#AND I WANT TO FUCKING CRY BECAUSE I WASTED LITERALLY MY ENTIRE DAY TORTURING MYSELF OVER THIS FUCKING THING

[kerosene-saint]

me when I fall down a rabbit hole and spend literally over 7 hours reading a first hand account of a horrifying situation and it feels like the pages are never ending and I get so deep into it all that I immerse myself too far and feel like everything is out of control and I'm in the situation that I'm reading and I'm trying to fight tooth and nail to escape a situation I'm not even in but have somehow entered into the mindset of someone who is.

[uaklauslovesdave]

Hi, thank you for sending me asks, I really appreciate it! :D Could you do 002 for klave, I always want to hear your thoughts about them <3

my buddy, my dude, it’s been roughly 17 years since you sent this ask, and i’m oh so sorry for taking this long to answer. it got to be one of those situations where i wanted to do it Properly, which of course brought the anxiety, which of course then brought the avoidance. But we’re here now! it’s a new era and i have a whole bunch of klave thoughts to dump on my unsuspecting followers. let us begin.

when i started shipping it:

Pretty much immediately! I remember first watching s1 and getting that slow confirmation that Klaus time traveled to the Vietnam War. We saw him on the bus with his fatigues and bloody hands and I was like ‘oh god oh no he went to Vietnam didn’t he.’ And then later we have Klaus experiencing flashbacks in the bathtub and there are echoes of the noises of war but also a strong and clear “Dave!” And in that moment my interest was piqued. Dave, he said? Who is this Dave? Is this someone he loved? Did he have a war-time romance with another soldier? And I was hopeful but I also didn’t want to get too ahead of myself because of Queer Baiting in Media reasons (like, I was in the marvel fandom, ok? I went through the whole stucky dance routine). But then, but then! We got more. We got roughly five minutes (or less?) of scenes of Klaus dropping down in front of a disoriented soldier, of this soldier introducing himself as Dave on a bus, of Klaus and Dave dancing in a bar, of Klaus and Dave sharing a kiss in a quiet corner, of Dave bleeding out and dying in the middle of combat as Klaus sobs above him. And it was quick and it was short but it was meaningful and it was tender and immediately I knew that I was gone for them. There was no turning back at this point. I was all in on the Klave Train.

my thoughts:

My thoughts? Where do I even start? I have many! Some are incoherent! Some are devastating! Some are sickeningly sweet! Some are raunchy! Stay tuned to find out!

what makes me happy about them/what makes me sad about them:

So I decided to combine these two questions because, well, I Do Not Know how to untie the happy and the sad when it comes to klave. I tried and I cannot do it. They’re two sides of the same coin with these two. Because their entire relationship is tinted by tragedy, you know? They only met each other because Klaus was tortured and then flung into a notoriously traumatizing war in the 1960s. And who knows what number tour Dave was on. Had he been there for just 2 months or was this second or third time around? I’m not sure which option is more painful, really. And it’s unclear, did Dave genuinely want to serve in the military? Did he truly subscribe to those values instilled by his family? I’d lean towards no, based on the conversation Klaus tries to have with the Younger Dave in the diner. But I think it took Dave some time to get there, as he grew older and came to better understand and accept himself and perhaps grew more and more disillusioned with the life he was pushed into. And then there’s Klaus, whose own experiences somewhat parallel Dave’s (they just happened on a different timeline). Klaus, who grew up under Reginald’s reign of terror, who was taught to be a soldier just like Dave was. But his own disillusionment was expedited and he was able to rebel and remove himself from that scene more easily than Dave could (but at the expense of losing shelter and security and stability). And we have some insights into what it was like for Klaus to grow up in that environment, constantly surrounded by death. When we first meet him he is a person who clearly does not do genuine attachment or sincerity, because that is far too vulnerable and far too dangerous in his experience. He looks out for himself and he does what he needs to do to get by, and he approaches things from a casual, crass (safe) distance. And then there’s Dave, who we learn a little bit about from his interactions with Klaus in 1963 Dallas. He appears earnest and kind, just a Really Good Kid. He seems somewhat confused by Klaus, but also intrigued. Pretty much every time we see Klaus interact with someone in the 1960’s who is not a member of Destiny’s Children they approach him with disdain (referring to him as “pretty boy,” kicking him out of the diner, etc.). But not Dave. Not until he is pressured into it by Uncle Homophobe. And after that Dave seeks him out and apologizes, says that’s not him. And he and Klaus talk, and we see that they really knew each other, they really had a relationship, but by the end of the conversation Dave has been pushed too far. He’s not quite ready to rebel yet, he’s not quite able to make that leap into living as his true self. Just like Klaus, Dave grew up trapped and restricted and surrounded by ghosts. Not literal ones, no, but the ghosts of dead war heroes who came before him, the ghosts of the Ideal Man and Good Son that he thought he had to be, that he thought he had to prove he could become. And it’s not quite clear how and when Dave finally got to that point where he could rebel, where he could finally push past the fear, knock down the walls of the box he had been shoved into. But by the time he and Klaus crossed paths in 1968 Vietnam he was ready. And Klaus was ready. And they brought that genuine, true, real love out in each other. Something both of them probably thought was never possible. Something both of them probably thought was just a myth. Just turning themselves inside out and sharing that with each other. Trusting the other to take care of it and hold and keep it safe. All in the middle of a deadly war. It’s beautiful and it’s painful and it’s why I love them.

things done in fanfic that annoy me:

Nothing really specific comes to mind. Generally if there’s something I don’t like in a fanfic I’ll stop reading and move on. There is, of course, the Fanon Klaus Problem that makes its way into klave fics, so I suppose that annoys me. Or stories where Dave is one-dimensional and seems to exist just to comfort and take care of Klaus. But really, I don’t wanna hate on anyone who writes fanfic in a particular way. You do you. If it appeals to me I’ll read it and if it doesn’t I’ll just pass it by. No big deal.

things i look for in fanfic:

It absolutely depends on the day and what I’m in the mood for in that particular moment. I’m a sucker for angst so I absolutely do not mind reading something terribly sad and tragic. I like hurt/comfort with an emphasis on the hurt. I’m a fan of the GhostDave Watches Over Klaus Through the Years genre. I like stories that explore their time together in Vietnam. I’m into AU’s that include AliveDave traveling back to 2019 with Klaus and they hang out in Klaus’ room in the academy and Dave meets the siblings and Diego gives him a shovel talk. Sometimes I just want that sweet, sweet smut. Mostly I look for something that is both lovely and sad, which is not hard to find because that is, essentially, their relationship. There’s lots of good stuff out there. All y’all writers are talented. I salute you.

my kinks:

Alright, I’m just gonna preface this by saying that I will try my best to be unapologetically open about this, but at my core I am both shy and repressed. My easy and safe answer to this is that my kink for klave is love, happiness, and tender intimacy. That’s what I really want for them. But also. But also! Let them be smutty! Let them find places to sneak away and fuck, Dave’s hand over Klaus’ mouth to stop him from making noise that will alert the other soldiers to their activities. Or maybe they’re sitting under a tarp in the pouring rain and Klaus sees how far he can take it, and Dave doesn’t back down, and it ends up with Klaus blowing Dave while some other guys are sitting just feet away, oblivious to what’s going on between Katz and Hargreeves just over there. And then there’s that time they get to take leave together, and they’re able to get a hotel room, just to themselves, with real walls and a door that locks and a bed and everything. And the digs aren’t great but it feels like a palace compared to what they’re used to, and they absolutely do not waste this opportunity. Dave fucks Klaus into the mattress, and Klaus gets to learn what it’s like to have someone take control because you actually want them to and you feel safe with them, and Dave gets to learn what it’s like to have someone trust you implicitly and be willing to be vulnerable with you. And it’s not perfect, of course, sometimes their histories and understandings of sex and intimacy bump heads, but they love each other, they really do, and they work through it. And they both cry during sex at some point. For Dave it’s the first time he’s done so, for Klaus it’s not (but this is nothing like those other times this is because he wants to be here this is because he’s overwhelmed with love this is a release this is being seen this is being cared for).

who i’d be comfortable with them ending up with if not each other:

Let me be real and say that I really, really, really want them to end up with each other, and I think that this is where the show is headed. But, if that is not the case, as long as they are happy I will be happy. Perhaps that is cliche, but oh well. Just let them experience love and support, whether that’s with each other, someone else, or just on their own.

my happily ever after for them:

I don’t know how and I don’t know when (like seriously, when in the timeline is a big question), but I want them to find a way to be together. Maybe it involves some time-traveling, maybe it involves some timeline-hopping, maybe it involves some Commission interference, maybe one or both of them will be dead, maybe (most likely) it involves something that has not even crossed my mind as a possibility. But, like I said, I think that somehow there WILL be a (perhaps nontraditional) happily ever after for them. It might take some time to get there and I don’t think it’s gonna be a smooth road, but I do think that’s the ultimate destination. And I’m looking forward to the whole process.

who is the big spoon/little spoon:

Good question! My first instinct was Klaus as little spoon. Because he is Klaus but also because of the Bar Kiss scene where Dave tenderly cradles his face and those Very Important blurry behind the scenes instagram photos of Klaus resting his head on Dave. But I also think it would be really nice for Dave to be the little spoon? Because Klaus gets to hold him and act as a Protector and maybe he can feel Dave’s heartbeat beneath his (hello) hand and he gets to wrap around him and hold on tight and he can let go when he wants to but he doesn’t want to, he wants to stay right here as long as Dave will have him. And Dave will have Klaus wrapped around him, holding on, as long as Klaus wants to stay. Dave gets to be held and cocooned in the arms of this beautiful person he loves. Dave doesn’t have to be strong right now, he doesn’t have to put on the face of the Good Soldier. All he has to do is fall into the space between them.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity:

I’m gonna say that they had a lot of time to sit together and talk while they were in Vietnam. Sure, they had their duties and sometimes they were in the shit but there was also a lot of down time, just sitting around and waiting for something to happen. And so they’d sit and they’d smoke and they would talk. About their interests, about where they come from, and eventually about the life they would build together after they got out of there. But here’s a specific image that I have: they’re sitting close together, maybe it’s dark, there’s no one nearby. Cigarette smoke lingers in the air, mingles with the fine mist. The conversation has turned to music, somehow. Conversations have a tendency to meander when Klaus is involved, and Dave follows him step for step, never tripping, never questioning how they got there. And Klaus asks Dave about his favorite song, and Dave hesitantly mentions “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence,” like he’s embarrassed, but he’s loved it for years and he wants to be honest with Klaus. And Klaus hums and says he doesn’t know it, hasn’t heard of it, and he leans against Dave, lays his head against his chest. And Dave says, that’s ok, it doesn’t matter, it’s just a stupid old song anway. But Klaus says, no, you should sing it for me, I want to hear it, I want to know it. And Dave scoffs and laughs, but Klaus looks up at him, and then Dave looks away, and his mouth lifts into a smile, something small and fragile. He turns back to Klaus, looks him the eye, and softly, so softly, starts singing, “When Liberty Valence rode to town, the womenfolk would hide…” And Klaus drops his head and shifts closer to Dave and hears the words slip from Dave’s mouth and feels the words vibrate in Dave’s chest. He closes his eyes. There’s a war going on. It’s 1968 and he’s in Vietnam and his clothes are damp but he’s right where he wants to be. The song is not romantic, but it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. He never forgets the words.

[vampiresuns]

🍋 It Takes Two To Tango | Leon x Anatole

2.5k words, placed after 🍋 Any Way. In which Anatole takes up on Leon’s end of their post-competition agreement, not without making it a little difficult for Leon first.

Leon (he/they) belongs to @apprenticealec who requested “[ dress ]   your muse having mine dress up in lingerie.“ + “[ wall ]  your muse shoving mine up against a wall.“ from the NFSW Muse Reaction Prompts for Leonana. I went all out because I’m simmering in Leonana brain rot, and to make it up for the wait. Happy fucking monday, Dani, dearest, pun absolutely intended.

Minors DNI. Lemon ahead. CW for dom/sub dynamics, and liberal sprinkling of Leon calling Anatole ‘sir’. Also, for a brief height difference mention.

Leon knew it was a matter of time before Anatole came forward for his part of the deal. Leon had been allowed to have him any way he wanted, and now it was Anatole’s turn. He was also aware of the likelihood of Anatole being difficult about it; he didn’t only expect it, he wanted it even, wished for it. Leon knew whichever way Anatole decided payback was due would find him in compromising positions, true, but in positions where he would be good. Really, really good. 

Not ever could Lenon regret letting Anatole take the reins when they were in the bedroom. 

As much as Leon knew, whatever their partner was playing at wasn’t what Lee expected in the slightest. At first, they realised he was playing at something, but only the Gods knew at what. It wasn’t like they had stopped having sex (they didn’t) or that he didn’t want to take up on Leon’s end of the bargain. Leon had asked, a week after they had been practising together, Anatole’s reply had been a laugh full of affection and a kiss on Leon’s temple.

“Of course I want to hold it against you, my love.” 

“Well then, when?”

That had earned Leon another laugh and another kiss. 

Then the torture began. It shouldn’t have surprised Leon that it would turn out this way, yet there they were anyway: surprised and being met with the same reply, over and over. It was a week, two days and 20 hours — not that Leon was counting — of torture, where Leon realised Anatole’s strategy a little too late. During that period of time they had sex practically every day, some days more than once, but Anatole was always careful, almost surprisingly tender, reverend in a way which made Leon weak at his knees and made his heart threat to escape his chest through his throat.

He loved it, he wasn’t going to lie: he loved the slow pace and the praise, and the attention; yet, as he was not going to lie, this wasn’t what he wanted. 

It was during the week mark that they realised, when they begged for Anatole to do anything he wanted, and his only reply was one firm: “Patience.”

Lee protested, his mind clicked, and his nostrils flared in irritation. “You fucking bastard.”

“Hm? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“You said anything I wanted. Never specified for how long.”

“Fuck you.” 

“Fuck me yourself, oh wait, you’re tied to the bed.”

“Then fuck me like you mean it.”

“You don’t think I mean this, then? Should I stop?”

If Leon didn’t like the game so much, if they didn’t like to be completely and utterly drenched in Anatole, if they didn’t enjoy the chase and the power play as much as Nana himself did, he’d yell. He’d yell and play difficult even more, but he knew he would stop touching him, and right now, he did not want Anatole’s hands away from him, he didn’t want his mouth away from him. It was torture, Anatole knew it, and it was working. 

The next day they did not have sex, and while Leon knew it was because Anatole flat-out passed out after an eventful day, part of them — the petty one — thought he had a busy day on purpose. 

The next day Leon woke up alone, their bed with no Anatole, his body replaced with an ornamented box with a bow, and a seemingly empty bottle. Leon shook it. At the lack of sound coming from its lack of contents, they smiled. They knew what it was: Nana, aware he could not leave notes for Leon if he had to wake up too early for them, left them audible messages in tiny bottles, something he had magically developed only so he could leave notes for them. 

The note only said: “Hopefully this stops your complaining. I have a meeting with the Praetorian department, which I don’t expect you to remember. Don’t miss me too much, miss me so much you want to swear at me again a little, instead. Love, your Anatole.”

“PS, yes I just said PS, out loud, to an empty bottle. Good morning, lover.”

The box had a dress, soft to touch, it had sleeves, but it was backless, and had not one, but two slits. Under the dress, there was a lingerie set, silk and lace, from what Leon could touch. Both of them fit them perfectly, embracing their body in a way that could only mean they were bespoke. Of course Anatole would know his measurements, of course he would use such knowledge for evil. 

The bad part was now Leon had to wait. He thought one day he’d unmask Anatole for the tormentor he was, obviously a man such as himself you made Leon wait, could not possibly be the good person the public (and Leon) knew he was. Incorrigible. He would have to break Vesuvian’s hearts, but it was for a good cause. 

He could hear Camia, Alec and Jamil telling him he was full of shit. 

Still Leon waited, finding things to occupy the hours until he heard one of the bookshelves in the morning room next to their bedroom slide, and the familiar echo of Anatole’s steps. 

The smile was audible in his tone when he saw Leon. “Red looks good on you.”

“I don’t know what red looks like,” if he sounded more petulant than he intended, he didn’t apologise for it, nor Anatole said anything beyond fighting a laugh. 

“How was your day, Lee?” 

“Uneventful. I’ve wasted myself waiting. Debated telling Vesuvia how you’re a cruel man who must not love me, since you’re always running off to meetings.”

Anatole barked a laugh. “I will make sure to take you with me the next time we have to reform a wing of the court because a literal demon used to hold that office. I still do not understand how no one realised.” 

“Fine, how was your day,” despite Leon’s tone, he made an instinctive grab for Anatole’s hand, lacing their fingers together and kissing his knuckles.

“The usual. Tiring, full of meetings, proud of myself for doing socialisation without mixing languages, or worse, getting too fatigued to go on — but I suppose I have to thank Nadia and my medicines for that—”

“You’re doing that thing where you sell yourself too short, and pretend the things you do are completely ordinary.”

“I’m not pretending, false modesty is not something that afflicts me. I’m not you.”

“Hey!”

“You started it.”

“Doesn’t mean you can continue it.”

Leon could feel the mocking reverence Anatole made. “Of course, your highness. But, as I was saying, it’s going. It will be a hassle, but we’re cautiously optimistic. I am desperately trying to convince Artemisia to join the prosecutors board.”

“I have no clue what that is, but why would Art say no?”

“Because I asked, because she doesn’t feel like it, because she’s not entirely convinced, because she think it’s unfair to start up that high — but, and I know I will lose you here somewhat, Artemis is truly brilliant when it comes to thinking and rethinking justice in a way I don’t think I am, or Nadia is, as intelligent and analytical as we can be. It’s a different drive, and of course, the predominantly legal and jurisprudential education does make a difference. I did not study Law, even if I know my share about law, I studied politics and International Relations.”

“Did you, perhaps, also minor in torturing me?”

“No, that just comes naturally… what are you wearing, by the way? Is that something you just found lying around?”

“You’re too intelligent to play dumb.”

“So are you, and you do it all the time, Leon.”

Leon was going to protest again, but Anatole gently cupped his cheek with his hand. Betraying himself, Leon leaned into it like one does to the fire after a cold day out. 

“You are very good at complaining,” his tone had changed completely from familiarity to honey-like, heavy, warm, inviting, too inviting, “you’re lucky I like you.”

“You love me.”

“I do love you.”

Anatole gave him a chaste kiss… and that was it. Leon tried to kiss him again but his index pressed against his lips, making no reaction beyond a controlled breath as Leon sucked on his finger. Anatole removed his finger from Leon’s mouth, kissing his cheek instead.

Leon would not beg. He would plant himself like bricks, he would stand his ground in the same way Anatole did when he was fighting for something he cared about. This was about his dignity, this was about he had already been good, too good, and yet he was still being tortured simply because Anatole was getting off of it. He would pretend that didn’t turn him on like it was nobody’s business. He would pretend to be unbothered, he would not sway, except for maybe a little pout, a little cry. 

He would not follow Anatole around, that was not what they were doing. Leon was asserting himself, not following. 

He was full of shit. Leon was in the middle of another petty remark, when Anatole’s hands found their ribs, pushing him against the nearest wall, soft enough to hurt, but hard enough to get Leon’s blood to his groin faster than they could count to three. It was always surprising to remember Anatole may not be, physically, the strongest person he knew, but he was stronger than he looked like. Strong enough to manhandle someone a foot taller than him, for example. Leon hitched a breath as his fingers pinned him to place, Anatole’s mouth ghosting over his skin. 

“You complain a lot for someone who’s been dotted and pampered all week.”

“That’s not what I want.”

“Then tell me what you want.”

“No.”

“Why not, sweetheart?” 

“Because you’ll make me beg for it.”

“Leon, I think you’re already begging.” 

For once, Leon couldn’t find anything to say to that.

“I don’t want one crocodile tear, understood?”

If it didn’t feel so good to say it, if Anatole’s hands, which had begun to roam his body, didn’t feel so nice against the fabric of the dress, Leon would’ve hated how quick he said: “Yes, sir.”

“That’s good, sweetheart.” 

Anatole took his time, his mouth hot against Leon’s skin; his hands had made their way through the slits of the dress, palming through Leon’s thighs. 

“I’m glad both these things fit you, you look so pretty like this — such a shame I’ll have to take them off, at least the dress.” He paused, his hand palming Leon’s sex. “Maybe next time wear it with nothing underneath.”

Anatole took off the dress with a practiced motion that could only mean he had studied how to do this before he gave it to Leon. Bastard, he thought, but didn’t say anything, as Anatole’s mouth and hands made it hard to concentrate. Even if it was Anatole the one dropping to his knees, Leon knew he was not the one in control here, all they could do was lean back against the wall, as Anatole mouthed him through the fabric of the lingerie, moving it enough to release Leon from it’s pressure as he took them in his mouth. 

This time Anatole did not go at the excruciatingly slow, tender pace he had the days before. He was all precision and went to the point: the right amount of tongue, the right amount of pressure as he sucked, the right amount of teasing, the right amount of depth. He took one of Leon’s legs, putting it over his shoulder. The next thing Leon felt has one of his slicked fingers gently pressing against his entrance, a circular motion not meant to push in yet, but when he did, his mouth didn’t move away, not even when one finger became two, scissoring inside him, and when two became three. 

“You’re going to make me come,” Leon whimpered. 

Anatole removed his mouth from him with a wet pop. “Do or don’t, I’m fucking you anyway.” 

Leon hissed.

“The only thing that will make me stop is a safeword, are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s my beautiful sweetheart.”

“You did all of this on purpose.”

“And what about it?”

“Bastard,” Leon spit out, it took all of their concentration not to cut their own words with a moan as Anatole pushed a third finger in. 

“I only take your complaints as encouragement. If you’re too incoherent to argue, I win by default.”

Objectively speaking, Leon didn’t feel the absence of Anatole’s fingers for long, but everything was too long now. Anatole kissed him, ordering to bend forward a little and face the wall. He kissed the middle of their back before moving away, anticipation pooling in Leon’s stomach. He tried to touch himself, but Anatole caught him.

“That’s mine to touch, sweetheart,” Anatole said as he walked behind Leon, the lubed tip of his strap pushing against his entrance. “Just like you’re mine to fuck tonight, anyway I want.” 

Anatole pushed in, but didn’t move yet.

“Anatole, I’ve waited enough.”

“I want to hear you say it, sweetheart. ‘Anyway I want’.”

One beat, two. Anatole still didn’t move his hips. 

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Another beat, and Leon gave in. “Anyway you want, sir, just fuck me, please fuck me.”

Anatole wrapped an arm around Leon’s waist, kissing the middle of their back again before he began moving his hips, picking up pace quickly. He fucked Leon just like he had wanted and then some: deep, hard, angling himself to hit just where Leon wanted, alternating paces only to tease Lee a little more. Praise fell easy from his lips, his hands grabbing Leon’s hips, Anatole digging his fingers against their skin. He called them beautiful, he called them needy, he called them terrible, he repeated over and over that Leon was being so good, so eager and ready to get fucked. 

“Not so cocky now, are we, sweetheart?”

When Leon tried to reply, he angled himself to hit just right, keeping the angle. Leon managed a “Fuck you” and Anatole laughed, bending over them to kiss their back again. 

Leon came on Anatole’s hand, his dick still inside of him, hips still moving. They only moved to the bed when it did become too much, and then Anatole sat on his face, but eventually he went back to fucking him, making sure they came again, and again after that. Leon didn’t want it to be over yet, and he knew Anatole wasn’t likely to end it soon — though his cockiness eventually gave way to the same devotion of before, only being poured all over Leon in a different way, in a way that claimed and took and made him dizzy if he thought about it for too long. For Anatole, with Anatole, he would, however. When it came to him, he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[monicalorandavis]

Let’s all quit fucking around and give Renee her Oscar for ‘Judy’ now

I am several months late to the ‘Judy’ party. But due to a trip getting cancelled last minute I’m having a staycation instead of a vacation. (Tomato, tomahto!) Needless to say, I’ve got time on my side and I’m watching movies, baby. Time for Judy Garland, baby. Because that’s showbiz, baby!!!

I regret even joking about the razzle dazzle of show business because for Judy Garland show business, the very business she adored, also destroyed her. And that whole journey through the dark, twisted roller coaster of entertainment is sort of the thesis statement of this whole thing.

“The biz” was a cruel bitch to the greatest entertainer of all time. Her nic-name was Miss Show Business for crying out loud and yet when we meet Zellweger, playing the title character in ‘Judy’, she’s in the final year of her life, struggling to keep a roof over her children’s heads. She’s gaunt, exhausted, addicted to pills, alcohol and can’t manage to meet a decent man to save her life.

And instead of nitpicking every wrong choice that led her there, director Rupert Goold allows us into the plodding sojourn that was Judy Garland’s final tour in England. She’d lost custody of her children to ex-husband no. 3 and finally went across the pond where her fans were still willing to pay top dollar for the Hollywood legend. 

But when she gets to England we peer into the sheer loneliness that encompasses the lives of the super famous. No friends to share dinner with, kids thousands of miles away, and vulturous men always lurking on the sidelines. It’s grim and bleak and you can’t imagine things ever getting so bad. And yet they were. But, again, and I have to stress this because some power of Judy Garland compels me to underline this as a fellow woman in the arts, this is not the story of how Judy Garland ended up broke. It’s the story of how she tried her damnedest to make enough money to get her kids back because we actors are tryers.

She was a relentless performer who tried. Over and over again. She tried and tried and tried. She tried to put on a good show every night and we watch Zellweger lose the battle to those cloying pills and that seductive martini until she quite literally falls on her face. No, she doesn’t pretend like it didn’t happen. She gets up and is booed off stage and she barks back. And then she gets fired and gets word that her children want to stay with their father in Los Angeles. The final twist of the knife. Zellweger delivers that final conversation to her youngest daughter with aplomb and grace. The Judy Garland we wanted to know - Judy Garland, the mother. Tortured, flawed, generous and loving. A sensitive, soulful singer who had to fight for every scrap of dignity she ever got.

And I kept finding myself wanting to change how things turned out. She was so, so good. So talented. So kind. So willing to give herself to the audience, to new friends. She deserved more.

In one scene, that gives me chills to even think about, she asks two male fans to dinner and they can’t believe their luck. Only after dragging Judy Garland around the streets of London all night in hopes of a meal do they agree to host her at their home just blocks away. She obliges graciously and, of course because a living legend is in your home, they totally ruin the meal. And she couldn’t be a more gracious guest. She eats the terrible, soggy eggs, then, sings while her new friend plays the piano and, then, comforts him when he crumples into a ball of tears, overcome by this grand situation he finds himself in. She knows, and we know, that these two men are gay and the point is not belabored or sentimentalized. Instead, Goold treats us, the audience, like grown-ups with enough context to understand how important Judy Garland was to the gay community. She was their patron saint. Be it all the struggle, the pain under the surface and the resolve to put one foot in front of the other and sing her heart out in spite of it all. A metaphor for being gay, perhaps. Her life and legacy meant something to the community and still does. (The Stonewall Riots occurred on the day Judy Garland died and I think it played no small part in pushing things over the edge that fateful day.)

What a fight it was to be Judy Garland. A star who’d been spit out by Hollywood. Any actress over 40 will tell you their version of the story. And maybe no one understands that today quite like the star of ‘Judy’, Miss Zellweger.

I don’t think Renee Zellweger’s ever been better. She fucking soars. She sings her ass off (and I didn’t know the bitch could sing, not like this). In some instances, the resemblance is so striking between Zellweger and Garland it baffles the mind to reconcile that you are not looking at the original Judy, herself. Somehow, Zellweger completely transforms even the expression in her eyes as if the thought process, or the experience, or perhaps even the torment, is the same between both starlets. How else can an actor arrive at the exact same place as the person they are imitating? How do you achieve not just a version of a person, but the person, themselves?

I do not know what spiritual voodoo Zellweger achieved (move over, Christian Bale!). But this performance is an achievement of the highest order. I imagine Garland herself, at times her toughest critic, would be thrilled to watch the film even in its hardest moments.

Because Judy, and I suspect Renee, are consummate performers. Completely engrossed. Not engrossed. Obsessed. No, not obsessed. Addicted...

Judy Garland was completely addicted to the stage. Yes, Lady Gaga coined “I live for the the applause” but that’s only because she did her homework. Any diva in training gives their respect to the o.g. Judy Garland devoted her entire heart and soul to her performances. Often to her detriment, and to the detriment of those around her.

To be so completely talented, I imagine, is a curse to the performer. And when you’re a mother, a curse to your children. The performer’s gift has the power to kill them. It can drive them to the brink of self-destruction. The pressure and the anxiety of not performing at the same level again and again, night after night, drove Judy to the brink. The pills and the booze became absolutely necessary.

Years ago, I recall news stories about Renee Zellweger suggesting addiction and anorexia. She had wasted away, rumors swirling of drug abuse chased her - she’d been branded with a scarlet letter.

And then, I saw her in person, in Santa Monica. I was inside a Barnes and Noble bookstore (a rare occurrence nowadays in the era of dwindling brick and mortar). She was skin and bones. I barely recognized her. She looked...deranged. Her eyes were bulging nearly as much as the veins in her neck. I didn’t know why she was so distraught but my eyes fixed on her like a cheetah staring down a gazelle. She was just on the other side of the glass, and then she locked in on me. Suddenly, she was the cheetah. She stared at me, then a sour look fell upon her and she dashed away. I was shaken. I had never felt so judged by a famous person before. I had never shared such a fraught moment with a star of her caliber. But then, I wondered, maybe she hadn’t been looking at me at all. What if the glass was opaque and she wasn’t staring at me at all? What if she was looking at her own reflection that whole time? Could it be that she stared at herself that way, with that loathsome look in her eyes?

And now my heart breaks because I do believe she saw herself. She saw something in herself that she couldn’t stand and she fled from the reflection. Just like Judy would’ve ran. Just like Judy.

I’ve asked so many questions and I apologize but I must ask a few more:

What if Renee Zellweger doesn’t win an Oscar for ‘Judy’? Oof. Yes, I remember that she won for ‘Cold Mountain’ in 2004 but it was sort of payback because she’d been nominated for ‘Chicago’ in 2003 and was a shoe-in (but lost) and even that had been a sort of a gimme nom since she’d been nominated in ‘02 for ‘Bridget Jones’ Diary’ and lost even after she stole the entire world’s heart.

In a parallel way, Garland was famously snubbed for a ‘Star is Born’ in 1955 when she gave the performance of her life and lost to the quintessential Hollywood beauty, Grace Kelly. After a lifetime of comparisons and cruel remarks about her looks, it had to feel like a stab to the heart to lose to the pretty girl, the princess. Poor Judy. She just wanted to be beautiful and thin. But instead she was talented and charming. And that’s not to say she wasn’t beautiful and thin, she just didn’t fit the stupid, totally arbitrary model of beauty. And she eventually wasted away to a skeleton. Why did we do that to her? Why do we do that still?

I don’t know. But I do know that Renee Zellweger should win this god damn Oscar.

[hellyeahrpmemes]

※ JENNA MARBLES SENTENCE STARTERS, PT. XVI ※

starters from jenna’s 10 most recent videos! feel free to change names/pronouns/zodiac signs/etc.! more jenna sentences

MR. MARBLES IS TOOTHLESS

“Alright, so here’s the deal.”

“He has a small, tiny mouth.”

“This has been a very intensive recovery process.”

“It’s just been a lot.”

“He needs hugs and cuddles.”

“I don’t know what else to say.”

“I feel particularly guilty about this.”

“Life happened, you know?”

“A dog with no teeth is absolutely hilarious.”

“It just felt like the right thing to do today.”

GIVING MY DOGS A BATH WHILE THEY LISTEN TO ROYALTY FREE SPA MUSIC

“Is that too loud?”

“My dogs smell like butt.”

“You are the nastiest of them all.”

“Do you feel relaxed?”

“Yesterday, I racked a 20 pound dumbbell onto my own finger and it basically blew up.”

“I thought I had actually severed my finger.”

“Tough shit, you’re still part of the team.”

“It hurts really bad.”

“Why are you laughing?”

“Do you like this music? It’s royalty free. But it did cost $25.”

“Are you hiding from the problem?”

“Is it $25 worth of nice?”

“I’m actually really glad I’m wearing a rubber glove for some of this.”

“Don’t disturb him, he’s sleeping.”

“You screaming is not part of the royalty free spa music.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“I aspire to live my life the same way.”

“That was some nice, wholesome, selfish fun.”

I WANT TO BE TALL

“I wanna be tall…”

“What are you doing?”

“I wanna be taller than I am.”

“Stop - stop doing that.”

“Turn that off.”

“I’m gonna grow, like, seven inches this year.”

“My plan is to just sleep a lot.”

“They said I could do anything, so I’m gonna grow seven inches taller.”

“I can do anything I want.”

“Can I get a hell yeah?”

“What’s the matter, you don’t like Fur Elise?”

“There’s a lot of room for opportunity to improve in my life.”

“It’s physically impossible, but go off…”

“They said flying was impossible, and here come the Wright Brothers…”

“There’s a robot on Mars right now and you’re telling me I can’t grow seven inches?”

“Not that I leave this house, but, like, if I did, I’d want it to be like, wha-bam!”

“The doctor said I was gonna be 5’7” when I was a baby, and then something fuckin’ happened and now I’m 5’5”.”

“I worked out for the first time just the other day.”

“There’s no shortage of adult stores.”

“I’m gonna need you to do a lot of it for me.”

“Here we are, at the place where my dreams are gonna come true.”

“This is a bad idea.”

“You look very surprised.”

“Is this some form of torture that the universe gave me that I can’t think about things that matter, I can only think about things like this.”

“No no no no no, you put that sentence back in your mouth.”

“You either feel me or you don’t, and if you don’t, get out.”

“Part of being tall is constantly being on the phone.”

“You know what the cruel joke of the universe is? I’m 5’5” and my brother is 6’5”. Tell me how that makes any fucking sense!”

“Tell me how that makes any fucking sense!”

“Keeping things down here is biased against tall people.”

“Being tall equals power, everyone knows that!”

“There’s some sort of energy power here that I didn’t sign up for.”

“I’m a very athletic, intimidating tall person.”

“How dare you expose me! I thought you were on my team…!”

LET’S ABSTRACT PAINT

“I already decided oil paint’s not for me.”

“The only tool that you use is a knife.”

“We can’t really see what you’re doing.”

“I feel like I can do it.”

“I have art fear.”

“It looks easier than it probably is.”

“It’s kinda difficult to get the hang of this.”

“It is definitely much more difficult than it appears.”

“This feels really fun and good.”

“Uh-oh, I think I ruined it.”

“I take back all of my confidence.”

“My too much gene kicked in.”

“Isn’t this part of art, though? Figuring out when to stop?”

“I was gonna say I don’t hate it, but, you know what? I fuckin’ hate it.”

“I feel like I need to trust myself and not do this thing where I try to make it better.”

“I at least salvaged this into something that I don’t completely, viscerally hate.”

“I’m already feeling a little defeated, but I’m not gonna let it stop me.”

“I can do better than this, I know I can.”

“Why is it so relaxing to watch someone else make art?”

“It’s almost like I would do this to relax.”

“I’m jealous that yours is working out.”

“Watching you have success gives me confidence that I can be successful.”

“I’m not sure it’s because I have more confidence, but I’m pretending that I have more confidence.”

“I can do it, and I can stop.”

“My confidence is building, and building, and building.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“This one is called… Stop It.”

“Speaking of stop it, I should probably do that.”

“I feel so in control now.”

“I’m not used to this feeling.”

“I think you need to stop it.”

“Goodbye, I’m very tall, I have to leave.”

I FILMED MY DOG WHENEVER HE CRIED OR WAS NASTY FOR 24 HOURS

“To our credit, we actually did attempt this.”

“If anyone critiques my tacking-slash-sewing skills, I will cry.”

“I don’t think that my ego can handle that so if you would just please back off, I’d appreciate that.”

“We were up for a treat tonight, weren’t we?”

“Can we just drink our coffee real quick?”

“That’s what I use to wash myself when I shower.”

“You sat on my foot.”

“There’s two ways to go through life. One: you could just sit back and enjoy the ride, or two: you could just scream the entire time the whole thing is happening to you. Both are gonna end up the same.”

“Sometimes I feel like screaming my way through life.”

MAKING FACE FRECKLES ~*WORK*~ FOR ME

“Sometimes I feel like y’all just want me to do something to watch me fail.”

“I’m not gonna fail.”

“That’s not gonna happen. Not on my watch.”

“When you live in a sunless void like Rochester, New York, no one would really make fun of your freckles, because it means you actually saw the sun for a little.”

“I did work at a tanning salon for quite a number of years.”

“Don’t tan your skin.”

“I’m down for whatever.”

“I really know what I’m doing, basically.”

“I’m really not very artistic, even though I try.”

“I’m just gonna sit here and space out for a while.”

“I’m making such a mess.”

“We’re really just gonna go for this one.”

“I might just fuck around and get some sun damage.”

“This is a lot of work.”

“I know when I’m being trolled. Except for that one time when I did a face mask that was just mostly turmeric and my face was very orange. I got got that time.”

“That’s overkill. There’s no way you need to do that.”

“Welcome back to this isn’t fucking working.”

“Even though I live in a place where there is sunshine, it doesn’t mean I’m gonna go in it.”

“When is it time to stop?”

“I wanna look like one of those cute outside people that goes outside.”

“What the fuck is the point anymore…?”

“It only took literally all day and night.”

“This is so impractical, I’m sorry.”

“I love it, but this is stupid.”

TURNING MY BOYFRIEND INTO A BRATZ DOLL

“I just wanna see if I’m capable and able.”

“What if you could hear out of your eyebrows?”

“Well, that took altogether way too long.”

“Worst-case scenario, you ruin it.”

“Don’t, don’t, don’t, whatever you’re doing, don’t.”

“I only fucked up, like, seven times.”

“This is the no-complaints zone.”

“That looks kinda good, though, right?”

“Why did you stop breathing?”

“If anyone makes fun of this, I’m gonna cry.”

“I feel like I’m just ready to disobey my parents.”

“Look at what I’m looking at right now.”

“I don’t know what to do…!”

“It took so fucking long.”

“What the fuck? Julien, what the fuck.”

“I wanted to give in to peer pressure.”

“I’m gonna need to take the longest shower of my life.”

“You did great, you can’t sell yourself short.”

REACTING TO YOUR MEMES (MEME 👏 REVIEW 👏)

“You’re just, like, chaotic energy.”

“He’s such a good sport.”

“So talented. She is so fucking talented.”

“Now you’ve been warned, too.”

“I like this. This song’s a bop.”

“It makes me laugh.”

“You are so much all the time.”

“So many people are enjoying them.”

“You do your thing.”

“This is fucking talent.”

“You’re all really funny and talented.”

“It’s genuinely fun and enjoyable.”

“It’s a happy, happy good time.”

“I will see you guys next week for me doing something stupid, probably.”

“Did you? Did you do that to me?”

BUYING MY DOGS EVERYTHING THEY TOUCH

“To be honest? It’s kind of boring.”

“I guess we’re just gonna try.”

“We got a plant on the way here, because I have a problem.”

“This is racking up very quickly.”

“You’re not gonna be able to fit that in your mouth.”

“It can’t cost much, it’s a sticker.”

“You don’t even know what you just did.”

“Damn, is that what you’re into?”

“Touch something else.”

“Yeah, feels a little wasteful.”

“What the hell was that?”

“Why would you do that?”

“You really just went for it, didn’t you?”

“Thank you for contributing.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“I love my new necklace.”

“He hasn’t moved.”

“I didn’t know that was a thing.”

“It’s too bad I don’t know what in the world that is.”

“Honestly, what is going on?”

“I want 700 Fruit Roll-Ups and Coco Puffs.”

“Don’t make me look bad.”

“They just… wanted it.”

“They just want the biggest thing they can find.”

“It’s just really cute.”

“Are you pleased with yourself?”

“I just got got.”

“That was that. I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“I’m being attacked. I’m being attacked. I’m being attacked. I’m being attacked.”

I MADE THAT AWFUL JEANS CHAIR

“What are you watching?”

“We’re this for the long haul.”

“You know I will make it.”

“This craft assumes you have four identical pairs of jeans.”

“You can’t just staple everything together. It doesn’t work.”

“I know for a fact that this is not really going to work.”

“Who is this chair for?”

“I’m the only person I can think of who this chair’s for.”

“I just want to talk.”

“I feel like we would get along.”

“As horrid and terrible and awful as it is, it kind of fucking rules.”

“I know we shouldn’t make it, but I’m gonna make it.”

“This is the best I could do.”

“This much money, you could buy a chair.”

“Literally no one I’ve ever known has four pairs of jeans period, let alone ones that they don’t want.”

“I have two pairs of jeans and resent both of them for being uncomfortable.”

“How are you allowed to just post make believe things on the internet?”

“That’s not gonna work, it’s gonna fall apart.”

“I’m getting hot and angry.”

“Don’t touch it, it’s very delicate.”

“They probably started off with something simple and just turned into absolute madness.”

“Yeah, I’ve got 30 pounds of Poly-Fil, said no one but Jo-Ann Fabrics.”

“Did you check the pockets? You’ve always gotta check the pockets.”

“Alright, well, maybe we’re onto something.”

“It’s coming apart already…”

“Here’s our semi completed circle of hell.”

“$140, this cost to make.”

“It’s so sharp I’m gonna cut myself.”

“It’s ugly, it’s stupid, it’s infuriating, it makes me so angry. That’s why it belongs in my house.”

“It’s not a chair. It’s a bunch of jeans stapled together.”

“This is really getting up there with one of the more frustrating things I think I’ve ever done.”

“Everything keeps falling apart.”

“This is a fraud, this is a lie.”

“Mathematically, it makes no sense.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more angry.”

“I hate it. It doesn’t even work.”

“If we breathe on it right now, it’s gonna fall apart.”

“It’s the worst thing in the whole world and it cost $140.”

“I’ve never seen you in a physically relaxed position less relaxed than you are right now.”

“You know why I’m so mad? ‘Cause this is fucking comfortable.”

“It’s honestly kind of sick.”

“Why did they have to staple it?”

“Don’t you sabotage me like this.”

“Where will I sit now?”

“You can’t handle this butt.”

“You are doing that on purpose…!”

“I have a great idea.”

“I didn’t appreciate it as a chair, but I appreciate it as art.”

“We had a pretty good time here today.”

“You can’t just staple denim.”

“It was $140. It wasn’t worth it.”

[donnerpartyofone]

TL;DR - i finally got an MRI for my ear, which has been fucked up and constantly clogged since september and developed tinnitus in february, and apparently, supposedly, there is nothing wrong with it. so there’s nothing to do about it. so just like with my eye and my skin and my lung and my etc, i have a problem that i can’t do anything about, that i can’t even get the satisfaction of a diagnosis for, and i’m so pissed off about how much time and energy i’ve spent trying to improve things for myself when there was absolutely no point in doing so, that i just want to set my body on fire to really show it what i think of it.

i’m so, so mad. the last couple of months have been almost nothing but wall to wall doctor’s appointments, and with zero exception, they have all been a complete waste of time. it hurts because my body tortures me, of course, but it hurts worse than that because i convinced myself that i HAD to do this, that it was Mature to face my fear of doctors and generally the Right Thing to Do, when i absolutely didn’t want to do any of this at all.

i suffer a lot from an internalized impression of myself as being lazy, defeatist, and dramatic. it comes from a lot of places. i grew up in an environment where i was the only open depression sufferer, under one parent who definitely considered depression to be an antisocial behavioral problem, to be treated like any other shallow cry for attention. i also grew up in an environment full of obvious talents, all of whom would go on to be published, or even public figures, and not to be a complete asshole, but the idea that “you can do anything you put your mind to” is kept alive by people who have the baseline talent necessary to succeed at things they put their minds to. if you subscribe to the idea that success requires nothing other than commitment, then the implication is that all failure is a matter of laziness, petulance, and defeatism--never lack, never inferiority, never ordinariness. on top of all this, my personal interests--horror, sexually graphic media, comics, underground music movements, the usual roundup of morbid or antisocial cultural items--were considered pretty much...well, not very adult. so what i’m coming to is that if i can’t prove my adulthood in any way that has to do with who i am or what i’m capable of, then the very least i can do is Be Responsible. (and of course i get made fun of all the time for being an uptight rule follower but JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, LITERALLY WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO DO)

one of the main ways you can Be Responsible, if you have the means that is, is to look after your health. the world is full of icky, boring, degrading, depersonalizing, and occasionally painful tasks that are necessary to keep the societal cogs turning. if you can’t make art or have ideas or be beautiful or become an athlete or whatever, you can still show that you’re alive and generally hygienic by going to the dmv, voting, showing up for jury selection, or going to the doctor. you can still grasp the final shred of integrity offered to you by doing things no one wants to do, but that we know are necessary for the vitality of self and society. so i’m extra good at doing stuff that people my age frequently shirk--the dentist appointments, the doing your taxes the second the forms come in, etc--because they’re sort of the only things i can do that prove that i’m not, you know, a complete piece of shit.

so this year, at the start of february, i decided i was going to get a real handle on my health. i’d been going to doctors for various things already, of course, even though it was pretty much never satisfying; the only thing i can think of that ever got fixed or explained was the pathological growth of scar tissue over my eyeballs, which required some pretty fucked up surgery. but at this time, i had a lot of problems building up. my left eye developed a small spot, and a constant glare that borders on having double vision. my right ear remained completely stuffed up since i had a cold last fall, and began to ring constantly at the end of the winter. my right lung has felt alarmingly tight and weak for...years actually. the right side of my face is constantly beet red, like i go fresh with somebody’s wife, and i can see how it’s thickening and bending my flesh all out of shape, which rosacea will do progressively and incurably throughout your entire life. i decided that instead of quaking in fear of doctors, and also in fear of wasted time, i was going to straighten my back and go nip this shit in the bud. after all, when you’re miserable but not doing anything about it, people kind of hate you, and then you have THAT problem on top of all your real problems. sometimes you gotta give the people what they want.

so how did it all go?

my skin: since no insurance company considers rosacea a medical problem, which is actually complete fucking bullshit, i decided to take matters into my own hands. i researched what rich people do for their uninsurable problem, and decided to use my recent (traumatic) inheritance to take care of myself. i tried three different preposterously expensive topical treatments that i was told are a “magic bullet” for rosacea, and all of them made my face blow up like a fucking macy’s day balloon. then, after four rounds of extremely expensive, painful and scary laser treatments, i had absolutely no results other than that my face was actually MORE reactive for about a month after the last one. i’m fucked.

my eye: according to my optometrist and ophthalmologist and corneal specialist it’s “just” regular scar tissue from my terrifying surgeries, not the pathological scar tissue that i had to have removed via terrifying surgery and localized chemotherapy. this kind of sucks because it means i can’t just get it removed again, but at least there is a slight chance that my body will reabsorb it like regular scar tissue. (oh yeah? and what’s my luck USUALLY like?) my only “treatment option” is to use eyedrops four times a day, which is actually extremely uncomfortable, and which pretty much means i’m just not allowed to wear makeup ever again.

my lung: after two rounds of clear x-rays and a breathing test that only detected slight asthma, through two GPs and a pulmonologist, nobody has anything to say about why i have this chronic breathing problem. there’s some indication that it might be a “muscular-skeletal problem” that’s putting pressure on the one lung, so i guess i need to add a physical therapist or something to my endless list of specialists.

my ear: two or three trips to urgent care (i forget how many now), two GPs, an ENT, a fucking weird hearing test, and an MRI have done absolutely nothing for me. after a cold with a sinus/ear infection last fall, my right ear remained permanently slammed shut; if i pop it, it closes back up in seconds. i do not have the same problem with the other ear, it is clearly a physical problem. in february, my ear began to ring agonizingly and has not stopped for a second. in all this time, i went through round after round of antibiotics, antihistamines, anti-inflammatories, steroids, etc. nothing works. no one can see any type of problem. apparently i have the option of electing to have a tube surgically inserted into my ear, although i can’t quite figure out what the risk factor is, both for my tinnitus, and for my hearing in general. 

and OF COURSE, depression: part of the stigma against depression is that it’s a choice, somehow. like fresh air and exercise and looking on the bright side are so effective that if you’re depressed, it must be because you LIKE IT THAT WAY, because otherwise you would use these simple and free cures for your so-called illness and it would be all over, right? anyway i kind of hate being depressed, and i’ve been working my fucking ass off trying to deal with it. i see a nutritional therapist (a licensed psychiatrist) who prescribed me a number of nutritional supplements that i do think help, but they are unthinkably hard on my stomach. i tried lexapro, and it made me feel so abnormal, and cut into my general quality of life so badly, that i didn’t keep it up. i tried a generic version of wellbutrin, and it made me violently sick to my stomach, and caused my ringing ear to ring deafeningly for days after a single dose. the brand name version wasn’t much better. then i tried lamictal, and felt totally great AND NORMAL for like a week, and then i got the rare and potentially deadly lamictal rash. sometimes this just indicates a basic allergy, and sometimes it indicates Stevens-Johnson Syndrome which causes something called TOXIC EPIDERMAL NECROLYSIS WHICH REQUIRES LONG TERM HOSPITALIZATION TO GROW YOUR SKIN BACK. i had to deal with this on the day of mandatory final exam presentations in a class where i was already struggling, and this was one of the darkest days i can recently remember. after this, my psychiatrist tried to prescribe me abilify, but after i started to hear about the side effects and personal testimony of certain friends, i decided i couldn’t handle it. very possibly, i just cannot be medicated for depression, unless i’m willing to sacrifice everything else around the depression too. 

...this is all pretty much a retread of an experience i had for a few years, a few years ago, where i was having these abnormal paps, so they constantly had to drill painful core samples out of my cervix to keep checking up on the NOTHING that was going on in there, until one day they were just like...uh your tests are coming back fine now, and we don’t know why they didn’t before, and it just doesn’t matter, you don’t have to do this anymore PLUS you could have just been sitting on your couch jerking off this entire time and it would have done exactly as much good as this cycle of being humiliated and tortured by doctors in a while that leaves you curled up in a ball sobbing every time. i’m still pretty pissed off about it, if you can’t tell.

so like i don’t know why the fuck i’m doing all this. i don’t know why i do anything. nothing fucking comes from even my most herculean effort except a relentless sense of mystery that is starting to border on satire. i don’t know why i have so many problems. i’m 38 years old and i’m in ok shape. i don’t have generalized immune issues or anything. my doctor said i have some of the best lab work she’s ever seen. why the fuck does all this shit happen to me. i’m trying so fucking hard to enjoy my life. it’s hard to be in mental and physical pain all the time, the latter for absolutely no coherent reason. i mean i’d rather have a bunch of random problems than like, lupus or MS or something, for sure, but everything that happens to me is so meaningless and arbitrary, i’m starting to get that feeling like god hates me. it’s also hard to have the constant feeling that so many people think that failure to enjoy life is exclusively a matter of “not trying hard enough”, being a pill, looking for attention. i don’t know what to do anymore. i’m real pissed. i think what i need is a change of philosophy, which will be a long hard road. at least i know it’s the one and only area where i, and only i, have some level of control. wish me luck.

[looselucy]

Forty Seven - Hiding

February 29th I had packed my bag, telling Rachel that I was going to move back in with my parents for a while, telling her I needed some time. Of course, that wasn’t true, I had just moved in with Harry. It was really nice, it was actually the most comfortable I had felt in months. Since he got back from the interview, we practically hadn’t left each other’s sides. We just lazed around with each other, immersed ourselves in one another, and I lost tension that I hadn’t realised I’d be homing.

It was totally enjoyable, but I knew it couldn’t really last. I wasn’t sure how much sanity there could be in a relationship where two people had to be locked indoors with each other the whole time, not even telling the people closest to them. I wasn’t sure how long the two of us could last like that. But for the time being, it was quite nice blocking out the world. Nothing else mattered. I stood in the kitchen wearing one of Harry t-shirts, which just about covered me enough to have a little dignity as I happily moved about to the sounds of the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. I was cooking us something to eat, since the amount of take-away food we had eaten over the past 9 days was actually slightly ridiculous. I couldn’t help but wonder how Harry’s body had remained so toned and beautiful after all the shit we had eaten, because I could see the difference in my stomach. It was very noticeable. Tell Me Baby played as I happily moved about the kitchen, preparing a relatively healthy pasta dish, frying some onions as I danced to myself. I hadn’t noticed Harry stood in the doorway of the hall watching me, smiling to the back of my head as I lost myself in my happy moves. “Are you cooking for me?” He asked, fresh out of the shower. I turned around, smiling at the damp boy with a towel clung to his hips. He pushed his damp hair back, revealing his face to me entirely. Fuck, he’s beautiful. I danced up to him, moving my hips and cocking my eyebrows playfully, causing a beautiful laugh to fall from his lips. “You never cook for me, so I have to cook for you.” I said. “Heyyyy.” He protested. “I would cook for you!” “Yeah? Then why haven’t you?” I smiled, tracing his abs with my fingertips. “Because... Shut up!” He crinkled his nose with a smile. I quickly moved my hand down and tugged the towel away from him, forcing him to let out an exceptionally feminine scream, rushing to grab it back off me and cover himself. I turned myself back around, laughing at him, making my way towards the onions I had left frying, turning them off before I burnt them. But Harry was quickly back with me, spinning me round and pulling my body to his. “That was rude.” He said before biting his lip. I pulled at the towel again, quickly throwing it behind him before he had the chance to grab it back off me. I tried to hold in my laughter as I looked up to him with guilty eyes, my throat trying to force a giggle but I held it in, gaging the way he looked down to me. “Right, that’s it.” He spoke. I squealed as he picked me up and slung me over his shoulder. I was still amazed by his strength even though I had seen it so many times in so many different scenarios, but he literally had no struggle as he lifted me and began to move. I giggled and screamed as carried me, kicking my legs dramatically. I reached down as far as I could and began slapping my hand against his bare arse cheeks, my stomach hurting I was laughing so much. “You’re in trouble now, Black!” He bellowed. I couldn’t physically stop my laughter as he carried me up the stairs, my giggles only increasing when he moved his free hand and slapped my bum in return, leaving quite a harsh sting to the sensitive skin, but I enjoyed it. I reached down again and gripped both his cheeks with my hands, giggling the skin. As we reached the top of the stairs, his strength showed once more as he swung me round, moving me off his shoulder, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around him, my arms draped over his shoulders. His dark eyes caused my throat to catch, making me look to him with utter lust lining my needs. His face was low as he looked to me, he knew exactly how to tease me, he knew how to work me up so I was desperate for him. It was safe to say I was no longer laughing. “You’ve just been a very naughty girl. Naughty girls need punishing.” He grunted. I inhaled deeply, hot and bothered and very aware of my t-shirt and knickers, the only two items keeping me from being naked with him. He started to move again, carrying me into his bedroom, his eyes not leaving mine. I was expecting him to throw me to the bed right away, but I was completely caught off-guard as he took hold of my knickers, wrapping his fists around the material against my hip and pulling it with force. They ripped from my skin, the elastic and lace tearing, my body trembling as I took in what he had just done, and how aroused I was thanks to it. “Fuck.” I gasped rather breathlessly. “Mind your language, Honey. You’re in enough trouble as it is.” He then took the frayed material to his mouth, gripping his teeth to it and then pulling down, waiting until is snapped away from his mouth as I watched him, totally in awe. I was obsessed with him and everything he did. I wondered how anyone could become so incredibly sexy, how it just flowed so naturally through him. It was never forced, he just captured the meaning of sex and desire. I ached for him, always. His touch was fire, his breath was a deserts wind, his eyes were a dark summers evening. He was a specimen that was a rarity in life, and I had somehow got lucky enough to be able to call him my own. He moved to the bed, dropping down on top of me as he attacked my neck with his lips, sucking on my skin, bound to be making his mark. I had never enjoyed love-bites, but Harry was different. I wanted to be marked by him, I wanted to feel that little bit of pain from his touch, see that he had been there and that I had been his. He withdrew from me, kneeling up on the bed and showing me his hard member, his toned body looking perfect and tanned. “Take your top off.” He spoke. I quickly removed the requested item from my body, and then lead back down, watching Harry move his hand and grip around himself. He began to masturbate ahead of me, biting his lip as his wrist moved with speed. I tried to travel my hand down to myself, wanting to masturbate with him, but I was stopped. He gripped onto my wrist, watching me with serious eyes, dark and low. “Touch yourself and you’ll get nothing from me.” He seethed. It took all my might not to do it, especially when he spoke to me like that, all I wanted to do was touch myself, pleasure myself to him pleasuring himself. He moved his hand back and continued the action, looking me in the eye the whole time. Soon he began grunting his pleasure, moaning into the room, rolling his shoulders, really getting into his work. I just watched him, my eyes flicking from his face to his dick as I attempted not to squirm on the bed, so turned on and so fucking frustrated. Harry then closed his eyes, rolling his head back before he spoke. “I’m thinking of fucking you.” He groaned. “I’m thinking of bending you over and pulling your hair, gripping onto your skin until it burns. I’m thinking of the way you moan my name, and how much I want to feel your cum on my lips again.” “Fuck you!” I moaned. He knew how much he was turning me on, and it reached the point where it was absolutely killing me that he wasn’t touching me, it was killing me that I couldn’t touch myself because I needed to. I felt as though I was close to my edge; even without his touches I was close, but I knew I needed some form of contact or I wouldn’t finish. It was like dangling at the edge of a cliff, that was how my entire body felt. He continued to work himself, giving me absolutely nothing as I whimpered beneath him, my back arching as he moaned more and more, clearly nearing his end. “Lift your hips!” He demanded. I did as I was told, and without a second of hesitation, Harry thrust into me, and we both cursed and came in time with one another. That was all it took. One thrust, one bit of contact, and I was done. I almost felt as though I could cry, that sort of overwhelming feeling that washed my body. Harry fell on top of me, his chest crashing to mine in a hot daze as we rode it out together. I moved my hand to his hair, running it through the wet curls calmly. Harry’s face was in the sheets beside mine, flustered and hot. He moved his hand, not even looking at me as his thumb found my cheek, brushing over my skin. I nudged my cheek even closer to his touch, and soon enough he brought his face back round to me, kissing soft touches against my lips. He was so gentle, so soft and caring, I loved how things could change so quickly between us, the feeling of the atmosphere completely different than it had been only moments before. “Do I tell you I love you too much?” He spoke quietly. “I don’t think so.” I smiled. “I just feel this need to tell you. All the time. I think it’s ‘cause… when I first told you, it was so... awful. It was bitter. Now it’s different. And I just want to say it all the time.” I kissed him again, closing my eyes and breathing him in, amazed by his beauty, amazed by the fact he didn’t fear his honesty. “Then say it.” I whispered. “I love you, Anna.” “I love you too.” I breathed.

He kissed the tattoo at the back of my neck for what felt like the millionth time, stirring me from my serene slumber. I automatically had a smile on my face, I couldn’t help it. I snuggled further into him, his arms wrapped sweetly around my waist. I hated thinking back to the wasted months where we weren’t together, where my mind tortured me with memories and thoughts of him, the way things had been, the way things should have been. I had tried so hard to get over him, to try and convince myself it was the right thing to do, to try and even convince myself that I didn’t love him. But each attempt was a fail. Even when I was with Will, Harry was there in the back of my mind. It was like I could always hear his voice. I think what had made it so difficult was that we were both aware that neither of us wanted things to end, our relationship had been forced to come to a close. There were two people wanting to be together, wanting to find one another. That’s what made it impossible. Maybe I’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new. As I lay there in his arms, I hated the fact there had been a time where we had gone along with his managements bullshit and let things end. Because this was exactly where I wanted to be. In his arms. He moved his fingertips down to the scar on my stomach, brushing over the raised, smooth skin that had been crafted by hatred guised as love. I breathed in the soft moment, hearing Harry behind me do the same thing, like he still had to fully come to terms with what had happened. We both knew nothing needed to be said about it, but sometimes it was just nice to have him be that way with me, because he was still comforting me about it. Even after all this time. “Good morning, Beautiful.” He kissed the tattoo again. “Do you really have to go out and do press stuff today?” I asked sadly. “Hmm. I don’t want to, but yeah. I’ll make it up to you though.” I turned myself around so I was facing him, a cheeky little grin on my face as I draped my leg over his hip, feeling him shuffle closer to me, our relaxed, naked bodies meshed together. “How?” I cocked my brows. “I’ll buy you flowers.” He smiled. “Oh.” I sulked glumly. “No?” “They just die anyway.” “Unfortunately, all beautiful things do.” “Well... that’s just killed the conversation.” I rolled my eyes. Harry chuckled heavily, kissing at my cheek over and over and he held me, his skin making love to mine. “If not flowers, what do you want?” “Sex.” “You get that anyway!” He laughed. “Really, what do you want?” “Then nothing.” I smiled. He kissed me again, his tongue caressing mine, slowly and gently, leaving me moaning to his open mouth as we moved together. He was so easy to get lost in. I had never found myself lost in another human being. But with Harry, I always was. ”I’ll try to think of something, Honey. I’ll be bored out of my mind all day, I’ll figure something out.” ”I love you.” I told him. ”I love you more.”

The day passed at an agonising speed, and I had once again found myself sat downstairs in his home, watching shit TV and eating shit food. I had debated leaving the house, but I would then run the risk of bumping into Rach, or anyone I knew to be honest. It wouldn’t be worth it, I didn’t want there to be questions thrown at me that I couldn’t answer. So I stayed indoors, occasionally nipping out into Harry’s garden just to get some fresh air, but I soon went back inside, because it was fucking freezing. My day continued that way for a while, when suddenly something happened. A heavy pounding at the Harry’s front door. My automatic reaction, of course, was to go and answer it. I stood myself up, humming along merrily to myself as I made my way there. It was only when I reached the kitchen, just seconds away from being in the hall, where they could see me, did I realise I wasn’t supposed to be there. My being there was a secret from the rest of the world. “Fuck fuck fuck!” I leapt backwards. I stayed in the kitchen, cursing myself and how stupid I had been, how close I had been to just going and answering the door, not even giving it a second thought. The knocking repeated, getting louder and seemingly more angry with every hit. I panicked. Shit. What if it’s someone from his management? What if they know? I took a deep breath in, totally unprepared to next hear the bellowing voice coming from outside. “HARRY?” I just stood in silence, waiting for more, maybe hoping the culprit would say their name, or at least give me some clue who they were. “HARRY, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR! IT’S URGENT!” That little part of my mind that told me I should do the right thing started singing to me, wondering if the boy outside could possibly be hurt or in trouble. I knew it wasn’t one of the boys, I would have recognized their voices. It was someone I didn’t know. “HARRY OPEN THE DOOR, NOW! SERIOUSLY MATE, I NEED YOU.” I stayed quiet still, breathing heavily in and out as my mind battled with itself what to do, scared I wasn’t helping someone who definitely sounded like they needed help. “HARRY! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” He slammed the door between every word. I couldn’t help myself. I cursed my own mind once again as I caved, moving to the door in a hurry, shaking my head, already disappointed in myself as I walked down the hall. I knew it was a mistake, because there was now one other person who would know I was there, who would know unless Harry had moved out and I had moved in, something was going on between us. But I couldn’t help it, he sounded so desperate. I moved the chains from the door and swung it open, my mouth dropping as I stared at the ginger male ahead of me. He furrowed his brows, looking me up and down. “You’re not Harry.” He quizzed. “No.” “Where’s Harry?” I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at him. I think I was a little star-struck. I moved my vision down to the numerous coloured tattoos that absolutely smothered his skin. I then moved my vision back to his face, still silent. He looked to me like I was crazy, but we both just stood in silence for a while. Then suddenly his eyes widened. He clicked his fingers, and placed me. “You’re Anna!” He beamed. I still stayed quiet, and I think that answered his question. His mouth dropped, a cheeky little look on his face as he figured everything out in his head. I was still a little annoyed that I had answered the door to a boy who seemed perfectly fine. I had also noticed the few bottles of booze he had brought with him, and I imagined his attempts to get inside were nothing to do with being in trouble like he had portrayed, he actually just wanted to get drunk with his friend. “You’re ANNA!” He said again. “Uh, hi.” I stuttered. He held his hand out to me, which I shyly moved to, shaking it as he smiled to me, grinning as he did. ”Hi, I’m Ed.”

[missdreawrites]

Far Cry 5, and How I Feel a Week after Beating It

@weekend-writer, here we go. Hold on to your butts.

I just recently finished Far Cry 5, and mid-way through the playthrough, someone asked if I thought it was worth the 60$ USD and I had originally said yes. Now, having completed the game, I’m rethinking that stance. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not sorry I bought the game for full price, but I’m definitely a bit - sad over it. So I’m going to go through the game point by point, in a somewhat blistering, disappointed review.

Obviously, beyond the cut, there are SPOILERS ahead.

Let me start this out by saying I enjoyed seventy-five percent of this game. The graphics were amazing, the outposts were all unique, the characters were priceless (fucking Hurk Jr, man, I love him so much and dude, I ran around with a bear named Cheeseburger). The music was fantastic. I loved the theme, and the battle music, and even the scary uber-Christian hymns that played on Eden’s Gate Radio.

Now, for those of you who are looking for a bit of a rundown, the game is about a Rookie Deputy Sheriff - hereby known as Rook for the rest of this review. You play the Rook who goes to Eden’s Gate, an uber Christian cult in the middle of Hope County, Montana. You, Deputy Hudson, Deputy Pratt, and a US Marshall go to arrest the leader of this cult, Joseph Seed.

Like in Far Cry 4, you have a choice in the very beginning of the game. You can choose not to arrest Joseph - though you have to loiter for ten minutes or so as your partners and boss get increasingly angry with you, but eventually the Sheriff decides you’re right, this is not a battle we want to fight, let’s just go. Credits.

However, if you actually want to play the game, you have arrest Joseph and bring him to your chopper, wherein all hell breaks loose, and you crash because of course you do. Joseph Seed tells you that arresting him was breaking the first “seal” and anyone who has watched Supernatural within the last thirteen years knows what that means.

The rest of the events in the game are not all that important to this review, only that Joseph Seed has several siblings that you have to defeat to get to him after you escape and are set loose on the region.

There’s John Seed, a torturer who has Deputy Hudson. He’s obsessed with cleansing people of their sins. There’s Jacob Seed, a war veteran who has so many PTSD issues I can’t actually list them all, and he’s a manipulator who believes the weak should be culled from the herd. He brainwashes you a la Bioshock, only he uses a song to do it. Then there’s Faith Seed, and she’s not actually related to them. She was a junkie who came to Joseph for help, and ended up helping him create Bliss, this hallucinogenic drug that stretches the bounds of reality just a bit too much.

There. Now.

You have to liberate each region (John, Jacob, and Faith respectively) in order to unlock the final confrontation with Joseph. Each region has a bar that has little bubbles on it, once reach those bubbles, those are essentially check points of “pissing off a Seed sibling” and they send Hunters out after you.

1. Mechanic I hate number the first one: the Hunting Party

So you’ve pissed off a Seed sibling! They send a Hunting Party after you. The party arrives - even if you fast travelled to a different region, or even the other side of the map. Or like me, you’re a stealthy snipery jerkface and you kill the entire party undetected as they yell about finding me and “use the Bliss Bullets, John/Jacob/Faith wants ‘em alive!”

I kill all eight of the hunting party, and breathe a sigh of relief. There are no more red markers, Boomer says no one else is around. I venture out of cover.

Blam.

Screen goes wavery, then sparkly. Then Rook falls unconscious. Despite having killed the party, or left the party or hidden, these are scripted events, so I literally can do nothing to save myself. I have to get kidnapped by the Seed sibling, for Plot Reasons.

Annoying but manageable.

2. Mechanic I hate number the second one: The Rook

Unlike in the rest of the Far Cry series, you are not a person. By which I mean, you’re not like Jason Brody or Ajay Ghale, or even Jack. You’re still the Rook, of course but you’re not voiced, you have no personality. You can be male or female, and the only person in the entire game that mentioned my gender as female was freakin’ Hurk.

Your character makes noise - when you’re hurt or falling, you grunt and groan and cry out, but you don’t talk. You don’t emote. You are just a blank canvas. What’s worse, is they didn’t bother recording two sets of dialogue like Bethesda did in Fallout 4.

So all the cultists just call you by a gender neutral sound. “Get ‘em!”/”I saw ‘em over there!”/”I got eyes on the sinner!”

Y’all. Y’all come on.

This is especially hard to stomach when the characters are spewing just the most ridiculous nonsense at you. There’s a moment after you get kidnapped by Jacob, and Joseph is there. He goes on this - truly awful and ridiculous monologue about how he used to be a different person, he was married, a baby on the way. How happy he was. Then there was an accident. His wife died, and the doctors saved the baby but the baby was sick, probably premature, and they said he had to be strong for his baby daughter.

TW: he is not strong for his baby daughter.

The rook doesn’t say a damn thing to this horrible man who admits he killed his baby daughter instead of taking care of her. The rook just watches him, from behind bars. Yo, I was livid. I was like WHAT THE FUCK YOU MURDERER HOW DARE YOU PREACH PEACE but nope. My character was totally silent.

Y’ALL.

3. Mechanic that I hate number the third one: the Ending (collectively)

WARNING: Here be spoilers. If you don’t care about me spoiling the entire ending confrontation with Joseph, keep on reading. Otherwise, feel free to skip down to the conclusion, which I’ve helpfully put in bold.

SO THE ENDING.

After you liberate each region, gather all your Roster, finish your side quests and helping each person you find, Joseph Seed contacts you - he offers to open up his compound so you two can finally have it out. Now, I’ll take this moment to say that I put it off for a bit. I ignored Joseph so I could finish side quests, and my partner, who beat the game two days before I did told me no, go do it, you won’t want to keep playing after. Why waste that time?

I was thoroughly alarmed by that statement. So even though it was almost seven in the morning and I’d stayed up all night to play it, I drove my ass to Joseph’s compound and in a mirror of the very beginning, walked up to the church.

Immediately, I am placed in a cut scene. This has happened a few times throughout the game, Whenever John Seed implored you to say “yes” to whatever tortures he wanted bestow on you, to talking with your allies. However, the length of this cutscene dragged on, until Joseph is done preaching at you.

He says he’ll give you an offer. That despite all you’ve done, despite the fact that you’ve killed his flock and family, he’s going to offer you peace. He’s going to do the “right thing” and offer you peace. You hear something behind you - still in a cutscene - and turn around to see all your friends. The roster you helped out, minus the animals, all Blissed out of their minds (as noted by the glowing cloud around their faces) and leading tied up people into the compound. They aim their guns at Deputy Pratt, Deputy Hudson and the Sheriff, all of whom have been recaptured by the people you thought were your friends. Joseph tells you if you resist, if you don’t choose peace, then you can kiss your friends goodbye.

Then you’re given the ability to choose two options: Resist or Accept.

IF YOU CHOOSE RESIST:

He knocks over some Bliss barrels, and everything gets all kinds of fucked up, and your friends attack Pratt, Hudson and the Sheriff. After you fight off Joseph for a second or two, you’re able to revive them (not a new mechanic, you can revive anyone during the rest of the game) and all four of you start fighting Joseph. You have to fight your roster as well, but once they go down, you’re able to revive them as well - which puts them back on your side. However, Joseph will also try to revive them, which leaves them your enemy.

I guess “killing them” and reviving them is like cognitive recalibration? Either way, once all your roster-friends are revived an on your side, you turn your attention to Joseph and shoot the fuck out of him. It’s real cathartic… until you beat him and are immediately locked into another cutscene.

While Joseph monologues at you, the Sheriff (your boss, essentially) comes up behind him, declares him under arrest, and handcuffs him. Joseph proclaims that another seal has broken, and then the entire screen shakes with some kind of impact. The cutscene shows you, Hudson, Pratt, and the Sheriff a giant mushroom cloud, not too far away from where you are, across the lake.

There’s a moment of shock, and Joseph declares it the end of the world, just like he predicted. He was right, and the end is upon us, etc, etc yadda.

We all run toward a car, with Joseph in tow, and then you’re given control back just long enough to drive helter skelter away from the shockwave, as shit is getting set on fire, until you’re suddenly locked in another cutscene just in time to slam into a falling tree.

The screen goes black and red, as you come to, realizing that Pratt, Hudson and the Sheriff are dead. The car door opens and you fall out, blacking back out. When you wake up again, you’re in a bunker - the same bunker you woke up in before being set loose on the county after the prologue, and who should be with you?

Joseph. Seed.

He tells you that everyone in Hope County is dead, and it’s all your fault, why couldn’t you have just picked peace? But hey, it doesn’t matter - we’re family now and one day, we’ll walk through Eden’s Gate together.

“I am your Father,” Joseph Seed says, leaning back in his seat, and staring at you with those wide eyes. “And you are my Child.” He locks eyes with you, never blinking, as the screen fades to black.

Credits.

I was in fucking shock. According to my partner who was awake on the couch and watching me play through this, I kept clicking my mouse like I was trying to pull my guns to shoot him. Why couldn’t I just shoot him?

Now, I’m willing to admit that a lot that might have been a hallucination - the cutscenes make use of the Bliss (which is hallucinogenic) a lot - even though when you aren’t in a cutscene the drug only behaves that way in the most minorest of ways. I’ve been running through fields of Bliss for ages, and all you get is weird sparkling on the corners of your screen. Sometimes you hallucinate Faith Seed, or animals that aren’t there.

However, ultimately, whether or not it was a hallucination doesn’t matter. Because the credits roll and the game is over. Hope County is gone, your friends, your allies, they’re gone. Your only companion is the man you failed to kill, the man you failed to arrest, and you’ve lost.

You lost.

So, utterly livid, I reloaded my save just before choosing Resist, and instead chose the other option.

IF YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT PEACE:

Joseph lets you go. He monologues a bit more, but he lets you, Hudson and Pratt, the Sheriff, he lets everyone go. You retreat to the edge of the Compound, get into the same truck you’d get into if you chose to resist, and start driving away. The Sheriff talks to you a little and ultimately what he says isn’t important, because the radio turns on, as you drive away.

Remember how I said Jacob Seed brainwashed you.... With a song?

The screen goes red as your character starts screaming, and then the screen goes black.

Roll credits.

The game is over. The last time that song played, when you did Jacob’s Region, you killed one of your allies because he brainwashed you into doing it. The entire lead up to killing Jacob is one big brainwashing suckfest, and you do things you don’t think you’re doing until it’s over.

It’s very, very clear that you’ll kill everyone in that car with you.

You lose. Everyone in that car knows how bad Joseph Seed is, they’re your survivors, your witnesses. The people who could have helped you get more manpower to come back and get rid of Joseph with more than a song and a prayer.

But you kill them. You lose.

Both of these endings mean that the ninety hours I spent playing were useless. Nothing I did mattered. Either the world fucking ends, or you murder the people you spent the whole game trying to save. Nothing you did matter, you made no difference, and you lose.

I have nothing against games where you don’t win. I have nothing against games where the ending message is you lose. I have serious issues with being plot railroaded via cutscene into endings I don’t want. Why couldn’t I shoot Joseph? I shot Faith, and Jacob and John. Clearly due process wasn’t important THEN, so why are we arresting Joseph? He’s a dangerous man who knows how to use a dangerous drug to mind control people - but yeah sure, let’s arrest him.

CONCLUSION:

Am I disappointed I bought the game? No, not really. I’m glad I played.

However, I was left with this - bad taste in my mouth, a little. The endings were lackluster, I feel like a require closure to move on with my life - especially because I beat it a week ago, and I’m still stewing over the ending.

Like the original ending of Mass Effect 3, where I was left in shock, I hope that Ubisoft hears how disappointing those endings were and gives us a miniature DLC (to go along with the three weird ones they already have) that gives us a better option.

To the anon who asked me if it was worth the 60$ USD, I originally answered your ask saying yes, because I loved the game.

I hope you see this, and note that my answer has changed. If you’re a hardcore fan of the series, like me, sure - spend the 60. But if you’re not? If you’re a casual player who just liked the idea of the plot - give it a miss, until the next Steam Summer Sale or Xbox Gold Give Away.

This is a little disjointed, I started it while I was at work and then slept before finishing it but I am free and available for any questions via ask/message system. Anon hate about loving the endings will be added to the fire and will fuel the heating for my house. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

[rabbit-pieces]

last goodbye

Honestly A*****, all I ever wanted for my birthday was to look back and see how much we flourished, and all I ever ended up getting is the realization that will never happen, no matter how hard I try. And my gut feeling telling me there's no way in hell I'm this lucky, was right. There is no good karma, there is just simply reality. Being a good person, no matter how much you want to be, doesn't exactly make your simple wishes come true. It's just an illusion, it's always been. Just something that motivates people to do good. And for a while, god damn, I felt my gentle heart actually did me something for once. That someone like you, would be in love with me. love is simply a fairytale, and we just want to live within the one that touches our heart the most. I've always loved the romance. I tried to stay away from it, after 3 times my heart was broken, all for the same reason, it didn't seem to work for me, but you were different. And I fell for my old habits thinking I could invest myself in someone else. And you were the right one, in all the right ways. Every card I wanted, was in my hands, and all I had to do was play the deck. And with all of the emotional abusive bs I've been through, I knew something was up. How in the fuck, could you literally be everything I wanted in a girl, but I'm still not happy, I still feel alone, I still feel abandoned, I still feel so fucking used. And it dawned on me, I'm simply not the one for you. You simply aren't motivated as much as you think you are. And in the end, I was right. As much as I fucking hated the thought of that, I was right. As much as I would do to make things different, to finally, find my lover and set myself apace for this miserable ass life, in the end, it was your decision to leave me behind. And there's no point in chasing you if you decided to leave, time, and time, and time again. And now I must accept the fact I walk this path alone knowing you'll only come back when you want to, but not when I need you

You said you didn't understand why you let it slip through your finger tips. Maybe you misinterpret how much love you have for me, maybe you overestimate or say impulsive things you don't mean. Maybe you simply didn't care up until you felt like it was too late, Maybe.. the only way to move you, and do fucking something instead of watching me leave. Was for me to tell you I don't want to come back. And it all makes sense now. Now I understand why you don't understand. Now I understand why you take all the blame. Now I understand why you would get so defensive long before, and now you all of a sudden take blame. Because you saw this coming long before all of this, this is why, you don't blame me for anything now. Because you know no matter what I do, I'm not the one you choose. since the beginning, you know this will never work because I'm not the one you're in love with. I think deep down it eats your consciousness, whenever I'm hurt by your absence. And you know why, you don't spend time with me or I feel like I am in last place. Because I am. And I think instead of admitting that, and telling me why, it's easier for you to take all blame, generalizing that instead of admitting the one truth you don't want me to find. instead of the one reason that ensured we would crumble long before our issues ever set surface.

And this whole time, I wanted to prove EVERYONE wrong, that you were different, that we could be more than what they saw in you. that the person you showed me, was much, much different. And my uncle, telling me I didn't fully know you because it was "online" n shit. Dude, how fucking bad did I want to prove them wrong. And not even for my own sake, no, I protected your image because I wanted you to live a better one embraced by me, influenced by your love, I wanted you free from the name of a slut or attention whore. And I wanted to be the person, the fucking prooof of that, that everyone knew, I was your boyfriend, fuck it, husband, and we would go on years staying together. And they'd know, if one of us showed up, the other 80% has to be near. To actually, form a love so bright that even the stars would glare at us. We'd spend so much time together, invest in one of another, talk about how much we love each other to other people, and man... I was so close, because everyone of my friends saw you as my happiness, you just didn't do the same to me. And now I have to turn my head. and tell them. that it was all a fucking lie. That I was the complete moron, that felt for this dumbass love gimmick again. how fucking 4 serious relationships in a row now, I have been nothing but neglected, every single time, I was called the world, but left in a pile of shit. And how the one where I finally gain the knowledge and understand myself better,  be the most open I've ever been, tried my best not to be clingy slobbering on your cock 24/7, was out of my fucking way patient for you, wasting hours of my day for for chance you showed up. Endured mental hell, and whenever you told me " I love you" it only embraced the idea that it was a lie everytime you became unresponsive. You might've hated my ex for doing what she did, like leaving at 12 because it wasn't my birthday anymore, but at least she was actually there and wished a happy one. I stood my ground for you,I tried my best, I would have sold my soul if it meant we lived happily ever after, I would have killed myself 100 times over if it meant you wanted me as much as I wanted you. Eternal suffering was a small price, had it meant we were happy together. As selfish as it is for me to say. I wanted this. More than anything I've ever wanted in my entire life. And I watched you destroy it.

So the 4th time in a row, I was neglected, left out, isolated, crying alone, and still not enough. Even though I begged for something different so many times. And with every plead, has only illustrated our stagnation in moving forward. And I am tired of being rock bottom, I am tired of not participating in your life, I am tired of your sugar coated words and promises, I am tired of you telling me I'm the greatest and leaving me by myself to question if that was played by your heart or your mind. Your guilt, or your love. I am so tired of the fact that only time you are willing to take my words seriously is when I am done with everything, and you're scarred I'm going to off myself because I've been pretty fucking close to it. Most of all, I am tired of your deception. All of it.

To know I was falling from the moon, accepting the fact no one is going to catch me on the way down. Accepting this fall, counting the seconds until I hit the ground and am free from the mental torture, coming to terms that I'm already dead. Anxiously waiting for my life to be taken as the strong breeze pushing against my cheeks, and my lifeless body, reminding me my life is no longer in my control and predetermined. The entire fall, no one could save me, and in my last few seconds, I realized it was you who pushed me down.

You are my magnet, you are my opposite, you are my yin and yang, there was no way for me to ever not notice you, to ever not want you, and in the next life, it'll all happen again, I just hope in that one, we make it through.

[ambitchousrobot]

Vent post because I’m currently alternating between having panic attacks, screaming into my pillow, and ugly sobbing and I’m not sure how to channel that energy into something constructive so I might as well try venting.

I have chronic depression and generalized anxiety. It sucks, but for the most part it’s old news. Except for the last 10 months or so, everything’s just slowly escalated until it’s at the point where I don’t know how to handle it.

Back in September I left the Barnes and Noble I had worked at for two years. So far it is the only job I’ve ever had that I loved. The work itself was pretty great, I was a kids lead and so I got to shelve books, set up promotions, organize the section, and do story time and help with events. I greatly enjoyed it for over a year. But thanks to a shit ass general manager and the fact that the corporate side of Barnes and Noble has made it exceedingly clear that the care about nothing but appeasing shareholders for as long as possible before they have to declare bankruptcy, the job turned into a living hell for me. After weeks of having panic attacks nearly every day, I turned in my two weeks after realizing that if I didn’t quit the job that I would kill myself. I didn’t finish out my two weeks because after my last shift there I went home and made a suicide attempt. I decided my life was worth more than my obligation to finish out my two weeks.

After that I went back to my previous job as a dog groomer at Petco. This decision was based solely on the fact that I knew I could get hired there in less than two weeks. I applied the day I put in my two weeks at Barnes and had the job two days later. I knew I would hate it, because I hated it the first time. But I needed money. My coworkers were racist pieces of shit. My salon manager straight up used the slur towel head on my first day there. There was no one there that I liked working with. I worked my ass off because it was a commission based job and I wanted the paycheck to be worth the misery of working there. I developed carpal tunnel in my wrists. The last month I worked there, I was in severe pain. When I would clean up at the end of the day, I would have to use both hands to grip the spray bottle to sanitize stuff because I literally did not have the grip strength to lift it with one hand. I had to put in my two weeks in March because I was literally destroying my body. And of course being in an environment I hated wasn’t good for my mental health either.

I was unemployed for a couple of months after that. First because my wrists were too bad and then because no one was hiring after the start of the new fiscal year. My partner and I had money saved up, but we were worried about how long it would last. My depression and anxiety were at an all time worst. So when my partner asked me to consider moving in with his brother, sister-in-law, and niece, I agreed. Because I felt like a worthless piece of shit burden and I didn’t want him to work himself to death supporting us.

I asked my parents to help us move because they have a trailer. They told me their was only day in the entire month of May that they could help us move. They told me his at fucking noon on the day before the only day they could help us move. So I furiously cleaned off all the big furniture and packed what a could, only caring about what we had to have a trailer to move because it was all I had time to do. I was up for 24 hours straight. We got the big furniture moved but there was still a bunch of small shit left because I had to pack in one day.

I also started a part time job at Lowe’s literally the day before my parents called me. (So two days before the move) and so right after moving I immediately had to work a week scheduled at full-time even though I was only hired as a part time worker. But I needed the money so I didn’t say shit. I spent the next week or so going back and forth to pack and unpack shit after my shift each day.

Lowe’s fucking sucked. I had a position that was relatively new within the store and no one was really sure what my job entailed, which meant it was a whole lot of “pretend to be busy so you don’t get your ass chewed, but there’s literally nothing to do.” Unoccupied time is horrific for me when my anxiety is high. I need work to keep my brain in check. So this job was torture. When I did have this to do, it involved asking people to do things because my job involved a fair amount of delegation. Which I hated doing, because anxiety. And since the position was new, there was a lot of resentment and refusal to cooperate from the other employees. Meaning I didn’t just have to ask people to do things, but I also had to ask multiple people to do things dozens of times just to get one task accomplished. And that often included me getting yelled at for bothering them because they were too busy to help me do my job. Which was fucking horrible for anxiety. I hated every minute but the pay was good so I was going to try to tough it out. But the last straw came during my second week on the job. One of my coworkers at my area had been transferred from head cashier to the online order desk where I worked. So she had worked at the company longer than me, but literally didn’t know anything more than I did about our area as she didn’t get promoted until the day after I started. She cussed me out and chewed my ass out, forcing me to stay thirty fucking minutes late because she was yelling at me, all over a single mistake that took literally 5 minutes to fix. And this was after she made a much harder to fix mistake twice early in the day. She made me cry and I was fucking furious because 1) she didn’t have the authority to reprimand me like that 2) it was my first mistake during my first week out on the floor, second week with the company and 3) it wasn’t even a big deal I could have fixed it myself 5 times over during the time she wasted treating me like a fucking dumbass. So the next shift after that, I broke down and harmed myself during my break and then unceremoniously walked out in the middle of a panic attack and never came back.

So now I’m unemployed again. My mental health is in shambles. I’m massively suicidal. And I haven’t even gotten to how much of a nightmare moving in with my in laws has been. But that’s for another post so sorry for the long ass line of text.

[blainematters]

For your reading pleasure, a selection of awful fucking quotes from CC’s latest *~masterpiece~*. That’s right, I read all 407 pages so you don’t have to! Unless you too are a complete masochist, in which case go nuts.

This is image heavy, fair warning. Some names have been slightly altered to protect the crazies who would read this and cry.

Audiences found the show’s campiness to be rather charming, its unique underdog spirit resonated with them, and a global phenomenon was born. Nice description of Glee there. Very original. Good work.

Pitying looks were cast upon the unfortunate souls without seats, as if they were third-class passengers on the Titanic. The death of 1500 people in the worst maritime disaster in history is not a funny or clever simile.

Luckily for him, these days Cash had a little help to take the edge off. He reached into his pocket and pulled out three large pills and two marijuana gummy bears. This is how the main character treats his anxiety. He takes this combo with whiskey. This apparently makes him ‘completely numb’. 

He thought it was funny how there was hydrocodone, weed, and alcohol flowing through his veins at a work event but he wasn’t the biggest douchebag onstage. Except he really, really is. Funnily enough people on drugs aren’t the best judge of character.

If he responded with something they didn’t like, his social media would be bombarded with pictures, videos, and GIFs of decapitated animals, human feces, and militants destroying priceless artifacts.

“Olá, fucktards,” Davi said—his use of American slang was a work in progress. What. This character is brazilian, and he swears constantly. Those are his only character traits.

“That’s incredible, Huda,” Mo said. “If only diplomacy worked as efficiently as a fandom, there would never be war again.” I’m fucking dying.

“Young lady,” the psychologist said. “I have studied the human mind for more than four decades. I understand the appeal of joining the transgender community, but I promise you, the transgender movement is nothing short of a trend for nonconformists. In fact, it is still considered a mental illness by the World Health Organization.” Sorry, what appeal? What even is this nonsense? Why does it go on for five pages? Why the need to unnecessarily torture the trans character with this when it makes no difference to his storyline? Why?

Mo had suffered from OID (overactive imagination disorder) since childhood. The condition wasn’t officially recognized by the United States Department of Health (because Mo had made it up) but the disorder was just as taxing and consuming as any. From the entire community of people with mental illness: Fuck you CC. Fuck you for this awful, awful thing. Kindly go fuck yourself for pretending you have any understanding of what a mental illness is like to live with. Ugh.

A very good-looking man in his early twenties. He wore thick sunglasses, a black leather jacket, dark jeans, and designer boots. Yes, this is how ‘Cash’ is described. He’s also been previously described as a total mess who hasn’t showered in days, so I’m not totally convinced it’s accurate.

“I’m T0pher C0llins. It is such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carter.” T0pher C0llins? Are you fucking shitting me?

“I walked into my bedroom and saw Peaches had taken a huge dump in the middle of my bed, so I had to clean it up and put my comforter in the washer.” This is said by the only girl in the group, in front of ‘Cash’, who she idolises. Because girls are just stupid fucking blabbermouths right?

“-it’s getting asked advice on how to break into the industry from the guy taking a dump in the stall next to you” Oh look, another thing that has never, ever happened.

“You gotta say that shit so no one labels you as a future has-been—that’ll kill a career. Even if it’s obvious you’ll never do anything but the show you’re on, you can’t admit it.” The first honest and realistic thing in this book, and it only took till chapter seven!

“Every time I get any recognition he writes me into a coma or puts me through something horrendous as punishment. After I was on the cover of TV Guide, he put a dangerous stunt into a script and it broke my ankle. After I won a People’s Choice Award, he put my character in a coma for twelve episodes. The list goes on.” I wonder how Ryan Murphy will react when he hears about this character who is so clearly him?

“Nothing is stranger than fanfiction,” Cash said, like a sailor recalling his encounter with a horrible sea creature. THIS ENTIRE BOOK IS REAL LIFE FANFICTION YOU HYPOCRITICAL ASSHOLE.

“He’s a little jaded, I’ll give you that—but after all the joy he’s given us over the years, the least we can do is let him be a human being. ” Yes, let the straight white cis male tell you all how to think, feel, and act. Your hero isn’t a douche, he’s misunderstood. Let him treat you like shit because who else gets that experience?

The world’s biggest rubber-band ball bounced into the horizon like a deer recently freed from captivity. Chapter nine: ‘Cash’ destroys a national landmark for shits and giggles.

The actor excitedly passed out tickets to Topher, Joey, Sam, and the Sacagawea statue—mistaking it for Mo. He’s also a racist. Are we surprised?

Why is he dancing like an epileptic on roller skates? Aaaaand a joke about epilepsy. I’m sure Hannah loves it.

“What did you do? How did you get over it?” Joey said. “One day I woke up and decided I had had enough.” ‘Cash’ cures his crippling agoraphobia by just going outside. Again, fuck you CC. That is not how mental illness works. Do two seconds of research for fucks sake.

“The night we were all watching the season six finale of Wiz Kids at Joey’s house, I was actually supposed to be watching Billy while my mom was at a Bunco party. I gave him some cold medicine so he would sleep and ran home to check on him every commercial break.” Drug your disabled siblings, your friends will think you’re cool and laugh about instead of telling you  that you’re an awful fucking person. Which you are.

“Then one day, as I was posting a GIF of a decapitated giraffe on her profile, I learned WizKidLiz01 was a little girl with Down syndrome.” Also on the list of things that make you an awful fucking person… plagiarism or no, don’t do this shit.

“So what’s your real name?” Topher asked. “Now, that you’re not going to believe,” Cash said. “It’s Tom Hanks.”

“They were the most eccentric group of stoners Cash had ever seen and he couldn’t take his eyes off them, like they were the subjects of a fascinating nature documentary.” One character is literally screaming her head off with paranoia and scratching invisible bugs in her skin, but hey, watching teenagers on a drug trip is so interesting!

“I think you’re giving him too much credit,” Cash said. “He’ll be long gone by then.” Oh yeah, ‘Cash’ is extremely preoccupied with death. He frequently says shit like this alluding to it. No-one notices.

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to tell the fangirls about the treatment we’ve received today and unleash them upon your establishment like a plague of locusts! They’ll harass you, humiliate you, and chase your wrinkled, old, racist ass into hiding for the rest of your miserable existence! Do I make myself clear?” Um… what? Why would you even?

“Of course the brakes worked, I was just fucking with you,” Cash said. ‘Cash’ continues to be the absolute worst by making someone think she’s going to die. Of course, she somehow she also doesn’t know that James Dean died in a car accident. Sigh.

“But I think we’d know it if he was mentally unbalanced or an addict of some kind.” YOU ARE EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD AND YOU ARE A COMPLETE IDIOT. YOU LITERALLY JUST DESCRIBED ‘CASH’.

“You lose the right to humanity when you become famous. It’s just the way it is, but I’m not going to whine about it.” Except in this entire book.

“I’m transgender!” Sam declared. “I know what it’s like to have everyone treat you like something you’re not because people have been doing it to me my whole life. I’ve never met someone who could relate—but it’s like everything you just said! We’re both trapped! We’re both prisoners of unfair expectations!” These! things! are! not! comparable! Mostly because ‘Cash’ could leave that life any time, Sam won’t ever stop having to deal with being trans. Shut the fuck up CC. Sam then spends waaaay too much time explaining gender and sexual identity to ‘Cash’ because he’s a complete moron.

Darla spoke with the energy and enthusiasm of a camp counselor on crystal meth. How is this joke in any way appropriate when the main character is clearly a raging drug addict? He’s literally constantly tweaking.

The others stared at Cash in disbelief. It was like a demon living inside of him had taken the reins. Watch as these people we’re supposed to believe all got into prestigious colleges like Colombia and MIT completely fail to recognise the signs of an addict going through withdrawal.

They had never in their lives felt more exposed, more violated, or more gutted. It was as if someone had ripped off all their clothes and chucked their hearts into the depths of the Grand Canyon. ‘Cash’ is so self-obsessed and full of self-pity he decides to out two people in the group and tell another she’s wasting her life just to make them all feel as awful as he does. What a delightful person huh?

“Joey, I have always wanted a gay best friend. I’m not mad because you hid your orientation from me; I’m just upset because of all the Will & Grace opportunities we’ve missed out on.” ARE YOU SHITTING ME?

He was staring at Topher with a weak smile and his eyes were opened just barely enough to see. He clearly knew who Topher was, but Topher couldn’t place him.

“I have glioblastoma,” Cash said. “That’s a fancy stage name for brain cancer.”

I was fine and could easily hide this until a few days ago, but now I’m so weak and frail you don’t even recognise me. Usually Glioblastoma on the brain stem causes symptoms like seizures, confusion, paralysis, vomiting, dizziness, and loss of basic functions, but I’m a special snowflake and get to stay able-bodied and cognisant until the end!

“In April I started getting these really bad migraines,” Cash explained. “A doctor came to the set and recommended I get a scan. We were behind in production so the producers wouldn’t give me time off to get it done.” It’s all Hollywood’s fault he’s dying! Not his for not getting any fucking treatment. And actors can and do take days off for health reasons, that shit is totally allowed.

“Holy shit,” Topher said. “These are all mine.… You’ve saved every letter I ever wrote to you.…” That’s not totally fucking creepy at all, ‘Cash’.

“He’s not a bad person—he’s got brain cancer! That’s why he’s been behaving the way he has!” That makes everything okay! Except not really. Cancer doesn’t give you a free pass to be an asshole. You aren’t making the most of what life you have left, you’re just being a shithead.

“The actor had had so little control over his life, but his death was exactly how he wanted it to be.” Yes, he dies five days later. No-one wondered about his odd behaviour or suspected he might be sick until they visited him in a hospice. These people must be so stupid they can barely function for this to make sense. He’s been dying for months and nobody at all noticed? Bullshit.

“Oh gosh, I’m so nervous to hear how it went! I practically feel like I came out as transgender, too!” NO MORE.

“Not to be a downer, but did anyone watch the footage from Cash’s funeral today?” Mo asked. “Why did they wait a whole month to have it?” Topher asked. “Because it was sponsored by Canon and their new camera comes out this week,” Mo said.

I don’t think companies generally sponsor funerals? Let’s just hope it wasn’t an open casket, that shit would be nasty after a month.

“Fuck off, I’m banging Marilyn Monroe.” No, god no. Please no. Just end this thing now please.

The aspiring writer felt like she and her friends were living a ridiculous happy ending straight from the final page of one of her outlandish stories. Uh…

And a bonus from the author’s note:

However, for the purpose of good storytelling, the characters’ opinions and choices are sometimes flawed. Please do not view their actions as generalizations or examples to follow, but as the mistakes and triumphs of individuals. All of my characters were awful and/or treated like shit by everyone else, but that’s for the sake of the story. It’s not my fault if you act this way and everyone hates you! (And still love me please god I’m so alone...)

[where-ls-my-mlnd]

You ever just randomly get in the mood to partake in self-destructive behavior? Wait, shit. Let me rephrase that. Make it sound less deranged. You ever sunk into a vicious sorrow, like, the worst, most agonizing, screaming sorrow you’ve ever felt in your entire life, spend a week being consumed by this horrible unrelenting pain, and then develop the urge to do things that are deleterious to your well-being in order to cope? Holy fuck that sounds even worse. Ah, son of a bitch— don’t go thinking I’m insane now, alright? ‘Cause I’m not. Severely insane, anyway. I’ve always had a couple screws loose, but that’s okay, and hardly the point, anyways. The point is quite simple at its core. Allow me break it down for you. Ever since I was young, I have been terribly, dangerously, and inexorably fond of self-destruction. That’s not a secret. Never has been. You don’t develop a drug addiction because you like the feeling of safety, you know what I’m sayin’? It stems from a profound inner sense of chaos, a desire to escape; whether it be from your emotions, your life circumstances, or the world at large, that is so strong, and so fucking undefeatable, it becomes larger than you are. Even the strong-willed can be absolutely wrecked by addiction. No one is exempt. Addiction doesn’t give a fuck who you are, where you’re from, what your aspirations are. It just wants to break you, and then build you back up again, and have you walking around half-alive for years and years so it can feed on the last of your life force. It doesn’t want you too strong, but not too weak, either. The ideal is for you to be slowly decomposing over the course of half your life or sometimes more so that it can drag out the torturous process for as long as possible. If you’re lucky, you’ll hit bottom, a massive part of you will die, and you’ll be reborn. What you choose to do with your second chance at life is entirely up to you, and that’s the tricky part. I’ve seen many people carelessly waste their chances, as if they thought God was just doling them out for free. I’m rueful to say that I have wasted my own chances before. A gross disregard for the life I was so blessed to still have. But maybe I should go easy on myself. Why should I take such care of my life— when I did not even want to live it? That’s a question for the ages, ain’t it? Psychologists would love to pick that shit apart. Well, anyway, what I am incredibly happy to say is this: I was one of the lucky ones, and after countless failed attempts, I was able to kill that monster once and for all, and in its death I found a brand new life for myself. It’s not an easy life, but nothing is ever easy with me. All that matters is it’s my life, I fucking made it for myself, and I am so damn grateful and elated to be living it. What I am hesitant, and slightly anxious to say is this: in my heart resides the same fondness for self-destruction that got me into so much trouble as a teenager. I’d like to say I’m not surprised— and if I did, it would be at least half-true. I have always had an unadulterated, skin-crawling need to be free. And I’ve always gladly done whatever I thought was necessary to achieve that freedom, even if it was illegal, stupid, morally bankrupt, or just absurd. That’s the thing with me. I can’t fucking stop, ever. If used for different purposes, it may even be called admirable: that furious, unyielding drive. I like to think I can still channel that energy, in my career specifically, but these days I’m honestly not sure. But there is a difference. Back in the day, I would start shit just for fun. I was seeking something, for sure— something that I still don’t feel like I’ve found. Beyond the classic premise of a teenager’s quest for self-discovery, there was no greater goal, or purpose for my antics. I did it because I could, and because after a while I began to fall in love with destruction. Raising hell was my religion. In an otherwise Godless world— that was always the altar at which I worshipped. Now, I find myself self-imploding because of so, so many violent, turbulent emotions to which I cannot put a name. It’s just like, my fucking mind, man...it’s a hell zone. That animal urge to unleash all inhibitions and just say fuck it is only ever activated by deeply unpleasant feelings. It’s almost like I’m...acting out. I‘ll be overcome by a wave of melancholy, or hit by sudden, thrashing anxiety, and I’ll get so overwhelmed that I feel like I need to do something to let it out. Something drastic. Something impulsive. Something absolutely fucking insane. Something like what I’m doing right now. Driving in my car, vibrating with excitement in my seat, to pick up J, who’s waiting for me in that damn park so we can go to a fucking club. A club! I literally just passed three years of sobriety, fuck, what is this? Am I trying to relapse? Well, no— I’m not an alcoholic, what the fuck? You know, I mean, can I handle my alcohol? No. But like, if I start drinking, can I stop? Uh...yeah! I’m only a drug addict, it’s fine! Holy fuck that was the most disturbing sentence I ever said. Well, whatever, I don’t think anyone’s gonna whip out any fuckin’ shards in the middle of a nightclub. Coke, that’s a given. But like, I can avoid it probably, also I barely like it! So who cares?! Imagine someone offers me a bump— I’m not gonna whore myself out for it. Not gonna hold out my hands and beg oh yes, please, PLEASE give me some coke! You know what I’m gonna say? WHAT THEY TEACH YOU TO IN SCHOOLS, BABY! N-O! NO...no thank you, not a big fan of the booger sugar, I’m a member of the elite, I only like amphetamines. OOPSIE I forgot to use past tense. Used to like amphetamines. There we go. Oh mother of fuck, what am I doing? God— I hardly remember getting in my car. See, this is what I mean! When the pain gets real bad, I start to act fucking chaotic! And lord knows the pain has been abject as of late. To this day I don’t know how I even survived Sunday night. In that dark, sinister park, and in J’s brutally honest words, I was met with a feeling of despair I can only describe as deadly. I don’t know how I didn’t do something to myself. I’m sure I wanted to. After a certain point I think I just blacked out. System overloaded or something. I got home, by some fucking miracle— I know because I woke up in my bed around 3 am because I had been crying in my sleep, which is just fucking neat. After that, I don’t know. I really wish I could remember. Perhaps some things are too horrific to remember. The days that followed were even worse. I spent my time floating in and out of sadness, then to bitter, uncontrollable anger, back into sadness again, then for the grand finale there’d be a thick feeling of complete numbness, and that would be what followed me throughout the day. Sometimes I’d see her in my dreams, and still miss, love, and need her desperately— other times I’d feel disgusted by the vile creature she has become and want to forget we ever shared a moment so sacred. It was mostly the first one though, and that’s what made it so hard. You should’ve seen me, flipping through old photos of her like a fucking weirdo and clutching them to my heart, like if I held them close enough, she would hear how loud it beats for her. I was lovesick for the very first time since I was twenty one years old and discovering that bad boys, if given the chance, will treat you bad every damn time. I was never under any illusions that this was healthy, but I knew something was seriously fucked when I abruptly stood up and almost passed out, and later realized it was because I hadn’t eaten in two days. Thank God for fast food and its obscene amounts of fat otherwise I might still be a touch too skinny. Before I knew it, the week had passed me by, and this brings us to tonight. Tonight. It’s kind of a funny story how my spirits got so lifted. I was in the shower, which is a story in itself. I don’t know how I forced myself to take a shower in that state— I can’t even get out of bed most days. I get out of that bitch, right? I bury myself in my towel like a blanket ‘cause it was colder than my father’s stare in there. I wipe the steam from the mirror. And my breath was stolen away. I actually looked good. Fuck, I looked amazing. My eyes were bloodshot from crying, yeah, but my eyelashes looked darker, longer, little tiny beads of water dripping off them, and my complexion looked so fresh and healthy, and my lips had somehow turned a perfect shade of pink like I just blew a cherry popsicle or something. Was I sort of...pretty when I cried? Is it just like Lana Del Rey said? Oh my god, I thought. It was. I watched as my eyes brightened and my face was lit up by a smile at the realization. I broke into this demented cackle, and stayed there five minutes longer than I should have, gripping the edge of the sink and laughing gleefully. By the time I got back up to my apartment I was still in disbelief. Did I look that good all the time? Had I always been sexy? I couldn’t stop looking at myself. It was like I had been given a whole new face, a whole new body. I tried to just sit and quietly watch TV but it felt too wrong. It’s a Friday night. I live in the heart of the city. I’m not emotionally attached to anyone anymore. I have exceptional looks all of the sudden. I have more pent-up sexual frustration than I know what to do with. It just seemed too...perfect... And so, I decided, with a slightly manic sense of determination, that I was going to go get laid. Got a little dressed up because, yes, it’s true, my closet does consist of more than just hoodies. Fluffed up my hair a bit, stared into the mirror some more, then I hit up J. Man did he sound jittery when he answered the phone. Never in my life did I think that J would ever ask me, under any circumstances, for any reason, “What...what’s up?” I was too enchanted by my own reflection to analyze it at the time. “LISTEN, are you busy?” I demanded, trying out different poses in the mirror. He wasn’t. This pleased me immensely. “I wanna go fucking clubbing, J. You wanna go clubbing?! Let’s go clubbing! I ONLY WANT TO GO IF YOU COME WITH.” A heavy sigh from the other line. “I don’t know, man...” Panic instantly arose and began to frazzle my mind. Oh, god, it all seemed so clear now. He was gearing up to leave me. That was all there was to it. I had been too clingy, too emotional, too inconsiderate before; I had expected too much of him, and for that he was pulling away from me. That sigh held the leaden weight of our previous interaction and it was palpable, even over the phone. It was obvious I had to do something. “Come on, J...there’s money in it for you.” Needless to say, he was suddenly very eager to agree when I told him to wait for me in the park and that I’d pick him up in one hour. All the while I’m fucking hauling ass to collect his ounce of coke that I promised him, splitting it up into several different amounts and agonizing over how best to organize it. I figured it out eventually— because I fucking worked my brain half to death. The attention to detail was painstaking but it had to be done. And now, here I am, riding around the city, glorious night air blowing in through the open window, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of Uptown Funk, feeling that same wild, intoxicating rush as if it never went away. Perhaps I’m going a little crazy, perhaps I’ve never been saner. But I haven’t felt this good about myself, or anything, in a long time. Honestly, I don’t know that I’ve felt very confident since I entered my twenties. Something about all the self-introspection makes it hard to view myself in a positive light. But I’ve done enough of that, enough self-introspection for ten lifetimes. If there was ever a time where I deserved to go fucking ape shit, and have fun, and act like a normal twenty-something year old...it would be now. Spring break, bitch. May as well bask in my freedom while I still have it. Lush, gorgeous greenery juxtaposed with tall, steely, glittering buildings and the sudden feeling of quietude that being surrounded by nature brings: that’s how I know I’ve made it to the park. Almost out of respect for the calm, solitary setting, I instinctively go to turn down my music, drowning out the sounds of saxophones and terrifically catchy guitar riffs and Bruno Mars’ bright, joyous voice in favor of comfortable, worshipful silence. I wouldn’t mind driving around this place for a while, but I don’t have to look very long to find him. He’s standing on the sidewalk, looking as close to peaceful as he can probably get, cigarette in hand; never without his crutch, his trademark accessory. A shadowy figure in the near-dark, an apparition, an enigma, as always. I find myself breaking into a smile as I pull up and then subsequently stop the car, sliding out of my seat and nudging the door closed with my hip. I can see him very well now that I’ve gotten closer and— oh! What the fuck— okay, J! Giving me a little shirt-half-unbuttoned moment! He’s...okay, wow, he’s kind of serving. He’s really serving. He’s dressed in this sleek little black shirt that matches his hair just divinely and dark jeans and he looks so good I can’t help but raise my eyebrows and widen my eyes in surprise. “JAMES DEAN! How’s it going?!” I exclaim in lieu of a proper greeting. “What’s this little number? Did you get all dressed up just for ME?!” I let out a laugh, “Goddamn, man! Who the fuck told you to show out like that?! You are giving me so much life right now, J. I swear to God—you look so fucking good! What the hell?!”

[hellyeahrpmemes]

※ JENNA MARBLES SENTENCE STARTERS ※

starters from jenna’s 9 most recent videos as of november 8, 2017! feel free to change names/pronouns/etc.!

REACTING TO COMPILATION VIDEOS OF ME 2

“At any moment, the cleaner can walk in the front door.”

“If you don’t want to be disturbed, put up the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign, and we’ll ignore it.”

“Have me and him beefed back and forth in our videos for a total of seven minutes?”

“Okay, I did not see that — what a little shit.”

“I’m trying not to be too loud, because we’re in a small hotel-thing.”

“I need to not comment on this feud because it’s between you and him.”

“Just gimme your neck so I can choke you out real quick.”

“I’m sorry, but that shit’s just funny.”

“I took chemistry in high school, it’s bleach.”

“Does this give you any moment of pause or remorse and be like, ‘wow, I really am gross to my girlfriend all the time’?”

“You know when you walk into your trophy room and you’re looking at all your accomplishments and you see your name on all those plaques and you’re reliving the glory days, and you’re like, damn, I did all that? That’s the feeling I have right now.”

“This is like torture. Maybe to some people, this is funny, but, to me, this is torture.”

“Somewhere, deep down inside me, I think you really like Nasty Julien.”

“You fuckin’ lick that up right now…!”

“This isn’t our house…!”

“How’d we get here…?! We were doing something…!”

“You need to get that wig on and look at 50 different camera angles in the room.”

“Did we leave that shot in a video? It wasn’t an outtake?”

“That was fucked up.”

GIVING MYSELF A SET OF GEL NAILS

“I found out about myself that I like to take my money and chuck it into the toilet and flush it.”

“I don’t know what it does, but she said I need it.”

“I ended up with some hot-ass witch nails.”

“It seems like you sort of just dip your brush in it and go for it, which I’m all about.”

“This seems like it’s getting out of hand already.”

“That’s what the fuck I’m talking about.”

“It’s very similar to eating spaghetti.”

“I feel like this is an incredible medium to jam things onto your nails with.”

“This is fucking magic.”

“It’s like the fossil of stupid.”

“Do you know what pain is? It’s a physiological response to tell you to stop doing something.”

“This is some real 2008 hot shit.”

“In order to perfect this part, you do have to have some level of technique, which I sincerely lack.”

“It looks… how you say… homemade.”

“I’m amazed that that worked even a little bit.”

“Now something that I am concerned about is how the fuck I’m gonna get this off.”

“Welcome to the diary of a 31 year old lady.”

“All I want for Christmas is to get this shit to stop.”

“I’m not saying I’m the best at what I do, but I’m the best at what I do.”

“I’m so pleased with myself…!”

“I’m just gonna go ahead and say what we’re all thinking: acrylic gel is the best invention that’s ever been invented.”

“I feel like you could do this and get okay at it.”

“I’d probably dial 911 while asking her out.”

MY BOYFRIEND COOKS MY FAVORITE MEAL

“Can’t you see what the fuck I’m wearing, bitch?”

“Can’t you see I’m fucking leisuring?”

“This was actually all inspired by the fact that I bought this leisure suit.”

“I’m gonna leisure in it, which means everybody else around me’s gotta do shit for me.”

“I’d say my favorite meal is a little bit interesting.”

“While they cook it for you, you can wear your leisure suit and tell them everything that they’re doing wrong and that it doesn’t taste right and to keep trying.”

“You’re gonna cook me my favorite meal and I’m gonna critique you the whole time.”

“You can’t even take a sip without a laughing.”

“It’s just — it’s terrible for you.”

“That’s by far my least favorite thing in the kitchen.”

“Boy, you’re chopping vegetables, like, chill out.”

“You’re just gonna leave that…!? I’m a virgo…! Please clean it up…!”

“This right here? This is what we call some aries bullshit.”

“Everything that Julien makes is so fucking bitter, and he’s like, should we add more lemon, and I’m like, no…!”

“Why was that in your sweatshirt…? That’s nasty…!”

“Go away, it’s my favorite meal…!”

“Hey, how do you spell cans backwards?”

“That’s right…! Don’t fuck it up. Don’t touch it, don’t put anything in it, don’t say it needs some lemon, don’t make it bitter as hell, it’s perfect.”

“My favorite part of this is the backhanded compliments.”

“Does it need lemon, you think?”

“I’m feeling pretty relaxed. Except for the fact that everything you’re doing right now is stressing me out.”

“Watch your mouth when you’re talking about my son pad thai.”

“Aren’t you glad I picked such a simple recipe for my favorite meal?”

“I’m not feeling very leisurely.”

“I feel like someone’s favorite meal says so much about them, and you know what mine says about me? I’m fucking trash.”

“I’m gonna cry actual tears.”

“Hell yeah, we know what the fuck we’re doing.”

“Now imagine, Julien, it’s 2 AM, and you’re wasted right now.”

“I feel like you treated me like the princess I am not.”

“Thank you, I love you.”

“Oh, man, the wine just really bounces off all the flavors.”

“This is my heart on a plate.”

MY DOGS TRY ON HALLOWEEN COSTUMES

“They’re raking it in over there. It’s not like George Lucas doesn’t have a bajillion dollars anyways.”

“I’ve had it with this wig…!”

“How is this an extra small? What’s with these sizes?”

“I love you so much, but you test me every day.”

“Okay, Spock’s hair is not this long.”

“I think this is too relaxed — this is like a dangerous level of relaxed.”

“This is a lot to ask of you, bud, but you’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

“He’s a real good boy. He’s a 10/10 good boy.”

“Alright, let’s see, do they glow in the dark? I think they do. …barely.”

BLEACHING MY EYEBROWS

“I didn’t invent it, it’s a thing…!”

“I want it to blend in with my translucent skin, alright?”

“Whenever I have to see people, I have the unstoppable urge to fuck myself up in the face."

"I feel very excluded by that product."

“Just for men. And Jenna."

"Nothing says ‘thanks for inviting me to your school’ quite like chemical burns on your face.”

"I was like, yeah, totally. And then I realized that I was lying because I don't fucking feel like it."

“I love fucking myself up. It feels good. It feels cathartic.”

“Like, this is a good look.”

“I wanna look like a beautiful snowy snow elf. Like, a snow owl personified.”

“It is a chemical burn. This is the definition of a chemical burn.”

"You and everybody else are so concerned about, like, safety and looking okay but, like, fuck off.”

“Don’t give me that look…! This is a judgement-free zone…!”

“I feel like I see a lack of people with this particular part of their hair dyed.”

“I feel like bleach is addictive. Can I get some research studies on how addictive bleach is? Because I feel like it is, and I feel like I have a problem.”

“Bleach on your face challenge!"

“Every time I go into that beauty supply store, that guy should be like, get out.”

“Just for fucking men… no it isn’t… I’m a man…”

“You have to go to your baseball game right now, son.”

“You really look like a Mii character and you just added a mustache to your character.”

“Just for men? I beg to differ. I’m a women, and I made it work for me…!”

“I feel like I look like a very rare and interesting fish.”

“Why do you look cute when you do the weirdest shit?”

I BUY MY BOYFRIENDS OUTFITS

“I am a fashion guru, okay?”

“I went and bought you some clothes, like the style icon I am.”

“I want to be dressed like a doll.”

“Let’s see how big you think I am… oh, that’s accurate.”

“I can guarantee you I’m will wear this entire outfit on 9 of the next 10 flights I take.”

“Are we done here? Cause I don’t want anything else.”

“I took your credit card, and I bought it.”

“Yo, these are soft as fuck, bitch…!”

“I wanna know what social rule says I can’t wear this everywhere I go.”

“To be perfectly honest, I’ll probably wear this all the time. It’s soft, it fits my body well, and I’m invisible.”

“Engage thicc mode.”

“I’m gonna take that fanny pack away from you.”

“I’m so disappointed, where is your thigh…!? I came here for the thigh…!”

“I was half kinda joking, but, like, why does that outfit look so fucking good?”

“I love all of the stuff you got me.”

“I’m gonna take that shirt, and I’m gonna burn it while you’re sleeping.”

REACTING TO COMPILATION VIDEOS OF ME

“I feel obnoxious. Am I obnoxious?”

“I’m not a weirdo who imitates people to their face.”

“I’m telling you — they misspelled ‘moments’.”

“I’m like a little kid. I start saying something or doing something, and then I can’t stop.”

“I’m not a snack…!”

“It’s just another example of you blatantly interrupting me because you wanted to.”

“You forget you have nothing to say, so that’s your default.”

“You don’t have a basketball game — you’ve literally never, ever had a basketball game, today or tomorrow.”

“I’ve never met a person that I’ve had that same hate like a sibling. That’s how me and Rome get sometimes.”

“It’s like one big, long incest joke.”

“Okay, this is literally gonna make me fucking cry.”

“It just ends with you screaming.”

“Don’t call me a snack again.”

“Oh, it’s hot? Now you know how I feel sitting next to you.”

MY DOG REVIEWS SOAP

“Stocked up with soap until forever.”

“If you’re dirty, come to my house, I got the soap, you know what I’m saying?”

“Alright, now we’re taking a fight break.”

“We’re not judging you; this is a safe place.”

“We only got 8 bars of soap, because I thought that was a lot of soap.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna throw any of the soap out, okay?”

“Please send help to my house. My dog is broken.”

MY BOYFRIEND BUYS MY OUTFITS

“There was a couple of items I got because I’ve always wanted to see you wear them.”

“While I was shopping today, I was thinking: what would go good at a step-grandparent’s barbecue?”

“I think this would be mad cute on you. And off of you.”

“You don’t have any step-grandparents.”

“We can go to Disneyland in it, cause I’ve never been.”

“This is my new favorite shirt!”

“Do not make me wear that capri-crap.”

“You got my nemesis in clothing form.”

“Please put this on.”

“I saw those and they literally yelled at me.”

“My nipples aren’t that far apart from each other, this is just gonna be a boob show…!”

“…I kinda like this.”

“I retract everything I said.”

“I can feel my legs suffocating from here.”

“Julien, I am a grown woman…!”

“Why do you want me to be a people that wears jeans?”

“Hey, guys, it’s me, Jenna, the regular people, here to do regular people things.”

“Tell me she doesn’t look cute in this.”

“As long as I’m wearing these sunglasses, I can wear jeans.”

“You look like you’re trying to hide from the cops.”

“Girl, you look cute as fuck.”

“If you’d ever like me to return the favor, I’m more than happy to.”

“Dear God, it’s me, Jenna. Please give me the strength not to punch my boyfriend.”

“I think I have permanent scars from those jeans.”