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katsukikitten · 4 years

Text

Irritated 4

A/N lol opps I wrote another part I hope you all enjoy this while it lasts. Tehe (insert evil face here)

Bakugou swipes at the steamy mirror wishing his shower could have been hotter.

Hot enough to burn his skin and bring him back to reality. He tongues his cheek as he stares at his reflection. Thinking of the chopsticks, of admitting to thousands of people that he actually LOVED your shitty coffee order that he drank to spite you.

And of your soft body pressed against his as you reached for his wallet. Sure he had pinned you and you had pinned him plenty of times in real anger fueled fist fights.

But that's exactly what they were. Tension come to a head and released the only way the two of you knew how. Talking with a fist was much more honest and effective than any word uttered.

So why were you clinging to him when you came back from the bathroom, sans cup that you needed soooo badly. Why were you wearing such shifty eyes so suddenly when you were fine before? And why were you holding yourself back at the restaurant? Did the waiter dare say something to you? Look at your chest too long? If he had why did you just let it go?

But most importantly why did Bakugou care?

He gives his reflection a grimace before walking into the dimly lit bedroom. Clicking his tongue when he sees your pillow placed on the bed, he rolls his eyes at how the security guard placed it.

Lewd side up with your suit ripped in the stupidest places to reveal more.

He would rip it right down the middle, fucking the zipper up so you couldn't hide from him before deleicatly, so agonizingly slow, sliding it down those broad shoulders to reveal those fat tits.

Wait what the hell was he thinking? Explosions pop on steady fingers as he thinks of destroying the stupid thing.

But then how would he torture you with it?

He shoves it off the bed before rooting around his bag for a pair of black boxer briefs. The kind that hug his ass and thighs nicely, leaving little to imagination on his size.

Movement catches his eye from the balcony and he presses himself into the shadows as best he can. The cool, textured wall further agitates the itch in his hands to ignite. He moves towards the door as he makes out a figure sitting in one of the cheap chairs on HIS balcony.

He bares his teeth as your ill will echoes through his head.

*"I hope you get stalked."*

Was that why you were constantly looking over your shoulder?

Right now it doesn't matter. He is thankful the figure cannot see him as he approaches the glass sliding door. He flings it open, hand erupting in pops causing the figure to jump and turn with lightning speed before floating mid air.

Eyes glowing faintly as they are fixated on his shirtless body.

It takes him milliseconds to figure out it is you.

You clad in hardly anything, your belly button ring catches the light pulling him back to the here and now. Reminding him that you might be displaying your ass for the world.

And not showing your ass with your damn attitude like you normally did. He grips onto your arm tightly pulling you harshly into his chest.

You want to yell but again the faint smell of buttery sugar and spices causing the bubbling anger to stop rising.

"Baka some fans know this is our hotel." He growls, squeezing you for a moment, "The internet can see your ass when *you* post it. Not when some random beta's try taking grainy pictures of it."

You don't say anything as you sink into his touch for a moment because in those quickly ticking seconds you feel normal....safe.

"What are you doing on my balcony?" He asks darkly and you push him away, slipping past his arms and into his hotel room.

"Let's watch a movie Kaachan!" You sing song, offering the best smile you can as you avoid the topic, "Deku was already asleep."

The lie leaves your lips with ease and he does not notice. Although you do notice his slight blush and he does notice your negligence to answer his question.

You plop on the couch curling into the corner as if you nether of you were half dressed as he sits furthest from you that he can. Flipping through the channels waiting for you to whine to stop and when you don't he steals a glance at you.

You're staring at the TV but it looks more to him as if you're staring through it. Nails digging into the couch as he watches everything within a foot radius around you float centimeters above their surface.

What the fuck was bothering you so badly?

A thump at your door and voices outside startle you and the items come crashing down, your cheeks burn.

"Oi. What the fuck are they doing outside?" Bakugou snarls as he goes to stand. You grab for his wrist looking up at him with pleading eyes.

Eyes that he meets with slits before ripping his hand free.

"If we're gonna watch a movie its gonna be quiet in the fucking hall. Now you pick little one." He snarls tossing the remote onto the cushion that was between you two. You hastily grab for it muting the TV as the plastic rectagle in your hand groans from the pressure of your vice grip.

Bakugou opens the door without a second thought despite his lack of clothes. He spots a man with green eyes staring at your door until the numbers burn into his retinas.

Bakugou doesnt miss him deactivating his quirk although the man thinks he is keeping it hidden by angling his body just so. Red eyes watch pale flesh pulling back into itsself forming a solid hand once more.

"Oi, what are you doing?" His voice comes out dark and for a second the green eyed man looks a little less deranged and a little more scared.

Bakugou studies his face, committing the slope of his nose, the width of his eyes, and the small scar on his upper lip to memory and wondering if he's seen it before.

And where he had seen it before? A villain database? A B rated wanted poster?

No he clearly couldn't use his quirk well enough to keep it hidden and his quirk seemed more creepy than harmful.

Still Katsuki did not like him standing in front of your door with eyes that gleamed in the dull light of the hall. Katuki grips the door jamb, the wood whines from the force as he tries to keep himself in check.

"Are you fucking deaf? What are you doing here?"

The man blinks rapidly before offering a smile that looks off. His lips twitching as if he cannot do it properly.

"Have you seen Tejina? I want to give her this. She left it." He says as he rummages through his bag further putting Katsuki on edge. He let's the adrenaline heat his skin as sweat begins to form in his palm, waiting and willing to combust on command.

The man produces a pastel purple cup, with a relaxed Aizawa in an oversized knit sweater holding a sleepy cat. Their expressions eerily similar with MOOD in bold capitalized letters. Scalet eyes narrow, so she had bought it.

Why leave it? Was this guy there?

Bakugou snatches the cup, teeth bared as he speaks again. Who was this asshole?

"I'll give it to her. Now leave before I put you in the hospital. Got it?" Malice radiates off the ash blonde in waves as he thinks of this creep getting to close to you.

Suddenly his demeanor changes as he holds eye contact with Katsuki.

"That's not how a hero should speak." You hear the phrase from the couch causing your blood to run cold. This could be it. This could be game over for Bakugou's career like it almost was for you just a short while ago.

Explosions litter Katsuki's skin as his voice dips so low your stomach clenches with worry.

With fear.

"I don't give a fuck how a hero should speak. I just know how one should act. Now stop hovering around her fucking door before the coroner comes to haul your ass out of here."

"You talk as if she is yours." The man seemingly unphased by Bakugou's most deadly tone.

"So what if she is fucking mine?" Some how an even deadly tone slips out, more violent explosions appear on his skin as he steps into the hall. This time the man swallows thickly, eyes darting as if torn.

Torn between the love he has for you and the hatred he has for this Ground Zero who had his meat head paws sullen your angelic skin. He turns on his heel without a word as he makes his way for the stairwell.

Your heart thuds in your chest as Bakugou returns.

"Your cup." He growls, giving you a pointed look as he sets it on the coffee table.

"T..th.." You clear your throat, "Thank you Bakugou."

He watches from his end of the couch with his head in his hand before hissing out.

"The sooner you pick a movie. The sooner you can get the fuck out."

Bakugou speaks to you like this all time.

So why does it feel like he took a knife to your chest just now. As if he pushed it hilt deep, your breathing hitches. Still you nod as you flip through some channels before finding an old movie from your childhood.

One you used to watch with your grandmother. Comfort slowly fills your chest and you relax into the couch.

That is until you hear thumping, stomping feet and an obnoxious amount of noise before drunken laughing rings out.

You shake without realizing it as if you were a dog hiding in a corner, so unused to people and your master was throwing a party on the forth of July.

Your movement catches blood red eyes. Deft eyes that know that your movements are from fear, yet he still pulls the comforter off of the bed.

"Wha..what are you...?"

"You're cold dumbass." He growls, pulling you onto the cushion next to him fluffing the blanket for the two of you. He pulls it to your shoulders and tucks it this way and that so it does not move before he covers his lap. Resting his jaw onto a bored hand.

You stare, astounded as you look at this much more complicated man than you thought before his eyes dart to you out of the corner of his eye.

"Movie is that way baka." Before a mischievously cocky smirk pulls at his lips, "That is unless you cant keep your eyes off of me in all my glory."

Your cheeks flush before you HMPH as loud as and as dramatic as you can

"Fucking as if!" You hiss. Crossing your arms as you go back to the movie.

With each passing of familiar scene exhaustion begins to weigh heavy on your body.

Your eye lids especially, reminding you of how heavy your head is. You slump, uncaring of your posture as you lean your head against a sculpted but surprisingly soft shoulder.

Bakugou glares at you, quickly slowing his irritated OI! that was clawing up his throat when he sees how relaxed you look.

How *cute* you look. Tucking your feet and really snuggling into him feigning watching the movie as you fight sleep. He sighs, admitting defeat that somethings he cannot fight. Deku's words ring in his head before he bares his teeth.

*"...Shes had a long day."*

And it shows as you fall victim to sleep a lot faster than he thought you would. He leaves you for the remainder of the movie before gently scooping you up, your protest with a groan while your arms give you away. Wrapping tightly around him causing his heart to beat irraticlly, especially so when you nuzzle into his neck with a smile.

He brings you to the bed, comforter and all, lying you down gently. He figured the two of you could switch rooms or at the very least he could take the couch but there was just one little problem.

You wouldn't fucking let go. Even as strong arms pushed against yours you wouldn't budge. He is about to use lethal force until a subtle glow settles over his arms and your hands. Your eyes flutter open just a bit and when he meets them he feels as if his heart was ripped out of his chest. An odd weight settles in his stomach as he drinks you in.

Your eyes are so...so sad looking, as tears begin to well in them even in your mostly asleep state, your plump lips pulled southward in an undying frown.

"Stay." You whisper so lowly he could barely hear you. He scoffs, opening his mouth to retort and tell you that you're half asleep and must be dreaming of an ex. That is until you repeat yourself to him. Voice cracking

"Please stay Katsuki."

His heart races as his cheeks BURN. No one has ever said his name so tenderly before. Sure he has had plenty of past lovers and one nightstands but not a soul has come close to the reaction he has had to your three word sentence.

And who is he to deny a woman in need? A strong woman that is clearly having a very rare, vulnerable moment. A moment she is trusting him with. You are trusting him with.

He sucks his teeth and even half asleep you know he is going to stay. You're more reassured by his decision as he keeps one hand on your bare skin at all times as he whispers complaints, fixing the blanket you are "hogging for kami's sake" as you fade in and out. All before that strong arm wraps around you and pulls your back to his chest.

You sigh, letting sleep fully blanket you as buttery sugar and spices lulls you into a deep sleep.

My loves as per your request @casterixe @ha-tep

@thenezuko

thenezuko tumblr wont let me tag you love :(

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x fem reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha katsuki #bnha kacchan #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha au #bnha imagine #bnha imagines

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sirjustice1114 · 3 years

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Credit card reader smartphones images

Tank immersed in stagnant water half way in a tank, when heap in such tanks makes alternator generators dude, like in a dug big quarry u do the boom process next to down water level bro

https://www.cgafrica.com/gallery/typical-south-african-police-car

https://www.legit.ng/1213194-south-african-man-hendrick-chebanga-wows-social-media-handmade-sports-car-photos.html

Ng’ani ng’icho nadi gi wang moner ka ng’a moneno thel nyako mosegombo, same to a woman with male one dude. Be energetic and futuristic not at that point only kinda dude

Buy ticket as in the link below or introduced in every nation where their aint touts, but tickets bought on ya phone with receipt information of the car u want as u see it approaching as they can have wifi to know which at where with seat occupancy to place your bookings or go the city way where not as the mobile payed one, where belongs 4 that buses all but 4 the general 1 away from phone all matatus numbers can be in that gadget as below with WiFi showing location and occupancy to book but this at the end of the day the owner of the van is given her share minus tax to build the city as they can confirm via receipts dropped at the entrance door by the passenger to the driver

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=london+bus+ticketing+images&client=firefox-b-d&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwi1-KOfiJPtAhUwVBUIHa9rDxgQjJkEegQIChAB&biw=1280&bih=882

In the office nowadays it is solved like in the bank, we got reserved seats 4 those who care of the next person who sat on and same with all life concepts as with daily credit pay. U get to that office provided not smelling people recognize and forgo that sit and sit on general seat every1 seats on dude as u care not or love humanity or have been via a lot dude as in the link below

https://www.airarabia.com/en/reserve-your-preferred-seat

https://www.google.com/search?q=whichita+transit+bus+ticket+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiUzeOwipPtAhULShoKHTz0BUoQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=whichita+transit+bus+ticket+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQA1CDd1j_4wFg_-UBaABwAHgAgAHwAogB4jGSAQkwLjEzLjEzLjOYAQCgAQGqAQtnd3Mtd2l6LWltZ8ABAQ&sclient=img&ei=Rr24X5SSDouUabzol9AE&bih=882&biw=1280&client=firefox-b-d

https://www.mobiletransaction.org/us/best-credit-card-reader-for-android/

https://www.123rf.com/photo_142084430_stock-vector-receipt-for-smartphone-screen-pay-tax-online-receipt-business-card-for-mobile-app-design-mobile-bank.html

https://www.equisys.com/blog/reconciling-credit-card-statements

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=smartphone+public+receipt+printing+machine+images&client=firefox-b-d&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwji9_WpnpPtAhWHRhUIHe-WCUMQjJkEegQIChAB&biw=1280&bih=882

The drone control monitor esp 4 the military tiny bomb drones can harbor the battery free technology as goes the touch temperature way, where the next enemy can identify ya if one as their radar can read waves used to direct the drone on air and even locate the tiny drone and overwhelm you, so u can hide your tiny drones on crevices and on top of buildings, when u stop holding the monitor control tool so they know not where u r and vice vice as they can as well have detective mechanism to detect LCD screen and more used within that interface even from drone mounted with the same fly up high, having the detector looking down to even detect ya clothes, blood components and even guns as much as shoes and bombs/bullets, so be ware as u got the same need to have radar sensor to sense the radar as well as they sense yours and their sent drone and if it goes that way ad-infinitum then 1 who listens not needs to be annihilated like the Kikuyus cause if not they will continue that way ad-infinitum not listening. Some times the drone control monitor has a remote as it, itself can fly, when detected to fly it away using the remote by u power off ya remote dude, so not be caught dude

https://www.defenseworld.net/news/25645/Russia_Develops_Radar_to_Detect_Miniature_Drones

https://securityaffairs.co/wordpress/43274/security/black-hornet-military-nano-drone.html

https://web.facebook.com/wichitatransit/?rf=161420490554142&_rdc=1&_rdr

With like the foreign drone detective radars fold the photo into 2 halves and place under like heap of kale in upper tank or on open ground with grass when car tires all round the heap and find anything to chop to make ya radar too, respecting all veggies, fruits, leaves or berries theorem of being placed in sand or in boxes either rotten, raw, cooked or ripe and acid being added to water and all placed in such acid and even fruit seeds and of veggies and even all scrap metal when u have such next dude and boom ya radar and most also made on big tanks like tip of the bottom parts inside soil or on water body shallow shore water or just in pool with low water level maintaining the above protocols dude. The above ticketing reduces hooliganism associated with such people operating the same and with police as witnessed in many African nations dude

They think they will be granted longevity is they mistreat people or if have much kids, the truth is, if resources are slim as per your number, God cant grant u longevity as their will be more people lest your are few in number

Winter drones or cold days drones need not to have the hanging propellers on top as always in the case with many drones, in fact the propeller can be 1 big 1 hidden like with a computer fan to add effectiveness and beauty dude as in the link below

https://www.shutterstock.com/search/cpu+fan

https://www.asme.org/topics-resources/content/handheld-dronut-brings-drones-indoors

https://www.trendhunter.com/trends/nano-tornado

https://www.coolthings.com/sprite-drone/

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/598767712937316126/

https://www.commercialdroneprofessional.com/drone-delivery-canada-confirms-healthcare-focused-agreement-dsv-canada/

Duluth has line of weakness and many in any world big water bodies as even on shore like seas and oceans, deploy military radar watch on such lands as many now have know to make nuclear bombs and can detonate those lands to capsize 4 water to fill the empty voids as valleys as it keeps on moving to kill people all around such low lands and destroy much properties as can be the agenda of many people refusing to get it their lands are poor as compared to a certain point as it got large water down pour in-case the same is done to kill all in such low lands to reduce the population or champion the agendas as said b4 dude

Your smartphone can contain your pulse rate and temperature detector and even of alcohol so that if u have it its know behind ya consent or u knowing to trace ya GPS as where u r dude when the combination gotten as few people have likewise the same dude

Using the step on or sit on panels to generate electric power b4 stepping up the power can use the vacuum flask technology where u place heated water inside or that flask has an automated stopper to let out gas as water boils using a coil placed at the back inside of the flask where such as well is an automated response where if temperature reduces to a certain degree it switches on automatically to some set minutes to heat back the water again to a desired temperature b4 the stopper open up or not to release the air bro as in the links below, USES the very very stima that has being magnified to heat the flask dude, a phenomenon worth noting dude like along time steam engine operated dude

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=big+vacuum+flask+images&client=firefox-b-d&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjEyun3lJPtAhURUxUIHeIQBeYQjJkEegQIChAB&biw=1280&bih=882

https://www.google.com/search?q=amazon+pressure+cookers+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwicveT5lJPtAhVM0RoKHf91CK0Q2-cCegQIABAA&oq=amazon+pressure+cookers+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoGCAAQBxAeOgIIADoECAAQQ1DV7wtYrasMYKqyDGgBcAB4AIAB6QeIAfllkgEPMC4xLjIuMi40LjcuNi4xmAEAoAEBqgELZ3dzLXdpei1pbWfAAQE&sclient=img&ei=W8i4X9yjKsyia__roegK&bih=882&biw=1280&client=firefox-b-d

https://www.amazon.com/Miniature-Voltage-Transformer-Inverter-Generator/dp/B078SWVGXT

https://www.amazon.in/eHUB-0-9V-5V-Converter-Module-Output/dp/B07FXR6T4M/ref=pd_sbs_147_9?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=B07FXR6T4M&pd_rd_r=919ebf4b-6fa3-4d77-b984-2ffe2c0d321e&pd_rd_w=08Td9&pd_rd_wg=dPJOZ&pf_rd_p=758bfbc8-a8f2-4456-bf65-ae5d502eac06&pf_rd_r=APQ5P0DM860BRTPC64V1&psc=1&refRID=APQ5P0DM860BRTPC64V1

https://www.amazon.in/Robotbanao-3-0-40V-1-5-35V-Converter-Multicolour/dp/B07KS4562W/ref=pd_sbs_147_16?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=B07KS4562W&pd_rd_r=919ebf4b-6fa3-4d77-b984-2ffe2c0d321e&pd_rd_w=08Td9&pd_rd_wg=dPJOZ&pf_rd_p=758bfbc8-a8f2-4456-bf65-ae5d502eac06&pf_rd_r=APQ5P0DM860BRTPC64V1&psc=1&refRID=APQ5P0DM860BRTPC64V1

The radar as above detect a bulb inside gas or the heated gas cylinder gas contents as either any such heated when cold air blow lifts the cylinder upwards dude and that's it, so think twice as another day in paradise with you, Kill me kill you philosophy 4 the hooligans if u fathom not the reality and refuse to relent not or subdue to one above ya or ya equal. The Ninja Mind NM dude

Diamond ice made much when few sample brought close to kale in tank placed half way in the ground then u chop wood soaked in cooked cabbage water or more as detailed above or just the folded photo inside glass container or in the banner illuminating all sides as with coin or angle to try with any chop dude and with many cooper wires made when placed closed to kale in same tank as above and that one even in water or in side hole made big basement within the factory house basement as in its walls dude as explained earlier bro. Still fail to see what am doing, thinking its Zero work so still disturb me and wants my food as always and with ya silly investigation. U have not stopped dude with all i have said that we are not equal as my mind super cedes yours as if it were so u could have written the same well a head of me in ya own created a/c b4 announcing it us not saying your r the 1 telling me, yet this i had said b4 and now it years past bro. Stop and live ya own life bro, stop cashing into other men affairs dude. Mr Hindu be warned dude and Kisii arresting me kinda, next time, with my hate 4 ya, not a slap but a bullet will be on ya face and Mr white man on his chest as i escort him to the police post, legs on a lever as i hurl him not calling the corpse to take him or if they relent not to the morgue to confirm the truth they had know a lot past but not yet dude as in the link below, in Kenya people transporting timber on roads to reduce friction and the timber being scratched dude, to affirm my hate 4 ya, you luo blooded of knowing much esp women, without such as above, your land can be overtaken, not wanting to be ahead of men thinking another technology cant crop same as those who knows not how to play PS4 and those who knows how to play the same. Same with Wifi drone, they overwhelm ya not women thing as in the bible even if u r rich, Security fast as they monitor people good in such PS5 or 4 games to annihilated them not us knowing cause can guard the nation and those good in computers even if u love food and women better you than that who eats less and know shit regarding playing such games and with high vision or sight degree to monitor and view the same laid on screen signals as in the in below

https://www.dean.ngo/dean/news/working-education-kenya/

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sirjustice1113 · 3 years

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Bicycle way dude

Tank immersed in stagnant water half way in a tank, when heap in such tanks makes alternator generators dude, like in a dug big quarry u do the boom process next to down water level bro

https://www.cgafrica.com/gallery/typical-south-african-police-car

https://www.legit.ng/1213194-south-african-man-hendrick-chebanga-wows-social-media-handmade-sports-car-photos.html

Ng’ani ng’icho nadi gi wang moner ka ng’a moneno thel nyako mosegombo, same to a woman with male one dude. Be energetic and futuristic not at that point only kinda dude

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=london+bus+ticketing+images&client=firefox-b-d&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwi1-KOfiJPtAhUwVBUIHa9rDxgQjJkEegQIChAB&biw=1280&bih=882

https://www.airarabia.com/en/reserve-your-preferred-seat

https://www.defenseworld.net/news/25645/Russia_Develops_Radar_to_Detect_Miniature_Drones

https://securityaffairs.co/wordpress/43274/security/black-hornet-military-nano-drone.html

https://web.facebook.com/wichitatransit/?rf=161420490554142&_rdc=1&_rdr

https://www.shutterstock.com/search/cpu+fan

https://www.asme.org/topics-resources/content/handheld-dronut-brings-drones-indoors

https://www.trendhunter.com/trends/nano-tornado

https://www.coolthings.com/sprite-drone/

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/598767712937316126/

https://www.commercialdroneprofessional.com/drone-delivery-canada-confirms-healthcare-focused-agreement-dsv-canada/

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=big+vacuum+flask+images&client=firefox-b-d&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjEyun3lJPtAhURUxUIHeIQBeYQjJkEegQIChAB&biw=1280&bih=882

https://www.amazon.com/Miniature-Voltage-Transformer-Inverter-Generator/dp/B078SWVGXT

https://www.dean.ngo/dean/news/working-education-kenya/

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sirjustice1112 · 3 years

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AG generators

Tank immersed in stagnant water half way in a tank, when heap in such tanks makes alternator generators dude, like in a dug big quarry u do the boom process next to down water level bro

https://www.cgafrica.com/gallery/typical-south-african-police-car

https://www.legit.ng/1213194-south-african-man-hendrick-chebanga-wows-social-media-handmade-sports-car-photos.html

Ng’ani ng’icho nadi gi wang moner ka ng’a moneno thel nyako mosegombo, same to a woman with male one dude. Be energetic and futuristic not at that point only kinda dude

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=london+bus+ticketing+images&client=firefox-b-d&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwi1-KOfiJPtAhUwVBUIHa9rDxgQjJkEegQIChAB&biw=1280&bih=882

https://www.airarabia.com/en/reserve-your-preferred-seat

https://www.defenseworld.net/news/25645/Russia_Develops_Radar_to_Detect_Miniature_Drones

https://securityaffairs.co/wordpress/43274/security/black-hornet-military-nano-drone.html

https://web.facebook.com/wichitatransit/?rf=161420490554142&_rdc=1&_rdr

https://www.shutterstock.com/search/cpu+fan

https://www.asme.org/topics-resources/content/handheld-dronut-brings-drones-indoors

https://www.trendhunter.com/trends/nano-tornado

https://www.coolthings.com/sprite-drone/

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/598767712937316126/

https://www.commercialdroneprofessional.com/drone-delivery-canada-confirms-healthcare-focused-agreement-dsv-canada/

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=big+vacuum+flask+images&client=firefox-b-d&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjEyun3lJPtAhURUxUIHeIQBeYQjJkEegQIChAB&biw=1280&bih=882

https://www.amazon.com/Miniature-Voltage-Transformer-Inverter-Generator/dp/B078SWVGXT

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mollykeaneyviscom · 3 years

Photo

Message in a window completed images.

Critical Reflection:

We wanted to create a message that was relevant to the current coronavirus situation but without being too controversial or abrasive. The message we decided on was ‘2021 might be better?’. We chose this as our message because it is something that has been talked about consistently throughout the coronavirus crisis. The idea that by 2021 thing will be back to normal has become a far less realistic possibility as the year has gone on, especially with the second wave and the possibility of a second lockdown, the hope of this idea has definitely slipped away. However earlier in the year you would always here people say things like “why cant it just be 2021 already” or “I’m over this year can we just skip to next year” as if on new years a magical switch would be flipped and everything would just go back to normal, which is obviously not the case but its like thats what everyone thought. I find the idea of people trying to put a timeline or expiration date on something humanity cannot control, like a global pandemic, very interesting and I would definitely consider exploring it further. It poses the question is it a coping mechanism or simply arrogance of the human race thinking we have any control? So overall with our message the question mark makes it less of a statement and more of a maybe, showing the reality of this idea fading but that the hope is still there, making the viewer think and question the statement.

Another way to view this message is in terms of the debate after this year and the pandemic is over will things go back to the way they were before or will they improve? After going through so much tragedy and such unprecedented times how will we react. Many people see this as an opportunity to improve and tackle so many issues in society, such as environmental and racial issues, especially with the black lives matter movement and the obvious effect the global lockdown had on the environment. I hope our message is successful in making the viewer consider this.

What we could've done better:

A few things went wrong along the way as we created this project and because of that our main issue was definitely timing. We realised after the first time we drew and cut the 2021 out of the paper the 2s were the wrong way around so I then had to redo them. The new twos then ended up being bigger than the zero and the one and while it was easy for us to redo the one, we didn't have enough paper left over to make another zero, therefore the zero ended up being smaller than the other numbers which really just doesn't look good at all. The main problem with our message is that we ran out of time and weren't able to add the question mark. This is a problem not only cause the piece is incomplete but also because it alters the meaning of our message. Another time related issue we had was we originally planned on adding shadows around the letters using white tape, this was definitely an ambitious idea considering the time frame so we were aware it was unlikely we would be able to do so, but if we had I feel like it would've a-lot more depth to the design. Lastly the fact that the sticky side of the tape was what was visible from the outside wasn't ideal, obviously we had no control over this but the sticky side was much lighter in colour and not as bold as the other side effecting our intended colour scheme and making our massage less bold. We chose a blue and white colour scheme originally as its the colours associated with face masks and the nhs.

If I were to do this task again I think I would pick a shorter simpler message as not to over complicate things and so it would be more achievable in the time frame. This way I would be able to focus more on the design and not just writing the message itself. I would also probably just work with tape because while I prefer the look of the paper it was more difficult and time consuming to work with.

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catgirldirk · 5 years

Text

i have never, and will never, have any sympathy towards br* apologizers. @ all of you fans who create br* content and talk about how he deserves good in his life, or comfort, or whatever the fuck, you are apart of the problem. i dont know how to tell you that you should care about victims of abuse more than their abusers, man! like, c’mon!

br* CANONICALLY physically, emotionally, and sexually abused dave (although it can be argued that the only canon evidence points towards the physical part). dave suffered for years under his care, and even longer after that! dave has talked about his trauma and abuse and you all seem to just ignore that because, what? br* is hot? or??? i literally cant even come up with reasons to like him right now!

and, like, dont get me wrong, homestuck fans who like br* arent the only ones contributing to the normalization of child abuse. its a problem that goes beyond just media and its consumption, it goes beyond homestuck, beyond this fandom, the br* fans. but, man, you have to understand that it is people like br* apologists who are apart of the problem. i dont have the damn energy to really get into it, especially because im trusting the majority of you are smart enough to understand how fiction effects reality, but, bro... dude. my man, homie. come on.

literally how fucking braindead do you have to be to find an abuser sexy. how completely detached from reality do you have to be to think that a child abuser with no chance for redemption, ever, is a good person. this isnt even a “pro8lematic fave” thing, because you cant even argue that br* is a good character or “deserved better”. at least with vriska, shes a well written character and has redeeming qualities. at least with gamzee you can say that he was mind controlled, and you can say that he deserved better because h*ssie was just demonizing psychosis with him. at least with eridan he has some sympathetic qualities and he probably has potential to grow as a person. at least with dancestors you can argue that they were completely half assed and youre just reclaiming the characters.

you cant do that with br*. he has zero redeeming qualities. you know what his most prominent trait is? hes a child abuser. he beat his kid, he exposed his kid to things that are sexual in nature, he neglected his kid. his only purpose in the plot was to traumatize dave, so dave could later acknowledge that, and to explain a lot of daves behavior and personality.

and, one more point before i close out this post, dont compare br* to dirk. i shouldnt have to explain how they arent fucking alike. YES, dirk wouldve had the potential to become like him but you know what? he DIDNT, because he has friends that care about him and want to see him do well. he didnt, because the worst things he did happened when he was a teen, and he was able to learn and grow from those mistakes. he didnt, because he grew up in completely different circumstances from br*. never, ever, compare br* to dirk strider, because they arent the fucking same.

tldr; STOP CREATING CONTENT OF BR* STRIDER! ALL YOU ARE DOING IS SHOWING VICTIMS OF CHILD ABUSE THAT YOU DO NOT CARE ABOUT THEM! GROW SOME FUCKING BRAINCELLS, AND THEN MAYBE YOU WILL UNDERSTAND THAT WHAT YOU ARE DOING IS HARMFUL

#im putting this in main tags because fuck you #homestuck #hs #dave strider #dirk strider #bro strider

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diarrheaworldstarhiphop · 6 years

Note

"Approach things pragmatically" bro what white nonsense is this racist white people will always vote against their own self interest. I feel zero sympathy for any of them and the fact that you go so hard to defend them really says a lot about your character and that you're probably fucking racist yourself

racist white people will always vote against their own self interest

What is the self interest you refer to? you mean like, social welfare and conditions that will lift them out of poverty? I’ll assume such

So you are settled that white people can’t be reasoned with because they dont know what’s best for them, let alone the wellbeing for other people. Fair enough. Glancing at perennial white american support for politicians and policies that actively harm them (tax cuts to the rich while no breaks for them along with cuts to programs that support them; corporate funded representatives that embrace globalist policies that destroy local industry, etc etc), that seems pretty much self-evident.

If we can agree that they are unreasonable creatures, then they must at the very least react to emotional stimuli as animals with base instincts. instincts like self-sustenance, safety and comfort. Shit like fear.

So we have the reality of a blue and red option, DNC or GOP. The GOP is actively harmful to them, but they cater to and pander to that fear, that need for safety, validation of their pain and comfort. The white creatures look around, and see the blue side only has classist contempt for them, but sees that the red side says they care, so even the most rational of the simple, emotional creatures looks at the two options and decides appropriately. That is how the GOP exploits them, getting a class of people who historically are predisposed to supporting collectivism and socialism to work against those very efforts.

Now, what if the DNC were to, wait for it, maintain it’s values and policies you find agreeable, but pander to those same emotional needs of the white creatures, tricking them into supporting the left (who actually wants to help them!) as well as other people beside them?

Maybe the DNC doesnt need to trick or lie to the white creatures, it could actually embrace a left wing vision and say it wants to drop sucking the dicks of the global rich and genuinely fund new industry in these work starved areas. But regardless, the DNC would now be reaching out to support people only conditionally attached to the GOP, undermining their bigoted opponents.

The possibilities for change are endless! And racists get dragged along, kicking and screaming!

I feel zero sympathy for any of them and the fact that you go so hard to defend them really says a lot about your character and that you’re probably fucking racist yourself

I must admit, i have seen the effects of the destitution suffered by these white emotional creatures and can’t help but feel empathy for them in spite of the reality that some among them sadly project their misery onto other suffering people for no good reason.

A person absolutely shouldn’t have to feel the obligation to sympathize with people who believe you are subhuman.

Yet, the sad reality of politics is that it impossible to affect without committing to dialog that must entertain and engage with caustic opinion rife with subterfuge. Especially in a republic reliant on democratic process dominated by people who inherently cant empathize or experience the distinct nature of suffering endured by you is that you can’t solely rely on appealing to or criticizing their sensibilities, especially if many (if not most) lack an educated insight into that suffering or have their own suffering get in the way of any capacity or willingness to sympathize over their own dire needs. Especially so, when the act is politicized by an ever-evolving array of opponents intent on undermining you as an bloc within a greater political establishment such as big tent parties like the Democrat party, in order to harm the whole.

ideology is toothless without application of strategy and rhetoric. It is possible to press values core to the maintenance and advancement of your quality of life while simultaneously playing to and exploiting weaknesses of the opposition, especially when your opposition is a ideologically diverse coalition as well. There are numerous people who care more about their well being and a secure future for their family than dedication to a party they turn a blind eye towards WRT their detestable supporters and politicians. Occasionally appealing to those base emotional needs for comfort and security is how progressives have gradually teased out change at the expense of conservatives in democratic circuses for years.

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onlyjihoons · 7 years

Text

policeman!jihoon pt.2

a/n; special thanks to bff jupiter @chaeyolks for the pretty pretty moodboard once again,, also! this is a collab w @alliwannado-w1, her installment for woojin is coming up this weekend so do look forward to it^^

policeman!jihoon pt.1//policeman!woojin

warning: slight alcohol mention+slight violence, however characters are written when they are of adult age

“you’re illegal, why are you even a police officer?”

“you’re going to do undercover duty with y/n.”

“again?!”

“unless you want me to–”

“yes sir”

so here he was, groaning at his impeccable luck

he needed to get back at daniel for making him buy that drink LOL

“hello, im inspector park jihoon, please take care of me”

you looked up, being greeted by jihoon, in a light blue button down and ripped jeans

with that lanyard that has his name and picture??

usually staff id pics look like mugshots

but hey his pic deadass looks like a shot of those models for some fashion show

“hello, i’m sergeant y/l/n,” you smiled, sticking out your hand, “i hope we will work well together.”

at that moment jihoon fell for your brown eyes

and dimples when you smile

whatever he said about having zero interest in girls was thrown into the gutter

jihoon was tasked to shadow you for your duties for a month

he was pretty sure he was gonna get sacked for falling for his superior LOL

anyways

your first day of working with jihoon was nothing big, just typing out some reports

it was a little weird because an inspector from the violent crimes department in a street crimes(idk what its called pls forgive me) department? typing out reports of a lost puppy??

anyhow your female colleagues from the other departments will ever more often drop by your desk just to see jihoon

it was getting annoying how theyre actually paying more attention to jihoon

so you asked minhyun to dispatch you for more undercover duties LOL

“i thought you loved writing reports”

“not until the female sergeants from other departments come to my desk to see inspector park??”

“are you jealous?”

ngl you were but you arent gonna let it show

especially in front of minhyun

he would f l i p

“try having 3 colleagues flocking to your table every 2 hours to see your co-worker instead of talking to you, and also distracting you from doing work.”

“fine”

undercover was boring, you would normally drag sergeant!baejin along with you

but this time he wanted to stay in the office because he doesnt want to be the “third wheel”

you and jihoon would go to the same club everyday to do undercover duties

and the both of you manage to bust some sleazy dudes

since the whole thing was already under control the both of you soon don’t need to go to the club

and actually do night patrols

it was fun, because jihoon would entertain you by pulling funny faces and treat you to ice cream

contrary to your expectations, jihoon was actually quite nice to be around with

but then something in your mind went off about him

you remembered the fuckboy senior that played with girls’ hearts in high school

it was jihoon

you were well aware that you were a position above him despite the 2 year age gap

but you couldn’t let yourself fall for someone who breaks hearts

so you decided to build a invisible wall of friendship to prevent yourself from falling for him

i mean how couldn’t you,, he was good looking, good at his work, and had a faint protective vibe which you liked

like whenever you were feeling only a little chilly at the cool breeze jihoon would not hesitate to drape his jacket over you

and also let you walk on the inside of the pavement

besides, minhyun would fall off his chair at the thought of his sister dating someone from the violent crimes department

but that didn’t stop you from having fun

the both of you would sit at swings and play at the slides

there was once jihoon was stuck at one of the slides and you had to help him LOL

but ended up pulling out one of his Stan Smiths and nearly called the fire brigade

day by day, the both of you got closer

and you told jihoon not to call you “sergeant hwang” bc that sounds rlly formal

one day the both of you were just talking about random stuff and you mentioned that you wanted to pick up martial arts

“i can teach you if you want!^^”

“really? what martial arts do you do?”

“i have a six-don black belt in taekwondo, i do teach little kids in my spare time as well”

so here you are, standing at the back of jihoon’s taekwondo class

you felt very over-aged learning taekwondo with a bunch of white-belt kids

but they were really good, and jihoon told the kids you were his assistant for the time being

yeah, assistant with a white belt

and just saying, jihoon looked rlly rlly hot in that taekwondo uniform

with slightly sweaty bangs and all

when he just stands aside for the kids to practice and adjusts his belt

bOI

ok moving on

you learnt some basic moves and jihoon barely needed to coach you to get them right

so all those years of fighting with minhyun was worthwhile

jihoon would shift you up to a yellow belt in two weeks because you were that good

so one day your eyes obviously wasn’t doing you good

you kept messing up the sequence throughout the lesson, maybe your condition wasn’t good

jihoon could see it and asked you to rest for a while

after the lesson ended, you took your street clothes and accidentally walked into the men’s changing room

and you walked into a topless jihoon

luckily, he was the only one inside

you could see his toned abs, and defined arms

not to mention that killer jawline

and in taekwondo pants????

jihoon noticed you staring slightly and then fumbled to find his taekwondo robe

and you noticed you were in the wrong changing room

“oh shit im so sorry i--i”

just as you were about to get out of the changing room jihoon blocked the door

without his robe

“y/n, did you enter the wrong changing room to see,,,”

“see?”

he pointed to his abs, “this?”

you could only laugh, “i would never do that, i can easily see them on the internet”

he raised his eyebrows, “so you watch porn?”

“no??” you rolled your eyes, offended, “do you think i’m that kind of person, inspector park?”

“n-no--”

“i’m sorry i’m not like those girls you played with back in high school, i’m not after your body--”

“you’re driving me crazy, y/n”

“what?”

“your eyes, your nose, your lips, drive me crazy.” jihoon stared right into your eyes, making you blush

“hey inspector park--”

“why don’t you call me ‘jihoon oppa’ anymore? is our relationship strictly work-related now?”

“i just...” you sighed how something small could escalate to something big like this, “i like you, jihoon-oppa”

you slightly cringed but you continued,

“but we cant do this. minhyun will get mad, and there goes my job.”

“b-but--”

“sorry, inspector park, i’d have to go.”

you pushed jihoon aside weakly, then going out and into the ladies’ changing room

you felt hot tears trickling down your face, in reality, you just didn’t want your heart to be broken

the next day, you and jihoon went to work like a normal day

just, no patrolling and writing of reports the whole day

the office could sense a tension between the both of you, even your female colleagues stopped coming over

“hey y/n,” baejin stopped by your table and handed over a file, “you gotta go undercover again for that club, the perverts are striking again.”

“again?” you sighed, “okay i’ll go.”

“do you need me to go with you?” baejin leaned against your desk, “ you seem, off, today”

“i-”

“i will go with her, sergeant bae.” jihoon spoke, “it’s my last day here anyway.”

so fast, a month has passed, you thought.

“thanks inspector park. i’ll get going then.”

you skipped dinner, all you did was to write reports continuously throughout the day

until jihoon slammed your laptop shut, and stared straight into your eyes

“we need to go now, sergeant hwang.” his lips stretched into a straight line.

you unwillingly got up from your seat, as you shrugged on your coat and headed out to the carpark to wait for jihoon

the car ride was quiet, with you staring out of the window, not talking to jihoon

though it was jihoon’s last day, and you were sorry he had to spend his last day like that

you had to stop yourself

though the club was playing upbeat music, all you could do was to stare into blank space

just then, some sleazy dude came up to you

“can i buy this pretty lady a drink?” he winked

“no thanks, im with someone else--”

“ey, that someone else can wait.”

“i really do have someone--”

“i said i will get you a drink alright?!” the man’s rogueish smile appeared, grabbing your wrist, “i know you’re here to do undercover duties, sergeant hwang--”

just then, a fist was sent flying to the man’s cheek, as he stumbled backwards

you saw an angry jihoon, his face was red with anger

“if you ever touch sergeant hwang again, you’ll end up in the hospital.” jihoon growled.

“wow, sergeant, i didn’t know you were into flowery pretty boys like--”

jihoon sent another punch across the man’s face, making him fall to the ground

you had to physically stop jihoon from hitting that sleazy dude, or it would’ve turned into a full fight

“jihoon-oppa,” you held his arm, which weakened at your touch, “let’s stop, minhyun wouldn’t be happy if he saw this.”

jihoon scoffed, putting the dude in handcuffs

“you’re under arrest for sexual harrassment, you have a right to remain silent, unless with witness that will support your innocence.”

after that dude was thrown into jail, jihoon immediately hugged you

“are you okay?” he then took a step back to analyse your frame, “he didn’t hurt you, right? i was so--”

you then cut jihoon off with a kiss, shutting him up effectively.

jihoon kissed you back with more assertion, to make up for the time he didn’t get to talk to you throughout the day

“what was that, y/n?” jihoon smiled, ruffling your hair

“don’t tell minhyun about this”

boyfriend!jihoon in the police station is super sweet, leaving you a sandwich for breakfast, then dragging you out for lunch

minhyun soon found out about it, “i knew the both of you had something going on”

and jihoon wasn’t the asshole you expected him to be

he only had eyes for you, and it was really endearing

the both of you would go on night walks, and then sitting on the swing set, talking about random things

overall, the sweetest crime-busting couple in Gangnam Police Station

“I don’t know how you became a police officer, your looks are illegal, you’re my illegirl”

lowkey stole that from dimple by bts sorry im lame i hope you guys enjoyed this as much as i liked writing this,,my request box is always open, so do send in requests!

#park jihoon #hwang minhyun #wanna one #wanna one scenarios #produce 101 season 2 #produce 101 scenarios #park jihoon scenarios #Fluffy writes #collab: policeman!wna1

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cheezlogerratum · 6 years

Text

A Persuasive Essay

☼

The two duos of half-plastic half-rubber wheels have remained, for the past thirty seconds or so, at rest. Kurtis Spottiswoode, preferably to him Kurt, the owner of the pack, has been repeatedly, over and over, scanning a sign off to the side of the asphalt path. In yellow, it's been telling him:

ATHLETIC EVENT

... with an appropriate arrow pointing to the left. Still, in that same spot, he stands. He can't necessarily tell whether he's trying to understand something he's missing or if he's just spacing out, knowingly looking like a moron, but too afraid to break out of what he believes is a commitment. Even still. Eventually, Mr. Spottiswoode catches onto the fact that the sun has long been set and that there are no "ATHLETIC EVENT"'s in session at this time. His feet succumb to the decline and start stepping across into the parking garage wondering if the sign was placed for a past "ATHLETIC EVENT" or a future one? This is all he seems to think about in the structure, the halides buzzing above and the rumble of the little wheels on his backpack don't even register in his mind. He unlocks and enters his used Camry automatically and realizes he's driving, somehow unable to shake the image burned into his eyes or maybe his head:

ATHLETIC EVENT

←

Mr. Spottiswoode arrived at his apartment complex at around 9:23pm, around a minute or two later than he usually remembers, and follows the rut path up to his apartment on the second floor. The residents on the first were shrieking, almost with no words, but it soon shifted into laughter and niceties he couldn't quite make out. He went to the bathroom, where he unzipped and went about his business looking at himself blankly in the mirror mysteriously installed right above, maybe a little crooked, the toilet. Kurt had small beady eyes and a large forehead mapped out by rows of remnants of brow folds and a receding hairline, brown and faint. The rest of his torso was adorned by a sport coat and a wrinkly plaid shirt, the rest is invisible. It was a lingering revelation in Mr. Spottiswoode's mind that he was wasting away, not really doing much, but he never wanted to address it head on in fear of possible sadness... but, as he undresses getting ready for bed, he wasn't feeling much now? Just sort of following what he'd always been doing and doing at as succinctly as he can, probably to occupy his mind from that "possible sadness".

☼

Kurt was traversing through the input and output population of students in flux all around him, talking into headphones and trading glances back and forth, when he realized—the sign was still up! "ATHLETIC EVENT". He felt a minuscule rush inside of him, slightly increasing the speed of his pace, and making him aware of his breath, of his life. He looked around with his head at anything and everything of interest, impulsively, excited. ECSTATIC! He thought he might be forcing this adrenaline onto himself, but he told himself to shut up. Shut up! He was loving it, and would remain loving it all the way to class, his wheels rumbling at a higher pitch.

Höffus Hall, room 488, was unlocked, dark, cold, and alone for the past thirteen hours or so. Mr. Spottiswoode, with his newfound motivation to live, flicked on the lights and plopped his computer bag onto the table offset at the front of class. He thought of himself as a bearer of life to the once dead or perhaps unborn room, mentally patting himself on the back as students came in at different intervals of time and frequency, totally unaware of their professor's enthusiasm. He unzipped his bag and brought out his old Dell laptop, gray and void of any personal touch. He logged in and fired up Microsoft Outlook, twiddling his fingers as more students populated the room. Outlook revealed itself, updated its folders, and notified the user of an "important message" he received. WOW! Kurt clicked the alert and he was brought to an e-mail sent by an unfamiliar address containing the following:

dear professor,

ive been thinking about alot of things like the paper we were made to write a few weeks ago. i know i haven't finished it and i bet its too late to turn it in now for any grade and i know im failing the class, but i cant fail this class and i think this paper is the only thing that will save me. i hope you understand. ill have the essay done by the start of class on thursday but if you dont accept it or give me a high enough grade to pass the class im going to kill you. i dont want to kill you but i also dont want to fail. i hope you understand.

best, your student

Kurt Spottiswoode read the message over a few more times, just to make sure, again, not knowing what he was feeling, but whatever it was it wasn't exciting. Before he even had the chance to reply, or give the message a sixth reading, or to think about what the hell, just what the hell he was going to do? he looked at the clock in the bottom right and saw it change from 11:13 AM to 11:14 AM right before his eyes, four minutes late. He looked up with a buzzy sharp air behind his eyes, at a loss of what to even do. What to say? Most importantly, WHAT?

"Uhhh," Spottiswoode emitted, "who was it that sent me an e-mail this morning?"

Blank. The look on the students' faces suggested that he had said absolutely nothing. Instead of reading the students for any kind of response, he started to read for any clues, any telling thing coming from any of their persons that might inform him of the presence of a possible murderous psychopath enrolled in his class. There were only 19 students on the registrar but only, after doing the math with his eyeballs for a few seconds, 11 students present. Both the fear of the anonymous student's absence and the regret of not making attendance mandatory via a sign-in sheet and a significant percentage allotted to "Attendance" in the final grade struck him like headlights he wasn't aware he was invading the path of. He quietly surveyed those present in class and what he knew of them. To his knowledge, only 3 students were failing the class, and one of them, Mehi Georgensen, was present, but he knew for a fact she turned in the last assignment. The prompt, by the way, was to write a persuasive essay supporting their opinion on the scientific studies surrounding the spike in American crime rates in the 1970s and 1980s and how experts believe that the trace amounts of lead found in gasoline sold during this time is directly related to the uptick in violence and aggression in people who are exposed to automobiles on a regular basis if not daily. Mehi's essay was roughly 85% blockquotes, 5% topic and concluding sentences, and another 10% dedicated to an enlarged, pixelated image of a red, turned dark gray by the printer, gasoline jug. No, Kurt thought, it can't be her. The other two names failing the class were Eloy Hewitt and Harold Skouras III, both with zeros in the gradebook, but that's all they were to Mr. Spottiswoode. He tried forcing himself to remember who these boys were, what they looked like, who the sick culprit could be. He started to sweat and realized so when a droplet fell from his nose and onto his knuckle belonging to his right hand cupping his mouth out of a side effect of vigorous thought, if you could even call it that. It was now 11:19 AM and Kurt stood back up, hands at his side, eyes open, looking again trying to recognize anyone. He knew who some of the kids were but couldn't remember others because of, what he thought was, a lack of in-class participation. He did, however, recognize Kevin, hands clasped together resting on the table up front, good posture, beaming at Mr. Spottiswoode. Kevin, politely responding to Kurt's gaze, cracked open a smile, unimaginably ready to learn. What a good egg Kurt thought, and looking at this kid, this bright and utterly innocent young man smiling undoubtedly at him, his spirits were lifted by a fraction of security, but that was enough. Kurt breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, clearing his throat, coughing, and began the day's belated lesson.

Sitting in his assigned corner of office room number 528, populated by a desk, a shelf, a disconnected phone with the cord bunched up, various handbooks on MLA, APA, and Chicago format, yesterday's ¾ eaten Subway sandwich, a stack of filled manila folders, a photo of Bruce Springsteen printed out on an 8.5 x 11 inch sheet of paper taped to the wall, and a lamp—Mr. Spottiswoode sat leaned back in his office chair borrowed from the downstairs supply closet, staring, arms crossed, eyes serious, at his computer screen. The e-mail shone through the screen, he couldn't stop thinking. He followed a tangent marveling at the screen itself and its thousands of little pixels made by three columns, red, blue, green, each flickering at him performing as one chunk of some incomplete illusion, creating the image of something that is anything but. Kurt, at a loss, followed multiple tangents like that, perhaps, in a kind of unconscious fashion, trying to find some external excuse or explanation for all this. Surely, surely, it can't be real right? It made no sense, absolutely, completely, totally no sense whatsoever, that this array of pixels that have orchestrated themselves in varying degrees of dimness onto his laptop screen could spell out so plainly and absent of reality his own eventual fate. Well, it doesn't have to come true, does it? Kurt Spottiswoode couldn't believe that he didn't just think of giving in and offering the perp the grade he so desired. Yes. Yes! That was it! He didn't even take into account the circumstance of his academic honor, he had his life! Once again, "LIFE!" He was up, his fists were in the air, his legs were spread apart, and his breathing had escalated into a pant. Yu Quoque, or Professor Quoque as she vehemently prefers, in the opposite corner saw him and witnessing this side of Kurt she had never seen before, she stared, on the phone, mouth slightly agape.

"Where are you," over the phone, "what was...?"

"Nothing," Yu whispered, "just work."

☼

It was Wednesday, the next day, game day! Kurt missed whatever athletic event that happened the day before due to the fact that he was fearing for his life, but now, having found out what to do about the whole situation, he decided to treat himself to a nice, relaxing, athletic event, which happens to be a weeklong championship. Mr. Spottiswoode arrived at the makeshift ticket booth, which was a plastic table with a print out of ticket prices taped to the front side and a cheap cash box guarded by two girls, both with one earbud in whatever ear was facing away from each other, and inquired, "Hello! One ticket for the athletic event and please!"

"Eight dollars please," the girls in unison, almost in harmony.

Kurt immediately took to his various pockets in his coat, pants, and satchel, where he finally found a dilapidated ten-dollar bill with a frowny face drawn on Hamilton's face. The girl on the right snatched it, the girl on the left gave him the ticket, and the girl on the right gave him one dollar in change, but he was so ecstatic and overwhelmed by the butterflies in his stomach that he didn't even realize. He wobbled right up to the bleachers taking it all in, smiling, just like Kevin, and started down the steps. The sun was blaring but the air was freezing, a paradox Kurt pondered on fairly often before, but not today, game day! He found a nice spot just above half way down and sat down next to an incredibly buff guy with, who Kurt assumed was, the man's son wearing a black hoodie and buggy glasses. "Isn't this just great," Kurt broke the ice, "this is just... agh! It! You know?"

"I don't."

"What's your name?"

"... I'm Kurt! Err, Professor Kurt to you though, haha!"

"Goodbye Kurt."

And the big man got up, even more ginormous than he... holy shit—walked down the bleachers, stomping between other attendees and their picnics, to another spot. Kurt stared a while at the man and thought of his nerve, how someone can be so mean and... rude? but he caught himself in the act of negativity and tried to snap out of it, clamping his eyes shut as a reset mechanism of sorts. Upon opening them, he saw the faded green field, but the longer he looked, the more green it got. He started getting the hang of it and tried it on the trees, the bleachers, and even the jumbo man. The spark of an auxiliary cord boomed through the stadium and was shortly followed by T.I.'s "Bring Em Out" featuring Jay Z. "BRING EM OUT BRING EM OUT" The players jogged onto the field and started warming up, running around preset patterns of cones over and over. Just beneath the song blaring throughout the entire area, echoing off the apartments just next door, Kurt heard a voice, "What's today." Kurt felt it to his left and realized the voice was coming from the kid in the hoodie, still sitting where he first saw him.

"Wednesday?"

"And tomorrow?"

"... Thursday."

The kid hadn't even turned his head to Kurt, in fact, Kurt hadn't even seen the kids' lips, only his eyes bulging out of the edge of his hood. "I need you to proofread something for me," the glasses said.

"Do I know you?" Kurt inquired.

"It's important, it's my life's work."

"I can give you my office hou-"

"I feel twisty, I can't move correctly... I'd appreciate this greatly."

"... Ha ha, come on now, let's just enjoy the game?"

"It's only if I express what I mean and get my point across in a certain perfect way and if I have a clear thesis and purpose to the essay and I make myself believable to the reader that I will get an A."

"... Harold?"

"I just need a professional opinion."

"Eloy!?"

"It's not done yet I'm sorry."

And the glasses dropped 8 loose sheets of what Kurt can already make out as a poorly formatted essay and strode his way up the bleachers as swiftly as possible. The sheets were lifted by the wind and flew up down left right forward back, all directly away from Mr. Spottiswoode. Kurt scrambled to follow all of the sheets at once while the image of that hood and those lenses and his voice seared into his mind, playing in a loop, all floating in a superposition playing at the same time, over and over and over again. Kurt caught one of the pages, repeating, "one, one" and so on in his head, adding to the jumble, now worried, now realizing, all at once, that death was way too near. "Two, two two two" but what? He felt silly again, remembering he had a plan, a master one you could call it, but he still felt petrified, sad, wasting away, stumbling over people at an athletic event reaching desperately for pages of an essay a kid is threatening his life over. He lost track of all the remaining pages, looked around, drenched, and saw a page in the middle of the field. He ran down the steps, head bobbing, eyes on the sheet, feeling utterly lightheaded, and sprinted into the field, tunnelvisioned, and bonked heads with a girl swerving out of a row of cones. The audience's collective shocked, "Ooooohh" and a girl nearby's inhaling hissing sound of pain only made everything worse, and he felt like a kid. Mr. Spottiswoode reluctantly opened his eyes and looked at the girl rubbing her head and only thought of himself, how he looked, how people must think of him now, and, somewhat noticing, his stomach sunk. He tried, "I didn't... I'm sorry I'm sorry," under his breath. He grabbed the piece of paper, now grass stained, and made his way up the stairs, eyes down, only wanting to leave, only wanting to go home, and as the girl got up, ready to rumble, the audience broke out in applause.

←

Kurt couldn't even look at Sally Pilckner and her glasses without shuttering somewhat, or feeling some sharp sweat incoming, so for the remainder of her presentation, he looked down at her converse pretending to be following along when really, truly, he's completely lost. He had already taken attendance to no avail, had sort of thumbed through the essay, but hasn't been able to read it, not even knowing if he should or not. So here he is, Kurt, sat, in the back of a classroom, looking at shoes and contemplating his chances of life or death. The ginormous mega man played in his head over and over, torturing himself somehow just for fun, relatively. "Observe," he remembered "Listen, yes!" So he tried, forcing his brain to latch onto everything happening in the room, which—well, he didn't know—wasn't working. He attempted to consciously meditate on the PowerPoint slide stricken on the pull down screen, bleeding off to the edges onto the whiteboard, infuriatingly so, and thought about the words without reading them:

HUMANOID.

CORN.

BC.

And he just thought, tried to imagine. He pictured a humanoid in his head and saw wiggles and a form blinking, on and off. The harder he tried the faster it disappeared. Okay uhh, the corn! He saw a kernel, a nugget, perfectly formed, so well imagined he was impressed with himself. Mr. Spottiswoode sat with that little kernel suspended in his mind, projecting it in front of his eyes, over the words, bouncing it around the room, putting it over Sally's face. "UuuaAAAGGHHHCHOOOO!!"

"Bless you," in unison, harmonious monotone.

Kurt, looking at the culprit's face a bit too long finally realized the kernel had been erased from his mind. The panic struck him and the sweat kicked back in, trying and trying, squinting and bubbling his mouth. Mr. Spottiswoode needed a plan B, so he remembered:

BC.

Okay, this can do. He chugged into his noggin the image of rocks... rocks? And monkeys, for some reason, a wheel? He was doing his best, breathing in and out. "Knowing what uh... how corn was the main commodity in indigenous cultures, what would the world look like right now if we used corn for money?" Dead flat silence, but Sally didn't seem to mind. The class willingly sat in the hoisted dead noise of the room, adding to it every millisecond, everyone thinking someone else will talk, they have to, why aren't they? Why is everyone doing this? And Pilckner, Sally stood face to face to the excruciating silence, swaying, hands clasped behind her back, sniffling, heard a cough, grounding the silence to the utmost potency of bad participation skills. Kurt felt himself walking but didn't remember doing so, and somehow decided to stop right beside Sally, too close, she steps back, and those monkeys are still in his mind, swinging and hooting until they come across a kernel, a big one, glowing in the shattered sun shooting through the tall grass, or the banana leaves, either or? staring at this weird yellow coconut. It's here that they stop moving, their personalities and characteristics put on hold, freeze framed, with the class waiting and peeking under the rim of the table trying to be sneaky superimposed atop the scene before Christ, now at the same time, both immobile, not moving, freeze framed and dead. Kurt stood there until the clock struck 11:58 AM, close enough, and the irresistible sound of ruffling papers and backpack zippers filled the room, sparking some kind of Pavlovian response in the students telling them, "it's time to go", which was probably for the best.

Kurt Spottiswoode decided to keep on driving tonight, not a clear decision but merely allowing himself to do so. Millbrae now, by the BART station, the monumental Chase Bank shining blue up the columns, credit card slots blinking and egging him on, that Peter's Café across the street, still open, still not much business... but boy, oh boy... Kurt took a leap of faith and pulled an illegal U-turn across the yellow line, the toast in his sights. He parked haphazardly and sat for a minute or two, looking at the fog grow on his windows, and waited for it to completely shell his car. He was now encased, in his own little world he thought, free of anything and everything except him and the essay, now sort of dead within the new realm of his. It was only paper, just neatly formed, digitally stamped stains of ink on a page, saying nothing in particular. He wanted to marinate in this, get the feeling then go, and he went. The wet chill struck him as he left the stratosphere he created, and, with the essay in hand, walked into the snoozy joint.

A song he couldn't recognize right away was wrapping itself up, and right when he thought he knew the song, "HI welcome to Pete's Café!" She popped up from right behind the circular bar, knowing he was going to be there somehow. She slapped down the menu, the cocktail menu, and a freshly laminated dessert menu. "Freshly laminated!"

"Yep," Kurt sniffed the menu, "That's fresh for sure, hahahaha!" laughing more for himself than her.

"What can I start you off with tonight?"

"Just toast, please."

"Sweetie, just toast?"

"Yep just toast."

The look on her face spelled imminent harm, then immediately transformed into unconditional hospitality. "Vikas! Toast! Sure thing sweetie," snatching the menus in one swoop.

"Thanks uhh," trying to read her name tag but only caught a V.

He looked around the place, at the lighting hung in trios across the sloped ceiling, the booths hidden by CLINK... Kurt looked down and saw a plastic tumbler, blue and chipped, filled with water and weak ice cubes, but no V in sight. Noticing this, he noticed everything, which wasn't much, just a diner open for business, no patrons. He sat tapping his fingers in a kind of rhythm when "Is That All There Is?" by Peggy Lee jumps on the overhead speakers.

I remember when I was a very little girl, our house caught on fire I'll never forget the look on my father's face as he gathered me up in his arms and raced through the burning building out to the pavement I stood there shivering in my pajamas and watched the whole world go up in flames And when it was all over I said to myself, is that all there is to a fire

Is that all there is, is that all there is If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep dancing...

Once that chorus kicked in he was humming along, eyes closed and drinking out of the mini cup. He opened his eyes and there before him was the essay, off to the side, right where he left it. He was lost in looking, only thinking about reading it, telling himself he wasn't afraid, and then the glasses appeared again, knowing that they belonged to the student, that the student typed this and printed it out, touched it, the net total of his movements to that moment of delivery resulted in the crimps and creases in the pages, the same on every page, again and again.

Let's break out the booze and have a ball If that's all there is...

His hand shot out at the pages and smacked them once, not knowing what to expect, just a release? Kurt looked up and saw V staring at him before she broke out into strides in his direction. He grabbed the paper and started reading it vigorously.

professor Spottiwoods

Rough Draft

Pedagogyy is the study of how tot each a class in school, anywehere, like elementary school or college. I have been in school for almost all of my life and I feel like I have a big say in how I should be taught in school. There has been much discusssion on what progressive pedagogy might look like, but it has always been discussed and taught in regressive pedagogical systems, which is something liek a paradox isn;t it? we seem to think education is the greatest good, it keeps us young, that's what Aristotle thought, but these systems are old, the teachers are old, and theyf ail to realize that they they are only apart of an institu

"SPOTTISWOODE?" Kurt froze in the middle of that word he knew was going to be 'institution', maybe spelled wrong, but couldn't help but feel several shots of adrenaline pumping through his body, his heart trying to compensate. "PROFESSOR SUPERWOOD IN THE FLESH!!"

Mr. Spottiswoode craned his shoulders around to see Zip Baltgalvis—he thinks? —and can only widen his eyes. Zip skips over to Kurt's seat lugging what might be three backpacks at full capacity while Kurt creeps back at the paper, wide eyed, blank, stuck on the same word. Zip spins into the seat next to Kurt's and side hugs him, not responding. "Duuude what's good Spurt? ... It's me!" Kurt turns his head, zonked out, to Zip, frozen in a smile with his fingers turned inwards into his chest. "Zip..." Kurt emitted.

"Ziiiff!" exasperated, "Ziff Baltgalvis! Twenty-fourtee-" leaning in closer for the whisper-shout, "Twenty-fourteen man! Duude! You're here!!"

"I'm... here."

"Yes! Yes!"

"Hey where's my toast..." slurring and directed in the direction of unseen employees.

Ziff looked down at the essay through the blonde frizz hanging in front of his face. "State huh? State huuuhh!!? MAN in the flesh! Front and center, late night!! You know, I've been working on things..."

"Things."

"Things mmhm... some futuristic things," nodding slowly almost to hypnotize Kurt.

"What things..."

"I've been thinking about those things, like to help the future out. Man, Kurt, your mind will be buhlown."

"Uhh... toast," again at the ghost place.

"Yeaaah man toast! You're brain'll fry man right on!"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh you just gotta come and see."

"See what Zip?"

A plate of burnt toast lands and swivels down onto the table in front of Kurt, on top of the essay.

"The future man..." nodding.

☼

Kurt Spottiswoode didn't even know he was fast asleep until his own drool cooled by the leather returned to his cheek, sliding his face into consciousness. Wriggling his fingers, cracking them, still on his side, his arm slept along with him. He was awake, but only with his eyeballs. Everything else was testing the waters. Every few seconds the interior would illuminate, sometimes yellow but most times teal-ish, and Kurt was in it and apart of it, an honorary component of the car. Kurt inched his head up off the seat to get a better look at the LED clock up front. It was 12:02, most likely AM. He plopped his head back down, scrunching his mouth to avoid the drool as he tried making sense of the situation he was in. This wasn't his car, he wasn't driving, he wasn't tied up, he was stagnant yet rumbling across asphalt barely any more than two feet from his wet cheek, as the crow flies. Mr. Spottiswoode liked it here, liking the most being able to pretend to be invisible, or to transcend the state everyone thinks you're in, knowing something no one else in the world knows. It was also the quiet of the interior which implied a disappearance of everything outside and anything in the future, just being able to lay... wait... future...

"COCKADOODLEDOO TEACH! Un-conked?"

"Muh... Zip,"

"Hahyeah,"

"Zi-," stuck on a clog in his throat.

"Honest man, be honest,"

"Where are we going?"

"Dude, you remember this!"

"I...?"

"You can think it man, you can access this,"

"Why was I..."

"If you just reaaally think,"

"Is it... Thursday?"

"Unrelated inquiry, unrelated inquiry,"

"Zip come on-"

"Patience is a virtue,"

"This is fuckin-"

"Woah, woah,"

"This is frankly, fucking stupid Zip!"

"WOOOAH WOOAH,"

"I wanna know! Where am I going? Where am I being taken to?"

"I w-"

"ZIP my foot is down it's being put down right now you got to tell me,"

Ziff looked back over his shoulder at Kurt, now up in his seat drenched in sweat, eyes locked and loaded. The light outside illuminates the car in red for a split second, distant honking. Ziff looks back and forth hoping he isn't seeing and hearing correctly.

"I don't like the way you look right now man,"

"Zip,"

"I don't friggin' appreciate those looks man!"

Ziff is nearly done pulling the car over to the side of the road into the grassy overflow of an empty lot next to them once he says this. The back of Ziff's head jerks about, trying to put the car in park while storming out of the car at the same time. "Jesus... ZIP!! ZIP!" Kurt yells at Ziff with the foggy passenger window in the way, trying to unbuckle himself. "ZIIIIIP!!" It was Thursday, it was without a doubt Thursday, and it all came crashing into Mr. Spottiswoode's stomach. Kurt didn't even consciously think these thoughts, but he knew somehow by the way his neurons scrambled to ignite, scrambling together as one, but the buckle is jammed. Kurt sits back and processes the vagueness of himself at this moment, unconsciously looking around, widening his eyes, tuning out everything in order to tune out himself, and the door closes. He looks up and sees the long hair splitting out from Ziff's head. "Zip, where are we,"

"Mr. Spottiswoode, it'd be really sick if you said sorry,"

"I'm sorry, now-"

"For what?"

"For yelling at yo-"

"And?"

Ziff turned his head around to look through the gap under the headrest, eyes worn and wet.

"And."

"..."

"Ziff."

"No, no no, slip of the tongu- er the mind. I'm sorry. My-"

"I really wanted you to see what I made Mr. Spottiswoode,"

"Sure-"

"When I saw you at Pete's tonight I thought that it was like fate, like that dramatic shit... right?"

"Sure yea-"

"I thought 'Hey Kurt's here, I bet he'd like to hang with me' you know? See me..."

"Yeah,"

"I thought you were gonna be like the guy who pretends he didn't make eye contact or something, and I was bummed out Mr. Spottiswoode. You were like the first guy... to uh... like really, you know, get me stoked on learning shit. And you were eating and I knew that it was like that fate happening maybe, like the universe collapsed on itself for that one time right?"

"Sure,"

"Do you get the same emotions too?"

"Maybe, I don't really know,"

"Cause like, the universe likes us...? Like it doesn't stop turning. It's like it keeps wanting us to know something, like..."

And Ziff stopped, seemingly lost in that universe that led him to what he thought was right now, but Kurt, on the other hand, was back on the paper. "Ziff, I need to sleep I'm sorry."

Ziff dug into one of the three backpacks he dropped in front of his front door to fish out the keys. Kurt was keeping his distance considerable out in the middle of a parking lot, by the car. Ziff tumbled the keys into the lock and cracked open the door, creaky to the point of filing a complaint with whatever de facto powers that be. The place was lit by strung lights around every edge, ceiling, doorway, floor, but only out of necessity of upholding the common courtesy to the household. Ziff lifted his arms in introduction of the place, "Uh, you can crash on the couch probably."

Pots and pans brought Kurt back to the waking world, seamlessly too. What amazed Kurt's brain, the first thought in his head this morning, was how shrill these utensils ringing off each other were and how, somehow, that comforted him. He rubbed the sleep off his eyes and got up to mull. He scuffled towards the kitchen a few feet away and stood in the doorway, drawing a blank at the kid with pleasingly messy hair, jammies, bare feet, flipping a piece of bread with a hole in the middle occupied by an egg. The kid felt his presence and gave a half-nod half-smile, what Kurt came to hypothesize as a newly evolved human instinct. Kurt leaned on this doorway, scanning the room for a clock or any other furnishing that might give him a clue of some kind. A group of kids passed by him, recalling, "...ea and his brother was a raccoon in the firs..." and further down the hall a burst of "pffff" and laughter bounced back to him as he tried logging the series of events in his brain. Looking, still standing, invisible again, superposed in this doorway and periodically thrusting his body off enough to fall back onto the wall. A printer fired up in a room somewhere reciting its rhythm of obeying the data it's been fed, music to his ears but merely instinct to itself. But now the printer was approaching...? It was getting louder and louder, its rhythms becoming more complex, fading into Kurt's range of comprehension, but the closer it got the less he knew, the more it wasn't printing anything. Kurt leaned his torso over to peer through the commons area and into the main hallway, footsteps thrown into the mix now too. An upright arrangement of plastic and spinning metal emerged from behind the opening to the room, then a rubber foot inched down onto the wood floor, and the robot was now recognized by Kurt alone. It continued forward, stopped, made minor adjustments to the placement of its feet, and made way straight towards Kurt. His stomach sank and kicked into some kind of action backwards and to his left feeling his way towards some cover of sorts. Kurt crouched behind the side of the fridge, peering out at the rest of the kitchen. The whirring got louder, again, and the robot emerged, again, stopped, repositioned, continued in Kurt's direction. Kurt stayed put this time only because he couldn't think of anything else other than the fact there was a fucking robot walking straight towards him. The robots innards became clearer and clearer as it approached, stopped, repositioned, and reached for the fridge handle, and pulled it, pinching Kurt's fingers. He freaked out for a split second but didn't want to make any sounds in an effort to preserve the invisibility thing that the robot may or may not have seen right through. The door closed and revealed a jug of soylent in the robot's plastic nubs, repositioning away, and inching back out of the kitchen. Kurt stood up and stared at the robot, mouth wide open, sweat flowing, trying to think of its thoughts and what it must be conscious of to do what it does, where it's stored, what it means to it, does it feel what Kurt feels, does it know? A poke arrived on Kurt's left shoulder and he spun around clockwise to whoever it must be, who turned out to be... "Sorry,"

"Nono I'm sorry," Kurt rattled out.

"Just getting the uh," she reached up to the cabinet above Kurt's head, which he dodged as it swung open.

"Woo heheh,"

"Wanna sit?"

"Wuh,"

"Down?"

"Well okay yeah sure heheh,"

And he looked underneath and around himself and settled on sitting on the tile, criss-cross applesauce. "Do you go here?" she asked, eyes on the readymade pancake mix.

"A- me? No I uhhh... I don't, no. I uh don't. Do you?"

"Yes I go here."

"Pretty cool, pretty cool uhmm... for what?"

"Literature, but I'm thinking of changing,"

"To uhh... ?" shrugging, nervously laughing.

"Electrical engineering,"

"And uh, why's that?"

"I'm working on a project of my own right now with a team of people so I sort of just want time to work on it and E.E. offers independent study in their labs so,"

"What's the something?"

"I've been studying the stichomythia of reading common literature. Technically it isn't stichomythia, but it sounds nice to me for some reason and for what I do. So I study that stuff, the ups and down of laughter, contagious at moments and absent the next. Could you read a book or get its sense and flow from the mere knowledge of the progression of chuckles? Or guffaws? What does a 'guffaw' suggest in a story? This depends on the reader, though, which makes my job complicated. There's a flaw in studying and observing these things with people, who read and re-read, the speed increases and decreases, and this warps and distorts the nature of my work, the laughs and chuckles. Me and my team are now looking at developing a system which reads a book at an average pace, its text, and pinpoints or detects the humorous areas to give us a controlled, concise, perfect result of this landscape, the musicality that might be objective to itself and its language that the common subjective emotional someone simply lacks the capability of experiencing. This is what I do,"

Teams? Landscapes, chuckles, this was all he could pick up on knowing the robot was walking around the place with soylent in its hands. He tried to be interested, but his mind was firing on other cylinders and sputtering out in the process. He was looking at the pan, sometimes focusing in on his periphera and the figures wearing mute colors walking in and out and past in silence—but what was silence to him, Kurt Spottiswoode thought, might have been a universal language to them that he was left out of. "What do you think of that?" He forgot.

"Sounds pretty cool to me!" looking for something to catch his attention.

"Do you read?"

"I uh read lots of things every day yep,"

"Enjoy it while you can,"

"Well, you too heh! I'll uh see you around," offering a small wave and some kind of mouth movement he hoped would come off as normal. As he shuffled his way out, she started to mumble and hum the words to a song, loud and proud, making pancakes. He didn't know, he couldn't know if this was just himself projecting, but it sounded like she was humming the words to "Is That All There Is?", pushing himself away now, embarking himself into the house keeping his ears out for the bot. He stepped softly in hopes of the robot not hearing him, and he waddled and peered around and down the halls, doors open, now releasing lots of machine noise, almost every room. He walked up the stairs with his eyes locked on the chandelier which was smothered in webs and dust blocking the way of any light that might be wanting to pass through and offer itself. He was feeling his way upwards, and at the top he saw another commons area with a few couches riddled in no pattern whatsoever, and on one sat the robot, with its soylent in hand. Kurt sleuthed his way by way of his back to the wall down the hallway, soft stepping. "GOOOOOOD MOOORNIIING PALO ALTOOO," Kurt's body scrunched and searched for Ziff's whereabouts, leaning, dodging nothing, and finally finding it, papers and clutter reaching the ceiling and Ziff sitting in it all like a throne with his soylent in hand. "Where ya been buddy?"

"Ziff listen I have a lot of papers to-"

"Next on the program we have none other than English Composition extraordinaire-"

"Ziff,"

"Bonafide rager-maestro and chug champ 2000,"

"Ziff that rob-"

"AND honorary member of the fun boys themselves, Kurt 'Spurt' Spottiswoode!" as he started clapping by himself, clapping rang out from the rest of the second floor. He wheeled himself on his rolly-chair, stood up, and took Kurt by the shoulder leading him back down the hall. "We are utterly stoked to have you on this morning,"

"Heh I-"

"Mup, I'm asking the questions, I'm the teach... what is the future to you?" holding the air-mike up to Kurt's mouth.

"It's soon,"

"Would you say it's now?"

"No cause... now's the present?"

"But the now always changes right?"

"I guess, but-"

"Have you ever seen the future?"

"No,"

Ziff was now jogging over into the commons area, Kurt already knowing what the punchline would be. "Would you-"

"Ziff, I need to go home,"

"I gotta introdu-," taking the soylent out of the robot's hands.

"Ziff. I'm going," backing down the stairs.

"Kuuurt... Dude..."

And everything seemed to fade out, leaving only Kurt's mind reeling in place. He got out onto the street and started following it wherever it went, freezing cold outside. He replayed that robot in his mind a long while and kept zooming in on its soylent trying to find a semblance of a clue that would lead him to some peace of mind, but he couldn't, just stuck in replay. Whatever direction Mr. Spottiswoode was heading in, there were trains.

Kurt was staring while his mind rambled out the window. The train, he thought, was way too quiet, an environment that discouraged the cocoon of isolation he loved putting himself into. The tracks might as well have been non-existent, leaving Kurt the sole pleasure of listening to his own ears, ringing to themselves to avoid insanity, an instinct. For a moment, Kurt believed that the window his head was leaning on was nothing but another screen, extremely high definition, millions of pixels perfectly and spectacularly calibrated to fool passengers of any scenic route that might have been perceived. It had to be a conspiracy against the senses. What if the screen was hiding something grim and evil? Like an unforgivable violation of human's rights? Dwindling shacks, bodies slogging around awaiting their doom—if his eyes were to penetrate this screen, he wondered, maybe his eyes would meet someone else's, and maybe he would see something rapturous and impossible there in the shared misery, if that's what it was, only to witness it being cloaked by the train's comfy encasing, vanishing behind perspective.

The corridors of Höffus Hall, human activity simmering down to bathroom breaks and "bathroom breaks", stood in preparation of fulfilling its intended purpose. Direction, visibility, transportation, criss-cross applesauce. Kurt lunged himself up through the stairwell, leaning into the curves of the railing for momentum, his rolly-backpack skipping on the steps, and jumped at the last step for the 4th floor, expecting another. He nearly jogged down the hallway mouthing, "Thursday Thursday, this," as he exhaled every other step. He kept his eyes on his door, erasing anything else from his perception to maximize efficiency. The door opened and out came, rushing, faceless, a slew of students escaping Room 488, breaking off into different directions, unsure if their rut is scheduled correctly or not. The students walking towards Mr. Spottiswoode passed with no regard, purposeful or not, either being plausible he thought. His legs and tiny wheels kept on chugging, though, traversing the hallway renewed with activity indifferent to its origin. Kurt swung open the door and immediately saw Kevin hunched over, shuffling with something. Mr. Spottiswoode moved into position at the front of class, behind his tabletop podium, faux-mahogany desk, and in front of the broken projector screen hanging askew, whiteboard neglected by former courses teeming with information, and sat down in his plastic mold desk chair, which let out a rubbery whine as he landed. Kevin turned around revealing his backpack, filled with five 2" wide binders and what sounded like a load of pencils Kurt assumed were infused with varying increments of graphite intensity, pooling underneath the organization. Kevin became pale as he met Kurt's eyeballs, both of them caught in the act of something untold, implied. The kid, his face tense and vulnerable, who Kurt couldn't believe was the same one who beamed joyous respect at him every single day of class, a scholarly constant, dislodged the frog in his throat.

"Thank you for the semester Professor Spottiswoode. I wrote you a reflection highlighting how this course improved my ability to critically think about the world and how it presents itself to us and how I can express my personal perception of it through concrete argumentation and healthy sentence structure," digging into one of his binders from the top, sniffling, "I learned that writing a good essay will help you throughout the rest of your life, establishing pathos, logos, and ethos in order to engage the reader is key to allowing anyone to take what you say seriously, perhaps because deep down these elements and rules that go into a well written essay, like relevant topic sentences, presentation of evidence, and analysis of that evidence..." wobbling exasperation, "perhaps these are the fundamentals of life itself and why we love one another and why we make the decisions we make, even our mistakes. It's all one cosmic engaging, insightful, organized essay that we just can't read quite yet," carefully placing the quarter-inch thick packet on the table, "I learned that from you, and it's something I hope to pass onto my children and their children, and I hope to pursue a Master's so I can teach this truth to the next generation of students like you have. This is a part of my essay, I know it and can't control it, I can only proofread it," he picks up and rushes out the door, teary and red-faced, "You're the best teacher ever!" tripping on the door-stop, his sobs bouncing down the hallway in every direction, the most emotional energy this building has ever experienced, undoubtedly seeping into the firmament of the place, dormant and undisturbed, stored in a feedback loop.

The clock nailed into the wall above the doorway rotated into 11:29 AM, followed close behind by the internal clock in Mr. Spottiswoode's laptop, tucked away in sleep mode inside of Kurt's rolly-backpack. Kurt unzipped the biggest pocket and logged into his laptop, Outlook opening on its own, following orders. The inbox updated and there, waiting, was an e-mail from Ziff with the subject line, "vid of my creation!!!! ;D" Kurt Spottiswoode sat and waited, leaving the e-mail unopened, watching the screen, hand curled into a fist at rest supporting his head, eyes forward. Had he been paying attention, he would've heard the uproar of footsteps outside, vague murmuring, screeching chairs and tables in neighboring rooms to the left, right, upstairs, downstairs, the beeping of high-powered turbo-toasters, motorized longboards whizzing by, trucks backing up, something custodial collapsing, honking, keys jangling to each step, someone quietly running late to class, electrical cars humming, mysterious whooping, and a burst of applause amplified by the valley of dorms just outside the classroom window. Both clocks hit 12:00 PM at almost the same time. Kurt dragged his finger across the trackpad to click the refresh button. Nothing. He hit refresh again. Nothing. He hit refresh. Over and over and over.

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New Post has been published on https://magzoso.com/tech/how-to-make-an-app-when-you-cant-code-a-step-by-step-guide/

How to Make an App When You Can't Code (a Step-by-Step Guide)

Got a great idea? Here’s how to make an app that pops in a crowded marketplace.

December 30, 2019 13 min read

Outline: How to Make an App

Refine your idea.

Narrow your audience and test for demand.

Create a minimum viable product (MVP).

Make the first version of your app.

You’ve dreamed up the perfect app idea, but your amount of technical knowledge is slim to none. Now what?

Coding experience isn’t necessarily vital upfront when it comes to making an app, so never fear. “People … essentially use the lack of this technical talent as an excuse to not get started when, in reality, it’s sort of this chicken-and-egg situation,” says Jonathan Greechan, co-founder of and head of marketing for The Founder Institute. “A lot of people think, ‘I can’t start the business until I have the technical founder — I can’t launch it,’ but in reality, you won’t find the technical founder unless you start building out the business.”

Many first-time tech founders think they need to find a team immediately, but in the early stages, the most vital part of your business is the product concept. Consider waiting to bring on a technical co-founder until you have a deep understanding of your market — because that understanding should inform who you want to partner with and the skills you’re looking for.

Your mission when making an app: Prove to the world — and to potential investors and customers — that you’ve got a sound business idea. Though it’s important to show people may eventually be willing to pay money for your app idea, focus more on creating an absolutely essential product for your market rather than generating revenue right out of the gate, says Rob Biederman, co-founder and co-CEO of Catalant Technologies.

Here’s your go-to guide for building out your business idea — from identifying your audience to creating your app.

Narrow your idea, and focus on the problem you’re solving.

Before Nadia Masri, founder and CEO of Perksy, incorporated her company, she dove into researching the consumer insights industry and her target market: the millennial and Gen Z generations. Before you move forward with creating your app, you need to gather key intel, including gauging the strengths and weaknesses of competitive products. Just because you’ve dreamed up something great doesn’t mean someone else hasn’t had the same idea — and had it sooner.

“People … are intimidated to talk about their competition,” says Masri. “Competition is great — it validates a concept. I think there’s a healthy level: Too much competition means the market’s oversaturated; not enough competition might mean that the idea is not that viable.” Of course, take any sweeping generalization with a grain of salt, she says. If you size up the competition and know you can do something differently to provide greater value to your end user, you’ve got a fighting chance. Make sure your potential product or service is something that you yourself need and want, and do an extensive amount of research to validate your app idea.

While you’re narrowing that idea, make your goal to “solve one problem for one customer with one killer feature,” says Greechan. Apps that try to solve a slew of problems often take on too much — either they’re not solving any of the problems especially well, or none of the problems are especially important. Think about what would make you yourself download the app and — this is key — keep it on your phone.

Another way to think about the problem you’re solving: Consider the “customer pain point,” says Biederman. Ask yourself what the app needs to be able to do to satisfy customer pain, then consider the key requirements of that solution — the ones without which it would have zero value. Focus on solving that one problem incredibly well, and once you do that, “customers will end up basically helping you define your product road map,” says Greechan. You’ll receive requests for adding certain features, and you can use them to help chart your way forward in product development.

Related: A Beginner’s Guide to Starting and Marketing an App

Pinpoint your audience, and test for demand.

Let’s say you’ve got 10 business ideas, and you know that the odds are only one of them will be successful. Would you choose one at random and fund it to fruition without doing your research? Or would you try your best to predict which of them is most viable, then put your time, energy and money behind that one? In a hypothetical scenario, it’s easy to say the latter. But once you have a tech business idea, there’s a psychological temptation to put everything behind it and hire developers from the get-go.

“It’s like going to the casino,” says Alexander Cowan, professor of technology management at The University of Virginia’s Darden School of Business. “It’s exciting — you feel like you’re getting a shot at rolling the dice and seeing what happens. But the reality is you’re giving yourself one roll of the dice when you could be giving yourself five, and that’s a big mistake.”

To gauge whether or not you’re making a safe bet, you’ll need to test for demand. The first step: Identify your audience. “‘If you build it, they will come’ … is not reality,” says Greechan. Ask yourself: Who is this app for? You’ll likely need a niche market to start off, even if you want usage to expand to everyone, and a great way to start is a “factual screener,” says Cowan. Let’s say you’re making an app for HVAC technicians who fix air conditioning systems — if you ask a group of them how many they’ve repaired in the past week and they say less than 10, you may have misjudged the need for your service, says Cowan. If you’re hearing different levels of demand from different sources, you likely haven’t narrowed your ideal audience enough.

Related: How to Make Your Mobile App Stand Out in a Crowd

Once you’ve pinpointed a niche audience, you can start investing in it long before your app launches. If you’re creating an app for writers, for example, you could start a Meetup group, host events or even launch a podcast or blog. The aim is to build an interested community. If no one clicks on your posts or displays any interest in the events, that could be an indicator that you’re not on the right track, says Cowan. But if you do see some interest, try to quantify it. One of the easiest and most effective ways to start is by creating a landing page for your app, explaining your goal and collecting email addresses from people who are interested.

Before Biederman launched his marketplace for MBA students, he tested for user demand with a $9 landing page on GoDaddy and asked people to enter their email addresses if interested. He says anyone can do the same on a variety of platforms with $10 to $20, and no coding experience is required. Options include Launchrock (a standard for building “really easy landing pages,” says Greechan) and Carrd. After you’ve built your landing page, get the word out — and pay attention to how many email addresses you collect to gauge interest levels. If you go on to develop your app idea, ping your audience semi-regularly with updates.

Related: Apple Wants to Teach You How to Make Apps

Make it work on the cheap.

“Figure out the absolute cheapest way to have something that works that you can start offering to the target customer,” says Greechan. “In the beginning, you’re really just trying to release the [simplest] product that … solves one customer problem. You don’t need tons of technology to do that.”

Return to the original problem you’re trying to solve for your core audience, and make sure you’re focused in on it. “You want to prove as many things as you can about your end market and their pain and how you can solve it at minimum possible cost,” says Biederman.

Now it’s time to build your minimum viable product (MVP). Although it can be tempting to go all-out on design and features from your long-term vision for the app, this step is about caution and making sure people still want what you’re offering before diving in headfirst. Your MVP is different than your Version 1.0 in that the “whole point of the MVP [is] actually to avoid building actual product if you can,” says Cowan, adding that the latter is expensive and more permanent.

Exhibit A: ZeroCater, an office meal catering company that serves as a liaison between local restaurants and companies, started out as just an email inbox and a manual meal-scheduling spreadsheet. When the company launched in 2009, “it consisted of zero lines of code,” says CEO Ali Sabeti. As the customer base grew, ZeroCater built out its service beyond a spreadsheet and invested in a more advanced website — one that allowed it to match office lunch preferences with hundreds of restaurants and local catering companies, plus keep up with feedback from tens of thousands of employees.

ZeroCater’s MVP was a simple spreadsheet.

Image credit: ZeroCater

If you’re not sold on the idea of DIY-ing your service via an email inbox and a spreadsheet, there are other ways to make an app with no coding required. For a mobile app, consider tools like Thunkable, Appy Pie and AppMachine. If you’ve got your sights set on a web application, try Bubble or Shoutem, and for a marketplace app, consider Sharetribe or Kreezalid. Finally, if you’re building an e-commerce platform, you could launch your MVP on a platform like Shopify.

If you’re able to validate business and potentially even start generating revenue without the app itself, says Greechan, you’ll be approaching people with the tech skills you’re looking for from a position of strength.

Related: 9 Tools for Building Your Own Mobile App

Make the first version of your app.

Before Masri launched her company, she used a permanent marker to draw what she thought her app should look like — even though she had no design experience. Put pen to paper to sketch out the ideal. It’s an easy way to get out of your own head and start wrapping your mind around the concrete product or service you’re offering. After your initial set of sketches, try pairing your design ideas with free online tools to create high-quality mockups, such as Proto.io or InVision (no coding required). Adobe InDesign is another option for creating mockups, though a subscription will set you back about $20.99 per month (after the free trial). Your mockups will also be useful for gauging how your potential audience feels about using your app — whether you’re hosting potential audience focus groups or soliciting feedback from friends and mentors.

Next step: If you’re unfamiliar with HTML and CSS, it’s a good idea to rectify that sooner rather than later. Even if you’re not planning to make the app yourself, being familiar with the most basic coding languages could help you communicate better with software engineers, developers, technical co-founders or anyone else who helps you later on your journey. “In 2016, not being able to use HTML and CSS was the professional equivalent of being illiterate,” says Cowan. “It’s so easy to learn as long as you have the right focus and … a relevant project to work on.” Free online platforms include Codecademy or Khan Academy, and for skills-learning websites like Coursera and Udemy, prices depend on the course.

Once you’ve got the basics of coding down — and if you’re set on making an app from scratch rather than sticking with a web app or other online tool — it’s time to build your basic concept. You can pitch your design — whether you created it on InDesign or using a web tool — to engineers. “It’s a lot easier for engineers, or anyone else for that matter, to understand what you’re trying to bring to life once they can see a visual representation of it, even if it’s not that great,” says Masri. “It helps them envision what they could help turn it into.”

Related: 3 Ways to Build a Mobile App With No Tech Skills

To find software developers or engineers to help you bring your idea to life, you can reach out to your network, attend networking events and Meetups, search by skills on LinkedIn or check freelancer websites like Gigster.

A note about pricing: “Don’t go for the person with the lowest day rate,” says Cowan. “What you really care about is: How much does it cost you for them to get you to a certain outcome with your app?” Finding the lowest possible hourly rate, he says, is seldom the most economical way to do that. Something else to keep in mind? Ensure you’re clear about your vision for the user experience, including who the users will be and the problem they’re hoping the app will solve, says Cowan, before you offer a developer the gig, make sure they’re engaged and have relevant questions about the project. You can offer payment via cash or with company equity, but be careful about offering too much of the latter. “I’m in the camp of, ‘Pay … someone a little bit, even in good faith payment,’” says Masri. “Find engineers who have full-time jobs who are willing to take this on as a side project.”

Combined with your vision, a clear audience and the quantifiable demand you measured earlier, the baseline version of your app should be enough to take to potential investors and customers.

Related: A Step-by-Step Guide To Building Your First Mobile App

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