the training file has one neuron. In the case of RBF networks, there are variable numbers of neurons which are typically lesser than the variety of training factors. For every predictor variable, there's one neuron in the enter layer, and in the state of affairs of categorical variables, N-1 neurons are utilized where N represents the number of categories.

Thus, to deal with the completely different points, neuron ship a message to another neuron. RBMs are typically utilized in constructing applications similar to dimensionality reduction, recommender systems, and topic modelling. However, in recent times generative adversarial networks are slowly replacing RBMs.

It also updates the neural community layers sequentially, making it troublesome to parallelize the training course of and resulting in longer training instances. While most deep neural networks are feedforward, i.e., they circulate in one path solely, from input to output , one can even practice a neural web mannequin to maneuver in the opposite direction from output to input. Let’s take an example of a neural community that is educated to recognise canines and cats. The first layer of neurons will break up this image into areas of sunshine and darkish.

In a feedforward neural community, the data passes via the different input nodes until it reaches the output node. Much of recent know-how relies on computational fashions generally known as synthetic neural networks. There are many different types of neural networks which perform on the identical principles as the nervous system within the human body. An synthetic neural community is a system and this system is a structure which receives an input, processes the information and provides an output. The enter in knowledge array will be WAVE sound, an information from a picture file or any sort of knowledge that may be represented in an array.

RNN has all kinds of purposes, one of which is TTS (text-to-speech) synthesis. Neural networks or also referred to as Artificial Neural Networks are networks that utilize complicated mathematical fashions for information processing. They are based mostly on the model of the functioning of neurons and synapses within the mind of human beings. Similar to the human brain, a neural network connects simple nodes, also referred to as neurons or models. And a group of such nodes varieties a network of nodes, hence the name "neural network." Artificial Neural Networks are computing systems inspired by biological neural networks. Like the human mind, they be taught by examples, supervised or unsupervised.

Optoelectronic pictures of the material are Fourier remodeled whose peak values similar to the zero-th and first order diffraction could also be in contrast with faulty piece diffraction spectrums. In this Neutral network are used to identify teams of objects which have minor variations from each other. The present growth is considering the spectrum between zero-th and first order so that extra number of cloth defects may be found pout. Basically the idea of measurement or inspection utilizing ANN is identical for all applications apart from the truth that whether the network goes to be a trained one or a back propagating network. .65, the network needs to decide on the highest likelihood and inhibit all the others. This is where the output of one layer routes again to a previous layer.

In the next step, the output from this layer is taken into account for computing the same output within the subsequent iteration. One of the functions of Radial Basis perform can be seen in Power Restoration Systems. There is a necessity to revive the facility as reliably and shortly as possible after a blackout. A unit used to send info to a different unit that does not obtain any data. Each RBF neuron compares the input vector to its prototype and outputs a worth ranging which is a measure of similarity from zero to 1.

If you might be staying or wanting coaching in any of those areas, Please get in touch with our career counselors to find your nearest department. CNNs eliminates the necessity for manual or human intervened characteristic extraction efforts.

This field also makes use of phrases very totally different from conventional computing, words like behave, react, self-organize, be taught, generalize, and overlook. Whenever we speak about a neural network, we should always extra popularly say Artificial Neural Network , ANN are computers whose structure is modelled after the mind.

The vital thing about neural networks is that they are modeled designed keeping in mind the way the neurons within the brain work. So, what could be expected eventually is that these networks will study more and improve more with more data and utilization. The difference between conventional Machine Learning algorithms and neural networks is that ML will tend to stagnate after a point. In contrast, Neural networks can actually grow in performance and consequence with increased information and usage. It is designed in such a method that Neurons are related to the instant neighboring layers of neurons. What this implies is that neurons of one layer connect only to neurons of the immediately previous and immediately following layers.

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