#do i hate standardized tests & test prep? you fucking know it

[ourbastardofsorrows]

girl help i'm getting way too into the idea of decorating my classroom like a pseudo-medieval dungeon to get my kids hyped for test prep

#tia text #besties i have turned both of the standardized tests into BBEGs (which they are. to me.) #i've set up a whole system for dealing ''damage'' to the BBEGs #and now i'm online window shopping for decor & i'm just getting waayyyy too into this #do i hate standardized tests & test prep? you fucking know it #but alas. they do factor into my annual evaluations. #and the school's funding. and the principal doesn't like that my scores kinda suck rn

[whaleofatjme1920]

Kinktober Day 1: Obligatory CBAT Post (even though it’s a little late)

SCP 173 X GN!Reader. I do not specify what you have between your legs only that you get penetrated <3

[Warnings: literally everything, CBAT, exhibitionism, creampie, odd sex/kinda rough sex? Ecto dick. MINORS DNI]

[AN: I have, honest to goodness, never hated a piece of my writing this much before. Happy Kinktober! 1154 words <3]

Kinktober Masterlist

A part of you wants to kill the person who greenlit a test of this caliber. You can feel your insides shrivel up as SCP 173 inches towards you with the pulsing of the strobe light. You take in a sharp breath through your nose, slowly exhaling it past your lips as you shift uncomfortably on the makeshift ‘bed’ the research department has so graciously gifted to you and your rebar ridden ‘lover’. 

Could you really call them that? The thought swirls and swivels around in your head as you think back to last year, when you were just a person with a number and no further purpose. See an eldritch being of terror in the morning, chug coffee around noon and talk with some sink that’s actually made from instant noodles but it’s supposedly smarter than Tesla! It was standard, status quo for you until SCP 173 came into your life and made you theirs and theirs alone. 

It’s admittedly a little embarrassing thinking back to the day that the two of you first slept with each other. In fact, MTF unit Nine Tailed Fox wasn’t sure how to go about the situation themselves, with SCP 173 buried deep inside of you, your legs spread wide open moaning for the entire site to hear while the corpses, of who you considered your coworkers, grew colder and colder on the floor, you really managed to stump them! In fact, they received word from Dr. Gears, COG himself, to just “let the two of you finish. It would be good for research.” Which leads to now, a situation you actually find quite positive, but still awkward due to the fact you know the researchers and their interns are listening and watching (though they pretend to grant you privacy). 

You get fucked by a freaky statue for research. That is the terms of your service. Admittedly, it’s rather pleasant. SCP 173 has moved onto the mindset of viewing you as their ‘mate’, or something adjacent to that, and they somewhat obey your words. If you don’t want them to crack the necks of people just checking in, then they sometimes abide by your wishes. They’re actually super sweet when they want to be, but your relationship took a year of growth to reach the comfort it is now. 

In short, you know that they won’t hurt you. However, you might hurt the stupid researcher who decided to suggest this kind of test for your weekly visit with them. The strobe light is hooked up to a playlist that gets played on shuffle. The lights flicker and pulse with the beats in the music, and sometimes it works to your favor. You learned that SCP 173 actually enjoys listening to music while they rail you, and you assume it’s because they enjoy the way the lights change as they bend you down and slam your ass against their waist to take their cock deeper and deeper. You’ve learned that they like to play with their size this way as well. 

Today’s song is something so out of pocket that you’re certain you’re going to combust. It started off almost normally, something that was a little bearable but still off for the acts you were going to commit. The first few seconds were a bit cheesy, like an old Super Mario load up screen, but then it happened. 

SCP 173’s cold, stone hands pressed your thighs apart as you laid waiting for them on the bed. The lights dimmed and shifted with those same cheesy sounds and you closed your eyes in anticipation. You’d already prepped for their size, knowing you would not be able to take it without the warmup. SCP 173 was terribly impatient some days, and this felt like one of them. You took in a deep breath as the bulbous head of SCP 173’s cock pressed against your hole. They listened to the music and seemed to wait for it to shift before pushing deeply into you. 

Your lips fell open while your nails gripped onto the sheets as they hilted inside of you. You squeezed tightly around them and gasped. “Oh fuck!” You hissed, trying to tune out that gods awful music that connected to the strobe light, 

SCP 173 seemed to enjoy it. Their gaze, despite their lack of discernible eyes, bore into you. And they pulled their hips back before thrusting back in, shallow, but in time with the music. Could you even really call it music? It sounded like a clown falling down the stairs, growing more and more depressed with its choices in life. The way that SCP 173 pushed into you indicated that they were very much keeping in time with the music. 

Your hole burned. This was unlike ANY other time that they had slept with you. While you were more than lubricated due to the vast amount of precum weeping from SCP 173’s engorged tip, but that doesn’t mean it feels pleasurable! You almost wanted to laugh at the absolute absurdity of the situation. Your legs were still splayed wide open as they thrusted in, out, in, out, in, in, in, in, and swiiiiiirl. You began counting the seconds and minutes to when it would be over. Sometimes the roll of their hips was nice, but then it was immediately screwed over by the awkward thrusting. 

You looked up at your lover and felt heat rush to your cheeks. They seemed to more than enjoy it. They were so focused on the way that their cock pushed deep into your hole alongside the music. Did they make ecto-balls? You could feel them as they smacked into your ass, round, full of cum and ready to stuff your hole. You mentally came to the conclusion that they would be the only one getting off tonight. The depressed clown honk isn’t really doing it for you, nor is the weird drums, rhythm, or really, anything about it!

“173,” you groaned as you watched their cock disappear inside of you, leaving a slight bulge before they continued on. “Gods, just cum already-!” You sneered. The more conscious part of you could hear researchers scribbling away on their silly clipboards, noting subject agitation and whatnot. You wondered if the song was about to taper off. It had nearly been three minutes of a new personal hell. 

SCP 173 pushed forward a few more times, of course still matching the rhythm before finally rolling their hips deep against you. They never spoke, it was more of a mental thing whenever they connected with you this deeply, but you swore you could hear them moan and practically scream as they came. Their thick cock twitched deep inside of you as they filled you up to the brim, not wanting a single drop to escape from your weeping hole as they lightly thrusted forward, still very much in tune with that damn song. 

#kinktober 2022 #scp 173 x reader #scp 173 headcanon #scp x reader #minors dni #cbat

[tanemiduchis]

ok thinking about standardized testing literally makes me sick

#fuck the sats #and the acts #and test prep which once made me cry :) #like i do reasonably well #not like genius levels or anything #but i still hate it so much #like i am smart. i know that. #but the fucking standardized test problems are the mundane problems that made me hate math in middle school #i literally love math bc of how complex it is #and i love solving fun problems #but the sat ones are so mundane and just worded to confuse you #its such a horrible judge of intelligence #some of the smartest ppl i know got like 1150s on the psat #so fuck standardized testing :)

[ms-demeanor]

After reading your "ultra-long postivity post", now I have kind of a weird feeling because i relate a lot to pretty much everything you said, but i ended up approaching the "not everyone can x" from the opposite side, being the "gifted kid" teachers used to hold everyone to unrealistic standards (that i knew most couldnt achieve in the given timeframes), and now i get frustrated when i dont develop skills immediately, because i have done it before and feel like i should be able to and aaaaaaaaaa

Funny story: when I was a kid my parents had both my sister and I tested for learning and developmental disabilities. This testing included IQ testing.

It identified that we were both “gifted” kids* and that I’m dyslexic.

It totally missed my ADHD, though!

The problem with that is that my parents. Hm.

Okay my parents both grew up in very poor families. VERY poor. And they both wanted to go to college and knew the only way that they could was through scholarships. So they became debaters. They met at a tournament in high school.

Debaters are weird. You need an efficient working memory and strong recall and the ability to think quickly on your feet. Being witty and kind of an asshole are also good traits for debaters. Basically you’ve either gotta be really fuck-off smart to be a competitive debater or you’ve gotta at least *seem* really fuck-off smart.

And my parents were champion debaters at a national level. The Whittier College debate trophy has my mom’s name written directly under Richard goddamn Nixon. My dad was on the USC debate team and competed against Harvard and won. Not only that but he ended up coaching debate for USC and Cal Tech.

So as kids who grew up in extremely poor families and were able to go to college and get middle-class jobs and buy a house because of intellectual ability my parents placed A LOT of importance on intellectual ability.

So that IQ score became a large part of my life.

First we attacked the dyslexia. The approach was basically teaching me a bunch of sight words because sounding out phonics doesn’t work when the letters get screwed up. And because I was *gifted* we did a lot of really BIG sight words.

It took about six months to get me up to speed from “memorizing the pages of a story to match the pictures because I couldn’t read along in class” to “the first book I read on my own was The Hobbit.” I guess that counted as “cured” because that was the last time I got any kind of educational assistance.

At that time I was at a gifted school, a really tiny private school that was also an after-school daycare where we did full-day classes and then did gymnastics and swim from 3-6pm. I also was there over the summer because my parents worked.

So going from “tiny private school where the teacher has you stand up in class to read your failing grade in front of everyone so that she could shame you into performing better” to “fine public school in a suburb wealthy enough to have arts programs” was a major, major change. They did an aptitude test because I was transferring in from a different district and there was much discussion about whether or not to move me directly from the second to the sixth grade.

The district refused, thank fuck.

The public elementary school didn’t *have* a gifted program so it took very little time for me to become the Certified Weird Kid. My third grade teacher had me read aloud to our class for twenty minutes a day. I taught the class the multiplication table.

When it got to be time to go to the junior high school my mom went to a meeting for the school’s gifted kids program. APPARENTLY one of the kid’s dad’s basically said “I don’t understand why you’re wasting school funds on field trips for the stupid kids, the school should spend more of its resources on kids who have a chance of actually meaning something to the world” and my mom decided that while being gifted was important it was less important than making sure I wasn’t exposed to assholes of that caliber on a regular basis.

(thanks mom, I actually do really appreciate that reprieve)

Several teachers pushed me into advanced classes - my math teacher insisted that I take the advanced algebra classes in the seventh and eighth grade.

The GATE kids *WERE* assholes and were extra bonus special assholes to me because math was the only advanced class that I was in. (At my junior high school you had to pick your elective based on what level of classes you were in - to take the GATE classes you HAD to take a music elective; if you took art, drama, shop, or home ec you couldn’t take the smart kid classes. The algebra class was a new, separate addition to the program so *some* of the kids in the “electives for dropouts” program could take algebra. Schools are really fucked up, guys, in case you didn’t know schools are really fucked up and that was BEFORE No Child Left Behind).

I got a C in that algebra class and sat in my room for literally an hour screaming at myself for being such a selfish, distracted idiot that I let myself read my books instead of studying harder for the class. (clearly very healthy, normal twelve-year-old behavior)

When it was time to go to high school my teachers made a united plea to the district to transfer me into honors/IB/AP classes.

The kids in the honors/IB/AP classes continued to be kind of awful to me. I got extremely depressed and basically started doing the lazy-but-brilliant thing of completely ignoring homework or in-class work but performing spectacularly well on tests or essays in the classes that I wasn’t catastrophically failing

I was the only person at the school who got a perfect score on the vocab part of my SAT. I was the only honors kid who hadn’t been in SAT prep classes. There was only one other kid who graduated with the same number of units as I had, we’d outstripped the valedictorian and salutatorian but three classes each. I only applied to one college - I got accepted for painting but my interviewer urged me to move to the writing program and I got accepted for that too.

My financial aid didn’t come through and my dad wasn’t willing to cosign for loans on “an art program at a trade school.”

I got accepted to Pratt Institute on their Writing for Publication track which included an internship with the New York Times for third-year students in the program.

At that point I had a Columbia Scholastic Press award for my work on my high school yearbook.

Let me tell you, the community college that I went to and spent five years variously failing and succeeding at had a fucking *killer* newspaper and magazine when I was there. The local community newspaper that hired me when I was 21 was also much better designed and edited than it had any right to be for the three years I worked there (getting paid a whole eight dollars an hour and sometimes working 20 hours straight to get it in to the printer on time).

When I transferred to the state school I got perfect grades and worked full time and won every contest offered by the school’s English Honors society (which I couldn’t join because I was a transfer student and hadn’t done honors classes my freshman and sophomore years). I started a literary magazine with some friends when I graduated; we published four full issues online before it fell apart.

You know what’s also funny?

Even the food-service job I had to pay my way though the community college I felt terrible about attending was a skills test. I was a barista, so of course for a while I was a competitive barista.

I disappointed my parents a lot. I heard a lot of “we know you’re better than this.” I got told I was too smart to be screwing up this bad. I mentioned it a couple weeks ago but my results from that IQ test got compared to my sister’s and that was the justification for holding me to a higher standard. “You’re measurably brilliant, why aren’t you acting like it?”

Here lies the corpse of a gifted kid. Look on my works ye might and despair.

I am the perfect picture of a twice exceptional gifted kid and the reason I wrote all of this out is to tell you one thing:

“Gifted Kid” is a label that someone applied to you, it has nothing to do with who and what you ARE.

It’s very, very unfair that the adults in your life used you that way. I have an exceptionally terrible memory of being singled out as the only one who passed the first test in my IB World History class; “Why is Alli the only one of all of you who is writing at grade level? You’re supposed to be the smartest kids in the school, why did you all fail?”

That’s awful for the kids around you, that’s awful for you. It doesn’t do anybody any favors if people around you are being informed that you’re setting the curve they’ll be judged against. And it really, really doesn’t do YOU any favors because it doesn’t take long *at all* for your brain to learn that that’s all you’re good for. If you aren’t the best at a thing then what’s the point, you HAVE to be best because they already SAID you were best and if you aren’t then all these other people hate you for setting a standard that even you can’t keep up with.

You end up competing with past versions of yourself and focusing on those things that make the grownups in your life praise you because the grownups in your life has praised you in such a way that it’s turned all the other kids against you.

You know who bullied the fuck out of me? The kids I taught the times tables to, the kids I read to for half an hour a day.

Those kids were MEAN to me but the teacher who told me to read Boxcar Kids to the class after lunch everyday was NICE and she told me not to worry, they were just jealous and I should be proud of my gifts.

“Anon did this in three minutes. What’s taking the rest of you so long?” - what a terrible weight to put on a child. You’re right. Not everyone can do everything.

Fucking hell.

Adults what the everloving shit is wrong with us? Please don’t treat kids like that.

Okay.

Okay.

But here’s the other thing:

If there’s any time in your life that it’s easy to acquire skills with no apparent effort it’s when you’re a child surrounded by a support system that is engaged in making sure that you can acquire those skills.

It took three adults, two dictionaries, and several hours a day to teach me enough sight-words to throw me into “look at baby genius*” territory but from my perspective as a little kid I was just reading cool stories.

I spent four hours a day in the yearbook room and ditched and failed other classes so that I could work on the yearbook. I collected hundreds of magazines to get an eye for layout. But from my perspective as a teenager it was a fun activity that I did with the closest thing I had to friends.

I’m sure that there are some skills that you had a natural aptitude for, some things that came naturally. But I’m also sure that you didn’t learn those skills with no effort, it’s just that now as an adult with a life and other shit going on it takes more effort to learn to do things.

In all likelihood you weren’t a savant who did everything perfectly the first time you tried. It just seems that way because even really smart kids don’t know when they’re bad at things and are mostly being compared against other kids (with the few rare exceptions of music prodigies or math prodigies or those kids who end up in science grad programs at 12 and boy howdy do I think there’s a whole other can of worms when it comes to the way child prodigies* interact with the world).

You wanna know what probably saved my life in the last few years?

That “anti-capitalist love notes” tumblr post.

You are worth more than your productivity.

You are worth more than your productivity.

You are worth more than your productivity.

I was actually kind of offended the first time I saw that post on my dash. “No I’m not,” I thought. “You’re only worth what you can do, everyone knows that. People care about what you do for them.”

And why the hell would I think anything else? That’s what I’d learned for pretty much my whole life.

It took me a really long time to understand that I was wrong. I matter outside of what I can do for people or how well I perform. I matter more than being able to perfectly recite poetry from memory or do calculations on command or sit down at a piano and play a piece I’ve never played by sight-reading it.

And you matter outside of that too. You’re more than your performance, you’re better than being gifted. There are people who love you for the way you make them laugh and how you listen to their stories and for the simple joy of your presence.

It’s nice to be clever, it’s handy in a lot of situations even if it does come with a lot of baggage for some people.

But god damn, it’s important to be kind.

* Personally I have issues with the way that society constructs the concepts of giftedness, genius, and prodigies. There are a lot of “gifted” kids who were the kids who scored in the top 5% of their class in school but there are also gifted kids who were doing high-level math or reading novels as toddlers; there are prodigies who showed an aptitude for music young and who were then schooled in that instrument to the exclusion of all other activities (and I bet there are a fair number of kids who might be considered prodigies if they were trained to play flute for nine hours a day and didn’t have friends but thankfully we don’t *do* that to very many people - side note, ask me my opinion about olympic athletes some time). Words like “genius” and “gifted” are very nearly meaningless and almost *never* accurately reflect skills proficiency or long-term success or are reflected in income or respect. People think that geniuses are hypercompetent robots with their shit together but literally every adult I know with a genius-level IQ is some variety or other of total fucking tire fire.

#congratulations you have unlocked level two of my tragic backstory #long post

[queenjunoking]

Wolf Taming Ep 30

CW: Noncon - Shock Collar - Pain - Petplay - Drugs - Kidnapping  - Manipulation

Jude

This was the most annoying mare I’ve ever had to deal with and she wasn’t even awake yet. She was a giant, none of our usual gear fit her. Some of the stablehands took her measurements but we didn’t know what to do with most of them yet. We could have several of the items ordered fairly quickly, many of the shops we ordered from would have something in stock that could be altered. Some kept unusual sized clothing on hand for extravagant prices. I had Mimi call several of the nearby shops to see if we could get lucky, Mistress Eos was always willing to pay the price for whatever she wanted as long as she could get it right away.

Mistress Eos had particular tastes. Her newest mare would probably be used as a racehorse, she had the body for it. After her first week of breaking she’d probably be moved into the program to learn to run in her new gear. It took time to learn to run in the hoof-heels with your arms bound behind your back.

She had strong legs which was good, apparently she was an athlete before she was captured. Her bust was rather unimpressive. Good for a racehorse. But if Mistress Eos went on the workhorse route she’d probably receive a low dose of the hucow enhancer. Which meant until she made a decision we couldn’t get her a uniform to cover her top.

The main question came down to her stamina. Each pony had their customary first marathon on their first day. It was simple. A 25 mile treadmill course. It wasn’t so bad. Some portions would alter the treadmill’s angle. Some required certain speeds to be either reached or maintained. It really wasn’t that difficult but the ponies always seemed to have a problem with it. Most collapsed before the end. Which was fine, we’d just chain them up until they dragged their feet across the finish line one step at a time. It didn’t matter if it took all night, most of the newcomers weren’t even allowed sleep on their first night. 

The recipe for breaking them was simple. A painful exhausting marathon followed by not being allowed rest followed by another day of running. It helped weed out the useless ones. Those ones got moved into the cow barn if they had the body type for it. If they didn’t… well there were much less pleasant positions to be in. That new filly turned out to be useless. She barely made it 10 miles before she collapsed. Even threats couldn’t get her to move again. She didn’t have the body to be a cow. She might have been a good maid, but Eos only allowed demotions, not promotions. Once you were in the barn you never got to leave.

That particular filly was being designated a stress-relief pony for the stallions. She’d get her first injection of Succubus tonight. She’d get to learn first hand the modifications done to stallions and hopefully she could accommodate those modifications. Stallions were kind of a funny thing, they weren’t really ponies exactly. It was window dressing. They were rarely used for work. They came here to stay fit while they underwent their modifications. Once they were done here they were mostly installed in places to train slaves how to pleasure people or for medical testing.

That filly should count herself lucky. If she had been less lucky she would have ended up as a “thing.” Something reserved for only the most worthless of slaves. A table. A chair. A urinal.

God I hope this stupid thing would become a urinal. The thought of getting to piss down the throat of Z’s stupid emotion support pet was delicous to think about.

I don’t know what Z saw in this thing but nothing made me feel happier than thinking about what she must be going through right now. Z was volatile, I’m honestly surprised she didn’t try to attack Eos. I could only imagine it would get much worse now that she didn’t have her little pet to invest her attention into. I knew enough about that bitch. She crumbled if left on her own with nothing to do. She needed to have something to preoccupy her or she'd get lost in the dark place in her head. I still remember the day she attacked another master because she was allowed 3 days off as a breaker. The fragile filly couldn’t live with the downtime and pulled a knife on someone who bothered her. Unfortunately Briar bought them off. If she hadn’t Z might have gotten kicked out and Mistress Eos could have bought her.

She was the source of the only black mark on my record. I dreamt of whipping her while she begged for forgiveness. The memories of the dream alone made me wish I was allowed to touch myself.

But if Z loved this stupid horse I would do everything I could to sabotage it's progress. I wanted Callidora to be reduced to a worthless object. I wanted Z to see what she became. I was sure it was going to be the thing to crack that ice queen exterior and expose what a worthless bitch she really was.

“You two!” I snapped at one of the stablehands. They stood at attention, scared to be the object of my attention.

“Y-yes Stablemaster Jude?” They both stammered at the same time. They had learned since last time.

“One of you go get an enema bag, we have to get her prepared. The other go get a half level of the hucow formula and the microchip. It’s good we get her prepped in case Eos wants to continue down that path. If she does the results will happen faster. If she doesn’t then the effects will go away after a few days.”

“Yes Stablemaster Jude!” They started to walk off to go get the supplies. Not fast enough for my taste.

“Now!” They squealed and ran off, one slipping and falling into the mud. Her uniform was all dirty now and she’d be paying for that tonight. Clumsy bitches don’t need to sleep. Two days should teach her a lesson. “Bunch of worthless slaves…”

“Stablemaster Jude?” I turned around to see the pink monstrosity hobbling into the barn. Even after all this time she could barely walk unassisted, let alone walk on the uneven ground outside.

“Did you finally finish the simple task I asked you to do an hour ago Mimi?” I hated Mimi, Eos always dotted over her. But she was the only person here aside from me who could use the phone, every other slave she owned was conditioned to get violently ill from hearing various sounds phones made. It made sure they couldn’t call for help. 

“I’m sorry Stablemaster Jude. I have located one shop that has hoof-heels in Callidora’s size. The purchase has been approved and they will be here within the hour. There were no hoof-mitts available but Mistress Eos has said she wishes for Callidora to be placed in an armbinder harness. Arms bent.”

“Dismissed Mimi.” She awkwardly made a curtsy and slowly made her way back to the house.

I sat back for a few minutes and watched as one of them finally returned with the enema. I heard Callidora make some noises as she filled but she unfortunately was still asleep. I watched them shove a plug in her as the other returned with 7 needles, three for each breast and the chip. I injected them one by one, getting little reaction from the unconscious mare aside from some disgruntled noises. There wouldn’t be any noticable effects yet aside from some soreness. I looked for the squishiest part of her neck and chipped her. I was stunned to find out she didn’t already have one. Z thought this horse was a dog. There was only one reason Callidora wasn’t chipped and it brought a smile to my face.

Z was running low on money.

We waited ten minutes before one of the stablehands removed the plug. Several others started to clean the floors. It was standard procedure for new ponies. Soon they would be on Ambrosia and this would never be a problem again.

There was nothing to do but wait for the idiot to show up with the canner’s new gear. I may as well have some fun. 

“You three!” I pointed to three random stablehands.

They stood at attention. “Yes Stablemaster Jude?” I smiled. This is what Z didn’t understand. I saw the footage of Callidora. She was sloppy. She was out of control. Callidora was going to get to learn about the importance of efficiency and control.

“Her.” I pointed at the stablehand that had fallen in the mud. “Strip her. Put her in the whipping brace. She can wait there for a few hours before I have some extra time, she’ll be getting 10 lashes and a day in the hole.

“No, no please. Please Stablemaster Jude please I’m so sorry I can do better. Please have mercy on me. A different punishment at least I beg you. My body is weak, I won’t be able to keep helping out in the stable after that many lashes.” She fell to her knees in front of me. 

I kicked her in the chest and sent her sliding backwards. “No? Did you just fucking say no to me you worthless bitch? 20 lashes. 3 days in the hole. If you can’t fucking work in the stables after that it’s not my problem. Broken overflow is sold to Lady Flora.”

Her eyes went wide as the three grabbed her and dragged her off, doing the best they could to silence her screaming and begging. Such a lovely sight. I never liked her anyway. I’m sure she’d enjoy being a statue.

I was supervising the clean up as a meek man approached the barn. "Greetings Stablemaster. We came as fast as we could. We had a bridle hood with binds, a harness and hoof-heels in her si-" I walked up to him and just took them from him. "-oh! Ok. Well try them on and make sure they fit. Otherwise we can make some adjustments.”

"Flip her!" A couple of stablehands carefully turned Callidora off of her stomach and onto her back, letting her legs drape off the table.

I slid the boots into her feet. They fit well enough. The angle was fine. She’d get used to wearing them like every pony did. I tried the bridle, another perfect fit. It took some struggle from myself and a few stablehands but we managed to get her harness on. It was the only thing we left on. Her arms were loosely chained behind her back, didn't want her to be free and hurt herself.

"It fits. Please go to the house to finalize your payment." I waved the man off. Billing wasn't my area, Mistress Eos had people for that. I would be money that despite how long ago Mimi had left the barn the man would get to the house before she did. Such a pathetic creature.

"Put her in her stall. Alert me the second she wakes up." Four stablehands awkwardly lifted her and awkwardly carried her into her stall in the stable.

Stalls weren't roomy. They were mostly meant to stand in and wait. They may as well be long closets. A regular sized mare might be able to lay down but Callidora was much too big to ever do that. But ponies didn't get special accommodations. That was her new home. Well, for now. I was going to make it my duty to be sure she would fall as fast and as hard as possible. She wasn’t worth a place in Mistress Eos’s stable. But for now this is where she’d stay until I could get her a place in a hucow crate or in a urinal.

I looked up at the plaque above her locked stall door.

Stall 27.

Callidora.

[kuvvydraws]

Hello! Just a quick question- have you ever worked at a fast food place before? Do you have any advice? Or, if you haven't, do you have any advice when starting out in the culinary area of work?

Hi! Sorry it took me so long to get to this ask.

I work as a waitress and that's the only job I've ever had but we have to collaborate with the people in the kitchen, so I can tell you a few rules that are basic for a healthy work environment (as much as the pressure of a fast-paced job allows).

1.- Keep yourself clean. This is of course even more important now that the COVID-19 haunts us. You're working with food and other stuff people is going to consume and it's so very important to wash your hands, wear gloves and a hairnet to keep all surfaces as clean as possible.

2.- Be careful when touching stuff. Depending on the area of the kitchen you work at (or, if you're serving or retrieving plates), things have a different temperature. I'm talking ice-cold glasses paired with heavy plates straight from the oven. I work in a catering and us waiters have to wear a "lito" (I've tried to find the equivalent of that word in English with little success, but a lito is that thick cloth you can see waiters wearing hanging from their arms). The lito helps you clean wine bottles after pouring them and to carry heavy, scorching plates while protecting you from the heat. I've gotten very bad burns in my hands from those burning plates, so this is no joke. If you can (if your work environment has them), get yourself one at the beginning of your shift and don't lose it.

3.- Be polite. This shit will kill you. Customers can come in two breeds: the polite ones and the ones you want to choke dead with your bare hands. The second type is, naturally and unfortunately, the most common. They will test your patience, maybe on purpose or maybe not, and they will jump on each and every one of your nerves. They will be rude, and demanding, and they will always know more about anything and everything about you "because you are just a fast-food worker". I fail at this (I have to confess that), but don't let them get to you. They will be childish and cross every line and you will physically struggle, but remain polite. You will only deal with them for minutes, but you need your job. So be polite to them, don't let any emotion in your voice or attitude show that you are pissed as fuck and just be The Brand™. You'll be able to bitch about them later, I promise. And friends, co-workers and family love the stories about how stupid people can be.

On the other hand, those customers who are polite to you.... Be nice and enjoy them. If they tell you a joke and you like it, you're allowed to laugh. They will be nice to you because they have fucking empathy and they are great. And they love it when you're nice right back at them. I know we are talking about a job but you are allowed to have fun.

4.- Politeness is not only for customers. Not counting your boss, you have to have in mind that you work in a team. There are cooks and waiters and other people who work in the kitchen and all of them deserve respect regardless of the job they do. They will be stressed, just like you, and they will snap at you. Be mature about these times: they won't mean it (maybe you are bothering them and they have a lot on they plate already —sorry for the pun—), but they will probably apologize with words of actions after their shift. Don't hoard hard feelings because you will be working with them daily and bad blood is of no use when you have to see your sworn enemy's face day after day.

5.- You will be tired. You will be standing all day, walking too, so invest in some good shoes or change the insoles as often as you need. Seriously, don't be cheap, don't cut any corners with this. I've spent many sleepless, restless night sitting on the kitchen floor because my feet hurt so much I couldn't summon a thought.

6.- Drink, bitch. Following the same thought from above: keep yourself hydrated or I'll hunt you down and steal your kneecaps. Long, tiring shifts, working near heat sources like ovens or friers or whatever... Just drink, please.

7.- Be mindful. Your co-workers are having the same bitchy day you are, so if you can help them get through it, do it. Fetch something for them, help them carry some boxes back to the freezer, bring them something to drink or snack on if you can (some bosses won't let you eat anything during your shift, so eat enough before you start, but drinking is usually allowed). They will remember it and help you back. Remember "a random act of kindness always sparks another".

8.- Be careful, seriously. You will be working in a kitchen. Things will be sharp. Sharp enough to skin you alive, I mean it. I almost sliced a nail off cutting lemons for Gin Tonic prep once. No matter how sure or confident of your skills you are, you now must think of yourself as a dumbass toddler: repeat the way you should handle sharp instruments in your head while you're using them to keep yourself safe (have dey hands when using them, don't bring them close you your eyes, don't rush , don't shake it around or point at people with it...).

9.- Uniform wise. If you have to wear one, make sure it's in pristine condition of that's required of you. I've seen people fired over something as tiny as a dark spot on a white shirt. Bosses can be hateful.

10.- About your boss. Be polite; you don't have (and probably won't if they are an asshole) to respect them, but you can't let it show. Your job depends on you being on their good graces, sorry. Bite your tongue and die poisoned, as they say.

11.- Remember your place. You may come from a high standard university, and you may have so many titles under your belt it'd seems like you're pitching a tent. You may not, too. It doesn't matter. Remember you have just been hired in a new place, even if you have years and years of experience working in the field, and every place has a different king. All the rules you knew might be useless, even. You will have to re-learn everything from scratch, and you will have to be humble about it. None of that "I come from A and I do B!" because the answer to that is always "well, go back to A and do B!". You are the rookie, the newbie and, in short, the last shit. That doesn't mean you shouldn't speak if you have a good idea, just remember to share it in a respectful, responsable way.

———

I think this is all of it for now. I will edit this post if more things come to mind because this shit is important, people!

#kuvvytalks about stuff #work advice #stay safe #life advice #maybe????

[twins-parted]

@allbravado​ || Vampire Seth & Ghost Rosie Continued. 

The start is here. 

He rearranged the CD shelf, it had gotten out of order when he lent a few to his friend, the campus ‘ DJ ‘ ... though he wasn’t very good at it. Ah well, supporting dreams and what not ... that’s what friends did. He paused and laughed at her quip. 

A lazy shrug of his broad shoulders was the only indication that he’d formally acknowledged her correct assumption. 

“ I always keep ‘em guessing, they never seem to know just what I’m thinking ... “

He shook his head personal joke forgotten for a moment as he finally got them mostly in place.

“ Yeah, well --- I’m testing my Halloween pick-up lines in advance. God knows I’ll have every advantage this year, not to mention it should be easier to shag ... er, uh ... snag a dinner date. “ 

Freudian slip, oops.  

“ I mean, I figure I can take my pick of all the hot Morticias, Femme Freddy Kruegers, and Harley Quinns that my heart desires. Right ??? Also, incoming side rant: Why in the hell are people going in on Harley’s outfit ?? Okay, yeah --- certainly attracts the male gaze, BUT it makes sense. She’s a pro at gymnastics and she’d need the flexibility and mobility for her clothes to have give ... I just don’t get the anger. Oh god ... like, imagine how strong she probably is ?! It’s incredible & Margot Robbie was a fucking angel in the role during the filming of ‘ Suicide Squad ‘. The elevator scene in that movie ... with heels ?! “ 

He flopped on the bed, eyes on the ceiling, but unfocused as his barrage of rare praise continued: 

“ You probably haven’t seen it but holy God is it impressive. I just ... I can’t. And Jared Leto was acting a fool the whole time she was prepping for the role and learning how to do her stunts. The double standard is unfair. Anyway ... “

He smiled ruefully up at Rosie: 

“ If you ever tell anyone about that rant ... I’m burning this house down. I would hate for people to get the wrong idea and think there’s more to me than winning looks, a killer personality, and a nice bank account. “ 

#( ... I'm sorry ... is Seth ... ReSpEcTiNg WoMeN ??? )

[ecto-american]

DannyMay 2019 themed story, I’m not late I’m just going my own pace pls be nice to me

Ectoplasm | Broken | Glass | Theory | Community | Eavesdropping | Worldbuilding | Accident | History | Or Read on AO3. | Shoutout to bibliophilea for betareading

Day 11: Shapeshift

"It's going to be a long night."

Those words never rang truer for Maddie, who simply nodded in response. Dr. Carrington flipped through her notes as she jotted down the latest updates before she began to shuffle papers around in the file. It took very little time to do progress notes. Not a whole lot could be documented about Danny, or well Phantom. What was there to record? Nothing that could be comparable to a human. Was Danny still human?

Maddie watched her son as he idly doodled on his board as the doctor did her duties. She could recognize the vague shape of a spaceship and some related doodles as he sketched wildly out of obvious boredom. What was Danny even considered? Was he human? Would it be actually worthwhile to test his vitals? Why did he look like this?

"Buuut we're pretty much all set. In a half-hour, I'll be back, and we'll get you prepped for surgery," the doctor spoke cheerfully, clicking her pen before putting it back in her coat pocket. "Do you have any questions? Danny?"

Danny's head snapped to attention, and he shook his head. She nodded.

"Alrighty, then when I come back, we can finally get you all fixed up." She smiled warmly at him, and Danny nodded eagerly. "And Maddie, you're still going to join?"

"Yes," she replied quickly, ignoring the instant terrible feeling. Operating on Danny...No. She had to make sure everything went alright in this situation.

"Good, then I'll see you in a bit!"

The door closed, and Maddie sighed softly. She began to dig through the bag Jack had left with her. Chargers, her kindle, Jazz's kindle, Jack's tablet, a notebook and pencils. He had also packed some fudge cookies and chips for them. She noticed some glass bottles of green liquid, and she curiously pulled them out. They looked nothing like what she had in the lab, and the tape on them labelling them was nothing like she typically used. Ecto-Dejecto Energy Drink. She turned them in her hand, listening to Danny's marker squeak.

Danny's board nudged her shoulder, and she glanced over to read what he had written.

My Greenbull!

Greenbull? Danny wiped off the board with his forearm before writing more. She turned the vial around in her hand, hoping for some kind of details to be written somewhere. Nothing.

"What is this?" she asked aloud, and Danny held up a finger before continuing to write.

Maddie glanced at the labelling again. Ecto-Dejecto? That was what she and Jack had used before to weaken a ghost, to make it easier to fight them. Did Jack accidentally bring some along? Danny nudged her again, and her eyes scanned his sloppy writing.

Your ecto dejecto had opposite effect so it makes ghosts stronger, I changed it so it's an energy drink. It helps me stay a ghost longer. Jazz knows where I keep it.

"You modified our Ecto-Dejecto?" Maddie was surprised. Danny nodded, and he wiped the board to write more. "Danny, just the fact that you were able to successfully modify our formula is amazing. How come." She cut herself off. How come her son was failing chemistry when he could make this with no guidance?

Because Phantom was seen all hours of the day and night fighting ghosts. During school hours. During bedtime. Past curfew. That's where Danny always was. Hunting ghosts. Fighting them. Getting hurt. Ending up in the hospital so badly injured that he practically lost half of his teeth. And if her math was correct, her understanding of a possible timeline...just about the time Danny began to flunk was when Phantom began to show up.

Yeah, I can't stay a ghost too long, and all the ghost hunting really exhausts me. I drink this to give me a boost to help me. Tuck helped, we call it Greenbull.

Phantom was seen all hours of the day and night fighting ghosts. He showed up to nearly every ghost incident to fight. To the point that Jack and Maddie happily began to let Phantom take on the ghosts, especially during the later hours. From their observations, he was only interested in fighting other ghosts. "Let them tire each other out," she remembered telling Jack. She had been letting her son take on the slack and responsibility that she was supposed to have done. To the point that he was chugging a homemade energy drink that he had to engineer himself to keep himself going because taking a break wasn't really an option. Maddie was a terrible mother.

Wait.

"Tucker knows?" she asked. Danny flinched, and he nodded. He jotted on the board something she already guessed.

Sam too.

He told his friends over her and Jack? Well, made sense. They were all very close. But she was his mom. If he had told her, she could have helped him. She could have fixed this. She could have taken the ghost powers away or found a way to remove the ghostlyness. But by now, his ghostly form had to be stable after having shifted and such for so long. It was likely too late to do anything now.

"When did you tell them?" she wondered. The marker hovered hesitantly over the board before quickly writing.

They were there.

There for what? How did this even...The portal. It had to be. There had to be no other way. Nothing else they could have made or produced would result in something like this, in this weird ghostly powers. And Danny lied to her. He lied to her face about where he was when the portal had apparently flickered to life while she and Jack were out of the house. That the portal had turned on when nobody was home. But how did it happen? She needed to know. Her mind was racing with all the things that could have gone wrong, the many possibilities. How could this entire situation even be real? How could she even be assured that Phantom was telling the truth? What if this was a big lie? No, no. Jazz wouldn't have gone along with it. Jazz had to have known. Her behavior, her reactions. She knew. This was Danny. This was her brother. This was her son.

"What happened?" she whispered. Danny shook his head, wiping off the board and leaning back into the pillows. Right. Right...now was not a good time to discuss this. Phantom, her son?, his face was still swollen, and the IV of medicine was slowly dripping. The only thing keeping him pain-free. Because she failed to do anything to help keep him safe. She was nearly doing the opposite come to…

She leaned into him a bit, reaching out to gently stroke his hair comfortingly. His hair didn't feel like it had been bleached or dyed. This was natural. But how? Could Danny shapeshift? How the hell did she not know about this? Danny looked at her with such a content, yet exhausted look. Now that she knew...how could she have suspected nothing? All she could see now when staring at the ghost boy was how much he resembled her only son. What kind of mother didn't recognize her own child like that? Even if he was...

What else had he not told her?

Danny pointed to the glass vial in her hand, and Maddie glanced at it before looking back to him. He made a drinking motion, and she took the cap off before letting him have it. Danny glanced at the bottle, and he quickly threw his head back, pouring the contents into his mouth quickly. Maddie winced at the half-choked coughing and struggles to swallow before Danny finally handed her an empty bottle back. He wheezed a bit but smiled, giving a thumbs up. Did this work that quickly?

The Ecto-Dejecto, like everything they made, was meant to only work on ghosts. No wonder they always targeted Danny. Or was it? Was Danny a ghost? Did Danny...die?

She froze completely at that idea as she watched Danny take up doing more doodles. More spaceships and stars. Was she that neglectful of a mother that she didn't notice her own son passing away? What else could he be? Did Danny die, and she didn't notice? How could he look so differently when masquerading as Phantom? Was this his true form now? Did Danny die?

This wasn't the time to discuss that. Not when Danny couldn't even say a single word. But she could feel her hands begin to shake. Did her child die without her even noticing? What kind of fucking mother could not notice that? Ghosts could shapeshift. And there was still so much unknown about death. Did Danny have to force himself to shapeshift into what he used to look like so he could be around? So that she would continue to love him or something? Didn't he know that she'd love him no matter what? Why was he even around if he had died? How, why, what.

"Danny, did you die?" It came out so quietly and softly. Her son stared at her with wide, frightened and confused eyes.

She could see Danny visibly swallow anxiously. It did nothing to help her own worries. He slowly wiped away his doodles, and once presented with a blank slate, he began to write. Slowly. Constantly stopping to briefly wipe away the words and rethinking. Maddie could do nothing but stare intensely as she waited for an answer.

A knock interrupted them, and Dr. Carrington came into the room with a smile, followed by a nurse.

"Hey, we can finally get this show on the road," she chirped cheerfully.

They walked up, and Danny absentmindedly handed Maddie the board and markers. They began to shift to where they could move the hospital bed. Maddie paid little mind as she read over what Danny had begun to write. All that was written was

The portal

Her worst fears were confirmed, and she hated it. She stayed painfully quiet as she wiped the board, shoving it into the backpack along with the markers. It stuck out the top, and she left it on the chair. Maddie not only was so oblivious that she had missed that her own child had died, but was so neglectful that she was the reason he had died.

"Just to avoid some drama, we're gonna sheet you again, okay? Standard procedure like we been doing," one of the nurses told Danny, and he gave a thumbs up. She smiled warmly at him, pulling his sheets over his head to hide the ghost from any possible publicity. This had to remain as quiet as possible.

Maddie pocketed two more vials of the homemade energy drink as she began to follow the others in a fog. What kind of mother...what kind of person could miss...would be oblivious… Her eyes welled with tears. A horrible mom wouldn't have noticed, too busy in the lab looking for ways to destroy ghosts instead of being a good mom who was active in her son's life. Where did she go wrong? When did she begin failing as a parent? What did she do to make her son believe that he had to keep this from her?

They wheeled him into the surgical room without incident.

"Come get some scrubs and wash up," Dr. Carrington instructed Maddie, motioning for her to follow.

"Alright. I have something that should help Phantom while we're operating," Maddie said, and she held up the vials. Dr. Carrington smiled.

"Perfect!" she chirped. "What's its purpose?"

"It boosts his power, meaning it should also boost any healing effects and keep him stable," she replied. At least, that was the impression she got from Danny. Dr. Carrington simply nodded. "We can mix it into the IV bag."

"Sounds good. Let's get washed, and then you can do just that."

Maddie took a deep breath. For the first time in her life, it was giving her anxiety to, essentially, dissect a ghost in some capacity. Hopefully Danny wouldn't shapeshift back. Is that how this worked? This night was going to burn into the mother's memory forever for all the wrong reasons.

She slowly washed up and donned her gifted scrubs, anxiously following Dr. Carrington into the room. Danny was still awake for now, nodding and confirming things with the surgeon.

A version of her biggest dream was here. Surrounded by a company of doctors about to operate on Amity Park's greatest menace, discovering his unique biology and being able to contribute to her field of study. But this was nightmare fuel of the highest degree, and she felt sick. She was regretting not asking Jack to do this. It wasn't too late to-oh yeah it was. It was so late for everything. Just everything.

"Maddie do you wanna get the IV set up with Nurse Sanchez? She can help you mix in your stuff."

"I can," was all Maddie could bring herself to say. Her mouth felt so dry. She went over to the nurse.

"You can just give it to me," the nurse told her. Maddie didn't argue, and she handed the vials over. She hoped it would be enough to keep Danny's...form like this. The nurse thanked her, and she set to work.

Maddie found herself standing right over Danny as he stared off to the side. Towards the tray of medical tools, with anxiety written clearly on his features. She lightly stroked his hair, and he glanced up at her.

"I'll be here the whole time," she said. Though at this point, was it a threat or a comfort?

The later it thankfully seemed, as Danny visibly perked up and nodded. He held his hand up, and she took it, giving it a light squeeze as her heart sank a bit. How could she be here, doing this? Could she just get through this pretending he was only Phan-no. No. No, no, no. She couldn't do that. Not anymore. Not just blindly pretend. This was her son, and a possible chance to finally do something good for him as a mother.

She watched his IV bag get changed out, and she prayed that the mix kept him together. Prevented this secret from becoming exposed. The new mixture soon was slowly dripping in.

"Alright, Danny, we're ready to get started," the anesthesiologist spoke, and Danny let go of his mom's hand. He put the mask over his face gently. "Count backwards."

Danny made a noise of sorts, and in less than thirty seconds, he was out like a light. Maddie's breath caught in her throat as she fearfully anticipated his form to change. It did not.

The surgeon's words were muffled in her mind as she watched them make the first incision, then slowly, for the next six hours, begin to make the careful and painstaking task of wiring her baby back together. The process felt like it would never end.

#danny phantom #Maddie fenton #my phics #phics #broken ectoplasm #history #dannymay #dannymay19 #my dannymay #my dannymay19

[bentonpena]

Tofu Freaking Rules

Tofu Freaking Rules https://bit.ly/350TvUV

We need to talk about tofu. As Beyond Meat and Impossible Burger mania sweeps the globe, the OG vegan protein is getting left behind—and I, for one, hate to see it. If you’re serious about reducing your reliance on animal products, tofu has the potential to change your diet—and life—for the better.

To some extent, I get why so many people, particularly American meat-eaters, are resistant to the entire concept of tofu. Western culture has ruthlessly (and racist-ly) slandered the humble soy-based protein for as long as we’ve known about it, so a lot of us were basically programmed from birth to think it’s garbage.

I’m begging you to reconsider. When correctly prepared, tofu is a textural marvel, running the gamut from delicate and custardy to deep-fried and crunchy. Its unmatched flavor-absorbing powers make it a total chameleon; it truly can be anything you want it to be. I’ve loved tofu my whole meat-eating life, and I’m here to convert the naysayers. Welcome to my Tofu Manifesto.

You’re probably thinking about tofu all wrong

The biggest, wrongest tofu misconception is that it’s strictly a meat substitute. Sure, it can be that if it needs to—but tofu’s closest animal protein analog is actually the egg. On their own, eggs are bland; it’s their ability to morph into a staggering array of forms and textures that makes them so special. However you like your eggs—fried crisp with lacy edges, scrambled soft with lots of butter, or cooked into a puffy, tender frittata—I’m willing to bet your preferences come down to texture rather than flavor.

The same is true for tofu, which is why I’m skeptical when people insist they don’t like how it tastes. Soft and silken tofu has a more noticeable soy milk vibe than the firm stuff, but for the most part, it adds no flavor whatsoever to a dish. Tofu only tastes as good as the sauce it’s served in—texture is basically the whole point.

It’s embarrassingly easy to make tofu taste amazing

Contrary to popular assumption, delicious tofu takes barely any work at all. In fact, all the usual hacks try way too hard: Pressing takes forever (and freezing even longer); marinating often yields profoundly mediocre results; a cornstarch dredge too easily sogs out. None of these techniques work particularly well on medium-to-soft tofu, and with the exception of marinating, they also offer absolutely nothing in the way of seasoning.

For all of these reasons and more, the salt water trick is the only tofu hack worth knowing. Hot, salty water is a tofu prep triple threat: It dehydrates firm tofu so it crisps up quickly, sets super-fragile soft tofu so it doesn’t fall apart, and seasons everything through and through. It also adds as much work to your dinner prep as boiling pasta. I’ll get into the specific techniques in a bit; for now, just know that the salt water hack promoted tofu from something I’d buy occasionally to a legit, can’t-live-without-it staple.

If you remain unmoved, I’ve collected my favorite tofu products and preparations in one place, starting with the most hater-friendly ones. This isn’t a recipe post—it’s all about the technique. (Where applicable, I’ll link to specific recipes that I used and explain how I adjusted them to work with tofu, with the hope that you’ll soon be doing the same.)

Even hardline skeptics love fried tofu puffs

Tofu puffs are cheap, delicious, deep-fried flavor sponges that need zero prep; in other words, they’re easy to love. You can toss them whole into curries and stews for a fun textural element, but I strongly recommend taking 30 seconds to slice them in half. With their honeycomb-like interiors exposed, these puffy little nuggets soak up sauce like nobody’s business—without compromising their crispiness.

To show them off, I made my favorite Maangchi recipe—cheese buldak, or fire chicken with cheese—with halved tofu puffs instead of chicken breast.

Those two ingredients are obviously nothing alike, but the swap totally works thanks to the insanely powerful sauce. Red-hot both in color and spice level, surprisingly sweet, and with enough fresh ginger and garlic to put hair on your chest, it more than picks up the slack for something as bland as chicken breast or unseasoned tofu. Having made this dish with chicken dozens of times, I have to say—I prefer the puffs. Even when saturated with sauce, they stay light and puffy, which is the perfect contrast to the ultra-chewy texture of sliced rice cakes and melted mozzarella.

Pressed tofu does (most of) the prep work for you

As the name implies, pressed tofu has already been pressed to remove most of its moisture, resulting in a pleasantly toothsome texture. You can buy it pre-seasoned with soy sauce and five spice powder, but I like it plain so I can season it however I like.

Here, I whipped up a vaguely Spam-inspired mixture of roughly 2 tablespoons each of soy sauce and sugar, plus a teaspoon of garlic powder and a few shakes of smoky hot sauce (El Yucateco Black Label Reserve for life). I added some cubed pressed tofu and let everyone hang out about 20 minutes, flipping them around halfway through. You don’t need much marinade; a shallow layer is plenty.

I then used it to bulk up a super basic batch of fried rice with ginger, garlic, carrots, and frozen peas. The cubes got nicely crispy and charred on the edges, and were just what I needed to add some substance to a huge bowl of fried carbs.

Unseasoned pressed tofu also makes great vegan “paneer:” Cube it up and marinate in lemon juice with a few pinches of salt for 30 minutes, or longer if you have the time. As with regular paneer, you can pan-fry the tofu or leave it alone; either way, you’ll be surprised at how closely the marinated tofu mimics the texture and flavor of the real thing.

Medium-to-firm tofu needs a little TLC

This range of the tofu spectrum is the most recognizable and the least immediately appealing. I mean, just look at this:

In my experience, the variations between medium, firm, and extra-firm tofu are pretty meaningless, and I use them all interchangeably. Left uncooked, they all have a texture best described as “rubbery,” with no discernible flavor at all. Their highest calling is getting crispy in a hot skillet and doused in a flavorful sauce.

All you need to make crunchy pan-fried tofu is salt water, a good nonstick pan, and all of 20-30 minutes. That’s it. Here’s my usual procedure for a standard 1-pound block.

Before I do any other ingredient prep, I bring 2-3 cups of salted water and 2 teaspoons of table salt to a strong boil in a saucepan. Then I cut the heat, slide in my tofu, and let it sit while I prepare the rest of the recipe. After 15-20 minutes, I drain off the water and either pat the tofu dry on clean towels or leave it in the colander until I need it.

To get that crispy surface going, I coat my big cast-iron skillet with a thin layer of neutral oil and heat it over medium-high. I then add the tofu, spread it into an even layer, and leave it completely alone for at least 5 minutes.

Once the edges start to brown, I flip it over and do the same on the other side.

Boom. Done. Obviously, I used crumbled tofu here—it’s my favorite—but this works just as well with cubes, slabs, triangles, or any other shape you can dream up.

Don’t sleep on crumbled tofu

I know I said that tofu isn’t a meat substitute, but crispy tofu crumbles get really fucking close. In many cases, I prefer them to meat because they hold their shape—and a surprising amount of crunch—even when simmered for a long time. Sure, they don’t give you the specific richness you get with ground pork or beef, but with the right recipe you won’t miss it at all.

Speaking of the right recipe, Bon Appétit Test Kitchen director Chris Morocco’s spicy sweet sambal pork noodles are flawless—but, despite the name, I’ve actually never made them with meat. I only had tofu the first time I made them, and they turned out so well that I’m fine with never learning how they taste with pork.

I make the recipe exactly as written, except—obviously—I leave the pork out. Instead, I fry up soaked, crumbled firm tofu in a separate skillet while the sauce simmers, then dump ‘em in and toss everything together with cooked noodles. This cuts at least 30 minutes off the cook time without compromising on anything except porkiness, which I promise won’t even register.

You can also use tofu crumbles like ground beef. I usually throw in some minced onion and garlic in once the tofu is nice and crispy, then cook it down with a little tomato paste, taco seasoning, and cheap beer if I’ve got it.

It’s not beefy, exactly, but it tastes incredible in its own right—and makes a killer vegan-friendly crunchwrap filling.

You can roast tofu, too

Maybe you’d rather not spray your stovetop with oil in the name of crispy tofu. In that case, roasted tofu is for you. The results are directly comparable to pan-frying—they just take a little longer to get there.

Start with soaked, drained tofu, preferably cut into triangles or flat slabs so they’re easy to flip. Arrange on a clean towel and let them dry out while your oven preheats to 450ºF.

If you like, cut a vegetable of your choice into similarly-sized pieces and toss them with a tablespoon or two of neutral oil; I’m using kabocha squash here.

Place a sheet pan on the lowest oven rack. After about 3 minutes, add 2-3 tablespoons of neutral oil to the pan, put it back in the oven, and heat for another minute or two. Carefully transfer the tofu and vegetables to the hot oiled pan, return to the bottom rack, and roast for at least 20 minutes. Flip everything over and roast for another 15-20 minutes, until the tofu is super crispy on both sides and the vegetables are browned and soft.

You can eat the whole shebang straight off the pan—perhaps drizzled with spicy peanut sauce or chili oil—but I added mine to a quick curry made with Maesri panang curry paste, palm sugar, and coconut milk. (Maesri is the only brand I’ve found that doesn’t use shrimp paste or fish sauce; if you usually avoid prepared curry paste for allergy or vegan reasons, give it a try.)

To be completely honest, the kabocha was a miss—the flesh was too dry, and the skin was super tough. The crispy roasted tofu, however, slapped. They can’t all be bangers; such is the nature of experimentation.

When you feel ready, silken tofu is there for you

The next stop on our tour de tofu is the most controversial, misunderstood one yet: Soft or silken tofu. Yes, it’s bland. Unseasoned coagulated soy milk isn’t going to blow your mind with super-concentrated umami or whatever. But when prepared correctly, soft tofu is more than just delicious—it’s absolutely sublime. I will go to bat for it all day long, and I would love to tell you why.

The dish that changed my mind about silken tofu came from Biwa, a now-closed izakaya-style bar in Portland. It was deceptively simple: A whole block of chilled silken tofu drizzled with sweet soy sauce and topped with bias-cut scallions, fistfuls of toasted sesame seeds, and paper-thin bonito shavings. I ordered it every time, and my friends would always be like—“Cold tofu? Why?” But if I could convince them to take a bite, they’d understand. It was like eating a deeply savory panna cotta.

Unfortunately, my dearly departed Tofu Slab is no more—and my attempts to recreate it have been so unsuccessful that I’m forced to settle for the next best thing: Salt water-soaked silken tofu mounded on hot white rice and drowned in chili oil, soy sauce, and black vinegar.

I’m not complaining. The salt water, once again, is key: It turns a cold, slimy block of tofu into a piping-hot savory custard, which is the perfect canvas for condiments. Sure, there’s not much in the way of textural contrast, but the softness is so comforting and nice that I think a crunchy element would actually defeat the purpose. It’s a delicious, balanced, reasonably nutritious meal you can throw together in the time it takes to cook a pot of rice.

Putting it all together: All-tofu mapo tofu

Neglecting to mention mapo tofu in an article about tofu is basically journalistic malpractice. The iconic Sichuanese tofu dish is rich, meaty, spicy, funky, sour, and savory all at once—and slicked with lip-numbing Sichuan peppercorn oil for good measure. It’s a top 3 dish for me; I make it all the time, usually using Maggie Zhu’s recipe from the Omnivore’s Cookbook.

Being a big vegetable fan, I’ve experimented with using minced veg—eggplant, mushrooms, and even carrots—in place of the traditional ground meat. But this time, I decided to follow my vision and make a variant I’m calling “Oops! All Tofu.” I approached this recipe just like the sambal noodles, swapping crispy tofu crumbles in for the ground pork—but this time, I also soaked some cubed soft tofu in a fresh pot of salt water while the sauce simmered away.

This was one of the most delicious things I’ve ever made. The nubbins of soft tofu were literally melt-in-your-mouth tender, while the crispy crumbles turned downright meaty as they soaked up the spicy, salty, rich sauce. It made me even more certain of all of the (correct) tofu opinions I just laid out before you and, if you’ll let it, it has the power to convert you too.

Internet via Lifehacker https://bit.ly/2VwWgKq April 24, 2020 at 12:01PM

#IFTTT #Feedly

[thebumblebyog]

The Next Monday (complete version)

My longest fic yet! Guess what kids? It’s getting EVEN GAYER!!!!!!!!

Izzie took a deep breath before walking into the hall of Clayton Prep. She thought for a moment and undid the top button on her favorite blouse (the last week at Clayton was casual dress) made it halfway down the hall, thought again, and re-buttoned it. Izzie walked the rest of the way down the hall, stopped, and reached for the button again.

 “Fucking-” Izzie abruptly turned the corner and lightly but angrily slapped the wall repeatedly. She hated this. Liking someone was not supposed to be this hard. She’d been on plenty of dates, with girls and boys, and none of them had ever gotten her all flustered like this.

Then again, those people had all made the first move and she had decided that dating them was worth a shot. Come to think of it, she had never asked anyone out before; she’d never been interested enough in anyone to bother. And if she had, who would turn her down? She was amazing. But with Newton it was different. Izzie was absolutely terrified that Casey was going to turn her down, but she knew that she had to ask anyway, because there was no way she could be okay with not knowing.

“Wow, that’s the gayest thought I’ve ever had,” Izzie took a deep breath. She had to hype herself up for this. She did things both ways, but she didn’t do them halfway. This was just like a big race; you had a goal to reach and an opponent to beat. It’s just that this time the goal was a date with Newton and her opponent was gay anxiety. She closed her eyes and pictured Newton. She looked surprised...then flattered...then so, so happy as she blushed just a little bit, and she was nodding. Izzie smiled. Newton leaned in closer. She was gonna do this, and Newton was gonna say yes.

“You okay, Iz?”

Izzie snapped out of it and jumped back, seeing the girl she had just been picturing kissing in real life made this seem a lot less doable.

“Yeah, I’m just...really tired,” she said in the dumbest tone she had ever heard. Dear god, why was she lifting her arm like that? This was the worst thing anyone had ever done with a limb. It was too fast, it was too jerky, and it was at an insane angle.

“Oh, well do you want to get a coffee before first period?” Newton asked, not noticing that Izzie was acting weird or at least pretending not to. “The snack bar has coffee, right?”

This was perfect; this was her chance.

“Sorry, I really gotta get to class,” Izzie slipped past Newton and walked away as fast as she could.

“Oh, well, I’ll see you at practice I guess,” Newton responded, sounding confused.

Izzie waved as she walked off but didn’t turn around. She couldn’t have blown that much worse than she had. Apparently she was going to have to hype herself up some more, because gay anxiety was not going to be an easy opponent to beat.

Casey waved back to Izzie, but she didn’t turn around.

“Fuck,” she sighed, leaning her head back against the lockers. That pretty much confirmed it; Izzie was avoiding her. She was sure Izzie had been trying to kiss her…She was pretty sure anyway. It had at least been pretty obvious that she had been trying to kiss Izzie and there sure hadn’t been any objections before Elsa had decided to interrupt. Then again, probably better that it had happened then and not thirty seconds later when they would have been-

“No! No gay thoughts yet!” Casey half-heartedly banged the back of her head on the locker she was leaning against. There she went again: thinking like she didn’t have a boyfriend, like she didn’t have to figure this out. She had to talk to Izzie about this; Evan too. She wanted to do this right, but that was never going to happen if Izzie was too weirded out by their almost-kiss to talk to her. Unless…was Izzie mad? They had just gotten out of a fight about boyfriends and cheating and, well, Casey had been pretty obviously trying to kiss her while Evan was waiting downstairs. Maybe Izzie just didn’t want to talk to someone who would do that. Maybe Izzie was just too good for her. Maybe she was just like her mom; maybe she was a cheater.

The fancy warning-bell rang; Casey stood up straight and started walking to class, feeling like shit. She wanted to be with the right person, and she was starting to think that Izzie was the right person for her. But maybe she wasn’t the right person for Izzie if she couldn’t be trusted not to cheat. Maybe she didn’t deserve to be with Izzie…Maybe she didn’t deserve to be with anybody.

The stupid Disneyland-ride sounding bell rang and Izzie stood up, walking with purpose and focus. She had spent the last two classes appropriately visualizing her goal. First period she had spent freaking out and the second class she had spent…inappropriately visualizing her goal. Anyway, now she had it all figured out: she was going to have lunch with Newton; they were going to flirt, and Izzie was going to use her name a lot and make physical contact, and she was going to ask Newton out on a date and that beautiful, goofy bitch was going to say yes and then they were gonna make out.

“Okay, maybe dial it back a little,” Izzie said to herself, shaking her head as she walked into the cafeteria. She found Newton quickly and the butterflies came back. The lump in her throat and the pit in her stomach got progressively worse as she got closer to the table. God she was so hot and pretty and sweet and she looked so…sad. Why was she sad? Why was Newton sad?! Who needed to get hit?

“Hey, you okay?” Izzie said, ditching determination and anxiety for care and concern.

“I’m just…worried about bio,” Casey said, shrugging and shaking her head a little.

“But you got an A on your last test,” Izzie said, moving her hand a little closer to Newton’s, seeing a chance be a good friend and make a move at the same time, “You’re in the clear, right?” Casey Leaned back, putting her hands behind her head. Izzie drummed her hands on the table a little bit, trying to cover her tracks.

“I mean, I’ll pass, but a C? Colleges aren’t gonna like that.”

“Yeah, fastest girl in the state went to Clayton and we can’t take her because of a C her Sophomore year,” Izzie gave her a little shove, just so she could touch her, “Give yourself a break Newton; you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

Newton smiled. She smiled so big and sweet and it was just…the best. Izzie bit her lip like she always did when she was the good kind of nervous, like she had when she was at Newton’s party and she had known she was gonna kiss her. This was it; this was the moment.

“Oh my god,” Casey gasped, leaning forward abruptly; Izzie heart was pounding. She almost closed her eyes, leaned in, and kissed Newton right then and there.

“What?”

“You just admitted it!” Newton was bouncing up and down in her chair.

“Admitted what?!” Oh fuck, she knew. She knew and it was a big joke to her. Her best friend had a big, gay crush on her, and Newton was just gonna laugh in her face about it.

“That I’m faster than you!”

“I did not!” Izzie came back to herself a bit. Being competitive always calmed her down, “You’re the fastest girl in the state because I’m out of that running. I’m already the fastest girl in the world, wouldn’t be fair of me to take both spots.”

“Pffft, whatever, second place,” Newton went back to eating her garbage health food. This was driving Izzie crazy; she had to just ask already or she was gonna lose it.

“So, you free this weekend?”

“No, as usual I’m very expensive.”

“Please, I could have you for a strawberry slurpy.”

“Hey, I have high standards: grape or nothing.”

“Either way you’re still putting out for a buck fifty,” Izzie said before giving Newton the bedroom eyes, back on track with her flirting plan, “Now if you’d said cotton candy flavored…”

“There is…no way that that’s a real thing.”

“Oh, it is, and it’s magic.”

“How come I’ve never heard of it then?”

“They’re crazy hard to find; I haven’t had one in like five years,” Izzie cocked an eyebrow, “But, now that I’m single? If somebody found me one?” Izzie spread her legs and licked her lips, pretending that it was a joke.

“Ugh, you’re gross,” Newton laughed as she started to blush. It was working. Time to take her shot.

“So, you gonna let me buy you a slurpy and take advantage this Friday?” Izzie said, smiling and giggling a little, trying not to make it obvious that the offer was completely genuine.

Newton laughed, but then she looked sad again. It was reserved, kind of held back, but Izzie still picked up on it.

“I actually have a date with Evan.”

Oh shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. How had she not thought about Evan in all of this? Newton had a boyfriend. Like, an actual good boyfriend who wasn’t a lying, cheating bag of dicks. And she was getting in the middle of that. After all that shit Newton had been through with Elsa and with her and Nate and…god she was such a dick. Newton deserved better.

“Oh…shit, I’m sorry I…didn’t think of that.”

The silence between them was long and strained.

“I mean, we can go some other time.”

“No, just forget it, you should be with the person you love.”

“Izzie, I-“

“I gotta go, I forgot to…I just gotta go.”

Izzie stood to leave, but Casey grabbed her hand. They both froze for a moment, lost in their touch. Izzie broke the pause and tried to pull her arm away, but Casey stood, pulling her close. Izzie looked down at her shoes.

“What’s going on Izzie?”

“I don’t want to come between you and your boyfriend, Newton,” Izzie finally let herself look into Casey’s eyes; they looked so hurt, “But I’m scared. I’m so, so scared that you’re gonna go off with him and your family and that you’ll get all caught up in your own life and that you’ll just…forget about me. That you’ll just…” She couldn’t say it. The tears were welling up. Newton’s gently held Izzie’s face in her hands and tilted her head so their eyes met.

“I’m not gonna leave you, Izzie,” Casey gently pressed her forehead against Izzie’s, “We made a promise, remember?”

Izzie laughed bitterly, “No, I forgot the gayest, dorkiest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Well I didn’t,” Newton squeezed her a little tighter, “I’m scared too; I have to figure things out with Evan, and I don’t know what’s gonna happen with him, but I’m keeping my promise, Izzie. We’re never leaving each other; you’re stuck with me now, no matter what.”

Izzie wiped away a tear and smiled, “I think I can deal with that.”

This silence was just as long, but it was perfect, comfortable…so of course, Casey decided to ruin it.

“You should undo the top button;” Newton said before snorting, “You look like a nun.”

“Please, you're not ready for this.”

Newton smiled, “Nah...soon though.”

#atypical #cizzie #casey x izzie #izzie x casey #high school #fanfic #fan fiction #lgbt #bisexual #lesbian #romance

[masslessobtrusion]

Bragging about my big brain...

I had a high IQ in school. I was accepted into gifted programs and nearly made it into the “genius” program. I didn’t cheat on the tests and it would’ve helped a ton if I could’ve prepped a little. I was very young. Most of the testing happened in 2nd or 3rd grade. I remember there being excitement when I scored high on standardized tests. This led to further testing. I didn’t understand the scope of what it meant. I remember my brothers joking about me being a “genius”. I started attending gifted programs in 4th grade.

 In regards to the testing itself, I didn’t know what to expect and can see how it really is kind of brilliant that I was able to recognize and translate various patterns. Why did I see those patterns when other people can’t?  

You have to do things such as recreate patterns using blocks with various shapes on them. I was able to create efficient systems in my head on the spot to complete the tests very quickly. Segment and optimize based on visual color, piece together a segment of the picture. There’s written number, shape, and word pattern tests too. The tests took all day. 

I didn’t make the super duper genius program because I failed to test 2 grade levels above in 2 of 3 categories. 99th percentile IQ was the other requirement. I was trying to test at a high school level exiting elementary school. I had no idea about that stuff because I didn’t focus on it and had no access to it.

 I was able to pick up on that very quickly once it was taught to me and I think I could’ve been accepted into it. Freshman science was the first time I had a great teacher. He had a fun method of learning the periodic table and I was able to memorize it within a month. But as far as school stuff went I just learned what was taught to me. I was more into hobbies and cool/fun stuff. I played with toys and did dumb kid stuff too. I researched and learned as much as I could about the information that was available to me. I had to do this on my own through trial and error. My Mom gave me access to everything. No direction though.   We still did stuff with the super duper genius kids but most of them were weird and arrogant. I would describe it as a very insular clique. “We’re smarter than you.”.  There were only 5-6 kids in the program. 

I wouldn’t have been interested in learning math at the time. I wish I could’ve learned about programming earlier. I think that would’ve got me interested in math if the correlation was made clear to me. Especially in regards to engineering and aviation. I would’ve found a passion. I wish I would’ve had better better influences around me. I wish I wasn’t exposed to so much hate, anger, and violence.  The standard gifted program required a 120 IQ along with a high score on a general knowledge/creativity test. It involved recognizing objects on flash cards, trivia, along with several written and drawing tests. I scored extremely high on an additional general knowledge/creativity test. My Dad lived out of state for most of the time which was probably beneficial too. My Mom and Dad both failed to raise me in an appropriate manner. My Mom did better than my Dad but she wasn’t fit to raise children properly. It’s due to poverty. She had to stay married to my Dad. My Dad moved state to state trying to find work. I wanted to be around him. The way he spoke to people didn’t bother me like it does now. I thought it was normal.  Talking about having a high IQ is frowned upon for someone to mention and brag about. I would think a person was being arrogant and possibly disturbed if they talked about having a high IQ in public. I remember peers would often be surprised when they found out I was in gifted programs. Jeez, thinking about how trashy the kids I went to school with are. How trash a huge majority of the humans in this area is. It’s fucking gross and disgusting.  The reason you put your kids in private school or live in a nice area is so your kids aren’t exposed to bad influences. It also sucks to rely on an sadistic hateful weirdo as a source of money to raise your kids.  I see the potential I had and how I could’ve used it much clearer now. So many adults seemed absolutely stupid to me. Like angry robots. The divide between these people and how I acted at home was so drastic.   So, whether my brain is firing different. At that time in my life. I was recognizing patterns, experiencing thoughts, and emotions that less than one percent of a similarly aged population were able to. It could’ve been a good thing if applied in a better manner.  I often can’t stop my brain from racing thoughts and recognizing patterns. That’s probably why I like benzos. Just being able to not think about anything is what I have hoped to accomplish by abusing those drugs. When my Dad would call me a fat druggy. I have to not think about it because it makes me upset and I can’t react or cause problems, because it will cause more problems. That’s why I chose to start abusing benzos when I moved back. It’s an excuse, but that was my justification at the time. I would take a bite of a bar every time my Dad said something shitty to me, which is everyday. There had been discussions about how I have almost died due to drug addiction and being around my Dad’s abusive behavior is not good. It was said to me that it wouldn’t happen and I believed it for some reason. Then, it started happening everyday and continues to happen, even after I tried to kill myself and made it very clear that their abusive behavior was causing me stress. They refuse to admit there’s an issue and continue to blame me. 

#raised by narcissists

[therainroguefanfiction]

🔥 ℝise Ⱥbove I̾t ◈ Chapter 010 [Unfairness]

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Backward

Word Count: 2,552 ☁

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〈“There’s a demon inside. Just like Jekyll and Hyde. All this anger inside.” Five Finger Death Punch, “Jekyll and Hyde”〉

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

I could feel a presence hovering over me. “Don’t even think about it,” I muttered, opening my eyes to glare at Toshi. His hand was hovering by my cheek, ready to smack me awake.

“Oh, you’re already awake?”

“Unfortunately,” I muttered, rising up like a corpse from a coffin. “I barely slept.”

“Excited?” he grinned.

“Something like that,” I glanced at the clock as I stood up, heading for the bathroom.

“I must be going!” he called. “I will see you at school!”

I flushed the toilet, heading over to the sink to wash my hands. Man, I look like shit. I splashed my face with cold water, hoping it would help to wake me up. Toshi was gone by the time I made it back to the couch. My phone buzzed on the table and I grabbed it, glancing at the clock again. It was only five o’clock and class didn’t start until eight-twenty-five. I took a shower last night so I just had to brush my teeth and get dressed. The phone buzzed again, then again a minute later.

With a scowl, I opened up the gaming app. There were five messages, all from Murder and sent within the last twenty minutes.

‘Oi, extra’

‘Wake the fuck up’

‘I cant sleep’

‘ARE U FUCKING IGNORING ME’

‘ILL KILL U BITCH’

Damn, this kid has some serious anger issues. I settled down under the covers, putting on my headphones and turning on some rock music before replying to him, ‘Keep ur damn panties on. I can give u the name of a good therapist seems like u need 1’

‘Fuck u’

I laughed, ‘When is ur bday? I can send u a diary to vent all that repressed anger fam’

‘FUCK U TACO!!’

I laughed again, tossing my phone onto the table. I closed my eyes, intending only to relax for a bit and listen to some good vibes, but the rock music thumping in my ears lulled me back to sleep.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

I winced at the bright light shining directly on my fucking eyes. I really hate those sheer curtains. I pulled the headphones off my head and yawned, reaching for my phone. Eight o’clock. I yawned again, standing up and stretching my arms above my head. I hope there’s some Dr. Pepper left. I need to stop by the store after… school…

My eyes widened as the realization hit me.

School, fuck! I’m gonna be late on my first fucking day! Tosh is gonna murder me, ugh! I got dressed as fast as I could and ended up stubbing my big toe on the fucking coffee table which received an angry kick in retaliation, flipping over onto the floor with a loud thud. I grabbed my phone, shoved my feet into my sneakers and rushed out the door, only to rush back halfway down the stairs because I forgot to fucking lock the door.

It was eight-twenty-one when I made it to school.  I stifled a yawn, tugging at the red tie around my neck. Every school I had ever attended was a public school with barely any rules regarding clothing – as long as no one showed up naked, anything was fair game.  Being stuffed into this stupid ass uniform made me feel uncomfortable and even a bit claustrophobic, but at least Toshi had convinced Nezu to let me wear the boy’s uniform. I’d fucking drop dead before getting caught in that short ass skirt the girls have to wear.

“You’re late,”

I turned around and deadpanned. Aizawa was standing in front of me, his body completely hidden within a yellow sleeping bag, save for his face which was framed by fluffy black hair. “What the fuck are you wearing, Aizawa? That can’t be the proper apparel for a teacher.”

“‘Sensei,’” he corrected, hopping down the hall like a bunny.

I followed, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “Do you know how stupid you look, though?” When he sent me a glare, I added, “Asking for a friend,”

“Can you at least pretend to take this seriously?”

Bitch, I ain’t the one hopping around in a sleeping bag, okay. I shrugged at him, looking away from his penetrating gaze. “Hey, Aizawa.”

“What,”

“I’m sorry,”

He stopped hopping, but I continued on, rounding the corner. A boy with a mop of messy green hair and a bright red face stood in front of the open classroom door, a round-faced brunette girl geeking out about some punch or some shit. One-Punch Man? Did that even exist in this world? I should head to the book store and see, cause that manga is lit.

I stopped in my tracks, feeling dread settle in my stomach. Wait, maybe it’s just because I didn’t eat breakfast. I noticed movement by my feet and sweatdropped at Aizawa as he inched along the floor like a fucking worm, stopping behind the two. No one noticed him until he spoke up, and the look of horror on their faces was priceless.

“If you’re just here to make friends, then you can pack up your stuff now. Welcome to U.A.’s hero course,” he sighed deeply, tugging down the zipper just enough so he could drink from a pouch of juice.

Aizawa, you’re a literal child and I fucking love it.

He stood up, pushing the zipper down the rest of the way so he could step out of the bag. “It took eight seconds before you all shut up, that’s not gonna work. Tims is precious. Rational students would understand that.” He waved his hand to me and I entered the room, glancing at the seating arrangement pinned to the board.

I’m in the very back row, an odd number. Guess that makes sense. I threw my bag onto my chair before leaning against the desk, my eyes scanning the room. I didn’t recognize anyone but two people. The first is Fumi, who wasn’t paying attention to me. And the second was that damn prep from the exam. Damn, why did he have to be put in this class?

“Hello, I’m Shouta Aizawa, your teacher.” He dug around in the bag and pulled out a gym uniform.

Okay, seriously – what is with the U.A. staff and having endless space? First, it’s Granny with damn endless gummy bear supply and now this fucker with an endless amount of space in a sleeping bag.

“Right, let’s get to it. Put these on and head outside.”

The students hesitantly headed to the locker rooms to get changed into the new uniform, which looked like something you’d wear to the gym. The first thing I did was check to see if the pants had pockets.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

Aizawa looked over the group, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere else but here. “We’re going to be doing a quirk assessment test,”

“But… what about orientation?” The brunette asked. “We’re going to miss it!”

“If you really want to make the big leagues, you can’t waste time on pointless ceremonies. Here at U.A., we’re not tethered to tradition. That means I get to run my class however I see fit. You’ve been taking standardized tests most of your lives, but you never got to use your quirk in physical exams before. The country’s still trying to pretend we’re all created equal by not letting those with the most power excel. It’s not rational. One day, the ministry of education will learn.”

That’s pretty deep, fam. I closed my eyes and grabbed my chin. I guess in a way it makes sense. It’s like participation trophies back home. Even if you didn’t do jack shit, you still got a trophy for participating, so even if you lost you still ‘won’. It prevents kids from trying their hardest to reap the rewards.

“Bakugo, you managed to get the most points on the entrance exam.” He looked at the red-eyed blonde. “What was your farthest distance throw with a softball when you were in junior high?”

“Sixty-seven meters, I think.”

“Right. Try doing it with your quirk.” His eyes followed the blonde as he stepped into a circle drawn onto the earth with white chalk. “Anything goes, just stay in the circle. Go on, you’re wasting our time.”

“Alright, man. You asked for it.” Bakugo stretched his arm, clutching the modified softball. “DIE!!” The ball took off into the sky with an explosion propelling it.

Damn, son. That was a bit excessive but mkay.

“All of you need to know your maximum capabilities.” Aizawa’s phone beeped. “It’s the most rational way of figuring out your potential as a pro hero.” The screen on his phone showed 705.2 meters.

I whistled, folding my hands behind my head. That’s kinda impressive. I wonder how far I can throw it?

“Woah, 705 meters, are you kidding me?”

“I wanna go! That looks like fun!”

“This is what I’m talking about. Using our quirks as much as we want!”

Aizawa narrowed his eyes. “So this looks fun, huh?”

Oh boy, he’s about to get all dramatic again, ain’t he?

“You have three years here to become a hero. You think it’s all going to be games and playtime? Idiots,” He smirked, but it looked kinda sadistic. “Today, you’ll compete in eight physical tests to gauge your potential. Whoever comes in last has none, and will be expelled immediately.”

Called it.

Everyone started to freak out at the statement and I sighed, looking up at the clear blue sky. I had grown to know this man pretty well after spending every single day with him for months and I had no doubt in my mind that he would expel anyone he deemed unworthy. It sounds cruel, but I know he has his reasons, whatever the hell that was. I feel like, more than anything, he’s just trying to ruffle some jimmies. And it’s working.

“Like I said, I get to decide how this class runs.” He pushed back his bangs with his hand. “Understand? If that’s a problem, you can head home right now.”

“Pfffttt,” I tried so fucking hard to hold back my laughter, I really did, but the bitch looked like a little kid trying to act tough to intimidate someone older. He snapped his glare to me and I quickly turned my back to him, trying to control myself.

“Is there a problem, Winchester?”

The way he said my name told me that I was definitely going to get hit later. I coughed a few times, banging on my chest before turning around with my hand covering my mouth. “Ah, no, not at all, sensei.” cough cough. “Sorry, I’m recovering from a cold, don’t mind me.”

The other students were staring at me with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

“Wait a minute, you can’t send one of us home!” The brunette exclaimed. “I mean, we just got here! Even if it wasn’t the first day, that isn’t fair!”

Oh no. She said the F word.

“Oh, and you think natural disasters are? Or power-hungry villains, hm? Or catastrophic accidents that wipe out whole cities? No. The world is full of unfairness. It’s a hero’s job to try and combat that unfairness. For the next three years, U.A. will throw one terrible hardship after another at you. So go beyond -”

“Plus ultra style,” I stepped forward with a grin, locking eyes with him. I had heard the ‘fairness’ speech before, shortly after we started training together. He hated it when I used that word against him, and he always repeated the same thing each time, drilling it into my head that the world just isn’t fair. That isn’t something parents tell kids when they can’t have their way, it’s a real, life lesson that kids gotta learn the hard way.

He nodded at me, the corners of his lips twitching. He totally almost just smiled. “Show me it’s no mistake that you’re here. Now then, we’re just wasting time by talking. Let the games begin!”

“Jen~!”

I turned just as my vision was overtaken by a black and purple blur. My eyes widened, body seizing with fear as I remembered the darkness surrounding me. My breathing grew heavy as Gramp’s lifeless face flashed in my mind, my body beginning to shake as my skin grew hot. I could hear muffled voices, but only one stood out to me.

‘I have come to bring you home, Jen Winchester.’

“Jen!”

A familiar feeling settled over my body, like someone had slammed the door shut before my power could escape. My vision started to focus, settling on Fumi who stood in front of me in a defensive posture. Shadow hovered behind him, tears in his eyes as he stared at me in fear. I glanced to the left, scanning the scared and wide-eyed expressions of my classmates. And then I met Aizawa’s red, glowing eyes. He’s using his quirk… on me?

The block on my power ceased and Aizawa speed walked over to me. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, a small puff of smoke escaping my lips. My body was trembling, the pendant around my neck like a block of ice against my skin. He put a hand on my arm and helped me to my feet. When had I fallen to the ground?

“Go see the old lady,” he ordered into my ear.

“What? But – the test -”

“You don’t need to take it, just go.”

“I-I’m fine, really, Aiza -”

“I wasn’t asking,”

“Sensei, I can take her.” Fumi’s posture relaxed a bit as he stepped forward.

Aizawa was quiet for a moment. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,”

Fumi held his hand out to me and I hesitantly took it, feeling confusion bubbling within me. Did I… try to attack Fumi? But why the fuck would I?

He gently tugged on my hand, leading me toward the school building. I could feel everyone staring at us as we left and I just wanted to disappear. When we stepped into the building, he turned to me with soft eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Did I… try to hurt you?”

“I’m not quite sure…” He held his hand up to his mouth. “I believe Dark Shadow startled you and you blacked out temporarily. Your quirk may have activated as a self-defense mechanism.”

“Did you get hurt?” My eyes scanned his body, but he looked unharmed.

“No, I’m perfectly fine. You just startled Dark Shadow.”

Great, I’ve got fucking PTSD now because of that stupid ass shadow man. I put my hand on my face and huffed. “Sorry, Fumi…”

“No need to worry. Dark Shadow shouldn’t have rushed at you like he did.”

“I’m really sorry…” Shadow mumbled sadly, sticking close to Fumi’s shoulder.

I forced a smile, holding my hand out to him. He looked at it for a moment, looked at Fumi, and then back at my hand. Slowly, as if not to startle me again, he placed his clawed hand on mine. His cold body was calming against my warm skin. “Forgive and forget?”

He nodded happily, rushing toward me only to stop and shake his head. He approached slowly, nuzzling his head against my shoulder. I smiled for real this time, patting him before we continued on to the nurse’s office in comfortable silence, Shadow lingering between us.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

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[sneakyhomunculous]

RPT Phoenix Report: Back to Back!

Part 1: Preparation 

“How should I begin this? I’m just so offended; how am I even mentioned by all these fucking beginners?” 

Let’s back up a bit. 

I’m coming into this half season fresh off a 5th place finish in the last MC, which means I’m qualified for RPT1/2 and PTFinal 1. 

From what I could make of the shoddy convoluted details at the beginning of this year; I believed I had a serious upper hand in the Rivals race. 

Only 4 tournaments count. The 3 I am qualified for and the 2nd PT final which I’ll have multiple chances to que for as well. 

Almost everyone else has at most 1 RPT Q and a pipe dream. 

With this info, I decide I am going to go for it. I know I am still an underdog, but I believe I am one of the few people in the world in this spot to somewhat reasonably set this goal of top 12 paper rivals for myself. 

At the same time, the world we live in is an Arena dominated one. 

I hate it of course. 

Like most of you reading this; I play the game for mostly 1 big reason [the fierce competition]. Arena is severely lacking in this department.

Only standard, a mindless ladder with the only reward being a single lottery ticket into a ~15k USD 0.5% equity drawing. (that requires you to play standard for 8 hours on a saturday there will assuredly be a GP you want to play.) 

A petty, infuriating chore. 

Bc standard is so chalked and flooded with players anyway; You are forced to play casual [but ranked] drafts against the bots.  

Slamming BO1 games with 15 land decks until your eyes bleed and the mythic achievement is reached! 

Then you close the unbearable program down not to be touched again until the next time this chore is required; or the lottery drawing is happening.

Nice system! 

All that being said, I’m still not going to handicap myself, and so I decide I will go for Arena as well. 

Unfortunately I have no early advantage there, and the spots are obviously unbelievably high variance. 

There are only 2 Invys and 2 Mythic point challenges, and if you miss the first invy you are almost drawing dead at a 1-12 spot. Especially with special invites and re-ques for top finishers all factored in. 

So far I am failing on the Arena front. 

I was too attached to my beautiful Urza Oko deck (I didn’t prepare enough for the first MCQW I would be double queing along side the modern GP in Austin. It cost me as I woke up and played poorly to a swift 2-2 exit with Jetski Fires before heading over to the GP) 

I lost a win and in and got 17th there. Never have I played a tournament with a bigger edge over all non mirrors in the field! Unfortunately I played 7 mirrors and managed a lowly 4-2-1 in them. 

I can’t make it through these gauntlets on autopilot anymore. 

I’m only 27, but my seemingly rapid reduction in processing speed has made me feel like I’m somehow getting too old for this grind.  

The way I have dealt with it? 

Accepting it. 

As much as I hate to admit it; I am not the same 17 year old wunderkind anymore and the young guns have a big edge on me. 

I have to take all the necessary steps to take care of myself and do everything in my power to make sure when I’m in the trenches; inside the matches in the important tournaments; I can be as focused on the games as possible. This is just so I can make the playing field close to level. 

Otherwise I am going to be reading cards, and playing slow unconfident magic. 

This is a big one; I believe. 

I think one thing a lot of players are lacking in pushing themselves to higher levels is the confidence in their decisions. I used to struggle with this a lot (still do sometimes) and I would constantly second guess things multiple times every turn. 

Over time, I’ve learned that if you put in the work... 

You practice; 

Play actual games and learn the interactions; 

You can really lean on your instincts and exude confidence in yourself that goes a long way in winning matches of Magic the Gathering. 

(Look at almost all of the best players. They are confident in their decisions in the games, even when they end up making mistakes.) 

But enough with the nonsense; let’s get to the tournament prep so we can blaze through that boring shit and get to the sweet 16 PT rounds 

(spoilers: there may be more than 16) 

Collin Rountree is torn between testing with Me Ty Will and the Houston Slack, and testing with team 5% captained by Allen “The Process” Wu. 

Of course the choice is obvious, but Collin doesn’t want to leave all the local bangers in the dust. 

He lobbies on our behalf, and Me Ty Will and Eddie all join team 5%. 

I am not a stranger to large testing teams. 

I spent four PTs testing with team TCG/SCG and we averaged around 15 people. The difference was that we always met up in person a week or more ahead of time for an intense testing period, and also I guess we had more dueling personalities.

Shoutout to everyone on those squads those were great times. 

But when you have Steve Rubin Seth Manfield Corey Burkhart Andrea Mengucii mixed with Brad BBD Martell Kibler mixed with Me Fennell GerryT Josh Cho mixed with Ari Lax trying to organize everything for everyone..... 

Anyone who knows these people can see how this led to some logistics issues and some heated arguments about who is not pulling their weight, or who is just showing up late and mooching, or who keeps brewing decks with no mana bases and sideboards and bringing them to Brad telling them they are great and we have to play games with them (another shoutout to Fennell, hope he reads this and fires up a modo draft tonight. And shoutout to Brad for creating the no 75, no games rule. You can’t fucking say you made a deck if you don’t have a manabase or a sideboard, and some brewers out there may need to hear that again.) 

Team 5% (7.1673746%) is all online testing. 

We use a discord with dedicated channels to all the constructed decks, all the limited topics, logistics, and chalkdiesel/washed bad beat/rant rooms/RIP Rimrock Knight etc. etc. so you can see how it stays pretty clean, organized, and simple. 

But no really, having so many people gives us an edge on many fronts. 

There is usually always someone available to battle. We can cover a lot of ground really quickly. Multiple people are brewing and many people are tuning the known decks. Lots of different opinions and we end up covering all the limited archetypes quickly as the drafts pile in. 

All of this being said, my best two PT results from the past are when I worked alone. 

I usually draft infinite (75-100) times (when I lose I drop and draft again. And sometimes I drop when winning just to draft again) and I just try to play the best deck in constructed. 

This I have learned is a recipe for success for me. 

But I was happy to join this team. My intention was to just do the same thing, but have some people to talk to while I drafted 75-100 times and tuned the best deck. 

I worked with a few of these players back in the TCG days (shoutout to Ari and Corey, and again to Corey for winning the PT let’s gooooooo) and everyone that I heard was currently on this 5% team; I liked. 

So for my testing I did almost purely magic online. 

I did around 60 drafts after all was said and done. In constructed, I played a ton of UW control and small amounts of all the other stock decks, and watched a lot of streams. 

I wanted to be familiar with the format but not go too hard until the days leading up to; during; and right after the first 2 RPTs. 

What a weird dynamic, having 2 pro tours 5 days before deck submission for your pro tour. 

It really worked out in our favor because our team is so big and we were able to quickly attack the new and perceived future metagame. 

Nothing at those two tournaments made me waiver from wanting to register UW control. 

I was still beating everything, and I predicted the metagame would be 20%ish UB invertor and then spirits, red, black, and sultai delerium/invertor uro decks would be all around 10%. 

When I say I was beating everything, I was beating everything. 

Granted these were in leagues, but it was mostly all against real decks and my constructed rating was skyrocketing above my limited. 

Not a thing I am accustomed to. 

I had a 17-1 record against mono red, and no cap. I had a 12-2 record against mono black. I had a 8-1 record against UB invertor. 

I crushed Collin so badly with our teams current front running mono white devotion that he decided to add 4 Gideon Ally of Zendikar to the maindeck and try again. 

A 4-0 for me later in which he resolved 5 Gideons led to him telling the discord he is off it. “Bursavich just beat me every single game and I resolved gideon in all of them.” 

The only deck I ever lost matches to was spirits but I still won more than I lost against it. 

Around Monday our team was all piling on to the breach deck realizing how good it was, and I joined in to. 

I played a prelim and a league and immediately bought all of the cards from cardkingdom. But after my next few matches I was feeling very conflicted. 

I was very worried how bad UW was against breach, but I didn’t think breach would break 7-8% or the metagame anyway. And I can tweak UW some to have a shot I tell myself. 

The breach deck is obviously busted, but it’s a combo deck with a weird puzzle-like 3 step combo. 

First you have to get 2 lands into play and then play lotus field, then u have to play a thespians stage and copy it, and then u have to kill your opponent with ur huge amounts of mana. 

But the deck is so consistent and sort of resilient that I found myself trying to play it like a midrange deck. 

I have these faes and grazers and pores and viziers, I can block! And Fae for planeswalkers and grind people out or take all these weird dynamic lines... and then I realized I was fucking up a lot. 

The games are not always intuitive to me, and I won’t be able to live with myself if I register this and play horribly to lose games I should win, considering there will likely be some number of games my deck fails and I can’t win (or my opponent is prepared with damping sphere or one of the other 1-2 cards that do anything at all to stop this abomination of a deck) 

So a few hours after ordering the breach cards I am going to bed Monday night and I know I’m going to play UW control... 

Shoutout to the squad though! 

They really crushed it over these few days and perfected the breach list and had all the matchups figured out down to the T. 

Our limited meetings were great and I believe they really helped everyone a lot and we had an overall great showing in limited. 

I spend all day Tuesday and Wednesday with magic online open and the discord on my other monitor. 

I occasionally jam some games with teammates but for many many hours I just stare at my UW decklist while catching up on the latest breach tech. 

I just stare at the deck..... 

For hours

I went to get lunch and came back and stared some more. 

It was perfect and there was just nothing to cut. 

I wanted another hard counter in my deck but could not find the space. 

I have been moving 1 card around here and there, swapping 3rd field of ruin for the 4th Glacial, swapping back, then swapping back again. going down to 1 absorb and back to the 2/2 split back to 1. Moving around seal away D sphere narset lantern thassas intervention Mystical Dispute elspeth etc. etc. but mostly keeping the same core 73-75 cards the same. 

With a few hours left in submission and all the data pouring in, we realize that LSV Huey and a large swath of great players have all been spotted in leagues today playing breach. 

I am suddenly panicked bc the matchup is still quite bad. 

I have a few good cards, but nothing to swing it past like a 33% matchup at best.

I know damping sphere is my only real option if I want to respect it, and I’m of the mindset that doing so is normally a bit silly. 

While the deck is obviously busted, it’s been 5 days and many players are uncomfortable playing decks of this style. 

My general guess is that it breaking 6-7% of the field will still be unlikely, and I think it pushing above 10% would be crazy. 

So I can expect to play vs it once on average?? 

Not so fast. 

This is a new RPT with a wide open field, but still a lot of goats at the top. 

Turns out you almost always have to defeat multiple goats to get the trophy in PT’s... 

And I didn’t fly to Phoenix just to have a good ole time and settle for 6th place, so I man up and delete 2 Monastery Mentor for 2 Damping Sphere. 

This will hurt me in mirrors and vs Invertor, but I am confident I will be fine anyway. 

With 10 minutes left in submission I consider adding a 3rd sphere but am too lazy to open back up my laptop and know I won’t be able to cut any of the beautiful cards in my sideboard for it anyway. 

Enough with the boring shit; let’s get to the tournament!!! 

Part2 coming tomorrow!

[codezeta-liveblog-blog]

Bonds 1.3

It was hard to sum up my feelings as the van drove up the long driveway to Hillsglade House.  It was supposed to be sanctuary, but it felt like the opposite.  Layered in snow, branches of the overlarge trees bent with snow and ice, the house was pale against a dark gray background.  The light siding only accented the effect.  If I closed my eyes enough to let my eyelashes blur the view, it looked almost like the windows were floating there.

It was ominous, and it was a symbol of everything messed-up that had just happened to me.  Maybe all the bad things that had happened to me from the start.

Sometimes things don’t have to be grim or properly scary out-front. I personally like the unsettling-ness of things that are supposed to be graceful, or in this case, maybe... noble? Just checked out the anime “Land of the Lustrous”, for example, where the “monsters” are these goddess-like figures that float around pinkish clouds in the sky with their beautiful instruments and song playing as they pop up into reality from these blooming, black, Rorschach test blotches in the sky. Pretty good. Check it out if anime is your thing, first 3D one I see that gets the job properly done.

And as Blake states “from the start” I have to question myself how far back can Blake pinpoint fucked-upness in his life. And I hope we get to see more of that. 

“You going to be alright?” the woman in the driver’s seat asked me.  She had a weariness to her that made me suspect she’d been getting up too early for the majority of her life, but she had been kind and exceedingly gentle, and her idle questions and conversation had helped ground me, distracting me from the possibility that the bird things could catch up and stop this car like they had mine.  With the snow, it looked to be a slow day at the rest stop, and she’d asked her boss if she could give me a ride.

“I don’t know.  Probably not,” I said, honestly.  I felt indescribably weary, and it had little to do with the exhausting run or the fact that I’d woken up four hours after I’d turned in.  Rose, in the rear-view mirror, didn’t look any better than I felt.  I fished for my wallet.  “But that doesn’t have much to do with my getting lost in the woods, or a few scratches.”

“No money, it’s not necessary,” she said, as I pulled a twenty out of the wallet.

“For the cost of gas,” I said.

“I did it to get out of the prep work, that’s enough for me.”

“Then buy yourself and your boss a few beers after you’re done for the day, tell him thank you for letting you drive me,” I said.  I tucked the bill into the cluttered space in the dash, by receipts, crackers and kleenex packages.  Before she could give it back or argue, I opened the door and grabbed my bag.

I’m sure I said it before, and I’ll say it again as long as it surprises me in a good way and doesn’t get overused. Seeing people doing acts of kindness just for doing it is a refresher and warms my heart. Thanks van lady. And good on you Blake. Oh and did the creatures really just die out? Or maybe they received some order to stop pursuing, but if so, why? Hm. Maybe its just that now there were people around.

I was closing the door when she said something.  I had to open it and poke my head down.  “Sorry?”

“Do you want me to wait, make sure you make it inside okay?”

Could I make it inside?  I didn’t have a key, and there was the possibility that something could happen to me in the distance between here and the house.

“Yes please,” I said.

I closed the car door, making my way up to the front of the house.  There was something like a bike lock attached, with a container built into it.  Four digit combination.

I kicked at the doormat until I found a plastic bag with a thick manilla envelope attached, a pad of paper within.

The first sheet had only a simple message, penned in a curling script I almost envied.  ‘Birth date’.

I tried the year I’d been born.  It didn’t work.

Day, month?  One-eight-oh-one.

The container opened.  Two keys rattled within.  One was older, the other a standard door key.

I opened the door with the usual key, then waved at the good Samaritan.

I stood inside the house, watching her pull down the long driveway.  When she was gone, I closed and locked the door.

It didn’t feel like enough of a barrier.

I wonder if the lock thing is new or is something Blake was expecting, something that maybe the lawyer left behind? Because I’m thinking that birth date is his from the way the text is written.

“Molly!” I hollered, loud enough I should have been audible throughout the house.  “Anyone!?”

No response.  Somewhere, in my general confusion and the mess of stuff I didn’t know or understand, I’d hoped that Molly being alive would be one of those things that caught me off guard.

When I had first visited, the house had been my grandmother’s.  She’d marked every surface with some token of her particular tastes and personality.  Molly, it seemed, had been systematically dismantling those touches.  Boxes sat by bookshelves, filled with books, paper-wrapped knick-knacks stowed away in the spaces between the books.  Pictures were gone from the walls, neatly packed into more boxes, some stacked and shoved into the spaces beneath the few bookshelves that weren’t built into the house.

It wasn’t yet done, and it wasn’t an organized process, either.  Some books here, some books there.  A few shelves on one bookcase, another shelf across the room.  Most seemed to be centered around the living room.

Near the center of the living room, Molly had set up blankets and pillows on one couch.

“Blake,” I heard, so quiet it was barely even a whisper.

I looked up.  In this quiet, mundane setting, free of the delirium of sleep, I was a little unnerved to see Rose’s vague shape reflected in the black screen, instead of my own.

“There’s a mirror in the bathroom at the end of the hall,” she said.

I let my bag drop to the floor, then tossed the pad of papers and envelope onto the coffee table.  I pulled off the hat I’d been lent, running my fingers through sweat-soaked, unwashed hair.  A rub of my chin suggested a light scruff.

Maybe Molly died because she displaced something that was meant to be protective. After I’m done here I’ll re-read some past posts to see if she died because of something that has already been established, I’m remembering something about her going outside? But I might be imagining that. Doesn’t invalidate my point though. And I think the papers and envelope prove that, yes, the lock and the rest are the lawyer’s.

I hated being unshaven and unwashed.

I hated the feeling of being overwhelmed.  Of feeling like I was out of the loop.  There was too much to take in, here.  I felt more than a little confused as I made my way back to the hallway and figured out the direction I needed to go.  I moved slowly, taking everything in.  The things of my grandmother’s that Molly hadn’t put away, the things that Molly had left behind.  There were clues here, stories, and I didn’t want to miss any details.

The layout of the books made me think of a ruin.  The layout of the books that remained were like the weathered remains of a brick wall that only partially stood.  Patches.  There were only traces of the personality that had once infused the place, like any ruin might hint at the people, culture and purpose that it once held.

I found the bathroom, but I left the mirror where it was, above the sink.  I could see Rose there as I dug through the medicine cabinet and found a few things I needed to take care of the cuts.

“Is it bad?” she asked.

“Been hurt worse,” I said.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

I slowly opened and closed my hand.  The cut throbbed in the wake of the movement.  “I can move my fingers.  It’s not the injury that’s spooking me, here.  Those things were dirty, their fingernails especially, and they got me a few times.”

“What can I do?” she asked.

I began unbinding the setup that was supposed to keep the bandages in place.  I got the needle and thread out of the kit and set them aside.  “I don’t know.  You helped, didn’t you?  With the ice?”

“I tried.  I’m not sure it mattered.  I wish I could help more.”

“Do me a favor, then.  Keep an eye on me.  If I get a fever, or if I start to look ill, let me know.  Make me go to a hospital.”

 Aside from more comments from me of noticing how Blake HATES or GETS ANGRY at something, I’m seeing a lot of the characteristic Wildbow characterization on small stuff in here. And even the character itself pointing it out on the things around him.

I DID NOT consider at all that infections from the floating ghost-men was a thing. I don’t usually think about those things much at all in real life either, probably because ever since I was young I was taught to just pour H2O2, wait for it to stop bubbling, rinse, clean, iodine, rinse and clean after a while. Since it’s a thing I do every time on auto, I don’t actually register the WHY behind it, so infection ends up being the afterthought, as ironic as it is.

 “It didn’t hit me until I saw you back there,” Rose said.  “How different we are.  I wasn’t even in any direct danger, and I couldn’t think of what to do.”

“If I learned to deal with bad situations, you will too.”

She didn’t respond right away.  I opened the packages.

“You know how to do sutures?”  She asked.

“I’ve done it once.”

“When did you need stitches?”

I didn’t feel like answering that one.  “They weren’t for me.  It was for a friend.  This’ll be the first time stitching myself up.”

My good hand shook so much I couldn’t get the thread through the hole.  I swore under my breath on the fifth failure.

“Blake-”

“Shh.  One second,” I said, and my frustration made my response more curt than I’d intended.

I ended up having to rest the sides of both hands against the edge of the sink to have something concrete to rest against, minimizing how much the thread and needle shook.

Once I had it threaded, I took my time disinfecting the area and the needle both.  I was rough with myself, all things considered, searching the wound for any fragments.  I didn’t want any trace of those things in or on my body.  When my hand throbbed and involuntarily jumped at the pain, I grimly assured myself I was at least getting the infection out.

I had told Rose ‘one second’, but she remained silent while I worked, and I didn’t break the silence, except to swear.  I used pretty much every curse word I knew, almost every step of the way.  It helped.

I raised my hand.  “How’s that look?”

“Better than I could ever do.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” I said.

“Ha ha,” she said, humorless.  “It looks good.”

 Rose didn’t “exist” prior to this event, correct? But she already has a lot of personality traits that differ from Blake. The insecurity is one that doesn’t seem to be there, for one. Also, I’d never suture myself. REALLY don’t have it in me to hurt myself, even if its for my own good.

I slowly patrolled the house.  The ground floor consisted of an expansive living room, a generous dining room, a smaller kitchen with only the basics, the hallway and a half-bathroom the size of my regular bathroom.

One floor up, I found my grandmother’s bedroom, the same as I’d seen it, though the bed was stripped bare, a small bathroom, a little tea room that might have been a bedroom at one point, and a narrow guest bedroom.  Molly had barely touched anything on the second floor, by the looks of it.  She’d used this bathroom, with a handful of items littering the counter, but that would be because it was the only bath and shower.

She’d been cooped up in this house, and she’d barely touched anything?  The living room, kitchen and this bathroom suggested she’d spent some time here, but how had she managed without losing it?  It had been four months.

Wow wow wow, hold on, its been all this time? I had the impression it’d been like, A DAY. Things are suddenly a lot weirder

The third floor had only three smallish rooms, though ‘small’ was something of a misnomer, with a house of this scale.  Two bedrooms on the right side, with little more than beds and a dresser each, and a small sewing room that was apparently assigned to storage.

A staircase took up the rest of the space, curving up and around to the fourth floor, but the door was locked.

I fished in my pocket, found the old key, and weighed it in my hand.  I hadn’t found a single locked door in the house.  The key was of the old ‘skeleton key’ variety, a round bar as thick around as any of my fingers, with an ornate head and a tab on the end with the teeth.

I knew just by looking at it that it didn’t fit the keyhole.  I tried anyways.

No such luck.  I hadn’t seen anything that needed opening, which raised one big question.  Why was it important for me to get the key, without any lock to go with it?

I made my way back to the ground floor, stopping by the bathroom to lift the mirror free of the wall, then carried it back to the living room, for Rose.

 Skeleton keys always interest me. Its funny that the key designed to open many locks doesn’t open the one that is closed. Maybe it locks all the others though?

I fiddled until I found I could use the mounts to hang it off the bookcase.  It was just tall enough that it fell between eye level when I was standing and eye level when I sat.  I pulled a cushion from the armchair and placed it beneath, in case it fell.

When I’d finished, I did another look around the ground floor, peering out the windows to see if there was any sign of trouble.  The town was starting to come to life, with cars and a few kids with backpacks on the road, heading to school.

Though a sidewalk ran alongside the outer wall below the house, it seemed to be habit for people to walk on the other side of the street.

No bird masks, no crooked men.  I moved back to the living room to look out a different window for a different angle.

“Well?” Rose asked.

“It’s too ordinary,” I replied.  I rubbed at my face.  “God damn, I’m tired.”

“Ordinary?”

“It’s a house.  A boring, ordinary house that my grandmother lived in for her entire life.”

“Our grandmother,” she replied.

“It’s soulless, sorta.  Our dad and aunt Irene and Uncle Paul were raised here, but there are no toys or mementos left around for the memories.  Even my mother and father left some of my stuff around.”

“I really don’t want to be pedantic,” Rose said, “But they’re our mother and father.”

“Are they?” I asked.  I leaned back, propping one foot up on the corner of the coffee table, looking over at the mirror.  “Because I think the dad you got was very different from the dad I got.”

 Gotta remember how frustrating it is that they are both stuck with each other and none of them have the answers. Also, it IS pedantic Rose, that you that only has memories but knows wasn’t alive until half a day ago, demanding that Blake considers that the both different versions of your parents should be considered the same. Maybe a disguised plea from her to be considered quote-on-quote real. I say quote-on-quote instead of actually quoting because she clearly IS real, but, you know… all that stuff that would take too long to explain that you already know about.

 “Same person, different circumstance,” Rose said, her voice firm.

“Sure.  Fine, let’s go with that,” I said.  I dropped my foot and abruptly leaned forward, grabbing the envelope with the pad of paper.  I took a look.

“What is it?” Rose asked.  “I don’t have a copy, here.”

“Legal documents.  Let’s see… forty-one pages.  The transfer of Rosalyn D. Thorburn’s estate from custodian Molly Walker, grandchild, to custodian Blake Thorburn, grandchild.  The first page outlines the terms of the contract.  The property is mine in a general sense only.  The lawyer manages it until I’m twenty-five, at which point the custodian label is removed and the heir is appointed.”

“Rosalyn D. Thorburn senior,” Rose said.  “I remember him saying something like that at the gathering.”

“I do too.  The second page… is going out of its way to outline that the notes accompanying the text ‘aren’t binding nor are they intended to be read as such’…  looks like the rest is about a fifty fifty split between legalese and explanations for the legalese, for us plebs.”

“No answers?  About the monsters?”

“Not on the surface,” I said.  I paged through the papers, noting the headings  “Times of effect, terms, stipulations…”

 Hm, how is the senior thing important? I’m not much familiar with its usage given the language breach. I’m thinking it has to be a “minor” if there is a “senior”. Is it meant to point out that Rose is named after the grandmother?

 “Stipulations?”

I went back a page.

“Taking care of the house, paying upkeep from the account accorded to the custodian of the property to ensure the driveway, lawn and gardens are looked after, attending meetings with the firm, ummm,” I paused to look over the next bit.  “Right at the end, a note saying possession of the property can be revoked if the custodian doesn’t meet the requirements noted by the client, Mrs. Thorburn.”

“What requirements?”

I shook my head.  “No clue.  Something to keep in mind.  After stipulations, there’s a section on stipend, with a regular allowance, notes on how often the lawyers can be called without incurring a debt.  Oh, right here.  A mention of the bird-skull monsters.”

“What?”  I could see Rose move, standing from her seat.

“I’m joking,” I said, with zero humor in my voice.  “There’s nothing.  A few pages with pictures of the property and the boundaries, some stuff on the adjacent woodland and marsh, a blurb on council meetings, nonsense on contacting the lawyers, and-”  I stopped.

“What?”

“A means of opting out.  Not joking this time.”

“Somehow I don’t imagine it would be that easy,” Rose said.

 Honestly seems like more work than its worth, even if no magical demonic curse was involved. Imagine you fuck up once and the firm gets to take the house out from your hands? Sounds kinda bullshit and probably something that Grandma Rose arranged to piss off the person who is currently owner of the property.

How actually easy would it be to just get out of this? Sounds like a win-win for Blake who just wants to cut… wait for it… his BONDS with his family.

 “It’s pretty easy.  Phone or email the lawyer, and custodianship transfers to the next available candidate.”  I reread the legalese and the plain-text to be sure.

“That’s not what I meant,” Rose said.  “This whole situation is a trap, right?  She’s got some goal in mind, she basically, what, let the world know that she picked Molly as her heir, so all of her enemies come crawling out of the woodwork… and then she does the same for you, even going so far as to set up me for some kind of loophole.  She used the situation to force us into this.”

“Right,” I said.

“Does it make more sense that we’re really truly free to walk away, or that there’s a trap waiting for us if we try?”

“A trap,” I said, sighing a little.  If I’d let myself hope just a little, that hope was dashed.

“Just off the top of my head, maybe she announced that she picked her heir, but she doesn’t let everyone know that the heir has stepped down.  Meaning we’d lose all of the protections and resources we’d have, but we’d still be in just as much trouble.”

“It’s a way to weed out anyone too stupid to consider the ramifications.”

“Or anyone too weak to face the situation,” Rose said.  “Knowing her, it fits.”

“You do know her, huh?” I asked.  “All this while, you were immersed in this.”

“All this while,” Rose said.  “Except I didn’t know this part.  Um.  Give me a minute.  I’m wearing pyjamas, and I feel grungy.  I’m going to change, if I can figure out how.”

 Yeah, that’s what I thought. I ALSO want to know how to change clothes in the Mirror Dimension.

 With that said, she disappeared from the frame.

I remained where I was.  Big key, legal pad…

I rifled through Molly’s things.  She had kept a duffel bag with her things in it, but it was only clothes and a few cables and a set of headphones for a smartphone.

I felt guilty and more than a little creepy going through her clothes, so I stopped there.

Was I damning myself, with fingerprints and the like?  Would the police find her dead and then find that I’d moved myself in, already aware that she was dead?

It was a daunting thought.  Another trap?  Was grandmother testing me?

It raised another question.  Why?  Why had she pit us against one another, picking through us for some candidate that could meet some specific, crazy standard?  Why was she testing us by putting us through this gauntlet, where we were unprepared and ignorant when these monsters came after us?

“You look pensive,” Rose said.

I looked up.  I saw her in the mirror.  Wearing a decidedly old fashioned women’s blouse with pearly buttons up the front and a bit of lace on the collar, and a pleated skirt.  Her hair was mostly straight, with two lengths from the sides drawn back and pinned with something.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t say a word.  There are only so many places with mirrors in the house.  What were you thinking about?”

“Traps.  Tests.  Somehow, I imagine this is about more than looking after a house.  You don’t get enemies from property alone.  Well, you do, but not really in this era.”

Where IS Molly’s body? Also, how much can Rose interfere with the outside of the mirror? It still seems inconsistent; did she just pick clothes from looking at something? Did she physically grab them or something else entirely? Guess I won’t ask =P

 “No, you don’t, but this is a world we don’t fully understand.”

I nodded.  “We’re left in the dark.  Let’s assume this is a test… you said the lawyers were picking up books?”

“I only glimpsed it, because the light was hitting the windows at the right angles.  There were books piled on the table.”

“Describe them?”

“Old books.  Like those on the bottom shelf, below me.”

I got up and picked up the book.  It had a hard cloth cover, and the spine had been abused by wear and age, cracking and fraying.

“The ones I saw looked like they were in better shape,” Rose said.  “I think.  It was hard to make out, but he saw me looking, and he approached, and I did get a look at one.  There’s a lot of books in the house.  We’d be talking about needles in a haystack, here.”

“Why would he clean them up if he was going to put them on the shelves?” I asked.  “They deserved his time and attention.  Let’s go back to the idea that this is a test.  Grandmother’s not holding our hands here.  She never did, I don’t think.  I mean, mother and father never really got that whole ‘support your kids’ thing either.”

When Rose replied, her voice was quiet.  “I have to disagree with you there.  They support me.  Supported me, past tense, I guess.”

“Okay, fine,” I said, pushing that idea out of my head.  “Point is, she’s not coddling us.  There are books, they’re important, and the only two options are that the lawyers have them, and the test is as simple as ‘figuring out how to get in contact, or they’re hidden.”

Blake’s mom and dad keep being garbage, if the mirror version of them aren’t any different like Rose would like to think, they truly, for some reason, HATED having a son. WAIT, Grandma Rose did say that she’d have only picked the girls as possible inheritors didn’t she? I almost forgot that, but Blake is kinda supposed to be a surprise for him to be only second in line right? Maybe that’s why, so to top it off, parents don’t treat Blake well, Blake doesn’t treat them with respect in return and it becomes this hate cycle that so distinctively sets his and Rose’s version of the parents apart so much. I don’t much faith in this “test is as simple as getting books” thing. I actually don’t much buy into this whole “this is a test” thing either.

“Hidden?”

I held up the big key.  “Took a look around, no idea where it goes.  Except I’m not even sure where to begin looking.”

“She’s harsh, cold, but I wouldn’t say she’s unfair,” Rose said.  “If she expects us to figure it out, then we have the information we need.  Information Molly would have available to her too.”

I looked up at the mirror, but Rose was looking down.

“The documents,” I said, as I realized what she was looking at.  “You think Molly got a copy too, along with the key?  Or a key?”

“It’s possible,” Rose said.

I picked up the document.  This time I flipped through to the image of the property boundaries.  Square footage, notes on utilities, restrictions on renovations…

In the midst of the briefs and warnings regarding renovations, I saw a floor plan.  Room layout.

I hopped out of my seat, the map in hand.  “One second.  Can’t take the map and the mirror with my hand like it is.”

“Okay,” she said, but she didn’t look happy.

I got to the third floor and stopped.  I held the map up.

Map: Three rooms on the left, one room and the stairwell on the right.

What I saw: Two rooms on the left, one room and the stairwell on the right.

Have we got some non-euclidean geometry going on? Also, I’m fully expecting something to be hidden amongst Molly’s clothing that Blake just neglected looking at. Maybe there is something important there and we will never even know of haha. That would be pretty hilarious, Wildbow comes out and says: “oh yeah, that very simple thing that Blake never did? It would have cut the story in half or so”.

 I looked at the floor plan, then made several very deliberate paces down the length of the hall. I stopped.  About twenty-one. My friends were artists and artistic types.  I had the unfortunate distinction of being a less than stellar artist.  But I’d owed them for the help and support they’d given me, and in helping them with their jobs, I’d stumbled onto a bit of work.  Setting up their work, installations, as well as all the other grunt jobs.  Sure, they could go to a carpenter to get something put together in the way of a display stand, but that carpenter wouldn’t necessarily know what was at play with the art. Along the way, I’d settled into being a go-to handyman and delivery guy in the local art community.  I knew the gallery owners, I knew who was who, and if I couldn’t do a job myself, I knew who to call. Not so glamorous or fancy, not exactly stellar pay, but I had stupid little skills that I could use here.  In a pinch, I could use my stride or my arm length to help me figure out measurements, thirty three and a half and thirty-two and a half inches, respectively. Mostly, I tended to eyeball things, and maybe that was a factor in what had kicked my instincts into motion in the first place, when the rooms had felt small, despite all evidence to the contrary. From one outer wall to the next, the map said the house measured thirty-seven feet in length.  My estimate put it at twenty-one feet in length. I tried again, going in the other direction, and I got the same estimate.  Houses were supposed to expand and contract with temperature and the like, but not that much. To experiment, I crossed the hallway and tried once more.

More info on Blake’s job. Always fun how autonomous work always seems to allow you to meet the biggest variety of people.

 I’m studying chemical engineering, which means I’m no engineer at all and much less a chemist, but I had some classes where it definitely helped knowing to eyeball respective parts of my body, like spaces between certain positions with my fingers and such. Yes it is easy to just use a ruler, but who said I remembered to always carry one with me?

So, entire SECTIONS and chunks of the house seem to be missing, invisible or something of the sort. That is more interesting still. Maybe Molly didn’t touch much of the rest of the house because she was preoccupied with THESE rooms?

 One hallway, with right angles at each corner, twenty-one feet in length down the north side, thirty-seven down the south side.  The ends were each an equal six feet across.

I narrowed my eyes, looking down the length of the hallway.  There was no distortion in the floorboards, and every bookshelf on one side somehow had a bookshelf opposite, of matching dimensions.

I began moving books aside on the shelves down the ‘short’ hallway.

It took me two tries to find the keyhole.  Tucked in the corner just beneath one shelf, at bellybutton level.

The key required a fair bit of effort to turn, and rewarded me with an audible, heavy click.

The bookcase swung inward.  Oversized hinges managed the heavy burden as it swung all the way around and sat flush against the wall.

“Fuck me,” I muttered.

The room was a study.  A library.  There were two parts to the room, suggesting it took up two floors in the house.  The upper half was a ring, looking down through an opening, bordered with bookcases on the four exterior walls, with a wrought iron railing keeping people from falling through the hole in the middle.  Soft, mottled light shone down from a dust-caked window in the ceiling, lighting both halves of the library better than lightbulbs lit the rest of the house.

I slowly circled around, taking it in.  Each wall had ornate stepladders on wheels, which could coast along rails that had been inset in floor and ceiling.  Another stepladder led from a gap in the railing on the far end to the floor below.

I looked at the books, noting the differences from the ones in the rest of the house.  They were better taken care of, for one thing, and they tended to be narrow.

 Aha! Are these taken care of in the way the lawyer, maybe purposefully, led some books with him while he talked to Rose? Are these demonic tomes maybe?

 Cassandra’s Gaze.

Deleterious Craftings

Draoidh.  The book had a little ivory mask inset in the spine, with round staring eyes and a very curly beard.

Glamour.

Poppets.

Shamanism: ‘Animus’, volumes one through six, and Shamanism: ‘Umbra’, volumes seven through ten.

Vestige: Glimmers and Gasps.

Wū zhěn: Eastern Vodun Practices.

I finished reading spines along the one wall.  I traced spines with my fingertips as I passed on to the next wall.

Blessed Wrongs.

Dryads, Varieties.

Jokes from the Faerie Folk.

Lilith’s Children.

Maddening Things.

Observations on Bacchae interacting in Modern Society.

On Others.  Editions from 1964 through 2012 were lined up on the shelf.  Thicker texts.

Pitiable: Transcriptions from informal dialogues with Vampir.

Seems like it. Also, may I suggest “On Others”? Seems like the proper read, just a guess.

 The next shelf seemed to be a continuation from O to Z, in the same theme.  The bookshelf adjacent to that one seemed to be in a variety of different languages.  French, German, and a language with characters formed out of triangles.

The barrier to understanding was a reason to stop, where I might have kept walking and reading indefinitely.

Here, in this library, were the explanations and the rules.  It was, theoretically, a way to make it all make sense.  Except there was so much here, I couldn’t begin to take it in.  Where did I even start, when it came to trying to look up bird-skull undead things?  I’d gone from having no answers to having too many.

Its like when I’m trying to explain the lengthy confusing and twisting story of Drakengard+NieR’s to someone. Its always daunting to have something like “no but you have to understand, that the beginning of NieR states that its summer, but its snowing, to indicate that it is NOT snow, its actually salt because of the White Chlorination Syndrome, a disease that turns people into salt because it is trying to make a magical pact with the dead god from another dimension that is the final boss of Ending ‘E’ of Drakengard, which falls into 21st century Tokyo after you and your dragon plunge into its pregnant belly as it produces giant baby monsters that were killing off everyone on the main world of the game, and after you defeat it, the military bombard you both, dragon and giant bald statue lady, spreading your alien particles that end up bringing the world into an apocalyptic state. Not kidding, that’s the ending, congratz. The rest aren’t much better either. And that is not even GETTING into why this is just the intro of NieR in 2000 something, when the game is actually clearly mostly set like 12 thousand years later in a medieval setting but with the same characters you see in the intro”. Play or at least read about Yoko Taro’s games guys, they are super good, insane, bizarre but always just outright beautiful . Stylistically but ESPECIALLY musically. Give NieR’s OST a listen Trailed off a bit huh? Gotta shill what’s good, that’s how I got to know Worm and Wildbow in the first place =) 

I felt a little cold, despite the general warmth of the room.  I rubbed my hands against my sleeves.

Feeling restless, I reached the ladder that led down to the first floor and climbed down.

A desk and chair, a cozy armchair, a leather psychiatrist’s couch, a book stand with a book on it, and cabinets.  There were more bookshelves, but many were smaller, squat, set on top or beneath the cabinets.  More private, with personal books.  A blackboard on wheels that could be flipped over to write on either side.

A blanket was thrown over one piece of furniture.  I had any number of reasons not to touch it, but there was a shape to it, tall, narrow, and flatter than the blackboard.  I could see the metal feet…

I walked around to the side, then lifted up a corner of the blanket, where it wasn’t facing me.

Because in this fucked up situation, with all this, I wasn’t going to trust anything.

“Rose?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Sense anything funny?”

“No.  Except for light appearing from nowhere.”

“Covered mirror,” I said, as I threw off the blanket.

I sat back while I watched her take it all in.  In the frame of the mirror, she turned and walked over to a bookcase, picking up a book.

No effect on my end, I noted.

 This answers something I said earlier, yeah, I totally forgot that Rose’s mirror dimension has the same stuff Blake’s side does. Obviously. Its just that last chapter it seemed a lot  was set in the dark. I had thought how odd would it be that Rose hadn’t noticed the existence of this place, the likelihood of there being absolutely nothing reflective kinda threw me off, but of course there is, BUT, the fact that it is a mirror, thoughtfully covered, tells me even more. A lot of this is pre-planned, and makes me feel like maybe Molly didn’t get the same mirror buddy that Blake has, which was something I was building up. Unless Molly truly has been limiting herself to three or four rooms this entire time. I’ll hold on to my doubts.

 I turned my attention to the desk.  The wood had brown leather inlaid into it with big brass buttons.  I saw pens and inkwells, regular pens, pencils, a calculator, a brush and scalpel and other tools in jars and cases in the corners.  A mug held what might have been tea or coffee, though it had sat for long enough that the milk had congealed into a cloud of white on the surface.  There were books and papers, too.

The papers included one pile of legal documents, virtually identical to the ones I’d left downstairs, only they were addressed to Molly, with some changes in wording here and there.

What caught my eye, however, was the letter.

“Rose,” I said.

“What?”

I grabbed the pages of the letter, then walked around until we could see each other.  I stood by the mirror, holding it up so we could both read it.

 !!! But wait!! There are CERTAIN THINGS that Rose doesn’t have on her side! She said before, she didn’t have the law papers. Either they are imbued with something, which I don’t have much hopes for, or the mirror dimension has some sort of temporal limitation, like it locked in some place in time and has no people in it except Rose? Maybe I’m close, maybe I’m way too far, maybe it doesn’t matter at all.

 Molly et al,

Please accept my graceless apology.  At this juncture, you’ll likely be frightened and confused.  Chances are good you’ll see outside parties at work, if you haven’t already, helping you to conclude that this isn’t nonsense.  That helps us move on to business.  If you find yourself here and are already injured in body, mind, heart, spirit or other more esoteric departments, you may need to jump straight to instruction number one in the list below, sacrifice sleep to see it through, and then move on to a great deal of research.  The Index is a catalogue of all things found in my library, which I penned myself, and will help direct you to solutions to whatever ails you.

I could explain, justify, and make excuses, but that is very much not my manner or style.  You have a library of explanations sitting around you.  With study, perhaps, you’ll see how I justified what I did.  We can do without the excuses entirely.

I’ll be succinct.  The family line is a long one, and we have had some involvement in more anagogic sciences since the early 1800’s.  We have resources touching on the craft, the arcane, or whatever you wish to call it.  Magic.  However, all things have a price, and it is impossible to become rich, powerful, wise or strong without paying in some form.  For this reason, among others, practitioners rarely ascend to any great status and remain there.  But our predecessors tried, they accrued a karmic debt, and they have passed it on to their children, and their children’s children, and so on down the line.

“You caught up?”

“Yeah,” Rose said.

I turned the page.

Perhaps this seems unfair, but modern standards of fair and unfair are just that: modern.  In this world I’ve imposed on you, there are very old things, and there are very old traditions.  Here, the sins of the father are visited upon the son.  Or mother and daughter, rather.  Beings as long-lived as powerful Others have trouble telling us apart, when we live and die so quickly and when we often look the same, and it helps to establish a pedigree or pattern.  Some have ornaments of office, others carry on with seventh sons.  We use daughters, and we keep to a smaller community.  If they call you Rose, Elizabet, Frances, Esther, Ruth, I recommend you take it in stride.  You are, as of now, simply one piece of a long thread.

 Is everything here truly Rose’s making? Impressive, but for what reason? This whole system and the way she acted and was described doesn’t seem to imply that she cared much about her offspring’s wellbeing, and unless something was at play there doesn’t seem to be any reason to instruct them each into this entire thing beforehand. So why write it down for people you don’t care about? Or does she care on the same page that she wants things like “the name of the family” to keep going? They used daughters then, I like how this is all described, and then there’s Blake. Whelp.

 My diaries can be found on the shelf behind the desk.  I welcome you to read them if they might shed light on matters.  Perhaps my own realizations will help you find a way to your own.

Now, I charge you with tasks.  To demonstrate the gravity of this, know that you may lose custody of the property if you do not address these tasks.  On a graver level, you may well doom yourselves and the bloodline with your failure, depending on how it plays out.

1.  Read Essentials.  It sits on the book stand.  A novice’s guide to the most basic things, it outlines the steps to awakening yourself.  Be warned, these steps open the door to becoming Other, in a respect.  The oldest of them made agreements in times well beyond us, to guarantee safety and maintain a kind of peace.  Foremost among these agreements is truth.  Should you lie, you may well forfeit your power for a time.  Break a promise or an oath, and you will be forsworn, and you will be stripped of every protection afforded to even the common, ignorant people that decorate this Earth.  On finishing Essentials, awaken yourself.

 Yup, seems like “keeping the bloodline” is the thing here. So if you read a book and manage to do, what I imagine is a process, you ‘awaken’ and become Other. Cool. I thought the title was reserved to the folklore folk. The implications of a system that requires you not to lie are VERY interesting too. Everything must be omitted and filtrated through layers upon layers of disguises.

 “Oh fuck me,” I said.

“Oh hell,” Rose echoed me.

Conduct the remainder of these steps in any order.  Monumental as these steps are, you must be suitably armed against your enemies.  You will be asked about your progress with some frequency, and failure to make sufficient progress in the next five years will see your rights and access to this house terminated.

2.  Study and enact the ritual noted in Famulus.  The familiar is your greatest ally, and will serve as a tool, a wellspring of power, an ambassador to dealing with more abstract things, and will be a lifelong companion.  Make this choice with the same respect you would with undertaking marriage, only know there is no form of divorce.  The Familiar is to be a part of you for life.  You gain their services, and they gain a chance to be mortal, even if it is a small mortalhood, in addition to whatever other terms you negotiate.  Do not allow your familiar to take the form of a rat or dog.

That cute SCP territory where stipulations are made on the do’s and don’t’s and the don’t’s are super bizarre and random and you can’t help but ask yourself “why” and it just makes butterflies in my stomach because I KNOW the writer knows why haha.

Also, familiar seems to be different from whatever Rose is. It requires a ritual and Blake already “has” Rose, in a sense. Grandma’s Rose must’ve been the cat. “A chance to be mortal” sounds foreboding. Are we talking about previously non-living things or about immortals things that want to die? I wonder who makes the contacts, the lawyers? Molly’s things were here so did she receive all this and left it here or did she not receive them at all? Will I ever stop asking questions? Yes? No? Maybe? Its good to frame stuff in my head as I read though, easier to catalogue it all back if I ever need to backtrack through my past readthroughts

 3.  Study and enact the ritual noted in Implementum.  Your choice of tool will shape how you interact with this world, your craft, and will be your badge in the eyes of many.  The book is dreary, page on page of examples, but study it thoroughly, for there are many meanings, and a poor choice of tool may well cripple you.

I won’t do the obvious Homestuck joke with this one.

 4.  Study and enact the ritual found in Demesnes.  Baba Yaga had her hut, I have my room.  Unfortunately, the rest of the house has been claimed by our predecessors, and while it is a haven, you will need to find your own place to make your own, where the rules bend as you need them to, and where your power is greatest.  The three rituals noted here are fundamental in determining how you access, hoard and focus power.  Note, however, that your real power will be in how you act with others and Others.

5.  Find a good man to marry.  By this, I don’t mean that he should be decent and kind.  Such may be a detriment.  You will need an ally in this, and a man who can support you in more mundane matters will give you strength in this world.  I reckon many of the best partnerships in the recent past came about when our family married bastards rather than gentlemen.

6.  Attend the council meetings.  Second Saturday of every month, at the park, in the twilight hours.  In a five year term, there will be sixty such meetings.  Miss six in total, and your rights to the property will be forfeit.

Demesnes is a term that I’ve read before in reddit posts, also Labyrinth, but mainly something I expected to be covering whole houses and just a general protection zone. I’m glad there is more to it! I wonder if its okay to talk about Others with commoners that are not from a certain Bloodline. The meetings remind me of Nightvale’s Dog Park.

 “I think I’m faced with an issue, here,” I said.

“You can’t sit through meetings?” Rose asked.

I shot her a look.

Hahaahahaha. Okay, Rose has the same sass Blake has though.

 She giggled a little, and it was an uncharacteristic, unfitting, nervous sound.  “I… I don’t know how to react to this.  I tried to make a joke.  It’s laugh or cry, right?  And I was awfully close to crying before I read any of this.”

“I’m supposed to marry a guy.  I’m getting the impression this isn’t the first obstacle I’m going to run into.”

“Gay marriage is legal,” she said.

“I’m not gay.” I said.  “I wonder if the lawyers will allow me any leeway, here.”

“The lawyers?” she asked.  She gave me a look, eyebrow arched.  “Think about it.”

I sighed, and then I did.

“They’re involved in this,” I thought aloud.  “Cleaning up after Molly, they know enough to move the books… they’re setting all this up, so things are prepared for each heir-to-be.”

My voice took a more serious tone as I finished “…and the legal documents made less than specific references to debts.”

“They’re not friends, Blake.  Resources, maybe, but not friends.  We should think long and hard about when and why we contact them.”

I fidgeted, biting my lip as I thought.  Unwilling to dwell on it, I turned the page.

 Oh yeah, THAT. Huh. I wonder if any of these rules apply correctly at all since Blake breaks the first one of, well, not being a woman, which is this bloodline’s symbol of being “the next one”.

 7.  Finish three out of four of the books in this library.  You will need some assistance with foreign languages.  Making a bargain with an Other to learn Sumerian may be novel, I know, but it is easier to ask for it to be translated aloud by a servant or summoning.

8.  See our bloodline to the end of the fifth year with less of a debt than we had at the start of your custodianship.  I’m hoping you can see this through until the end of your lifetime, but I can only focus on these next five years and hope you are on the right road.

Remain out of the north end of Jacob’s Bell until you have completed two rituals and developed a foundation.  Stay out, perhaps, even if you have.  Some individuals are not to be trifled with.

Make no major deals or bargains.  Until the end of the custodianship, you’ll need to run any major deals past Mr. Beasley (including the three major rituals.  He will protect you from other decisions, or lend his aid if he can’t, but he will exact a price.

Mr. Beasley, as well as individuals you’ll find in Jacob’s Bell and the surrounding area, is described in a little black book I playfully dubbed Dramatis Personae, when I was younger.

Our family has made enemies, and I confess that I have turned allies into more enemies.  I will not compel you to read this book, but I impel you to.  It may well be a deciding factor in your survival.  Use all tools I’ve bestowed on you.  We are powerful, we hold a noteworthy position, and this is much of the reason we have the enemies we do.  Chances are good you will need to use everything at your disposal to survive them.

As the sins of the mother pass to the daughter, I’ve passed my enemies and the debt on to you.  I won’t ask forgiveness or understanding.  I suspect you may find those things when the time comes for you to bear an heir and visit these wrongs on them.

Yours, R.D.T.

Well, fuck everyone I guess. It is a bold move from Wildbow to limit so much knowledge of the setting to books in a library the MC has access to. I’m hoping this is translated well into the story.

 I was never good at sitting still when stressed.  Now that there were no more pages to go through, I found myself pacing.

“We have answers,” Rose said, as if reassuring me.

“I don’t like these answers,” I said, raising my voice a little.  “That old bitch.”

“It doesn’t sound like she had a lot of choice,” Rose said.

I spun around to stare at her.  “You’re awfully sympathetic to the old woman who has your name,” I said.  “Can we verify, again, that you’re really a female me?”

Her face settled into a serious expression, as cold as mine was heated.  I was breathing hard, and my sutures were hurting where I clenched my hand.

“Ask me anything,” she said.  “Anything about growing up with mother and father.”

I didn’t respond, scowling and looking away instead.  I was fidgeting with my good hand.  She was right.

“We’re allies, Blake.  Allies, understand?  Look, the letter said a magic user can’t lie, right?  I’m a unicorn from outer space, and I can’t speak English.  See?”

I broke from my pace, crossing the room to the bookstand, where I snatched up the book that was open on it.  I tossed it down on the desk.  Essentials.

Another series of books, in a stack in the corner, where the lawyers had left them.  Famulus, Implementum, Demesnes.  Orange, purple and green cloth covers, respectively, they all matched otherwise, in size and the script on the spines.  I glanced each one over, then tossed them onto the desk, where they rewarded me with a series of satisfying impacts.

I found Dramatis Personae.  I flipped through it.  There were tabs.  One for ‘allies’, which was virtually empty, with only the lawyer’s number.

Enemies…  they took up almost all of the remainder.

It didn’t make a sound, much less a satisfying thud, when I added it to the pile.  I was left without anything more to throw.  Nothing I wanted to risk, in any event.

I’m most interested in Demesnes to be fair, how exactly do you find out the place for you? How will Blake do it, if I gathered it correctly, knowing that the house is already fully taken by other people?

 “Are you mad at me?” Rose asked.  “We’re supposed to be allies, Blake.”

“I’m not… no, I’m mad at this,” I said.  “Look at this.  How many books do we need to read, here?  How many books do we need to read a day, just to keep up?”

“Maybe that’s the cheat?  If we’re both the same person, technically, can we argue that the eldest child of Brad and Christina Thorburn has read half the books?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“There are answers.  See?  Look…”

She turned away from the mirror, heading to the nearest bookshelf.

I saw her stop.  She remained where she was.

“Rose?” I asked.

She didn’t move.

I felt a bit of anxiety, and turned away, walking over to that same shelf, on my side of the mirror.

The Worst of the Others.

Devils and Details.

Dark Contracts

Classifying Others: Fiends and Darker Beings.

Hellfire: Bindings

Infernal Wrath

Pacts and Prices

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry.  I didn’t know much, but I knew this was a bad idea of the worst kind.

These were the books that held a place of prominence on grandmother’s bookshelf.  These were the tools she expected us to employ.

No small wonder she’d made the enemies she had.

These books?  They each had the same set of initials on the spine.  R.D.T.

She’d written them.

The plan for them to both read the books and share the details each is good, if it is all dealt in a legal way, they could 100% argue that the individual has read the books if each read half of them. Sounds like something paranormally plausible in my eyes. I WAS going to ask if Blake was a reading person, because he doesn’t seem to be and this confirms it for me.

So, THESE are the books the lawyer cleaned up, am I correct? How does she expect to lower the accumulated, what did she call? Karmic debt? I feel like she used another name as well, anyways. How does she expect to lower that when one of the main things is “Pacts and Prices”?

Kinda surprised the chapter ended there!

#CodeZeta liveblogs #pact #PactArc1 #Pact1.3 #wildbow

[boardwalk-absurdist]

All the numbers! 😊

Aaahhh thank you~ I haven’t done one of these in forever but I love them, so let’s go (under the cut)!

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans? Coffee mugs~ I have one standard reliable water bottle that I carry with me, but I love me a clever/cute coffee mug.

2. chocolate bars or lollipops? Chocolate bars, natch.

3. bubblegum or cotton candy? Cotton candy~

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you? Usually stuff like energetic, bubbly, and smart. They used to say gifted but around 4th grade they weren’t allowed to say that anymore.

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups? None of the above, I don’t drink soda. The bubbles hurt my tongue.

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear? Oh man this is an eternal struggle tbh. I think I usually dress a bit more grunge or boho, but I want to be pastel and goth as well? The others I could take or leave.

7. earbuds or headphones? Earbuds, as long as they aren’t those Skullcandy kind with the squishy part that you jam in your ear canal. I hate those.

8. movies or tv shows? Depends on my mood and how much time I have.

9. favorite smell in the summer? This may be weird, but like…sun sweat? You know when you’re laying out comfortably in the sunshine and there’s a nice breeze and you sweat a lil but it’s like just warm? Also the ocean, I love the beach but I live nowhere near one.

10. game you were best at in p.e.? Uh, avoid competitive people as much as possible by running in the opposite direction from the ball? Walk laps rather than play the game? I did not like gym class.

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day? Nothin’. Sometimes I’ll have a donut or poptarts or pain au chocolat but usually it’s a lotta nothing.

12. name of your favorite playlist? “Players musicals”, a spotify playlist with songs from the 4 musicals my college theatre group did while I was there. Or on my iTunes, I have one called “Power Up” that is all my pump-up jams.

13. lanyard or key ring? …both? I have a keyring on my lanyard.

14. favorite non-chocolate candy? Ooh, the Haribo gummy frogs. With like the white part on the bottom? Idk what that shit is but I love it.

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment? Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. I know it’s a play but we did read it, and I loved it. Alternatively, maybe Brave New World? I found that one fascinating.

16. most comfortable position to sit in? Curled up sideways in an armchair or with my legs thrown over one arm and my back against the other.

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes? In the summer, I always pick one pair of sandals with a fun pattern so I get cool tan lines on my feet. Otherwise, Merrell Mocs 5evr.

18. ideal weather? Sunny and dry, maybe with a light breeze, and in the mid- to high-70s. Either that or clear, sunny, and between 15 and -15 for like a perfectly brisk day.

19. sleeping position? I usually sleep on my side with my top leg flung out so I’m like half on my stomach. But I can’t actually sleep on my stomach cuz I have titties and they are Not Comfortable.

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)? Literally anywhere and on anything. I doodle and write on p much any surface I am given.

21. obsession from childhood? …uh. There were several. But I guess Jerry Lewis was the biggie/most embarrassing.

22. role model? That’s a tough one. Probably Bonnie Bassler.

23. strange habits? I eat most foods around the outside and save the center for last. Like poptarts, waffles, sandwiches… I also have a tic where whenever I have my car in neutral I jiggle the stick shift back and forth to like prove to myself that I am in neutral. I’m sure there are more that I’m unaware of that I just think are normal, so hey, if you know me irl and you know of a weird habit that I missed, send it my way.

24. favorite crystal? Idk. Does tiger’s eye count? It’s my favorite semi-precious stone.

25. first song you remember hearing? LORDT I have no idea, probably a Bruce Springsteen song.

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather? Lay in the sunshine. Or swim outside.

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather? Play in the snow.

28. five songs to describe you? These are more songs describing what it feels like to be me, but: “Fear and Loathing” and “Teen Idle” by Marina and the Diamonds, “I Wanna Get Better” by Bleachers, “Yo Girl” from Heathers, aaaand “Carmen” by Lana Del Rey.

29. best way to bond with you? Work on a show together.

30. places that you find sacred? Difficult to say. I guess anywhere that feels like a liminal space.

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? Ooh okay so I have this black cropped sleeveless hoodie that says “never trust the living” on a tombstone and has a skull, I like to pair that with some burgundy high-waisted short shorts and tights with embroidered skulls and butterflies. Then those go with my platform black and white sneakers or my 6 inch platform boots with flames on the heels.

32. top five favorite vines? rOaD wOrK aHeAd?; I AM THE SAND GUARDIAN; …wow; “little diddy”; and either happy crismus or WELCOME TO BIBLE STUDY

33. most used phrase in your phone? Probably “fair enough”

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? “if you needed brain surgery, would you go to a general practitioner? No? THEN WHY ARE YOU STILL BUYING FISH FROM THE GENERAL STORE” fishtopia may finally be dead but that fucking commercial lives on

35. average time you fall asleep? Like midnight?

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing? I can has cheezburger?

37. suitcase or duffel bag? Depends. If it’s just for a few days, duffel bag. But I prefer to travel with a suitcase for anything longer than a week.

38. lemonade or tea? Lemonade

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie? Uh I guess lemon cake?

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school? Oh! One time this girl tackled this dude allegedly cuz he wouldn’t share his beef jerky. The school was put on a code yellow while the security guard separated them.

41. last person you texted? Myself, to send some gel pictures from my phone to my laptop.

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets? Jacket pockets. I have shitty girl pants pockets.

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket? why must you hurt me in this way. I have a denim jacket that I adore, so I guess that one? But I really appreciate the aesthetic of bomber jackets.

44. favorite scent for soap? Irish Spring. am cermet

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero? I guess sci-fi.

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in? I sleep in my underwear.

47. favorite type of cheese? Cheddar or Gruyere.

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be? No clue. Strawberry, maybe?

49. what saying or quote do you live by? “Once you’re in it, it’s okay.” - This is How, Augusten Burroughs Alternatively, “How unlikely! Yet here we are.” - Spaceman of Bohemia, Jaroslav Kalfar 

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have? An inside joke with the Brit, I think. 

51. current stresses? oh the thousands

52. favorite font? Currently I’m really feeling Book Antiqua.

53. what is the current state of your hands? Uh, fine? Clean? My nails are Ready for some new polish.

54. what did you learn from your first job? How to scoop ice cream.

55. favorite fairy tale? I don’t think I have one.

56. favorite tradition? So in my family, we have a routine for putting up the tree (we have a fake tree that we use every year). My dad puts the tree together, my mom rearranges and bends the branches to make it look more realistic, my dad puts the lights on, and then my little brother and I decorate it with all the ornaments. It’s a lot of fun and my favorite part of Christmas.

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome? An abusive relationship, getting help for depression/anxiety, and my mom’s attempted suicide.

58. four talents you’re proud of having? I’m a p good writer, a decent swimmer, I can do cross-stitch/needlepoint, and I am very good at taking tests/learning.

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be? “Eat an entire ass.”

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be? Slice of life goofy high school comedy. Like Ouran, or the lighter parts of Fruits Basket.

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.? There’s a line in @scifigrl47‘s fic “Hollow Your Bones like a Bird’s” that has really stuck with me over the years: “It is the farthest from death that I can get, to decide, second by second, not to jump.” In a similar vein, the line “I put a bullet in my mouth and the other guy spat it out” from the original Avengers movie really made an impression. On a funnier note, the lines “I’ve frequently not been on boats” and “One can hardly eat cucumber sandwiches in an agitated manner” from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead and The Importance of Being Earnest respectively never fail to make me laugh.

62. seven characters you relate to? Lordt that is so many. Okay. Alissa Meson from the Truth series, Chidi Anagonye from The Good Place, Lee Fiora from Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld, Tohru Honda from Fruits Basket, Shiloh Wallace from Repo! The Genetic Opera, Augusten Burroughs in his memoirs (not technically a character but I relate so hard), and Bo Burnham’s stage persona (it COUNTS dammit).

63. five songs that would play in your club? “1, 2, Step” - Ciara, “Night Fever” - The BeeGees, “Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)” - Journey, “Chelsea Dagger” - The Fratellis, and “Damn You Look Good And I’m Drunk (Scandalous)” - Cobra Starship

64. favorite website from your childhood? Quizilla, RIP

65. any permanent scars? Several on my hands (they used to be cat scratches but I picked at them so much they scarred up), two punctures from my cat biting me on my right inner forearm, and one biggun on my left asscheek from when I fell out of a tree and had to get 6 stitches.

66. favorite flower(s)? Poppies, lavender, fireweed, and forget-me-nots.

67. good luck charms? Not really? I have jewelry that I wear every day but that’s more a habit/ritual rather than for luck.

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried? LORDT okay so I worked at an ice cream shop two summers in a row, right? There was this DISGUSTING cranberry stout flavor, and a p gross ginger one, plus every time someone ordered a weird milkshake we’d make a little extra so we could try some. One time someone got like a large stout (the regular, not the cranberry, which was still nasty) and pumpkin milkshake with malt. It was horrid.

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned? It takes as much pressure to bite through a human finger as it does to bite through a carrot.

70. left or right handed? Rightie.

71. least favorite pattern? Uh. I guess paisley? It doesn’t really do anything for me.

72. worst subject? Organic chemistry or physics.

73. favorite weird flavor combo? Oooh so nutella and honey is DELIGHTFUL if you’ve never tried it. Also those parmesan bread bites from Dominos taste real good dunked in the icing that comes with the cinnamon twists.

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen? Like a 4 or 5.

75. when did you lose your first tooth? I genuinely do not recall.

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)? Scalloped potatoes with cheese.

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill? Idk I kill all my plants. I have a lil sempervivum that I’ve kept alive for a few months though~

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store? Grocery store sushi.

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo? Lmao they both are bad but I’ll say driver’s license.

80. earth tones or jewel tones? Jewel tones.

81. fireflies or lightning bugs? Are they not the same thing? I call them fireflies.

82. pc or console? PC. I grew up without a console so I lack the intuitive understanding of their control mechanisms that most people seem to have.

83. writing or drawing? Writing.

84. podcasts or talk radio? Podcasts.

84. barbie or polly pocket? Barbie I guess?

85. fairy tales or mythology? Mythology.

86. cookies or cupcakes? …cookies.

87. your greatest fear? Disappointing people who took a chance on me.

88. your greatest wish? If I tell you, it won’t come true.

89. who would you put before everyone else? My little brother.

90. luckiest mistake? Not applying for summer internships. Instead I just talked to the one microbiology professor and she offered me a summer job in her lab and it’s because of her that I’m at the school I’m at for grad school and have experience and all that.

91. boxes or bags? Uh. Bags I guess? Easier to carry.

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights? Sunlight.

93. nicknames? My parents call me Squirrelle. Some people call me T (my real name starts with a T).

94. favorite season? Spring, I think. It’s so nice to come back out of the cold.

95. favorite app on your phone? I guess fb messenger, I use it the most.

96. desktop background? It’s a colored collage of Jareth and Sarah from pika-la-cynique’s “Girls Next Door” massive crossover series on dA.

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized? I dunno, like a handful? Some are totally useless.

98. favorite historical era? Probably the 80s.

#Anonymous #carmen answers #meet the blogger #thank you! #these are so fun