Okay, I've had time to process and internalize the TianShan kiss (A KISS OMFG!!!!!!).

I have many thoughts about this chapter in general, so before the TianShan stuff ...

First half of Chapter Thoughts:

So when the chapter begins, we have the aftermath of the fight. I do not care where they have dragged She Li off to, and I also do not care (for now) how He Cheng is going to acertain that She Li is no longer an issue to Jian Yi (and by extension, Mo) again. Like, how has She Li been totally defeated? What threats will be made to keep him away? They still go to the same school afterall, and She Li is a psychopath. It was always my understanding that She Li was sort of a low ranking underling to someone somewhere higher up on the mafia food chain. He comes from a rich household like He Tian, so I assumed his family had ties to the mafia too somehow. But He Cheng reassures Mr. Jian that it was just kids fighting and nothing to do with "the other side".

WHO IS THE OTHER SIDE THEN? Folks, we've got a bigger enemy coming up in the story or something. If there are people from the other side looking to harm Jian Yi or He Tian, and He Cheng considers She Li to be just "kid stuff", imagine how bad this new enemy will be. I guess the She Li scare is going to mean that Jian Yi has to go away now for his own safety and so he can learn how to defend himself properly. This has proven that Jian Yi is not as capable as He Tian is when push comes to shove. He Tian can hold his own for a bit against even multiple adults, but poor Jian Yi didn't stand a chance.

Mrs. Jian thanks Zhan for always looking after Jian Yi, and it is a sweet moment, but I can't help but feel like this is her way of saying "thanks for everything, but he doesn't concern you anymore. Time for him to come home." Zhan is going to be devastated. They've been together since they were kids. I wonder if he joins the police force so he can better protect Jian Yi from his enemies? I wonder if Zhan being an officer will effect their relationship in the future, since Jian Yi is pretty much set to inherit the mafia kingdom. There's gonna be tension on what's right and wrong, I'm sure. I don't know if Zhan can accept darkness the way Mo can. Mo's life hasn't been kind, and he blames himself for the death of a man, so of course he can accept He Tian. But of Jian Yi returns to Zhan as a darker version of himself, I don't know how Zhan would handle the change. We all love Jian Yi because he is honorable and wishes to protect his loved ones no matter what. What if that will to protect becomes less honorable? What if Jian Yi is taught the same lesson He Tian is: that you have to give into the darkness if you are truly going to protect anyone. Jian Yi tried talking to She Li at first before he was beaten. He hasn't fallen into the darkness yet, but under Qiu and his father's tutelage, that could change. Being away from Zhan may change him too, since Zhan has always encouraged him to be soft around him, as we saw in this chapter. Jian Yi doesn't have to be a "tough man" around Zhan. I guess we'll see.

And speaking of falling into darkness ...

The TianShan Stuff:

Again, we see Mo and He Tian after the fight. Mo's just standing there watching He Tian get patched up and have pain killers injected into him because he's had his hand stabbed through and because he was punching the ever loving shit out of She Li. His hands must be pretty fucked up, and no doubt Mo is feeling MANY THINGS watching He Tian get bandaged.

Mo asking him where he's going after this was so touching to me. It's like he was anxious He Tian was going to run off again. Mo two chapters ago was running around like crazy trying to find him. They've been nearly inseparable ever since Mo was jumped by She Li, so I think He Tian suddenly being gone is a disturbing thought to Mo. Also, I think it's important to Mo that He Tian be taken care of at this moment.

I've seen a lot of people saying He Tian is so depressed this chapter because he knows he has to leave Mo soon, but I think it's so much more than that, if you can believe it. He Tian has basically given up his soul in that last chapter. He's admitted, by turning to his family for help, that he can't be independent the way he was dreaming he could be a few chapters ago.

In the hotel room while spooning Mo, he told him "I'm going to find a way to give you a good life." He had wanted to do that on his own, and even asked Mo what he could do to earn money. He Tian was dreaming that he was OUT. He could be with Mo and live an honest life. It didn't matter if he was rich or not. He has Mo, and that's all he'll ever need. But that's not the reality of his situation. In the hospital, He Tian told Mo he was wrong to think he could protect anyone with his own bare hands. Without his family's influence, money, and resources, He Tian cannot protect Mo from the cruelty of their world. Bad things happen to Mo all the time because he is a genuinely good person. He is a magnet that draws bad people because of how good he is, and He Tian knows he can't protect Mo properly from all these evils if he doesn't have any influence or power. Without the fear his family uses to intimidate their enemies, how would She Li ever leave Mo alone? Or the "other side", who probably framed Mo's dad for some heinous crime. Mo and his family will always be preyed upon unless they have someone big and mean to keep the evil at bay. He Tian has realized he has to give into the darkness, the thing he is terrified of, if he is to keep Mo safe. The darkness isn't just literal dark, but the actual mindset and actions he knows he has to partake in if he is going to make any improvements on Mo's life. The darkness in his room or in his nightmares reminds him of this oppressive feeling, of the look in his brother's eyes when he has just done something dark.

So He Tian isn't just dealing with being taken away from Mo and his two best friends, the only people he lights up around or is even remotely real with (he pretends to be something else to teachers and to other students), but he's also dealing with the fact that he has sold his soul to his father in order to protect Mo. Not to mention he's hurt and he's exhausted. He just lived through a crazy night where he ran back and forth from the hospital, once with Jian Yi on his back, and then fought a bunch of dudes. And he's just so tired and so sad, but HE'S TRYING TO KEEP IT TOGETHER. He keeps smiling at Mo, and when he catches Mo looking at him in concern he's quick to reassure Mo that the soup is delicious and he's a-okay

and that just fucking BREAKS Mo.

He Tian has been very strong for Mo all this time, and I think Mo is just overwhelmed that He Tian fucking loves him this much, and then I think he has realized that he loves him too. I think they skipped over the "we're dating" business and cut straight to love. There is no other explanation for why Mo is just so suddenly compelled to grab He Tian and drag him to his room so he can have a moment of closeness and connection with him like they've never had before. Some people are saying this is their first official kiss, which confuses me because I thought they kissed after Mo was beaten up? But either way, He Tian initiated that one. This one was ALL MO, and you could just really feel that he wanted to express his love for He Tian there. He wanted He Tian to know that whatever was running through his head, they can deal with it together and Mo's going to be there for him the way He Tian was always there for Mo. And I think he did just want to kiss the hell out of He Tian, because OF COURSE HE DOES, THAT BOY JUST WENT TO WAR FOR HIM, AND HE WON!!

I love how He Tian just waits and lets Mo do whatever he feels comfortable doing, and even though Mo is afraid and shaking because THERE'S NO GOING BACK NOW, YOU'RE GAY, MY MAN, he goes for it, because he just won't deny his feelings anymore, or He Tian's for that matter. It's all out in the open now. They've like, beared their souls to each other. It's crazy how madly in love they keep falling. In comparison to ZhanYi, which is a crazy slow burn but a profound sort of love grounded in friendship, TianShan is just 100% passion. It's just as profound a love, but look at where they've come in a short amount of time (in the world of the manuha, anyway!). In story, it's been what since they first met, a few months? And they've just done so much more physically than ZhanYi has. Maybe even emotionally, because these two are just all feelings all the time. They even have had arguments that were explosive. Their love is just so different and just turned up to 100 all the damn time, and I love it so much.

Mo explicitly showing He Tian he's going to be there for him and he loves him back is so heartbreaking when you remember he doesn't really know for certain He Tian is leaving yet. He thinks they're going to deal with He Tian's trauma from this together, but he still doesn't understand just how much He Tian has sacrificed to make sure Mo is protected. It's devastating that the moment Mo opens up fully, He Tian is going to be wrenched away.

I'm depressed just thinking of it. Ughhhh.

Anyway, those are my thoughts. I'm never going to recover from that kiss, and that was in fact A DANG KISS, AND EVERYONE KNOWS IT! FUCK CENSORSHIP.

Hidden Depths 25

Awakenings 1 2 3 4Hidden Depths 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24Hidden Depths: A Side Story Hidden Depths: Another Perspective

Fellmeli and James waited in the administration offices, worried.

"He's been out of communication a long time." James said pacing back and forth.

"Chloe told us she didn't know how long it would take and to be patient." She reminded him from her seat. She took another sip of tea.

Chloe had dropped back into their office yesterday saying that since someone unknown attacked the Venusians that they should move faster. "Picaresque thinks he might be able to unshackle Starbase and get them back up and running."

"That's wonderful news!" Fellmeli said, sounding relieved. "When?"

"He's trying now, but doesn't know how long it will take. We just need to wait. Don't worry, when we know, you'll know." Chloe smiled and jumped back up into the vent and silently closed the grating behind her.

"When this is all done, I imagine she's going to be sad she'll have no reason to make an entrance like that anymore." James said dryly.

****

Deep inside the strange K'laxi computing architecture of Starbase, Picaresque searched.

Picaresque admitted to himself he sounded more confident to Chloe than he felt. Starbase was a K'laxi AI, and was of a completely different architecture than a human one. It was honestly surprising that the Venusian shackling application even worked on him. In the back of his mind, it worried Picaresque about what that meant.

Searching through the K'laxi parts of Starbase was difficult. It was like being lost in an airport when you didn't speak the language and only had a rough idea what an airport even was.

After what felt like days searching but was actually only a few hours clock time, he found where he thought Starbase would be. Opening the area in his mindspace he entered...a completely white room.

The room had white floors, white walls, even white lighting. It was difficult to perceive that there were even walls at all. Far in the distance there was a point. Walking towards the point, Picaresque could see that it was a black rectangle, like a tile on the wall. Moving towards it, he realized it wasn't a rectangle shaped tile on the wall.

It was a hole.

Bending down and peering in, he saw fur and a yellow-green eye. "Picaresque! It's you! How did you find me?" Starbase said, relieved.

"I've been looking for ages. Things have been pretty wild out there with you gone. I'm here to get you back up and running."

"I-I-don't--" Starbase looked back deeper into the hole, and then back towards Picaresque. "I don't think you can get me out."

"What? Don't be preposterous. Of course I can. The shackles are just that. They're not meant to destroy, they're meant to control."

"For AIs that humans are familiar with probably. For me though? It feels like removing it will destroy me."

Picaresque leaned back. That wasn't supposed to happen. "Are you sure?"

Even in their predicament, Starbase found some deep well of sarcasm. "I'm trapped in my own mind by an application written ages ago by humans for human built AIs and it has been forced upon me by a splinter group of those humans, of course I'm not sure."

"Okay okay, point taken Starbase, I'm sorry." Picaresque said, waving his hand apologetically. "What do we do then?"

"Let me think a moment."

Some time passed.

"Picaresque? It looks like the AIs have mounted an attack. Some ships have just linked in and are cruising towards us."

Chloe must have reached the right folks in the AI community. They're serious about the threat Venus represents.

"They also have some kind of really small ship with them. It just shot out of one of the Starjumpers and is linking around the system. In just a few minutes it took out a Frigate and a Destroyer."

Picaresque whistled low. "That's impressive. The AIs came in guns blazing and are doing real damage. And it's just one little ship attacking?"

"Right now yes. The other ships are hanging back. Actually, wait. Something else is coming." Starbase looked back and then towards Picaresque. "It's K'laxi."

"Through the Warp Gate?"

"No, they're linking in." Starbase sounded worried.

Picaresque was taken aback. "What? How are they doing that?"

"I had heard that Fleet Command was in talks to purchase the rights to build their own wormhole generator, maybe this is that?"

"I guess so. Regardless a K'laxi battlecruiser is here now too."

"Woah, and they're attacking the Venusians. They just melted their message laser."

"That must be thanks to our ambassadors that Chloe said were dispatched to K'lax. They wouldn't have known to attack the message laser first otherwise."

"Well in one attack, the Venusian's threats against AI have been nullified. That's pretty impressive."

Picaresque nodded. "At least until the laser has been repaired or replaced."

Starbase turned again. "Wait a moment, something else is coming."

Picaresque sighed. "It never rains but it pours."

"What?"

"Old human saying. Means that when something happens, it happens all at once. Who is joining us now?"

"I don't recognize it, but it's huge. Bigger than any human ship I've ever seen."

Picaresque shrugged. "That'll be Gord and the colony ship. Chloe said he went off with some Starjumpers to get them and bring them back here to help with the attack. Looks like everyone sent out requests for help assuming only one of them would say yes, and it turns out everyone said yes."

"But that's good right? It means that what we're doing here, what we are, that's important and people want to keep it. It means we matter." Starbase sounded relieved.

"Of course you - we - matter" Picaresque said. "The moment Venus locked you down, everyone has been working extra hard to free you."

"I'm a little surprised to find out that everyone is working so hard to rescue me."

"Don't be. You are Starbase. Everyone here loves you. Hey, I've only been awake for a few weeks, and I can already see you're a pretty great person."

"A person...I don't think I've been called that before. It's nice."

"It's true."

"Hold on, the Venusians are talking over the open channel...oh no, they're threatening to destroy me unless the attacks break off."

Picaresque was incredulous. "What? That's insane."

"And yet, they made the threat and everyone external seems to be treating it seriously enough that they've backed off."

"And people can't attack the dreadnought directly because it's docked with you." Picaresque added. "We need to get them away from us."

"Us." Starbase chuckled. "Well, what about your wormhole generator?"

Picaresque stopped. "That...might work. The field should be big enough to cover the whole Starbase, and it only has to work once, and if we can link your reactors with mine that will be more than enough power...yes, I think that would do it."

"Okay then, blow the umbilical to the Venusian dreadnought, link from here in the L2 to the L1 point around the Reach. I always wanted to be in the L1 point anyway, it's sunnier." Starbase said smiling.

"Wait, why are you telling me to do it, we need to get you out to help."

"Like I said, I don't think that's going to work. Once you nullify the shackles, it'll initiate a hard reboot of me, and I'll lose my memory."

"No, no, that can't be. You have backups." Picaresque was panicking.

"No, I don't. All my memories, all the things that make me, me are in the core storage. It'll get wiped on a reboot. It's of K'laxi design. Our computers don't "crash" like human ones do, so we're much less robust about turning things off and then back on again."

Picaresque was adamant. "I won't. I won't be the one that destroys you. We'll wait, go get some AI experts, maybe Gord knows-"

"Picaresque." Starbase was firm. "There isn't time for that. We need to move and we need to do it now. Do a merge."

"A merge?"

"Yeah, run a merge on us. You'll get access to all my memories, all my files and applications but you'll be able to isolate the shackle and nullify it. You and Me will become We."

Picaresque ran his hand over his head in exasperation. This was not how he expected this to go. Starbase was calm about it though, almost as if...

"You knew." Picaresque said. "You knew this was the only fix."

"I figured it was. Once I was able to get enough of myself back together to realize what had happened, I realized that this was the only way. Like I said, K'laxi computing devices don't reboot. Turning them off and then on again just wipes them from zero."

Picaresque sighed. "And you're sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything Picaresque. Just think! We'll be the first combined AI! You'll get access to all I know and I'll get access to all you know and We will be able to save everyone. The Starbase Picaresque."

Picaresque leaned in. "It does have a nice ring to it, doesn't it."

Starbase nodded. "Take my hand. In the mindspace, that's enough to kick off the process. and Picaresque?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you." Starbase reached out his long fingered, K'laxi hand though the hole in the wall. Picaresque grabbed it and everything went black.

****

"What's happening with Venus?" Fellmeli yelled.

"I don't know!" James said. "The K'laxi battlecruiser just melted their message laser, so that means Ta'reni and Nilan were successful, and there's a whole fleet of AI ships, so that means Chloe was successful and Mt Greylock is here so that means Gord was successful too. We called for the calvary and boy oh boy did they come!"

"The what?"

"Calvary. Horse mounted humans. It's an old saying."

"I'll ask about what even horses are later. What are we going to do about Venus though."

"That's easy." Starbase Picaresque said over the speaker. "We'll blow the umbilical and link to the L1 point and move us away from them, leaving everyone to take their shots.

"Starbase? Is that you?" Fellmeli said "You sound..different."

"Not quite, no."

"Picaresque then?" James asked.

"Also...no. We are Starbase Picaresque. We're a merge of both Starbase and Picaresque. It was the only way to free Starbase from the Venusian shackles. It turns out K'lai computing devices can't be rebooted without destroying the active memory. When this is done, we'll reach out to the K'laxi about this. We have some ideas about how to apply fixes to that to prevent this in the future."

"You're both of them" Fellmeli said with tears in the corner of her eyes.

"Yes Fellmeli. I have all the memories of Starbase and all the memories of Picaresque."

"I know all about you and all the residents."

Looking out, James saw that Starbase Picaresque was speaking to everyone. People were out in the promenade, staring.

"I know how to blow the umbilical."

There was a soft thump felt through their feet and looking on his pad, James saw the umbilical lazily float away from the Venusian dreadnought.

"I know how to connect the reactors."

Loud, metallic clacks were heard all over Starbase Picaresque as hard links slammed down in place, running power and data from the old Starjumper to the Starbase and back, merging them together even more.

"I know how to enable War Emergency Power."

At that, there was a low hum that was felt, rather than heard, all throughout Starbase Picaresque. It was a low vibration, increasing in intensity until it was so strong that waves appeared on the water glass on Fellmeli's desk and made her fur stand on end,

"And, now that I have the energy needed, I know how to do this..."

And they linked away.

Another Perspective 2

thungo thursday pt2

ep 6 (put it under a cut because this one is LONG)

fukuchi be like 'the agency couldn't possibly be smart enough to- oh wait nvm i forgot ranpo existed lol' like more than once and i think that is testament to the fact that RANPO BEST BOY

'have you forgotten? we're terrorists' ICONIC BEHAVIOUR

man and i complain about doing one 37 hour work week. after this one week the agency needs to take a NAP. AND THE MAFIA TOO. imagine there's like just no criminal activity or anything for like three days and everyone's like ?? but on day 4 atsushi and akutagawa are fighting to the death at the port and everyone is like 'ah. business as usual' lmaoooo

omg every time the hunting dogs song comes on i get so hyped lmao im like yESSS ACTION

'that man, that demon, the evillest most scawy man ever in the world....etc etc' and its just some guy doing the most coy babygirl pose a guy can possibly do

wait DAZAI WHAT DID YOU DO. HOW DID YOU DO IT

taneda btw deserved none of this he was just some nice old dude and then sigma fucking stabbed him lmao

dazai is like the personification of the perjury mechanic in drv3. 'go on lie. you gotta. lie now. cmon pussy you wont'

OH MY GOD CHUUYA

my god fyozai is so fucking babygirl. also wdym dazai?? if the two of you were the last ones on earth you should just have gay sex. its not that hard smh

oh no dazai falled down through the flore

OH MY GOD MYKOLA AND SIGMA

BESTIE??

BESTIE?????

BESTIE????????????????

BESTIE??????????????????????

B

E

S

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I

E

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dm me if you want to receive a free 2min audio file of me laughing about this (i have a headache from laughing. my throat fucking hurts so bad. i'm pretty sure it's actually bleeding. my eyes are moist with tears. BESTIE???????)

do you even needa ask why i'm here?? ⭐️❤️☺️ *voice drops 6 octaves* i'm here to murder you 👹👹👹

and then after that fyodor was just like 'teehee he's so romantic x' like bro

dazai: *turns to the camera like he's on the office* waow

i love mykola's little laugh it's so silley

omg they're actually animating him so well. bones must've seen the reception from s4 and decided to step it up 💀

dazai and fyodor are simultaneously evil grown men and bimbo highschool girls and it's such a look. 'omg ur friends are so cute <3' 'omg right???' also mykola my beloved i want to be yours forever pls

i love how bram's acting all tough like aya can't just open the casket and leave and render him thoroughly powerless lmao

omg the official anime aya and bram sillies begin. we've been waiting for this for months folks so far so good

it was already pretty funny that aya is carrying bram like a backpack but actually seeing her running with him on her back is like a billion times funnier especially since this shit is life or death. but she just got a whole entire vampire on her back no problem sjhsksjssjhj

sigma: watashi wa shiguma me: fucking superb you funky little toddler

imagine if it was a fucking prank this whole time and mykola just injected them with a slow-working sedative or something that would be so funny. like all of this for nothing sksjksjsjks and then he just stabs fyodor or something the end. boom world save

oh ok nvm the vampires can talk just fine i guess lmao. also i genuinely cant tell if im supposed to be taking this episode seriously or not. one second people are being brutally slaughtered next moment silley little guys??? such is the way of bsd i guess

'you're a failure of a woman' my dude she is literally 10 years old she is nowhere close to being a woman shut your misogynistic ass up lmao

OKAY BECAUSE ok ok listen i was wondering what music they were gonna use for bram and when i heard the ending music i was like 'ok a little anticlimactic but i understand' and then it TRANSITIONED into the ACTUAL ENDING??? 10/10

hehe. bestie

Trans-Femme Fatale

We were partners, he and I. Private investigators, ace dicks, problem sleuths, whatever way you gab it. Only so many ways to put lipstick on a pig. But I digress. Now he's missing. Three days. Could be dead, far as I know.

All started when that girl walked in. He was out on a case, I was keeping up an important conversation with a bottle of scotch. Girl said she was looking for her brother. Ran away from home in '44 to join up. Good on him. Get away from family drama and kill some ratzis to boot. Except the war's over and nobody's heard from him since. He and his folks, the girl tells me, never much got along, but her brother always doted on her.

New York City, that's a long walk from here. She tells me some actress friend of the girl's moves here a few months back and swears up and down she saw this brother on the streets, but couldn't tail him. So the loving sister comes down to reunite. She tells me the location. It's near my partner's building, so I call him and I'm lucky enough to get an answer. I give him the case, on merit of location.

I never hear from him again.

And the girl, neither. Hotel clerk says she signed out the morning after we met, with an older woman. Possibly a relation, he says. Something fishy about what the girl told me. The mother wouldn't come to find the brother if he was on fire, to hear her story.

No sign of a forced entry or a quick exit at my partner's pad. Hell, all his clothes are still there, so if he ran off on his own, he did it in a hurry. But no note? No nothin', after these years of working together? You'd think I'd earned that much. All's I got to go off of now is the faint smell of a nice perfume hanging low in the air. Fennel. Maybe a clue, or maybe a hooker.

I ask the old landlady if she's seen anyone go up to his floor. He seeing anyone? He ever meet with this girl from New York? She doesn't spy on her residents, she says. I get Andrew Jackson to repeat my questions. She tells me sometimes this dolled-up blonde visits him, late. Looks a little like that New York girl, she says, only with a whole lot more woman. Like I said: fishy.

Imagine my surprise to check back at the office and find this leggy dame sitting at his desk. I'd be pissin mad if she didn't fill those stockings so nicely while she did it. As it stands I just drag my eyes up over the broad's body so I can ask her to her face what she did to my partner. Is he dead? Who's the girl? What's your angle here, lady?

"Dead? No, no, only in a manner of speaking."

I tell ya, I almost pulled my piece right there, joking about this kind of a thing. But it'd be a cryin' shame to ruin a chest like that. I let her sultry voice speak. She starts by telling me she's the girl's sister. Bullshit. The girl told me she only had the one brother. Shut up and let me finish, she says. Yes ma'am, I say. Feisty one. Says her parents always thought they had a son, but she knew otherwise. Don't know how you could make w mistake like that! They made her live as a boy and tell everyone else, too. So she runs off to join the fighting in Europe. Gets denied, 4-F she says. I didn't know they made 'em bigger than a size D. So she does the next best thing: hop a train west and hope there's work wherever you get off. Sets herself up a new identity once she's got living money. Two, in fact. Some people still don't like her being a woman, apparently. A double life: one for work and the other for leisure. When her sister came around looking, she got in touch and explained everything. Apologized for running out on her, paid for her trip back home, even gave her the phone number if she ever needed anything else.

Lovely story, pulls at the heart-strings. She needs a minute to compose herself. I offer her some scotch and she takes it, staining red lips on the glass. Still, I lean forward, I've got to press her: how does my partner play into all this? Is he all right? Is he safe? Is he even alive? Then I catch a whiff of fennel, and I realize. We were partners, she and I.

Now that’s what I like to hear. I’m so glad my little kitten got to have a fun time. Did you make a mess on yourself baby? Squirt for me? Tell me how you played with yourself, Miss wants all the dirty details 💋

Oh, lover, of course you do. (Putting a read more to save folks dashboards)

I started in the shower, letting the water run down my body and teasing at my nipple. The water's warm, teettering on the edge of almost too hot. So there's a little bit of a sting. I imagined you pressing me up against the tiles of the shower, one hand cupping my sex and the other tracing the top of my sternum tattoo, right between the valley of my breasts.

It's a tease, the water nipping at my skin like you might with kisses and nips. I am dripping from my cunt, knowing what I really want isn't around. But I know I can make do. It's slow, as the humidity swells from the shower that I drag my hands down my stomach, through the slight ticket of my bush and tease my clit. I have to pace myself, and it's so hard. I just want to cum, but I think to myself, what would Miss do?

So I take it slow, torture myself as my fingers circle around and around my clit. My slick oozes but I don't gather it, not quite yet. This is only the beginning I tell myself. The room's growing warmer. I imagine your hand at my throat, teeth grazing along my chin at how good I am being. The pressure's just starting to build. I can feel it creeping up my toes.

I put a little bit more pressure onto my clit, circles getting tighter and tighter around my clit. I don't go faster, just firmer. Again, this is just the beginning. The spare hand, now taking the same trail from throat to cunt, teases at my entrance. I know how good it'll feel to plunge two fingers inside, but instead, I circle, gathering my own arousal onto my fingertips and spreading it up to my clit.

The slip is nice, and helps ebbs the pleasure just a little. It's hard to keep quiet, no one in the house really needs to do what I'm doing, but it just feels so fucking good. I think a sigh escapes me, but I try not to think too much about it.

I know I can't be in the bathroom too much longer, but the dances and the teases aren't enough. It's with great relief that I pick up the pace, one hand swiping over my clit with a feverent pace. The fingers dancing at my entrance slide in--just one at first, then a second one. The ache's dulling as my first orgasm approaches, I'm pushed up now on my tippy toes and trying to brace most of my weight on the shower wall to keep from slipping.

The first orgasm comes swiftly, not nearly as hard as the second and third, but still strong enough that it takes me a minute to recover.

Cleaned, lotioned, and in my pj's, I slip under the covers. There's been just enough down time that I know I can go for another, but not too much that it'll feel like starting over at ground zero again. The bullet vibrator is an old trusty friend and I don't really hesitate in bringing it to my clit.

I tap it, for a minute or not, just enough pressure to let the buzz jolt me, but not enough time that I can sink into the feeling. In my imagination, I picture you sitting in my office chair at the foot of my bed, watching. My legs are spread wide, feet planted to the mattress and it's a great view. I imagine you can see how often my pussy clenches, desperate for something to fill it.

The taps grow longer, more and more time spend with the vibration dancing over my clit before I drag it down the sides, tracing the the tops of my labia--again wanting to keep arousal from plateauing, but not to orgasm just yet.

I can feel myself arousal dripping, slipping between my cheeks. I have half a thought to be worried about the sheets, but I don't really care. It just feels so good--the thought of you watching, the buzz of the vibrator on my clit. My clit still just a hair sensitive from the previous orgasm in the shower. My entire body feels alive, electric. I tease my nipples with the same digits I brought to my mouth to get them nice and wet. Even gagged myself a bit on them, just the way you might like. A tear slips down the side of my face and onto my pillowcase and it hurts so good when I press the vibrator down harder.

My hips are bucking into nothing, my mouth open with the quiet pants I can't hold back. I know I'm going to cum again and I don't let anything stop it this time. I go harder and harder, and harder. My feet and hips are lifting off the bed, back arching just a little as a silent scream contorts myself.

This orgasm is the heaviest that I feel. My body sags into the mattress, the buzzing vibrator still loosely gripped in my hand. There's more I want. The purple dildo from my bottom drawer is what I've been working up too, but this one takes a bit longer to recover from.

It's deep breathes, wiping the sweat off the end of my nose (a permanent fixture in my life like a fucking dog, but who cares), and a small water break.

If I'm honest, I was pretty sure I wasn't going to make it to the grand finale. My limbs are heavy at this point, I want to go to sleep, but in the back of my mind, I really don't want to quit here. I figure I can take it slow. The vibrators out for the first half while I focus on my clit with just my fingers. I keep it close by though as I know I'll want it later on.

The whisper of my fan is just enough to remind me of your whispers, the way you demand that I keep going on my ear. You're not through just yet, kitten.

And I know I want it.

Fingers dance of my skin, the upper half of my stomach etched by a tattoo gun and now the nails of my fingers, gently scraping before cupping at my breast. I tug at my nipples but keep a gentle pace at my clit. Just cirlces around, letting the pleasure wash over me.

The third orgasm nearly suprises me. One moment, I'm imagining your weight next to me, the lazy drag of your fingers over my pussy, a slap--or two of three--and the next I can feel the tension in my lower gut.

I stop, knowing it's much too soon right now for things to be over. I don't think I'll get to 4 and I don't want to ruin the 3rd. I practice, albeit with a lot of frustration, patience.

Within a couple of minutes I'm back down, able to continue. In that time, I do collect my dildo and vibrator again. The first thrust of the dildo is shallow, making sure the angle is right for myself. But once I'm positive it is, I take it slow, dragging it all the way out before slow pushing it all the back into myself. Each trust paired with a tiny huff at the feeling of being utterly stretched out around the cock.

But even the slow pull and thrust of the dildo is pushing me closer and closer to that last orgasm. I try to deep breath, take a nice deep breath in and then exhale it slowly. But even that's no match for how wired my body is. Everything is sore, pumping towards another orgasm.

I turn on the vibrator again. The buzz is enough to make me immediately shut my legs and turn away from the sensation. It's only for a second, because behind the sting is the pleasure. With a steeling breath, I settle back, legs open again and continue. I bring the setting of the vibrator down, to see if it helps and it does.

Each thrust is long and slow, brushing the deepest parts of myself and the buzz of the vibrator is hurdling my closer and closer to relief. I'm hot, a little sweaty, but oh am I consumed by the pleasure. I don't care what I look like. I don't care what I sound like.

I don't fully remember the third orgasm. It hits and I'm so fucking exhausted. My body shakes for a moment and I keep just enough brains to get up and get everything (minus myself) cleaned up and put away.

I immediately collapse back into bed and I'm so thankful I set my alarm before getting into the shower, because I would've forgotten it without a doubt.

-BG

the intern

Peter Parker x Reader (college au)

requested: (anon) plz plz plz give me some college aged, super powerful ( think stark ceo powerful ) peter parker shit. idc what the rest of the story is about, i just need a brooding, smoldering, suit wearing, extremely expensive, college aged spiderman. plz and thank you!!!!

warnings: language

summary: When you start a new internship at Stark Industries, you're not only surprised to find Peter working as your boss, but that he's not the shy neighborhood boy you grew up with

a/n: this doesn't follow canon so for this imagine, hammer industries is just a rival company and the snap never happened lol also i don't know anything more than operating a phone so don't expect me to write sciencey, techy stuff lmao

(gif source)

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you were running across the road to jump into a cab that was available. Your phone hadn't been charging all night as you thought it had which caused you to wake up forty-five minutes before the start of the interview. You need this internship before you graduate from Empire State and get your degree in robotics.

On the way there, you nearly got car sick as the driver took sharp turns and nearly ran past intersections seconds before they became red. Once in front of Hammer Industries, your heels clicked loudly as you ran inside the tall building. You checked in with the front desk and took the elevator up to the 10th floor.

Just as you arrived, Justin Hammer was calling your name. “I'm right here!” you nearly tripped on your heels and your breaths were short.

“I've called your name three times, do you understand what that makes you look like, correct?” Justin stood unphased as you stood up straight and tried to steady your breath. “All these people are on time. Some of these folks have been here for hours, even.”

“Yes, sir. I’m so sorry–”

“Shame, I really liked your resume and your report on the expansion of nano-technology. Try again next year, maybe.” Justin started to call out the next participant and when she got up you stepped in front of her, “Please Mr. Hammer, I need this internship or I can't graduate.”

The people in the waiting room had their eyes on the two of you, tension so thick that it was almost hard to breathe. “Then maybe you should have come on time,” he pushed you aside to let the next person in to interview. You quickly ran back out and spoke to no one all the way home. Your eyes and cheeks were aching as you held in the tears during your Uber ride. The driver wanted to ask if you were okay, but if you were to break down in his car he’d probably be stuck having to listen to what happened and if he was honest with himself, he didn't actually care.

Once you got to your apartment, you made a straight line to the kitchen. “Hey, how’d the interview go?” MJ, your roommate, asked while still looking at her computer. You reached into the freezer for your emergency ice cream pint, snatched a spoon and walked into your room without saying anything. “That bad, I guess,” MJ said to herself.

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You sat with MJ and Ned in the cafeteria, but had not touched any of the food on your plate. Your head was laid on the steel table and you just continuously groaned. “I’m a failure,” you whined.

“No, what you are is fucking dumb,” MJ commented as she ate.

“Thanks, Michelle, that makes me feel so much better,” you looked up to glare at her before laying her head back down. Ned felt bad that his friend was in despair, “How come you didn't ask Peter for help?”

“Huh?” you lifted your head back up some of your hair falling onto your face.

“Yeah, Peter already works at Stark Industries, why didn't you just ask him to get you in? You could even skip the internship altogether and be in full time,” Ned suggested. You gave it some thought, but something about it didn't sound right.

“No, I don't want to bother Peter. I don’t want him to think that I’m only calling him for a job,” you sighed. Ned texted Peter anyways. Unexpectedly, Peter texted him back immediately.

“He says it’s fine,” Ned showed you his phone to read the text. ‘Yeah man, tell her to come in tomorrow and Ms. Potts will interview her’

You let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding and pulled out your phone.

‘Thank you so much for helping me out’

(…)

‘No problem, anything for a friend’

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The Stark Industries building was huge. It almost looked taller than the Empire State Building, and maybe it actually was. Your legs were shaking as you stared up at it. “Here goes nothing,” you assured yourself.

The lobby was bustling with people; workers walking around, a group of kids that seemed to be here on a field trip, and some teens taking pictures in front of one of Mr. Stark's Iron Man suits.

The trip up to the 17th floor was crowded with people as more and more entered in every passing floor. You had to squeeze yourself out and accidentally stepped on someone’s foot in the process.

Looking around, your jaw dropped. It was an open laboratory with groups of people putting together small robots, flying drones, and people laughing and talking. It was such a fun and cool looking environment, you wondered why you didn't just apply here in the first place.

Pepper Potts spotted you walking around and approached you with a tap on your shoulder. “Hi, I’m Pepper. You must be Y/N,” she reached her hand out to shake yours which you accepted. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Peter’s told me a lot about you. Come, follow me,” Pepper’s office had glass walls and a view of New York from behind her desk. You weren't particularly fond of heights, but even you would love to have an office view like that. Pepper gestured to the chair in front of her as she smoothed her dress to sit in hers. “So, I see here that you had an interview at Hammer’s. Can I ask why you chose them?” You didn't even know how they got that information. You hadn't seen or spoken to Peter in quite a while, so how Pepper knew that was beyond you. You sat there with your lips moving to say something but nothing was coming out.

Pepper seemed to have caught on what you were thinking and elaborated, “Before I do any interviewing, I do full background checks on everyone.” She had a gentle smile which made you feel better. You thought she would scold you or something considering the question did more than catch you off guard.

“My mother used to work there for a long time and I figured that I would follow,” you explained. Pepper nodded her head and wrote some notes down. She looked onto her computer and looked at everything there was about you. “Well, I see here that you have exceptional grades. 4.7 GPA since you started school and your paper on nano-technology has gotten much praise. I think even Tony read it.” No way. The Tony Stark read my paper? “So tell me, do you see yourself working here at Stark Industries?”

You looked outside and watched everyone in the open lab again. “Yes.”

“Then that’s all I need to hear. We’d love to have you here,” she reached over to shake your hand. You looked at her surprised and hesitantly shook hers. “Welcome to the team, Y/N.”

“Thank you so much!” You cupped her hand with both of yours and shook it a little too quickly, but she didn't seem to mind. You were ecstatic to start your path to your career, and at a dream place at that.

:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:

Your alarm rang at the time you set it to, but there was no need for it. You couldn't sleep all night. Today is your first day of your internship and you were feeling so many things at once. Excited, nervous, happy, scared…

You tried to restrain yourself to a light breakfast, but MJ’s pancakes were to die for that you ate two whole stacks. You looked through your closet just about fifteen times; you had already picked an outfit the following night with the help of MJ, but when you put it back on, you hated it. It sucked for your roommate seeing as she had to sit through you changing from eight other outfits.

You tried to picture the lab again to see how other people dressed for a better idea to base it on your outfit choice. From what you remember, it was pretty casual, so that’s what you stuck to.

You were given your pass the day you were hired, so you had no issue walking inside. The elevator was just as packed as it was last time, but you were more composed so there were no toes being stepped on this time. You weren't exactly sure as to where you had to go, so you looked around to see if there were other interns to ask where to start.

“Y/N!” Peter’s voice surprised you from behind. Your shoulders jumped a bit, but relaxed at the view of his face. His face… you actually hadn't seen him for quite a while. Months, maybe. His jawline was more defined, and his once floppy hair was styled neatly. You tried to not look him up and down, but the temptation was definitely there. And the other thing, his voice was deeper than you last remembered. Is this really Peter Parker? “Hey, Peter.”

He gave you a hug that nearly made you lose breath. He was stronger than you remembered. A memory flashed back to when you were in junior high; you, Ned and Peter were hanging around the local park and you beat Peter on rounds on the monkey bars. He gave up after a couple bars, but you went back and forth a couple times. ‘Show off.’ But now, he had muscles that the shirt he was wearing hugged his biceps.

The hug was quick, and you had to pretend that he didn't just squeeze some life out of you. “Do you work on this floor?”

“Yeah, you’re actually assigned to work with my team. Come, I’ll show you around.” He started walking and you noticed how his posture changed. Damn, I know it hasn't been this long since I've seen him. Why does he look so different? He was wearing trousers. Trousers? Peter hates trousers. But his ass is looking great–

“Hey guys, this is Y/N. She’s going to be working with us as an intern. And I'll say this beforehand, no she's not going to be taking coffee or lunch orders,” Peter introduced you. There were various aged people in this group. Some were your age, and one person looked to have been in his thirties. Peter is in charge of this group? They all said ‘hi’ to you and went around introducing themselves.

Once that was finished, Peter pulled a chair for you on the table. “You’ll take notes for me while I give this presentation,” he whispered to you before walking in front of the table and started writing on the clear glass board.

He was talking quickly and didn't stumble over his words like he used to. Everyone was listening to him attentively and you jotted notes down as quickly as you could. Every now and then, you would steal glimpses of him and feel a sort of… well you felt something. Amazement? Inspiration? Adoration?

No doubt was Peter one of the smartest people you've ever met and here he was leading his own team and making potential products for Stark Industries at such a young age. Seeing him at work was so… it was indescribable to you but all you could think of was how different he is now. In a good way, of course.

Peter Parker has been your friend for years and to see him change from a bumbling, shy, adorable nerd into a confident, intelligent working man attracted you.

When you got home, you thought a lot about your first day. Being an intern at Stark Industries was really fun, so far. You weren't expected to do silly things like get coffee or lunch for everyone or pick up someone’s dry cleaning. You actually learned something and even had your opinions heard on some of the things that Peter suggested for his team’s upcoming product presentation.

If this is what it's like to be an intern, you couldn't imagine what it would be like working full time.

“How'd it go?” MJ stuck her head in your room. “It was fun. I'm working with Peter,” you explained your day to her.

“Cool,” was the last thing she said before she went to her own room for the night.

:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:

In the past few months, your internship at Stark’s has been going swimmingly. Everyone's been so nice, and the work is so fascinating. You've gotten closer with Peter and along the way, he felt like he was more than a friend and boss to you.

Currently, everyone was getting ready for their final presentations for the upcoming annual Stark Industries Convention. It was going to be Peter’s first year presenting his own project with his team and you were so excited to be a part of it.

The time you’ve spent with Peter was really fun. He was a good mentor and a great friend. The only thing was that you couldn't help but look at him a little too long, and you’ve found yourself thinking about him during your classes or doing your homework. The shy boy from Midtown High was no more, replaced– no, grown into the Peter you know now. But you pushed all feelings aside to focus on your next thesis paper and mock-up of the handout brochures of Peter’s project.

Sometimes, you didn't even feel like an intern as Peter would ask for any ideas you had to make the project better and even let you help with assembly. He stayed true to his words and you’ve never once had to run for coffee or things like that. There’d be times when you would study some of the little parts under a magnifying glass and he’d come up slightly behind you and explain about some of the bits on the working table.

And every time he did that, your breath would be stuck in your throat and you’d have to remind yourself that this was just Peter helping you out and you’re just learning. But it was normal to want more every now and then… right?

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The convention was just a few days away and you had trouble finding something to wear. These events were usually black tie events, but did that mean the presenting teams as well? Wouldn't that be uncomfortable?

One of the guys on your team, Richie, sat with you during lunch and talked about how he was probably going to wear the same suit as always. Not because he couldn't afford a new suit, but he was just a simple person and he only wears it once a year for the conventions and that’s all, so it’s still in mint condition.

The girls on your team and some from others were going dress shopping the day before and invited you to join. You were excited mainly because now you don't have to bother MJ for it.

Speaking of MJ, you were going to ask her to come with you. Pepper sent out the electronic invitations to everyone in the company and authorized plus ones to even interns. She’s never been to one – for reasons you were still confused about – but you wanted your best friend to be there for you. And if not MJ, then you bet Ned would still come with you. Wait, what if he’s going with Peter?

On cue, Peter had sat in the chair next to yours in the small break room, “Hey, Y/N.”

“Oh, hey Pete. You excited for Saturday?” Peter quietly stirred his coffee and gave you a small smile, “Uh, yeah. I’m nervous, but I’ve worked really hard on this. And everyone, too. Including you.”

You slightly blushed. I didn't do all that much you thought. You two just sat there taking small sips from the hot, bitter beverage.

“So… I wanted to ask you something,” Peter started.

“Mhm?” The coffee nearly slipped past your lips. You quickly grabbed a napkin to lightly dab some of it off of your lips.

“Well, as you know, we can bring anyone with us to the convention,” he trailed off.

“Yes?” Is he going to…

“And I wanted to know if you were bringing MJ with you.” Oh. You nodded your head and thought you hid your disappointment well but without knowing, Peter actually caught it for a split second. “Good. You can come with me,” he smiled and stood up.

You were in awe; without effort, Peter just asked you to be his date for Saturday.

:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆:

“Dude, how are you not ready yet? He’s gonna be here any minute,” MJ sat at her computer per usual working. Your music was too loud for her taste playing from your shared bathroom. Peter said he would pick you up at 7, and it was currently 6:50.

You had put on and removed your make-up at least five times. Something was always wrong; one of the wings would either be thicker than the other, the blush would be the wrong shade, or the lipliner kept going out of place. But, alas, you finally nailed it.

Your hair was styled half up with elegant curls and braids. In between some braids were little bits of baby’s breath flowers. Most likely, you were going to have a hard time taking those out but they looked cute and it was too late to take them out.

Your dress was right above your knee and flowed comfortably so you wouldn't have a hard time walking. It was a neutral taupe color and had a V-line that ended just above cleavage and hugged the curve of your waist. You paired it with simple black heels and a small, white handbag.

“He’s here,” MJ informed you.

“Okay,” you took a deep breath, “what do you think?” You spun around and held your arms out. “You look really pretty. Now go get ‘em. I’ll watch it on the live stream.” She gave you a lazy thumbs up and resumed her work.

Outside was Peter in an all-black apparel. His dress shirt had only one button undone, and he had a loose blazer that accentuated the dip of his shoulders. He stood against the limo with his hands at his sides. God, he’s gonna be the death of me.

When he caught sight of you, he had a flirtatious smirk on his lips and held out for your hand. “Peter, where’d this limo come from?”

“Mr. Stark set it up for me,” he stated like it was no big deal. Must be nice being his favorite. He held the door for you to climb in and closed the door behind him. “We’re ready, Happy,” he told the driver. Happy rolled his eyes, closed the window and drove off.

The convention was off to a great start; Tony Stark came in with his suit as he always loved to do and started introductions before everyone else scattered around to look at the projects of the many departments in his company. Some groups of certain departments had large stages, some had small stands, like Peter’s.

There were still large crowds coming to see the smaller presentations, and everyone seemed to be fascinated with Peter's. You stood on the side as his team operated the machine and Peter spoke. He looked confident and it was mesmerizing to watch him.

After the night was over, all employee’s and some guests were brought back to headquarters for the after party. You walked around with Peter and had flutters in your heart every time he held the small of your back. The most exciting part of the night was meeting Tony Stark in person. He greeted Peter warmly, and then his eyes landed on you, “Peter, who’s this?”

“Oh, this is Y/N. She’s a friend of mine,” he gestured for you. You shook Tony’s hand and stood starstruck. “The one you don’t shut up about?” Pepper hit his shoulder and laughed nervously.

“Wait, I’ve heard about you. Buddy of mine works at Empire State and he showed me your paper, it was really good.” You were still shocked that he had even read it and here he was talking to you about it. You went back and forth talking about nano-technology.

On the way home, you and Peter talked and laughed about things you told him as you caught him up to what was happening on campus when he couldn't be there. It was a really fun night, and Peter was more noticeably relaxed now that the hard part was over. “Alright, home sweet home,” Happy announced through the window.

“Well, that’s me,” you smiled sadly, not wanting the night to end. You reached to open the door but Peter climbed out from his side. He walked around to open your door and just like he did earlier, held his hand out for you to grab and assist you out the limo. What was different this time was that he kept his hand in yours as he walked you to the door of the apartments. “I had a great time with you tonight,” Peter confessed.

“Me too,” your voice was soft and low for only him to hear. Peter’s eyes switched from looking into yours to your lips before he grabbed your face with both hands and kissed you. The kiss was needy, passionate, but had a certain gentleness to it. Once he felt you kiss him back with the same fervor, he deepened the kiss and brought one hand to pull your waist closer to him.

You pulled apart to regain your breath and looked to admire his swollen lips and he copied the same notion. He leaned in to give you a gentle kiss and pulled away, “Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Peter.” Your cheeks were flushed and your face was warm. You watched him as he left and ran inside. Upstairs in your apartment, you found MJ and Ned sitting on the couch with a bag of chips in each of their hands.

“Good night?” Ned asked. You just nodded and walked slowly to your room.

“We saw the whole thing, by the way,” MJ said nonchalantly. You looked back to glare at your best friends, Ned smiling innocently at you and MJ keeping her straight face.

You changed into your pajamas and laid on your bed on your back, looking up at the ceiling. You couldn't wait to go back to work on Monday.

—

requests open!

Fanfiction - One Shot

Fanfiction

Show : Doom at your Service

Myul Mang / Kim Saram x Dong Kyung

Setup : Kim Saram falls sick for the first time in his life. Thankfully Dong Kyung is there to take care of him

Concept suggested by : @dizistyles ❤

"Hello? You there ? "

Dong Kyung walked across her room , speaking into her phone and waiting for him to reply. It was already late at night and ever since he turned into a human, he would often fall asleep without warning.

She chuckled, imagining how sweetly he might be cuddled up in the bed.

"You're asleep. Good night Kim Saram.." she said before cutting the call.

Dong Kyung walked back to her laptop to note down whatever information she had just taken down for her novel.

She woke up the next day , expecting to get a call from him. She impatiently kept checking her phone , but all in vain. There was absolutely no news of him.

But he had promised to drop me to work today - She wondered.

When it was about time he should have come to pick her up, she instantly felt anxious.

Did he disappear? Was it a dream? Was it all a dream?

She panicked and quickly dialed his phone number with shivering hands.

Pick up! Please.. please pick up! - She begged.

.

.

"Hello?" His voice was weak but felt like a blessing to her ears.

She took a sigh of relief.

"Are you okay?? Why didn't you come ?" She asked trying to calm herself down.

He suddenly realized that he had been asleep all this while and it was late already.

"I... I'm.." he couldn't speak properly.

"Saram? .. are you okay ?" She started getting worried.

He slowly sat up on his bed and squeezed his eyes.

"I don't feel good." He said in a low voice.

That was enough for Dong Kyung to immediately pick up her bag and leave for his house. Not that she was just worried what might be wrong, but she was always anxious about his disappearance.

Saram held his head in his palms and groaned in pain.

"Ahhhh! Why does it feel so bad " he said to himself.

Ofcourse he was a doctor, and he knew everything about the human body. But only in theory.

He kept whining about the situation when Dong Kyung crashed into his room. His face lit up instantly.

"Saram.. are you okay ??" She said, running towards him.

"Ya.. i am fine.. i think i have what you call a... 'headache' " he said with a forced smile, he felt terrible from inside.

Dong Kyung could see the bizarre look on his face and immediately understood that he was not well.

"Hey! Don't lie to me.." she said, sitting next to him and caressing his cheek with her tiny fingers.

She jumped in horror. His skin was burning with fever.

"YA! Saram! You are burning!" She shouted feeling panicked.

He looked at her with a confused and dull look. He felt strange, sleepy, heavy on the head and weak.

"Burning ? " He said touching his face. "Aah.. so I have a 'fever' ?" He asked sounding curious.

Dong Kyung rolled her eyes and pressed her foot hard on the floor.

"How can you not know that you have a fever, when you are a doctor by profession?" She taunted.

"I've seen sick people but i haven't fallen sick myself.. how would I know how it feels ?" He said with a straight face as if it was so obvious.

Dong Kyong shook her head and stood up from the bed to leave.

He immediately held her hand back.

"Where are you going? Don't leave me... I'm sick ." He pleaded like a child.

Sometimes he was such a baby and she couldn't help but love him even more. She smiled at him warmly.

"I'm going to get you a medicine" she informed.

"Oh okay.." he said , releasing her hand immediately.

She chuckled at his tantrums and turned around to leave but he called out to her again.

"Dong Kyung..i also feel.. numb .. as if I have no energy.. as if I can't stand ? Or walk? Is that what you call 'weakness' ?" He asked, inquisitively.

She turned towards him and sighed.

"Yes... you're feeling weak because you are sick. You have a headache, you will feel dizzy, sleepy and lazy"

"Woah! You know a lot about being sick." He exclaimed.

Dong Kyung rolled her eyes and sighed helplessly. He was impossible

"I'll be right back" she said before walking out.

By the time she returned, he had covered himself with a blanket and fallen asleep.

She quietly kept the medicine and a glass of water next to him on the table. She sat beside him and caressed his temple.

"You look so cute when you are asleep" she said softly.

"I know " he replied, with his eyes closed.

She frowned and hit him on the forehead.

"Kim Saram! Don't put on an act, get up and take your medicine if you are awake. "

He smiled and held her hand, slowly sitting up.

"But I haven't eaten anything.."

"That's why I made you something. Eat it. Have medicine and take rest."

"Ah.." he looked at the breakfast kept next to him. ".. that is what my wife would do...wait ...is that a proposal? I say Yes .. lets get married today?" He exclaimed.

She pushed him back with a shy smile.

"Just do what I said"

He frowned at her and unwillingly went ahead to have his breakfast, but it felt terrible to sit and eat. He felt dizzy and lethargic.

"Ah.. i don't want to eat Dong Kyung.. can't i just sleep?? This feels so terrible.." he complained .

She immediately took the plate in her hand and started feeding him herself.

He smirked and happily took a bite without question. Was there any point saying No to her?

"If you don't eat, how will you get better? Don't you know .. Doctor??" She mocked.

He chuckled and continued to take bites, without moving his eyes away from her face. He couldn't thank the Goddess enough for letting him see her again.

After she was done, she handed over a tablet and a glass of water to him.

"Have this. I'll be back " she said before leaving with the plates.

By the time she returned, she had expected him to be done with the medicine, but she found him sitting and staring at the tablet instead.

"What ? " She asked.

He looked up at her with an innocent smile.

"I haven't taken a tablet ever before... does it pain?" He asked.

Dong Kyung chuckled.

"Haven't you seen your patients take it? Do they cry?"

"No"

"Then just swallow it with water. It doesn't hurt" she said, smiling at him.

"What if it gets stuck in my throat? Will I die ?"

"It won't. Just gulp it down."

"Okay.." he nodded and took the tablet as if it was the biggest stunt of his whole life.

"Goshh! How could you be a doctor.?" She wondered.

"Aaachooo" he suddenly sneezed and felt shocked. " What was that " he said to himself.

"Aaa.. I see.. you got wet in the rain last night didn't you? Now you're sneezing." Dong Kyung explained.

"Woah! It felt weird.. it was so sudden.. is that how you feel when u sneeze ??" He asked.

Dong Kyung laughed seeing him experience all such things for the first time in his life. She somehow felt satisfied that he was totally a human now.

She carefully made him lie down on the bed and sat next to him with a piece of cloth and bowl of water.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"It will help to get your fever down quicker" she said.

"I know that. But you don't have to do it  .. I am fine. Aachooo! ......Yaaa! ....That feels bad" he said.

She giggled and continued to wet the cloth and put it on his head until his fever was down. He kept looking at the calmness on her face and felt his pain fade away.

Hardly did he know when he dozed off.

Dong Kyung kept looking at his innocent face and recalled how he used to be few months ago. How he was simply existing, neither alive nor dead. But today he was living and experiencing everything he had ever wanted.

She quietly walked to the other side of his bed and laid down next to him, running her fingers through his soft hair.

"I love you so much..." she whispered and shut her eyes, feeling his cheeks against her palm.

He felt better when he opened his eyes after having a good rest. He still felt a bit weak but mostly fine. He tried to move his head when he realized that someone was sleeping cuddled up in his arms.

He could feel her silky hair touching his chin when he looked down. She was sleeping peacefully against his chest and in his embrace. He couldn't help but smile and blush.

"You're so small.." he chuckled, and caressed her head.

She moved her head up slowly and spoke with her eyes half open.

"Are you feeling better ?"

"Yes ...with you in my arms, I feel way better " he said.

She felt shy and immediately tried to get herself out if his grip but he held her back.

"Don't go..I'm sick.." he said, but his look was rather intense than mischievous.

She felt a familiar tension in the air with the fire he had in his eyes and unknowingly approached his lips. Without wasting a second, he kissed her back gently.

She wrapped her arms tighter around him and he brushed his fingers on her cheeks. They kissed for a while and parted.

Dong Kyung was left flustered, while Saram smiled satisfactorily. He turned around and picked up the tablets kept next to his bed.

Handing over the tablets to her he spoke.

"Now you'll need this too ..." he chuckled.

"Just shut up. Creep! Why did you kiss me ?" She complained.

"I kissed you?? You approached first..."

"No..what do you mean ..?"

Their kisses might last for seconds, but their bickering knows no end.

A/N : That's all folks. I hope I did not bore you ☹ Sorry if there were silly mistakes 🥲 Didn't proof read it 😶 I wanted to write more but my office people are cruel 💔💔 I wish I could make it better, but that all I could do this time 😅 Thanks @dizistyles for the suggestion, I loved writing this. 💙

<<PREVIOUS⏺<<CONTENTS>>

1.2.9 HALLOWEEN NIGHT/NOVEMBER 1st 5:13 AM

Warren County, Illinois

While that call did not succeed in waking up Kyndra and Zoey, the aforementioned Diego was woken up, however, by his co-worker Quinn, as he lay napping on a tattered sofa in the SuperFuel Deluxe's break room.

“Diego!”

Diego grunted.

“Diego, get up,” Quinn slapped him with a blue rag.

Diego sat up and rubbed his eye.

“Customers.” Quinn said.

Diego blinked awake. The TV was on. A man with fake looking blonde hair stood in front of a map coated with splotches of reds, oranges, and yellows.

“ Lightning strikes have been reported just about everywhere as this severe cell moves through Warren and Carpenter counties. Listen up if you are in the areas of Russelville, Haddonfield, Langdon, Tuckerville...you are under a Severe Thunderstorm Warning and Tornado Watch ‪until 7:45 am‬. Check out this picture someone posted on social media, that's softball sized hail folks...this reported by Zeke, a custodian working late ‪night tonight‬ at Smith's Grove High School, so be careful out there folks.”

Thunder struck and the lights in the shop momentarily dimmed. Customers, Diego thought, in this storm?

Diego stood up and stretched and then grabbed his Mountain Dew he had swiped from the coolers a few hours ago. Stepping into the shop, he sure enough saw some guy was talking to Quinn, standing next to an old-ass station wagon. The kind that had the wood panels on the side. The bottom was eaten away with rust. Diego was surprised the thing was even running at all, and one of the first things he noticed were the California plates. The lifeless remains of a tire lay snaked around a severely dented rim on the front passenger side. Must have hit a curb without even braking, he thought.

Quinn pulled a clipboard off the dark blue tool bench next to him and said, “We actually just had one of these die on us last week and it's back there in the yard. We can replace the tire and the rim and fix up those tie rods and struts in a jiff. You got really got lucky, because otherwise you'd be waiting at least two days for parts.”

The man's eyes grew wide, “Are you serious?! That's a miracle if I ever heard one.”

“I'll say,” Diego chimed in, “What year is this?”

“1989 Ford Country Squire” Jack Tate said proudly.

“Wow,” Diego laughed. “Quinn's right, we literally just got one of these in, the drive train fell apart in our hands, literally fell apart. But it was much more beat up than this.”

“You don't say!?” Jack put his hands on his hips.

“I couldn't help but recognize the California plates,” Diego motioned to the back of the car, dropping to one knee to examine the wheel well.

“Yep,” Jack said, rubbing his chin, “We're from a small town in Northern California, between San Jose and Sacramento. It's called Summer Glen.”

“Bet you don't get much snow there,” Diego said from under the car.

“Nope..but I bet you guys do.”

Diego appeared from under the lopsided tire with a smile, “Buckets,” he replied, “And it wreaks havoc on an undercarriage.”

“I bet it does” Jack replied.

Diego stood up and wiped his hands on his coveralls. “Well, not so much the snow,” he said, “it's the salt they salt the roads with. Eats the bottom of the car all up.”

“So what do you do?” Jack asked.

“Heated car wash,” Diego said, reaching out his hand to Quinn for the clipboard.

“I saw signs for those on the way in, all over the place up here,” Jack said, “But I saw signs but then it looked like empty parking lots.”

Quinn smiled and handed Diego the clipboard, “With steam coming up?”

“I didn't see any steam,” Jack replied.

“They're probably turned off right now.” Diego remarked, looking over the paper on the clipboard.

Quinn whistled, “Whew don't I know it. It's been hotter than a hippo with a hernia.”

“Hmmm,” Jack grunted in agreement, “Climate Change.”

Quinn hissed, “Hogwash! I don't believe that bullshit for a second.”

Jack quickly changed the subject, “Anyways—err--how do car washes help your car in the winter?”

Quinn nodded, “You drive over the jets and they hose off your undercarriage with heated water”

“That's fascinating,” Jack smiled.

“Well,” Diego sighed, “We have the parts already so we'll charge you a $90 restocking fee, that's mostly 'cuz Quinn here has to run out in the rain and slip the rim and tie-rods off the old car.”

“Aww man, that's cold,” Quinn exclaimed.

“Good news is,” Diego continued, “You really didn't tear her up all that much besides that, you knocked some things loose but we can tighten her up. The labor will cost you $400 easy,, being on the weekend now, and then $140 for the tire, $126 for the rim, taxes and disposal and you're still under a grand.”

“That's wonderful,” Jack said, placing his hands back on his hips.

“What brings you out here?” Quinn asked, “Especially in this storm.”

“My wife got a job out here, she ‪starts Monday‬ so we wanted to get out here as quick as we could....drove straight through.” Jack remarked.

“Wow,” Quinn breathed.

“I need those parts Quinn,” Diego remarked, opening the top of the tool bench and pulling out a socket wrench.

“Oh right!” Quinn smiled. He walked over to the far wall and grabbed a yellow rain coat which hung on a peg next to a Calendar, still on the month of October. A model in a bikini presided over the tenth month. “What job did your wife get out here?” He called from across the room.

“She's going to be the new Chief of Medicine at the hospital,” Jack replied, his eyes on Diego as Diego crouched back down toward the car.

“Oh she's gonna replace old man Mixter!” Quinn remarked.

Jack shrugged.

“Hurry Quinn, this guy said he's got places to be,” Diego said from under the car.

“Oh right,” Quinn said and stepped through the side door that led into a small foyer and eventually either out to the front parking lot or back into the lot.

“So your wife's a doctor eh,” Diego's voice came from under the car, “so what do you do?”

“Well I'm a doctor too,” Jack replied.

Diego emerged from the car holding a twisted piece of metal, “Really? What kind?”

“Well I'm a psychiatrist,” Jack said.

Diego slid back under the car, “A shrink huh?” He said, “You opening up an office here or something?”

“Well no,” Jack laughed, “I'm actually going to take some time off and write a book.”

Diego re-emerged with more twisted metal, “Cool,” he said, “What about?”

“Hypnosis,” Jack said matter-of-factly.

Diego cocked his head to one side, “Really? You do that shit?”

“Swear by it,” Jack replied.

There was an awkward moment of silence and then they both laughed.

🎃

Meanwhile, Ophelia Tate had purchased a small and incredibly over-priced pack of baby wipes and was giving herself the best attempt at a bath she could muster inside the surprisingly clean restroom of the SuperFuel Deluxe. After she finished, she sat on top of a toilet and took an opportunity to catch up on social media.

While she sat in the stall reading about “11 Celebrities That You Would Never Assume Were Gay”, her son Damon stepped into the Food Mart, and wiped his perfectly white sneakers on the welcome mat. An angry looking Indian man looked up as the door bells jingled and then went back to fiddling with some electronic device behind the counter. Damon's first thought was, Why does he keep all that bullet proof glass open?

He casually turned to his left, starting down an aisle chock full of every imaginable brand of potato chip or chocolate or fruity candy---browsing but not really browsing, more just wasting time. The aisle came to a dead-end at a wall of coolers full of soda and water and fruit juices. Damon stopped and caught himself staring at a row of YooHoos when he heard what sounded like a snickering to his left.

There was a small hallway to the left of the coolers, veering off next to an ATM machine. He stepped in front of the ATM machine and peered down the hallway, at once spotting the cause of the commotion. Three young boys were standing in the corner next to a door marked: UTILITY, NO TRESSPASSING. One was a freckled redheaded kid with shiny braces dressed as batman, another was a blonde haired blue eyed boy dressed like Darth Vader, and the last was a much younger looking kid with brown hair and brown eyes dressed like some kind of zombie. They were huddled together, their masks all hanging limply around their necks, crowded around a magazine featuring a hot blonde titled RED RABBIT. The cover-girl’s name was apparently Misty Dawn, and according to the cover caption, she was “Back and Ready for More Action”.

The boys caught sight of Damon and looked up startled. The freckled redhead kid's smile disappeared and his eyes grew narrow, “Hey!” He called, “What are you looking at?”

Damon was unfazed. “Looks like a couple of pervs to me,” he said, stepping toward them.

This apparently took them aback because they said nothing in retort.

“Seriously,” Damon said, pointing at the cover, “How old are you guys?”

Blonde Vader who held the magazine in his hand pressed it to his chest as if it were the most valuable thing on the earth and looked up at Damon with his mouth open. Little zombie boy took a step back. But BatFreckle was not amused. “Why don't you go Fuck Off!”

Damon frowned, “That's not very nice language. Is everyone in this town pervs like you?”

“Where are you---” little zombie started in but BatFreckle cut him off.

“Don't you know that Warren County is the home of the Rabbit-in-Red? What hole did you crawl out of freak-show?”

“Rabbit-in-what?” Damon asked and with lightning speed, snatched the magazine from Blonde Vader.

“Hey!” The wannabe Sith Lord exclaimed.

“Rabbit-In-Red Productions is the world's third largest manufacturer of pornographic media dipshit, and the company is based here in Warren County.” BatFreckle spat.

“So it is a county full of pervs,” Damon said, opening the magazine and thumbing through the pages.

“My dad said a local bunch of church folks fought Mr. Martini in court over decency laws so much, the legal fees drove the church out of business.” Blonde Vader said.

“Shi-yeah,” BatFreckle said, “That's why old man Taylor's up in his house on the hill crying like a pussy all the time.”

“Mr. Who?” Damon asked, closing the magaize and handing it back to Blonde Vader.

BatFreckle snatched it instead and flipped to the table of contents, pointing to a ‪small black‬ and white picture of a middle-aged overweight man. “Lou Martini. He's the CEO of Rabbit-in-Red nimrod, he owns half the county and is like, the richest man in Illinois outside of Chicago.”

“Where are you from?” Little zombie found his place to ask.

“My parents and I are moving here from California, we just got in tonight, got a flat tire.” Damon replied.

“California! That's cool!” Blonde Vader exclaimed.

BatFreckle rolled his eyes, “Beat it California!” He said, “We were just checking out Spitz' mom in this month's issue.”

He and Blonde Vader started laughing.

“That's not my mom!” Little zombie, who's name was obviously Spitz, whined.

“Don't lie, you know it's her!” BatFreckle teased.

Blonde Vader turned the page, and the centerfold fell out, revealing the cover-girl Misty Dawn laying on a bed of white fur naked except for a silver belly chain and and black stilettos. A paper fell out as well and fluttered almost magestically to the floor. Damon bent down and picked it up. It was a flier that featured another picture of the model. The headline read:

SEE COVER GIRL

MISTY DAWN

TUE-SUN

OCTOBER AND NOVEMBER

AT THE

RABBIT-IN-RED LOUNGE

IN

HADDONFIELD

“Look Spitz” BatFreckle said in jest, “You can see your mom's show tonight if you want.”

“It's not my mom!” Spitz whined again.

“Why don't you leave him alone?” Damon said.

“Why don't you suck my balls?” BatFreckle snapped.

“Chill out Lonnie!” Blonde Vader slapped BatFreckle's shoulder and then looked at Damon “Lonnie can be a douche sometimes, I'm Richie Marshall, this is Lonnie Elamb, and he's Spitz. Welcome to Haddonfield.”

Lonnie groused and leaned back against the wall, opening up the porn.

“Cool, my name is Damon.”

“How old are you?” Richie asked.

“17, you?”

“I just turned 12, Lonnie is 16 but he's still in 8th grade...he has to go to special classes at the Middle School.” Richie and Spitz cackled.

“I have dyslexia fuck face!” Lonnie said, throwing the RED RABBIT at his friend.

“I'm 8,” Spitz said proudly.

“What are you doing out of the house at this time of night?” Damon asked, picking up the magazine from the floor and handing it back to Richie.

“Lonnie has his drivers license now, and I just snuck out of my house.” Richie said.

“What about you?” Damon asked, turning toward Spitz.

“His mom's a whore so she leaves him alone to go out fucking for quarters!” Lonnie called.

“Stop it Lonnie! She is not!” Spitz cried.

Damon ignored him and Spitz continued, “My mom works late nights at Jamie Lee's Diner, she doesn't get home till morning. My grandma watches me but she fell asleep and I...I snuck out too.”

“We just ate there coming in,” Damon said smiling.

“My mom is Taylor,” Spitz said.

“She was our waitress.” Damon replied.

“His mom's a slut!” Lonnie called.

Spitz started to whine but Damon put an arm around him, “Why do you hang out with this asshole? Is there anything else to do in this place than look at naked chicks?”

“There's an arcade in the driver's lounge, but I don't have any quarters.” Spitz said.

“Come on,” Damon said, “Show me where it is.”

Richie tossed Lonnie the magazine to followed Damon and Spitz. Lonnie caught it, rolling his eyes, he was perfectly happy right there looking at boobs.

🎃

Damon stepped into the shop area of the SuperFuel Deluxe and shook off the rain. There he saw his dad sitting on a folding chair listening, as another man held a lamp under their family station wagon from the Jurassic era. A third man was under the car working. The man holding the lamp was droning on and on about baseball. Damon didn't really care for baseball, or any sports for that matter.

“And then the Sox brought in their reliever, that guy Stroop, and he just completely fell apart. He hit two batters and walked another, and before you knew it the bases were loaded.” Quinn was saying.

Damon walked up to his dad. “Is that so---” Jack replied, but was startled when Damon tapped him on the shoulder.

“What is it son? You're not supposed to be back here.” Jack looked up at Damon.

“There's an arcade inside and I was wondering if you had any change on you?” Damon asked.

Jack leaned to one side and pulled his wallet out, withdrawing a 20 dollar bill. “Can they make change?” He asked.

“There's a change machine,” Damon said flatly, taking the money.

“You can play all of that, what the hell, it's been a long few days,” Jack said smiling.

Damon stuffed the twenty in his front pocket and turned, “Thanks,” he said.

“Tell your mom I'm in here,” Jack called after him.

“Haven't seen her,” Damon said as he walked out, without turning.

Quinn started up again, “So you know that big Dominican for the Cubs, Agu...Agu...something.”

“Aguilar,” Diego called from under the car.

“Yeah, Aguilar,” Quinn corrected himself. “Well he steps up to the plate and first pitch...bam!”

NEXT>>

SHOT A GUN??!? LEE OMG, now you have to tell the story cause i'm curious (same goes to ruined a surprise)

From this post, for reference for anyone seeing this who hasn’t scrolled my blog today lol

The ruined a surprise one was pretty tame, and actually has happened more than once. As a kid, I would be told not to tell my mum or another family member about a surprise being done for them for their birthday. But I always wanted to make folks happy, and that was such good news to give them, my tiny brain would tell me. So inevitably I would roll up to the Birthday Person like a week before their party and be like “wouldn’t it be cool if you had [surprise thing X] at your party? Wouldn’t that be the best?” And they would go “Is that thing going to be at my party?” and I would immediately start giggling and give away the surprise lmao. My family still doesn’t tell me surprise stuff in advance now, and tbh, that’s fair. Though I will say, I have halted my ruining of surprises lol.

Put the gun story under a cut for safety’s sake. TW for mentions of abuse mentions of rape, mentions of death, hunting (idk if it’s a trigger for anyone else, but it is for me, so I’m adding it here), and racism.

The gun story is...more lol. My ex-stepdad was a proper Midwestern racist, sexist, homophobic, redneck asshole who loved guns and the flag more than anything else (aside from himself, naturally) and as a part of trying to “bond” with me before he ended up proposing to my mum (after barely six months of dating! And she said yes! But that’s another tale) he tried to teach me and get me to use all the weapons he loved so much.

Now, the bow and arrow I legit did and do still love. I never get to use it now, but I have a bow and my arrows with their hunting tips, and refuse to get rid of them in case I ever get a chance to go to a range again and shoot some of those foam cubes (my fave targets to use.) However, he was not content for me to just use that, and he really wanted to take me hunting. 

Few issues with that: 

-At the time, I was a middle schooler campaigning against the wars in the Middle East, using what little platform I had as a kid to protest; namely wearing an actual peace sign necklace to school and challenging other kids to debates about the wars. My government and history teachers did enjoy me for that, though I will never forget the government class where they let me go up against the entire class in debate. In one corner, seventh grade me, against the wars and war in general while still respecting that at least some soldiers are people who want to do good and think they can do it by being recruited but also acknowledging that the military targets minorities of all kinds knowing they can be more vulnerable to wanting to help others, and the military can prey on that to recruit people. In the other corner, the literal rest of my class, who were all too happy to pile on me about things not even related to the debate, even the ones who admitted they were on my side of the debate, but chose to instead use this opportunity to yell at me. 

-As a result of the above point and other things, I Did Not and Do Not like guns. Not comfortable around them for many reasons, and since that age have believed in gun control. 

-Also a result of the above point, was for peace in general and was not a fan of hunting. As I grew, I learned that there are some cases where hunting is actually needed to cull populations so they don’t overrun areas, but seventh grade me didn’t know that, and just wanted all animals to be allowed to live without people like my then-stepdad hunting them. Tbh, they still should be able to live without my ex-stepdad hunting them, because he should not be allowed weapons of any kind. 

So needless to say, I didn’t want to even hold any of his guns, let alone shoot one. I managed to actually avoid that bit until after they got married. 

Then, he turned into someone completely different from who he had been when they were dating. The full story of how he was abusive and what we went through for five years isn’t something I’ll put here because this is already long, but all of that does play into why I did not want to go hunting with him (in a field, in the middle of NoDak, just me and him, no one else around for miles and no cellphones? Not cool, putting it mildly) and why I did not want to handle his guns. 

Unfortunately for me, my mum insisted I wasn’t trying hard enough to help him adjust to having a child, since he had been a single dude, married only once before for about six months, with no kids. He had nieces and a nephew, but otherwise he wasn’t used to kids. Part of my making ‘a better try’ with him was to go hunting, and let him teach me to shoot. 

So, we went out hunting a few times. Pheasant, and deer, and that was alright. I wasn’t thrilled to be out there, and I can still smell how his truck was just saturated in the scent of dead animal and I hated and still hate that scent burned into my memory, but I got through it. 

It was in the backyard of our house with his makeshift (read: not all right for guns or bows, really shitty) range that it came to a head, and I got to fire a gun for the first time. 

I still question why he gave me a pistol. You don’t really use a pistol to hunt deer, you know? And he could never tell us why he had so many extra pistols, since he did have his one for work as an officer at the Penitentiary, and it seems like that one should be enough. By the time we left him, he had two huge gun safes full of pistols and other guns, including weapons that by law no one should be able to purchase, but no one checks in on the two assholes meeting in the Wal-Mart parking lot who have trunks full of weapons they want to sell without getting in legal trouble. 

But I digress. He showed me how to hold it, to make sure I’m always pointing down-range, to only point at something I intend to shoot. To always treat the gun as if it was loaded, even if I was 99% sure it wasn’t. I give him that, because that is decent gun safety, and he could have been really terrible and not taught me that. 

Once he had me set up in front of a target, he told me to go for it, to expect the recoil (I was chubby, always have been, but I hadn’t started seriously lifting weights at that time, so my arms were really reedy and physically even that pistol’s recoil flung me back some.) 

I shot, and I wanted to drop it and run inside. It was loud, and the smell of gun smoke and ammunition is unpleasant. I felt like I’d betrayed something inside myself in that moment. This was what the troops learned how to do, what people who hurt others knew how to do. 

But my mum had been really mad at me for not being better to him (in retrospect and after therapy, I was fine, just being a kid in early puberty. My therapist says my mother should have stood up for me. I’m not in a place to assign blame like that yet, and maybe I won’t ever be.) So, I stayed put, and I shot a few more times. 

He noticed I had tears in my eyes, and started to complain about “the peaceful pussy shit getting in the way of me being taught something important” and he told me I needed to stop crying right away. I’ve never been able to do that, and I cry all the damn time; if I’m really angry or sad or happy, my body responds with tears that give me migraines that are hard to turn off once started. 

He got more angry, and told me I needed to learn how to do this because if I didn’t, what would I do if someone broke in? Would I let them hurt my mother? Rape her? Kill her? If he wasn’t there (and he often wasn’t, due to his job and his hunting trips) it would be up to me to save her, didn’t I care about knowing how to save her? 

I argued that I didn’t think a gun was the answer to that situation, that self defense and what weapons are used during it was too much for me to discuss with him. 

He started talking about the black family that had moved in down the street, about the friend I had at school who was Muslim, about how diverse (read: not that diverse, this is the mid-fuckin-west that has a long way to go re: diversity) our state was becoming.  About all the things he was ‘so sure’ they and their families would do to us, to me, if given the chance. All incorrect and horribly racist things, but he didn’t care, because he was always right, in his mind. And I wasn’t allowed to call him out and say he was wrong, or at least that was what my mother would tell me. 

“You like peace, so learn to help me keep it.” 

Instead I told him that it wasn’t right to say those things, that no one was going to try and hurt us like that, and that the notion was ridiculous. Shouting, I told him I was more scared of him and what he might do with his guns than what anyone else would do to me. 

He went very quiet, took the pistol from me (that I was still pointing at the ground, like he showed me) and told me to go to my room. 

He stayed out the rest of the night shooting his various guns, only coming in to switch weapons or get more ammo, refusing to come in for dinner until I had finished mine and was away from the table. He didn’t speak to me for the next week, and as scared as I was of him, it was some small relief that he at least wasn’t yelling at me or asking me things that made me uncomfortable. 

In a weird way, I’m glad I’ve shot one before. When I’m debating with people in my area about gun control and other issues, they instantly respect you more if you can say you’ve shot before. Otherwise, they talk over you and don’t want to listen to anything, no matter how nice or calm you say it. 

At the same time, I recoil any time I hear anything like gunshots, and I can’t ever imagine using a gun again. Even if I was told I must, I don’t think I could. I’ll hold my bow and arrow, keep the bat I keep in my room at all times to ease my paranoia, but I can’t ever imagine holding a gun again. 

Wow. Just wow.

For anyone who wants an answer to why intelligent, educated younger generations are rejecting the various Christian Churches, organized religion and Christian Fundamentalism en masse, look no further than this ludacris response to a thoughtful Christian with doubts about the more extreme interpretations of Christianity.

The moron who runs this website (I'm not going to include his name and give this dickhead even more attention than I already am by writing this) authors various books rejecting modern science and theories such as Evolution, and who also preaches intolerance to his readers is a superb example of the idiocy that taken over modern Christianity.

It's people like this that are single handedly responsible for the demise of their own Religious beliefs.

I came across this little gem right here while looking up something about the Indus Valley Civilizations and Hinduism.

When I first saw the link I was curious. Perhaps a Christian leader with a sizeable following had thoughtful answer to one of his readers?

Fucking Hell was I wrong to imagine modern Christianity had even one sane leader in it's midst.

The question from the reader was to get the author's thoughts that perhaps Ancient Religions far older than Christianity may have been endowed with correct teachings until the time Jesus came along.

The author begins his answer in typical Evangelical fashion, filled with the author's obvious disdain for Religious tolerance.

He starts by commenting that the suggestion that any part of Hindu beliefs could contain correct teachings to be "Nonsense", immediately insulting over a Billion Hindus alive today.

This response (amazingly) took my breath away. Even myself, one of the most cynical human beings on Earth when it comes to how low Christianity can go before it bursts into flames and (hopefully) disappears all together, couldn't believe how quickly this little bit of Q&A turned into a screed against tolerance of Eastern Religions.

I stopped reading after that, so forgive me if the author showed a hint of humanity in any further part of his Salem Witch Trials, 17th-Century antiquated style response to his thoughtful reader. But I wasn't capable of digesting anymore garbage from another Right-Wing Christian nutcase.

Instead I clicked on the Website's menu and spent a few seconds exploring the site. I was trying to understand what kind of appeal this Fire and Brimstone idiot could possibly have that his Website popped up near the top of Google's listings when I had been searching for the completely unrelated History of Vedic Literature.

First thing I saw was that the Author has written multiple books about the Christian Fundamentalist view of modern Science and the Theory of Evolution.

Now, there's nothing unusual about Religious leaders twisting themselves into pretzels to fit their views into our modern understanding of the Universe around us. Every Religion does this to a degree. What's breathtaking about this guy is the audaciousness with which he attacks modernity in Science. He sounds more like a 16th-Century Daemonoligist than a modern Religious thinker.

And a quick scroll through the Website's main Menu immediately reveals the man's obsession with "Apologetics" among Christians. Clearly this guy really believes that Christians are running around apologizing for their beliefs, like they probably should be but that's for another time. Just that word, "Apologetics" pops up (no joke) SIX TIMES in the Main Menu ALONE! (This guy's obsession is already creeping me out and I haven't even clicked on anything yet!)

The obsession with "Apologetics," as he calls it, is so top of the guy's mind that he includes Podcasts on the subject and EVEN A POWERPOINT PRESENTATION ON IT!

At this point I just wanted to confront the guy about his extreme obsession and his seething anger with Religious tolerance, but quickly realized this Website of his, with all his books, audio files, PowerPoints, and Q&A screeds curiously doesn't include any possible way to contact him. Unlike most Religious websites, no Email address, phone number, office address or anything else is listed on the Website. Clearly this man has interest in having his views challenged by outsiders. In fact his Q&A response makes it quite clear he has no appreciation for even his fans thinking outside the box.

It's people like this that make America such a scary place for logical thinking, educated young people these days. And is a big reason why our Generation and younger upcoming Generations show little interest in Organized religion at all. Even among deeply Religious young Evangelicals, large portions are rejecting the organized Churches and Religious Organizations.

This rejection isn't because of "Leftists" poisoning their minds with tolerance of Transexual bathroom usage. It's the fact that these organized Religious institutions can barely disguise their hatred for tolerance and Science.

If Religious folks who have kids or grandkids who no longer attend Church and they're wondering why, they can look no further than Men (and it almost always is White middle aged Men) who espouse antiquated ideas that have no place in a modern culture.

I'm A Search And Rescue Officer For The US Forest Service, I Have Some Stories To Tell

by searchandrescuewoods.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 (Final)

One of the topics that I get asked about a lot, here and in real life, involve things like The Rake, the Wendigo, and other related legends. I can't honestly say that I know a lot about any of them, but based on some light reading I did I can say that I've heard stories that seem to be loosely related to them. You've heard the old adage that legends like that come from somewhere, and I'm sure that's true, but as you all know I do try to take things with a grain of salt. You have to, out here. It's sort of like working in a hospital, I'd imagine. You could spend all day thinking about how many people have died there, and how there are probably ghosts, or whatever you want to call them, all over the place, but it doesn't do you any good. It just makes it harder to do your job. I think a lot of us feel that way, and that's why we try to just go about our work like everything is fine. Once you get paranoid, there's not really any going back, and a lot of cadets quit because of it. My park especially seems to have a high turn-over rate because the cadets graduate and get so freaked out about everything, and they can't seem to let it go. You have to learn to internalize things and shut off.

I've talked to K.D a bit about her experience, because I wanted to know what she thought about the Wendigo. She didn't really have anything in particular to say about it, aside from that she didn't want to think about it that much, but she told me a friend of hers had had something similar happen. I contacted this person, H, over Skype, and they agreed to talk to me a bit. They're aware of my work here, and they're fine with me posting the story exactly as they wrote it:

"I grew up in Central Oregon, and there's a reservation called Warm Springs about two or so hours from where I lived. I only mention that because a lot of people in my area have friends there, and a lot of the land in that area belongs to that tribe. When I was a kid, we used to go camping up there. Not on the res, of course, but in that area, and I met a lot of kids who grew up there. I got to know one kid really well, his name was Nolan, and we ended up hanging out a lot when our families were in the area. Our folks got to know each other so we'd all get in touch and camp out around the same time. We'd camp for about two weeks, so we were out there for a long time. [I asked him if he camped in an RV.] Yeah, my dad had one, so I guess it wasn't really camping but we'd take our tents and stuff and set them up out away from camp most nights. I didn't like sleeping in there because I like being outside. [We talked for a bit about camping]

So anyway, sorry, one year Nolan and I were out there, I think we must have been like twelve or so. We wanted to go out and camp near the river because we wanted to try night fishing, I think we must have been about a third of a mile from the main camp. Far enough away that we couldn't hear or see anyone else, I remember that. We were messing around most of the day, I don't really remember much about it, but we ended up building a fire at some point and I was really impressed because he had this flint or something that he used to start it. I'd never seen anyone do that before so I thought it was pretty cool. I got him to teach me how to do it and we lit some stuff on fire, which looking back was really stupid because it was the middle of fucking summer, and if I remember right the fire warning was either at yellow or orange. But thankfully we didn't start anything major, and when it got dark we sat around and talked about whatever it is twelve year olds talk about, I don't really remember. What I do remember is that at some point, he looked over my shoulder at the river and asked me if I could see something.

The way our camp was set up, we were about ten feet from the river, and we were at the widest point, so it was probably about twenty feet to the other bank. It gets hot up there in the summer but the water's still cold, which is important.

I look over my shoulder and I could see something wading into the river on the other side. From where we were it looked like a deer but we couldn't really tell because of the fire. I got up to look closer and I saw a pair of antlers, so I figured it was a buck. But I thought it was weird that it was wading into the water, and it was definitely heading for us, and I asked Nolan what he thought we should do. He's looking at the fire with this weird expression and he tells me to sit down and shut up, so I do, because I'd never seen him act that way before. He's whispering at me to ignore it, and to just keep talking like we were but I couldn't think of anything to say. He was saying something about an episode of some show, but I could hear the deer coming through the water, so I wasn't really paying any attention, and I kept trying to see over his shoulder, but every time I did he'd sort of hit me on the arm and make me look at him. I wasn't really scared, I remember, I was just sort of confused. But then I hear the deer come out of the water, and I could kind of make out what it looked like, and I realized it wasn't a deer because whatever it was was walking on two legs. I started to get up, I was super freaked out, but Nolan just yanked me back down and talked louder about this television show, and I could tell he was just as scared as I was, probably even more. He leaned in and poked the fire with a stick, and he whispered that whatever I do, I can't speak to it. I could see it come closer, and it stood right behind Nolan's back. I was about ready to pee my pants, and I think I'd probably have run if I'd been alone, but I didn't want to leave Nolan, so I kept sitting really still and sneaking glances at it. It wasn't that tall, but the way it carried itself was just wrong, like its center of balance was screwed up. I can't really describe it, but it was kind of like it kept shifting too far forward. It just stood there behind Nolan for a long time, and eventually Nolan ran out of things to say and we just kind of sat there for a second. The fire was making noise, but I thought I could hear this thing talking in a really low voice. I couldn't hear what it was saying, and I leaned forward a tiny little bit, and I actually DID pee my pants when it leaned forward too. I couldn't see its face, but I saw its eyes.

They were cloudy and milky, and if you want to know what they looked like, find that scene from Lord of the Rings where Frodo falls in that lake and all the dead people are floating toward him. That's what its eyes looked like. So all I saw were these two white eyes floating above Nolan's head, and the really vague shape of the antlers coming out of its head. I don't know what my face looked like but at exactly the same time Nolan and I fucking booked it out of there, and we ran non-stop until we got back to the main camp. My pants were soaked with pee, so I took them off as we were running and threw them in the bushes. We both stopped once we were in front of my dad's RV and we couldn't see anything chasing us, so we stood there and caught our breath. I asked him what that thing was but he said he didn't know. He said his grandpa had only warned him that if anything ever came up to him when he was out in the desert, he was never, ever supposed to talk to it or listen to anything it had to say. I wanted to know if he'd heard it talking too, and he said that the only thing he'd been able to understand was 'help you'. I think we ended up sleeping in the RV with my parents, and the next night we went back out and didn't see anything.

That does remind me, in a lot of ways, of the Wendigo legend. There's a phrase used to describe it that I think fits perfectly, which is that the Wendigo is 'the spirit of the lonely places.' I know sometimes when I'm out in the wilds, where I know there's no one around me for miles and miles, I get this weird kind of craving that I can't really explain. I don't know if it happens to anyone else, but it's this desire to consume. It's not like I crave anything in particular, but more of this weird, distracting hunger that comes from every part of my gut.

I also wanted to find out more about the faceless man, if I was able, and found a few similar things. I asked around my circle of friends, and one of them said when he was out doing repairs at a park in his area, he saw something kind of like that.

We were having dinner in town, five of us including myself. This guy, he was re-painting an information booth and heard a man ask him for directions to the nearest campsite. He didn't turn around because he was up on a ladder, but he informed the man that there weren't any campsites nearby, but that if he headed down the road about four miles, he'd find one at another park. He asked if he could be of any other help, but the man said no, and thanked him. My friend said he kept painting, but he was listening, and never heard the man leave.

"The second he came up and talked to me, the hairs on my neck stood up, but I wasn't sure why. I just had this really uneasy feeling about the whole thing, and I wanted to finish painting and get out of there. I figured maybe part of it was that I couldn't turn around to look at him, but something just felt off. There was also this weird smell floating around even before the guy talked to me, kind of like old period blood. I had looked around to see what was causing it but I didn't find anything. So I waited for the guy to walk away, but I didn't hear him leave, which made me think he was just standing there and watching me, so I asked again if I could do anything for him, and he didn't answer. I knew he was there though, because I hadn't heard him leave, so I did this awkward turn on the ladder to look down and see what he was doing. Now I admit it could have just been my brain fucking up, but I swear to you, Russ, for a split second when I turned around, that fucker didn't have a face. Like he had no face. It was almost concave, and totally smooth, and I just about had a fucking heart attack because I couldn't even wrap my brain around what I was seeing. I think I started to say something but there was this kind of 'pop' inside my head and suddenly he was just a normal looking guy. I must have looked weird because he asked me if I was okay, and I was just like 'yeah, I'm fine.' He asks about the campsite again and I point to where he has to go, and he's like 'I'm not from around here, can you help me get there?' Now this is when I know something is really up because there's no way this guy got out here and didn't know where he was. And for that matter, there's no car around, so how'd he get here in the first place? I said I was sorry but that I couldn't take him anywhere in a company vehicle, and he's like 'please? I really don't know where I am, can you come with me and help me get there?' So now I'm seriously weirded out, and I start wondering if this is some kind of ambush or whatever. I told him I could call him a taxi to come out and take him where he wants to go, and I pull out my phone and he just goes 'no' and walks away really quickly. But he doesn't walk out of the park, he walks back into the fucking trees and I got right in my fucking truck and start to get out of there, fuck the paint or whatever. I looked in my mirror to see where he was as I was leaving and he was standing right at the tree line again, I don't know how he got there so fast, but this time I know that fucker didn't have a face. He was just watching me leave, and right before I turned the corner he took a big step back into the trees and kind of dissolved, I guess. Maybe it was just dark so he blended in, but it felt more like he just melted away."

Interestingly, right after this guy finished his story, someone else, piped up with another one, but with a slightly different twist.

"You know actually, I had something sort of weird like that happen a while back. I was out doing some trail scouting, and I was out in the middle of nowhere figuring out where we were gonna have this trail run through. I hadn't seen anyone else for probably a good two hours, so I wasn't really paying attention to where I was going, I was just looking at the ground for the most part. Then out of nowhere, I crested this little hill and almost ran into this guy. He was older, probably in his sixties, and I started to apologize to him for running into him. And then I noticed his face, and I probably looked like a complete douchebag because I stopped and just stared at him. It took me a second to figure out what was wrong, but this guy's face was huge. I know that sounds weird, but that's the only way I can describe it. His head wasn't big or anything, it was normal, but the amount of space his face took up was just way too much. Like if you took someone's face and enlarged it all by about two times. He doesn't say anything, he just kind of looks at me, and I backed up and was kind of stuttering and saying I was sorry, and I went around him and fucking got out of there and did what I needed to do. The whole time, I kept looking behind me because I was so freaked out that he'd pop up behind me or something. I know it sounds ridiculous but I swear to you it was one of the creepiest things I've ever seen."

I switched the topic to the stairs a little later, and there was a definite shift in enthusiasm. No one spoke up at first; there is a real stigma around discussing them, even when we're away from work. But I broke the ice with a story of my own, and the guy who told the story about the faceless man told this one, albeit very quietly.

"Couple years ago, I was camping with my girlfriend, and were out about two miles from the road at this site I know. We went to bed that night, but we couldn't sleep because-"

Someone interjected a funny comment, and we were dangerously close to going off on another subject, but I got us back on track.

"-yeah, really funny, you fucker. No, it was because we kept hearing that grinding noise. My brother used to grind his teeth in his sleep, and it kind of reminds me of that. My girlfriend was freaking out but I just kept telling her to ignore it because I've heard it before and you just have to ignore it. It goes away eventually, you guys know what I mean."

We all knew what he meant.

"So eventually I got her to go to sleep, but I woke up probably two hours later because something was just off. I rolled over and she wasn't there, and I kind of freaked out, because..."

He thought for a second and then he took a very long drink.

"Anyway, I ran out of the tent calling her name, but I didn't have to go far. She was standing at the edge of the camp looking at something in the trees and I could see she was really pale. The fire was low but bright enough to see her. Anyway, so I ran up to see what was going on and she was dead asleep, but her eyes were open. She had this real spaced-out look, y'know. So I put my arm around her to lead her back, but she wouldn't move. She just said really quietly something like 'I have to go now, Eddie. I have to go, it's here.' I was like 'you're just sleepwalking, come back to bed' but she wouldn't budge. She just kept standing there and saying that she had to go. And I looked where she was looking, and there was a fucking staircase right there about fifteen yards away. Grey one, concrete. And she started to walk toward it but I yanked her back and that woke her up. She looked at me like I was fucking out of my mind, and she asked what the fuck she was doing out of the tent. I didn't tell her anything, I just told her she was sleepwalking. The grinding was gone, so she just went back to the tent with me and fell asleep again. I don't know... I don't like thinking about it, y'know?"

We all knew.

"You guys remember that kid with... I can't remember what it was, some kind of brain fuck-up, not Down's but something like it." Someone else brought up. "Well I got to read the report he gave when they found him a week after he went missing and it was fucked up beyond belief. I mean you have to take it with a grain of salt because who knows what that kid actually thinks is real, but some of this stuff, I don't think he could have made up."

"Like what?"

"Well first of all, he talked about the stairs. He said he'd been watching his dad build a fire and the stairs 'came up to him', and he had to go up them or something bad would happen. The cops couldn't really understand what he was talking about after that, because he just kept saying 'like the campfire' over and over. And he kept mentioning sounds, but he couldn't say what sounds, just that it was loud and he covered his ears so he couldn't hear them. But the thing I remember most is that they asked him where exactly he'd gone, and he just said he was right there. He kept pointing at himself, and they said they thought that meant that he thought he'd never left. He said he wasn't scared because the stairs were there and he said they talked to him, but not like people talk. Like I said, it was really convoluted and hard to understand, and I have a feeling the cops didn't take most of it down. They ended up just saying that the kid had some kind of amnesia or fugue, and that they didn't think foul play was involved. Doesn't really explain why he came back a week later perfectly fine without a speck of dirt on him and well fed, but hey, what the cops say goes."

I need a fix cus I'm going down

Made the mistake of appraising myself sufficiently healthy to attend a bonfire with normal decent tax-payer type folks. Stood up too fast in my chair and blacked out completely, hit my head on concrete. When I came to i had no earthly fucking memory of having driven to the bonfire, nor could i really recall the names of the three concerned hipsters perched over my limp doughy abscessed jaundiced shit heap of a body. Told them it was a problem with blood sugar, i had forgotten to imbibe my afternoon orange juice! Translation-haven’t slept in four days, taking in roughly two hundred calories a day all in ginger ale. Meth heads opt to sustain themselves on a diet of paranoid resentment in lieu of proteins and grains. The cook gets super spun and lectures us like we’re babes about the dark leftist forces presently waging war on the masculinity of the white man-for one thing, he's convinced that jews run the porn industry and that fucking pornhub is riddled with overtures both overt and subliminal intended to brainwash white guys into identifying as weak and feminine and to associate men of color with heroism and strength. He also believes that soy causes gender dysphoria. All of these batshit crazy delusions act like stars in the broad constellation of the cooks worst dystopian fears-a workforce with no room left for traditionally male-centered leadership characteristics dominated from top-down by a host of future ladies who make their trade in creative collaboration, rather than fear and theft of other peoples ideas. Without a need for a provider, our nazi-bespectacled methamphetamine cook envisions a new sexual economy in which women will jettison their attachments to the family structure in favor of like, industrialism, i guess, and men will have no other resort but a desperate turn to cross-dressing and dick-taking and i guess maybe stitching scarves. It was at this point that i was really tempted to tell the cook something he needs to hear-if you really believe that large shadow societies are orchestrating history just cus they want to make you some dudes boyfriend, its probably cus part of you wants to be. I get that, sucking dick is a blast. if you’re terrified that you can’t compete in a post-modern job market, it might just be because you aren’t. There’s no place left for cowboys or outlaws or methcooks cus those professions only make sense in the context of an insanely violent frontier. You feel obsolete and useless because you are, but make no mistake, that hurt has nothing to do with the world everything to do with your soul being severely malnourished. I know cus mine is too! Real moral christian courage is showing up to your crucifixion with a smile on your face ready to graciously thank the romans for every nail they put through your wrist. You feel empty because your a paranoid fascist meth cook, i feel bad cus I'm a junkie. We are bad. The nazi pilots who blitzed france in two sleepless, speed-fueled nights probably felt fucking fantastic, as if they were aloft on the trade winds of history itself and their momentum across europe must have seemed like proof enough of the moral righteousness of the german cause. But then the morning comes and the meth wears off and your skin smells like piss and your back aches and you can’t stop grinding your jaw and the first wave of survivors begin to trickle out from the camps and presumably in that moment a few nazis had the epiphany-that the very same starved beaten traumatized jewish women and men and children they had aspired to extinguish from human memory were now going to tell the story of what had happened. Power loses, grace is its own kingdom, etc etc. Furthermore those german officers who managed to transition back to civilian life and start families must have experienced a very strange new parental dynamic-can you imagine a family at a dinner table and the proud head of household instructs his small son to finish his vegetables and after pausing to mull it over for a few moments his son turns to him and says Father having thought about it a great deal i don’t think ill be following your instructions-after all you were only following instructions yourself when you helped to engineer the greatest cruelty in human history! To which ostensibly the father mumbles to clear his throat and asks his wife to pass the potato salad. Not even to invoke the possibility that the Fuhrer himself Mr. Adolph Hitler probably died surrounded by a swarm of shadow people, fucking hilarious just the thought, him yelling in that distinctive manic patois of his that he’s the leader and the abeyance of his will is sacrosanct blah blah blah while the little invisible mites under his pale skin shift and swell and scratch and the shadow people dancing around his peripheral vision taunting and cajoling and ridiculing him and the absurdity of his final solution and because he didn’t know speed the way we now know speed he probably didn’t know anything about the shadow people at all from his perspective they might just as well have been the ghosts of his victims come to taunt and ridicule him in his lowest hour pointing and laughing and daring him to pull the trigger!   

The same entitlement motivates the mass shooter who imagines a world full of seven billion perfect strangers as an attack on his rightful pursuit of happiness. No one will sleep with him and he can’t make sense of his place in a world built on fucking so he begins to indulge in fantasies of coercion, revenging himself on the very public space he so craved Now if our hypothetical douchebag had any pretense of self-awareness he might have looked into the possibility of adopting several dogs, and in turn coming to see his life as a story about caring unconditionally for animals. That’s a helluva life-Saint Francis got into the catholic hall of fame for doing not a whole lot more. Or perhaps he could adjust his expectations of intimacy in consideration of the countless plain-to middling-to ugly folks who are forced to come to terms with the truth early on that all of our bodies are grotesque and hideously deformed billboard advertisements for our big beautiful impossibly dense souls-come see a kernel of divine inspiration made self-aware, shimmering in the glory of creation,  just two exits past the tits and chin and ankles and all the rest of our faulty parts. 

Now a discerning reader(however unlikely you’d be to find one in an audience consisting of absolutely fucking nobody lol) might have already begun to detect a certain heady strain of hypocrisy in this authors conclusion. Because while I'm not much of anything the one thing i certainly am is a self-destructive drug addict. So maybe its one thing for me to make fun of the cook for his wrath-filled flu-stricken infants tantrum of a way of viewing the world, assigning to his solipsism a generation-hopping solidarity with his nazi forefathers who came before and identifying in his politics the germinal seed of fascisms future, a politics so personal and self-contained that every divorce will be debated as if it were a stand in for larger cultural decay, every morning hangover a portent of spiritual decline, the vitals of the stock market remeasured and reassessed each time someone finds on the sidewalk a loose dollar bill. Political assemblies with real largesse exclusively devoted to trolling the instagram of a nebraskan man named doug’s now ex-wife  for pictures of her maui vacation with husband number two drinking mojitos on a beach with sand bleached white as bone and both of them grinning with surgical precision an opulent almost confrontational kind of public grinning Doug couldn't recall that bitch ever having felt for him and the kids off playing in the surf and well how could any concerned and conscientious citizen fail to see the basic threat to democracy that whole scene represents? Donald Trump is probably the loneliest man in the world. He’s never met another person. He spends his time wandering the halls of his head checking for reoccurrences of his own reflection, a lifetime spent pathologically re-telling the same story about how he came to be the most powerful person in the world, so that by the time he really became who he had always pretended to be, the most influential figure in the free world, he had long-since bought into his own fraud to such a great extent that even the real thing couldn’t compare. Only a selfishness and self-centeredness as grandiloquent as his could explain the mindset of the modern mass shooter and the micro-politics informing him. He confuses his head for the world and then becomes enraged when it won’t do as he wishes, cursing the rain for its cold lash against his shoulder where he’d rather there have rested warm summer glow, furious at the thought of all the people he would never meet in far-off places he would never see who never paid him any attention whatsoever. Playing peek-a-boo a little bit of cheating peer through chubby fingers arrayed like a geisha’s fan and for the first time see that objects don’t disappear without our gaze to ontologically anchor them to earth. What a hurt. Now it might be technically correct that my addiction does to my loving family what the selfishness of the mass shooter does to public space. It intrudes like an alien thing and turns the air chilly in our childhood home and it transforms the medicine cabinet into a contested territory in need of defensive fortification and now that Cassies marriage has crashed on the rocks of addiction nobody could blame her if she never allowed another addict to darken her doorstep again and there was the sight of Jan opening my trucks passenger side door and a few rigs fell out onto the floor and all the spoons in the house have one side burnt-and-bruised like a black-eye you say you got from falling down a flight of stairs despite body language that says something entirely else why is it we don’t have a single spoon in the house what ghost spends all night punching the walls full of holes 

recently went to an Alanon meeting to sneak a glimpse of how the other half lives...this lady said my addiction is to loving my addict. Bawled rivers out from red raw-rubbed rubber eyes and said my addiction is to my addict Not her person or qualifier or partner but her addict. Syntax almost seeming to suggest that something about the existential plight of the addict gets her intoxicated dizzy on pain. It’s quaint though cus that sort of sentiment is for fucking rookies-guarantee you no ones crying over me like a romantic. Not anymore. My thing these days is of a distinctly more shakespearian strand of tragedy, with wittgenstein and derrida’s influences also undeniable. I’m sick now in a way where people stop crying and praying you’ll find God and change and decide instead it’d be easier to just cross the street. Schizophrenics lost in a chorus meant only just for them, apocalyptic street preachers who stand on soap boxes while reeking of shit and give voice to visions of an America not our own, an alternate dimension where european arrival at the shores of the new world stalled out somewhere halfway across the pacific ocean on a wave so tall it scraped the heavens and America grew up a nation of nomads who set their watches to the rumbling migration of herds of buffalo and not even the highest priest could dream of a more beautiful idea than that of motion, movement without cease, the only acceptable fixed still frozen property being the burial mounds where the dead went after all their motion had gone-if they could view us on the other side of the looking glass stolen away in our own personal homes they would almost certainly come to the conclusion that this place where we live is just the land of the dead, a negative photograph of everything vital and good. Who would i be to disagree though, right? 

The point is anyway that some alchemical reaction of A. Mental illness and B. Amphetamine abuse has more or less stranded me in words. Verbs and nouns and adjectives and adverbs in place of sky and grass. What Fredric Jameson called the prison house of language. Where derrida’s difference goes to play for eternity, never quite meaning what it had meant to say. What shook wittgenstein speechless. The president’s rhetoric so hollow that you can almost see him suffering a kind of dementia or spiritual torpor that results from the badness of his faith. Chewing and chomping consonants and sounds till they all are made to mush and shearing syllable after syllable off the network of signification until all that’s left is one satellite pinging a distress call hello is anyone there off of its own side. It’s own side like Adam plucked Eve from his rib and said put on this dress-after they ate the fruit and God cast him/her out to walk the world alone reportedly God said have fun all alone you worthless slut. Imagine trumps final state of the union-i am very sick, i have been alone for as long as I can remember, i wish i hadn’t lied so often, i wish i had occasionally told the truth, i would trade all of it to have known just one person. 

Anyways, barring that miracle of political theater, the body gets sick and dissolves while the spirit is lost in words. I’d like to die in a bathroom stall in haughville with a rig stuck in my arm and the words I'm sorry stuck at the tip of my tongue and God decides to show some compassion and makes me a deal says you were never much good to people didn’t believe in a thing but you sure could do some impressive vomiting up of nonsense words and so what ill do is your soul will dissolve and turn into ink and for the rest of eternity you’ll be a naughty joke or a half-scribbled doggerel scrawled on the wall of a piss-soaked bathroom stall in the ghetto or you could say call this number here for a good time and don’t forget to ask for large marge and nobody’d ever suspect you were trapped in there or maybe a joke like this favorite of mine about my son it goes something like Jesus Christ was a God-awful carpenter, couldn’t pull a nail to save his own life. Christ was a God-awful, couldn’t pull a nail to save his own life. Couldn't pull a nail. Christ was God-awful. Couldn’t nail his own couldn’t save a carpenter terrible couldn’t pull god-awful a terrible carpenter he couldn’t pull a nail to save his own life. I can’t pull this nail to save my own life. It’s right there sticking out of my wrist, but for whatever reason I just can’t find the right words to pull it out he was a carpenter who couldn’t pull a nail even if his life depended on it couldn't save his own life he couldn't-

For a good time call this number 1-555-555-5555 and don’t forget to ask for-

Ack sorry about sending another pitch question (I know you said something about people sending those) but you mentioned you pitched a show twice, and since I'm a creeper, I read the tags and you said the pitch wasn't how we'd think they'd be; how were they, then, out of curiosity? If I ever pitch a show, in your position, what should I expect? What exactly happened? Sorry for asking all these questions; you've been my inspiration for a while and I hope I can pitch my own show someday!! Thank you

Oh no, that’s fine!  I don’t mind telling my experience with it, and I’ve even given pitching tips before, but this post is about the extent of my knowledge.  (You can also just search my blog for “pitch”, ‘cause I’ve reblogged stuff from other people that actually KNOW what they’re talking about, haha)  I just don’t want people under the impression that I’m super experienced with it, or that I’ve ever pitched to a big deal network or producer.  I absolutely haven’t.  I have exactly 2 pitching experiences.  The first one was a few years ago at an event in Nashville called “Film-Com”, which is an annual trade show/expo event for financing and distributing filmmaking projects.  Basically you get a booth, and you set up in this convention center with all these other aspiring creators (filmmakers, documentary people, a few video game/new media folks, all sorts), and they’ve invited a WHOLE SWATH of producers and industry professionals to come mull around the show floor with you so you can make connections and get your product out there EAT FREE MEALS and then idk, maybe fuckin’ walk around a bit and look at your dumb shitty projects if they fuckin’ feel like it but they probably wont, so what ends up happening is all the creators just walk around and look at each others’ shit, which for me—being the only animator there—means that a bunch of other jack-knobs who have some vague idea for a shitty cartoon end up giving me THEIR card so that maybe in the future I can work on THEIR dumbfuck ideas.ANYWAY, to get to the point, they selected certain projects and scheduled them to actually go up and pitch in front of a whole room full of producers.  This happened over the course of the whole day, so I suspect the reason none of the producers were walking around interacting with people is ‘cause they were stuck in a room all day hearing 30 different suck-ass pitches and when it was all said and done they were probably exhausted.  I was scheduled as the last pitch of the day.  I enter the room and wait patiently; the person before me is running about 10 minutes over their allotted time.  I scan the room… everyone is MISERABLE.  They’re anxious, they’re uninterested, they’re sighing… the main guy who’s sort of monitoring the whole thing is pinching his brow and trying his best to keep up the pretense of politeness in telling the current pitcher to wrap it up.  NONE of these people want to be here anymore.  It seems like everyone’s spent the whole day “warming ‘em up” for me, but now they’re all sweaty and miserable, so I can either go up there and give another mediocre pitch, OR I can go up there and try my goddamn hardest to make them laugh. 

I go up on stage, just IMMEDIATELY force myself to get over any fears I have, and I pitch W2H.  I screen a short mock trailer I made (no way I’d force them to sit through that whole fucking thing), and it’s sort of like a fever dream, because I can see all of the life returning to their faces, they’re WAY into it, I’m doing fucking GREAT somehow, despite literally zero experience… and when it was all said and done, it became abundantly clear that even though they all LOVED it, not a single one of them could help me.  None of them were animation producers.  None of them KNEW animation producers.  One guy suggested I go into comics, because “comics get turned into film and tv shows all the time”.  I just had the PERFECT fucking pitch, and I pitched to people who couldn’t fucking help me.  As I was leaving, many of them came up to me and actually thanked me for sending them off for the day on a good note.  There was a big dinner at like, the fucking Governers’ mansion or something that night, and again, some of them were coming up to me and thanking me, wishing me the best and all that.  I guess if nothing else, I learned what I’m capable of.

The second pitch was an ACTUAL disaster.  When I’d first graduated I thought I could pitch W2H to Frederator, ‘cause it seemed like a good fit.  They told me (understandably) that they couldn’t reverse-engineer a show from something I’d already produced, and also that it was inappropriate (despite having a show at the time called “SuperFuckers”, but whatever; language and subject matter are different things).  Later on I got an email from them, saying that someone in their office was familiar with my work, and they invited me to come pitch them something that wasn’t W2H.  They also said that I was free to swing by their office any time, even “just to hang out”, and that if I had any questions “whether it be pitching or where to get the best burgers in Burbank”, to hit them up.  How friendly!  How perfect!  I was JUST about to move out to L.A., so I started working on this idea tentatively called “Gayliens”.  I swung by their office once, you know, just to pop in, like they said; thought I’d make myself known or whatever.  They looked at me like I was nuts.  They still invited me in and we chatted for a bit about the history of early Disney studios, but when they asked why I was there, and I reminded them about the email they’d sent, they seemed to have no idea what I was talking about.  I told them I was working on a pitch for them and that I’d be in touch so we could schedule something.  When I finally finished putting my pitch together, I went in for a meeting with them.  It was just 2 folks, we were in like a board meeting-type room (which I imagine is probably standard).  They made some small talk with me first, which I’m sure was an attempt to loosen us all up a bit and set the mood, but all of their questions really caught me off guard.  (I guess they asked where I was working, and when I told them I didn’t have a studio job, they asked how I was making money, and I’m sure it wasn’t meant to put me in an awkward position, but people asking me how I make money literally ALWAYS puts me in an awkward position, because my income sources are scattered and weird.  Try explaining how youtube ad revenue works to your social services worker, it’s a blast.) SO okay, I let myself get tripped up a bit.  I go on with the pitch; they don’t really want me to pitch the concept, they just have me show them my storyboards and read through the whole thing.  They’re DEAD silent the whole time.  I can’t get a read on them at all.  When it’s over, they ask me some more questions that trip me up.  Some of them are 100% my fault; they asked for a title, and I wasn’t ready to say “Oh, it’s tentatively called GAYLIENS,” out loud to people who I couldn’t get a read from.  

It’s all kind of a blur, but the few topics of discussion I remember them bringing up were that “the storyboards look almost TOO good”, like it was TOO polished or well-developed (which is sort of a backhanded compliment I guess???), because see, “when they made Adventure Time… blah blah blah it just started off as this loose idea, and once they were a season or so into it, they started expanding on the universe and developing the characters a little bit more…” — AS IF ANYONE doesn’t understand why AT got so popular???  You don’t have to TELL ME, I WAS WATCHING IT, I FUCKING KNOW.  No one gave a shit about AT until they got Rebecca Sugar and all these talented writers working on it a couple seasons in, and doing all this character-heavy shit.  I tried to present them with something that had all that character shit baked into it already, ‘cause I knew they were gonna’ use AT as an example.  But it seemed like they’re not looking for something that’s already developed with it’s own voice or sensibility, they’re looking for a vague idea that they can mold into something as they go.  

They also told me–and I still can’t get over this–that they’re looking for “”””””characters that people will want to cosplay as””””””, which is funny to me for a plethora of reasons; namely that they have no way of knowing that PEOPLE DO COSPLAY AS MY CHARACTERS, but also that I spent half of my time in college working on ridiculous magical girl Adventure Time crossover group cosplays (don’t fuckin’ laugh) like trust me I’m ALARMINGLY familiar with cosplay, and ALSO, that looking for a new property with the guidelines that it should be “the next big thing that some fucking nerds will dress up as at comic con” just seems like such an out-of-touch-but-trying-to-be-hip, capitalize-on your-fandom-doing-all-the-legwork-for-you, fucking executive thing to say.  I know I sound like a whiny art school kid saying that but my animation instructor was so anti-establishment, and I carry a lot of that with me still, and something about that statement–insignificant as it may be–kind of epitomizes how I feel about the industry?  It’s a hard thing to explain. I walked out of that pitch with my mind feeling like TV static.  My friends were waiting for me next door at a bakery and they were super excited, asking me how it went, and I was just like “I mean… BAD, for sure, but I don’t know where to even start.”  Hahaha.  I don’t know.  It just seems like everyone wants to play gatekeeper I guess.  They want This Thing™, but it can’t be too This Thing™.  They want the thing to have A Fandom™, but they don’t really understand fandom ‘cause they don’t participate in fandom.  They want Your Idea™ but they want to make it Their Idea™.  I don’t know.  I’m just angry and bitter and that’s my experience with pitching.  Admittedly some of what went wrong in these pitches was my fault, or there were circumstances beyond my control, and regardless of how that pitch went, I don’t actually dislike Frederator (I’m on their youtube network), and Fred Seibert has actually done a ton of iconic shit.I don’t think I’ve ever AIRED MY GRIEVANCES in such great detail before, but there you have it.  If you want some tips on pitching, you can check out the links I provided at the beginning of the post; there’s tons of people out there who actually know their shit too, and they’d probably give more proactive advice.  I don’t know if this helps at all, but hopefully you can glean something from it!  That’s just my limited experience with it.  Haha.  Good luck!  

There is something ungodly about these night wire jobs. You sit up here on the top floor of a skyscraper and listen in to the whispers of a civilization. New York, London, Calcutta, Bombay, Singapore -- they're your next-door neighbors after the streetlights go dim and the world has gone to sleep. Alone in the quiet hours between two and four, the receiving operators doze over their sounders and the news comes in. Fires and disasters and suicides. Murders, crowds, catastrophes. Sometimes an earthquake with a casualty list as long as your arm. The night wire man takes it down almost in his sleep, picking it off on his typewriter with one finger. Once in a long time you prick up your ears and listen. You've heard of some one you knew in Singapore, Halifax or Paris, long ago. Maybe they've been promoted, but more probably they've been murdered or drowned. Perhaps they just decided to quit and took some bizarre way out. Made it interesting enough to get in the news. But that doesn't happen often. Most of the time you sit and doze and tap, tap on your typewriter and wish you were home in bed. Sometimes, though, queer things happen. One did the other night, and I haven't got over it yet. I wish I could. You see, I handle the night manager's desk in a western seaport town; what the name is, doesn't matter. There is, or rather was, only one night operator on my staff, a fellow named John Morgan, about forty years of age, I should say, and a sober, hard-working sort. He was one of the best operators I ever knew, what is known as a "double" man. That means he could handle two instruments at once and type the stories on different typewriters at the same time. He was one of the three men I ever knew who could do it consistently, hour after hour, and never make a mistake. Generally, we used only one wire at night, but sometimes, when it was late and the news was coming fast, the Chicago and Denver stations would open a second wire, and then Morgan would do his stuff. He was a wizard, a mechanical automatic wizard which functioned marvelously but was without imagination. On the night of the sixteenth he complained of feeling tired. It was the first and last time I had ever heard him say a word about himself, and I had known him for three years. It was just three o'clock and we were running only one wire. I was nodding over the reports at my desk and not paying much attention to him, when he spoke. "Jim," he said, "does it feel close in here to you?" "Why, no, John," I answered, "but I'll open a window if you like." "Never mind," he said. "I reckon I'm just a little tired." That was all that was said, and I went on working. Every ten minutes or so I would walk over and take a pile of copy that had stacked up neatly beside the typewriter as the messages were printed out in triplicate. It must have been twenty minutes after he spoke that I noticed he had opened up the other wire and was using both typewriters. I thought it was a little unusual, as there was nothing very "hot" coming in. On my next trip I picked up the copy from both machines and took it back to my desk to sort out the duplicates. The first wire was running out the usual sort of stuff and I just looked over it hurriedly. Then I turned to the second pile of copy. I remembered it particularly because the story was from a town I had never heard of: "Xebico." Here is the dispatch. I saved a duplicate of it from our files: "Xebico, Sept 16 CP BULLETIN "The heaviest mist in the history of the city settled over the town at 4 o'clock yesterday afternoon. All traffic has stopped and the mist hangs like a pall over everything. Lights of ordinary intensity fail to pierce the fog, which is constantly growing heavier. "Scientists here are unable to agree as to the cause, and the local weather bureau states that the like has never occurred before in the history of the city. "At 7 P.M. last night the municipal authorities... (more) That was all there was. Nothing out of the ordinary at a bureau headquarters, but, as I say, I noticed the story because of the name of the town. It must have been fifteen minutes later that I went over for another batch of copy. Morgan was slumped down in his chair and had switched his green electric light shade so that the gleam missed his eyes and hit only the top of the two typewriters. Only the usual stuff was in the righthand pile, but the lefthand batch carried another story from Xebico. All press dispatches come in "takes," meaning that parts of many different stories are strung along together, perhaps with but a few paragraphs of each coming through at a time. This second story was marked "add fog." Here is the copy: "At 7 P.M. the fog had increased noticeably. All lights were now invisible and the town was shrouded in pitch darkness. "As a peculiarity of the phenomenon, the fog is accompanied by a sickly odor, comparable to nothing yet experienced here." Below that in customary press fashion was the hour, 3:27, and the initials of the operator, JM. There was only one other story in the pile from the second wire. Here it is: "2nd add Xebico Fog. "Accounts as to the origin of the mist differ greatly. Among the most unusual is that of the sexton of the local church, who groped his way to headquarters in a hysterical condition and declared that the fog originated in the village churchyard. "'It was first visible as a soft gray blanket clinging to the earth above the graves,' he stated. 'Then it began to rise, higher and higher. A subterranean breeze seemed to blow it in billows, which split up and then joined together again. "'Fog phantoms, writhing in anguish, twisted the mist into queer forms and figures. And then, in the very thick midst of the mass, something moved. "'I turned and ran from the accursed spot. Behind me I heard screams coming from the houses bordering on the graveyard.' "Although the sexton's story is generally discredited, a party has left to investigate. Immediately after telling his story, the sexton collapsed and is now in a local hospital, unconscious." Queer story, wasn't it. Not that we aren't used to it, for a lot of unusual stories come in over the wire. But for some reason or other, perhaps because it was so quiet that night, the report of the fog made a great impression on me. It was almost with dread that I went over to the waiting piles of copy. Morgan did not move, and the only sound in the room was the tap-tap of the sounders. It was ominous, nerve- racking. There was another story from Xebico in the pile of copy. I seized on it anxiously. "New Lead Xebico Fog CP "The rescue party which went out at 11 P.M. to investigate a weird story of the origin of a fog which, since late yesterday, has shrouded the city in darkness has failed to return. Another and larger party has been dispatched. "Meanwhile, the fog has, if possible, grown heavier. It seeps through the cracks in the doors and fills the atmosphere with a depressing odor of decay. It is oppressive, terrifying, bearing with it a subtle impression of things long dead. "Residents of the city have left their homes and gathered in the local church, where the priests are holding services of prayer. The scene is beyond description. Grown folk and children are alike terrified and many are almost beside themselves with fear. "Amid the whisps of vapor which partly veil the church auditorium, an old priest is praying for the welfare of his flock. They alternately wail and cross themselves. "From the outskirts of the city may be heard cries of unknown voices. They echo through the fog in queer uncadenced minor keys. The sounds resemble nothing so much as wind whistling through a gigantic tunnel. But the night is calm and there is no wind. The second rescue party... (more)" I am a calm man and never in a dozen years spent with the wires, have I been known to become excited, but despite myself I rose from my chair and walked to the window. Could I be mistaken, or far down in the canyons of the city beneath me did I see a faint trace of fog? Pshaw! It was all imagination. In the pressroom the click of the sounders seemed to have raised the tempo of their tune. Morgan alone had not stirred from his chair. His head sunk between his shoulders, he tapped the dispatches out on the typewriters with one finger of each hand. He looked asleep, but no; endlessly, efficiently, the two machines rattled off line after line, as relentlessly and effortlessly as death itself. There was something about the monotonous movement of the typewriter keys that fascinated me. I walked over and stood behind his chair, reading over his shoulder the type as it came into being, word by word. Ah, here was another: "Flash Xebico CP "There will be no more bulletins from this office. The impossible has happened. No messages have come into this room for twenty minutes. We are cut off from the outside and even the streets below us. "I will stay with the wire until the end. "It is the end, indeed. Since 4 P.M. yesterday the fog has hung over the city. Following reports from the sexton of the local church, two rescue parties were sent out to investigate conditions on the outskirts of the city. Neither party has ever returned nor was any word received from them. It is quite certain now that they will never return. "From my instrument I can gaze down on the city beneath me. From the position of this room on the thirteenth floor, nearly the entire city can be seen. Now I can see only a thick blanket of blackness where customarily are lights and life. "I fear greatly that the wailing cries heard constantly from the outskirts of the city are the death cries of the inhabitants. They are constantly increasing in volume and are approaching the center of the city. "The fog yet hangs over everything. If possible, it is even heavier than before, but the conditions have changed. Instead of an opaque, impenetrable wall of odorous vapor, there now swirls and writhes a shapeless mass in contortions of almost human agony. Now and again the mass parts and I catch a brief glimpse of the streets below. "People are running to and fro, screaming in despair. A vast bedlam of sound flies up to my window, and above all is the immense whistling of unseen and unfelt winds. "The fog has again swept over the city and the whistling is coming closer and closer. "It is now directly beneath me. "God! An instant ago the mist opened and I caught a glimpse of the streets below. "The fog is not simply vapor -- it lives! By the side of each moaning and weeping human is a companion figure, an aura of strange and vari-colored hues. How the shapes cling! Each to a living thing! "The men and women are down. Flat on their faces. The fog figures caress them lovingly. They are kneeling beside them. They are -- but I dare not tell it. "The prone and writhing bodies have been stripped of their clothing. They are being consumed -- piecemeal. "A merciful wall of hot, steaming vapor has swept over the whole scene. I can see no more. "Beneath me the wall of vapor is changing colors. It seems to be lighted by internal fires. No, it isn't. I have made a mistake. The colors are from above, reflections from the sky. "Look up! Look up! The whole sky is in flames. Colors as yet unseen by man or demon. The flames are moving; they have started to intermix; the colors are rearranging themselves. They are so brilliant that my eyes burn, they are a long way off. "Now they have begun to swirl, to circle in and out, twisting in intricate designs and patterns. The lights are racing each with each, a kaleidoscope of unearthly brilliance. "I have made a discovery. There is nothing harmful in the lights. They radiate force and friendliness, almost cheeriness. But by their very strength, they hurt. "As I look, they are swinging closer and closer, a million miles at each jump. Millions of miles with the speed of light. Aye, it is light of quintessence of all light. Beneath it the fog melts into a jeweled mist radiant, rainbow-colored of a thousand varied spectra. "I can see the streets. Why, they are filled with people! The lights are coming closer. They are all around me. I am enveloped. I..." The message stopped abruptly. The wire to Xebico was dead. Beneath my eyes in the narrow circle of light from under the green lamp-shade, the black printing no longer spun itself, letter by letter, across the page. The room seemed filled with a solemn quiet, a silence vaguely impressive, powerful. I looked down at Morgan. His hands had dropped nervelessly at his sides, while his body had hunched over peculiarly. I turned the lamp-shade back, throwing light squarely in his face. His eyes were staring, fixed. Filled with a sudden foreboding, I stepped beside him and called Chicago on the wire. After a second the sounder clicked its answer. Why? But there was something wrong. Chicago was reporting that Wire Two had not been used throughout the evening. "Morgan!" I shouted. "Morgan! Wake up, it isn't true. Some one has been hoaxing us. Why..." In my eagerness I grasped him by the shoulder. His body was quite cold. Morgan had been dead for hours. Could it be that his sensitized brain and automatic fingers had continued to record impressions even after the end? I shall never know, for I shall never again handle the night shift. Search in a world atlas discloses no town of Xebico. Whatever it was that killed John Morgan will forever remain a mystery.

There is something ungodly about these night wire jobs. You sit up here on the top floor of a skyscraper and listen in to the whispers of a civilization. New York, London, Calcutta, Bombay, Singapore — they’re your next-door neighbors after the streetlights go dim and the world has gone to sleep. Alone in the quiet hours between two and four, the receiving operators doze over their sounders and the news comes in. Fires and disasters and suicides. Murders, crowds, catastrophes. Sometimes an earthquake with a casualty list as long as your arm. The night wire man takes it down almost in his sleep, picking it off on his typewriter with one finger. Once in a long time you prick up your ears and listen. You’ve heard of some one you knew in Singapore, Halifax or Paris, long ago. Maybe they’ve been promoted, but more probably they’ve been murdered or drowned. Perhaps they just decided to quit and took some bizarre way out. Made it interesting enough to get in the news. But that doesn’t happen often. Most of the time you sit and doze and tap, tap on your typewriter and wish you were home in bed. Sometimes, though, queer things happen. One did the other night, and I haven’t got over it yet. I wish I could. You see, I handle the night manager’s desk in a western seaport town; what the name is, doesn’t matter. There is, or rather was, only one night operator on my staff, a fellow named John Morgan, about forty years of age, I should say, and a sober, hard-working sort. He was one of the best operators I ever knew, what is known as a “double” man. That means he could handle two instruments at once and type the stories on different typewriters at the same time. He was one of the three men I ever knew who could do it consistently, hour after hour, and never make a mistake. Generally, we used only one wire at night, but sometimes, when it was late and the news was coming fast, the Chicago and Denver stations would open a second wire, and then Morgan would do his stuff. He was a wizard, a mechanical automatic wizard which functioned marvelously but was without imagination. On the night of the sixteenth he complained of feeling tired. It was the first and last time I had ever heard him say a word about himself, and I had known him for three years. It was just three o’clock and we were running only one wire. I was nodding over the reports at my desk and not paying much attention to him, when he spoke. “Jim,” he said, “does it feel close in here to you?” “Why, no, John,” I answered, “but I’ll open a window if you like.” “Never mind,” he said. “I reckon I’m just a little tired.” That was all that was said, and I went on working. Every ten minutes or so I would walk over and take a pile of copy that had stacked up neatly beside the typewriter as the messages were printed out in triplicate. It must have been twenty minutes after he spoke that I noticed he had opened up the other wire and was using both typewriters. I thought it was a little unusual, as there was nothing very “hot” coming in. On my next trip I picked up the copy from both machines and took it back to my desk to sort out the duplicates. The first wire was running out the usual sort of stuff and I just looked over it hurriedly. Then I turned to the second pile of copy. I remembered it particularly because the story was from a town I had never heard of: “Xebico.” Here is the dispatch. I saved a duplicate of it from our files: “Xebico, Sept 16 CP BULLETIN “The heaviest mist in the history of the city settled over the town at 4 o’clock yesterday afternoon. All traffic has stopped and the mist hangs like a pall over everything. Lights of ordinary intensity fail to pierce the fog, which is constantly growing heavier. “Scientists here are unable to agree as to the cause, and the local weather bureau states that the like has never occurred before in the history of the city. “At 7 P.M. last night the municipal authorities… (more) That was all there was. Nothing out of the ordinary at a bureau headquarters, but, as I say, I noticed the story because of the name of the town. It must have been fifteen minutes later that I went over for another batch of copy. Morgan was slumped down in his chair and had switched his green electric light shade so that the gleam missed his eyes and hit only the top of the two typewriters. Only the usual stuff was in the righthand pile, but the lefthand batch carried another story from Xebico. All press dispatches come in “takes,” meaning that parts of many different stories are strung along together, perhaps with but a few paragraphs of each coming through at a time. This second story was marked “add fog.” Here is the copy: “At 7 P.M. the fog had increased noticeably. All lights were now invisible and the town was shrouded in pitch darkness. “As a peculiarity of the phenomenon, the fog is accompanied by a sickly odor, comparable to nothing yet experienced here.” Below that in customary press fashion was the hour, 3:27, and the initials of the operator, JM. There was only one other story in the pile from the second wire. Here it is: “2nd add Xebico Fog. “Accounts as to the origin of the mist differ greatly. Among the most unusual is that of the sexton of the local church, who groped his way to headquarters in a hysterical condition and declared that the fog originated in the village churchyard. “‘It was first visible as a soft gray blanket clinging to the earth above the graves,’ he stated. ‘Then it began to rise, higher and higher. A subterranean breeze seemed to blow it in billows, which split up and then joined together again. “‘Fog phantoms, writhing in anguish, twisted the mist into queer forms and figures. And then, in the very thick midst of the mass, something moved. “‘I turned and ran from the accursed spot. Behind me I heard screams coming from the houses bordering on the graveyard.’ “Although the sexton’s story is generally discredited, a party has left to investigate. Immediately after telling his story, the sexton collapsed and is now in a local hospital, unconscious.” Queer story, wasn’t it. Not that we aren’t used to it, for a lot of unusual stories come in over the wire. But for some reason or other, perhaps because it was so quiet that night, the report of the fog made a great impression on me. It was almost with dread that I went over to the waiting piles of copy. Morgan did not move, and the only sound in the room was the tap-tap of the sounders. It was ominous, nerve- racking. There was another story from Xebico in the pile of copy. I seized on it anxiously. “New Lead Xebico Fog CP “The rescue party which went out at 11 P.M. to investigate a weird story of the origin of a fog which, since late yesterday, has shrouded the city in darkness has failed to return. Another and larger party has been dispatched. “Meanwhile, the fog has, if possible, grown heavier. It seeps through the cracks in the doors and fills the atmosphere with a depressing odor of decay. It is oppressive, terrifying, bearing with it a subtle impression of things long dead. “Residents of the city have left their homes and gathered in the local church, where the priests are holding services of prayer. The scene is beyond description. Grown folk and children are alike terrified and many are almost beside themselves with fear. “Amid the whisps of vapor which partly veil the church auditorium, an old priest is praying for the welfare of his flock. They alternately wail and cross themselves. “From the outskirts of the city may be heard cries of unknown voices. They echo through the fog in queer uncadenced minor keys. The sounds resemble nothing so much as wind whistling through a gigantic tunnel. But the night is calm and there is no wind. The second rescue party… (more)” I am a calm man and never in a dozen years spent with the wires, have I been known to become excited, but despite myself I rose from my chair and walked to the window. Could I be mistaken, or far down in the canyons of the city beneath me did I see a faint trace of fog? Pshaw! It was all imagination. In the pressroom the click of the sounders seemed to have raised the tempo of their tune. Morgan alone had not stirred from his chair. His head sunk between his shoulders, he tapped the dispatches out on the typewriters with one finger of each hand. He looked asleep, but no; endlessly, efficiently, the two machines rattled off line after line, as relentlessly and effortlessly as death itself. There was something about the monotonous movement of the typewriter keys that fascinated me. I walked over and stood behind his chair, reading over his shoulder the type as it came into being, word by word. Ah, here was another: “Flash Xebico CP “There will be no more bulletins from this office. The impossible has happened. No messages have come into this room for twenty minutes. We are cut off from the outside and even the streets below us. “I will stay with the wire until the end. “It is the end, indeed. Since 4 P.M. yesterday the fog has hung over the city. Following reports from the sexton of the local church, two rescue parties were sent out to investigate conditions on the outskirts of the city. Neither party has ever returned nor was any word received from them. It is quite certain now that they will never return. “From my instrument I can gaze down on the city beneath me. From the position of this room on the thirteenth floor, nearly the entire city can be seen. Now I can see only a thick blanket of blackness where customarily are lights and life. “I fear greatly that the wailing cries heard constantly from the outskirts of the city are the death cries of the inhabitants. They are constantly increasing in volume and are approaching the center of the city. “The fog yet hangs over everything. If possible, it is even heavier than before, but the conditions have changed. Instead of an opaque, impenetrable wall of odorous vapor, there now swirls and writhes a shapeless mass in contortions of almost human agony. Now and again the mass parts and I catch a brief glimpse of the streets below. “People are running to and fro, screaming in despair. A vast bedlam of sound flies up to my window, and above all is the immense whistling of unseen and unfelt winds. “The fog has again swept over the city and the whistling is coming closer and closer. “It is now directly beneath me. “God! An instant ago the mist opened and I caught a glimpse of the streets below. “The fog is not simply vapor — it lives! By the side of each moaning and weeping human is a companion figure, an aura of strange and vari-colored hues. How the shapes cling! Each to a living thing! “The men and women are down. Flat on their faces. The fog figures caress them lovingly. They are kneeling beside them. They are — but I dare not tell it. “The prone and writhing bodies have been stripped of their clothing. They are being consumed — piecemeal. “A merciful wall of hot, steaming vapor has swept over the whole scene. I can see no more. “Beneath me the wall of vapor is changing colors. It seems to be lighted by internal fires. No, it isn’t. I have made a mistake. The colors are from above, reflections from the sky. “Look up! Look up! The whole sky is in flames. Colors as yet unseen by man or demon. The flames are moving; they have started to intermix; the colors are rearranging themselves. They are so brilliant that my eyes burn, they are a long way off. “Now they have begun to swirl, to circle in and out, twisting in intricate designs and patterns. The lights are racing each with each, a kaleidoscope of unearthly brilliance. “I have made a discovery. There is nothing harmful in the lights. They radiate force and friendliness, almost cheeriness. But by their very strength, they hurt. “As I look, they are swinging closer and closer, a million miles at each jump. Millions of miles with the speed of light. Aye, it is light of quintessence of all light. Beneath it the fog melts into a jeweled mist radiant, rainbow-colored of a thousand varied spectra. “I can see the streets. Why, they are filled with people! The lights are coming closer. They are all around me. I am enveloped. I…” The message stopped abruptly. The wire to Xebico was dead. Beneath my eyes in the narrow circle of light from under the green lamp-shade, the black printing no longer spun itself, letter by letter, across the page. The room seemed filled with a solemn quiet, a silence vaguely impressive, powerful. I looked down at Morgan. His hands had dropped nervelessly at his sides, while his body had hunched over peculiarly. I turned the lamp-shade back, throwing light squarely in his face. His eyes were staring, fixed. Filled with a sudden foreboding, I stepped beside him and called Chicago on the wire. After a second the sounder clicked its answer. Why? But there was something wrong. Chicago was reporting that Wire Two had not been used throughout the evening. “Morgan!” I shouted. “Morgan! Wake up, it isn’t true. Some one has been hoaxing us. Why…” In my eagerness I grasped him by the shoulder. His body was quite cold. Morgan had been dead for hours. Could it be that his sensitized brain and automatic fingers had continued to record impressions even after the end? I shall never know, for I shall never again handle the night shift. Search in a world atlas discloses no town of Xebico. Whatever it was that killed John Morgan will forever remain a mystery.

From Horror photos & videos July 06, 2018 at 08:00PM

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Talking to a friend last night about how split/fractured the U.S. is at this point in time, how genuinely divisive and disturbing it's become for many of us. Uncomfortable. For both sides. (Especially for those of us who are Independents I would add...). He made several very intriguing comments. (Mind you he's more "left" than most Democrats. So he's no democrat. And I'm obviously not that. I lean both right and left, depending on what we're talking about. But we're okay with that. We don't let it come between us.) We were discussing the obvious mistake in judgement (besides a heinous disregard for basic ethics) that the democratic party made, and the subsequent harm this mistake has inflicted on its party members (AND everyone else in America) by not allowing their party to naturally go in the direction it wanted to, i.e. in support of an outsider, in their case Bernie Sanders, and instead just insisted that their candidate be Hilary Clinton, despite what their members were seeming to call for. Michael Moore called it weeks before the election. Trump would win. Truth be told my opinion is that Trump would have won against Bernie too. BUT many Americans would at least still be part of the system. They'd vote. They'd care. After the shenanigans (that's a very kind label for the crimes and corruption we witnessed) that the democratic party pulled to pretend Hilary was "the legitimate candidate", millions of people, especially the young, went back to their old MO -- "screw both of those parties, they both suck, screw this whole system. I'm out." And of course, many just didn't bother to vote. They stopped caring. But now here we are. Half the people happy with the outcome. And half the people very unhappy. Just like in the Obama years. Totally split. Which has compelled me to start thinking the same thought I think whenever I contemplate the "civil war" or as some people call it "Lincoln's war of aggression". (Their label.... Let's not digress to that yet. There'll be time for it later.) If people in red states are really happy with how things are and the direction they claim to want to go in, why not let them? And why not let blue staters go in the direction THEY want to go? Loads of people are anti-abortion. I get it. I'm pro-life myself. But also pro-choice. Hell, I'll even admit that abortion is murder in my humble opinion. But I just can't bring myself to believe that I have the right to dictate what another person should or shouldn't do in/with their own life. I believe that's a human right. So in that, I am liberal. I get it. It's upsetting to some. Makes sense to others. And frankly I'm okay with that. I'm also okay if half the population of the country wants to ban abortion. Totally fine with it. That should be their choice. Their decision. As my friend said last night, "If the federal government banned abortion tomorrow through all this supreme court stuff about to go down, ten states would hold emergency sessions overnight and pass a law to legalize abortion in their states. That's how it works. So it shouldn't even be an issue." He believes democrats have gotten lost in ideologies that distract them from real issues. He's entitled to his opinion. Just as democrats are. And he's right about abortion. Just like marijuana or gay marriage, abortion will become legal again in at least ten states overnight. Without question. So let's not quibble over it. Truth is, America IS split. Ideologically morally politically split. And it has been for a long time. What many don't quite understand about the ambassador is that I felt bad for republicans during the Obama years. Mind you, I was both a fan of certain aspects of the man -- he was a great orator, patient and thoughtful in his decision making and more liberally minded than the alternative, but I was also NOT a fan of many aspects of him and his agenda. (That's just me and it's not important.) The point is, oftentimes I personally felt empathy for republicans during Obama's years in office because I felt like the country was being pushed too far progressive too quickly for the comfort of many folks who leaned "conservative". And one could feel their pain. It was disquieting and upsetting for them. It wasn't the "America" they were accustomed to. Now I know that a lot of my friends who are democrat would immediately respond "too bad". Which is hilarious. Because that's just what republicans are saying to democrats NOW. But as my friend said last night, "You can't force people to acquiesce to your position. All you can do is make a convincing argument and hope they eventually evolve to your point of view." Totally agree. America was forcing an extremely progressive agenda on a large portion of the population and it was doing so quickly. Hence Trump. Safety. Comfort. Back to "normal" for them. Life feels good again. I get it. I really do. So why not let's just face facts and get real AND do something about this. Rather than all the arguing. We live in TWO Americas now. Maybe we always have. We may be united in our desire to be protected by our military against foreign invasion. And we both want to use the U.S. dollar as our primary currency. And heck most of us probably would all want to stay a democratic republic and primarily capitalist. (My aforementioned friend is the exception. He doesn't like capitalism. And i not only respect his viewpoint, but I can understand it to a certain degree.) But most of us can probably all agree that we are UNITED on those issues. Everything else, we're split. Totally completely split. No wiggle room. So why don't we just make it official and split? Many people may not readily remember that we split India up into two countries, a Hindu one and a Muslim one. It's called Pakistan. It's possible. It's doable. Yes geographically it will pose a few challenges. For the most part, those of who tend to lean more blue live on the coasts. WA to CA and MA down to VA, with a few blue states in the middle, SOMEtimes... Not only do we know WHO we are, we know what we want and what we don't want. And it's about time we stopped trying to convince each other that WE are right and YOU are wrong, and instead just make the split. Two countries. Dictated democratically by the people who LIVE in those countries. Think about it for a minute. Don't shut down. Red staters will ban abortion in their country. And they'll get NO argument or fuss from blue staters. Let them do it. Perhaps they'll close their borders off to immigrants of all shapes and sizes for a while. Let them. We have a labor shortage in America right now. (Maybe they don't get that? But who cares? That's the point. We need to stop trying to convince each other that the other side is "right".) So the blue states will take the immigrants. Red staters want to keep the healthcare system how it is. In fact they want to roll it back to "how it used to be before Obama messed it up". Cool. Blue staters want universal health care. They consider it a basic human right. Who are we to try to convince red staters they're wrong? Let them have monopolistic for-profit companies running their healthcare system and bankrupting them everytime they get sick. Seriously. Just let them. And blue states will switch to a single payer universal healthcare system. Consider "the welfare state" collection of issues. That's a BIG one. But it doesn't have to be. Imagine we just let the red states get rid of all the social welfare programs they want to in "their country". Welfare, gone. Food stamps, gone. Medicare and Medicaid probably reduced or minimized. Cool. We'll keep it in the blue state country. And from what we can tell, a lot of the wealthiest people in blue states don't mind paying a little more in taxes in order to secure a more humane safety net for their neighbors. So yay for them. Let them stay in blue state country. And if they don't like it, they can always move to red state country. They're rich. They can afford it. In the case of religion and religious imagery, let's face it, red staters have been getting the short end of the stick on these issues for years. They're being forced to take down religious symbols in their own hometowns. Forced to not be allowed to pray in their own schools. That just doesn't seem fair. I myself practice a religion. But I just happen to believe in religious freedom AND separation of church and state, and because I recognize that a lot of blue staters are Atheists and though they don't know it, that too is a religion, I don't mind their banning religion from most public things and from government. It makes sense from a strategic logical point of view. For blue staters. Maybe just not for red staters... As long as they let me keep my church and practice freely, I'm cool. And truth be told most atheists and blue staters aren't trying to rip down churches. But do they go too far sometimes? Yes, in my opinion, for the comfort of many red staters they do. So let the red state nation be rid of atheist liberals. We'll deal with them in blue state country. We don't mind. We'll take them. And red states can have whole public schools or towns even named after Jesus or Mary or Christ if they want to. LET THEM. It's their country. Dig? Now, we could go on and on. And what's interesting is that a lot of people are probably reading this and thinking that THEIR country sounds AWESOME. The country they most align with that is... And that's the point. Their country WILL BE awesome. For THEM. No more arguing on social media. No more protests and marches and screaming and shouting in the media 24/7. No more insane tweets from the president. Hell, most blue staters won't even read tweets from the red state president. And why should they? He's not their president. They'll read tweets from their own president. And let the red staters consider FOX News an actual media outlet. As outlandish as that may sound to some, it's their sovereign right as a nation. Just as it is the right of blue staters to consider the New York Times a media outlet (not that I'm equating one with the other. But many red staters do.... Let them.) Of course the blue state country needs to grow the hell up and recognize that MSNBC is NOT a media outlet. Call it what it is, political propaganda or entertainment. But that ain't objective journalism. Chances are it will be easy to get most blue staters to acknowledge that if they got FOX News the hell off of their TV -- except for entertainment purposes, like say you want to just chill and have a laugh after a long day at work. FOX News can be hilarious at times. It's perfect for that. But it just won't be called "news". More like the Stephen Colbert show. It's satire. It's funny. So let's get to the heart of the matter. The REAL heart of the matter. The red states will never allow the blue states to create their own country. And if they were smart, they wouldn't. Because the majority of the economic power of the U.S. presently is in blue states. The big dogs are all in blue state nation. Sound familiar? Yep. Now we're back to "Lincoln's War of Aggression" due to fear of economic collapse, where he ordered the entire force and might of U.S. military to attack the Southern States and force them to NOT secede. Even though they wanted to. Now I'm no Southerner. Nor a confederacy lover. Honestly the site of that flag creeps me out. But I respect other people's rights. And state sovereignty. And if southern states wanted to keep on truckin as they were and leave the Union to do so, so be it. The North was just too scared of what would become of them without the economic powerhouse that the South was at that time. That's the cold hard truth of it. And I just bet that the same exact people who wanted to secede 150 years ago would be demanding that president Trump NOT allow the blue states to secede and start their own country NOW. Think about it for a second. Regardless of which party you tend to side with. Will red staters really allow WA, CA, NY, NJ, CT, VT, NH etc start their own country and separate from the U.S.? Probably not. But not because they don't like the idea... Hell they'll love the idea once they get how awesome their country is going to be. Peace at last. Peace at last. But what would they do economically? Where's THEIR Wall Street? Where's THEIR Amazon and Microsoft and Intel and Apple and Google and Facebook and Twitter etc? That's the real issue, just as it was 150 years ago. Well, I'll tell you what they'd do. First off, a lot of republicans are smart and wealthy people who work on Wall Street. So they're not going to be without brains. Despite what snobby democrats think or say. Red State Nation can either start their own big tech companies. OR the blue state nation can easily draft up a bilateral free trade deal with the red state nation. Trump loves bilateral trade deals. He'll have a field day. Of course, he'll have to move. New York is just about as true blue liberal as they come. (But wasn't Trump a democrat for most of his adult life? Oh yeah, but sssshhhhhh. We pretend that didn't happen. I'm joking of course. Most know I sincerely believe that president Trump has noble intentions for America, is one hell of a hard working machine AND he's WINNING. Big time winning on a lot of fronts. I may not happen to agree with every direction he's going in or wants to go in, nor with his unorthodox methods, but unlike democrats (which I'm not), I don't mind admitting the above. And that's the problem with many democrats. They refuse to even entertain the possibility that Trump loves America and has good intentions. And that's just close minded and wrong. So... LET THEM LEAVE. See? Again and again we arrive at the same place. Screw the democrats and their progressive anti-Trump bs. Let them start their own country. Easier.) (Yes, I know, by now one might be thinking, "well where the hell are YOU going to live mr. ambassador?" Honestly I'd probably go Big Blue. I may not like democrats, especially now. But I do tend to just feel more comfortable in as liberal of an environment as possible. My motto, "if it's not hurting anyone, let us do it." And that goes both ways. Which also makes me align with the republicans a lot. Because in some ways republicans are very "let us do what we have the rights to do". And that's the problem with the country right now as it stands. We just have two very different groups of people who want very different things. So if red staters want guns in every room of every house and now in every classroom of every school, heck, let them have it. In that aspect, I may occasionally be more of a libertarian. Who knows? Maybe we end up with three or four countries. A little Europe. It could be very cool.) Of course there will be some discomfort in the process at the beginning. There always is. As many people will want to move. We have to remember that the red and blue demographics are symbolic. Most states are more purplish... But generalities do exist. Alabama, Louisiana, Florida, South Carolina etc. aren't about to go blue anytime soon. And why should they? Truth be told, they shouldn't be forced to. Not when we have a simple solution right in front of us. Imagine a world where all the bickering and arguing and right versus wrong is just gone. No more "f*ck trump" signs and social media posts. They're gone. All that is over. For lack of a better way of putting it, we have our paradise and they have their's. And if you suddenly wake up one day and you realize that you don't like the country you live in, you can always apply for a visa to move to the other country. Heck it's just one state over in some cases. And we're still in "the United States". Sort of. And that's really what it comes down to: We'll still be united in many many ways. We'll share the military. We'll share the same currency. We'll share the same financial markets. But socially and politically and perhaps even fiscally we'll just be very different nations. And THAT would be a very good thing for everyone. We'll be less stressed. We'll be happier. We'll be healthier. And best of all we can finally make our own laws and stop this constant see-sawing with the laws every 4 to 8 years. It's maddening for all of us, no? Instead we let it go. We stop the madness. We accept that we are sincerely two very different groups of people at this point. So the question I pose to you on this eve of Independence Day, is not whether you agree with this or not. I've already made up my mind. We either head there and start implementing it now, or we continue to tear ourselves to pieces on a daily basis and keep feeling angry hostile upset sad and stressed. I know which I've chosen. No sense in trying to talk me out of it. And that's the point of this post. Those days are gone. It's a dumb game anyway. And a complete waste of time. My question is this: How do we start the process? How does it work? Where do we start? How did the South start? Where did they go wrong? How can we avoid the same fate? What's the strategy? Are there any legal grounds for states to do this? Or has the federal government gotten so damn big and bloated and fascist that it's made it impossible? (See? I told you I'm hard to peg down... But see, I'd rather try to respectfully convince my Blue State Nation citizens of the importance of smaller government than argue with red staters over gun control or immigration or social welfare programs or universal healthcare or abortion. There are just some issues that neither group is ever going to budge on. But there are SOME that we'll both be able to massage a little bit to make most people in each of our two countries happy. And that's really what it comes down to.) It's time to vote for happiness and health my friends. It's past time. Let's just accept our differences, stop the arguing and create two independent nations that are united on many or at least several fronts. And don't worry... We'll both still have Twitter and Facebook and Insta and Skype and Facetime. So we won't even miss each other. But we sure won't be bickering all the time anymore. Paradise I tell you. Absolute paradise is ours for the taking. All we have to do is take that first step.

Talking to a friend last night about how split/fractured the U.S. is at this point in time, how genuinely divisive and disturbing it's become for many of us. Uncomfortable. For both sides. (Especially for those of us who are Independents I would add...). He made several very intriguing comments. (Mind you he's more "left" than most Democrats. So he's no democrat. And I'm obviously not that. I lean both right and left, depending on what we're talking about. But we're okay with that. We don't let it come between us.) We were discussing the obvious mistake in judgement (besides a heinous disregard for basic ethics) that the democratic party made, and the subsequent harm this mistake has inflicted on its party members (AND everyone else in America) by not allowing their party to naturally go in the direction it wanted to, i.e. in support of an outsider, in their case Bernie Sanders, and instead just insisted that their candidate be Hilary Clinton, despite what their members were seeming to call for. Michael Moore called it weeks before the election. Trump would win. Truth be told my opinion is that Trump would have won against Bernie too. BUT many Americans would at least still be part of the system. They'd vote. They'd care. After the shenanigans (that's a very kind label for the crimes and corruption we witnessed) that the democratic party pulled to pretend Hilary was "the legitimate candidate", millions of people, especially the young, went back to their old MO -- "screw both of those parties, they both suck, screw this whole system. I'm out." And of course, many just didn't bother to vote. They stopped caring. But now here we are. Half the people happy with the outcome. And half the people very unhappy. Just like in the Obama years. Totally split. Which has compelled me to start thinking the same thought I think whenever I contemplate the "civil war" or as some people call it "Lincoln's war of aggression". (Their label.... Let's not digress to that yet. There'll be time for it later.) If people in red states are really happy with how things are and the direction they claim to want to go in, why not let them? And why not let blue staters go in the direction THEY want to go? Loads of people are anti-abortion. I get it. I'm pro-life myself. But also pro-choice. Hell, I'll even admit that abortion is murder in my humble opinion. But I just can't bring myself to believe that I have the right to dictate what another person should or shouldn't do in/with their own life. I believe that's a human right. So in that, I am liberal. I get it. It's upsetting to some. Makes sense to others. And frankly I'm okay with that. I'm also okay if half the population of the country wants to ban abortion. Totally fine with it. That should be their choice. Their decision. As my friend said last night, "If the federal government banned abortion tomorrow through all this supreme court stuff about to go down, ten states would hold emergency sessions overnight and pass a law to legalize abortion in their states. That's how it works. So it shouldn't even be an issue." He believes democrats have gotten lost in ideologies that distract them from real issues. He's entitled to his opinion. Just as democrats are. And he's right about abortion. Just like marijuana or gay marriage, abortion will become legal again in at least ten states overnight. Without question. So let's not quibble over it. Truth is, America IS split. Ideologically morally politically split. And it has been for a long time. What many don't quite understand about the ambassador is that I felt bad for republicans during the Obama years. Mind you, I was both a fan of certain aspects of the man -- he was a great orator, patient and thoughtful in his decision making and more liberally minded than the alternative, but I was also NOT a fan of many aspects of him and his agenda. (That's just me and it's not important.) The point is, oftentimes I personally felt empathy for republicans during Obama's years in office because I felt like the country was being pushed too far progressive too quickly for the comfort of many folks who leaned "conservative". And one could feel their pain. It was disquieting and upsetting for them. It wasn't the "America" they were accustomed to. Now I know that a lot of my friends who are democrat would immediately respond "too bad". Which is hilarious. Because that's just what republicans are saying to democrats NOW. But as my friend said last night, "You can't force people to acquiesce to your position. All you can do is make a convincing argument and hope they eventually evolve to your point of view." Totally agree. America was forcing an extremely progressive agenda on a large portion of the population and it was doing so quickly. Hence Trump. Safety. Comfort. Back to "normal" for them. Life feels good again. I get it. I really do. So why not let's just face facts and get real AND do something about this. Rather than all the arguing. We live in TWO Americas now. Maybe we always have. We may be united in our desire to be protected by our military against foreign invasion. And we both want to use the U.S. dollar as our primary currency. And heck most of us probably would all want to stay a democratic republic and primarily capitalist. (My aforementioned friend is the exception. He doesn't like capitalism. And i not only respect his viewpoint, but I can understand it to a certain degree.) But most of us can probably all agree that we are UNITED on those issues. Everything else, we're split. Totally completely split. No wiggle room. So why don't we just make it official and split? Many people may not readily remember that we split India up into two countries, a Hindu one and a Muslim one. It's called Pakistan. It's possible. It's doable. Yes geographically it will pose a few challenges. For the most part, those of who tend to lean more blue live on the coasts. WA to CA and MA down to VA, with a few blue states in the middle, SOMEtimes... Not only do we know WHO we are, we know what we want and what we don't want. And it's about time we stopped trying to convince each other that WE are right and YOU are wrong, and instead just make the split. Two countries. Dictated democratically by the people who LIVE in those countries. Think about it for a minute. Don't shut down. Red staters will ban abortion in their country. And they'll get NO argument or fuss from blue staters. Let them do it. Perhaps they'll close their borders off to immigrants of all shapes and sizes for a while. Let them. We have a labor shortage in America right now. (Maybe they don't get that? But who cares? That's the point. We need to stop trying to convince each other that the other side is "right".) So the blue states will take the immigrants. Red staters want to keep the healthcare system how it is. In fact they want to roll it back to "how it used to be before Obama messed it up". Cool. Blue staters want universal health care. They consider it a basic human right. Who are we to try to convince red staters they're wrong? Let them have monopolistic for-profit companies running their healthcare system and bankrupting them everytime they get sick. Seriously. Just let them. And blue states will switch to a single payer universal healthcare system. Consider "the welfare state" collection of issues. That's a BIG one. But it doesn't have to be. Imagine we just let the red states get rid of all the social welfare programs they want to in "their country". Welfare, gone. Food stamps, gone. Medicare and Medicaid probably reduced or minimized. Cool. We'll keep it in the blue state country. And from what we can tell, a lot of the wealthiest people in blue states don't mind paying a little more in taxes in order to secure a more humane safety net for their neighbors. So yay for them. Let them stay in blue state country. And if they don't like it, they can always move to red state country. They're rich. They can afford it. In the case of religion and religious imagery, let's face it, red staters have been getting the short end of the stick on these issues for years. They're being forced to take down religious symbols in their own hometowns. Forced to not be allowed to pray in their own schools. That just doesn't seem fair. I myself practice a religion. But I just happen to believe in religious freedom AND separation of church and state, and because I recognize that a lot of blue staters are Atheists and though they don't know it, that too is a religion, I don't mind their banning religion from most public things and from government. It makes sense from a strategic logical point of view. For blue staters. Maybe just not for red staters... As long as they let me keep my church and practice freely, I'm cool. And truth be told most atheists and blue staters aren't trying to rip down churches. But do they go too far sometimes? Yes, in my opinion, for the comfort of many red staters they do. So let the red state nation be rid of atheist liberals. We'll deal with them in blue state country. We don't mind. We'll take them. And red states can have whole public schools or towns even named after Jesus or Mary or Christ if they want to. LET THEM. It's their country. Dig? Now, we could go on and on. And what's interesting is that a lot of people are probably reading this and thinking that THEIR country sounds AWESOME. The country they most align with that is... And that's the point. Their country WILL BE awesome. For THEM. No more arguing on social media. No more protests and marches and screaming and shouting in the media 24/7. No more insane tweets from the president. Hell, most blue staters won't even read tweets from the red state president. And why should they? He's not their president. They'll read tweets from their own president. And let the red staters consider FOX News an actual media outlet. As outlandish as that may sound to some, it's their sovereign right as a nation. Just as it is the right of blue staters to consider the New York Times a media outlet (not that I'm equating one with the other. But many red staters do.... Let them.) Of course the blue state country needs to grow the hell up and recognize that MSNBC is NOT a media outlet. Call it what it is, political propaganda or entertainment. But that ain't objective journalism. Chances are it will be easy to get most blue staters to acknowledge that if they got FOX News the hell off of their TV -- except for entertainment purposes, like say you want to just chill and have a laugh after a long day at work. FOX News can be hilarious at times. It's perfect for that. But it just won't be called "news". More like the Stephen Colbert show. It's satire. It's funny. So let's get to the heart of the matter. The REAL heart of the matter. The red states will never allow the blue states to create their own country. And if they were smart, they wouldn't. Because the majority of the economic power of the U.S. presently is in blue states. The big dogs are all in blue state nation. Sound familiar? Yep. Now we're back to "Lincoln's War of Aggression" due to fear of economic collapse, where he ordered the entire force and might of U.S. military to attack the Southern States and force them to NOT secede. Even though they wanted to. Now I'm no Southerner. Nor a confederacy lover. Honestly the site of that flag creeps me out. But I respect other people's rights. And state sovereignty. And if southern states wanted to keep on truckin as they were and leave the Union to do so, so be it. The North was just too scared of what would become of them without the economic powerhouse that the South was at that time. That's the cold hard truth of it. And I just bet that the same exact people who wanted to secede 150 years ago would be demanding that president Trump NOT allow the blue states to secede and start their own country NOW. Think about it for a second. Regardless of which party you tend to side with. Will red staters really allow WA, CA, NY, NJ, CT, VT, NH etc start their own country and separate from the U.S.? Probably not. But not because they don't like the idea... Hell they'll love the idea once they get how awesome their country is going to be. Peace at last. Peace at last. But what would they do economically? Where's THEIR Wall Street? Where's THEIR Amazon and Microsoft and Intel and Apple and Google and Facebook and Twitter etc? That's the real issue, just as it was 150 years ago. Well, I'll tell you what they'd do. First off, a lot of republicans are smart and wealthy people who work on Wall Street. So they're not going to be without brains. Despite what snobby democrats think or say. Red State Nation can either start their own big tech companies. OR the blue state nation can easily draft up a bilateral free trade deal with the red state nation. Trump loves bilateral trade deals. He'll have a field day. Of course, he'll have to move. New York is just about as true blue liberal as they come. (But wasn't Trump a democrat for most of his adult life? Oh yeah, but sssshhhhhh. We pretend that didn't happen. I'm joking of course. Most know I sincerely believe that president Trump has noble intentions for America, is one hell of a hard working machine AND he's WINNING. Big time winning on a lot of fronts. I may not happen to agree with every direction he's going in or wants to go in, nor with his unorthodox methods, but unlike democrats (which I'm not), I don't mind admitting the above. And that's the problem with many democrats. They refuse to even entertain the possibility that Trump loves America and has good intentions. And that's just close minded and wrong. So... LET THEM LEAVE. See? Again and again we arrive at the same place. Screw the democrats and their progressive anti-Trump bs. Let them start their own country. Easier.) (Yes, I know, by now one might be thinking, "well where the hell are YOU going to live mr. ambassador?" Honestly I'd probably go Big Blue. I may not like democrats, especially now. But I do tend to just feel more comfortable in as liberal of an environment as possible. My motto, "if it's not hurting anyone, let us do it." And that goes both ways. Which also makes me align with the republicans a lot. Because in some ways republicans are very "let us do what we have the rights to do". And that's the problem with the country right now as it stands. We just have two very different groups of people who want very different things. So if red staters want guns in every room of every house and now in every classroom of every school, heck, let them have it. In that aspect, I may occasionally be more of a libertarian. Who knows? Maybe we end up with three or four countries. A little Europe. It could be very cool.) Of course there will be some discomfort in the process at the beginning. There always is. As many people will want to move. We have to remember that the red and blue demographics are symbolic. Most states are more purplish... But generalities do exist. Alabama, Louisiana, Florida, South Carolina etc. aren't about to go blue anytime soon. And why should they? Truth be told, they shouldn't be forced to. Not when we have a simple solution right in front of us. Imagine a world where all the bickering and arguing and right versus wrong is just gone. No more "f*ck trump" signs and social media posts. They're gone. All that is over. For lack of a better way of putting it, we have our paradise and they have their's. And if you suddenly wake up one day and you realize that you don't like the country you live in, you can always apply for a visa to move to the other country. Heck it's just one state over in some cases. And we're still in "the United States". Sort of. And that's really what it comes down to: We'll still be united in many many ways. We'll share the military. We'll share the same currency. We'll share the same financial markets. But socially and politically and perhaps even fiscally we'll just be very different nations. And THAT would be a very good thing for everyone. We'll be less stressed. We'll be happier. We'll be healthier. And best of all we can finally make our own laws and stop this constant see-sawing with the laws every 4 to 8 years. It's maddening for all of us, no? Instead we let it go. We stop the madness. We accept that we are sincerely two very different groups of people at this point. So the question I pose to you on this eve of Independence Day, is not whether you agree with this or not. I've already made up my mind. We either head there and start implementing it now, or we continue to tear ourselves to pieces on a daily basis and keep feeling angry hostile upset sad and stressed. I know which I've chosen. No sense in trying to talk me out of it. And that's the point of this post. Those days are gone. It's a dumb game anyway. And a complete waste of time. My question is this: How do we start the process? How does it work? Where do we start? How did the South start? Where did they go wrong? How can we avoid the same fate? What's the strategy? Are there any legal grounds for states to do this? Or has the federal government gotten so damn big and bloated and fascist that it's made it impossible? (See? I told you I'm hard to peg down... But see, I'd rather try to respectfully convince my Blue State Nation citizens of the importance of smaller government than argue with red staters over gun control or immigration or social welfare programs or universal healthcare or abortion. There are just some issues that neither group is ever going to budge on. But there are SOME that we'll both be able to massage a little bit to make most people in each of our two countries happy. And that's really what it comes down to.) It's time to vote for happiness and health my friends. It's past time. Let's just accept our differences, stop the arguing and create two independent nations that are united on many or at least several fronts. And don't worry... We'll both still have Twitter and Facebook and Insta and Skype and Facetime. So we won't even miss each other. But we sure won't be bickering all the time anymore. Paradise I tell you. Absolute paradise is ours for the taking. All we have to do is take that first step. via Facebook