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loving-daisy · 4 years

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It’s Only Love | George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist

Words: 4.0k

Warnings: jealousy, angst if you squint, brief mentions of anxiety, small and enclosed spaces, loneliness, idiots in love, and fluff.

Summary: George didn’t know why he was feeling that way. Turns out, it’s only love.

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It’s only love and that is all.

George slumped into his pillow as soon as he entered his dormitory. Feeling all sorts of things that led him into self reflection in attempt to justify his thoughts. A few moments after, Fred came walking in, hand in his pocket, whistling, ecstatic to have another day of successful pranking.

Turning to see his brother looking so gloomy, the look on his face was changed into concern. “What’s wrong Georgie? Is something bothering you?” Fred asked as he sat on George’s bed, attempting to comfort his twin.

“Nothing, I’m just tired.”

“Tired? But you never get tired whenever we manage to have a successful prank. You can’t fool me, mate. Tell me.” Fred pushed. “It’s nothing, I swear.”

The older twin scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, and like I would believe you. I’m your twin brother, George. We go way way back. Starting from when we were just fetuses! Now tell me, mate. What’s wrong? I won’t stop bothering you until you tell me.”

George finally managed to sit down and face his twin. “I think…” George trailed off, playing with his fingers. “I fancy a girl.” He sighed, his heart heavy as the thoughts of earlier events was kept swamped in his ginger head.

Fred smirked, a knowing look in his face. “And who might that be, Georgie? Who’s the unlucky girl who caught your attention?” He teased, poking George’s side, another attempt to make him feel better. Somehow, it worked as it brought George to raise an eyebrow towards Fred.

“Unlucky? Girls around Hogwarts go crazy over me!” George exclaimed. “Reckon, she would be the luckiest girl in the universe if she decides to go to Hogsmeade with me.”

“Mind you, I am more good looking than you.” The older twin stated, obviously not backing down. George looked at him seriously. “Fred” He called.

The older twin raised his hands, defending himself. “What? I’m just stating a fact.”

“We’re identical twins, Fred.”

“I knew that…” Fred said. “But you still haven’t answered my question. Who is it?” He asked, even if he already knew who his brother was eyeing.

It was painfully obvious from the beginning. George was just too painstakingly blind to see it. Everyone basically already knew...well, except for George. And... the girl he fancies.

“Admit first that I’m the better looking twin.”

“Nope” Fred says, popping the ‘p’. when an idea suddenly popped into his mind. He needs a little more push Fred thought to himself. And so, he stood up, walking towards the door before stating “If you won’t tell me, I’ll just inform Y/N then.”

Before Fred was able to reach the door, George went running to it, blocking it away from his twin. “DO NOT TELL Y/N PLEASE. I BEG YOU.” Fred gave George a fake surprised look. “But why? She’s our best friend! She’ll know what to -`”

“Because I can confess my own feelings to the girl I like.”

Fred gave George a smug look, patting his shoulder. “Good job, mate. Now that wasn’t so hard was it?” George gave him a confused look before finally realizing what Fred has done for him to act that way. “Merlin! I really hate you Fred.” He sighed, defeated. “No, you don’t. I’m your best man! I gotta give it to you though, took you quite a while. Everyone already knew about your undying love for Youngheart except for you, I guess.” He shrugged. “Wait, it's THAT obvious?” The younger twin asked, his eyes going wide.

“You must be blimey joking, mate. It’s obvious you want to have her all for yourself. I don’t even know why you’re wasting a good amount of time when you could have dated her a long time ago! That woman is crazy mad for you too!” Fred exclaimed.

The bitter look on George’s face became present once again. “If she’s mad for me, she wouldn’t be giggling earlier with that Hufflepuff.”

Fred was out of words. “...are you perhaps jealous?” He questioned, making George scoff. “No, I’m not.” He denied.

Fred snorted, patting his twin’s shoulder and deciding to just let it go and not waste more time as he suddenly wanted to see Angelina. “Sure, but if I were you, mate, I would go and make a move as soon as possible if I don’t want that Hufflepuff taking Y/N’s heart. Now, move. I’m gonna go see Angelina.” And with that, George was left alone to reflect on the older Weasley’s words.

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“Hey, George. What’s up? You didn’t tell me about yours and Fred’s prank earlier. I heard from Fred that Filch had smoke coming out from his ears!” Y/N giggled as she sat beside George in the great hall for supper.

George gave her a small smile. “Well, it was amazing actually. I was actually looking for you but I couldn’t find you so I decided to just go back to the dormitories.” George clenched his fists as he lied straight in Y/N’s face. He hated lying to you but he had to for him to contain himself.

Y/N gave him a confused look. “But I saw you though...I know you saw me too. In the hallways, remember? I was sitting with this Hufflepuff boy and-”

“I believe you have confused yourself, love. I was sure I didn’t see you.” George said, trying to avoid how the way your eyes sparkled earlier being with that stupid Hufflepuff when it could have been him.

An obvious tension flooded the atmosphere, causing both to just stuff their mouths with the feast laid in front of them to avoid further heat.

“The Weasley Twins have done it again, everybody! Give it up for Fred and George!” Lee announces to the crowd. “Thank you, thank you, I couldn’t have done it without these babies. And of course, there’s Georgie too.” Fred jokingly said, nudging his twin’s arm when he saw how George turned his head from left to right, looking for a certain Gryffindor girl. “Reckon, this was all my idea, Fred. Now if you would excuse me, I have some business to attend to.” With that, George pushed himself through the crowd and walked from hall to hall, trying to find Y/N.

As George turned into the next hall, he was met with the Golden trio. He smiled. “Hey there Harry, Granger, and of course, Ronnikins. What are you up too?” He said, looking ahead of him as he already saw the familiar red scarf. There was Y/N with her hair down, a book in her lap, and a hand in her mouth, stifling a laugh from something the boy beside her said. George’s eyes went dark. His insides giving him an unfamiliar feeling.

“What’s wrong with you George? Why are you suddenly nervous? Get it together, George. You wouldn’t want to fool yourself in front of the girl you like right? Wait,...the girl I like? Do I like her? I must be crazy. Y/N Youngheart is your best friend George Weasley. But the way her hair falls...her eyes, her laugh...her everything is just perfect. She’s perfect.” He thought to himself, his eyes never leaving the Gryffindor.

“Well, do you have any suggestions Fred?” George was brought back to his senses as Hermione spoke. “Fred? But I’m George.” He shook his head, teasing the wise Gryffindor. “Honestly, Granger, you call yourself a friend when you can’t even tell the two of us apart.” Hermione smirked. “I knew it was you all along, George. You just weren’t listening as you were shooting heart eyes to Y/N at the back.” Ron snickered.

George gasped. “I was definitely not shooting heart eyes! What are you-” “Yeah, ‘cause he was definitely shooting daggers towards that boy Y/N was with.” Harry stated. At that moment, it was as if a light bulb showed on top of Ron’s head, coming into a realization. “Wait, are you jealous?” Ron asked. The 6th year Gryffindor was taken aback.

“There’s something wrong with you three if you guys think that way. I think I’m tired. I guess I’m just gonna head back to the common room. See you later!” He dismissed, quickly turning around to head back and have some deep reflection on what he was truly feeling for his best friend. “Tired? But he never gets tired when they pull a successful prank.” The young Weasley confusedly mumbled to his friends, George being able to hear it.

On his way to the common room, he was able to slowly gather his thoughts. “Yeah George, what is wrong with you?” He questioned before quickly shrugging the thought and coming up with a concrete conclusion “I guess there are just those days where you feel a certain tiredness even if you do things you love the most.”

He recalled how he and Fred were able to pull off their prank; from doodling in their parchments in between classes, to stealing Snape’s stock to cook up potions, to the implementation, and to the way his heart felt disappointment when he didn’t spot Youngheart in the crowd to celebrate. The look on Y/N’s face with that Hufflepuff suddenly flashed in his train of thought. Her cheeks shade of pink, her eyes shrinking to form a line from the laugh she’s bestowing, and just everything. George would have felt delighted from the sight if it weren’t for the sweet-looking Hufflepuff. “That damn Hufflepuff. It should have been me.” George muttered as he entered his dorm and slumped into his pillow.

A few minutes after the awkward exchange, the mood became brighter as Fred took his place beside his twin along with the Golden trio plus Ginny sitting across them. Supper was spent with Fred telling them about how Angelina was as red as a tomato when Fred showed a magic trick, obviously smitten for the girl; Harry reading a book with Ginny, Ron stuffing his face as if he hasn’t eaten for days, and Hermione scolding him. If you would observe them, it was obvious that Y/N Youngheart had something bothering her.

George was quietly eating his food, trying to look interested in Fred’s story, until Y/N nudged him. She motioned for him to lean down and when he did, she whispered. “Do you perhaps wanna hang out later?” Y/N asked, a hopeful look in her eyes. George’s heart started beating fast, nervous, but he was able to give her a small smile. “Anything for you.”

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As Y/N entered the girl’s dormitory, she was met by her cat, Cloud. “Took you long enough. I’m hungry!” He whined.

“Have a little patience would you? You just ate a few hours ago.” She teased as she removed the scarf she was wearing, which was a gift from George.

“But that was a few hours ago Youngheart.” She raised her eyebrows as she faced her pet. “So we’re going to do a last name basis now huh? Did you forget that you’re also basically a Youngheart?”

“Of course, I didn’t forget. I just wanted to remind you that YOU are my mom and that you should be feeding me.” Cloud whined further. “Worry about dressing well later for Mr. Weasley, just please feed me.” He added, making Y/N stop in her tracks as confusion invaded her mind.

“How did you know me and George were going to meet up?” She questioned. “I just do. Now come on, feed me so that you can now finally go to your love.”

“Sometimes, I want to remove this bracelet. You keep on whining.” Y/N jokingly stated as she picked up cloud’s bowl to prepare his meal. For Y/N’s 12th birthday, her mom gave her a kitty as a gift, in which she named him Cloud because he was really fluffy. Cloud liked to meow a lot, but with no skills of cat communication, Y/N never really understood the reason for his noises. That’s why she decided to make a bracelet that would let her understand what Cloud was trying to say.

“Has he confessed yet?” Cloud asked. “Confessed? Why would he confess? I think you should be asking ME if I have already confessed.” Y/N suggested, giving her cat a raised eyebrow. “He obviously likes you back.” Replied Cloud nonchalantly.

Youngheart finally laid down the metal bowl that holds her cat’s dinner before sitting on her bed. “And how would you know that? You don’t even leave this room.” She nagged, getting nothing but noises coming from the cat’s bowl due to its bell hitting the metal. A few more seconds passed before Cloud looked up to her and said “Are you sure?”

Youngheart gasped. “Don’t tell me you have been sneaking out.”

“Then, I won’t tell you.”

“Cloud!!!” She squeaked. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Disbelief all over her face.

“Because you’re overprotective! You act as if I can’t take care of myself.”

“Well, you seem to look that way! Look at you! Always hungry and whining. What would you do without me?”

“What would I do without you? Not whine of course! I only whine in front of you because I love you.”

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A blanket was laid inside the astronomy tower. There they were, Y/N Youngheart and George Weasley, having a midnight picnic as if they didn’t just have supper at the Great hall 2 hours ago.

“Y/N.” George called, making Y/N look to her side in order to face the ginger. “Yes?”

“You know we’re in our sixth years now but you never really told me what you want to do in the future. I already told you about me and Fred’s plan of starting a joke shop, but what about you? You’ve given me and Fred a lot of support for our future and I wanted to do the same for you. You are our best friend after all.” He explained, his voice soft and warm, like a sweater you wear during the cold holidays.

Youngheart was taken aback by the sudden topic. “I….don’t really know, George.” She began. “All I know is that I really love potions. I like mixing potions. It’s just...it's amazing isn’t it? How a group of ingredients mixed together to form a mixture that could do something different. But I really want to make a potion that could heal people. Should I be a healer instead? But I don’t really want to deal with people. They give me anxiety!”

As if the ginger’s eyes held the entire universe, it sparkled. “Potions, eh? How ‘bout you join me and Fred’s joke shop? You can be the mastermind of our potions! How ‘bout something that makes your teeth fall off? Or something that can turn your hair red!” He suggested.

Youngheart giggled, causing the ginger’s heart to beat like crazy. Serotonin spreading throughout his body. “Why would you need a potion that turns your hair into red? Your hair is already red!”

“I’ll use it for you so you can become a Weasley.” He joked, earning a full blown laugh from the girl. “There are other ways I can become a Weasley that doesn’t necessarily need me drinking a potion to turn my hair red. I can go just marry Bill or Charlie and I’ll immediately become a Weasley!”

“Bill or Charlie?” He queried, the familiar feeling he felt earlier splashing through his stomach making it ache like it was acid. Youngheart raised her brows, feigning an innocent expression. “What? What’s wrong with them? They’re your older brothers, afterall. Not like I would marry Percy….or Fred...or You….or Ron! I’m just basing it from my ranking of my favorite Weasley.”

“Am I not your favorite Weasley?!” George asked, pushing the green monster away from his facial expression and feigning a hurt one instead. The look on Youngheart remained innocent. “No?” She answered.

“Honestly, woman-”

“Ginny is my favorite. If I could marry her, I would. But she’s too smitten with Harry. And she’s like a sister to me. That would be weird.” she blurted before sitting up and grabbing a chocolate chip cookie that she and George stole from the kitchens.

Right, a sibling. If Y/N sees Ginny as her sister, she might see me and Fred the same? Nice try, George. I guess you’ll have to spend the rest of your life being in love with your best friend who only sees you as a brother. The ginger thought to himself before mirroring the actions of the girl he fancied.

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George once again, slumped into his pillow rather loudly, a thump on his wooden bed, accidentally waking his snoring twin. “Hey mate, quiet down will you? Some want their beauty sleep and that someone is me.” Fred nagged.

“Fred, what do I do?” The younger twin asked, his voice filled with worry causing the older twin to pull down his blanket and eyeing his twin with squinted eyes. “What do you mean?”

“She only sees me as a brother, mate. An older brother! And she said she wanted to marry Bill or Charlie...I better keep them away from her.”

“She said that?” Fred asked in disbelief.

“Well…” George began. “She mentioned how her favorite Weasley is Ginny and that she would marry her if she could. It's just that she sees her like a sister. Which means, she probably sees me like a brother too...right?”

Seriousness enveloped Fred’s sleepy face, blinking at his twin for a few times before exclaiming “Merlin! I won’t deal with this right now. You’re giving me a headache George. You need to go to sleep.”

“Let’s talk about this tomorrow yeah?” He added, earning a soft “Yeah...” from George.

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“Hello? Earth to George?” George quickly snapped out of his trance as Y/N pinched his right cheek in hopes to regain George’s attention to her. “What was that?” George asked, shaking his head.

“I said, do you want to meet in the astronomy tower later? We could pass by the kitchens and steal milk and cookies! We could-” George cut her off.

“I’m sorry, love. But I’m kind of tired. Maybe some other time?” Y/N frowned, her eyebrows meeting and her lively energy dying down. “O-okay. Good night, George.” She said, standing up from the couch she and George had been sitting on in the Gryffindor common room, walking away.

George was left alone in silence in front of the fireplace, his heart feeling empty and his head full of thought until his twin popped out of nowhere, smacking the back of his head with a book. “Ow! What was that for, mate?” George sputtered, rubbing his head to relieve the pain.

“You are impossible, mate. Why are you pushing her away? She clearly wants to spend some time with you!” Fred exclaimed.

��Why would she spend time with me when she could have just asked that Hufflepuff boy? He obviously- Oi! Stop it, will you?” Fred once again, smacked the back of his twin’s head. “If she wanted to spend time with that boy, then she could have asked, you’re right. But Merlin! She asked you, mate!”

George scoffed. “But why?” He questioned, earning a groaning Fred. “Because she fancies you, mate! Are you blind?”

The older twin was about to lose his mind. His brother was impossible! It was obvious how Y/N fancied him and how he fancied her too!

“If she fancies me, she wouldn’t have proposed the thought of marrying Bill or Charlie to become a Weasley! She only sees me as a brother, mate. You and me both.”

Fred sighed. “You know what, I’m not dealing with you anymore. You’re really something else. But piece of advice, if you don’t want that Hufflepuff boy winning Y/N’s heart, you have to do something about it.”

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For the next few weeks, the younger Weasley twin managed to avoid Y/N, who was confused, blue, and angry at the same time. She didn’t know why the tall ginger would go the other way whenever they would cross paths in the halls of the wizarding school. She was clueless on why she never sits beside or across from George anymore. She was clueless on how whenever she would ask him to have their usual midnight escapade to the astronomy tower, he would decline, telling her that he was tired or that he had an essay to do. The Weasley twins never do their homework. Not ever.

On her way to divination class, a force from a grip on her wrist led her to the nearest broom closet, bodies pressed together as they both forced themselves to fit in the small space. Looking up at her kidnapper, she saw a familiar ginger. However, it was not the ginger that she was yearning for.

She feigned a sigh. “Look, Fred. You’re probably here to confess your undying love for me but I fancy somebody else. I’m so sorry. We can still stay as friends though, we can pretend that nothing ever happened.”

Fred cackled, earning a smile from the girl. “You do know how to make things less awkward, Youngheart. Maybe you should join me and George’s pranking streak? We could use that wit of yours into good use.”

Y/N frowned at the mention of the twin’s name, her eyes glossy with tears threatening to spill, earning a hug from the taller lad. “Aww, there, there, Youngheart. Everything’s gonna be okay.” Fred comforted, patting the back of her head as he wrapped his arms around her small shoulders and cuddled her like a newborn baby. The girl couldn’t help but show her vulnerability to the ginger. He was her best friend after all.

“What did I do, Fred? Did I do something wrong that could have upset him? Did I say something?” She couldn’t help but question. “I don’t know what to do.”

Before Fred could open his mouth to curse his twin and call him a dimwit, the subject man unbolted the small space, his face full of rage as its color became alike with his hair. “How could you, Fred?! How could you?!” He bellowed, causing the pair to pull away from each other and face him with wide eyes.

“George…” The girl stammered.

“How can you take Y/N from me when you know how much I fancied her?!” The younger twin growled.

“What?”

“It’s true! I fancy you, Youngheart. I really do! And it’s driving me mad because every time I see you with somebody else, a monster invades my whole being! And it’s not just the monster, it's the green monster!” George began. “At first I was clueless on why I was feeling that way but then I realized that it’s only love, Youngheart. So screw that. I don’t just fancy you. I love you!” He revealed, suddenly gaining the Gryffindor bravery and courage as a result of being too infuriated when he caught his twin and the girl he loved being too close in the small room.

“I love you, Y/N Youngheart. With all my mind, with my body, and with all my soul.” He added, finally processing the look of bewilderment in his best friend’s face. “I know we’re just best friends, Youngheart, and that you only see me like a brother but what I feel for you is in no way or form like that way. I-”

George’s small speech was interrupted as Youngheart pushed herself into him, tiptoeing as her hands made their way on the sides of his face, holding him, as their lips pin together in a deep passionate kiss. “I love you, too.”

George Weasley and Y/N Youngheart were crazy mad for each other. It took them a while to finally admit it to themselves but everything eventually fell into its place. What they have? It’s only love.

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Author’s note: Merry Christmas! <3 Just a little TMI, my “Cry For Me” series that involves a George x Reader type story was supposed to come out this 25th. Unfortunately, I had to postpone it for inevitable circumstances. To make up for it, here’s a short work made by yours truly. Enjoy the holidays! x Daisy

Find me and my works on AO3 too!

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It’s Only Love

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racebox-of-higgars · 4 years

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Christmas Kisses - sprace oneshot

It may not be Christmas anymore but I’m still gonna write it

Crossposted on Ao3 at Racebox_of_Higgars

Enjoy!

“I think I’m having a feeling,” Spot groaned, flopping down onto Jack’s couch. “Make it stop.” Jack looked up from his painting, frowning at Spot.

“How did you get in my house?”

“I picked the lock,” Spot said simply, as if it happened every day.

“As you do.”

“Yes.” Jack narrowed his eyes slightly, then shook his head. Today was not the day for questioning things.

“What feeling?”

“Fuck if I know.” Spot gestured at the air in front of him. “ Racetrack! ” That only made Jack even more confused.

Spot, he didn’t really do feelings. He would always bottle them up and ignore them until they became anger, which was far easier to deal with than whatever it was before. That earned him his reputation as the kid with the anger issues, which suited him just fine. It meant no one messed with him, or people around him, and as long as they were okay, he was happy.

“You got a problem with Race?” Jack asked, turning completely away from his painting. He was invested now.

“Yes! No! I don’t know.” Jack grinned, finally catching on to what Spot was getting at.

“You like him, don’t you?” Spot screamed into the pillow and Jack snickered.

Jack loved Race. Not in a romantic way, but Race was pretty much his little brother, and he would do anything to make Race happy. He had seen Race fall in love too fast then each time they would leave and he’d watch Race fall apart, each time losing another part of himself. Slowly, it had worn Race down, and though he didn’t let it show, he was always hurting. Every time he got into a new relationship, he would keep his distance, trying not to get too close Every time he would get his heart broken. Jack never liked any of Race’s boyfriends, but he liked Spot.

“So what do I do about it?” Spot asked. “Do I ask him out, or do I like stab him?”

“You ask him out, dipshit!” Spot screamed again.

“What do I do?” Spot sat up slightly, looking a Jack, and he actually looked worried. God, he was whipped.

“Ask him on a date.”

“What kind of date does one ask Racetrack fucking Higgins on?” That was a good question. Thankfully, Jack had known the fucker since they were basically fetuses, and therefore knew exactly what he would want.

“Take him to the ice-skating rink, then get hot chocolate together and watch a Christmas movie.” Race was a sucker for Christmas, and it being just weeks away now, it was perfect timing. “If you’re feeling bold put up some mistletoe. He loves that shit.”

“Race loves Christmas, right?”

“Yup. If your house isn’t decorated he’ll fly through there like a glittery rainbow tornado.” Spot smiled at that. He could practically picture it, and he felt the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Dude, you’re fucking whipped.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’ll still kill you in your sleep.” Jack just smiled and turned back to his painting.

“Enjoy your date.”

Spot knew what he wanted to say, but actually asking Race out was a whole other story. They were in the library together, a usual hangout spot (hehe get it), when it was cold, and Race was rambling on about some new thing he had grown obsessed with and Spot had listened diligently, completely enraptured by Race’s excitement. His sparkling eyes lit up with a childlike glee and a grin spread across his face as he looked out the window.

“Spotty, look!” He cried. “They’re turning on the Christmas lights!” Race was entranced by the lights, almost like a child, but Spot wasn’t watching them. Spot was gazing at Race. He watched as the colours flickered over Race’s pale skin and the rainbow of lights reflected off his eyes. God, he was so in love with this boy it hurt, and if he didn’t get at least a date with him soon he was pretty sure he’d combust.

Plans went out the window.

“Go on a date with me?” He blurted, screaming internally the second it left his mouth. Race turned to him, shock written all over his face.

“What?”

“I-uh-I wanted to know if you, maybe, wanted to go on a date with me?” Spot stammered out, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Race smiled, somehow wider than he had when he was watching the lights.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes!” Race rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, like he always did when he was excited and Spot couldn’t help his smile.

“Alright, uh, I’ll pick you up at 7, is that okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, and wrap up warm,” Spot added, thinking about how cold it was likely to be on the ice later. Race nodded.

“Okay, I’ll – uh – I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, see you.” Fuck yes!

In Which Race Is A Third Wheel

Racebox of Higgars: GAYSGAYSGAYSGAYSGAYS!!!!

Mom: Do you really need that many exclaimation marks?

SantaGay: GAYSGAYSGAYSGAYSGAYS????

Mom: Don’t encourage him

Racebox of Higgars: GAAAAAAAAAAAYS!

Mom: What do you want?

Racebox of Higgars: SPOT ASKED ME ON A FUCKIN DATE!!!!

SantaGay: HELL YEAH!

Mom: Finally

Mom: It’s only taken him nine years.

SantaGay: what are you doing?

Racebox of Higgars: i don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me

SantaGay: oooh, a man of mystery

Mom: Be safe.

Racebox of Higgars: i always am

Racebox of Higgars: OH FUCK WHAT AM I GONNA WEAR

Mom: Did he give you a dress code?

Racebox of Higgars: no, he just said dress warm

SantaGay: black skinny jeans, that cream turtleneck you literally never wear, your fancy black coat, doc martens, a lil bit of eyeliner

Mom: Jack, you have fashion sense?

Mom: Why do you never dress up nice for our dates?

Racebox of Higgars: o shit

Racebox of Higgars: thanks gays

For the fifth time, Race examined himself in the mirror, scrunching up his face. Something was missing from his outfit. He had to admit, Jack’s taste was good (the eyeliner was amazing), but something was still missing. He rifled through his drawers, eventually pulling out the silver chain Spot had bought him when they were 14. It was simple, plain, but spoke volumes.

Race had only just come out as trans. He was slowly swapping out his wardrobe for more masculine clothes, and they were going through his old jewellery.

He held up a necklace with a small owl charm at the end, grimacing. He hated that necklace. It wasn’t anything against it particularly, but more to do with how feminine it made him feel. He hated it.

“Y’know,” he began absent-mindedly, “I used to love this necklace, but now I can’t stand it. It makes me really dysphoric for some reason, which sucks since I love wearing jewellery and stuff, but I can’t wear most of this.”

“You can get more masculine necklaces,” Spot answered from where he was sitting at the foot of Race’s bed.

“Well, yeah, but I can’t really afford it.” Spot frowned. “I don’t get any money at the moment, and I can’t work.” An idea slowly formulated in Spot’s mind.

“Race, I got you something,” Spot said sheepishly. Race turned, brow furrowing.

“It’s not my birthday, or Christmas. Why?”

“It ain’t much, but you were saying about it the other day and then I saw it and thought of you.” He held the box out to Race, who took it tentatively.

“This isn’t gonna explode or anything, right?” Spot laughed, but shook his head. It reminded him of their prank war a month or so before, which only ended when Spot had broken his nose.

“It shouldn’t do.”

“Alright, good.” Race tore into the packaging with a newfound fervour, dropping it to the floor because he was a firm believer that gift-giving should always be carnage, no matter what the occasion, then opened the lid of the box. Spot watched nervously, suddenly thinking that this was probably a bad idea, but Race’s face cracked into a grin.

“You bought me a necklace?” He said incredulously as he carefully lifted it out of the box.

“Well, yeah. I was out with Hotshot yesterday and I saw it in a window and it reminded me of the other day. If you don’t like it I can take it back I jus-“ Spot was cut off by a weight crashing into him, and arms wrapping tightly around him.

“I love it, thank you.”

Since then Race had kept it in pristine condition, carefully making sure it didn’t rust or otherwise get dirty or break. He carefully lifted the chain out of the box, much like he did all those years ago, and fastened it around his neck. Looking in the mirror, he smiled. It offset the outfit perfectly, matching with the silver buttons on his coat and just providing that extra little touch to the outfit. He took a quick photo and sent it to the group chat.

In Which Race is a Third Wheel

Racebox of Higgars sent a photo

Racebox of Higgars: GAYS DO I LOOK OKAY

SantaGay: damn bitch

SantaGay: if i wasn’t dating davey and you weren’t like a brother to me id tap that

Mom: He means you look good.

Mom: He’s right, you do.

Racebox of Higgars: thanks gays

Racebox of Higgars: OH FUCK HES HERE

Spot shuffled slightly outside Race’s door, flowers in hand. Were flowers too much? Fuck it, it was too late now. Race opened the door and Spot’s breath caught in his throat. Oh god, Race was gorgeous. Spot’s eyes slowly glanced over Race, taking all of him in, from stylishly messy curls, to his bright eyes rimmed by just a little bit of eyeliner to make them stand out, to his breathless smile, to the necklace at his throat, to those criminally tightly jeans, and Spot needed to stop staring.

“Christ, you look gorgeous,” Spot breathed, still hardly able to take it all in. A blush crept up Race’s cheeks as his eyes skirted over Spot.

“You can’t talk, you’re-“ he gestured wildly at Spot, “beautiful.” Spot had been called a lot of things, hot, sexy, handsome, but never beautiful. It surprised him, he loved the sound of it on Race’s lips.

“I bought flowers,” Spot said, holding them out. “I hope it’s not too much.” Race smiled taking them from him.

“Cyclamen,” Race pointed out with a smile, taking them from him. “You remembered?”

“I’ve been doing some research into flower symbolism,” Race said, half hanging off the end of his bed. Spot looked up from his homework.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s actually pretty interesting. It’s weird to think that plants have so much meaning . Like, take hyacinth flowers. Apparently they were created when two Greek God’s were fighting over one guys love and one of them got hella jealous so fuckin killed the guy cus if he couldn’t have him no one could. The other one created the flower from his blood.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“I know. It symbolises rebirth now.”

“Huh, but the guy wasn’t reborn?” Race shook his head. “Fair enough. Do you have a favourite flower?” Spot asked, partly out of genuine curiosity, partly out of hope that someday he’d be the one buying Race flowers.

“Cyclamen,” Race answered easily. “They symbolise love and tenderness.” Spot smiled. Of course Race would like something like that. He was a hopeless romantic at heart. “Do you have one?”

“Not at the moment. I’ll have to do some research and get back to you.”

Spot liked lavender roses – blossoming romance.

“Of course I remembered. I, uh, I had some lavender roses put in too.”

“Your favourite,” Race recalled. “Blossoming romance, right?” Spot nodded, embarrassed. Race smiled. “I’m gonna go put these in some water real quick, wanna come in?”

Race couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he carefully organised the flowers in the vase. Spot had remembered the offhand conversation three years ago. Not only had he remembered, but he had gone out of his way to get the specific flowers Race loved. The blush on Race’s cheeks darkened slightly, doing a little dance as he placed the vase on the coffee table.

“You’re wearing the necklace,” Spot pointed out. Race rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah.”

“You still have it?” Spot was genuinely surprised. That had been eight years ago now, and yet the necklace still looked like it did the day he bought it.

“Of course I do. I’ve kept everything you’ve bought me over the years.” Spot laughed.

“Even the stuffed dinosaur?”

“Especially the stuffed dinosaur.”

“You’re gonna think it’s stupid!” Spot cried, a blush creeping up his cheeks. Race laughed, holding Spot back with one hand as he clutched the wrapped gift in the other.

“Nope!” He answered, popping the p. “I’ve never found anything you’ve bought me stupid, why would I start now?” Spot groaned and backed off slightly, rubbing a hand over his face. Race eagerly tore into the paper , throwing it onto the pile left by Spot. He grinned, laughing. “I love him!” He said, pulling the blue stuffed dinosaur against his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around it. “I shall name him Steeb.” Spot shook his head, laughing. He had genuinely thought Race would hate it or think it was stupid. Race had been going through an obsession with dinosaurs, and of course he was always a sucker for stuffed animals, and thus Steeb had been bought.

“Steeb?”

“Yup!”

Race pulled him into a tight hug, still laughing. “Thank you.”

“Where are we actually going?” Race asked as they walked outside onto the freezing street. Frost coated the grass, and their breath hung before them, pockets of heat suspended in the cold air.

“It’s a surprise,” Spot said simply. Race forced his hands into the pocket of his coat to shelter them from the cold.

“You know I don’t like surprises,” he mumbled.

“Yes you do, you just say you don’t to try to get me to tell you shit.” Damn Spot and damn the fact that he knew Race better than anyone.

“You brought me ice skating?” Race asked, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Yeah, Jack said you used to go a lot as kids.” Race grinned, kicking off his shoes and replacing them with skates, lacing them up tightly. Spot copied him, putting their shoes and bags into lockers.

Race quickly made his way onto the ice, gliding like a pro and kicking off with a small spin, just to test it out. Spot got onto the ice and promptly fell on his face. Race, however, was lost in the moment, gliding and spinning and twisting, then leaping into the air. Spot watched in wonder as Race closed his eyes, lost in his movements.

Race closed his eyes when he danced. Losing himself in the music, he would just close his eyes and let it take over. It would decide his movements for him, and he would follow along. Spot stood in the corner, mesmerised by the boy in front of him. A small smile crept onto his face as he watched Race. It was rare for Race to let Spot see him dance, so he took any moment he could. Watching Race, it was like he was made for this, with the way his body moved so gracefully, so purposefully. Spot loved every moment. No matter how hard he tried (not that he was trying), he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Spot!” Race said excitedly, opening his eyes and pausing the music. “You came?” Spot smiled.

“Of course I came, dumbass. I wasn’t gonna miss this.” Race bounced on the balls of his feet excitedly.

“I’m on in half an hour. Just going through some basic stuff now to get ready.” Spot scoffed.

“You call that basic?” Race ran a hand through his curls, damp with sweat.

“I mean yeah, compared to what I’m doing in the show.”

“What are you doing in the show?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Race said with a wink.

“Ever the cryptid.” They stood in silence for a moment, then Spot had to break it. “You’re not binding, right?” Race’s face fell and he subconsciously crossed his arms over his chest. “C’mon, you know it’s not good for you. Can we take it off before you go on?” Race shook his head.

“I don’t have anything else to put on.”

“I brought a sports bra, could you change into that?” Race hesitated for a moment, before nodding. Race always struggled being safe when binding, so when he had events like this, Spot would always bring a spare sports bra and one of his hoodies for Race to change into. Just in case.

He handed Race the sports bra.

“I have a hoodie for you to wear after,” he said, handing him the hoodie too. Race smiled as he went into the bathroom to change.

“Thank you.”

“Spot!” Race cried, skating over to his side and offering out a hand. “Are you alright?” Spot shook himself out of the memory and took the hand, shakily getting to his feet. He immediately slipped again, but Race caught him, laughing. “You can’t skate, can you?” Spot shook his head. “Why did you bring me ice skating if you can’t skate?”

“Because I knew you’d like it.” Race took both of Spots hands in his, so they were facing each other, then he slowly began skating backwards, locking eyes with Spot.

“Thank you.” Spot tried his best to mimic Race, and soon they had a steady speed and rhythm going. “By the end of tonight I’ll have you skating on your own.”

“I doubt that.”

“Bet.”

Race won the bet.

“Wanna go get hot chocolate?” Spot asked. “Not the shitty watery stuff they serve here, we’ll go and get the good hot chocolate from the library.” Race rubbed his hands together to try to regain some feeling in them and he nodded.

“Hell yeah.”

The library’s café was a big reason why they always hung out there. They’d found it while studying one night, and it had slowly become ‘Their Spot’ over the years. All the staff knew them and their orders, and always greeted them with a smile. They knew all the staff by name too.

“Thanks for this, Race.” Spot said, setting his books down on the table. Race smiled, setting his bag down on an empty seat.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it.” He glanced around. It was a cozy, quaint place. Squashy armchairs surrounded tables and the whole place was filled to bursting with old wooden bookshelves. Towards the back was the café, a large chalkboard with all the prices hanging above it. “Wanna grab food and stuff before we start working?” He asked, gesturing towards the café. Spot looked up, and nodded.

“Yeah sure.”

“I’ll pay,” Race said as Spot reached for his wallet.

“But-“

“No buts, I’ve got it.” Race tapped his card on the reader and took his mug of hot chocolate, laden with sprinkles, whipped cream and marshmallows back to the table. Spot sat down shortly after him, lifting the mug to his lips. Race took that moment to admire Spot, backed by the sunlight streaming through the large windows. His brow was furrowed slightly as he concentrated on his mountain of a drink, and the contended smile on his face brought out his laugh lines.

There was whipped cream on his nose.

Race burst into laughter at the sight of Tough Guy Spot Conlon with whipped cream on his nose. Said Tough Guy Spot Conlon looked up, brow furrowing more in confusion.

“Is something on my face?” He asked.

“There’s – there’s whipped cream on your nose,” Race said through laughter. Just to make Race laugh more, Spot attempted to lick it off. He loved watching Race laugh. It was the most magical sound in the world to him.

“Boys, can you quiet down a bit,” a waitress asked, “this is a library.” Race pressed his mouth shut to muffle his laughter and Spot wiped the cream off with his finger. That was the beginning of their library ‘study sessions’.

They settled into what had become their corner of the library, curling up in two opposite armchairs, setting their drinks on the table. They had chosen a spot right next to a large window so they could watch people go about their days on the streets beneath them. Sometimes they would make up ridiculous stories about the people walking by, just to make the other laugh. Often, it would turn into a competition about who could come up with the funniest story. It would reach the point where they were howling with laughter, tears streaming down their faces, and the library staff would shake their heads fondly as they told them to quiet down.

“Thanks for tonight, Spot,” Race said, a small smile on his face.

“It’s not over yet.” Race tilted his head. It had already been one of the best nights of his life, how on Earth was this not the end? “We’re gonna go back to my place one we’ve finished these, get takeout, watch a movie.” Race grinned.

“A Christmas movie?” He asked excitedly.

“Even better – a crap Christmas movie.” Race’s eyes lit up and he wiggled a little in his chair with excitement.

“Oh my god, you are the best.” Race was obsessed with Christmas movies, but the shitty, cheesy ones that you laugh at because of how unbelievably bad they are, and Spot was his long-suffering companion who had put up with this bullshit for nine Christmases in a row now.

“Can we watch a Christmas movie?” Race asked, draped over Spot’s lap. This was their first Christmas as friends, and Race was going to make it a good one.

“Which one?” Spot smiled down at Race, automatically starting to run his fingers through his hair.

“I dunno, something super cheesy. The kind so bad you have to laugh at it.” That was Race’s favourite kind of me. Probably why he enjoyed the Twilight Saga. Not because he actually liked the films (Edward was an abusive douche, he had physically fought someone on that before, and he would do it again), but because it was so easy to laugh at how unbelievably shitty they were.

Spot nodded, opening Netflix and putting on some shitty movie.

Neither of them actually watched the movie though. Spot was distracted by Race’s soft smile and how peaceful he looked. Race was distracted by the feeling of Spot’s hand in his hair and Spot’s arms around him.

It had been a while since Race had been in Spot’s apartment, (they usually preferred to hang out at Race’s, he had a bigger TV for movie and game nights) and he looked around slowly. It wasn’t a big place, but it was still nice. He had a large, squashy sofa, plus an armchair, a coffee table that clearly had been cleaned recently. In fact, the whole apartment had that smell like it had been cleaned just a few hours before. Had Spot cleaned for him?

“Do you want tea or coffee or anything?” Spot asked from the kitchen.

“Coffee would be good,” Race answered, getting comfy on Spot’s couch. Spot set to work making it as Race glanced over the takeout menu. Then, he had an idea. “We should build a pillow fort!” Spot turned to face him, one eyebrow raised, a bemused smile playing on his lips.

“A pillow fort?”

“Yeah!” Race’s smile dropped slightly. “Unless you don’t want to. We don’t have to-”

“Of course I want to.” Spot set the coffee mugs down on the table, plopping down next to Race. Race’s eyes lit up when he saw the mugs.

“You still have those?” He asked excitedly.

“Of course I do.”

“Spot look!” Race exclaimed, pointing at a shelf. Spot put down the mannequin hand he was turning into a middle finger and turned to look at Race, who was holding up a matching mug set. They were plain white, except for black lettering. One said ‘his bitch’ on it, while the other said ‘his slut’. “They’re for gays!” Spot laughed, looking at the price tag.

“And they’re only like, $3.” Race’s eyes lit up with mischief, the way they always did when he had a stupid idea.

“We’re absolutely gonna buy them, aren’t we?” Race said.

“Obviously.” Spot took them from Race and paid for them.

Later, Spot handed Race the mug reading ‘his slut.’

“Why am I the slut?” Race said indignantly.

“Come on, we all know you’ve slept with like, half the guys in the school.” Race’s face fell a little.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“You sleeping around?”

“Yeah.” In truth, Spot did mind, but he wouldn’t say that. The only reason Spot had an issue with it was because of his huge crush on Race. But he supposed he had no reason to be jealous, it wasn’t like Race was his.

“No, I don’t mind. It’s your body, you do what you want with it.”

“Sometimes I worry if I’m doing something wrong. If, I dunno, whoever I end up dating doesn’t like it.”

“Have you ever dated anyone long-term?” Spot asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. Race shook his head.

“Nah. There’s people I’ve seen for a couple months or so, but never longer than that. They realise I’m fucked up and leave.” Race laughed bitterly, trying to add humour to the situation.

“You’re not fucked up.”

“Mhm, that’s not what they think.” Spot took Race’s hand in his.

“Look at me.” Race hesitantly met Spot’s eyes. “You aren’t too fucked up. There’s no such thing as too fucked up to be loved.” Race blinked back tears.

“Thank you.”

“It’s alright, now shut up and take your slut mug.” Race laughed.

“You do realise it’s gonna have to stay at your place, right? No home will let me keep this.”

“We can keep it for special occasions.”

They curled up together on the couch. Spot reached for the remote and started flicking through Netflix, putting on a shitty movie. Both pretended to watch the film, but they were both too focused on the close proximity. Both wanted to make a move, but neither knew the right moment. The distance between them was painful.

Slowly, achingly slowly, Spot reached an arm around Race’s shoulders. Race wiggled slightly, getting comfy, before relaxing into Spot’s side, resting his head on Spot’s shoulder. Warmth spread from every point of contact, and he couldn’t believe he’d spent nine years missing this. He had spent so long pining for Spot, but never worked up the courage to make a move, instead throwing himself at any other guy who would take him to try to distract himself from his helpless crush, but nobody gave him the same feelings as Spot did. Spot was it for him, he had known for the last nine years, and he knew it now.

Spot was screaming inside. Race was right here, in his arms, and he wasn’t pulling away. They were on a date, and it wasn’t painfully awkward. Since meeting Race, Spot had hardly dated anyone. He had a couple flings here and there, but none lasted long. None could hold a candle to the brightness of Race. Nothing could compare to the warmth in Spot’s chest he felt around Race, or the safety and comfort he hadn’t felt before, but with Race it seemed so easy. Everything was easy with Race.

Race took the moment to look around the room. In the corner, there was a photo frame, with 9 photos in it. He looked closer at it, and realised it was one of the two of them together, each one taken a year after the one before. The first one was taken when they first met, before Race had come out, before he had cut his hair. The second one was just after he had cut his hair. He still remembered each one being taken.

“Spot, can we take a photo together?” Race asked, fiddling with the ends of his hair.

“Why?”

“I like having photos with all my friends, I like keeping the memories.”

“Sure. You want a selfie or are we gonna make someone take it for us?”

“Should we get someone else to take it?” Spot nodded. “Can you ask them?”

“Alright.” Spot took Race’s phone and walked up to a middle aged woman walking by. They spoke briefly, then Spot came running back, throwing an arm around Race’s shoulder. Race grinned, looking at the camera, wrapping his arm around Spot’s waist. A few seconds later, the woman gave them a thumbs up, and Spot ran back to take the phone back. Spot handed the phone back, leaning over Race’s shoulder to look at them.

“Are they good?” Race nodded, smiling.

“Yeah, really good.” Spot backed off slightly, wrinkling his nose.

“Your hair got in my nose.” Race frowned.

“Sorry. I’m gonna cut it shorter at some point.” Spot tilted his head.

“Really? How short?” Now Race was gonna do a special trick called lying to avoid outing himself.

“A bob, so around my chin length.” Spot smiled, picturing it.

“Yeah, that’s gonna look good.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, it’s gonna be good.”

Race pounded on Spot’s door, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“Wha- oh.” Spot opened the door, face scrunched up in annoyance, but softening when he saw Race. “Oh, Racer, come in.” Race came in, sinking down onto the couch, fiddling with the strings on his hoodie.

“Can I crash here for the night?” He asked, voice breaking. Spot’s brow furrowed with concern as he crouched down in front of Race.

“Yeah. What happened?” Race hesitated, before pulling his hood down, revealing his messily chopped hair.

“I cut my hair. I just- I couldn’t look at myself with long hair anymore. I got kicked out.” Spot frowned.

“What do you mean you couldn’t look at yourself with long hair?” Race’s breath hitched and his heart hammered in his chest.

“I-uh-I'm trans. I couldn’t deal with the dysphoria anymore. It hurts too much.” Spot’s eyes softened and he wrapped Race up in a tight hug.

“It’s alright. I don’t care. Do you have a new name and pronouns you want me to use?” Race rested his forehead on Spot’s shoulder, trying to keep from crying.

“Could you call me Antonio? I mean, I’ll still go by Racetrack and everything, but Antonio for my real name. And he/him pronouns.”

“Sure, Antonio,” Spot said, trying the name out on his lips. Race’s face split into a grin at the use of the name.

“Thank you.”

“It’s alright.” Spot reached up to touch the choppy hair. “Now how about I sort your hair out?”

“Please.”

Race ran a hand through his freshly cut hair, examining it from all angles in the mirror, and he smiled brightly.

“Thank you,” he said, turning and wrapping Spot in a hug. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“Why don’t we update that photo we took last year?” Spot suggested, and Race’s eyes lit up.

“Could we?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Spot threw his arm around Race’s shoulders, just as he had a year ago, and Race wrapped his arm around Spot’s waist, and they both wore matching grins as they looked into the camera. The woman taking the photo gave a thumbs up and Spot ran to take the phone. They looked at the photo, then back at the one from the previous year.

“You look happier,” Spot commented. Race smiled.

“I am happier.”

“You kept those photos?” Race asked, nodding slightly to the frame. Spot tore his glance away from Race momentarily to look.

“Of course I did. They’re my favourite pictures.” Race smiled, settling back on Spot’s shoulder. A blush rose in his cheeks as he felt Spot press a kiss to his hair, then his hand replaced his lips, fingers slowly carding through his curls. Race hummed contentedly, wrapping an arm across Spot’s stomach and leaning into his every touch. Now this, this was something he could get used to.

The credits rolled, and by that point it was well past midnight. Race slowly sat up, regretting the loss of contact with Spot.

“I-uh-I should go,” he said, moving to stand.

“I’ll walk you home?” Spot offered.

“Are you sure? It’s cold out.”

“I’m sure, c’mon.”

Somehow, the street was even colder than when they had gone out before, but neither of them seemed to mind. A snowbank piled up on one side, and Race struggled to contain his grin as the idea formulated in his mind.

He knocked once, twice against Spot, playing it off as an accident, before shoving Spot into the bank. He erupted into laughter, but maybe it was too soon, as Spot grabbed his coat on the way down. Both of them shrieked as they landed in the snow, Race landing on top of Spot. They breathed heavily, making eye contact for a moment, faces flushed, but whether that was the cold or something else was anyone’s guess. Just as they had been staring long enough for it to become awkward, Spot finally made his move. He leaned in, like he had been longing to for years, holding the back of race’s neck and gently pressing their lips together. Electricity sparked through his body and he couldn’t quite believe he had spent years missing out on this. One of his hands subconsciously moved to tangle in Race’s hair, who tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss. The world around them seemed to melt away, and all that mattered was them, and this.

“Fucking fags!” A voice yelled next to them. Spot was about to shake his head at Race, tell him to leave it, but Race was already on his feet.

“Hey! What fucking century are you living in? So what I happen to be dating a man, please inform me of how I’m hurting you by loving him.

“It’s against God’s will. You’re digusting,” the man said, rounding on Race.

“No, I’ll tell you what’s disgusting – discriminating against people who have done nothing to hurt you, just because of a fucking book that was mistranslated. Wake the fuck up. People fall in love, they don’t hurt you by doing that, they just do it.”

“Fuck you!” The man spat, turning to walk away.

“I bet it’s fucking tiny!” Race yelled after him, turning back to Spot, who looked at him in amazement. “Sorry about that.” Spot shook his head, taking the hand Race offered to him and pulled himself to his feet.

“That was amazing,” he said honestly, smiling.

“I just- I couldn’t let him just say that y’know? I mean, I’ve heard shit like that for years, but I wasn’t gonna let him say it to you.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“That’s not the point.” Spot leaned up to kiss him quickly.

“Either way, that was wonderful.” Spot had never seen Race angry like that before. Not when the Delanceys had constantly torn him down, not when he moved from foster home to foster home, not when he had gotten detention just for trying to use the right bathroom. But one homophobic comment and he had gotten furious like Spot had never seen before, and god Spot didn’t think he could possibly love Race more.

Race smiled, hesitantly lacing his fingers with Spot’s as they walked the last few blocks to Race’s apartment.

“Your house wasn’t decorated,” Race commented.

“Yeah, I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“I’ll come over tomorrow and help you decorate.” Spot didn’t get a say in it. Race was gonna deck that apartment out in so much glitter and coloured lights it would be like a very gay tornado had gone through and left parts of itself all over. Not that Spot minded. He would take any opportunity possible to spend time with Race. “I expect you up early.” Spot’s face dropped. “I’ll bring coffee,” Race added, solely because he knew coffee was the only way to bribe Spot into getting out of bed before 10am.

“Alright, I’ll be expecting greatness. It better live up to the expectations Jack’s given me.”

“It’ll be worse, I promise,” Race said with a grin.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

They slowed when they reached the door to Race’s apartment, lingering a moment before Race unlocked the door.

“Uh, thanks for tonight, Spotty. I had fun,” Race said, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t really want the night to end, but at least he would see Spot tomorrow.

“Yeah, so did I.” They shuffled slightly, neither wanting to end the night. “Are we- are we gonna do this again sometime?” Spot finally asked.

“Are you kidding me? If we’re not doing this like, weekly, we’re doing something wrong.” Spot chuckled a little, before looking up. He laughed, seeing mistletoe hung in the doorframe. Race’s eyes widened, before he looked at Spot, blush rising in his cheeks.

“Do you wanna-” Race’s question turned into a squeak as Spot crashed their lips together, pulling Race close. He was gonna take every damn opportunity to kiss Race that he could. He had already missed out on nine years, he wasn’t gonna lose any more.

Slowly, they broke away, neither wanting to, but both knowing they had to. Their faces were flushed, eyes wide.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow, or would it be today now?” Race asked.

“Technically today.”

“I’ll see you later today then,” Race said with a smile.

“Yeah, I’ll see you later.”

They kissed quickly once more, then Spot disappeared down the street.

In Which Race Is A Third Wheel

SantaGay : did you guys enjoy my surprise???

Mom: I told you not to.

Racebox of Higgars : YES!

#sprace #newsies #fanfiction #fluff #spot conlon x racetrack higgins #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #first date #yes steeb is based on something my joyfriend bought me #i love these boys #soft

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qfantasydragon · 5 years

Text

Diving

Author’s note: This is part 4 in an ongoing fic. You can find part 1 here, part 2 here, and part 3 here. It’s also up on AO3 (x)

Part 5

“What’s wrong?” Adam asked as Them crowded into the back room.

Crowley blinked.

He was on his knees. He didn’t remember getting there.

The note was crumpled in his fist. He watched impassionately as his fingers uncurled and dropped it.

“‌I think he’s in shock,” Pepper said, fascinated. To Crowley, it sounded as though it was coming from a great distance away, as though he was in a bubble.

“Somethings wrong,” Adam worried. Dog scampered over, sniffed at Crowley and let out a surprisingly deep bark that rippled through the room.

Crowley’s bubble popped.

“Get out,”‌ he hissed at them, scales surfacing on his skin.

“Wait a minute–” Wensleydale started to protest.

“They have taken Aziraphale,” Crowley bared his teeth. Thunder rumbled outside. “Where I need to go to get him back, you should pray you never see.”

Adam gave him an appraising look. There was a twist behind his eyes that looked strange on an eleven-year-old, a subtle reminder that he had been the Antichrist– that he had stood before Death, angels, demons, and the Devil himself and said no them all.

“Come on guys, let's go. Let us know when you get him back.” The Them all filed out, unnerved by the red-black scales and the hissing undertone of Crowley’s words.

When you get him back. Behind his glasses, Crowley closed his eyes, hoping that it was indeed a when and not an if.

He leaned back against an armchair (Aziraphale’s armchair, his favorite that he’d gotten in a sale during the late 1800…) and took a deep breath.

The demon couldn’t get to Hell through official routes, not anymore. Which meant he had to use the backdoor.

“I hate traveling like this,” he muttered to no one in particular before wriggling his soul out of his body.

Then, Crowley dove.

Their memories of before the Fall were fuzzy at best– a side effect of having their name stripped from the Book of Truth. They had been a different person then, but they still remembered with painstaking clarity what had stripped the clouds out from under them.

They had asked why.

All of the angelic language was song, and Crowley thought that, once upon a time, perhaps, they had been a great singer of it. On the days when the memories were clearer, they thought perhaps they had been an archangel.

But that ‘why’ had rippled through the crowd far harder than its vibration warranted. Its echo had been made of “we do not question” and “have you no faith?“, but Crowley had let their question stand, a jagged black mountain in a sea of rolling grass.

They had not bent. They had not bowed.

And so the clouds no longer supported their feet and they fell.

Some ancient scholar had theorized it took nine days for the Devil’s army to reach the Earth. Add in the caveat that a thousand years was like a day to God, and you would be close to the time Crowley spent plummeting downwards.

The first day they felt the moment their name was struck from the Book. They felt as that gift from Her, that Word that had called them into existence, was cut free from them with all the grace of an early surgeon removing a limb. They begged for it back and heard nothing.

The next seven days were spent hurtling through the void, dodging past stars and black holes, trying desperately to catch onto the nebulas they thought-- they knew they had created such a short time ago, only to have them twist through their hands like smoke.

Crowley still remembered the moment they had hit the atmosphere.

Their wings had always been dark, but once they had been filled with the galaxies he had created and watched over. With the touch of oxygen, those star-filled galaxies had all gone supernova. They had arched their back and screamed, a sonic boom circling outward. Some of those stars collapsed, forming black holes that ate away everything that was left until there was only darkness in their feathers.

Then they hit the earth.

Their wings shattered, and would never be quite the same, never again strong enough to carry them up to Heaven. Clay coated them, where before they had been nothing but song and starlight and soul.

Such was the force of his Fall that they kept going for another nine days until they finally slowed to a stop in the red-lit sulfurous cavern where the demons made their home.

They were heading back to that cavern now, but in many ways, this journey was the opposite they had made before the Beginning.

For one, they had abandoned their body on earth and this time were left with their true form.

There were other differences too, of course.

Last time they had been Falling

This time they were diving.

Last time, they had been leaving behind everything they knew.

This time they were headed towards the only thing they did know.

God’s fond of irony like that.

They folded their wings into shadows and smoke as they surfaced in Hell. Amongst the flickering light and drips, they were just one more dark patch, one more off-kilter noise. Crowley had been slipping in and out for centuries. No one noticed them.

They stole along damp hallways, a whisper, the ghost of someone else’s shadow.

Where would they be keeping him? Crowley thought to theirself as they slipped through a group of damned souls. Where would they put an angel?

Legion came by, and Crowley flattened against the wall to allow all of him to pass by.

Of course, the answer came to them while they waited, an angel down here is a prize. The conference room.

When the demons had first landed in Hell, they had carved out a room where all of them could meet and discuss their next step. No one used it much anymore, but it was still considered the heart of Hell. As much as Hell could be said to have a heart.

Crowley slithered through the halls until they found the right door, then squeezed theirself under the crack.

The room was large and small all at once; capable of expanding and contracting to fit hundreds of beings to whom size was an optional feature. It also had not been updated since Ceasar came into power. It still looked like a dark, damp, Greek theater, a cavea in not much better shape than the ones still standing on Earth. It was tiered, semicircle affair, rows of benches descending to a flat floor, where the speaker would stand. Crowley was at the very highest level, looking down.

“Is he still sleeping?” buzzed a familiar voice.

“He won’t wake up.” muttered an unpleasant, easily identified demon. Hassssstur, Crowley hissed angrily in their mind. Their smoke-and shadow form shifted into something adjacent to a familiar, serpentine one, and they peeked their head down at the bottom of the theater.

At the bottom of the cavea, a large bonfire blazed. Around it stood Dagon, Hastur, and Beelzebub.

“Is something wrong with him?” Dagon asked the other two.

“D’ I look like an angel expert?” Hastur grumbled back at her, “I don’t see any injuries.”

“We lost a lot of demons in the attack,” Beelzebub cut in, “I‌ want to see some use being made of him.”

There was silence for a moment, and Crowley tried to peer closer at them. They were obviously talking about Aziraphale, but where was his angel? And why was he asleep?

“I can’t believe they used holy water,”‌Hastur mumbled.

“I‌ can’t believe they’re married,” Dagon shot back.

“Do you see a better explanation for that?!” the lord of flies gestured at the fire.

And Crowley finally saw.

In the heart of the fire, hovering in what the humans called the fetal position (did that still work for angels? a part of Crowley’s mind wondered blankly. They’d never been fetuses after all) was Aziraphale. Two of his white wings were out, buoyed open by the heat from the blaze. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed, and for all intents and purposes, he did seem to be asleep.

“It’s just plain–” Hastur started to speak.

Crowley stopped hiding.

A star going supernova explodes with the force of 1044 joules of energy. This is enough power to keep New York City shining bright for a nonillion years. (Yes, that is a real number. Yes, it is very large. Look it up.)

Crowley’s power made a supernova look like a cherry bomb.

They were no longer shadow and smoke, they were the void of space and the raging shriek of black holes, the death spasms of stars and the absolute stillness of true zero when even the atoms of the universe waited with bated breath.

They were a serpent, they were a human, they were a demon; they were the beat of drums and the wail of a guitar rebelling against a world that told it to be silent. Their wings were not the nothing of Death’s, but they were close.

Everyone suddenly remembered that even a former archangel was a Force to be Reckoned With.

Crowley slitheredracedstrode down the stairs faster then the other demons could move and coiled around Aziraphale’s still form, scalesfeathers brushing against Aziraphale’s soft wings.

“Crowley,” snarled Hastur, not quite brave enough to step forward.

Hassssstur, Crowley whisperscreamed in reply, If a single one of his feathers has been singed, you'll be going the same way as Ligur.

“And what are you going to do witthhhh him,” Beelzebub buzzed, “He doesn’t have a body anymore and you don’t have anywhere to get him another.”

Thank you for your concccccern, but I’m sure we’ll figure something out.

A part of Crowley’s essence was eyeing the way back up to earth. Long is the way and hard, they thought grouchily. Milton had that right at least. The journey up out of Hell on his own was hard enough as it was; towing Aziraphale along would leave them dangerously slow and exposed. They carefully jostled the angel, trying to wake him up. Aziraphale mumbled something unintelligible and tucked his wings in closer, like a child tugging their blankets up when a parent tried to wake them.

What did you do to him, they hissedsnarled.

Hastur got a smirk on his face and Crowley knew the next thing out of his mouth was going to be something designed to hurt them.

So they hit him with their tail.

He crashed into the seats, and lay there, moaning.

Dagon took an involuntary step back, but Beelzebub held their ground.

What. Did. You. Do. To. Him. Crowley flared their wings, their power coiling up higher and higher.

Beelzebub held for another second before breaking.

“Nothing,” they spat, “we did nothing to him. Hastur said he found him like that. Though what could exhaust an angel enough to pass out is beyond me.”

The time stop, Crowley realized. Holding it must have worn him out.

Dagon was shifting slowly towards the door, and Crowley swung their attention towards her. She froze.

We can’t stay, Crowley thought, frustrated. We’re going to have to risk it.

An idea sprouted in their mind, and they shifted a few of their coils closer to Aziraphale.

I ssssssuposssse you’re lucky you found him asleep, they breathedshouted, You ssssssshould really talk to Michael about what he nearly did to Gabriel when the angelssssss made their play a few daysss ago. They passed the other demons a very fanged grin. Oh, and if you give usss any trouble ever again, I‌ will make a link from the Pacccific Ocean ssstraight to Hell and have him blesssss the whole thing asss it drainsss. It’ll make the number of demons you lost today look like loossse change.

Dagon scoffed. “You can’t do that!”

Crowley grabbed the essence of Hell with a handclaw and spared a second to examine it.

God enjoyed music, always had, and so all of Her creations were composed, in part, of song. Crowley found the vibrating strings of Hell and strummed them in a discordant screech. They showed the others exactly how they could, in fact, create a link to the Pacific. (Crowley decided not to mention that holding it open might be beyond anyone’s strength but Hers.)

Dagon and Beelzebub were left trembling and more whey-faced than usual.

LEAVE‌ USSS‌ BE.

Then Crowley issued a silent apology to their angel and swallow him whole.

A note on what is happening.

’Swallowed’ perhaps has the wrong connotations in this context, but there isn’t really a word to describe what Crowley did. They wrapped their essence around Aziraphale; they cradled him in them like their heart, like a mother wrapped around her child. They incorporated him into their being; separate, but still a part of them. It was not a thing that anyone had ever tried before.

Crowley flung theirself back towards Earth.

Their form once more became serpentine, a desperate attempt at aerodynamics that only worked because it never occurred to Crowley that it shouldn’t. They were vaguely aware of demons circling them, even snapped at a few, but there was a noise like a million flies and they fell back and Crowley resurfaced in his body, gasping for air like a human that’s been underwater for too long.

Carefully, he peered inside himself.

“Aziraphale?” he croaked, suddenly terrified that it hadn’t worked. But there, against his soul, packed into the same body with him, there was a sensation like soft white feathers brushing over him.

Crowly closed his eyes with relief and cradled a hand over his heart, where he could feel Aziraphale’s bright spark.

“Alright,” he breathed. Alright.

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annoyingalchemist · 5 years

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I really really hate the whole abortion debate, because it literally is not something that can be regulated away, and here's why.

This is a list of things that are either straight up abortifacients or significantly increase miscarriage risk:

A fuckton of herbs, most of which are toxic but that historically hasn't been a problem. Here's a helpful list of a bunch.

Unripe pineapple

A lot of essential oils, especially peppermint, although again, they're mostly toxic. (If you ingest them it will probably kill you)

NSAIDs. Like all of them. Ibuprofen, aspirin, naproxen, and indomethacin are all NSAIDs.

Misoprostol, although this is prescription only (but for a bunch of stuff other than abortion).

Caffeine, alcohol, and tobacco, low effectiveness but obviously high availability.

Salmonella

Basically any infection.

A lot of autoimmune disorders

Chemotherapy

Lead, mercury, arsenic, solvents, pesticides.

Obviously physical trauma, like the infamous coat hanger example.

Now, obviously, pretty much all of these are very high risk and that's kinda the point. Because people who need an abortion badly enough (for the most part) aren't going to be doing intensive research about the least harmful options and then backing off if the risk is too high. They'll hear a friend say that peppermint oil can cause a miscarriage and then go out and buy a bottle. They'll use whatever they can, even if it's completely ineffective. So, banning medical abortions will definitely lead to a lot of those people (and their babies) dying, or being seriously hurt.

Another thing you might notice is that pretty much all of these are things you can encounter on accident. Yeah. There's absolutely no way to actually tell the difference between someone who ate an unripe pineapple cause they just wanted some damn pineapple and someone who was trying to force a miscarriage. I mean lead and arsenic are very common in drinking water! So even if it is made illegal, unless you're willing to also criminalize drinking water, buying unripe fruit or getting salmonella, you won't really reduce the amount it's happening.

This isn't a question of morality! It's not about whether or not fetuses are people! The fact of the matter is that abortion, whether or not it's legal, is always going to be readily available. The only question is how many people you want it to kill.

#personal

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xredsmoke · 5 years

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Faith in Gaming

Introspection of a Recovering Christian

Faith in the video game community has always been a volatile subject. In one game, the player could be standing reverently in a cathedral, lighting candles and praying in hopes of finding relief for a child dying from cancer. Another game could catapult the player into a loose version of Hell, hacking at demons that project human genitalia as a form of ranged attacks. Obviously the method for which religion is approached dramatically different between each game, but both seek to fully immerse the player in a unique experience. Video games are a multi-billion dollar industry in the United States and, despite having humble beginnings with simple arcade games such as Pong and Pac Man in the late 20th century, a number of companies, commentators, and players have begun to investigate the depths of gaming’s spirituality. There are a number of video games that portray themes commonly found in Catholicism. The three that will be analyzed are Dante’s Inferno, Binding of Isaac, and That Dragon, Cancer. Many commercially advertised games, such as Dante’s Inferno explored the visually grotesque themes of Christianity. Indie games, however, such as Binding of Isaac, and That Dragon, Cancer, offer a much more open and honest interpretation of Christianity. This essay seeks to explore whether the more widely known games such as Dante’s Inferno negatively impacts the gaming communities perception of the Roman Catholic Church and whether Binding of Isaac and That Dragon, Cancer redeems those perceptions.

At its very core, Dante’s Inferno is a story of a man seeking to save the woman he loves. The game is loosely based off Dante’s The Divine Comedy, a book that has been a cornerstone in Christianity’s understanding of the afterlife by enrapturing and terrifying audiences through it’s detailed and imaginative description of Hell. According to Wagner, “In games, play is the “space of possibility” afforded a player to explore and to make choices within the game’s systems” (Wagner, p.32). Dante’s Inferno is an example of a video game interpreting scripture with a heavy emphasis on the idea of ‘play’. In this case, play is more important than the narrative itself and this shows in the developers execution of the game. Instead of Dante being a 14th century poet that starts his journey in Hell, he is now a young crusader who becomes disenchanted with war and returns to his fiancée Beatrice in Florence. When he arrives, he finds his house destroyed and Beatrice lying dead outside. Even worse, as he approaches, Lucifer appears and steals away her soul, dragging her screaming into the depths of Hell. Dante chases them through the circles of Hell, trying to save his love before she is lost forever. He faces his own sins and mistakes before a final showdown with the fallen angel. Already we see a sharp departure from the original narrative. This in itself is not terribly sacrilegious and perhaps can be seen as developers taking creative license in order to make a story more palatable to a general audience. However, it is the games depiction of Hell and the mechanics that it borrows from Christian mythos that truly set it apart from any other action game of it’s type.

It is more than understandable for a game to have it’s mature moments, especially if it is a game based on the sins of the Divine Comedy. Dante's Inferno, however, literally pushes the Mature rating to its most extreme point, as the player passes scenes of souls being tortured, copious of violence, and plenty of male and female nudity from level to level. Obviously, this is not a game for kids, but much of what developers choose to show is appropriate for a game that tries to explore the extreme nature of Hell and its punishments. Many reviewers have expressed that they have felt sympathetic to some of the damned souls. On the other hand, there are times when the game seems to include things just for shock value such as monsters that project human genitalia as a ranged attack. The gameplay of Dante’s Inferno can only be described as a mindless gorefest similar to another popular game that came out around the same time, God of War, with pixelated blood and body parts never being in short demand. When using finishing moves on monsters, the player has two options: Punishment (i.e. smash their face in) or Absolve (i.e. smash their face in but in a ‘pious’ way). The player can perform a Punishment by destroying them with their scythe and earn Unholy points. Absolve will blast a spirit with a cross in order to net the player Holy points. Collecting points helps you to gain levels and purchase new attacks and abilities. This may be the games attempt to introduce a moral choice system into the story which would make a certain amount of sense and would be a great benefit to the game’s overarching Christian themes of retribution and forgiveness. However, there is really no difference whether you play the game one way or the other. “It (the combat system) is more like there’s a violent option or an equally violent but better spirited option” (Croshaw, Escapist). The developers might have been setting it up for their to be multiple endings to the game where if the player has too many Unholy points they are damned but if they have more Holy points they are saved. Yet the whole game seems to be rushed in development, possibly due to time constraints, thus the end is the same no matter what points you chose to invest. The lesson this seems to teach the player is that no matter what they choose to do while on their quest through Hell, they will be saved no matter the souls they may have damned on their journey. This is not at all what Christianity preaches in its message and is not even faithful to the Divine Comedies own overall message. It’s a cheap, cheesy, blasphemy that tries too hard to be like other games of the time and teaches the player that morality doesn’t really matter in the Christian faith when mindless violence will be able to solve any problem encountered.

Binding of Isaac takes an overall different approach. The game was a result of developer Edmund McMillen’s desire to create a roguelike showcasing his feelings about both the positive and negative aspects of religion that he had come to discover from conflicts between his Catholic and born-again Christian family members while growing up. The story of the game was inspired by the biblical tale of the Binding of Isaac and shares many themes even as it seeks to turn the traditional narrative on its head. After Isaac's mother receives a message from God demanding the life of her son as proof of her faith, Isaac flees into the monster-filled basement of their home, where he must fight to survive. The premise itself seems rather outlandish in the 21st century but it is in the subtle storytelling woven through gameplay mechanics and cutscenes that the game is able to start an honest conversation about religion. In a sense, the story is a form of fanfiction; What would it be like if the Binding of Isaac happened today? Wagner makes the point that, “Consumption becomes production; reading becomes writing; spectator culture becomes participatory culture” (Wagner, p.46). The narrative thrives because of the alternative retelling. The content can be shocking, gross, ugly, distasteful and arguably gratuitous. But, unlike Dante’s Inferno, that’s the whole point. It’s not the gameplay that is supposed to engage the player, it’s the content as a whole.

The tone and layers of the game accurately portrays growing up in a conservative religious household. The player takes control of Isaac, a young boy locked in a basement by a mother that received a message from God. Isaac must escape, fighting past monsters using his own tears as projectile weapons. The entirety of the experience is littered with scatalogical humor, blasphemy, and obscenities. The main enemies at the starting area of the game are aborted fetuses and the multitude of power ups scattered across the stages will often give the player various diseases, mutilations, or grotesque mutations. Isaac is corrupted, contaminated, mutilated, and soiled throughout their journey to escape confinement. To progress, the player must orchestrate their own defilement even as they recoil at it. However, it is the childlike viewpoint of these very adult themes that gives the game it’s unique perspective. The gross imagery needed to be childish in order to establish the irredeemably corrupt and dirty world that the player must fight through. The entire premise would be lost if the game were to try and take an intellectual and mature approach to religion because it’s not intellectual and mature religion that causes harm, it’s the pagan superstition of childhood that will leave a child scarred and feeling dirty and ashamed. In the Bible it is written, “Because of this I say to you, all sin and evil speaking shall be forgiven to men, but the evil speaking of the Spirit shall not be forgiven to men” (Matthew 12:31). If a kid is told that speaking against God will lead them to eternal damnation, they will run with the idea and spend the rest of their childhood wondering if whispering ‘I hate God’ too loud is enough to damn them forever. Conservative Christianity only exacerbates this problem, teaching children that the world is ‘unclean’ and they must guard themselves against it. The problem worsens as the child matures.

The game is, in a sense, trying to reconcile the conservative religion with the experience of growing up in the real world. Journalist Arthur Chu had this to say about the subject, “The dichotomy of learning to be a Typical Christian Hypocrite who plays D&D and surfs Internet porn and gets to third base with your girlfriend in the backseat of a car is… yes, it is kind of equivalent to The Binding of Isaac’s narrative of trudging through a revolting world made of excrement and entrails, becoming a disease-ridden pus-oozing monster and eventually murdering your own mother” (Chu, Arthur). The game teaches the player that by surrendering themselves to the unclean, by actively becoming part of the World, they are getting stronger and overcoming every obstacle in their way. It makes the journey all the more impactful when the game pits the player, a now disease-ridden, mutilated, and mutated version of Isaac, against the final boss, the original and angelic Isaac as which the player had started out. ‘Winning’ in a very real sense meant the player had to confront their past self, come face-to-face with their own naivety and not only overcome it, but also accept that they’ve lost that pureness and become something that their past self would have thought abhorrent. And the player must decide if they are okay with that. Few games are able to accomplish what Binding of Isaac does in such a simplistic manner. It forces the player to recognize the vast difference between who they were and what they have become.

That Dragon, Cancer is an autobiographical game that documents Ryan and Amy Green’s experience of raising their son Joel, who had been diagnosed with brain cancer at twelve months old and only given a few months to live. According to Wagner, “it’s easy to see why tragedies make bad video games - the notion of alternatives (gameplay loops) could ruin the pathos and thus the catharsis of the experience” (Wagner, p.48). However, the game itself was designed to be a completely cathartic experience because the events within the game are unchangeable. Despite That Dragon, Cancer being an interactive experience, the gameplay takes a backseat in order for the narrative to develop and allow the player to become attached to the story and characters. With the player taking control of either Ryan or Amy for a majority of the narrative, the game was designed as a simple point-and-click adventure game in order to create a sense of immersion that film would fail to capture. The games developers worked closely with the couple while Joel was still alive and Ryan himself personally contributed to the games growth and success. Ryan continued to develop the game and even reworked much of the project after his sons passing in order to better memorialize and personalize the players experience. When the focus of the game is a child dying of cancer, the overall message becomes loss. The player is destined to lose and needs to lose in order to understand that loss in all its depth. That Dragon, Cancer is an enriching, story driven experience with Christian themes heavily used throughout the narrative.

Despite video games often being viewed as a medium of entertainment lacking in poignancy, That Dragon, Cancer is one of the few games that can provide its audience with a truly cathartic experience mixed with Christian beliefs. A game journalist had this to say about the experience, “The activity on the part of the player does not change: guidance and witnessing” (Zucchi, KillScreen). In the game and woven throughout the narrative, faith is used as a presence. Players are constantly in control of different characters, usually Ryan, Joel, or Amy, but the perspective of these characters and how they are controlled is what makes the experience unique. The player is allowed into the thoughts of these people and can move them to some degree with mouse and keyboard, but they can not interact seamlessly with the images on screen. Much like the story of Job in the Bible, the player is seen as a God like figure watching a tragedy unfold. They must acknowledge the grief as it develops even as they can’t change it. However, much like Job, self-awareness does not always lead to satisfactory answers. The game doesn’t ask God ‘why’ a young child was diagnosed with cancer. Instead, it struggles to answer the question of ‘how’ God is present in these moments. In That Dragon, Cancer, faith and God are not themes or characters, but instead the presence of the player and the silences that stretch between moments of lighting candles and praying for a child’s cries to lessen. There is no battling monsters or killing demons. There is no souls to collect or reconciliation. That is not the objective of the game. The player need only reach an understanding of Joel and his love for dogs and limited vocabulary as well as the pained expressions of Amy and Ryan as they watch their son suffer. There is only the silent comfort of empathy, of the assurance of a sympathetic witness, of the promise of understanding. That Dragon, Cancer is an experience that reflects the texture of belief.

Video games have commonly been seen as a source of mindless violence, but it is in the rare, truly introspective and great video games where faith can be further explored. Games such as Dante’s Inferno poorly portray Christianity due to the industry developing games as a mindless cash grab that fails to fully expand on ideas and narratives. However, there are games that can accurately and portray Christian themes and faith. Binding of Isaac, while crude in it’s delivery, does its best to engage the player in a conversation about faith as they progress through the narrative. The game constantly poses difficult questions about religion, the world, and coming of age to the player in hopes of reconciling all three. That Dragon, Cancer provides a more subtle use of faith. Religious imagery is used throughout the story, often being used as an identity for the family, but it is in the moments of interactivity between game and player that faith truly shines. Moving forward, it’s important that games dealing with religion be carefully constructed and well-thought out. Even if the religion is being used as more of a set piece, such as in Dante’s Inferno, developers should attempt to remain true to the source material or at least try and emulate the themes and theory behind the religion being used as accurately as possible.

Works Cited

“BibleGateway.” Matthew 12:31 - Bible Gateway, www.biblegateway.com/verse/en/Matthew%2012%3A31.

Chu, Arthur. “A Defense of Binding of Isaac from a Former Fundamentalist Christian.”Polygon, Polygon, 26 Jan. 2015, www.polygon.com/2015/1/26/7907061/binding-isaac-fundamentalism.

Haynes, Jeff. “Dante's Inferno Review.” IGN, IGN, 3 Feb. 2010, www.ign.com/articles/2010/02/03/dantes-inferno-review-2.

TheEscapistMagazine. “DANTE'S INFERNO (Zero Punctuation).” YouTube, YouTube, 22 July 2011, www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0ujx2JnjkA.

Wagner, Rachel. Godwired: Religion, Ritual and Virtual Reality. Routledge, 2012.

Zucchi, Sam. “Have a Little More Faith in That Dragon, Cancer.” Kill Screen, 22 Feb. 2016, killscreen.com/articles/have-a-little-more-faith-in-that-dragon-cancer/.

#gaming #chritianity

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yaz-the-spaz · 5 years

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Do you think there is a legitimate argument for the pro-life side of the debate? I have been watching a few different videos on it - particularly the one where they show how an abortion is done, it's really hard to watch - and I can kind of see where they are coming from. Like I understand that the fetus is in her body, but when you look at photos it looks like a baby and not at all like the "clump of cells" everyone claimed they look like...

to clarify the ‘clump of cells’ is up to a certain stage so if the video you watched is from a later point in the pregnancy then obviously it’s not going to look like that as it’s going to be later in its developmental stage (if you get an abortion early enough though it will literally still be just a clump of cells). that said, before i go any further to address your answer, i wanna state that i am unequivocally pro-choice and that informs a lot of my beliefs. however, i do understand some of the pro-life’s argument. personally i don’t think i could ever have an abortion (though who knows what circumstances life could bring me towards) so from that perspective i understand wanting to preserve the life of this being growing inside you that could have so much potential. but pregnancy (and having a child) is still a tremendous undertaking on the body (and on the future of a woman’s entire life). in my opinion every person should always have the right to decide what happens to their own body, without worrying about that choice being taken away from them. the government, or anyone outside that individual person, should never be able to dictate what a person chooses to do with their own body. and that’s not even getting into the real crux of the issue (and the reason so many people are so up in arms) with this law, which is that it hurts the literal children it’s claiming to want to protect.

in the states it’s to be implemented in, under this draconian law, children as young as 11 years old–eleven, let that sink in–who are victims of rape or sexual assault and even incest that resulted in a pregnancy and didn’t report the assault before their 6th week of pregnancy* would still be forced to carry their pregnancy to term. can you imagine being 11 years old and forced to carry your rapist’s child to term? and then go through the traumatic experience of giving birth? an experience which if you even survived (because tbh the chances of surviving childbirth that young, or even coming through it without some kind of irreparable damage to a body that’s not yet meant to give birth are not good), effectively just ruined your body, your physical health, your psyche, your entire future for the rest of your life, not to mention having to live with triple the trauma of being raped/sexually assaulted, going through the hardships of pregnancy, and giving birth all as a child who’s not even old enough to fucking be out alone at night or buy a damn t-rated video game.

and then there’s the matter of all the women and girls whose lives would be in physical danger because of complications with their pregnancy that could cause life-threatening illnesses, that would be forced to risk (or possibly even sacrifice) their lives just to carry the pregnancy to term. why is an unborn fetus, who’s barely even begun its life and not even a fully conscious being yet, more important the lives (and physical and psychological well-being) of young girls and women who are already living?

and all that’s on top of the fact that the pro-life movement in general holds up extremely hypocritical tenements. because the same people that scream pro-life are often the same people who are silent on gun control even when thousands of children are dying because their schools keep getting fucking shot up. they’re the same people who are silent on (or outright opposed to) things like universal healthcare and more country-wide social services that will actually help the children we already have living. they’re the same ones who didn’t give two fucks when latinx children and babies were being separated from their families and locked up in cages, kept in inhumane conditions like animals. they’re the same ones who come at those who’ve had abortions yelling well if you didn’t want to keep your child you should have just given them up for adoption, but yet most of them don’t adopt children themselves and/or are silent on issues pertaining to adoption and the shitty foster care system in this country. they’re silent on all the ways children suffer in this country because their parents weren’t equipped or didn’t have the means to take care of them. they’re silent on all the adults in this country that are products of the kinds of shitty (and crime-ridden/violent) childhoods those kinds of situations result in - i.e. adults in prison, drug addicts, people with mental issues, etc. they’re silent on innocent black and brown children getting shot by police in the streets. they’re silent on issues that pertain to literally saving the lives of lgbt+ people and particularly lgbt+ youth. most hypocritically they’re silent and/or outright opposed to proper sex education, which has been shown to actually dramatically decrease the chances of unplanned pregnancy, which would essentially negate the need for the abortions they hate so much and are working so hard to outlaw. and so yet again, i ask, why do the lives of unborn fetuses matter more than the lives of the children and adults who are already living (and are suffering) in this country?

point being, if you’re going to be pro-life, actually be pro-life. if the majority of these people were actually pro-life (as in actually caring about everyone’s lives and everyone’s human rights and not just those of unborn fetuses) i wouldn’t have as much of a problem with their movement. but anyway all that to say that yes, i think they have some arguments that i might say i agree with (i hesitate to use the term ‘legitimate’ as you did because to me that implies that one’s personal beliefs should trump everyone else’s freedoms and rights to choose what to do with their own body). but on the whole imo they’re just using their (often religious-based) beliefs to force their will on others and take away people’s freedoms and autonomy.

(*which by the way for many is around the time they’re just finding out they’re pregnant because at most, depending on your cycle, that would only be about two weeks after your first missed period, and if you were too scared to come forward or for whatever reason unable to report the assault within that tiny ass time frame window, or you happen to have irregular cycles and didn’t even realize you were pregnant before then, then you’re just sorry out of fucking luck)

#asks #anons #pro-choice #pro-life*#abortion #i hope this sufficiently answered your question anon

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thecrotchhand · 6 years

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health class >:(

-ug

-did somebody say rick of suicide

-”ooh, there’s a laser!” -student teacher

-good ways to manage stress- “punching a hole through the wall”

-”do you have a long-term goal?” “dying”

-”we should deport justin bieber back to canada”

-”if you say you're gonna do something, then do it" "i'm gonna kill myself ;))"

-"i'm busy singing Africa by Toto" *off-key singing continues*

-"when you lose weight, where does it go?" "it goes to weight heaven"

-the guy next to me started playing Africa quietly from his phone

-"i'm talking to bowl cut. just kidding chris. i love you." "...i'm getting a haircut."

-"you don't lift to get swole" -st

-"that sounds not good for you" "i'm gonna try it"

-"during pregnancy, the women in here are gonna need more folate, iron, and calcium" "no, i'm gonna need a coathanger"

-"liar liar pants for hire"

-"is eustress good stress or bad stress?" (long silence) "it's good stress! yay!" -st

-good ways to relax- "11 hours straight of anime"

-"everything's gonna be ok" lmao good joke

-"precipitation... wait i mean perspiration. it still counts, it's raining from your body."

-ways to manage depression- "kill yourself :D"

-help the teacher (flynn) has been yelling at us for the past five minutes

-uh oh she said damn it's gettin' wild

-she went back into her office after and all of a sudden we hear a quiet "oh, happy Wednesday"

-"is it possible to have an abortion 700 weeks late?"

-"what's the r-word we talked about?" "rawr XD"

-"what does autonomy mean?" "it's like grey's anatomy but for cars"

-alcoholism is a good sims trait

-guy: sneezes

guy's friend: "god bless... america"

-”what do you say to your sibling during an argument?” "you should've been aborted" “no”

- "your personality might be kind of boring" "like a potato!" "yeah"

-"what does down to earth mean?" "it means you're like the lorax, you speak for the trees"

-"he was happy?" "yeah! put him working with me and larson for ten years and... we fixed him!"

-the student teacher generally has a habit of sarcastic yaying and it entertains me

-"jason (chris) move your head" "just throw a rock at it, it'll move"

-someone was trying to come up with weird phobias and someone suggested genital herpes

-"sir you've been diagnose with hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia " "aahHH"

-"if someone comes up to you and says a mean word, you're gonna be upset" "hey sam" "what" "fuck"

-"i found a big circle"

-"*cough* flynn"

flynn, out of nowhere: "i heard that"

-"have you guys seen cabin in the woods?" "wait, the one with the cabin in the woods?"

-:(

-"let's say you don't have a gun" "pft, not in america"

-we were talking about miscarriage and cody goes "fetus... deletus"

-examples of anger- "when mcdonald's doesn't have ice cream"

-video from the 80's: "depression isn't talked about"

-a seal saved this guy's life and he just: 'ah yes it was all because of god' ¿¿¿???

-80's commercials are the weirdest shit

-yepperdoodles

-"...gonna get addicted to xanax"

-"you guys all did a really good job on your tests" "i got a C" "i got a D+" "yeah there wasn't a single person i was not happy with"

-"you say you see really good scores, but what i'm seeing is a D"

-examples of compromise- "i got a D+, but i feel i deserved an A, so let's meet in the middle with a C" "but what do i get out of it?" "if he passes the class, you don't have to see him anymore"

-"oh no my one feeling"

-"what are some ways to resolve conflict?" "killing yourself"

-"put away the candy this is health class"

-(talking about conflict) "...then the fire nation attacked"

-(softly) "yo what the heck dawg"

-"if they started a rumor-" "kill them"

-"when i was-" "a young boy"

-"you got two more weeks with the student teacher, then you get me back" *high pitched screaming*

-"they never broke out, and then one of them broke out"

-"wrestling uniforms are skimpy"

-(across the room) "hey man, can i touch your butt?" "i don't mind, dude"

-"let's say my wife is going to leave me and i'm... celebrating! oh wait"

-"they're fat and skinny, they're white, black, pink, purple, and orange-" "trump"

-"listen, idiotface"

-"do you think... the government is hiding the cure for cancer...?"

-i love government conspiracy theories during health

-"i... declare... bAnkrUptCY"

-"are we watching a movie?" "maybe if we're lucky it's the ring and it'll kill us"

-lmao i don't need drugs to feel numb

-"aww, flynn, we know you're drinkin' a bottle in the back room" "yeah, just look at ya, why wouldn't i?"

-The Weed™

-"weed stops your sperm from being produced correctly" "perfect, it's birth control too"

-"weed might shrink your... parts" "i think i'll just stick to meth"

-"weed might give you a special needs child" "it's wilson 2.0!"

-"i'm gonna be a drug dealer but not a mean one like a nice, happy 'eyy, wanna buy some drugs? :3'"

-oh no, grandma's growing weed in the basement

-"ahh, the weed's on fire"

-"guess that's how they caught the drug dealers. the deer were high"

-teacher: "ooh, i just sounded like yoda: don't smoke The Weed™"

-"hey, where can you buy a still? asking for a cousin"

-"raise your hand if you want to watch hentai"

-this guy keeps responding to people with "yes, my child?"

-"they put aborted fetuses in vaccines" "oh honey no"

-"how do you keep yourself from getting sick?" "stop breathing"

-examples of painkillers- "cocaine"

-"i know elvis presley is still alive because the king never dies"

-biggest drinker in our grade: "am i gonna be an alcoholic?" class: "you already are"

-c o m p r o m i s i n g p o s i t i o n

-"trick question, i am hentai"

-"what would you do... if i said i could put you in your own hentai"

-"you're gettin' a hole in your nose oh my goodness"

-"depression" "nope" "wait... depression"

-"I can't remember the happiness i felt before drugs" "i can't remember feeling happiness at all"

-"oh you're back! just in time for meth"

-"oh my garage"

-"lotta meth in that town" "nah just incest"

-"it kills your brain cells. which some of you can't afford (staring directly at the class alcoholic)"

-"why do dentists have the highest suicide rate?? probably because everyone hates the dentist, i dunno"

-"that's accusations" "uuuuuhh no" "oh"

-"oh my gads. you got some meth?"

-"in the puss!" "terms" "sorry. vag!"

-"there's a pretty good chance that drug came out of someone's anal cavity" "that's why i don't do heroin"

-"hey, whose buttocks did this come out of?"

"i'm gonna go shoot myself with some dog food, brb"

-"oh my chicken pie"

-"i've been told we're gonna draw a penis"

-help they're genuinely discussing giving babies steroids

-"most of the female reproductive cells are useless" "just like my brain cells"

-the teacher keeps referring to developing babies as "little rat" and "alien creature"

-"if you eat my period snacks, i will eat you"

-*chiming* "is that santa??"

-"what's the only fluid that doesn't go to the baby?" "water" "no" "air" "no" "earth" "..." "fire"

-"you're supposed to snort those calcium pills" "don't snort the calcium pills"

-"mr. o'reilly, when'd you miss your period?"

-"is it true you puke the day after you get pregnant?" "no, if you puke the day after, it's from the alcohol the night before"

-fetus = jumbo shrimp

- i too, am a very sad lookin' heart

-"no, you cannot throw up your baby"

-"now that we've taken the baby home, we need to figure out what to do with it" "flush it down the toilet"

-"if you wear a hat all the time, all your hair is gonna fall out and die" "ha ha kevin, you're gonna die"

-"since i was 14. and i'm 112"

-"big dumb"

-"what do you want to be when you grow up?" "dead"

-"my parents say: 'hey... whatcha doin' with that 24-pack?'"

-"did jeffery dahmer's mom love him?" "hope not"

-"ohh i love the smell of babies *sniff sniff*"

-"they can be found in places that are... places"

-"why are there rotting apples under here?" "no you gotta let those ferment"

-"what's something you lose by age 3?" "hope"

-the guy in front of me had marvel porn on his phone????????????? hentai hulk's bright red ass is permanently ingrained in my mind

-"what am i supposed to do to live 2 more years? wrap myself in bubble wrap and eat brussel sprouts?"

-"for every 10 pounds overweight you are, subtract 1." "-50"

-"you're wearing a flamingo shirt, you're no one's favorite"

-"you don't snort viagra"

-"how do you feel about having guns in our home?" "how do you feel about how quickly i'd use it to kill myself?"

-"hey, 2 seniors walking down the hallway! wanna give her your papers?" "outta my way. hey! get back here and gimme your papers, ya bums."

-"it's not just the genitals that transfer STDs" "left calf"

-"what if they got an STD some other way?" "drinking sprite"

-"...serial monogamy-" "cereal is for mornings"

-"...trading sex for-" "chicken nugget"

-"you wanna try sex wearing a hazmat suit, go ahead" "don't kinkshame me"

-"STI: spaghetti time infection. it's an epidemic"

-"g- ross"

-"AIDS didn't come from sex with a monkey" "it's definitely about sex with monkeys"

-"what kinds of drugs do i need if i have AIDS?" "nothing, you wanna die"

-"do you know what they do to get rid of genital warts?" "chop your dick off" "mix wart cream with water and drink it"

-oh no they found out what they do get rid of genital warts

-"they shove a q-tip in your penis" "iiiiii'd rather die"

-"is that what tinder is? swipe right if you want crabs?"

-"i would suggest not setting your genitals on fire"

- "your penis doesn't do tricks"

-"do you have a driver's license? *nod* "do you have a car?" *nod* "are you a big boy?" *unsure nod*

-"i know it's only the last day but i will make you suffer for every last minute" "then i'll just do what i always do *sleeps*"

-our resident alcoholic was washing the board and people were jokingly flirting with him so he tied his shirt into a bikini and continued washing so the teacher docked him points for it. don't worry he was already failing

#quotes #notes #class #american school #american schools #meme #wtf #out of context quotes #offensive humor #i wouldn't be surprised if our class is the one that causes our teacher to become an alcoholic

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nightcoremoon · 6 years

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theological conspiracy theory time

this is assuming that judeochristianity in the eyes of a post-baptist post-evangelical non-catholic non-unitarian modernist-methodist is true so I want jews and muslims to not jump on me because I don't know the first thing about the torah and quran and I want atheists and the "I'm not religious I'm spiritual" types to shut the fuck up for five seconds. please note that I'm a christopaganic unitarian with splashes of native american, buddhist, shinto, & luciferian belief. in fact, this might actually be the basis of some strained of luciferianism but I digress, let's go.

okay so we know that absolute power corrupts absolutely as lord john acton so eloquently put it a few hundred years ago, and writers like george orwell popularized a few decades ago. that much is true. we've all seen it happen. we also know the basics of god & satan, and how they were friends until satan betrayed god and became a fallen angel and blah blah blah ruler of hell blah blah blah appropriating shit from pan the satyr, hades and the underworld, oh yeah and dante aligheri's the divine comedy. [hot damn do christians steal a lot of shit] we also know all the things the bible allegedly call sins, how much of a EGOTISTICAL FUCKING ASSHOLE he was in the old testament, and of course the basics of christian dogma. with that in mind, let's now continue.

what if:

god in the old testament really was an asshole who hated women, the poor, the disabled, and minorities, a bully with a magnifying glass who burns ants for fun, who created this universe out of some sick perverted fantasy to make a race of people and fuck with them, torturing them for his sadistic pleasure. the angels he made to keep things running smoothly in place. they were fucking nightmarish monsters with faces entirely comprised of each component of a chimera, or 30 intersecting gyroscopic rings, or babies covered in pus-filled boils and other weird shit like that. what if he's cthulhu levels of evil and lucifer was like "uh hey god maybe you should quit being an evil motherfucker to these people" and god was just like "fuck you" because as the ultimately powerful being in the observable universe he could very well be the most evil entity as well? after all, we humans were allegedly made in his image and if we're all a bunch of evil assholes who murder and lie to and rape and oppress each other... plus if god made satan and god is infallible and makes no mistakes, that's kind of paradoxical. and in this hypothetical situation (as it is purely 100% hypothetical and does not accurately reflect my full beliefs), satan left god not because he was evil, but because he rejected the evil instead.

expanding on this theory, we all know the dumb religious bullshit being spouted today. gays and trans people will go to hell, people who commit suicide will go to hell, people who don't accept jesus as their savior will go to hell, people who have premarital sex will go to hell, people who don't give enough money to the church will go to hell, women who so much as sneeze inside a church when they aren't given permission to do so will go to hell, yadda yadda yadda. basically hell will be full of people who don't deserve to be there. what if that's true? what if all of the people who can't make it into heaven's narrow field of acceptance do go somewhere else, to the realm of satan... but that's not a bad thing?

what if hell is a pretty cool place that satan made because, like, if god doesn't want the souls of the flesh heaps who didn't become mindless salivating slave golems who just sit and pray for 25 hours a day when they aren't too busy protesting soldier funerals and pride parades, satan could be like. "don't worry, my child, I'll take care of you. I'll take you with me. I'll love you. and if you come over here you'll see that there's plenty of others who are just like you." he'll walk through the afterlife and comb through the ones left behind and denied entrance to heaven and so doomed to walk the land of purgatory for eternity. all of the people born in countries not touched by the plague of missionaries and so would never have even had the opportunity to know god or jesus, all of the children who died tragically before they could be baptized, all of the women who were raped at six years old and abandoned by their family because she was no longer a virgin ready to be sold to a lecherous old bastard for a tidy dowry, all of the non-cishets, everybody who pundits declare unfit for joining their personal heaven, all embraced and accepted and redeemed in the eyes of lucifer.

what if satan quite literally faces god and walks backwards into hell with middle fingers in the air, taking the souls of those god rejects with him? if we turn around and also analyze many demons we see they're really not evil for any reason other than "because they're demons and god says that's evil". prince stolas the owl is just a dude who likes rocks, plants, and stars. meanwhile azrael the angel of death, made up of eyes and tongues and steals the souls of humans god commands him to take? THAT SOUNDS REEEEEALLY FUCKED UP MY DUDE. we know that angels and demons are both counted in legions, let's take this further and suggest that there's a war.

what if god wants to kill satan and then come in and destroy the souls of those he created but no longer wished to exist any more, purging them from existence, a fate an eternity worse than death. what if satan gathers up demons to PROTECT us? what if satan is the last bastion of protection from the greatest evil conceivable by man, the lone rebel against corruption, our true savior? god painting satan as evil through propaganda and lies would make perfect sense to destabilize his power on earth, making shit up as he goes along, generating people or even having angels masquerade as humans to cause things like goat skulls and dead baby fetuses to be associated with him, using fearmomgering to turn more and more people to the side of god rather than that of satan, and utilizing the ultimate form of propaganda, sending a piece of his own soul down pretending to be his son, going through the rigamarole of cricificion to, forgive the phrase, hammer in the final nail? what if jesus was a lie, a farce, used merely to turn yet more potential troops to his side away from satan's glowing, loving embrace?

what if god truly does hate those of us who refuse to conform to the hive mind mentality, and damns us to hell, not realizing that it's the best thing he could possibly do for us? putting all of the "sinners" together under one roof, oh yes, a lot of thought went into that plan.

but I digress.

that's merely what could be truthful. no doubt the theory is so full of holes it could pass as a religion under the moniker of Swisscheeseium because I am no expert on judeochristian faith. but i think it certainly seems like a cool concept to explore in the realms of fiction. definitely not something I'll devote my time to worshipping, however.

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lercymoth · 3 years

Text

So there was this asshole by the user @mini-wrants in favor of prenatal testing and literal eugenics on the basis of "a woman can have an abortion for any reason and thats not within your control" and like, yeah, I'm pro-choice too and all, but aborting people on the basis of genetic disabilities is literally eugenics. Anyways, she kept replying to the conversation by... not acknowledging the conversation? By whipping out stuff like "Well they could have [x] going on in their lives" when we weren't talking about that, we were talking about prenatal testing being used to commit eugenics against autistic people. But at one point in the thread she eventually said something like "no matter what their reason is it's up to the mother whether or not she wants to abort her child" and that's true, but like... That's literally excusing eugenics. The 'no matter their reason' part just makes it so eugenicists and anyone who wants to wipe out autism and autistic people can abuse abortion for evil. Anyways, they got upset when I called them a nazi (despite the fact they basically just excused eugenics and prenatal testing) and said this?

The text: "And like, also, here’s why deciding that abortion based on disability alone is unallowable is bullshit…

You have no idea what other people consider to be a disability, and you can’t make the determination for another family what a disability is or isn’t.

This whole conversation got started about autism, right? Aborting fetuses suspected of autism.

I don’t consider raising a child with autism to be any kind of deal breaker. I was unaware there was a 100% perfect test to detect autism in the womb (hint - there isn’t one), but even if there was, and I found out I had a kid who had the Autism Gene? Not a big deal for me.

Meanwhile, every single member of both sides of my family has horrible knee and ankle issues, hence the ability to literally break my leg by twisting my ankle hard enough. Like, every kid in my family has been in knee and ankle braces at some point since middle school, and everyone’s had at least one knee dislocation and Lots Of Pain. The doctor took my X ray today and saw small shards of bone around the ankles and was like “these are past injuries, is this common” in a horrified voice and the question didn’t even phase me. Elementary school was filled with sleepless nights and agonizing pain as a kid as our bones grew too fast for our bodies to handle it. Obviously, there’s something genetic and testable going on here, right?

QUICK - which one of these disabilities is ‘abortable’ and which isn’t? Which disease is harder to live with, and which doctor makes that decision? Is it walking around with poor social awareness and sensory processing issues a deal breaker, or is it walking around with glass bones and paper skin? Who gets to draw those lines.

Any disease that’s fine and dandy for you could be miserable agonizing pain for another person, and you cannot use your ability to cope with something to determine that it’s fine for another person. And you certainly cannot make that decision for a pregnant person, either."

Now, setting aside the fact that they are once against excusing eugenics on the basis of pain and struggle the child could go through (even though that does sound like a very rough life to have, in fact that's very uncomfortable to imagine), did they just seriously call autism a disease? I'm sorry, my existence is a disease? Damn, that's uh... That's not a very good look.

Now this last part is for everyone: By all means, support abortion, fight for womens' rights and their right to choose. But it's okay to both support abortion and be against eugenics. Please, the autistic community has already gone through so much stuff. The absolute last thing we need is for people to abuse abortion for stuff that harms groups of people. Abortion should not be conditional, women should be able to choose whether or not they have to go through painful labor, but that's no excuse for evil. In the case of scenarios like these, they specifically get pregnant and intend to have a baby, but then decide not to on the basis of them possibly having autism. As far as I'm concerned, prenatal tests do not exist yet, but they are being worked on and are being researched through eugenics studies like Spectrum10K and Q1K which aims to get their hands on autistic people's DNA to find out how they could do that. Aborting a baby in most circumstances, even on the basis of just not wanting a baby is fine. No one likes abortion but at the end of the day there's nothing wrong with aborting a baby just because you don't want one. But in a circumstance like this that is literally just fueled with immoral hate? How can you justify that?

EDIT: I want to clarify: No, I am not accusing everyone in favor of something like this a eugenicist or a nazi. But regardless of whether or not you have ill intent, prenatal testing and aborting children accordingly is eugenics, and it's extremely harmful to us.

#tw eugenics #ableism

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itsthefishdoctor-blog · 8 years

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The United States of Delusion

I don’t even know what to say today y'all.

There has been just a massive amount of mind-boggling nonsense inundating us for the past week that I can’t feel anything other than overwhelmed. I’m overwhelmed by the outrageous comments the president has made. I’m overwhelmed by the bold-faced LIES that he has spewed; overwhelmed by the hypocrisy of every single thing he has done and said.

I knew this was coming. I knew it when I cast my ballot for a woman I didn’t think was the best choice but wasn’t an absolute psychopath. I knew it when y'all told us to give him a chance because even though he hadn’t taken office, his hateful rhetoric had already changed the tone of our nation. To be honest, I’ve know it every single time the carrot has opened his mouth. I knew this was coming and I am STILL blown away.

And of course, I’m blown away by this clown. His presidency literally exceeds my comprehension. But what blows me away even more than his bullshit, is the lack of outrage from those of you who voted for him.

Y'all. This. Dude. Lied. To. You.

Not that this a new thing for him. He lied multiple times on the campaign trail (“lock her up” is still ringing particularly loud) and has continued to lie since he was elected. It literally is the most unreal sort of lying I’ve ever seen. It’s bold-faced and its over INSANE things. Like, who actually lies about doing/saying something they are well documented to have done/said? Seriously? WHO DOES THAT?

We’ve had politicians who lie before. That is not at all new, in fact its basically a requirement. But every single time we’ve caught them in a lie, they have to make a big public apology (which you wont accept) and then we hold it against them and call them a liar for the rest of their career. Example: Bill Clinton was not impeached because he had an affair. Bill Clinton was impeached because he LIED about having the affair. Which in comparison to the lies our new fearless leader is spewing, seem like child’s play. I won’t even begin to discuss the ridiculousness of that entire process (especially Trump’s use of it to undermine Bill’s wife and her run for president) but the hypocrisy is, once-again, mind blowing.

SO ANYWAYS.

I’ve posted a nice article on my facebook page choked full of the lies Donald Trump has spewed in the past week vs. the facts that actually happened here in the real world. Seriously, this blows my mind that these are things being debated. Read it or don’t, but I promise there is actual evidence that contradicts the crap the president has tried to make into facts. But that, again isn’t really the point of all this.

What we need to talk about right now, is the state of my country.

Because I am not entirely sure what is happening or who’s country this is anymore. If I’ve seen anything in the past week, it’s that Donald Trump is very well set on making this HIS country and he doesn’t give a flying fuck what he has to do or who he has to throw under the bus to get there.

And I don’t know why there are so many of my fellow citizens who voted for him who are not scared or downright pissed about this. Because y'all are the ones who trusted him. You chose to put your faith in a man and in the span of a week he has completely overhauled your country. I don’t know if you just don’t understand what all these executive orders mean (to be fair, there have been an exorbitant amount) or just don’t care because somehow they don’t apply to you. Because I’ve defended y'all. I have allowed you to justify your vote for other things but I’m done now. Because I’m not entirely sure there’s anything that man can say or do to make some of you even question him, let alone denounce his actions.

When you have a man in charge of the greatest free nation in the world telling the press what they can and cannot report, you are no longer a part of a free nation. When you have a president silencing SCIENTISTS and evidence-based facts, you no longer live in a safe nation. When you have a president using religion to decide who can and cannot enter our country, you no longer live in America (a nation literally founded by men running away from the nationalized Church of England).

The point is we have entered some sort of insane alternate universe where we call lies alternate facts. A world where we ignore hypocrisy unless its directed against our opponent. A place where we look the other way when something unjust happens that doesn’t apply to us. A nation that doesn’t make any damn sense and pretty much defies every single principle it was founded on.

So I’m gonna talk about hypocrisy for a second because its about damn time we start holding each other accountable.

You DO NOT get to criticize pro-life women at your women’s march. You DO NOT get to yell at people afraid to let in refugees when it took you five years to pay attention to the crisis in Syria. You DO NOT get to remain silent when a SNL writer says horrible things about Baron Trump because of who his father is. You DO NOT get to say Trump is not a “legitimate president”. You DO NOT get to remain silent when protesters destroy property or attack police. You DO NOT get to support the women’s march but stay silent to the Black Lives Matter movement. You DO NOT get to freak out about Republicans racism and make fun of Melania’s broken English. You DO NOT get to criticize the people who felt like they had no choice to vote for Trump when your party nominated a lackluster candidate through some pretty sketchy tactics. You DO NOT get to act like the ACA is affordable for most people or the best option for healthcare for our nation. You DO NOT get to remain silent when Madonna threatens to blow up the white house. You DO NOT get to act like illegal immigrants didn’t break the law.

You DO NOT get to preach to me about how you voted for Trump because he was financially conservative and then not lose your damn mind when he essentially forces you to pay for an utterly useless wall. You DO NOT get to tell me healthcare is too expensive to be a universal right but a billion dollar wall isn’t. You DO NOT get to talk to me about the Democrats ridiculous spending when the GOP wasted $7 million to investigate Hilary in Benghazi TWICE and who knows how much investigating Trump’s newest bullshit voter fraud claim. You DO NOT get to tell me you are pro-life and refuse to allow Syrian refugees into our country. You DO NOT get to say “what would Jesus do” to defend fetuses but not actual, fully formed humans. You DO NOT get to tell me radical Muslims pose more of a threat domestically than mentally ill white guys like Dylan Roof or Adam Lanza. You DO NOT get to get your panties in a wad about how we’ve become a “politically correct” country where you can’t say what you want and not BE UTTERLY TERRIFIED that the president has essentially put a gag order on the EPA, NASA, the National Park Service, etc. You DO NOT get to chant “drain the swamp” at your terrifying rallies and then remain silent when Trump builds a cabinet overflowing with the most under-qualified and swampiest, swamp monsters. You DO NOT get to demand to see President Obama’s birth certificate but not Trump’s tax returns. You DO NOT get to criticize peaceful protests against Trump’s low-class behavior when y'all protested Obama’s election because of his skin color. And you DEFINITELY DO NOT get to say celebrities need to stay out of politics when you fools elected one.

Y'all are afraid of ISIS and don’t understand how banning immigrants from ISIS’ stomping grounds feeds directly into their recruiters hands. How banning people from Muslim predominate countries (but not the most Muslim predominate countries and not the countries who have a history of attacking us) shows all the people who ISIS recruit just how horrible the Americans are. Y'all THREW THE BIGGEST FREAKING FIT EVER about Hilary’s freaking email server (even though most of us don’t even know what the heck a private email server is) and then are silent when Donald Trump’s administration has done the EXACT SAME THING. Y'all were up in arms about the Clinton Foundations international connections but look the other way when your president makes a bullshit executive order to ban Muslims only from countries he is convenient enough not to have financial ties to (and then believe the nonsense that Obama did the same thing in 2011: https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/fact-checker/wp/2017/01/29/trumps-facile-claim-that-his-refugee-policy-is-similar-to-obama-in-2011/?utm_term=.328b3f2a974d). You DO NOT get to highlight a portion of that executive order and claim our president refuses to support countries that oppress the LGBTQ community when he openly supports Putin.

Here’s the thing y'all. We need to figure out just what it is we stand for. Because I really don’t think anyone has any clue anymore. We’ve warped our views and beliefs to fit into certain political parties who have their own conflicting views. Republicans are conservative unless its something they want (like a wall). They want the government to stay out of their wallets but are okay with it in women’s reproductive organs. Democrats want everyone to be respected and then call every single Trump supporter a bigot/racist/oppressor. They want the government to stay out of their reproductive organs but provide them free birth control. These labels are only further examples of the division that has broken our country. We are so divided over words that don’t even represent well-organized ideas.

We’ve got to stop y'all. We have to come back to the ideas we were founded on. We weren’t meant to have a national religion. We weren’t meant to have just two political parties; as if that could possibly represent every single American adequately. We weren’t meant to deny immigrants when the founders themselves were immigrants.

But more than that, we need to be good humans. We need to help those who’s homelands have been destroyed because we refused to get involved until it was too late. We need to speak up about injustice in the world and demand action. We need to be kind and fair and generous and compassionate. We need to acknowledge when those we disagree with do the right thing. We need to call out the people we support when they do the wrong thing. We need to respect our fellow humans no matter who they are because, duh. Seriously, duh.

I say all of that knowing full well that even if all of that happens, we may not be any better off. I know that change is a hard thing for people to do and that a few people have a very difficult time changing the world. I know that President Trump will continue to do whatever he wants to do regardless of who it upsets. I know that most of us are too proud to admit, our “opponent” has some valid points.

But I have to say something and I have to try something. Because I feel SO FREAKING HOPELESS. Even though I have watched amazing things unfold in the past week to counter this monster of a president, I feel defeated.

I don’t know what is going to happen next and I’m truly terrified to find out. I can’t even begin to imagine how those of you are who aren’t a privileged white woman are feeling. I’m sorry for you. I really, really am. I want you to know that I’ve got your back and I will fight for you with every fiber of my being because I am grateful for your existence. And you matter. We, the people are the best part of this country and we are what makes America great. I will defend your right to be treated with respect and dignity no matter what. And I can only hope that enough people will do the same. I hope enough people can be as bold as Judge Ann Donnelly or the 3 million women who marched or John McCain who opposed Trump’s latest executive order.

I guess really all I can do right now is continue to hope. I hope we continue to stand up for each other even if its for people who are totally different than us or people we will never meet. I hope that we can all figure out what really matters is the type of people we are and the values we hold and act on. I hope we can be the type of people who inspire others to overcome hate and can bring the generation behind us into a better, more respectful world.

I know this is all very Mean Girls-esque but I sincerely wish I had a big ass plastic crown to break apart and throw at everyone. Because really, y'all are beautiful and if Cady Heron can figure out how to apologize for being a bitch and try to make amends for it in a two hour film, I think our country can probably get through the next four years without pushing anyone in front of a bus.

(That’s a crappy Mean Girls reference; please don’t push people in front of busses)

-Be kind to one another-

also a friendly reminder this blog is for me and possible future nuggets who I want to remember that their mom was definitely not cool with all this bullshit they’ll have to learn in history class. And also for anyone who feels as shitty as I do and needs some love ✌️️

#isthisreallife #unitedstatesoffelusion #whatishappening #donaldtrump #strongertogether #bekindtooneanother

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thestruggleisrealink · 8 years

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“They say you shouldn’t say nothin’ about the dead unless it’s good. He’s dead. Good!” - Moms Mabley (This story contains discussions of child abuse, rape and rape culture. Discretion is advised.) Bishop Eddie Long is dead. What remains alive and unsettling is the way we rally around a predator. The way that we regard death as an excuse to kill truth. The way we will look away or close our eyes when our children are in danger. Turn our children over, in fact, as an offering, as another kind of tithe to a person who means to use them as food or sex-toy in the name of White Jesus. The way we blame the child for being “fast” or “grown” or for “letting” it happen to them and being “old enough to know better.” No balm offered, just “Suck it up. It happened to all of us. Next time, you’ll keep your damn legs closed!” We never talk about our complicity. How, in some ways, we’re glad the horror was perpetrated by someone with some influence and some money. Our children, then, have a more practical, material use: as meal tickets rather than as lights. Isn’t that why we still attend services even after we know that our churches conspire to rape our children on a mass scale — become rape factories draped in religious symbols and dogma — and cover it up? Isn’t that what Corey Feldman told us? That his parents knew he was being raped by wealthy heads of studios and his parents told him to endure it for the money, and the millions would be their own cure? R. Kelly married Aaliyah when she was 15 years old, stalked middle school playgrounds for “fresh meat,” and peed on the face of a girl who still wore pigtails and barrettes — and had the gall to record it. And yet, we went down to the courthouse, proud for no reason, with signs held high above our heads that read: “R. Kelly is innocent!” not knowing that also written on those signs, in invisible ink, was the postscript: “But we ain’t!” I guess this is how it works in churches, too. We’re good with the pastor fucking our children as long as he wines and dines them first; shows them the same “favor” Jehovah showed a little girl named Mary; grooms them for who knows what, unloading puddles onto them and into them, before discarding them for the next, younger, fresher batch. Then, when we look into the eyes of those children and the shine is gone, we pretend it was never there to begin with; that they were born with that dullness and the dullness is a good thing because now nothing they endure can tarnish them any further. You cannot debase the already debased. And this is our gift to them. In this country, we love ovum and sperm. We love zygotes and embryos. We even love fetuses. But we do not — no, we absolutely do not — love children. I imagine that the real reason so many of us despise abortion is because it denies us of our cannon fodder. If children are taken away before we’ve had the opportunity to abuse them, disappoint them, and use them as our outhouses, then how in the world could we ever understand what it means to be godly? I believe Eddie Long raped our sons (any tiny, hypocritical outrage we felt about that came from his choice of gender/sex, not from his choice to rape; we don’t mind rape/pedophilia; it’s queer people we can’t stand; and, in any event, there’s no one we hate more righteously than black girls). He groomed them, gained their trust, offered them baubles and prestige, made them feel a sense of loyalty and obligation, and then, when he felt them ripe and pliable, and, maybe even, in some cases, “legal,” he pulled down his pants and, in rock-hard seriousness, commanded them to suck. He bent them over and inserted himself inside. He left his mark upon them and, in our profound and impenetrable denial, we called it an anointing. And then, still smelling of our babies, their newly sprouted pubic hairs still stuck between his teeth, he got up onto the stage, stepped behind the pulpit, opened a book that commands rapists to marry their victims (did Long ever propose to any of his?), wiped our children’s blood from the corners of his mouth before he opened it to spew, in the most literal sense, textbook lies. And we loved him in spite of it; perhaps because of it. We have, after all, always been more loyal to the domination-philosophies of our masters than to the veracity of blood memory. These very obvious betrayals of children — if we must hear it in the language of our oppressors — are the thirty pieces of silver. What this means is very simple: Eddie Long is not the only one who’s Dead!

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clubofinfo · 7 years

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Expert: You Consume Fear: Then You are What you Eat! Endless ignorance, presaged by fear, hate, suspicion, paranoia, misanthropy, and then all galvanized to the constructions of neutering culture of consumerism. Fear for the typical American — one paycheck short on the rent, fines, threats of eviction, on the streets or in the car. America! Fear of the mortgage floating into some variable interest rate hell. Fear of not having, not choosing, not getting. For Americans, possessing is the power they think they have wrested from the faulty system of governing and management. Anything, but especially a car/SUV/pick-up/boat/RV/motorcycle. When a country is run by con men and con women (Epipen, male CEOs, female, CEOs – criminal minds, steal hearts) set on a course toward oblivion, contextualized by the greed of the arms dealers (almost all of America is in the business of war, crime fighting, prison management, selling invasions and propping up lunacy of resource stealing, all facilitated by arms – you name it, Burger King or Halliburton, Blackwater or Booz Allen Hamilton) and ramified by the insanity of the majority – 80 plus percent of us – being screwed by the uber rich, the elite managing their trillions, and the sycophants and little Eichmann’s toeing the controllers’ line, well, then that country – USA/USIsrael — is nothing more than a jumble of disenfranchisement, a circus of penalties, perversions, pornography at all levels. In a blink of an eye and giga-second of a download, these companies, shareholders, families, offshoots, handlers, the entire ranch, they are criminals, mass murderers, felons, tax cheats, family and country wreckers, and come on, liberals, demons with no demons in the world to match (making Charles Manson look sane, these hyper millionaires and billionaires). The insanity is we don’t just overthrow them – the Betsy DeVos kinds of the world, his Eric Prince murder mafia brother, heads of all those corporations, those insurance companies, and law (sic) firms. Off with their heads, now, don’t you know, from Trump and Clan, Obama and Clan, Clintons, all of them. But, we are a strange fruit hanging, now are we not? We plug bullets and shrapnel into wedding parties, children and babies in bassinets, and facilitate cholera genocide, and we blow up mountains and denature rivers and entire swaths of the only places humanity can live, but, we just let these DNA anomalies of the royal and National Security kind go, go, go, and gawk at their tabloid adventures with Rolls Royces, Rolexes and Rotten hate against us, the 80 percent! Oh, the lacking white/Caucasian race, oh where oh where has the pineal gland gone? The pineal gland is responsible for the production of melatonin, a hormone that is secreted in response to darkness, and is also the site in the brain where the highest levels of Serotonin can be found (Sun et al, 2001). In the pineal, 5-HT (Serotonin) concentration displays a remarkable diurnal pattern, with day levels much higher than night levels. Serotonin plays an important role in sleep, perception, memory, cardiovascular activity, respiratory activity, motor output, sensory and neuroendocrine function. Racial differences have been noted in the rate of pineal calcification as seen in plain skull radiographs. In Caucasians, calcified pineal is visualized in about 50% of adult skull radiographs after the age of 40 years); other scholars argue that Caucasians, in general, may have rates of pineal gland calcification as high as ¬60-80% Murphy (1968) reported a radiological pineal calcification rate of 2% from Uganda, while Daramola and Olowu (1972) in Lagos, Nigeria found a rate of 5%. Who Is the Ultimate Terrorist? The Cancer on Humanity! You can believe that the white race with its ravaging Western Medicine, Western Toxicity , Western Diet, Western Mores, Western Business, Western Education, Western Diseases, Western Superstitions, Western Racism, and Western Capitalism is really the cancer on earth, if we were to really look hard at history, numbers, and the rapine and destruction the White Race (sic) has had on humanity! Susan Sontag: If America is the culmination of Western white civilization, as everyone from the Left to the Right declares, then there must be something terribly wrong with Western white civilization. This is a painful truth; few of us want to go that far. … The truth is that Mozart, Pascal, Boolean algebra, Shakespeare, parliamentary government, baroque churches, Newton, the emancipation of women, Kant, Marx, Balanchine ballets, et al., don’t redeem what this particular civilization has wrought upon the world. The white race is the cancer of human history; it is the white race and it alone—its ideologies and inventions—which eradicates autonomous civilizations wherever it spreads, which has upset the ecological balance of the planet, which now threatens the very existence of life itself. You can see the devolutions on so many levels, in so many camps in this society: Here’s just one — glyphosate hooked to every molecule in the recipes for bread, pasta, all the shit in the food stores that announce instant gratification, from Cheese Nips to Red Baron Pizza, and in poultry and any other tortured animal raised for human gluttony. Imagine this experiment legitimized and protected by the US government and hack scientists and academics protecting Monsanto and the hundreds of other purveyors of cancer who have a pass to destroy fetuses and geriatrics and anyone in between. Just with the morphing of fetuses and then the continual hormonal-gut-mental disruption the intake of so much Round-up and nanoparticles, we are a doomed species way before climate change does justice to our withering species. Here, just a tip of the iceberg for personal care products causing cancer — Make-Up, Die-Up! Ripping up Our Children’s Guts Second-by-Second — Monsanto, et al The great big Joseph Mengele experiment to the 10th power, across all threads of this wasteland culture. This Monsanto and glyphosate. Celiac disease, and, more generally, gluten intolerance, is a growing problem worldwide, but especially in North America and Europe, where an estimated 5% of the population now suffers from it. Symptoms include nausea, diarrhea, skin rashes, macrocytic anemia and depression. It is a multifactorial disease associated with numerous nutritional deficiencies as well as reproductive issues and increased risk to thyroid disease, kidney failure and cancer. Here, we propose that glyphosate, the active ingredient in the herbicide, Roundup®, is the most important causal factor in this epidemic. This is the age of more than just being stupid, or the century of the dumb. It is more than see, hear and speak no evil. Much more mitigated toward an ever expanding and multivariate insanity, in both the collective culture of the damned – us, the 80 percent, mostly wage slaves, working the plantations of the elite and their stinky bosses – and the individual so denuded of honor and rebellion, so stripped of tribal and sane roots, that daily, I see in every walk of life more and more reason to believe the white race is the living dead. Can we really square the experiments carried out by the elite and the controllers, on us, and with our complicity, since we are, in this country, especially the whites of Judaeo-Christian persuasion, the facilitators of our people’s slow, gruesome death? One out of three with diabetes. More than 60 percent of all deaths caused by the consumption of the Soylent Green these marketers and chemists have concocted for their own fellow citizens? The authors concluded that the ingestion of Roundup-contaminated feed could be a significant factor predisposing poultry to diseases caused by Clostridium botulinum. It could also explain the now widespread contamination of poultry products with pathogenic Salmonella and E. coli strains of bacteria, which can make human consumers ill. It is possible that glyphosate and Roundup’s negative impacts on gut bacteria could contribute to other toxic effects seen in animal and human epidemiological studies on these substances. In humans, disturbed gut bacteria is found in people with irritable bowel syndrome (IBS), diarrhea, and malnutrition, as well as in a subset of autistic people. It may play a role in multi-system organ failure and colon cancer.3 This is at the human level. Every child, mother, father, thief in high office, murderer on the boards of Fortune 500 companies; every peaceful, human person; every person of color, all of us, spat out like yesterday’s sour milk. So in every sense of the panic we come to daily – climate change, war, poverty, structural violence, murder, rape, Sixth Mass Extinction, desertification, the shackling of free speech, free thought, an alternative to the Shadow World of War and Murder, racism, Jim Crow 3.0, the power of billionaires with fourth grade retrograde thinking – how completely insane is this world of environmental pollutants and food commodity toxins? As all things boil down to the stomach and the alimentary canal, just imagine how quickly Homo Sapiens is not only morphing into a crippled species, but one with continuous disease, from fetus to grave: The human gut microbiota is a dynamic ecosystem formed by a pool of 400–1000 adherent and non-adherent bacterial species belonging mostly to two dominant phyla, the Firmicutes and the Bacteroidetes. Although the composition of an adult microbiota remains relatively stable, it is well known that the microbial diversity is acquired very early in life within the first hours post birth, and is shaped over time as the diet becomes more complex and the immune-system matures. Hence, the combination of multiple factors including genotype, mode of delivery, early antibiotic therapy, diet composition, lifestyle, social interactions and environmental exposure to various xenobiotics shape the gut microbiota to make every individual microbially unique. This is of importance because the gut microbiota fulfills many critical roles in essential host functions such as protection against pathogens, immune-system modulation, fermentation of non-digestible dietary fibers, anaerobic metabolism of peptides and proteins, interaction with the host’s circadian clock and biotransformation of xenobiotics. Such a complex symbiotic interaction is the result of a remarkable metabolic activity driven by a genetic pool whose size is a hundred times larger than the human one. Alterations of the microbiota composition (called dysbiosis) and/or optimal functions are associated with various prevalent metabolic and immune diseases, including obesity, inflammatory bowel disease, diabetes, hepatic diseases, Crohn’s disease, colorectal cancer and allergy. The truth is placated, in a 90-minute package, and surprisingly, this flick, “What the Health?” is compelling my friends and my charges (I am a social worker or young to adult foster youth) to rethink their Oscar Meyer, Cheetos and Ham, Bacon Encrusted Double Whopper lives. Imagine, information that was already available decades ago, and now, on that bastion of pabulum, Netflix, this documentary, not of the most sophisticated or dynamic kind. This film is broken from the beginning and in many ways just typically so stupid. It fucks up a lot of information, and, well, if it takes a film like What the Health to sway anyone, then my point is made – we are in an age of stupid and absurdity. There are enough studies and real examples of why eating processed flesh kills people, or how seafood with mercury and PCBs kill brain cells and nervous systems, or how all those billions of gallons of processed udder juice cause heart disease and plethora of other diseases. This sort of dumb-downing from yet another loser documentarian is the example after example I give that speaks to the humiliating nature of the human condition in the Western World. Diet and pollutants, hmm. Round-up in everything we eat. Hmm. But, as always, what about ecosystems, and the rights of wolves and wolverines and bats and beetles and creeks and prairies and watersheds to exist? Here’s a more forceful reason a movie like What the Health falls short-short, and this from a vegan nutritionist, Ginny Messina, Ahh, the paleo-devil, here, Robb Wolf, selling his brand of animal abuse and environmental shit — more BS stuff about man/woman evolving because of meat-meat-meat! Water, Land, Pollution, Ocean Dead Zones, Species Extinction – That’s the one-two-three-four-five punch of eating meat, Robb. And, the Zionist aggregator billionaires’ response to meat and the dying planet? Money, money, money, and more age of stupidity – laughing all the way to the bank of insanity: “Around 30 labs in the world are working to create cultured meat” Most scientists are focusing on one particular part of the problem,” says Genovese. For example, he’s working on creating the best, non-animal medium in which to grow the cells. The process of creating meat in a lab is a complex one. In the simplest of terms, the most common procedure begins with extracting stem cells from a live, adult animal. A growth serum (Post’s contains animal blood but future growth mediums will be animal-free) is then added to the cells, which are grown on a scaffolding (like a skeleton) to form a muscular structure. This muscle is often exercised to create a richer, tastier flesh. At Mark Post’s London tasting, both Hanni Rützler and Josh Schonwald noted the same thing was missing from the meat: fat. Post calls it a “technical bottleneck,” and it’s one of the next phases of research. “What we love about meat is the fat, that’s what makes it taste good,” says Ethan Brown, “but it’s also the least healthy part of the meat.” For people developing cultured meat, however, the goal is to get it as close to the “real” thing as possible, fat and all. “They’re going to get there,” Isha Datar, director of New Harvest says, “it’s just a question of when.” Post estimates that within 20 to 25 years, we could have a commercial product: lab-grown beef which is indistinguishable from that which comes from an animal, grown in a lab. Theoretically, one crop of stem cells could create a huge amount of meat, with no animals harmed, no grazing land needed, grown in a sterile environment. “This product would address all of the major concerns of large-scale farming today,” Datar says: environmental, health, and ethical. And founder of Google, Sergey Brin, is backing this bizarre stuff – and we know how great Google is — NOT! Fairy Tales and Lies — War is Peace, Lies are Truth, More is Less These are just a few of the examples of how broken-down humanity is – at its richest and most corrupt level is. You think maybe income inequity, wage and land theft, resource plundering, planet scrapping, war making, and shitty education are more important than some Okja Google backed bullshit T-cell homemade on an industrial level beef? See the review of the bizarre and sentimental but good movie, Okja, here at DV by Randy Shields. This is the age of hubris to the 100th power. An age of confusion, followed by rampant denial and delusion. Geo-engineer the ocean with iron shavings to create ocean choking algae blooms to soak up some CO2. Or how about the rocket ship and U-Haul Grapes of Wrath trip to Mars, because the billionaires and millionaires and militarists and chemists have fucked up the world? So, we can spend decades arguing the value of Capital in the planetary immolation. But the bottom line is species extinction, habitat destruction, cultural genocide, and structural violence/murder by the capitalists and their sycophants of every stripe have to be stopped with an entirely new way of thinking about our relationships with fellow humans and all non-humans on earth. De-industrializing and retrenchment and resilience and resuscitation of simpler but highly refined lives/lifestyles are our only hope of co-existence on a planet where we are the minority species. The Rights of Nature is the right of regular man, woman and child to live smart, small and connected lives. Tourists going to the moon, or cruise ships to mars, this is the height of stupidity. Disneyfication and Hollywoodfication of the mind. Like Mad Cow’s disease of the soul; ALS of the spirit. Read – And be ready to adapt! “Climate Crisis, the Deindustrialization Imperative and the Jobs vs. Environment Dilemma.” The truth comes back around to what we consume, what we see, what we choose to hold as art-culture-entertainment-knowledge. What I see more and more are the young people, sculpted by the amazingly zombie and empty Facebook, all the InstaGram, all of this stuff in the digital dungeons of our youth’s hearts. They are warped and unsteady and never ready for a big-time changing world. They don’t know how to rebel, how to challenge their parents, and they cannot understand any context outside their own rooms, their shitty places of work and the barrage of crap coming through their phones and in the racist games they play on line and in their Play Stations and XBoxes. All Thought in the West is Scripted by Ad Men and Movie-TV Makers The food they eat is tainted through and through, and the scripts and junk on/in TV-Movies are their only way to understanding nothing. This is the age of not knowing, and the age of misunderstanding, and one of missed opportunities. Here, John Steppling on TV-Hollywood: The truth was that you could see what you wanted to see in almost any script. But it served as a justification for ignorance. For none of these decision makers in Hollywood read. None of them. Big agents and producers, executives and show runners even, none of them read. They read script. They may have read a few required books in college, but they certainly don’t read now. I mention all this, and I’ve discussed a lot of it before, or aspects of it, because there has been a new intensification of the non-quality of narrative. Without wanting to sound cute, it is non story, non character, and non world. For they are interdependent. Marvell Comics and DC work so well for Hollywood because these are not real characters, they are comic book characters (once a pejorative observation). In a sense the *reveals* work best when the audience is only mildly surprised. To be hugely and genuinely surprised induces a kind of suspicion. Often a mild sense of paranoia. Having no surprise doesn’t work either. No surprise means its simply too predictable. Today’s audience expects and anticipates these reveals, but they don’t want to be ahead of the writer. Not completely anyway. They want the story to surprise them…a little. Or rather, to be more precise, they want characters who are not fully characters to surprise them by turning out to be someone else who is also not really a someone. They want the actual narrative to remain familiar. There has evolved a kind of cultural familiarity that is specific. It is the recognition of style cues and allusions to brand and trending vocabulary. The growth of brand mentions and allusions to pop culture has grown to the point where often entire conversations revolve around discussions of earlier TV shows. Often ones fifty years old. To mention Karate Kid again; a reference to Mr Miyagi has taken on all sorts of associations, but primarily as a tribal identifier. It is a white male under forty reference. An allusion to, say, Pretty Woman would elicit the expected nods of recognition from a mostly female white audience in their thirties. And so on, and on and on. To watch, say, an American film from the 1940s is to suddenly be dropped into a world of language and discourse that seems almost alien today. Hence the treatment of old films as kitsch. Always, as kitsch. As quaint. For today’s audience for the most part can’t *read* those films with any genuine engagement with character. You Can End Where You Wanted to But You Can Never Go Back to the Middle This post was supposed to start off with the haze over Portland, and these 106 degree temperatures. This endless traffic, and this giant migration from California (and other parts) to Portland and the encompassing three counties. As is true of all American cities, Portland is microcosm of why everything about Capitalism is wrong and why agnotology and willful ignorance rule the day. You see, those thousands of fires in Canada (anyone thinking maybe global warming — more understory, more rapid growth of fuels in forests, clear cuts, and, less moisture and hotter temperatures?) ended up in our local Health Department air advisory warnings — limit time outside, limit exercise, and the young, elderly and sick, please be very careful. Those heat island waves of 110 degrees, in a place with hundreds of thousands of homes with no air conditioning. Ground level ozone maxed out. The entire ranch sold down the river for the developers, and those endless nomad Americans with a few million in the bank, in the case of Californians, made through working for the war/aerospace/California brand industries, and then, with cold hard cash from a shit sale of a shitty house for a shit-load of greenbacks. This is a mass migration to the Pacific Northwest. Note the carrying capacity of a city like Portland is limited, but you’d never know it from the politicos and Chamber of Commerce, Movers and Shakers, and the other tax dodgers. According to the logistic growth model, the animal population growth can be constrained to an upper asymptote, i.e., the carrying capability, because the population increase leads to negative effects during interaction among the members, which is often manifested as a high density and the associated crowding effects. Another reason for the control of population growth is the limited world energy sources. For example, the unregulated growth of given animal populations, exceeding the carrying capability, will damage their habitats, deplete available energy supply, and eventually result in a reduced population density. By contrast, if a certain animal population density is controlled by predators, keeping it below the carrying capability, the available food for that species of animal becomes more sufficient and their capability to resist environmental fluctuations increases [21] (for details, see [22]). Ecological carrying capacity forms the basis for derivative concepts, such as human carrying capacity, tourism carrying capacity, Urban Carrying Capacity, and others. The insanity is we have no smart, real, dedicated and truthful urban and rural planners anywhere. I mean, do we have anyone in high office or in bureaucracies who understand we HAVE to manage population distribution, growth, consumption of resources, social constraints, and so much more to manage building and land use. We fucking do it intentionally or unintentionally with every other species on earth. We determine which mountain gets blasted, stripped of coal, deforested, bombed, or saved. That power is what is killing the planet. And our insanity — the drive to believe all capital is good and to believe Americans have the right to do and produce and sell and steal anything we deem necessary for our collective pursuit of happiness. So, fire, smoke, coughing Portlanders, and the youth I work with as a social worker, confused about climate change — I let them know it’s global warming and more importantly resource destruction and air-water-soil pollution. Add to the mix, first, war, and the attendant deprivations strategically planned and managed by the superpower and her allies like EU, Israel, Japan and Australia-UK-Canada. These young people are hobbled before conception, as foster youth in state custody for many variations on a theme — incapable, failing, or diseased parents/family situations. I know youth well, having taught since I was 23, at colleges, universities, alternative high schools, prisons, K12, special programs for youth with developmental disabilities, and with young people experiencing homelessness and addiction. To name just a few venues out of many more. I know youth are looking to elders or adults to give them signs of alternative pathways of living. I know I am tapped daily as some sort of soothsayer, mentor, wisdom factory, and inspiration. I do not take these laurels lightly. Serious shit is hitting the fan for these youth in the arena of jobs (shitty and shittier ones coming down the pike), housing (there is NO housing sanity for individuals who want a decent one-bedroom place to call it his or her own), cost of living (no kid can afford to go to a movie, a museum, a concert, camping without a huge monetary outlay). Shit hitting the fan daily, as their bodies are malforming from the stress, the high fat-salt-sugar diets, the High Fructose Corn Syrup slurps, the pollution, the environmental toxins, the bio-accumulation of every chemical and compound not meant for ingestion by any mammal. Their choices to live and learn and be community-centered are almost extinct. Add to that the general ignorance of American society about almost ANYTHING other than prices and sports statistics, and we have a generation and one to come with as much backbone in the making as a squid (not to knock cephalopods). My work daily is pounding away at ignorance — with my clients, with the systems they live under, with educators, with the community leaders that hold sway over my youths’ destinies, and the general public which is head in sand or stiff arm saluting the fourth grader president. I warn the youth to arm themselves, now, with an arsenal — knowledge, debate skills, movie (video making), reading acumen, communitarianism, passion, no fear, and becoming stealth in their anti-authority selves. Work the system, screw no individual over and screw up and screw with all those layers of corporate malfeasance and government collusion. They need to strip themselves of the individualism that has been beaten into them, this false narrative of me-myself-and-I-and-maybe-a-family . . . but no one else comes first! The world is burning, or, As the World Burns is more like it, what do they do, and how can old codgers like myself help? Teach your young friends and family and students and kids on the street, that all corporations lie, and lie big with their PR firms, and all governments hide and lie, with the marching orders of the Corporations and their PR firms. Teach young people that there is an apocalypse of real dimensions on the horizon. Prepare them to march against the rich and the powerful. Hombres del Sur! Mejor morir a pie que vivir en rodillas. “Men of the South! It is better to die on your feet than to live on your knees!” –Emiliano Zapata (c. 1877-1919) http://clubof.info/

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