letter line up

Open when you want to hear a TON of goofy pickup lines!


       Maybe I should have used these at the beginning of the year to let you know that I had a crush on you!

1. Roses are red, violets are blue, lava is hot, and so are you!

2. Are you made out of grapes? Because you are as fine as wine!

3. I usually press “X” to pick up weapons… does that work for picking you up too?

4. I want to ride you harder than Mario rides Yoshi(;

5. You’re the Mario to my Princess Peach!

6. Mario is red, Sonic is blue, why don’t you hit select and be my player two?

7. Do you like Nintendo? Because Wii would look good together!

8. I’m not a photographer, but I can picture me and you together!

9. If you were a vegetable you’d be a cute-cumber!

10. If you were a flower you’d be a DAMN-delion!

11. Are you my appendix? Because I have a funny feeling in my stomach that I should take you out!

12. I don’t need Spiderman, Superman, or Batman, as long as you’ll be My Man!

13. Do you work at Starbucks? Because I like you a latte!

14. Is your dad a drug dealer? Because you’re pretty dope!

15. What kind of grinder are you using? Because you are extra fine!!!

16. I don’t even need a lighter, you’re already on fire!

17. Do you smoke pot? Cause WEED look good together!

18. If you were a booger I’d pick you first!

19. Are you African? Because you’re a-frican’ babe!

20. Kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?

21. Did you fart?? Cause you blew me away!

22. You’re so sweet you put Hershey’s outta business!

23. Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?

24. Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I’ll give it back!

25. Are your parents bakers? Cause they sure made you a cutie pie!

I love you bunches!


Selfless Love- part 3

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: A journey toward recovery and the story of a broken man falling in love with a woman.

Word Count: 940

Warnings: Slight Angst, Language (probably)

A/N: Reminder that this story is a slow burn. Good luck to everyone with exams and/or papers to write! 

Series Masterpage

Originally posted by littlemisssyreid

The change in Bucky’s behaviour surprised everyone. He talked and smiled a little more, he stayed around after dinner. Even his therapist said he looked happier.

Your wound healed slowly, it left a scar shaped like a crescent moon. You often found yourself tracing it with the pad of your index. It reminded you of Bucky.

There was something about him that put you at ease. Perhaps it was his shy demeanour or his selflessness. Whatever it was, you were growing fond of him and it terrified you, so you decided to keep your distance.

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Anon: College Klance, where Keith’s sick but he has a really important test in one of his classes so he goes to class anyway. Keith and Lance happen to have that class together, and normally Lance just tries to ignore the other boy, but the Keith waddles in wearing a big coat, scarf and a wool beanie. It’s like 80 degrees out, so he knows somethings off. Bonus: For Keith being light headed and having to be carried back to his dorm room. (PS Thank you for writing awesome fics)

A/N: So I heard you guys liked pining Lance. Cashing in the bonus, someone should draw Keith in winter gear with the scarf covering his face up to his bright-red nose.

Lance hadn’t noticed the boy before. He hadn’t noticed that mullet hair, or that red jacket, or that little glance they shared when the boy would walk in a minute before class started-

Okay, maybe he’d noticed. But that’s just because the guy sat in front of him in the lecture hall! How could he not look at the way his stupid hair turned up at the ends or the stupid way he twirled his stupid pencil with his stupid nice fingers-

Okay. Maybe he’d done more than notice. Maybe he’d put in some extra effort into trying to see the boy’s name on his test. Maybe he’d lost track of class while watching the boy lazily doodle on his notes. Maybe he’d seen ‘Keith Kogane’ on the list of packages at the front desk of his dorm hall and almost choked. Just maybe, though. Probably not. Definitely not.

Keep reading

Maybe I DO Dance


Chad wiped his forehead, sweaty from the game. He grasped Ryan’s hand. “Good game, bro,” Chad said, mentally cursing himself for offering the sweatier hand. Ryan shrugged, “Thanks. I like the way you swing.” Chad smiled and looked down, nervously adjusting his man bun. Taylor, man. Think of Taylor, Chad thought, trying to crush the butterflies in his stomach. He could feel it building, like a wave the ocean just can’t control. Chad wasn’t used to feeling that were so…light. He was used to punching stuff when he was mad, yelling aggressively at fans of musical theatre, and not dancing. His relationship with Taylor was…fun, but it just wasn’t right. She didn’t challenge him. She just griped about how he didn’t try hard enough in school and that he was unmotivated. She didn’t know how to get into his head. If she did, Taylor would know how hard it was for him to focus. The numbers and letters always got all jumbled in his brain. He would feel overwhelmed and confused. Which was kind of how he felt now. 

“You okay, man?” Ryan asked, putting his hand on Chad’s shoulder. The letters formed words and lined up into sentences Chad pretended not to see. What team am I playing for? 

“Yeah, I’m fabulous,” Chad replied, trying to hide his grin. 

“Let’s go to the party,” Ryan put his arm around Chad’s shoulder and Chad timidly slid his arm around Ryan’s waist, trying to look casual. 

Chad and Ryan carpooled to Gabriella’s house. 

“Awww, damn. I love this song,” Chad said, reaching to turn up the volume. Ryan and Chad’s hands met on the dial. They both laughed nervously. And Chad tried to brush it off, all cool like so he started singing along quietly and Ryan joined in, harmonizing. 

“No offence to Troy, cuz he’s my best friend, but you should’ve gotten that part, Ryan.“ What the hell, Chad. Get your head in the game, man. Six years of being in a locker room with naked guys and you’d think he would have discovered before…

Ryan snorted, “Thanks, but ya know, there are more important things than a high school musical." And there are more important things than what people in high school think of you. You don’t have to stick to the status quo, Chad thought. With Ryan he felt…different. It was nice talking to guy who know about more than basketball and protein shakes. Why had they never hung out before?

Chad looked Ryan in the eyes. He seemed so chill and relaxed. Their eyes met. It was "the look.” Chad had hooked up with enough cheerleaders to recognize bedroom eyes. He looked back on the road and hoped Ryan didn’t see his blush. A sideways revealed a grin on Ryan’s face as they pulled into the Montez driveway. They were met by a cheer when they entered the house.

“Hey, guys!” Chad answered, grinning. “Imma pop upstairs and shower, but I’ll be right back for some of those brownies, Ms. Montez!” Ryan followed Chad upstairs to the guest bedroom. 

Chad turned around. “Hey, just so you know…I’ve never been with…ya know…”

“Hey, that’s fine,” Ryan said, putting his hands on both Chad’s shoulders. Clarity. Chad took a deep breath. He was beginning to relax, though he felt his heart beat faster and his face grow hot. He put his hand on the back of Ryan’s neck and their foreheads touched. 

“Hey,” Ryan whispered. “This could be the start of something new.”

And they kissed with passion and fervor like Chad had never kissed before. He was soaring, flying. All those drunken nights with random girls always left him empty, but this was real. 

They came downstairs an hour later, wearing each others clothes.  As they ate their brownies, Chad whispered to Ryan, “Okay. Maybe I DO dance." 

Ryan grinned, "Hit it out of the park." 

Chad could wait for the next dance.

It’s ridiculous.
Something as simple as this sends shivers down my spine.
Your name.
It’s not original at all.
Four small little letters all lined up neatly to form a word.
But that word is my entire world.
Sure we have our pet names-
Babe, baby, love.
But the sweetest thing I can think to call you is your own name.
For it is the name you were given when you were born,
When your mother smiled at you and instantly fell in love.
The name that everyone I have ever met uses in such a friendly manner.
When your name is mentioned there are no ill-tempered tones surrounding it.
Only honey-sweet compliments and nice thoughts all around.
My heart swells whenever I hear someone speak it.
My mood instantly changes.
Something as simple as a name shouldn’t affect me like this.
But then again,
Something as silly as a boy shouldn’t make my heart swoon the way it does-
And yet every time I look at you I swear it’s heaven on Earth.
So maybe that’s why hearing your name can make me move mountains.
What a funny concept.
—  Luke; L.L.

Thinking about all the unlocked powers contained by letters unsent.


My father is, uh… He’s schizophrenic. And homeless.

requested by nemesispawn

I was tagged by @hiharry66 :D

A) age: 25
B) biggest fear: I don’t knowwww? Most forms of dying, crickets, grasshoppers, roaches 
C) current time: 7:43PM
D) last drink I had: Water
E) every day starts with: Hitting snooze on my phone
F) favourite song at the minute: I have so manyyyy ahh um I just listened to By Your Side - Faber Drive
G) gayest/acest moment I’ve ever had: Basically all of them. Today I saw two pictures of my girlfriend in a hat and it was a very gay moment for me >w<
H) hometown: Milton, GA
I) in love with: @theearlgreyalpha <3333
J) jealous of: People with lots of free-time and motivation to write/draw
K) killed someone: no
L) last time I cried: the other day I was happy-crying over a card my girlfriend sent me
M) middle name: you’ve got to know me irl to get that
N) number of siblings: 1
O) one wish: to see my girlfriend and my friends more often!
P) person you last called\texted\messaged: Called: my bank. Texted: my dad. Messaged: Liz <3
Q) question you are always asked: at work I take most of the payments so it’s usually “do you take credit card?”
R) reason to smile: my girlfriend, my friends, my dog
S) song last sung: Wildfire - Marianas Trench 
T) time you woke up: 9-something
U) worst habit: I have a few and they’re usually all caused by my anxiety
V) x-ray you’ve had: ummmm my teeth every other check-up? And my finger once, and when I was in middle school they’d x-ray my back every few months. 
W) favourite food: breakfast food
X) zodiac sign: Cancer 

I tag anyone that wants to do this :) 


Requested: Spencer Reid x Reader, where Reid is on the Autism spectrum. It’s painfully obvious how much he likes her, but when she asks him out, he begins to panic.

It’s noisy in the bullpen, where a million things are going all at once. If he focuses, he can make out the individual sounds. Computer keys clicking, pens tapping, teeth grinding, papers and pages being shuffled, people humming and talking, cell phones pinging. The air conditioner runs. The faint buzz of human life echoes all around.

It used to drive him mad, all of the sounds and sights.

He’s long since found ways to ground himself. Losing himself in his work is the easiest way. Drown out the noise. Focus on the letters. Each word he reads, each one he writes.

Unsub. Tampa. Power-assertive rapist and serial killer. S-T-R-A-N-G-U-L-A-T-I-O-N. Strang-yuu-lay-shun.

One two three four. ABCD.

Letters, numbers, places, lined up in a row. The repetition is soothing, the routine familiar. Overtime the people around him have become familiar too, and they don’t feel like a distraction anymore. They haven’t for a long time. Here are his friends. His family.

“Spencer!” And someone who feels much more than that. She takes a seat at the edge of his desk, smiling. “Hey there, Doctor. What’re you up to?”

When she smiles, his heart races, a tempo trying to keep up with his fast-moving mind. Onetwothreefour onetwothreefour. “Paperwork,” he answers, gesturing to the page he’s currently working on. “And you?”

“I just wanted to say hi. So, hi, you. Tell me something I don’t know.” It was a common request of hers, to hear something new. It seemed she never grew tired of hearing him talk, never found listening to him to be boring. Y/N is a communications liaison for the Crimes Against Children unit, filling a role not unlike JJ’s previous position. Their paths overlap from time to time, and he’s always happy when they do.

As he combs through information stored in his memory, he watches her wave to passing agents, greeting friends. So many of them know her by name. She’s so good with people. So much better than he could ever hope to be.

“Did you know that you can cry in space, but your tears won’t actually fall?” he asks. Though he’s well aware she doesn’t. Nevertheless, the pleasant expression of perplexion and intrigue that crosses her face makes him happy. “In outer space, water floats. Usually in bubble or sphere-like shapes. It can actually be quite dangerous, as the water will cling to a surface – in this case, one’s face – until they’re dislodged. When as astronaut’s space suit developed a leak, water that came in from his helmet clung to his eyes and ears until he could return to the Space Station.”

She raises her eyebrows. “So you shouldn’t cry in space?”

“W-well,” he stammers, “you could, but I would hope there aren’t too many reasons to cry whilst in space.”

“Everyone cries. Astronauts are only human, after all.” The words aren’t dismissive, but meant with sympathy. The small smile accompanying them warms his heart, and he wants to reach out and touch her, just take her hand, but he can’t seem to find the confidence to.

What he wouldn’t give to be close her.

“I bet you know all about the stars,” she says.

He does. There are countless facts he could rattle off about outer space, but too much space in his mind is devoted to her. He has studied the stars in her eyes, the way they light up when she’s excited or delighted or surprised. He could go on about the way she lights up his days like his own personal sun. Or explain that she doesn’t give him butterflies. She creates in him the sensation of weightlessness, makes gravity feel irrelevant. Galaxies grow in his heart. Constellations all connected by a mutual feeling of adoration.

All too often the world feels too real, and he is too aware of his surroundings. The pressure of his watch over his sweater (the cold metal is so much more unbearable when it’s against his skin), the floor beneath his shoes beneath his socks beneath his feet. The tie hanging a little too loose and a little too crooked around his neck. Sensations. Sounds. Colors. Lights.

It’s elevated when he’s nervous. Elevated when she is around to make him feel nervous. How can one person do both – make him comfortable and put him on edge? There’s a scientific explanation. Attraction involves a chemical reaction in the brain. When neurotransmitters such as dopamine, adrenaline, and serotonin are released –

But that’s not important. What’s important is the girl sitting before him, grinning at him. Her fingers only centimeters from his. She is lovely. Beautiful. Beautiful girl. Byuu-tih-full girl. One two three four. Her gaze lingers on him with such intensity, such… onetwothreefour onetwothreefour.

Reid has the urge to fiddle with anything within reach. He crosses and uncrosses his legs. His fingers tap out patterns on the table. He nods, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Onetwothreefour onetwothree – four. One two three four.

“I suppose I do,” he says. “They’re not to difficult to learn about. If you visit the observatory, they do a whole show. It’s meant to be easy to follow, even for those who aren’t extremely interested in the science of space.”

To appreciate something, understanding isn’t required. Beauty is easy to identify. Though the understanding doesn’t detract from a thing’s loveliness; rather it makes it all the more incredible.

“I’ve never been,” she muses. “Have you?”

A million thoughts fly through his brain. All at once. A million possible answers, some of the questions as well. Yes, all the time. A few times. Maybe. No. Never. Would you like to go? Go with me? Yes, I could show you around. No, we should go together sometime. Do you want to go? I’ve only heard about it.

He tucks his hands beneath his arms. Fingertips tracing over the soft fabric of his sweater. “Yeah.” The word comes out much higher than he expected. “It’s really nice.”

Y/N leans in slowly, gauging his reaction. When she lifts a hand, he doesn’t flinch away. It has taken months of friendship to reach that point. He doesn’t let just anyone touch him. Trust must be earned. Physical contact isn’t easy for him. He shies away from handshakes and hugs and pats on the back.

There are exceptions to the rule, as there are to every rule. His mother. His team. A few people he idolizes and wouldn’t mind shaking hands with. And now, her.

Touch from strangers is altogether unwelcome and unpleasant. The gentle pressure of her hand on his forearm is reassuring. Familiar. Nice. When it’s her, he very much enjoys the sensation, despite the way it makes increases the tempo of his heart even more, makes his face flush, steals away his ability to focus on nearly anything else.

“Maybe you could show me some time. It’s not as much fun to go alone.”

The invitation remains hanging as a hypothetical for weeks. Another possibility he could calculate the outcome to, if he so wished. The thing about Y/N is that she doesn’t seem to fit within the parameters of his calculations. She is unpredictable. A wild card. Variable. Vaer-ee-uh-ble. V-A-R-I-A-B-L-E. Always a surprise, the very best kind.

For weeks they trade long conversations, witty banter. When she comes around, he lights up, his posture and expression transforming entirely. He speaks faster, with much more enthusiasm. He gathers the courage to touch her hand. To stand and sit just a little closer to her when he can. It must be painfully obvious, how much he likes her. Surely she has noticed. But then, if the observation were one that made her uncomfortable, why then has she continued to come around?

JJ drops heavy-weighted hints. Garcia’s are even less subtle. Outright suggestions. Questions. Wiggling eyebrows. Morgan teases him, Rossi will ask unspoken questions with his eyes. Emily has started a betting pool. Only Hotch stays silent on the matter.

Every time he sees her, the world bursts into color. It’s in the best way. Never so bright it hurts his eyes, never so overwhelming that he cannot enjoy it. Colors can be seen as a result of the wavelengths of light they emit, reflect, or transmit. Human beings see color with cone cells in the eye. Most mammals have two cones, allowing them to see green and blue and everything inbetween. Humans have three, allowing for the addition of red to the spectrum. Bumblebees, fish, and birds also have trichromatic vision. Pigeons have five cones. The mantis shrimp has sixteen.

In his eyes, she is a rainbow. A Technicolor starry night. Sound and motion and light. She comes straight to his desk, saying hello to others as she does so. Always making a beeline right for him, though. It makes him feel special. Important. Wanted. In anticipation, he shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to keep from fidgeting too much.

What can he tell her about today? What new little lessons will she want to learn? Maybe today will be a morning where they simply talk about life. He’s never felt quite so comfortable just talking to someone before. There is no judgment from her. All the rambling and stuttering and jumping from topic to topic never seems to phase her. When she perches on the surface of his desk, it feels right. Natural, as though she has always belonged there. Always belonged with him. He wants to belong with her. Wants to be worthy of her.

Could he ever be? Does he dare to hope that high?

Love. One. Not enough.

I love you. One two three. Nearly there.

I love you so. One two three four. Yes. That feels right.

Instinctively, and without words, she reaches for his hand. Her fingers curl around his, and the touch travels straight up his arm, bypassing his shoulders and his neck. Connects, somehow, impossibly, with his mouth. His lips turn upwards in a smile, one that mirrors her own.

I love you so, I love you so, I love you so. Reid repeats it like a prayer. Like a mantra. One two three four.

“Good morning, Doctor. Listen, I can’t stay long, I have some work to attend to.” His heart sinks a little bit. No, but wait, she’s still here. That means something, doesn’t it? That she came, if only to say hello? “I wanted to come by though. I was wondering…” Y/N trails off, and her thumb spins small circles on the back of his hand. One two three.

Abruptly, she pulls away. He puts his hands together and makes a fourth circle, as she tucks her hair behind her ear a few times. Everyone stims. Even if they don’t realize, all people tend to engage in some form of self-stimulating behavior. In those on the Autism spectrum simply do it much more. The compulsion is stronger. Those little comforting coping mechanisms, the movements ingrained in muscle memory serve as a calming repetition. Humans tend to do them when stressed, bored, or nervous.

Why is she nervous?

“I um, well I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee sometime?”

Reid doesn’t understand. He tilts his head slightly to the side, a near-universal gesture of confusion. “There’s coffee at the office,” he offers. It would take mere minutes to walk over to the kitchenette and brew them each a cup. Would that make her stay?

“No, not like that,” she clarifies. Her cheeks are red, she can’t meet his eyes. Y/N, ever cheerful, always steadfast, Y/N has suddenly become shy. It’s a mystery, her behavior. “On the weekend, I mean. I was hoping maybe it would be, like, a date?”

Date. The word hits him full force. His mind short-circuits. How to respond? A date? She wants to go on a date? With him? Answers, answers, questions. He’s running on autopilot.

“Y-yeah! Sure. That would – that would be really nice.” Nice doesn’t even come close to describing how it feels.

The smile returns, her shoulders straighten. “Great! Okay, well, I’ll text you? We can figure out the details later. It’s a date,” she repeats. “I’ve got to get going. Have a really good day!”

He watches her go. I love you so. I love you so.

It’s a date. A date. He forgets how to breathe.

It’s a date.

Reid taps his foot, squeezes the paperback book on his desk a few times. Bites his lip.


Onetwothreefouronetwothree -

“I’m so OCD over…” “OCD is like the best mental illness” “Just stop doing it and it won’t be a problem.”


Obsessive compulsive disorder is not an adjective, it’s not at all desired, not everyone is a “little OCD”, and if it was as simple to just stop I promise nobody would be suffering like they do.

Let me just tell you something. OCD sucks more than you could ever imagine. There is nothing pleasant or quirky about this mental illness. It is so far from just being organized and if you ever think or say those things above please realize you’re a part of the greater problem of those uneducated on and glorying mental illnesses. 

As far back as I can remember my life has been personally affected by this disorder. I remember when I was very young I loved stuffed animals. Whenever I would go to the store and pick out a new one which ever one I first picked up I had to get, no matter if there was a hole in it or something else wrong with it. In my head at that young age it I thought to myself that the toys somehow had feelings and something bad would happen if I didn’t pick the first one I laid eyes on. This is such an innocent repercussion but as I aged so did the backing thoughts.

Another compulsion I had at a young age, which I still suffer from a slight aversion, that is when in stores if I thought about touching something I had to touch it. Often with both hands or which ever way felt “right.” I would go around touching clothes, clothes racks, displays - really anything my mind told me I had to. This is when my parents became aware of what was going on. Before finding out it was in fact OCD I remember my mom once telling me to “stop doing that, people are going to think something is wrong with you.” That’s how noticeable it was. 

As I got older intrusive thoughts intensified. Compulsions changed and as did the ideas behind them. They became much more serious. Now, if I don’t preform a task I’m not worried about hurting a toys feelings, but more along the lines of closest my family and friends dying in a violent car crash or whatever my mind conjures up. 

Now please tell my how cute and quirky a girl who has to push in all the chairs, measure the length or her doors cracked open before bed and turn the door knobs in a certain pattern, click the home button on her phone a certain amount of times and closing her eyes until the screen locks, pray for twenty minutes making sure nothing is missed, connect all the letters when writing anything, lining up things with the cracks on school desks, turning light switches on and off, check locks 12 times, and doing whatever her mind tells her she has to is. It’s not. At all. Nobody loves someone who has to do all that. Nobody. It would be annoying as hell to deal with, I know. But imagine what’s going on inside her mind and now she has to do her best to conceal everything but in this world today she is insane. 

Now intrusive thoughts can make a person feel completely dehumanized. It’s like your brain speaking for its self and you can’t control it. It takes far to long for those suffering with OCD that it is not their fault their brain is picturing horrible images and telling you to kill yourself, kill others, jump off that bridge, do something. Do something to satisfy the thoughts so distant from who you are.

There’s so much more to be said but I don’t even know where to start.

So yeah, next time you say you’re so OCD over something remember that there are people living through the hell that is this mental illness. You are mocking the fact that this illness is simply being organized or clean when in fact it’s debilitating, incredibly hard to live with, and even harder to overcome. With that being said it is possible.  

If you learn anything from this post OCD is not a fucking adjective. 

How To Stand Out When You're Competing With Really Qualified Candidates

You’ve got your eye on an amazing opportunity. You update your resume, perfect your cover letter, and line up your references. So far, you’re doing everything right. But before you submit your application, see the ways you can set yourself apart.

the first time when: he wrote you a poem (4/7)

the first time when: he wrote you a poem (4/7)
kim namjoon

The first time Namjoon had written you a poem was when he noticed there was something blocking the radiant glow in your aura. He has stressed many, many times that there was just… something in the pupils that rest in the middle of your eyes, the way it curves when you smile too hard or when it glasses over with tears or too much emotions swirling around for him to decipher it through or to narrow it down to just one - Namjoon knows something is wrong just by looking into your eyes.

It speaks even more into a confirmation when you won’t look at him, or let him come near you. As someone who adores for touches and affections, to reject them is like accepting poison: silent and deadly.

When he knows he can’t get to you with actions, he uses words instead.

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ten letter word that starts with v


Matthias hesitated for a solid minute before knocking on Jordan’s door, an overnight bag slung over his shoulder. He looked utterly beaten and his sunglasses were cracked, off his face to reveal the tired blue eyes underneath. The blonde had gone through the city with a fine toothed comb and milked it for all of his contacts, even beating a few people who tried to start shit. It had been a long day and Matthias knew if he returned to his apartment, Dennis could be waiting for him. 

He had only stopped by his apartment to throw some clothing into his bag and came directly to Jordan’s place. Matthias couldn’t tell what dragged his dumb ass here. Maybe it was because it was the home of a known ally, maybe it was because he wanted to make up for pissing Jordan off the night before. Either way, Matthias was here. 

He looked at Jordan when the door opened and gave him a weak grin. “…Hey. Can I crash the night?”

Hearts in the Margins |  A Greg/Luna Ficlet (FFN)

Greg knew he wasn’t smart.  He didn’t even want to be. It seemed like so much work.  He’d struggled with a governess who told him not to worry about it when he struggled with reading and maths.  She’d touched her forearm meaningfully and told him his father and someone else would make sure he had a place in the world.  Greg knew what that meant.  He’d traced over the lines of his father’s faded Mark since he could walk.  He’d coloured in the spaces until it has been a rainbow as his father laughed and ruffled his hair.

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