#i did this last week when i failed a trig test | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eclectic-aussie · 4 years

Text

Random Thoughts #15

Well damn, that was a heavy episode. I kind of regret stumbling on tumblr before watching the episode because the ending was spoiled but at the same time it gave me time to brace myself for it, though my hearts still sore at the betrayal even if Bellamy thinks it’s like chipping Madi: done for the greater good.

But after seeing the promo for next week I’m also regretting not waiting until all the episodes aired so I could binge watch them BECAUSE GOD DAMN IT, I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT AND I WANT TO KNOW NOW!! Which is only the second time I’ve really felt that way all season, the first after last weeks episode when Clarke came back.

I can’t help but wonder at a few possibilities that might come up; the Conductor accused Bellamy of selfish obsessive love (though honestly I’d say that’s more his girlfriend than him, but not the point) and Bellamy past insecurities and self doubt/loathing makes him blind to the good he’s done (he convinced Madi to spare the prisoners and bring them with them on the Eligius, put the Flame in Madi to try and make a peace treaty with the Eligius which became moot after Murphy accidentally on purpose put McCreary in charge just to name 2)

But what I think may come up is that while the Conductor decided Bellamy’s love is selfish, they’re going to be probing Clarke’s mind against her will (there’s a word for that, and I can’t help but think that’s going to come up later when Bellamy becomes himself again) and they’re going to realise that Clarke loves selflessly to the point where she will sacrifice her life over and over again for others she barely knows. She has taken on the pain and loss, breaking herself over and over again to protect her people. Even Roan mentioned it in season 4 when he and Bellamy were taking the Hydrozene to Raven at Becca’s lab when Bellamy scoffed at Roan for only caring about his people and Roan pointed out that Bellamy was no different and everyone was looking out for themselves (PAUSE) except maybe Clarke.

Some predictions and questions I have after this week’s episode, and seeing the promos, for the fun of it and I want to get them out:

1.Becho will break-up. It’s something I’ve said since last season, but remember a week ago when Echo was going to genocide Bardo in Bellamy’s name? Remember in the promo Echo telling Bellamy he’s ‘lost himself?’ And how Bellamy is now a member of the cult that Echo tried to massacre? You really don’t think Cadogan’s going to give the body count to Bellamy when he asks why they’re locked up? I think we’ll get a scene where Bellamy ends their relationship with Echo maybe even telling her that it took the almost genocide to realise that he had wanted so badly that who she was on the Ring was who she really was, but her actions on Bardo showed she hadn’t really changed and that she still chose to make the same mistakes as before Praimfaya but now for Spacekru instead of Azgeda. Probably ending with Raven telling Echo that it was just the brainwashing and they’ll be back together when he’s better and other things of that nature which are coddling (like how both women are treated in the show. Sorry, couldn’t resist) and unlikely. I think it will probably come after the scene where Bellamy gives Cadogan the picture of his family and he burns it to prove his detachment from personal ties. Then again he’s a sociopath so…

2.Clarke will be tortured in the M-Cap machine. Yes, we all know this will happen because of the promo, and also in the promo is the fact that Clarke is fighting it; evidenced by the black blood streaming down each side of her face as the points dig into her skull. We also know Bellamy is there watching her being tortured and as far as we know doing nothing to stop it besides probably telling her to just co-operate. I know everyone is hoping this will be where Bellamy hears the radio calls, but I don’t think that’s what’s going to happen. Now hear me out: Clarke is in that chair because Cadogan wants all info he can get about the Flame and who might have more info about it, do you really think he’s just going to stand there with his newest recruit, who he believes is the key to controlling Clarke, while her memories of her love of Bellamy possibly work to undo his indoctrination? No, I think Cadogan will use Bellamy to establish a neural link and then when he realises the threat Clarke poses to keeping Bellamy as his disciple, he’ll send him away, possibly to talk to his other friends and try to ‘reason’ with them. I also think this would be a wonderful time to have Clarke relive Echo trying to kill her ‘to avenge Bellamy’ while Raven and Shaw watch and Madi orders her down using a Heda order (not that Cadogan will know that), because it will show a previous ‘kill to avenge Bellamy’ moment that will solidify Bellamy’s belief that his break-up with Echo was the right choice, but it would also work in Cadogan’s favour of ‘selfless love over selfish love’ and the danger of personal attachments, especially if he was looking for her more recent attempt to ‘avenge Bellamy’ and just happened to stumble upon it.He’s nothing if not an opportunist.

Once he’s gone the real torture will begin while Cadogan works to get the info by any means necessary. Cadogan is a narcissistic sociopath, do you really think he’ll take any risk that Clarke will reach Bellamy? I think they’ll damn near liquify her brain and then she’ll be kept apart from her people so they don’t cause a fuss. (possibly next episode) I think then Levitt will find out how hard they pushed Clarke and when he tells Octavia and she begs him to check on her, he finds Clarke in pretty rough shape. When he tells Octavia and brings Bellamy at her request, taking him away from his tour, she then confronts Bellamy who doesn’t believe her. Then Levitt shows him the footage of Clarke being tortured which she tried to resist by remembering the radio calls as a kind of block for anything outside that purview until they push too hard and she falls unconscious. Bellamy sees her being tortured and the calls and the cracks start to deepen and the indoctrination starts to fail. I know a lot of people want Bellamy there while she’s actually tortured, but I honestly don’t think that kind of betrayal of trust and basic human rights can be forgiven (by Clarke or Bellamy forgiving himself cause he’d despise himself if that did happen) and forgotten in 4-5 episodes to the degree it will need to for them to pass the test and end up together (unless they do a ‘6 years later’ where they’re married and 5 year old sibling for Madi with another on the way, but even then). I also think he’ll stay as a ‘faithful disciple’ even as he’s pulled by both sides internally until he has more info either way and will be there when point 5 below happens.

3.Tied to above: is it safe to hook Clarke up to that thing cause like time I checked, in canon it’s only been a week since Clarke was having seizures and almost died from sharing her brain for too long with Josephine which she was warned would lead to neural degradation then death, so can she actually survive the procedure?

4.I would be so happy if they have Jordan do a ‘Monty Green stopping Bellamy, Gaia and Indra in the fighting pits’ call-back by having Jordan burst in while they’re torturing Clarke with the news that Cadogan the narcissist translated the message wrong...which didn’t end so great for Becca when she presented another option other than leaving Earth. Though honestly, I don’t think it would happen next episode, maybe the one after or at least not expanded upon too much while they’re being watched.

5. I think it’s a possibility that when they do break Clarke, the info they get will be so vague that they’ll be flummoxed by it, but Bellamy will know what it means and his final decision will be made. It will just be Madi’s drawings of Clarke as ‘Wanheda’ and the Anomaly stone, my little Nightblood in Trig, and maybe one of two little things that will mean little to the Bardoans out of context and everything to Bellamy. He’d go straight to the others, maybe grabbing Levitt on the way. The other wont trust him because it’s such an about face but Bellamy will tell them about the torture (which Octavia didn’t tell them about to keep them from getting hurt trying to protect her) reminding them that Clarke was not the last person to have the Flame, that Madi was. Raven tentatively admits that Madi had been drawing pictures from her dreams that Gaia and Clarke might be from the Flame. They need to get to Madi first (and even the dead Flame might have some info) before Cadogan gets a chance to and stop Cadogan from torturing Madi like he’s done to Clarke. It’s eventually agreed that Bellamy will distract Cadogan while Levitt and Gabriel get Clarke and the others steal enough uniforms so they can get to Sanctum with their minds intact.

6.So Levitt stopped reading Octavia’s memories during the City of Light, right? And the Conductor was spouting that the Shephard message of ‘selfless love’? Who wants to bet that Cadogan gets more than a little threatened when he starts seeing not only Clarke in the City of Light itself (Imagine them starting with being tortured by her mind controlled mother, then ‘Her friends are her weakness. Start with Bellamy Blake.’, her mother being controlled to hang herself and Clarke not giving in and Bellamy and Murphy bursting in and Clarke becoming a temporary Nightblood and her conversations with Jasper, Becca and ALIE, even if we only see snippets or them mentioning in as an aside to rush it along, it would be heavy hitting under the circumstances), but also the lead-up and aftermath of Praimfaya, and more specifically Clarke’s place in it? The Shephard is revered for ‘saving his people from the fire’, well Bellamy shut the door and took his people to space to save them from Praimfaya while Clarke stayed behind ON THE SURFACE OF THE PLANET in order to align the dish manually to save them. The Shephard conquered the Mountain? Bellamy and Clarke defeated the Mountain who had been kidnapping the Grounder to either use as blood bags or turning them into mindless cannibals, and tortured teenagers to death for their bone marrow even after they said they’d donate it willingly. The Shephard went on a pilgrimage for 3 months with provisions to do the aforementioned conquering of the mountain? Clarke Mother F’ing Griffin survived the 2nd Apocalypse that burnt up 96% of the Earth’s surface and not only did she survive, she managed to find the 4% or at least a large chunk on it and lived there alone with only her adoptive daughter and broken radio for company for 6 YEARS! A lot of Cadogan’s mythos and legend is his own self-aggrandizing and twisting circumstances to fit his narrative of ‘I am the one true Prophet and Saviour who will lead us into the Last War for all Mankind’, Clarke’s is from her own actions, deeds and self-sacrifice.

Because while the Bardoans may are quick to spout out the credence of “the few for the many” how many of them have actually had to back that up? And both Bellamy and Clarke have, on multiple occasions. Remember Clarke and Bellamy’s little chat with Roan before the City of Light? About how ALIE didn’t give a damn what clan you were from, she wanted to get EVERYONE? Octavia knew about it, but Clarke was there when she and Bellamy convinced Roan. And also “Are you really willing to trust that guy with your life?” “No. But you’ll be covering us the entire time, and I trust you.” Not to mention him holding her hand when she got the Flame implanted and him trusting her when she said that taking ALIE’s chip was the right choice.

Huh, the end of season 3 had a heck of Bellarke, didn’t it 😉

7.I think when Cadogan finds out that Clarke has a mind-drive in her head he’s going to be veeery interested in cutting her neck open and becoming the Shephard for all eternity. Am I wrong?

8.I’m calling it now; the final test (given by a manifestation of Becca since she’s connected to all of them and the Anomaly stone) will be between Bellamy and Clarke, Cadogan and Sheidheda. It will be straight forward and/or easy to cheat until there is trick situation where their actions, not their words, show their true beliefs and goals. Maybe showing someone they loved in the past or present (Callie and Reese, whoever Sheidheda may care for, Clarke or Bellamy being trapped and there only being time to save the other or to ‘win’)

#the 100 #Season 7 Speculation #Bellamy Blake #Clarke Griffin #Bellarke #Soulmates Worth Fighting For #Possible season 7 spoilers

23 notes · View notes

tear-stained-blankie · 3 years

Text

(I am sick and tired of seeing no Gaumagi fanfics or fanfics at all from the SSSS.DYNAZENON fandom, so may I present...)

Pointless Immortality, Chapter 1.

It was a hot September night, the sun was setting and it made the sky a light shade of pink and purple. Although the sky resembled a painting, it wasn't like that to Gauma. This was just another night to him, another night of the five thousand years he'd already been alive. He thought he could achieve something, anything in five thousand years, but no, he hadn't. Instead, he sat under whatever makeshift shelter would inhabit him, rather it be a bridge, a landfill, or a public park, Gauma had no place in the world to call his own.

There he sat, as he did most nights, doing anything that could entertain him for long enough to pass the time. He dragged a stick in the sand, trying to make some sort of coherent picture. He couldn't seem to make anything that didn't resemble a pre-schooler's chicken scratch. Gauma sighed, he was growing tired of doing the same things.

"Hey, whoever's out there," Gauma began. "If you can hear me, I need something from you. I need something to change." At first, Gauma thought of what a change could mean. Food, maybe? A place to live? No, maybe something even better.

"Just please," he begged. "I need a change, a good one."

The sun rose the next day, just as it had five thousand years before that. It was a new day, and from the looks of it, nothing had happened.

Gauma sighed, he was not a patient man, and he had no faith in the universe because it had screwed him over so many times before. "Great," Gauma muttered, sarcastically.

Meanwhile, not too far from the bridge, a group of high schoolers were walking by.

"How did you do on that trig test last week?" One asked.

"Failed again," the boy responded shaking his head, sadly.

"What about you, Yomogi?"

Yomogi wasn't paying much attention to the conversation in general, he was thinking about his new job and how he was going to balance it all with school on top of everything.

"Earth to Yomogi," the boy teased, waving his hands in front of him. "Did you hear me? Are you even listening."

"Oh," Yomogi spoke up. "I'm not sure."

"Bullshit," The boy laughed. "The teacher gave it back to us yesterday!"

"I was absent the day she gave the test!" Yomogi argued, turning his head to face the boy. When he did, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. A man was sitting under the bridge, he looked hungry, and even a bit sad.

"Hold on guys," Yomogi told them, running towards the man without any further explanation to the group he was just with.

Gauma saw the boy run over, instead of acting casual, the man shielded himself.

What a wimp I am- Gauma thought to himself, as he prepared for the boy in front of him to do God only knows what.

But instead of hitting him or taking what little Gauma had, Yomogi simply offered him his lunch.

Gauma's eyes widened. Was he really receiving food? He didn't really know what to say, he was just so happy. He yanked it quickly out of the boy's hands and thanked him before beginning to eat. Of course, Gauma couldn't starve to death, he could only feel the pain from the hunger. It was the worst of all pains in his opinion, having nothing to eat. When he finished the meal, he bowed deeply, thanking Yomogi once again.

"Oh uh, you're welcome." Yomogi told him, "You don't have to do all of that, just the thanks is enough."

"I'll repay you," Gauma promised.

Yomogi simply gave an intrigued glance and looked over at him. He didn't say anything, but for some reason, he blushed heavily at Gauma's promise as he walked to class.

He somewhat wished he could hang out with him again, that was until he remembered that he had a date with Yume. She was a quiet, soft spoken girl that sat above the bridge every day. She interested Yomogi with her secretive nature, and he wanted to get to know her better because of it.

What was now an inconvenience was something that he'd wanted for months before today. For some reason, now he found himself wanting to spend more time with the man he'd met today. It made him wonder why that was the case.

After school, Yomogi went to his usual job, finished all his work, and then, like the gentleman he was, he waited for Yume in the pouring rain. She was supposed to be there at nine in the evening, it was now forty minutes after that.

Yomogi shivered, it was freezing out that night, and he'd rather be doing just about anything rather than standing there, asking to catch pneumonia. Suddenly, however, he felt warm as a strong pair of arms wrapped around him and held him close.

At first, he was scared and got ready to defend himself, but as Yomogi looked up, he saw... the man from the bridge.

"I told you I'd repay you." Gauma told him, nuzzling Yomogi closer and holding him protectively.

Yomogi blushed again, not being able to help but lean into Gauma's touch. "H-how did you find me?" He shivered.

"I kinda live under this bridge, you know." Gauma informed to him. "Did that girl stand you up?"

Yomogi was too ashamed to tell Gauma that she did, so he just nodded.

"I see," Gauma told him, a glint of anger present in his eyes from what Yume had done to him. "Do you want me to talk to her?"

"I'd prefer you didn't," Yomogi admitted.

"I understand," Gauma replied. "How about I warm you up a bit? You must be cold."

Yomogi gave a small gasp, even being homeless and sodden with rainwater himself, Gauma cared about him. He leaned further into his touch, wrapping his arms around the taller male, completely forgetting what he had even asked in the first place.

Gauma gave a soft smile, he picked Yomogi up and carried him to a gas station not too far by, he figured the roof over the station and the lights would be enough to warm him up, at least a little.

"This is where I come when I'm cold," Gauma told him. "It may seem like a regular old gas station to you, but sometimes, I get expired food from here, and when I can't warm up, I come here. This is like my home, the closest thing to one, at least."

That made Yomogi kind of sad, he edged closer to Gauma and nuzzled him, at this point becoming halfway asleep in his arms.

Gauma sat down on the dry ground below the shelter of the gas station. He rocked his body back and forth to try and soothe Yomogi into falling asleep.

"Hey..." Yomogi muttered, tiredly. "I never asked you, what's your name...?"

The immortal male smiled and held Yomogi tighter, as if he was about to tell him a huge secret. "It's Gauma," he whispered.

(Listening to that during reading recommended, I love that song and it goes with them so much.)

#ssss.dynazenon #ssss dynazenon #gauma x yomogi #Yomogi #gauma #gaumagi #yume #first fanfiction of this fandom #that i know of #Spotify

2 notes · View notes

whumphoarder · 5 years

Text

D is for Diploma

Summary: Between all of his commitments, Peter’s grades start slipping, putting him in danger of losing his academic scholarship to Midtown. Stressed and guilt-ridden about the effect this will have on May’s finances, he ends up worrying himself sick and having a breakdown in Tony’s lab.

Word count: 3,759

Genre: emotional hurt/comfort, angst, hurt/comfort

A/N: Thanks so much to @xxx-cat-xxx and @sallyidss for beta reading and encouragement <3

Link to read on Ao3

“But how are you getting a C in gym class?” Ned balks at his friend. He’s peering over Peter’s shoulder as he scrolls through his quarterly grades on the school library computer. “Everyone gets an A. I’m getting an A. All you gotta do is show up and at least look like you’re trying and boom, automatic A.”

Peter rubs a hand at the back of his neck sheepishly. “So, remember after the Rhino dude attacked me, how I had all those bruises that didn’t heal right away?”

“Yeah...” Ned recalls, frowning. “But you said they didn’t hurt.”

“They didn’t! Not really, anyway,” Peter says quickly. “But like, I didn’t really want everyone to see that, so I kinda didn’t change into my uniform. And apparently if you don’t change, Wilson just marks you as absent.”

“Ah.” Ned gives him a sympathetic wince. “Yeah, that’s lame.”

“What I don’t understand,” MJ pipes up, glancing up from the book she’s had her nose in all afternoon, “is the D in Spanish. Rodríguez isn’t even a hard teacher.”

Peter’s face flushes with embarrassment. “So… I might have forgotten to submit a couple assignments.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “You forgot? He reminds us what’s due, like, three times every class period.”

“I mean, it was just the take-home quiz...” he mumbles. “And some of the homework sheets. Oh, and that cultural essay thing about the ancient Mayans.”

“Peter.” She blinks at him. “That was like, twenty percent of our grade.”

“Well, to be fair, I did have a concussion,” he defends. “It was a little hard to remember stuff that week.”

Ned rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, that makes it so much better.”

Peter huffs out a laugh. Honestly, between all the hours he’s been logging lately as Spider-Man, his frequent internship nights with Tony in the lab, the increasingly demanding decathlon practice schedule as their team moves toward regionals, and the weekend shifts he’s started picking up at Delmar’s (because, let’s face it, the vigilante life isn’t the most lucrative career path—the occasional free churro notwithstanding), Peter thinks he’s been doing quite well juggling everything. Sure, his grades aren’t quite the neat row of A’s and the occasional B he’s grown accustomed to throughout his school career, but it’s not like he’s failing anything.

“I’ve just got different priorities now,” Peter says with a shrug. “I still show up and I’m passing all my classes, so what does the grade matter?”

MJ returns the shrug, looking vaguely impressed with him. “It doesn’t really. I’ve always been morally opposed to using arbitrary numerical values as a measure of academic success.” She shifts her gaze back to her novel before adding, offhandedly, “But you gotta admit, the tuition break is nice.”

And in those nine little words, she might as well have punched him in the gut.

“Oh shit,” Peter breathes out. Hurriedly, he starts gathering books together and getting to his feet.

“What?” Ned asks, looking puzzled.

“Um, I gotta go,” he blurts. And then before anyone can say another word, he’s out of the library doors.

The Parkers aren’t poor, exactly.

May works full-time at her job as a neonatal nurse, besides picking up extra shifts one or two nights a month to give them a bit of cushion. Between her wages and the social security checks that come every month from Ben’s pension, the two of them get by. Sure, Peter might not have name-brand clothes or the coolest tech or even a pair of gym shoes without a bit of duct tape on the soles, but there’s always been food on the table and a roof over his head, so Peter’s never stressed that much about their financial situation.

Maybe that’s how he managed to completely forget about his academic scholarship.

He’s qualified for it ever since he passed Midtown’s entrance exams in the top tenth percentile back in eighth grade. The money is substantial—slightly over two-thirds of the tuition cost is paid for him—and the scholarship automatically renews every semester provided he maintains a grade point average of 3.3 or higher, which has never been a problem for him.

That is, up until now. Factoring in his B in history, the C’s in gym and trig, and his D in Spanish, his GPA is currently sitting at 2.9.

Peter is going to lose his scholarship.

With less than two weeks left before finals, Peter starts cramming in all the studying he can manage. He stays up late, pouring over his trigonometry notes, trying to work his way through all the practice problems he’s been slacking on. He makes a point of showing up three minutes early to gym class every day, even if he has to use a bit of his enhanced speed to get all the way there from the chem labs on the other side of the building. On the train, he quizzes himself on the names of historical figures and the dates of battles long-since fought. Some of his teachers are willing to work with him, letting him turn in late assignments for partial credit or giving him additional projects to complete.

And then there’s Spanish.

“Isn’t there some kind of extra credit project I can do?” Peter begs. “Anything?”

It’s his study hall period and he’s at Señor Rodríguez’s desk for the second day in a row, desperately hoping for anything that could give his grade the boost it needs.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” his teacher says, sounding genuinely regretful. “But you’ve had countless opportunities this semester to get your grade up via homework and test retakes, all of which you neglected to take advantage of. Coming to me with less than ten days left in the semester requesting make up work for assignments worth significant percentages of your grade is simply too little, too late.”

“But… I had a concussion that week,” Peter argues. “Like, right when it was all due. And I would have done the work before, but…” He trails off, unable to finish his sentence without explaining his unorthodox extracurriculars. “I...I was busy,” he concludes weakly.

Rodríguez raises an eyebrow a little skeptically. “I didn’t receive any notes from the nurse’s office about this concussion.”

Peter glances down to his feet. “Well, that’s because she didn’t know, exactly…”

No one did—not even May. After getting all those bruises the week before, Peter didn’t want anyone to know he was hurt again so soon. Apparently Karen hadn’t deemed the blow to the head he took severe enough to override his wishes. He’d just dealt with the headaches and brain fog the best he could and sort of floated through that week on his own. In hindsight, maybe not his best plan.

“Well, I guess this is a good life lesson for you then, Peter,” Rodríguez says. His voice is firm, but not unkind. “Part of growing up is taking responsibility and learning to communicate with authority figures before you get into trouble.”

“Right, and I get that,” Peter babbles, “I just—”

His teacher holds up a finger, quieting him. “My job is to train my students for success in the real world, and sometimes that means reminding you that actions have consequences. ¿Lo entiendes?”

And Peter finds himself nodding. Because, despite the pool of dread growing in his gut, he does understand. He wants to be mad, wants to say it’s unfair and the universe gave him a raw deal and he doesn’t deserve this. But he can’t. Rodríguez is right.

And Peter’s still fucked.

By the time Friday rolls around, Peter’s barely functioning. Besides all the extra assignments and studying for finals, he’s had three days in a row of Decathlon practices, followed by some particularly eventful evening patrols that all went quite a bit later than his usual curfew of ten p.m.

He can’t get much of his lunch down today, which does nothing to appease his friends’ concerned looks. The food seems tasteless in his mouth and he’s so tired he nearly nods off into his cafeteria chicken nuggets.

When school finally lets out, he’s surprised and a little disheartened to see the sleek black car waiting for him in the bus circle. He’d totally forgotten it was an internship weekend.

Figures.

Peter groans as he disconnects the circuits he just switched out. He’s been trying to fix a bug in his suit’s heater upgrade for the last twenty minutes now, but nothing he attempts is working and his head is throbbing so much that his vision is hazy.

“Just try again, kid,” Tony encourages absently from across the workshop. He’s not looking up, fully engrossed as he is in his own project. “You got this.”

“Yeah...” Peter mutters under his breath. Blinking a few times, he rubs a hand at his eyes to try to clear his vision.

He connects a different wire. That one doesn’t yield any better results, so he unplugs it and tries again. Then again. Then again. He’s fairly sure he’s already tried the next combination, but he’s so tired he can’t remember so he does it again just to be sure. Nothing.

Peter is so frustrated now that his hands are actually shaking. He pauses and takes a deep breath before trying again.

This time, the wire sparks at him.

“I can’t do this!” Peter exclaims, shoving the suit away from him across the table. “I can’t do anything! Why am I so fucking stupid?!”

He’s breathing heavily now, tears clouding his vision even further. Within a few seconds he feels Tony’s hand rest heavily on his shoulder. It should be comforting, but it only makes Peter feel pathetic.

“C’mon, just take a deep breath and—”

“No!” Peter blurts, shaking away from Tony’s grip. “That’s not going to fix anything! I can’t fix this—don’t you see?!”

Stepping backwards, Tony holds his hands up in front of his chest, keeping his expression perfectly neutral. “Okay…” he says carefully. “I think you might need a break.”

Tears prick at Peter’s eyes and he instantly regrets snapping at his mentor. “No, no, I didn’t mean that! I’m s-sorry, ’m fine…” he says. It would probably sound a lot more convincing if his breath would stop hitching.

Tony lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, no, I’m pulling rank here,” he declares. “It’s break time.”

“No!” Peter protests. His hands fumble back on the table for the wires. “I gotta finish it! It’s so close, it’s just—” He cuts himself off as the images of the suit swim before his eyes, his head throbbing. “I, I need to finish…” he concludes lamely.

“Peter, just stop,” Tony says with an exasperated sigh. “You’re no good like this.”

Somehow, those words are the catalyst. Peter feels every emotion he’s been bottling up for the past week erupt inside of him. His breath hitches and his head pulses. “I, I know I’m not,” he manages to say, “but that’s why I gotta… gotta finish, then maybe—”

“Jesus, kid,” Tony breathes out. “That’s not what I meant at all. I was just saying—”

Peter cuts him off. “No, I… I know…” Tears are sliding down Peter’s cheeks now. He runs a hand through his hair, shoulders shaking. “’M sorry.”

Tony’s eyes are a mixture of concern and confusion. “Whoa, hey, what’s going on here?” Tugging the edge of his sleeve over his thumb, Tony uses it to wipe a few of the tears off his cheeks. “Talk to me.”

Honestly, Peter doesn’t even know where to begin. The frustration of his current project, the lack of sleep, his grades, the scholarship…

“I just… I-I have a headache.”

Peter doesn’t know why he says it—the pressure in his skull doesn’t even rank very high on his list of concerns at the moment, yet the simple physicality of it somehow makes it the easiest thing to admit. He rubs the back of his hand at his eyes, but his vision is still so blurry. “Can’t really see straight…”

Tony’s brows knit together. “Is it a migraine?”

“N-No,” Peter says between choked sobs. “Or... I don’t know, I don’t th-think so?” Despite never having had a migraine, he’s pretty sure that’s not what this is. The pain isn’t anything exceptional—it’s just that he can’t seem to stop crying and he’s so fucking tired.

“Either way, I think you’ll feel better once you’ve got a couple painkillers in you,” Tony reasons. “C’mon, let’s get you sorted out.”

Peter shakes his head in weak protest. “No, ’s’okay... “

“Nope,” Tony says, his voice a little more firm. “Trust me on this, you don’t want to work in a lab right now. It’s bright, and loud, and honestly, you’re a bit of a safety hazard at the moment.”

To Peter’s horror, a fresh wave of emotion comes over him and he finds himself properly crying now, his frame wracking with each sob.

“Okay, okay, alright…” Tony murmurs, and Peter feels a hand awkwardly patting him on the back.

It’s all so idiotic, Peter decides, standing in Tony’s lab, crying over things that are completely his own fault and a headache that isn’t even that bad.

“You’re okay, kid,” Tony whispers. “Just breathe.”

As Peter struggles to pull himself together, he feels the hand switch to rubbing circles on his back. It moves up to the back of his neck, but halts as soon as Tony’s fingers touch Peter’s bare skin.

Tony frowns. “Do you have a fever?”

“Wh-What?” Peter’s throat is thick.

“You’re really warm,” Tony explains. He flips his hand around to press the back of his fingers to Peter’s skin, first on his neck, then on his cheek. “Yeah. FRIDAY, can we get a read on that?”

“100.7, boss,” she supplies.

Tony hums a bit. “Yeah, that’s about what I thought…”

Peter doesn’t get it. “B-But I’m not sick,” he protests. “Just—”

“Exhausted,” Tony finishes for him. “When’s the last time you had a full night’s sleep?”

Sniffling, Peter gives a non-committal shrug.

“Yeah, that’s not good, kid,” Tony huffs. “Take it from a guy who has a bit of experience in this area—not sleeping enough will seriously mess you up.”

With a hand on Peter’s back, Tony starts gently ushering the kid out of the lab. Peter doesn’t even bother protesting anymore as he shuffles along, his lip quivering. He figures he’s caused enough trouble today.

Tony deposits him onto the couch in the living room and Peter immediately curls up against the arm rest, squeezing his eyelids shut in an effort not to think about what a fool he’s making of himself in front of his mentor. It doesn’t help much.

“You just chill out for a minute here, okay?” Tony says quietly, draping a blanket over Peter. “I’m gonna get you some meds.”

Peter nods and Tony gives his shoulder a final squeeze before stepping out.

The second he’s alone, the tears start streaming down again, hot and silent and totally uncontrollable. If he’s not working in the lab, then he really should be studying for these stupid finals, but he can’t bring himself to pull out his flash cards. He doesn’t think he can rest—not with so much hanging over his head—but he can’t work either. Tony was right; he’s just no good right now.

When Tony reenters with painkillers and a glass of water, he doesn’t say anything about how Peter is hurriedly sitting up and scrubbing his face with his hands in a pointless attempt to pull himself together. He just presses two pills into Peter’s palm.

Looking down at the painkillers in his shaking hand, Peter’s stomach twists and he’s suddenly not so sure they’ll be able to stay down. “I can’t. I feel sick,” he admits in a whisper.

With a quiet sigh, Tony perches himself on the edge of the sofa, right beside Peter’s tucked knees. “I think you’re just tired, kiddo. Sometimes that makes you feel a little sick.”

Peter doesn’t say anything so Tony passes him the glass of water. “Here. Humor me,” he says. “If I’m wrong, I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

It’s a stupid joke, but the corners of Peter’s lips twitch anyway. “Okay,” he croaks.

Peter slips the pills into his mouth and swallows them down with a sip of water. He’s queasy, but it’s not too bad. He goes to set the cup back down on the coffee table, but his mentor shakes his head.

“Drink the whole thing,” Tony instructs.

Peter obeys. It takes him a couple of minutes, but he manages to get the entire cup down and feels just the smallest bit better for it.

Tony takes the empty glass from his hand and sets it on the table. “Think you can sleep now?”

Peter just shrugs. He wants to—god, he wants to—but he doesn’t deserve it. Not when this is all his own damn fault. His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks again:

“I think I really messed up, Mr. Stark.”

Over the next ten minutes, it all comes tumbling out: the job at Delmar’s, the decathlon requirements, the late patrols, his slipping grades, his scholarship, everything.

“I just… I don’t want to change schools,” Peter concludes softly. “I like Midtown. It was the first place I really felt like… well, like I fit in.”

Tony’s been quiet for the whole time Peter was speaking, but now his brow furrows. “Why would you need to quit Midtown?”

Peter blinks at him; isn’t it obvious? “Because the full tuition is eight thousand dollars a semester. Without the scholarship…” he trails off. “I just can’t do that to May.”

A look of relief spreads across Tony’s face. “Is that all? That’s the whole issue?” He huffs out an amused breath. “Done. Consider it paid. Problem solved.”

Peter feels his cheeks flush. He shakes his head frantically. “No, no, I didn’t mean that you should pay! Please don’t do that!”

Now it’s Tony’s turn to blink at him. “Peter. I am a multi-billionaire. Do you have any idea what eight thousand dollars is to me?”

“But you shouldn’t have t—”

“Peanuts,” Tony cuts him off. “I’ve spent more on peanuts than that.”

“But—”

“And by that I mean actual, honest-to-god peanuts,” Tony continues over the kid’s protests. “There’s this company in Peru that slow-roasts them for twenty-one days in a secret spice blend. Happy’s obsessed with ‘em—says they’re god’s gift to mankind. So, for Christmas one year—”

“You can’t pay my tuition!” Peter blurts out.

Tony stops his story abruptly. His eyes narrow at Peter. “And why exactly is that?”

“Because…” Running a hand through his hair, Peter draws in a shuddery breath. “Because… If anyone should pay, it’s me. I-I’m the one who fucked up and lost the stupid scholarship. I should be the one responsible for fixing this.”

“But you can’t fix it,” Tony says bluntly.

Peter’s caught off-guard. “Wh-What? N-No, I just need to get my grades up, and, and…”

Tony’s voice is gentler now. “You can’t, Peter. You can’t get a 2.9 up to a 3.3 by next week, no matter how well you do on your exams. You’ve gotta know that.”

(Peter does know. He’s known for days. He’s always been good at math, after all.)

“So you can’t keep going on like this, trying to make up for what happened,” Tony concludes.

Tears prick at the corners of Peter’s eyes once more. He’s determined not to let them fall this time. “But I deserve it…” he whispers.

Tony shrugs. “If we always got what we deserved, I never would have made it through the 90s.” He huffs out a short laugh. “At least nobody has to bail you out of prison. Same can’t be said for all of us.”

In spite of Peter’s earlier resolve, the traitorous tears slip out anyway. He wonders how he has any left.

Tony sobers a bit. “You’re a good kid, Pete,” he says quietly. “But you’re trying to carry the whole world on your shoulders and that’s enough to break anyone. It’s okay to ask for help sometimes. Even if you fucked up.”

Peter swallows hard. “Okay.”

“So let’s try this again,” Tony says. He makes eye contact with Peter. “What do you need, kid?”

“Right now?” Peter exhales deeply. “I dunno. A nap?”

Tony smirks slightly. “I think we can manage that.”

Peter makes it through finals.

All his extra effort and studying does yield some results. His gym grade increases to a B after Coach Wilson grades his two-page extra credit report on the rules of badminton. The trig final is rough, but he pulls in another couple points there, and the art teacher accepts a few late sketches from the unit on perspectivism. With the help of the final exam, he even manages to eek out a C- in Spanish.

When it’s all said and done, Peter’s GPA sits at 3.1.

“That wasn’t easy to do. I’m proud of you, Peter,” May says sincerely. “You know that, right?”

Peter shrugs. “I guess so.”

They’re sitting together at the apartment’s small kitchen table, May’s open laptop in front of them with all of Peter’s end of semester grades displayed. Peter’s eyes drift down from the screen to the table where a check for eight thousand dollars signed by Tony Stark himself is staring back at him. He sighs.

May plants a quick kiss on the top of her nephew’s head. “Well, I know so. So for now, I’ll just know it for the both of us.”

Peter strokes his fingers over the crisp paper of the check. Besides covering tuition, Tony has now upgraded Peter’s unofficial SI internship to a paid position—something he says he should have done long ago, given how much time Peter spends working in the lab—and that will allow him to give Mr. Delmar his two-week notice.

He knows he should be grateful, but honestly, it’s going to take him some time to wrap his head around the concept of being taken care of like this.

Getting up from the table, May moves over to retrieve a small paper bag from the counter. “That reminds me—Mr. Stark told me to give you this.” She tosses the bag to Peter, who catches it easily.

Curiously, he opens it. He’s immediately hit with the aroma of exotic spices and roasted legumes. Peter can’t help but grin.

A note inside the bag reads: Enjoy your peanuts, kid.

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, you might also like:

Viral Wisdom

Go Down Swinging

A Pressing Emergency

Fic Masterlist

#irondad fic #irondad & spiderson #sick peter parker #hurt/comfort #crying #emotional breakdown #angst #soft angst #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #headache #fever #stress #school stress #gpa

387 notes · View notes

soranihimawari · 4 years

Text

Hi Scores & Taiyaki

Welcome back to part 3 of the Kuroo x 1st person fic. This will be the last installment for now unless I decide to use Social Dummy again to continue the character’s relationship. But first things first, thanks for reading this and major shoutouts to @vbcshenaningansnwritings for reblogging my stories & @kaidasen for encouraging me to post these drabbles/drafts/fics. ::hugs to you::

Taglist: still open

The weeklong camp had come to an end before it had begun. I had a lot of fun hanging out with the girls during the end of camp barbecue. There were a few instances where I had to chase after Bokuto to remind him to not steal so much food from the different grills, but he just laughed it off before running away with a plate full of food for Akaashi. Kuroo on the other hand, was busy keeping track of his protoges, Kenma and Tsukishima (another tall middle blocker from Karasuno) by also doing the same thing. There was a moment before the visiting teams started to pack their belongings where Kenma tugged on my sleeve to pull me aside causing my conversation with the female managers to be cut short. (We had already traded contact info during the many nights we stayed up exchanging stories of their teams antics, so we all decided to text each other later).

“Everything ok Kenma?” I asked when we stopped walking. There was a safe distance between the side of the building where we stood and the other members of the teams.

“Kuroo seems to really like you,” he said in a low tone. I nodded as I kicked the invisible pile of dust on the concrete floor. His console was tucked away in his track jacket pocket, but he continued to play a different game on his phone.

“I have a feeling that I already know,” I replied with a smirk.

“Good. Because I couldn’t get him to shut up about you after you helped Lev out the other day.”

A chortle escaped my lips, “I see. Well, if that’s all you wanted to tell me, then I guess we could head back. C’mon, Karasuno is about to leave now too. Let’s say bye to Shoyo & Tsukki.”

It seemed as though everyone had begun saying their farewells by the time we returned.

***

Summer vacation quickly ended for me as soon as it had begun. Classes were starting again the following day, so naturally by the time I had arrived back home, I greeted my parents before calling my close friend, Riza.

“Kenma confirmed to me that Kuroo does like me and we may or may not have spent more time alone after lights out,” I explained collapsing on my mattress.

“Oh ho ho,” Riza chuckled on her end of the line. “So, the tom cat finally came around to liking you? That’s terrific. All of his fans are going to be heart broken when you guys go out on your date next Saturday.”

“I know. I am not looking forward to receiving those glares from his exes though.”

“Meh, you’ll be fine. They were the ones who let him go with the exception of Angela though. Those two always fought, but I am glad you two never really fought. Well, maybe except in trig when you both arrived at different limit answers, haha.”

“Of course you’d remember how well he took being wrong, Riz.”

“Mmhm. I gotta back my friend up whenever he assumes he is the smartest in the room. Anyways, I’m gonna go prepare for bed. See you in class tomorrow.”

“Okidokie. Meet at the convenience store at seven?”

“I’ll be there. Later Kat.”

***

The days seemed to have blurred together, but with both Kuroo and I heavily invested in our separate clubs outside of school hours, we barely had any time to discuss finalizing our plans for our arcade date. On Friday night before our date, I received a call from him. He seemed a bit stressed out, more so than usual, but that was to be expected since the team had a qualifying match scheduled in a few days time.

“Coach is making us have an extra practice on Wednesday and that’s when this chem lab is due. There’s also this make up test I have to do for history and I’m falling behind in trig since I can’t really find the time for homework. Kat, I don’t know what to do.”

I was seated at my desk in front of my computer screen in the middle of typing an essay for English class. It was a three to five page paper discussing the themes of Westernized fairy tales which I stopped writing because clearly, Kuroo needed someone to snap him back into focus.

“Take a deep breath first,” I heard him inhale and upon his exhale, I continued. “Good. Now, listen to me carefully Tetsuro: meet me in the library after class on Monday. Bring all your materials for the classes you fell behind on. I’ll make copy of my notes and bring a pen to correct your mistakes on the trig quizzes since you got an 80% last time.”

“Our second date is a study date, huh?”

I chuckled. “It can be. Let’s survive the first one, yeah? The forecast called for rain tomorrow afternoon, so hopefully we won’t get caught in it on the way back.”

***

I arrived first to the arcade around 17:50. I was dressed in the best casual attire I could think of: navy wide leg pants, a white dress shirt paired underneath with a lemon yellow camisole. My shoes were black rain boots and my hair was left down. Kuroo came a few minutes later dressed in an all black street ensemble attire that made me think I was a bit out of his league (more so than before).

“You did not have to come here looking like an idol star,” I teased when he reached out to hold my hand.

“And you didn’t have to either,” he said with a smile. “Let’s go inside to play Street Fighter II again, yeah?” I nodded.

A few hours passed us by as we kept reloading the game cards playing different arcade games ranging from fighting games, TETRIS, and music games (like JuBEAT FESTO). Kuroo’s cat like smile made me more competitive when he failed the last song of JuBeat.

“Move aside, lemme see if I can beat your score sir,” I mused. I swiped my card and selected my first song and the speed. The tiles began to glow with the first few notes coming from the machine. There were a lot of encouraging words coming through the screen: “Combo!” “Perfect” “100 note streak!”

“By the time my round ended, the title card illuminated with a new hi-score slot waiting for my initials to be put in.

“If I wanted to date Kenma, I would have just taken him here,” Kuroo muttered under his breath. “Well, you win. I bow down to you, Kat-chan. Queen of JuBEAT FESTO.”

“You don’t have to, but maybe we should go? It’s almost 20:30 and I don’t want to stay out too late. Let’s go grab a bite to eat, yeah?”

There were a few food cart vendors located down the street from the arcade. Their carts were lined up against the entrance way of an old park where there once was a sunflower field. Years of urbanization caused the flowers to no longer be planted, but in their stead, a field of peonies were grown. I took a seat on one of the benches facing the flowers. A warm smile graced my lips as I leaned down to pluck one off the field.

“Such a pretty flower for a pretty date,” Kuroo’s voice made me yelp in surprise. He cackled as he extended one of the taiyaki he bought toward me. “Here, I got you a taiyaki.” I took one of the fish shaped pastries an thanked him. We raised our fishes to each other and began to munch on them; we sat there for about half an hour making the time pass by playing a question game with each other.

“Your turn,” I reminded Kuroo with a nudge of my elbow. “Ask me anything you like.”

“Alright,” Kuroo replied. “Hmm...I got it! Kat, how many dates do we have to go on before I ask you to be my girlfriend?”

I leaned forward and folded my arms over my thighs, a hum drawn out into the air. I made direct eye contact with the peonies, the one I plucked remained on the bench. He had a puzzled emotion worn on his face.

“As many as it takes for me to believe you actually like me. Kuroo,” I swallowed thickly. “You’re someone who would break up with a girl over the fact that they bore you or that they didn’t understand your commitment to your team as captain. It’s going to take some time for me to believe your emotions toward me are genuine. Sure, we had fun at training camp, but I need you think this through. Are you sure you want to be with me?”

At this point, Kuroo stood up and immediately crouched down in front of me. The summer breeze made his hair dance in the wind along with the blooms behind him.

“I’m sure,” he replied. A hand of his combed a few pieces of my hair behind my ear; he grabbed the plucked peony blossom and placed it behind my exposed ear. “See? You do look more glamorous with it in your hair. C’mon, I suppose it’s time for me to walk you home.”

He pulled me up off the bench and placed a light kiss atop the crown of my head.

We arrived at the fork in the sidewalk where we would have originally had split up before, but instead Kuroo escorted me to the front courtyard of my apartment complex building. He held my hand the entire walk over, telling me more stories of his childhood with Kenma up until the time Kenma turned twelve and they climbed a tree to rescue a kitten.

“And that’s how Kenma had his first pet,” Kuroo said, a triumphant smile over his face.

“So it seems,” I replied, a shortened giggle fell out of my mouth. He raised my hand to his lips, thanking me for a wonderful outing. His thumb traced over my knuckles lightly. I removed the flower from behind my ear before offering it to him. He pushed it back toward me before he tilted my chin up to meet his gaze.

“Keep it, sweetheart,” his voice told me. He leaned down again and kissed me, slowly to quiet my irrational fears of not being wanted by him. One kiss was all it took for both of us to come to terms with our outlook on each other. My eyes fluttered open, my hand still wrapped around the peony’s stem. He kissed my cheek when I wasn’t looking directly at him.

“Go on upstairs. I’ll leave after you go,” he told me in an hazy tone. He squeezed my hand gently.

“Thank you for today,” I began as I turned around to open the door of the lobby. “See ya at school next week.”

***

About a month and half after our first date, Kuroo and I found ourselves curled up on the couch in his living room with a Ghibli film playing in the background. His arm was resting comfortably against my waist, drawing small circles on my skin. I turned my eyes away from the tv to look up at him before I decided I was done watching the film. I committed the minute details of his face to memory.

He cocked his head to the side with a curious brow lifted toward me right up until the moment I initiated a kiss. Kuroo did not object to this sign of affection pouring from me. His hand moved away from my waist to my back, then I felt his arms loop behind me to pull me over his lap. I found myself wrapping my legs around his waist as my hands made their way on to the fabric of his shirt prior to me holding on to it for balance as he began to work on deepening our kiss. I found myself smiling into every kiss he gave me, stealing every ounce of air he had inside his lungs. He rested his head against the crook of my neck, his breathing uneven.

“Three years of wondering what it would feel like to have you alone like this,” his voice reverberated gently against my skin causing a blush to dance across my face. Slowly, I felt his lips imprint open mouthed kisses up the side of my neck. He was gentle with me at first, much like the first person to kiss me like this. My breath was caught in my throat and it seemed he didn’t care as a whimper escaped my lips in anticipation not knowing where his lips were headed to next. Damn this boy, my inner thoughts cursed at him.

Each kiss gained momentum the closer his lips grazed against my own. In the past couple of dates that we had had, I mentioned off hand to Kuroo that if he were to kiss my neck, even playfully, I’d crumble beneath his touch. Smooth ass mother fucker, I thought.

“Shh...” I hushed him within a few seconds when I felt his one of his hands disappear under the back of my shirt and the other stabilized the back of my neck. I’d like to think he counted how many layers of clothing there was between us, but his coarse hands roamed my body curious to know how soft my skin was.

He pushed me forward, causing me to crash on to his demanding lips again; his hands were wrapped around my waist and mine laced lightly around the back of his neck, giving me more support to push myself into him more. His mouth was compressed against mine, yet this kiss remained as light as we had intended it to be. We sat like this for a few moments before our lips began to move rhythmically over the other, the pace being set by him.

I exhaled through my nose, not wanting to let go of him. There was an overwhelming feeling of mutual relief toward each other finally seeing what we could be. Relief raced out of hearts for a moment only to be replaced with this sense of combined eccentric panic, and lust. More, I thought. I need more of this kind of physical affection.

Kuroo’s hand on the small of my back travelled higher in an attempt to pull my shirt over my head, to which I shook my head in agreement.

“It’s too hot,” I said, lifting the fabric over my head and tossing it to the side. Kuroo’s eyed my exposed top half through running his hands up my sides. My chest rose and fell with every touch his grazed my skin.

“I concur,” he said. I shrugged before I leaned down, hands pressing his shoulders back on to the back of the couch. From there, I began my barrage of open mouthed kisses down his neck, leaving bite marks behind his ear. Hearing him hiss an exasperated sigh when he pulled me toward him causing me to stop.

My hair hung over my shoulders as Kuroo tilted his head up again to press his forehead against mine. He and I exchanged a few words making sure the other was doing ok; most of our replies were done in a hummed tone of the “yes,” variety.

Our heart rates needed to return to a normal pace prior to us continuing where we had left off. Kuroo’s playful shine in his eyes and smirk told me everything I wanted to know. I caressed his cheek when I pulled away, the inside of my palm warm from his flushed face.

“Kat,” he breathed my name so effortlessly it caused me to stop stroking the side of his face.

“Hmm?” my vocal chords vibrates at the sound of my name. “What is it?”

Suddenly, I took note of how Kuroo’s eyes were trying to refocus themselves on my face; pupils dilated meaning he felt the rush of serotonin enter his system. He shifted his weight underneath me and whispered something along the lines of “you’re staying over tonight,” in my ear to which I nodded. I didn’t have time to wait since I felt him stand up with his hands under my thighs.

“W-woah!” I said, stifling a laugh when I moved my arms around his neck for balance. “Where are you taking me?” As if I didn’t already know the answer. I arched my eyebrow up at him with a teasing expression.

“My room,” Kuroo answered, his eyes crinkled with a smile. “To continue where we left off kitten.”

#haikyu!! fiction #kuroo x 1st person pov #part 3 of 3 #another miniseries is done!

2 notes · View notes

melo-yello · 5 years

Text

Zero (Sweet Pea x POC Reader)

Pairing: Sweet Pea x POC Reader

Warning(s): fluff, self image struggles, cursing, a lot of goofy ass nicknames

Summary: Reader is a River Vixen flunking Trig and a certain Southside Serpent so happens to acing that class.

A/N: Season 2 is my fav. Even tho 1 has a better plot. This takes place right after the transfer when tensions were still high. I was feelincrumby about sucking @ Cal 2 so I wrote this. I'm a big fan of the tutoring in secret thing. But this time Pea's the tutor. This is just part 1 I'll be updating soon.

The swish of stapled papers across desks echoes around the silent Advanced Trig classroom as Mr.Larings comes down your row. He offers disappointed huffs and sighs to each student he passes. Simple affirmation the class has seen better days.

“I warned you guys this test was a real doozy.” He says doing his best to lighten the sober room. He really didn't have the whole ‘I love to fail kids’ math teacher vibe.

Mr.Larings is a stickler for the rules, but he's also the kind of teacher to hand out cookies when the class has a B average.

You flinch back as you lay eyes on the paper in front of you. The bright fluorescent lighting illuminates the red ink sparkling like stars that your sad excuse for a test.

“I expect more from a River Vixen, Ms.L/n.” Mr.Larings says shaking his head.

He turns to the dark haired guy in the desk across from you. The large broad shouldered boy has a harsh half sleep look on his face.

“Good work.” Mr.Larings hums handing him a paper with a near perfect score written in green.

He sits up and just nods folding his paper in half as the math teacher heads to the front of the class.

Your mouth falls wide open as you stare in awe. This Southside Serpent has been taking this class less than two weeks nearing the end of the 2nd term and he just aced the hardest test you've had all year. And he sleeps half the time.

Holy shit I might be dumber than I thought.

“If you're wondering how to breathe you exhale next, Pep Squad.” The dark eyed gangster sneers at you as the bell rings.

You let your embarrassment fade into irritation as you gather you bag with a huff and head for the door.

“Ms.L/n. A word?” The middle aged man sighs motioning you toward his desk just as you make it to door. The southsider steps around gasping with a childish grin on his face as he steps into the hallway.

“Mr.Larings I've got vixen practice and Cheryl will kill me if I'm late ag-” You swallow the rest of your sentence when he gives a stern look over his glasses.

“I suggest look into a tutor. If you fail this next test I'll be forced to recommend you are suspended from the squad.” He says regretfully shrugging his shoulders.

“Bububbbbuubuubut?” You mutter as the horror of losing your spot on the Vixens really sinks in as he ushers you out the classroom door.

Sure this math class has been kicking your ass but it couldn't have been that bad.

Could it?

You've never flunked a class in your life let alone get kicked off the squad for it. You'd be a total laughing stalk of Riverdale High.

God, my parents will kill me if they ever find out.

…

You rub the soreness from the back of your neck as you walk out the locker room trying to burns holes through the tile with your e/c irises. The next test is in a few weeks and you need a tutor if you are going to come anywhere near passing.

Who could do it?

Cheryl's a math whiz, but she runs the squad.

I'd never hear the end of it.

Ronnie and Betty are out.

On the squad too.

Archie's no good unless it's music or punching and tells Ronnie everything.

Jug's more of English ner-

You collide with what has to be no less than a brick wall. Either that or a small freight train. You determine this by landing firmly on your already sore butt with an 'umph’. A quiet snicker from above disproves both hypotheses.

“Watch Where The F-” You pause as you lay eyes on the closet math geek himself offering a hand with a peeved expression settling on to his face.

“You ran into me, Sis-boom-bah!” He groans impatiently.

Every nasty rumor about the Southside plays though your head as you swallow your insult.

How they're the ones going around pulling knives on people.

Or how they're the ones selling and making the drugs.

Or how they're the ones that bring all the crime to this side of town.

Or how they're the ones that teach their kids to rob you blind before they're out of diapers.

Ok that last one is just ridiculous.

Not that you really believed that stuff,but it just kinda came to mind.

Small town gossips just tends to linger.

Like all of sudden you needed more of a reason to be wary of 6’4” guy drenched in sweat in a dimly lit hallway.

And now it's written all over your face.

“Hold your applause a Southside Serpent is gonna help you up, and you can bet your short short covered ass I've got better things to do than have you stare at me like I'm gonna kill you.” He huffs stretching his arm a little further.

“Like I'm scared of you, Jockstrap!” You scoff scrunching up your face as you take his hand as he pulls you to your feet with little to no effort. Like you weighed nothing.

His hands are surprisingly warm and soft but have the slightest worked in roughness.

You reluctantly snatch your hand back in order to save your dwindling pride.

“Could've fooled me, Spirit Fingers.” He deadpans drily waving his hands as he rolls his dark eyes and steps around you to make his way down the corridor.

“In your dreams, Corleone-wannabe.” You snort heading in the opposite direction.

You could have sworn you heard the faintest laughter from the intimidating teen as you head to the parking lot.

…

The full coverage concealer is put to the test of a lifetime as it attempts to hide the heavy bags left under your eyes left from the all nighter you pulled to take on your Trig homework. And you still barely finished problem 1.

Your usual preppy look is replaced with a loose NASA tee and some comfy bleached out ripped jeans and your favorite f/c sneakers. Your messy curls are up in two loose puffs and your ears are sporting some wacky dangly planet earrings.

You snatch the circle lensed shades from your dashboard as you stumble out of your truck. forgetting there's a step between the door and the ground. You fall forward into the parking lot pavement only for a strong warm hand to catch your wrist just before impact.

“Jesus, Poms Poms, it's a little early for a death drop face first isn't?” Your brave Serpent rescuer snarks sounding a little out of breath.

Did he run over here?

“Yea well, it's a little early for witty banter too, Harley Davidson.” You huff twirling to face your knight in checkered flannel.

“Nice to see you're ungrateful all times of day, Teen Spirit.” He hums arms crossed with a slight grin on his face.

“You know I have an actual name, Black Parade. It's Y/n L/n.” You smirk mirroring him. A playfulness creeping behind your eyes.

“Well Y/n, I think you forgot to say ‘Thanks Sweet Pea for not letting me faceplant on the pavement’.” He smiles gesturing for you to speak. You snort as you make no effort to stifle laughter that bubbles up as you hear what supposed to be his name.

“Come on, Fight Club, Seriously is that the best you come up with?!? That's just ridiculous, Sweet Pea!?!? What's it really?!?” You manage to sputter between laughs wiping a tear from your eye.

His warm smile falls. He stiffens and fixes you with a bone chilling glare as he squares his shoulders. You back into your truck door as your laughs turn into coughs. You can feel a burning heat crawls across your brown cheeks.

“I meant uh thanks, Sweet Pea.” You smile forcing yourself to stand straight and look him in the eyes.

“There you go again looking at me like I'm gonna bite your head off.” He sighs rolling his eyes as he walks toward the front doors.

“Gimme a break, between inverses and memorizing the unit circle I barely got an hour of sleep last night. I really need a tutor.” You say sprinting a little to catch up with his long strides. He could easily out pace you, but he slows to match your steps.

“Are you asking me to tutor you? Also we're on Pythagorean identities.” He corrects giving you a concerned but amused look as he swings open the door.

Your eyes widen as you realize what you said.

You have just given a serpent all he would need to screw you over. Not to mention he doesn't particularly like you.

Oh my God, Nevermind I'm definitely dumber than I thought. Who casually tells a hot stranger that they’re flunking math.

You facepalm.

Wait 'hot stranger’?

“No no no I just...I was uh a ...just umm-” You swallow your muddled explanation as you spot Veronica and Betty walking down the hall in your direction. You latch onto Sweet Pea's toned arm and manage to drag him into a side hallway out of sight. You make sure to hide yourself behind his broad frame just in case.

“L/n you're batshit. You know that?” He laughs watching you spazz out.

You place both hands on your hips and fix him with your iciest glare yet. You find yourself staring straight at his chest. You shift your gaze to his eyes without a crack in his resolve.

“Get this straight, Beanstalk. I need your help, but can't tell another living soul what you're helping me with! It would end me! Not any of your friends. Not any of mine. Not the team. Not the squad. No One At All.” You hiss.

“You know, Bring It On, even though it's ‘super sexy’ being dragged off into secluded parts of the school with you against my will you're not in the position to be making demands. I haven't even agreed to tutor you let alone named my price. Just so you know outting some demanding northsider brat about failing math isn't even a page in my burn book.” He smirks down at you as your hot air goes cold and your confidence crumbles.

“Sweet Pea... will you tutor me?” You whisper staring at your sneakers and kicking at the tile.

“Didn't quite catch that.” He says straight faced leaning in with a hand cupped around his ear inches away from you.

“Just tutor me...please... I can't flunk this class . I'll do anything.” You huff wrinkling your face in defeat and disgust at being reduced to begging.

He backs away smiling with from ear to ear as he walks to the corner of the small breezeway.

“I've got a free period at 3rd block. I could look at what I'm working with at the back of the library. And after I access the damage then I'll let you know what my precious time is worth.” Sweet Pea shrugs dragging a hand across the nape of his neck and drawing your attention to dull ink on the right side of it. The black snake catches your attention for the very first time. Your teeth easily find your bottom lip and pull themselves across.

“Yea yea that works for me.” You say as you brush pass him shaking any kind attraction from your thoughts and sashaying out into the hallway.

#sweet pea x reader #riverdale sweet pea #sweet pea #smart sweet pea #sweet pea x poc reader #riverdale s2 #riverdale betty #riverdale veronica #riverdale cheryl #archie riverdale #riverdale jughead #zero #sweet pea imagine

183 notes · View notes

truthbeetoldmedia · 5 years

Text

The 100 6x05 "The Gospel of Josephine" Review

Y’all breathing okay? I think there were a few times when I held my breath this episode and boy howdy! I’m glad The 100 can still give me those moments. Now let’s dive right in to the episode:

Bonjour Josephine!

Last week we got a tiny bite of Josephine. Tonight we got the whole "gâteau opéra”, emphasis on “opera”, for the story of the Primes seems to be a long and bloody Shakespearean affair on an alien moon. Jaux!Clarke (see what I did there?) has barely fired up her silicone memories before she dispatches poor Kaylee with a cheese knife. Apparently Kaylee assisted, or at least didn’t prevent, Josephine’s last host body’s “death”, and she’s been on ice for six years waiting for a new host to be born and grow up. (Which we learn later is because they need a fully developed over-21 adult brain to host an adult’s memory chip, as they overload and kill child hosts. Glad we don’t have to see how they know that.)

Apparently Russell and Simone “jumped line” to bring back Josephine so I’m assuming it’s setup like an organ donor list, except people wait actual decades to talk to their loved ones again. The price of eternal life, eh? Also I can bet there will be some VERY unhappy Primes once they find out Russell and Simone cut line to get their daughter back amongst the living. Josephine seems to be hardened by her long life, and thinks very pragmatically and cold. She has successfully “other-ed” everyone except her loved ones...which is not comforting but also, I can’t help but think the gang would be very happy to have old Clarke back when they get a taste of real cold indifference from Jaux!Clarke.

Her “parents” give her time to adjust and we see Jaux!Clarke painting while dancing to French rap — a sentence I never thought I’d type for a sci-fi show review. She’s of course been given a task: find out how many nightbloods, aka hosts, our Space Popsicles have (since we really can’t call our gang the 100 or the delinquents anymore I’ve decided to call them this, fight me) to keep the Primes from becoming extinct. How hard can it possibly be to pretend to be Clarke right? All I thought was give Bellamy Blake and Jordan Green 10 minutes alone with her and she will figure that out real quick. (Also I was SO pleased to discover I was correct with guessing those two!)

Space Popsicle™️ Fam finds skeletons in the closet!

Jaux!Clarke meets up with Bellamy, Jordan, Gaia and the rest of the SpacePops™️ Fam and starts acting weird immediately. (Subtle at first but someone forgot to check if she knew Trig ha!) She dodges her first bullet and finds Abby to try and find out how many nightbloods might be on the main ship, only to hear herself called a monster and have Abby compare her book to the Eugenics books of our time. I enjoyed seeing her squirm at Abby’s assessment of her book, though Abby doesn’t have a lot of room to judge...

When Abby questions why her left-handed daughter is writing with her right hand, Jaux!Clarke needs to find a reason to exit stage left and she sees Bellamy and Murphy looking for Jordan and follows them. They find Jordan in the spooky science closet full of skeletons (subtle the Primes are not) and Bellamy is of course in full Dad mode™️, asking Jordan what the heck he’s doing. Jordan delivers quite possibly my favorite line of the season, thus far:

“What you would’ve done, The you before Praimfaya, anyway. Heart over head. That was always my favorite Bellamy.”

Monty and Harper's son, ladies and gentlemen!! Y’all I nearly jumped to my feet and clapped! Because that Bellamy is also my favorite Bellamy! And this whole season is a little odd feeling to me because Bellamy already feels like he’s been body snatched. Let’s hope this wonderful line delivered with perfection by the fabulous Shannon Kook is a sign we will get some old “I say, screw fear. I’m telling my own damn story” Bellamy Blake back this year! (Can I get an amen!)

Back to the science skeleton closet:

Jaux!Clarke Tries and fails to lure team SpacePops™️ out but Jordan and Gaia keep digging around and they end up watching the first “successful” upload of Josephine by Gabriel and her now very old looking father (og body) Russell. We also learned it took 25 years for them to develop and perfect the AI tech and lord knows how many corpses to get there.

We don’t know yet but I have a feeling we can guess the “old man” is Gabriel and “the Children of Gabriel” are followers against the “Primes ways” and are a result of him regretting playing God to get Josephine back and exiling himself once Josephine and fam got a little to unhinged about “hosts” and “nightblood”, leading others to follow his example. After Jaux!Clarke calls Murphy “John” and says a few other strange things, Bellamy asks to speak to her alone and, I’m just saying, if you watch this scene you see that Bellamy already KNoWS this isn’t “normal” Clarke. He isn’t sure what’s wrong yet, but he knows enough to test her and he can tell she can’t really understand what he’s saying in Trig! So he pulls a signature “Bellamy” move and yanks her back by the throat and starts asking questions because he’s now officially in panic mode —

BUT alas! She had a syringe of that lovely paralytic on hand just in case and the last thing we see in this scene is the horrible realization in Bellamy’s eyes as he lies helplessly paralyzed on the ground: there is a cold stranger behind his best friend’s beautiful blue eyes...and he cannot process his fear and loss fast enough. Welcome back heart over head Bellamy, we’ve missed you!!

Cut to Jaux!Clarke finding Murphy in the bar and revealing her true identity and confessing “Clarke is dead. My parents killed her” (listen I don’t buy it kids) and offering our favorite morally questionable cockroach something he might not be able to pass up: eternal life. Given his recent brush with death and sudden fear of hell….oh boy! It’s gonna take him a minute to realize he should help his friends, I just hope he realizes that before he’s made a full deal with the devil.

Diyoza and the Brat

This pair is a surprising team up, but if I have to suffer through Octavia’s “redemption” they couldn’t have picked a better reward than my favorite Season 5 addition (besides sweet Shaw! I’m still bitter about that guys) DIYOZA! Sassy, amazing fighter, the universe’s longest known pregnant lady. I could watch an entire show about her. (Also Ivana Milicevic is a dream in this role.) She’s the gift that keeps on giving, cool as a cucumber while stuck in space quicksand as Octavia is about to go under because she cannot be still for one second. Probably because if Octavia’s quiet she’ll think and with that comes dark thoughts: how she failed as a leader, how she was willing to abuse, torture and maybe even kill her brother, how her brother, the one person who she thought would always love her through her greatest faults, finally couldn’t take anymore and rejected her. She doesn’t have anything left to lose. Rock bottom meet Octavia Blake, Octavia Blake meet rock bottom.

Now I know I sound harsh but after Season 4 I was beyond seeing her as anything but a villain. I know she is on her way to redemption, but I’m glad they are giving her the long way through the dirt and mud, letting her soak in the cage of her own making a while. And giving us the wonderful Diyoza to lighten the mood. I am all for unsuspecting road trip buddies in shows (Arya and the Hound anyone?) but unfortunately so far all Octavia’s done is try to murder people, throw tantrums, and sulk. Oh well, at least Diyoza is getting in some practice for when she finally gets to have her 200-year-old baby! Really though bless her heart, she deserves some kind of sainthood for this.

Mount Weather + City of Light + Commander worship, shaken not stirred

I actually dig the intersecting of all the “bad guy” storylines into one big villain origin story wearing Clarke’s face. If nothing else it’s a poetic rehash of all the previous seasons, but refreshing enough to not seem stale...for the most part. I grow tired of the Flame/commander story and miss the more simple “teens surviving the unknown my learning to depend and care for each other” story of the first few seasons. BUT considering Season 5’s underwhelming last half, if there is one thing I can say about Season 6 of The 100...it’s not boring! And for a show that sometimes paces the plot too fast I was actually okay with that this time around! I did not want it to take three episodes for our fave family of 150 year old space popsicles to discover Clarke is “dead”. Also I am so glad it was the magic duo of Bellamy and Jordan that made the realization first.

Final thoughts

Eliza Taylor has grown so much as an actress over the seasons! She looks like she had so much fun playing Jaux!Clarke and she gave her such a different “spirit” than our usual worried and sometimes snarky but mostly serious Clarke Griffin. Just the way her eyes dance lets you know it’s not “real Clarke”.

I neglected to mention the importance of Jordan knowing “Delilah” before her change to Priya VII, so his spidey senses also go off around Clarke because he knows what a person who just got body snatched acts like! When he took “Delilah” the flowers I was like my poor son.

This episode was great because the focus was tighter and had fewer characters to keep up with! (Listen I love ensemble casts but they have not given Raven a strong independent storyline since Season 4, and I love Emori but she doesn’t really have a lot to do at the moment either, as for Echo...why she was made a main character when Harper was right there all those seasons? I’ll never know.) All that to say, I like when they break up the cast a bit and just focus on a few at a time to really get that interpersonal development between characters. That used to be the bread and butter of this show. Don’t get me wrong, I still love The 100 and find it unique and fun and twisty and exhilarating and at times beautifully heartbreaking.

(Episodes 1x05, 1x07, 1x13, 2x15, 2x16, 4x13 and 5x13 are perfect examples of this.)

But I do yearn for those slower, deeper days of, say, a boy and a girl grappling with the moral quandary of torturing a stranger tied up in the cockpit of a crashed spaceship to save a dying friend. Sometimes bigger and shiner isn’t always better. But no matter how this season goes, The 100 is still one of my favorite TV shows ever, and deserves a spot up there with a lot of other great sci-fi dramas of the past two decades.

As of now all I need to know is: where the heck is Bellamy Blake and is he okay?!

Gina’s episode rating: 🐝🐝🐝🐝

The 100 airs Tuesdays at 9/8c on the CW.

#The 100 #The Gospel of Josephine

10 notes · View notes

govtplates · 6 years

Text

Suicide Note

Mirror: paste.ee/p/iClXD

Please rehost on zeronet and substratum when they publish their hosting platform

Early Saturday morning, I killed myself with toxic gas. The last two years of my life have been a slow motion death sentence, and I’ve finally chosen to complete it on my own terms. I started planning this more than a month ago when I first realized that my last chance for survival had failed me. I’m mentally disabled, very ill and I was illegally fired from my last job as a dishwasher because of it six months ago. Since then, I’ve been fighting a discrimination case against the company through the Seattle Office for Civil Rights. A settlement from the result of that became my only chance to escape what’s destroyed my life, but SOCR failed me. It was agonizingly difficult and straining to get an investigator on my case, and then he quit a few weeks after opening it in February. Since then every employee I’ve dealt with from top to bottom has been dishonest and deceitful to me, after realizing that no one in the only organization with the ability to help me had any interest of actually helping me, I lost any hope of getting a new investigator in a time frame that’ll save me. I only got a new investigator last week, and by then it was far too late. If this got started when it should have, it would be wrapped up this month at the very latest.

Then, some days later I go notice that my rent is going up next month, which sealed my fate. For the last year I’ve had to depend on my parents, Ken and Jodi for bills after an unsuccessful job hunt after being laid off. They have abused me my entire life, always mentally and emotionally and sometimes physically. They’re delusional, sadistic, childishly vindictive, dangerously stupid, and terrifyingly negligent. In January they forced me into an agreement that conditioned their continued payment of my bills on me taking pharmaceutical medication from a psychiatrist. This is in virtue of their delusion that my mental illnesses are genetic and innate, not brought up from my environment and what’s done to me. I’ve had all of my DNA sequenced, which disproved any disposition to neural conditions early in life. This agreement wasn’t arrived at through discourse or negotiation, but out of nowhere they exploited my worst fears against me at my most vulnerable moment in order to renege on past agreements and strong arm me into lying about agreeing to their condition. A few psychiatrist meetings and a pharmacy visit later, it was relatively harmless but insanely stressful because of how impulsively aggressive my parents are. So my current fears aren’t precisely that their current condition is unachievable, it doesn’t hurt me to fill my cabinet with wasted pill bottles, despite the wasted money handed to big pharma that could go to help cover my basic needs. But they are absurdly dishonest people, they will never for even a second stay faithful to any agreement or negotiation. They hold the fact that they cover my bills over me to try to leverage me into more and more of their impulsive demands, they talk to me like I’m a pet dog and to this day it’s never stopped even though I’m 20. I’d need the settlement money to cover my life expenses until I could get back on my feet alone, given that relying on my parents is untenable and could be revoke any month now on their whim. They’ve always prospered from their privilege, idolized the rich and loathed the poor which is why they just don’t understand at all the poverty that they forced me into.

In late 2016, I moved back in with them after having to drop out of university and they promised to support me in moving back out to a new college somewhere to do whatever program I wanted. Then within days they did a reversal and said they’d only pay for me to get a Bachelor’s, claiming that it’s necessary for a job which is bullshit since nearly all degrees are useless, connections are all that matter. Then again just days later, another reversal and they said they wouldn’t support me living anywhere doing anything, not even staying at their home, with the cannabis that I needed for medical purposes. They were very clearly freestyling their parenting methods, with zero regard for my wellbeing and the pathetic notion that they could squeeze aspects of me that they disapproved of out with force, and I’ll eventually submit to their every whim after their force me through enough misery and suffering. It was at that point that I was forced out of their place, and living out of a suitcase I couch hopped until landing at this current house in December.

The cannabis has been medicinal since that summer two years ago for PTSD, I had been illegally detained (essentially kidnapped) and psychologically tortured at a mental institution for more than two weeks. I was the victim of multiple felonies committed by government officials and medical professionals, including perjury and malpractice to justify my detainment in what was basically a jail. It was aided and encouraged by my parents, my mom said the first night she had slept well in a while was after hearing that I had gotten locked up. The corporation that owns the Fairfax institution, United Health Services, has been under investigation by multiple federal agencies for years for longterm and widespread national fraud and abuse, scheming insurance to lock people up on false pretenses and abuse them under state sanctioned involuntary detainment. This has been covered by Rosalind Adams extensively in Buzzfeed, and it’s exactly what happened to me. I had excessive hubris and had ordered what I thought was acid from an onion market, it turned out to be 25i-NBOMe which is a very dangerous and toxic synthetic compound. I mistakenly tried some without testing and had a jarring trip, ending with inescapable paranoia and hallucinations that I had copped from a honeypot and the feds would be at my door in the morning, I panicked and thought suicide was my only way out so I chugged some rum and put back a handful of prozac, then promptly puked it all up. Clearly not premeditated and I quickly called 911, telling police everything because I couldn’t hide anything and I realized I needed help. Any young person that takes a FULL serotonin agonist without preparation absolutely needs gentle and attentive care to help them calm down and move on from the trip, because that shit throttles your neuron pathways and fucks with your chemical balances way more easily than most drugs. It is an absolute crime against my humanity that no one would be there to give me that, all it did was make me a perfect target for the UHS involuntary detainment insurance scam, basically farming the vulnerable and mentally ill to harvest money from while being tortured and held in a pseudo jail without any consent or due process. That arguably makes it worse than jail since aside from the massive corruption and inequality at the roots of the criminal justice system, there’s still the intention and supposition of fair and due process. The cops decided not to charge me with possession and I went to the ER while still super drunk and out of it. The staff at the hospital there didn’t wait at all to question me which I’m pretty certain was illegal, if they waited a few hours until I sobered up I would have told them succinctly the foolish mistakes I made and wouldn’t make again, and that I wasn’t in any danger to anyone. Instead the responses they got from me were drunken mumbling and incoherent partial words, which they used to justify me needing to be shipped off to an institution the next day. Once there I petitioned to be released as soon as possible but I was obstructed everywhere and I was diagnosed with “cannabis use disorder,” normally diagnosed with daily smokers for a decade but I had only been for six months, and they intended to treat it through psychological torture and abuse. It was insanely traumatic and I went on a hunger strike the whole time, only eating some very small snacks and drinking more than ten cups of tea a day. I had bought tickets to fly out and protest at the Democratic National Convention for Bernie, but I was locked up over that whole time and couldn’t follow what happened at all. Since I got out I’ve needed cannabis to cope with the PTSD from then. If I lived in a socialist country then these institutions would actually exist to help people and treat them, and I would have gotten help with the judgment issues that led to the drug mishap. Instead these institutions betrayed me and threw my life into a tailspin, all for some company’s profit.

And at the very least my parents should have stood up for me and done anything to help me from the predatory hospitals but they were completely on their side and took pleasure in my suffering. They have never let up this behavior pattern since, kicking me out on the street a few months later and then six months ago they trigged the incident which led to my former employer turning on me. Then in January they tried to have me murdered by bring cops banging down my door because they exaggerated and trumped up the risk that I was violent which was nonsense and something that I went out of my way to try to tell them. It is the police’s job to exterminate the mentally ill, and having someone lie that you’re a violent threat exponentiates the risk of being gunned down. I kept them from coming inside but they made a huge disturbance for more than an hour on a Saturday afternoon. If I wasn’t white, there would be no question they would have broken the door down and executed me. All of this was done under my parent’s greedy impulses and attempts to force me to become subservient, submissive and forget my long history of being abused by them. They should be given no condolences or extended any sympathy, they need to be criminally investigated and prosecuted for driving my life to its end.

After many traumas all at once last spring (being laid off, losing my partner and all of my friends, people encouraging me to kill myself, friendship with my landlord was ruined, returning to dependence on parents), compounded with my PTSD led me to develop more serious cognitive disabilities, what I suspect is brain damage from hypersecretion of glucocorticoids in the limbic system. I lost my ability to function in public, every friend I had lost patience with me and I was completely isolated while being squeezed all around into deeper poverty and despair. I started to improve in the fall and getting the dishwasher job gave me hope, since they promised to quickly promote me to higher kitchen positions and I expected to soon be able to cover rent again, finally becoming independent. But after the incident which is completely covered in my SOCR file, that did a complete 180 and my hope vanished, sending me back into unending despair and misery.

Dear Filippo Fiori: You had been the first person ever in my entire life to make me feel appreciated and valued. I worked my ass off cleaning every corner of that kitchen because you promised to promote and teach me so fast. Then you committed multiple crimes that set my death in motion, and tried to frame me as having always been incompetent to avoid blame which is far beyond unforgivable. Had I seen the investigation through its end, my plan was to demand at least twenty grand or bankrupt your restaurant, whichever came first. That would be the bare minimum punishment you deserve for your initial crimes, but now it’s up to someone else. I hope it was worth it to you, killing someone in the most vulnerable position because they’re mentally disabled. I did everything I could to warn and explain this all to you but you did what you did and here we are, you made the last six months of my short life miserable and agonizing all to defend a full grown middle aged man with only one year of managing experience.

Lawyers Nancy Chupp and Liza Burke both have my blood on their hands too, they both went out of their way to deliberately lie to me, waste my time and cause me serious damage that I wouldn’t even let them pay me to do. Every lawyer I’ve ever dealt with everywhere has been obstructive and malicious, I think it’s beyond vile how prevalent contempt against the most vulnerable and needing of help is.

To law enforcement: My linux machine is fully encrypted with a very long password, and even if you crack that, all that’s left is my book and media collection. I erased and sfill’d anything interesting so good luck trying to recover shit. If you crack my old laptop password, the only interesting things left on there are my unfinished film and media projects, as that’s all I’ve used it for in many years.

I’m not scared of dying because I’ve already met god, and I’ve discovered the deep truths of this existence. The universe is a hologram, at a subatomic level every single point in space contains a portal to the “implicate order,” or the universal consciousness. The explicate order we reside in is manifested by the ebb and flow of this united energy, at a frequency of planck time each electron enfolds and unfolds, perpetuating alternated spin states that present the illusion of movement and time progression we perceive. All of consciousness and our external reality are the same energy waves manifested and concentrated in different forms, the simulation is like a giant 4D film with a frame rate at the 44th degree of magnitude. We think that our external environment and its objects have physical permanence, while our thoughts in our head are imaginary neurochemical processes, but consciousness is a form of matter ultimately inseparable from anything “physical.” When a 30fps video is slowed down frame by frame, that’s sinking down one order in magnitude of playback speed. If we could do that with the linear time we exist in 44 times, we would reach the plane of existence from which everything that’s ever been and ever will be is conjured from.

To quote David Bohm, who pioneered this theory - “At the present, our whole thought process is telling us that we have to keep our attention here. You can’t cross the street, for example, if you don’t. But consciousness is always in the unlimited depth which is beyond space and time, in the subtler levels of the implicate order. Therefore, if you went deeply enough into the actual present, then maybe there’s no difference between this moment and the next. The idea would be that in the death experience you would get into that. Contact with eternity is in the present moment, but it is mediated by thought. It is a matter of attention.” This four-dimensional universe with linear temporality traps our minds from experiencing the full potential that can be harnessed through tapping into the universal energy, but throughout history those boundaries cosmically foisted upon us have been challenged through shamanism, entheogens, and spirituality in general. To quote Michael Talbot’s book Holographic Universe, “we are so thoroughly conditioned to believe that perceiving the future is not possible, our natural precognitive abilities have gone dormant. Like the superhuman strengths individuals display during life-threatening emergencies, they only spill over into our conscious minds during times of crisis – when someone near to us is about to die; when our children or some other loved one is in danger, and so on. That our “sophisticated” understanding of reality is responsible for our inability to both grasp and utilize the true nature of our relationship with time is evident in the fact that primitive cultures nearly always score better on ESP tests than so-called civilized cultures. Further evidence that we have relegated our innate precognitive abilities to the hinterlands of the unconscious can be found in the close association between premonitions and dreams. Studies show that from 60 to 68 percent of all precognitions occur during dreaming. We may have banished our ability to see the future from our conscious minds, but it is still very active in the deeper strata of our psyches.” (209)

Now we think of those in past eras as just stupid and bored from their lack of modern technology, and they only hallucinated and wrote religious tales to replace the forms of innovation valued post-industrialization. I posit this could not be less true, it is the rise and spread of modern education that has taught us to rid ourselves of our innate connection to the implicate order and awareness of the fluidity of reality.

I never really dream, either that or I’m never consciously aware of it. I suspect it’s from always having so many cannabinoids flowing through my brain putting me in too deep sleep to allow my conscious to travel to another reality. If there would have been precognitions in them, maybe it’s also because of my fear of the future and being too occupied with messes in the present to wonder what will come after. Instead I push my conscious to travel outside of this realm through entheogens, which is how I met god during a McKenna heroic dose of fungus. I traveled into a realm completely filled with moving and spiraling fractalized columns of light and waves of energy. I was taken on a tour throughout time and space, traveling between discombobulated and disjointed morphing spatiotemporal environments. Later I realized that I had been taken to the implicated realm from which all of this universe’s particles unfold out of, and some force was spinning me around and through this cosmic soup. I had been researching and studying all of this closely for many months beforehand but when I had everything that I supposed to be accurate about reality through holographic theory absolutely proven and validated just by eating a handful of things that had grown out of the ground in nature in my city, I became 100% certain of the validity in all of this. The amount of unfathomably unpredictable evidence that would be needed to safely and thoroughly disprove holographic theory makes it a practical impossibility, there’s so much otherwise unexplained that is resolved perfectly this way.

This also proves exactly why America has engaged in global psyops since Nixon to plant disinformation at the basis of societies about fabricated dangers of psychedelics and discourage its use through criminalization. The government has never actually been concerned about stopping people from taking drugs since everyone knows that is impossible to accomplish. The CIA has always been a fan of using acid when it can brainwash people and torture prisoners in more sadistic ways, and using cocaine when they can flood the streets of black communities with it, and creating cartels or black market trafficking ops when they achieve geopolitical results desired by the imperialist capitalist hegemony agenda.

Can you imagine what it would do to society if any adult could go to a mushroom dispensary and experience the same kind of reality-shattering and consciousness-expanding experience as I did whenever they wanted? I’ve read a lot of psilocybin trip reports and the majority of them include very similar things to what I experienced. They do not describe these phenomena holographically like I do, but I’m absolutely certain that it’s a universal experience that the same fungi allow anyone to travel to. It’s so tragic to me that most describe these as hallucinations, and the drugs as hallucinogens which of course restrains it as being unreal. But these alternate planes are much more real than our reality, and calling it a trip could not be more accurate as it is essentially traveling towards home, as in the origin of all of us and everything else. One’s consciousness, being energy waves in a different form than whats around it, exists in a spectrum between entirely localized in the brain and expanding radiating outwards to rejoin the cosmic energy. When low/mild doses of entheogens give one visuals that fill, surround and saturate the visual field, it is their consciousness beginning to expand outwards and begin moving towards the other end of the energy spectrum. Taking a large dose is more like god reaching a hand out of the sky and plucking their soul out of their body and tossing it out of this simulation. By god I don’t mean a singular or cohesive entity, but of the powerful forces manifested by the collective universal consciousness. We are subject to the supreme power of supernatural forces, but instead of a higher being it is the energy of all of us, all of us that have ever been and ever will. That’s why I use a lowercase g.

If these kind of spiritual awakenings happened on a massive scale, it would cause unheard of social unrest. Everything that holds up the capitalist order and necessitates global neoliberal capitalism would dissolve, so many people would become entirely different people, giving up hollow norms and starting to question the real purpose and meaning in what this life is. The rising of class consciousness and awareness of the cruelty manifested by capitalism, which only persists when it’s not questioned, will spell its certain demise. Nearly everything all of us are taught about how the world works is falsified and perpetuated by the minimally satisfactory life circumstances capitalism provides for most. When people are fed lies from birth, taught to be satisfied with a substandard life with the false hope that anyone can “succeed” in a free market (which is another fabrication), and discouraged from ever questioning why things are this way, that’s what allows cruelty to persist.

That’s why the most important thing for people to do is just QUESTION. Especially at a time when daring to ever question what our government says gets you immediately smeared as a puppet or useful idiot of some boogeyman. For most of my life I thought, as we’re all raised to, that communists are evil authoritarians and that it’s not something anyone takes seriously. But up until I shed my last trace of liberalism and beyond, I kept questioning everything and being skeptical, which led me on a path eventually ending at becoming a devout communist. Like many others I started being inspired about political change and social justice from Bernie’s campaign. During his speech at Safeco Field my volunteer job was to run up and down the line waiting outside before helping people, and the lines stretched block after block after block after block in every direction. And everyone was excited or cheering, that kind of mass enthusiasm about something so progressive made me genuinely optimistic about a radically improved future. Then I watched all of the rigging, interference and corruption by the democratic party and corporate media. I knew what was happening behind the scenes all along, but the wikileaks podesta emails of course proved it all. It was soon after that that my political involvement and aspirations were demolished when I was kidnapped during the DNC convention. For better or for worse I was not at all tuned into all the fuckery and media nonsense happening around late summer that year since obviously no internet in there. So after that I just kinda gave up on Bernie, started to move on and voted for Jill Stein. If only I had known I’d fallen victim to a disinformation campaign led by Putin to sow discord in the stable and perfectly equal American democracy!

I think I was one of the only people that was not at all surprised and completely indifferent on election night, going into it I knew there was a 50/50 chance and it could go either way dependent on a million unpredictable things. At least it was hilarious seeing the delusional liberal establishment having their hopes and fantasies of a continued neoliberal slow descent into corporate neofeudalism shattered. I honestly thought Trump was gonna get assassinated either before or soon after taking office, largely driven by my throwing up my hands and saying fuck it to any sense of an illusion of social stability. Yet at that point I suppose I didn’t fully understand the size, power and pervasiveness of the elites and the extent of their resources to which they protect their own and maintain control over what tragedies or shocking events are allowed to happen or unfold in different ways.

The very next day was the first time I ever heard the phrase fake news, and I immediately thought it was just something made up out of nowhere by the democrats to avoid blaming themselves for the loss. I was half right, it was a deliberate attempt by the clinton campaign to avert blame and feed into Russiagate, but what I also didn’t fully understand yet then was the pervasiveness of literal actual fake news in the entire news and media establishment. I mean Operation Mockingbird is real history and it never ended, the CIA has always controlled the media and had a hand in making everything pro-America and advantageous for the government’s agenda. Now there’s so many former intelligence directors as news “contributors” or “analysts” it’s never been more obvious. But since Russiagate has been such a successful psyop, liberals have revealed themselves as ultimately only wanting to serve the intelligence community and uphold capitalism. And such a huge portion of ex-intelligence spooks are running as democrats in the midterms this year, it’s absolutely insane! Talk about a slow coup of the supposed “left” in this country.

There is of course no actual leftist representation in the federal government as they’re diametrically opposed to each other. The actual political spectrum is between socialism/communism on the left and capitalism on the right, with social democrats in the center. Bernie is extremely radical compared to all of his peers but he is still a centrist, it’s just that this country has been constantly shifting rightward faster and faster pretty much throughout most of it’s history, so it allows liberals to pretend to be opposed to conservatives while actually not moving far enough to the left to actually be on a different side, this of course requires abandonment of any hope and admiration for capitalism which is something always taught to us as being of the utmost importance. Democrat president terms do not do anything to oppose this never ending move rightward, Carter, Clinton and Obama all did a ton to service and build up the military industrial complex, surveillance state, NATO aggression, and the tentacles of the secret mafia police known as the CIA. We’re now at the point of our society not being able to reach a consensus of opposition to Bloody Gina becoming its director, which would never be happening now if Obama ever bothered to do a single thing to punish the Bush torture regime. Does anyone even realize that since last February she’s been the fucking deputy director, the position right below, which Trump appointed her to without any need for confirmation, and no one in the media ever said a damn thing about it? Being the deputy director of an intelligence agency is clearly an important position, as McCabe was able to grift all these shitlibs out of more than half a million dollars over a lie about him being fired for being a liar. And even if Haspel had been kept away from any job with any amount of power this whole time, does anyone honestly think the CIA would avoid black ops torture programs without her? Yeah she is one of the biggest torture lovers around there, but would an agency that never hesitates to send out right wing extremist death squads to rape and pillage entire countries just as punishment for striving for independence from capitalist hegemony, ever hesitate to commit unthinkable atrocities if it’s even possibly remotely helpful for America, regardless of who’s directing the agency? The state of public discourse is so so so far behind anything remotely substantive and real that it’s hard to be anything but hopeless for the future, and that is absolutely a consequence of the neoliberal order which has dominated globally and continued to expand ever since the cold war.

The only hope for revolution, besides legalization of psychedelics, is capitalism’s built in self destruction. Anything always expanding, growing without regulation or concern for sustainability, zero concern for accountability and the wellbeing of the common man, will always be unsustainable and eventually crumble upon itself. As Lenin wrote in ‘Left-Wing’ Communism: An Infantile Disorder, “the fundamental law of revolution, which has been confirmed by all revolutions and especially by all three Russian revolutions in the twentieth century, is as follows: for a revolution to take place it is not enough for the exploited and oppressed masses to realise the impossibility of living in the old way, and demand changes; for a revolution to take place it is essential that the exploiters should not be able to live and rule in the old way. It is only when the ‘lower classes’ do not want to live in the wold way and the ‘upper classes’ cannot carry on in the old way that the revolution can triumph. Revolution is impossible without a nation-wide crisis (affecting both the exploited and exploiters). It follows that, for a revolution to take place, it is essential, first, that a majority of the workers (or at least a majority of the class-conscious, thinking and politically active workers) should fully realise that revolution is necessary, and that they should be prepared to die for it; second, that the ruling classes should be going through a government crisis, which draws even the most backward masses into politics, weakens the government, and makes it possible for the revolutionaries to rapidly overthrow it.”

I am gracious to have lived in the only area of the country, from what I understand, to have a socialist representing in local government – it is good that DSA members have been getting elected different places but I’m not counting them. But there’s still such massive problems facing Seattle brought by Amazon, such as hordes of rich liberals and neo nazis (less of a difference than most think) displacing so many families and making the prices of everything skyrocket, while stripping away the beautiful generations-old history of the city for lifeless, cold machinations of the corporate stranglehold smothering us all. And then when someone dares to request that that megacorp sucking the life out of everything around us pay some taxes so that the people that aren’t rich or white enough for a plush tech career might have a chance to find affordable housing, they all cry and moan about stifling the business community. It’s so toxic how the unending and unquestioned obsession with infinite growth is willingly upheld by capitalists, it’s absolutely untethered from the basic principles of reality. Not even talking about holograms and other realms, but how the laws of nature that we all know physically work on this planet. The “market” as an entity with agency is the biggest delusion of all within economics, stories like it’s invisible hand or that it always corrects itself are such obvious infantile fantasies. This unfortunately only becomes obvious when you lose motivation or ability to climb the ladders within capitalist structures, namely the poor and underprivileged and disadvantaged. These are things I only realized after being forced into long-term serious poverty and suffering from serious mental illnesses with zero support system or anyone anywhere with the ability or desire to actually help me. How could someone in my situation, having been through what I have, still be delusional enough to think that there’s hope for everyone and oppression is easily escapable? Having been exposed to the deep depths of cruelty life can throw you in, it freed me from having to make excuses for all of the suffering around the world. That’s one of the main cognitive dissonances ingrained into liberalism, awareness of how many people around the world are starving, in serious poverty, in a war torn country or exposed to natural disasters without aid, or victim of genocide or political violence, but all of that is so complicated and messy it’s easier to just focus on what affects you directly and pretend that all those people will find help eventually. The lie we’re all fed is that capitalism provides people with opportunity, but the reality is that on a large scale it robs people of opportunity, and whenever people try alternative systems aimed at providing for the common man, the CIA (Capitalist Insurgency Assholes) stops at nothing sabotage and suppress socialist movements through false flags, psyops, puppet dictators, agitprop, death squads and militias.

And of course business partner and close friend of the CIA being Bezos, who is undoubtedly feeding live audio streams of everyone with an IoT’s household conversations to Langley and/or Fort Meade. He has the fucking balls to say that the only responsible thing he can think to do with his billions upon billions in hoarded wealth grifted from the national taxpayer base is to burn it on fancy space fantasies for the ultra rich, but then halts expansion of new offices (as if destroying entire neighborhoods isn’t already enough) in order to feed the boot lickers eager to attack any taxes on businesses or the rich. They moan about taxes from the massive tax-cheating megacorp already crushing the city in order to support poor people is the worst thing ever, but how many of them know how many billions of taxpayer dollars the Pentagon has wasted and tossed away? How many people know that the money taken out of their paychecks goes to funding the worst genocide since WW2 in Yemen, the indiscriminate slaughter of Arabs in Gaza, and towards numerous Jihadist terrorist groups in Syria? I mean there’s been points in recent history where Pentagon-backed extremist militants were fighting CIA-backed extremist militants in Syria, money is being stolen from all of us without consent to fund the majority of the worst atrocities on the globe, we’re paying for Islamic terrorists to shoot each other with our guns. But how dare the evil socialists suggest that megacorporations that already evade all its taxes pay something to help the poor! And if anyone dares to say anything about this in public, then they must be a Putin puppet or Assad apologist.

So many people around here are so eager to brown-nose Bezos, who clearly has zero concern for the wellbeing of any of his workers or the communities he burns to the ground, I fear that in the coming decades, everyone will be mandated to live in cookie cutter Amazon micro-apartment buildings with mandated subcutaneous surveillance trackers. The tech workers and elites get the Prime luxury apartments, while the poor have to fight each other to the death for squatting rights in the dwindling number of tiny run down studios, and those are the only two classes. AI, AR, VR and robots will of course be taking over the vast majority of jobs in the near future, and as long as the means of production remain in the control of the elite, these new tech advancements will never ever even be considered to be put to use for solving mass poverty or ending wars or radical climate action or redistributing wealth, every hedge fund and investor will jump at the first opportunity to kick out all vulnerable and low wage workers and make shiny expensive fancy toys for corporate welfare queens. Because that’s the very purpose of capitalism, always make as much profit as possible and strive to eventually concentrate the entirety of global wealth in the hands of a few people. It’s not nearly enough to tax corporations like Amazon, there needs to be heads rolling in the street. Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk need to be executed for their crimes against humanity along with the rest of their ilk, and all these corporate structures need to be forcefully dissolved entirely. There will never be hope of reversing how fast we’re spiraling into unfathomably unsustainable inequality, mass human rights violations and inescapable oppression, unless the bastards leading us down that road feel the pain that they inflict on millions and millions of innocent people. I hope that the Seattle Times cartoonist is a clairvoyant instead of just a whiny dipshit, most of the absurd right-wing cartoons fear-mongering about democrats and libs being communists that are taking radical action could not be less accurate now but I hope are prophetic of the future.

Some things I can’t publish while living without being slandered as a Russian troll – In the same way that Iran Contra, MK Ultra and the JFK assassination have gone down in history as the intelligence operations of a past era, this era will have Russiagate, White Helmets and false flag gas attacks, Skripal, and the assassinations of BLM leaders as the intelligence ops of the time. This is all obvious to anyone that reads the news closely without corporate filters and can see the patterns of how the CIA and FBI have always covertly operated domestically and globally since their inception, in collaboration with MI6 and the Mossad. The state of Israel needs to be destroyed entirely, it was a mistake in the first place, has always enforced worse apartheid than in South Africa, and is an inspiring ethnostate. And their state-sponsored troll farms and disinformation campaigns along with the most advanced intelligence capabilities aimed with the only purpose of destabilizing the middle east and maintaining perpetual chaos. People are fucking stupid enough to think that some non-government affiliated click farm in St Petersburg posting puppy memes on facebook actually damaged our “democracy” but are completely blind to how nearly everyone in our government begs and grovels for the opportunity to pander to Israel, who’s covertly influencing so many internet and media narratives. It’s not an anti-semetic thing, Bibi loves anti-semites and to enable them because that’s what serves the Israeli geopolitical agenda. And there’s no proof at all to that Russian influence and sowing discord bullshit, literally every single story is hollow with nothing to back it up. It’s easy to believe what’s shoved down your throat by mainstream media, but when you actually look at it, it’s clear that Guccifer 2.0 is a multi-level fraud, a fictional identity created by the Crowdstrike CEOs as the solution for the Clinton campaign panicking about wikileaks teasing email dumps. Unintentionally meta, it’s like a matroyshka doll. On the outside, he’s a lone wolf somewhere in Europe. Then you look at the first layer of planted metadata and forensic info which points towards Russia, and everyone in the media immediately jumps to it having to be a Putin agent who very poorly tried to appear as a lone wolf. But every single piece of evidence tying Guccifer 2 to Russia was so shoddily tacked on to the documents, while genuine data indicating that the data had to have been locally transferred and was modified on the American east coast, plus the public timeline of relevant events makes it obvious that it was impossible to have come from a foreign “hack” and someone on the east coast is very obviously trying to frame this as someone in Russia who’s poorly trying to appear as a lone wolf. As far as I can tell, the recent story about Guccifer having logged “real” Russian IPs in social media sites has no technical hard evidence to support that. So the FBI and the CIA should put their cards on the table and reveal precisely where and what these Russian IP logs are. That’s the start of a long road of allegations and fake news stories that need to be revisited and given real, no bullshit evidence to support.

Many years ago, in late middle and early high school I was in a band that played mostly Muse covers, they were my favorite back then but I haven’t listened to any rock at all for years until very recently. I’ve been revisiting Muse’s catalog and remembered a song titled “Thoughts of a Dying Atheist.” That moment struck me as Jungian given the circumstances, hearing it for the first time a couple weeks ago since long before ever becoming suicidal, in a period when I loved it only for the music. The chorus goes “it scares the hell out of me, and the end is all I can see.” I have always been an atheist being it’s how I was raised, even though I’ve long abandoned nihilism and the foolish idea that there’s no form of genuine spirituality. Back when I was a Muse fan, even though I was no where near needing to fear death I would have agreed with the words by and large, as death is not something we’re raised to appreciate or assess in this society. Yet now in revisiting I feel rather proud since I’m not scared of death at all. Through spiritual awakenings mostly since last summer I’ve completely made peace with transitioning out of this plane. Having found a method and time frame where I can pass immediately without pain all on my own time and terms, I’ve taken care of every concern on this end of the journey. I can’t know what it will be like on the other side, but I am absolutely certain that the energy of my conscious will be returned to the universal order. Thus, the thoughts of this dying atheist are that even though the end is all I can see, it excites the hell out of me. It is only a transformation, all that will end is the torture and agony that has been foisted upon me in this existence.

“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time, and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” - Macbeth (5.5.19-28)

Recently I’ve gone to the beach, ridden ferries and sought out large pools often because there’s nothing more calming to me than the meditation of staring off into the water. As Mandelbrot and fractal patterns are found throughout math, science and much of nature, I see the waves in large bodies of water as fractal-like too. No matter how closely you focus your gaze or how far you stare out into the horizon, the patterns of the waves appear to repeat inside and outside of each other at all magnitudes of size along the surface. And I feel an incredible energy from it, how the waves can appear calm and tranquil on the surface but you know deeper down, the entire moving masses of water carry enormous weight and power. The waves exponentially repeat themselves in all directions with simultaneous grace and massive force, reconciling contradictions and entire spectrums, what could be more emblematic of the beauty of the laws of nature? When I ask myself where I go after I die, I say that’s where, the water. I doubt I would and wouldn’t want to be reincarnated as water, but as my brain shuts off and my soul becomes non-localized and free, its essence will return into the entirety of nature, and I have never been more certain of that than anything in my life. Pharrell got it right, no one ever really dies because energy is never created or destroyed, and whats in all of our minds are just localized variants of the same energy that makes everything else around us.

My final work can be found at scribd.com/document/378259892 or anonfile.com/86C0raeeb1, I’m pulling a Kafka and leaving it unfinished

Did I truly live life, or simply ride the sands as they tumbled through the hour glass? Holding on the fine moments is like grasping water – always there, yet always slipping away. Lusting for more than we need, leading to the greed of acquisition and the gluttony of position. A future that feels far but all too close. One that could be sublime if we didn’t fall behind in the times from our refinement of the mind, the state of my people is altered but my faith is completely unfaltered. I’m reaching up and reaching out, to go where no one’s been. Spiral out, keep going

19 notes · View notes

mcnsieur · 6 years

Text

ooc: this has nothing to do with anything but it has been on my mind alot recently.

I grew up struggling with math. I cried learning long division because I didn’t understand how the numbers changed like they did. I didn’t understand why their was subtraction and multiplication in a division problem. My mom walked me through it the best she could. I struggled learning my times tables, I couldn’t ever remember what 8 x 6 was or what 12 x 7 was. When it came to timed multiplication tests I never got past the fours. Yet I had to be forced to move forward in math. No coddling for math because when you don’t understand it you get more problems to work, especially if your parents can’t afford a tutor.

I was in fourth grade when all that happened. Then we had a test where we had to tell time on analogue clocks (something i still cannot do til this day). I could not add or subtract time without being able to move the hands on the clock and even then I would count wrong I would get it wrong. We had a test, and if it weren’t for my fourth grade teacher catching on that perhaps it was more than just be complaining about math she allowed me to use a clock.

We had accelerated math, in fourth grade too. And I never got passed the first unit while my friends soured and succeeded. I thought I was just stupid. I mean I didn’t understand math, and when I complained that was it, it was me not trying hard enough. My fourth grade teacher would spend our study time, because my parents couldn’t afford a tutor, walking me through my math corrections instead of helping all her other students.

Math only got harder, their aren’t individualized levels in math, everyone is the same when you learn the basics. If you learn slower you don’t get put on a different level than others. If you’re really smart you get moved to a better class.

I wasn’t ever moved to the smart kids class. 6th grade came and it took me three months longer to get my calculator licensee than the rest of my grade. That license essentially showed our teacher that we didn’t need the calculator to do basic things like addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. My teacher though was smart, she let my use my calculator after I got my liscence but encouraged me to get the basic functions down better. When it came down to my final, I forgot my calculator at home, and my mom wasn’t going to bring it to me. I knew I was going to fail. My teacher said I could do the test with out a calculator and while I would do better with one, she knew I would do it,

I still didn’t have a tutor, and my math grades remained low, while I consistently tested at college level for my reading level. i had read Little Women, and all of the LOTR books by the time i was in fifth grade, but I was still using my fingers to add and subtract. My teachers aside for my sixth grade teacher, and 4th grade teacher all just said I wasn’t trying enough in math. I felt so stupid. I didn’t understand how kids got extra time on reading tests and english tests, I didn’t know they had dyslexia, but I didn’t understand why they got extra time, when I was sitting their watching as numbers put into table swimmed around, and I would then copy them down wrong not realizing until I saw my grade on my test. One sign difference in math can change everything after all.

High school came and I was consistently not understanding Algebra. Geometry was better, putting these crazy numbers on shapes helped. Then came algebra two and we got to logs and other things and it all got murky again. I had gotten into the habit of not understanding where when I didn’t understand a word problem my answer on the test was i don’t know. I just couldn’t understand how all those words had numbers and equations in them. It didn’t make sense.

My senior year of high school I was in trig/pre-cal. I cried more than I had as I begged my parents to pay for me to get a tutor, my teacher from the year before. I begged for a solid month, and when they saw that I had gotten my first D they gave in. I didn’t understand trig pre-cal the way my teacher taught it. He talked and it all went over my head, So I finally went to my tutor.

In my one hour with her we would go over the week’s lessons and homework. I went into the next class after my first tutoring session finally understanding math, even if it was just a little bit. She did each step in a different color on sheets of paper, and it made sense. I was seeing things in these numbers that before were just numbers that didn’t seem to do anything they didn’t make sense to me. I understood math and for once I was smart, I wasn’t the stupid kid. I could tell my friends who were all in advanced math classes that I understood what was going on in class, and they looked at me at first shocked but then happy.

Because of my tutor who my senior year understood that there was more their than me just saying math was too hard that my brain was not computing it right, I understood math for the first time in my life. I still didn’t understand why it was so hard, or why muscle memory when I danced didn;’t come to me as fast as it did to my dance team mates. But I understood math, and I didn’t feel as stupid anymore.

When I was a junior in college, i had successfully gotten through my two required math courses. They weren’t the best, and I was scolded for accepting a C in algebra. But I was thrilled with that grade because while i was swimming in numbers again, I hadn’t failed. I had gotten a B in the next class I took, and again I was surprised their. But I had my tutor’s notes to help me through some of it. So I was shocked when I walked into a sociology class and we were told we were learning statistics.

I was a sociology major, and I almost dropped the class right then and there. I found myself like I did my first few months of my senior year in high school. My professor would go through all these numbers and tests and he would name the tests and explain what the numbers meant in the tests and where the numbers went and I didn’t understand again. I copied down the formulas but i didn’t know what numbers went where. If it weren’t for my professor giving credit for showing our work I would have failed the course.

The class ended and I promptly forgot what little I learned, because I couldn’t retain any of the garbled numbers. Then my last semester came. I was writing my sociological thesis, and we had to do research and compute the numbers. And I immediately began to panic. I didn’t know how to use the software or what any of my numbers i was plugging in meant I didn’t know what an X factor was or how to find it. I couldn’t even plug the numbers in from my research to the table right. I missed 4 and had to retype the list another three times cause I kept on messing up.

My calculations were fucked cause I didn’t know what I was doing. I had a melt down when we presenting our thesis to our four other class mates and teachers because they were using all these sophisticated equations that I didn’t understand, and I knew I just knew mine were wrong.

My professor talked to me for a long time afterwords and itnroduced a word to me that I had never heard of before. Dyscalculia. She explained it was like dyslexia for math, and that my entire experience mirrored that of a child who had this learning disability. I had never been tested, and by then it was too late, but it made me feel well a bit less stupid. She helped me fix my equations and simplify them.

I did research. I didn’t think it was a real thing, my mom didn’t either. And I wondered if it was a real thing and I had been tested, would my school experience have been different. Would I have answered I don’t know on so many math tests, would I have cried during long division, or felt pressured for time. Would i have made my school’s dance team two years earlier cause I would have learned how to cope with dealing with my slower muscle memory.

I don’t know. I wish I did. And honestly what I want people to get out of this story is that you should listen to kids. When kids struggle with reading we slow down, we assess their reading level. But when kids struggle with math they are told to chug along. When you succeed and math you are rewarded, same with reading. But when you struggle you are told to keep going and the lesson moves on, where reading you are given a new slightly easier book.

Listen when a kid tells you they don’t like math, or they don’t understand it. It might just be more than idle complaints. For me it was my brain not working in the same way as the other kids, I don’t see numbers the same as others, and I felt stupid for years because no one listened but four people when I said I didn’t understand math. It can always be something more.

#tw: anxiety #tw: venting #tw: learning disabilities #ooc #out of fucks to give #alright im done now

5 notes · View notes

rtirman-blog · 7 years

Text

24 High School to College

In high school, even though I had a lot of days “absent due to illness”, I showed up enough to experience managing a full schedule. My final semester at Freeport High School, included English, Trigonometry, American History, Latin II, Chemistry, Physical Education (PE), and a study hall. I was in PE as a senior to make up a semester I didn’t get credit because I was absent too much. PE or gym was required from 7th grade through 10th grade. At the start of each gym class, we lined up by standing on our spot. There were about 13 rows, from A to M. In each row there were spots, from 1 to 6. The smallest boy A1 to the tallest M6 was a full gym class. As a senior in a class of boys from 7th grade on, I was in spot A3. Two 7th graders were in front of me. I didn’t like gym because we had to shower in front of others- I had no pubic hair, and no way of knowing if my penis was large enough to be in High School. It wasn’t easy getting in-and-out of the shower room, not looking at others, and hoping no one was looking at me.

Other than PE and English, successfully completing all my other high school classes required a New York State Regents Exam. We all took the Regents Exam for English after our junior year. You needed to get a grade of 65% or better. If you got a grade of 62 to 64, you would receive a 65 with a circle around it. Whatever Regent’s course you took, you did not get credit for the course unless you passed the Regents exam. Your grade for the course was what you earned from day to day, throughout the course, and the regents score was not a part of your class grade. It was not unheard of for a student to get a low grade for the class and a very high score on the Regents. For me, it was pass the class and pass the Regents. For Al, it was pass the class and ace the Regent’s.

That last semester was an anomaly for me. I got a 97 on the Trig exam, an 87 on the Latin exam, an 85 on the Chemistry exam, and a 66 on the American History exam. Any student, excluding those working for perfection, would have been happy with those exam scores. Even my History score, I passed! I would never have to take History again! I need to own up about two things. First thing, I failed the Trig regents the first time I took it - I got a 23%. I elected to repeat the course, which I aced by getting an “A” in each of the grading periods of that semester. After that, I took the regents again, and got that 97; The second thing, I had failed, and repeated the 2nd year of Latin. In all, I took Latin for three years to get two years of credit. I am not proud of all that, so I don’t brag about it… I only strut when I excel.

Then came college. The first few weeks at Notre Dame was a breeze. In Chemistry, I aced the first test, and Father Lane was having me teach the Periodic Table to some of the other students. My math book, Algebra of Classes, cost $3.98, an outrageous price for a paperback copy. However, the concepts were easy making my beginning very good. Zoology was taught by Dr. Chalkly, a Ph.D. graduate of Princeton University, and therefore, a great teacher for whom I worked hard. Zoology was at 8:30 in the morning. The room was like a Greek amphitheater, I sat at the very top, not easily seen by Dr. Chalkly. Many days, I struggled to stay awake. Mr. Hand taught English, which concentrated on creative writing. Surprisingly to me, I was holding my own. Honestly, I did fear that I might not be able to hack it at Notre Dame. The reality was I did have my uncle’s help to get admitted.

So the beginning went smoothly. Except I was having anxiety over PE. The first couple of weeks were spent playing touch football. Soon, we would be going indoors. The Rockne Memorial Building (The Rock), the PE building named for Knute Rockne, was where we would go and swim in the pool. It was required that all the students be nude. Things hadn’t changed for me. Having to be naked was giving me anxiety, and there was no escape! However, when you are at Notre Dame, a little prayer can do wonders.

“Jesus Christ! What in the Hell did I ever do to deserve such treatment?

Oh, God! Don’t make me go through such humiliation!

Help me! Amen!”

After a that rather unorthodox prayer, out on the fields where we played touch football, the touching got a bit rough. Suddenly, there was a fumble, and I dove for the ball! I reached out, and got my hand on top of the football. Then someone threw himself on the ball and on my extended arm. Crack! My forearm fractured. The next thing I knew, my arm was in a cast… for 6 weeks! I got credit for PE during that time by studying each day at the Rock while my classmates were skinny dipping in the pool. It was a miracle! God is Good!

Each day, after finishing my classes, I took the bus downtown South Bend. and transferred to another bus, which dropped me off two short blocks from home. After I got home, I would relax a bit, eat dinner, and walk to the hospital to get there before 6:30. At the hospital, I would roll the mops and pails (one for wash and one for rinse) to the coffee shop, put the chairs up on the tables, and mop the floor. Then, on to the kitchen, which looked as big as a basketball court. Just like I do when mowing a lawn, I sectioned the kitchen, and mopped each section, making sure I didn’t mop myself into a corner. After finishing the kitchen, I cleaned and stored the mops and pails. Then back to the coffee shop to take the chairs down. Done! I told you about the weekends mopping two complete floors (six long hallways) each day. Then to the ice machine, trash, and laundry. I was busy all day, both Saturday and Sunday.

I got to know three nuns pretty well. First Sister Peter, the Ogre of Housekeeping, Sister Loranna, an omnipresent angel, and Sister Jean Patrice, a courageous and loving person.

I can’t tell you how many times my work was interrupted by a psst, psst, Richard, Richard. There, in the shadows, would be Sister Peter, worried and concerned that I needed nourishment to get the job done. Under her cape she would be hiding cookies or sandwiches for me that she stole from the kitchen. Why she was feared by so many housekeeping folks was a mystery. Another nun, Sister Jean Patrice was a pretty, and fairly tall young woman. Sadly, besides being a nun, she was a patient. She was dying of cancer. Every time I mopped the floor by her room, she’d either walk to her door or call me in to say hello. I never stayed long because I had work to do. She was my friend. I couldn’t believe that in my life I would be a friend of a nun. She was forever kind to me, and keenly interested in me and my life. I will never forget her. If I could just send a hug to Heaven... Finally, Sister Loranna, a nun I would see wherever I was working in the hospital. She was about the same height as Sister Peter, but seemed a bit more patient and less organized then Sister Peter. Both nuns were elderly, short, and with their white habits making them a bit more pudgy than they were, they reminded me of two little Miss Piggies with halos, on their way to a halloween party.

During a weekend, mid-way through the year, Sister Loranna came and asked me to help with a problem in the nursing school. Their trash chute was blocked on the 2nd floor. She actually wanted me to go with her to “no man’s land” and fix things. No males were allowed above the first floor or beyond the doors by the front desk. If a man needed to be on the second floor, there would be a warning announcement: “MAN ON FLOOR”. Normally, to get their trash, I used a below ground tunnel linking the hospital and the nursing school. I got their trash at that level. But in this case, the blockage started between the first and second floor.

So Sister Loranna accompanied me, and my trash barrel on wheels, via elevator, to the second floor. Sister Loranna forgot to arrange for the announcement: “MAN ON FLOOR”. As the elevator door opened, there was a telephone booth, directly across from the elevator. In the phone booth, I assume, was a student nurse talking on the phone, and clad in just her bra and panties. My mouth was agape. She turned my way, spotted me, shut the phone booth door, and ducked down below the glass part of the door. The trash chute was right next to the phone booth, so she would be there during my entire surprise visit. Both Sister and I got off the elevator. Instantly, there was a scream coming from down the hallway. We both turned toward the scream to see a couple of those nursing students running the other way. Like the girl in the phone booth, they were in their bra and panties, as well. Someone was yelling “MAN ON FLOOR”. (I can assure you, it wasn’t me).

Sister Loranna looked at me and asked, “What do you know about that, Richard?

I responded, “Sister, I know nothing! I went straight to the trash chute.

It didn’t take too long to get that trash chute fixed. I tried to move as fast as possible so that poor girl in the phone booth could stand and breath again. As soon as it was fixed, Sister and I walked across the hall to the elevator. Naturally, not a single girl could be seen. It was just an unplanned quick glance.

Sister and I enter the elevator. To everyone’s relief, the elevator doors closed. I pushed “1” so we could go out the nursing school the way we came in, on the first floor. Unbeknownst to me, a “G” for ground floor needed to be pressed. The floor we were on was the 2nd floor, but because it was one level up from the first or ground floor, it was a “1” on the elevator. I hope I’m explaining it the right way. In a nutshell, pressing “1” on the elevator brings the elevator to the 2nd floor.

Surprise! The elevator doors opened, and that pretty girl in the phone booth and I were staring directly at one another. It was like seeing an old friend. As I managed a smile, she rapidly retreated to her crouched position at the bottom of the phone both. Sister pressed the correct button, the doors closed, and down to the ground level we went…memories that dreams are made of...even for an eighteen year old boy who knows nothing.

1 note · View note