#I don’t actually hate it but I cannot abide by how expensive it is | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aishabellasbigblogofeverything · 16 days ago

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LITERALLY like I was actually inspired by this post to write this:

And like this must be a troll post by a non-Black person but assuming it’s not and it IS serious…what kind of self-loathing is this? How much disdain do you have to have for yourself in your heart to write out this disturbing shit and have anyone take you seriously? Like do you not realize that you’re giving non-Black women an ego boost by being this pathetic? Those girlies are gonna see this post and be relieved that Black girls think this way and are AGREEING with the rhetoric that we are lesser in some way, because it makes them feel better at our expense to think that we are weak and this filled with self-hatred that we will let everyone else treat us like shit and walk all over us, like stand up girly it’s getting pathetic atp lol. One Black girl in the comments even agreed with the “Black girls are less desirable/feminine” rhetoric and a non-Black girl replied “well why don’t Black girls try skin lightning cream?” you guys are literally feeding their hatred and demoralizing view of Black women as ugly and worthless and repulsive and it’s so monstrous tf like y’all seriously don’t realize what you’re doing not just to yourself but to others who look just like you as well, your sisters in arms in the community, like how dare y’all. Like you’re damn right that Black women have a different type of hair than anyone else on the planet but it is because our hair is versatile and defies gravity, it is soft and fluffy and elegant and cute, it is luxurious and voluminous and beautiful. We have the most genetic diversity of any other race on earth. Trying to spin that into something self-hating is just preposterous, I can’t believe it. But then again, anything to feed into the “Black girls are the least desired” complex. Istg some women just cannot be saved.

I agree that we need to continue building up confidence in Black women and girls and show them to take pride in their own beauty and that we can be attractive and feminine and look to each other as role models for love and strength and not try to envy/imitate white/Asian women’s lead, as if they have a monopoly on beauty norms/femininity just because a couple of Reddit nerds say so, or because of societal stereotypes that white women are the epitome of femininity and Asian women are soft, obedient, and meek, which hurts Asian women as well mind you. The men who say this shit are closet pedophiles(seeing as they all say they love Asian women for “looking like little girls” and reject Asian women who don’t fit their loli porn standard) and misogynists who think that femininity is all about being weak, submissive, and sucking a man’s dick.

There are so many communities out there for Black girls to embrace their beauty and femininity, Black girl channels for natural hair regimens and cute hairstyles, Black girls doing makeup on dark skin tones, Black girls wearing cute fashion styles like cottagecore and Lolita and coquette as well as gnc/masc styles if you have that type of swag, Black girls who do cosplay and look fine as hell while doing it, Black girls who draw adorable Black anime characters, etc., like I understand that society often treats us as lesser and like we can only fit into one stereotypical/undesirable box, but the second you step out of there and find what you are into I PROMISE it is out there you just have to find it! Don’t let your race limit you from loving yourself or expressing yourself how you want to, you don’t have to abide by some arbitrary racist beauty norms set by some white incel Reddit dude whose only interaction with Black women is reality tv, degrading online memes, and ebony porn. Add whose only interaction with Asian women is pedo loli hentai and mainstream shonen anime.

I guess the point of all this is to find Black women to admire and see yourself in because that will make you feel better about yourself and feel confident that you are enough and love being a Black woman, rather than crying that you’ll never be as beautiful/cute/girly as a white or Asian woman when we all know that’s not true, Black girls are gorgeous and poppin’ and look good in every style! I wish we could talk about the issues facing us without succumbing to this idea that we’re inherently lesser and unattractive and Blackness is inherently a curse that’s holding us back because it’s just sad and miserable and desperate behavior atp, you’ll always be Black until the day you die so just live with it and learn to accept it.

The Black femininity community very much often does prey on these insecure types with how it often tells Black women that we are inherently unfeminine unless we dive full hog into (white tradwife) hyperfemininity and always look like a perfectly made-up Barbie princess 24/7 and that any sign of Blackness like natural hair/acrylics/AAVE is unfeminine/unattractive, not to mention the intense heteronormativity of it all and how it is often rooted completely in appealing to heterosexual men and often blames Black women for our own masculinization, telling us that the only way for us to be feminine is to be more passive and compliant and “let a man lead” but even so there are still plenty of healthy Black hyperfeminine spaces that aren’t a one-size fits all and are queer-inclusive that I really just wish more Black girls who felt insecure about not being able to do that type of stuff went there instead…or realized that you don’t have to be hyperfeminine to be beautiful and that you can just be who you are and be whoever you want to be and be happy but…idk lol.

This was such a long and unhinged rant and I’m sorry if this wasn’t at all coherent and didn’t address all of your points but you’re right, this attitude always just drags Black girls back and makes us look bad, if you spend all your time on the “I fantasize about raping women and also believe in 14 words” website then of course you’re going to feel miserable, hopeless, and insecure, you need to learn to log off sometimes lol idk. Find spaces that are built for you and support you and stop worrying about what the rest of the world thinks of you and especially whether or not non-Black men are attracted to you and just do your own thing, they only hate you because they see your spark and beauty and try to tear you down, take it as a compliment because they’re just jealous lol. I hope this helps some Black girl out there somewhere who feels bad about herself but yeah, we are beautiful and amazing and awesome and we don’t need the rest of the world to tell us who we are! Period! Tf? 💅🏿

I’m begging Black girls and especially younger Black girls to please stop going on the Internet and complaining about being the least attractive/feminine/desirable and how guys don’t want you and how much you hate being a Black girl and wish you were another race(usually white/East Asian is what I see) so that you could be seen as beautiful/get the guy you want/not hate yourself every time you look into a mirror. Please. Stop doing that shit. I understand the soul-crushing way that Black girls are treated in society, and how insistent the world and people in general are in stripping us of our femininity and beauty and trying to gaslight us into believing that we’re ugly, and because of that it is so so easy to fall prey to the “we’re the ugliest of women and no one will ever love us” mentality. But when you make posts like these, talking down on yourself for being Black and expressing envy towards non-Black women, you are not only shitting on every Black woman out there who looks like you, you’re also giving non-Black girls an ego boost and letting them believe that they really are more attractive and valuable than us and that we’re “the ugly ones” because Black girls themselves are saying it and self-deprecating themselves.

I’m begging you to please stop going on these intensely anti-Black and misogynistic hate sites dedicated to hating on/tearing down women and venting about how being a Black girl is such a curse and a terrible burden and how you’ll never be as beautiful as a white/Asian woman because you have dark skin and coily hair. All you’re doing is putting yourself in harm’s way and validating the way people already think about us while shitting on your fellow Black sisters by painting us all with the “undesirable/ugly” brush. I understand that the rest of the world constantly tells us that we’re ugly/unlovable and less womanly than the rest of the groups. I understand feeling anger, confusion, and frustration at how were treated by people who are supposed to care about us and protect us. I understand feeding into it. But please don’t. Especially not on sites that prey on women’s insecurities and are filled to the brim with people who hate Black women with a seething passion. They’re only going to tell you that you’re right, not comfort you and make you feel better, you can’t rely on these sites for validation. Please talk to your friends and family or a therapist if you feel insecure about your race, and either follow Black female content creators who uplift Black women/girls or get off of social media for the betterment of your own mental health. Please. I’m begging you. 🙏🏿

#black women #misogynoir #positivity #black girls #i hate men #masculinization of black women #black femininity

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cxlvins · 4 years ago

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...000. INTRODUCTION.

helloooo lovelies ! my name is evan (he/him), i’m twenty-two and from the gmt timezone ! i’m super excited for this to open because i’ve got so much muse right now. i’m down for any and all plots, seriously, i love plotting ! this is calvin, he’s an angry mess of a character, but he’s fun to play, so ! if you just wanna get to know the character, you can skip past the other sections and just focus on personality, i’ve also put some wanted connections in there too ! if you would like to plot, then either shoot me a message here or on discord (heterosexual? how vintage!#8600) or alternatively, like this post and i will message you !

caution: alcohol, drugs, mental health, death.

›› ✱ xavier serrano, cismale, he/him. you’ve met calvin marx, right? they’re around twenty-three and a twitch streamer. they’re all about thrift store clothing and the faint smell of cologne and cigarettes, hence why they’re known as the spitfire around town. everyone knows them to be pretty gregarious but i’ve heard they’re actually sort of volatile, too… don’t tell them i said that, okay?

...001. BRIEF HISTORY.

calvin grew up very underprivileged for the first 11 years of his life in brooklyn, ny.

his father died when he was 5 years old to a drug overdose, leading his mother became a single mother to him and his younger sister, essentially meaning that calvin had to grow up and be the ‘man of the house’ without having a choice.

because of her new single-mother status, calvins mother had to work 3 different jobs in order for the family to pay rent (a cleaner in mornings, a store assistant in the day and a bartender in the evenings), which meant she was rarely home and left calvin to raise both himself and younger sister.

from a very early age, it was apparent that calvin suffered from anger issues, dyslexia and adhd, constantly getting into fights at every opportunity, his complete inability to focus and never managing to make it through a week at school without a phone call home.

these issues remained untreated, due to his mother putting it down to the ‘boys will be boys’ ideology, and concluding that calvin was just an energetic one at that.

because of this, calvin fell into the wrong crowd pretty quickly and settled into his mindset that he was never going to achieve all that much anyway, because no matter how hard he tried, he could never score well on any test at school.

at the age of 9, calvins mother met, fell in love with and soon married a former client for whom she cleaned for. calvins new step father was incredibly wealthy, due to being a successful franchisee and also being very largely into stock trading.

calvin, his sister and mother were all moved to his home in cherrybrooks, which calvin struggled to adjust to, as he missed his friends back north.

now having access to as much money as he want led him down an early path into experimenting with drugs and alcohol, which soon became a bad habit.

although he wanted to drop out of school, his new step-father would not allow it, which became a large source of conflict for the family over the course of the next few years.

failing to graduate high school at age eighteen, calvin couldn’t deal with living with his family any more and left the house to move into a small apartment, 30 minutes away, with a roommate (possibly a member of the clique).

calvins only real passions were for gaming and sport, and as he smoked and did way too many drugs to make it in any sporting profession, he turned his attention to twitch streaming. he began this pretty soon and built up a solid fanbase (which he wanted to call the marxists, but in calvins words, apparently some dead man already claimed that title).

...002. PERSONALITY.

calvin is a naturally angry person who can lose his cool and go from 0 to 100 in a matter of seconds, he rarely gives off signs that he is getting angry until he boils over, so people tend to watch what they say around him.

calvin is self-serving, his feelings will always come before those around him. although he is getting better at managing this, if something will result in calvin gaining something at the expense of somebody else, he will most likely go ahead with it.

calvin is not well educated, so he doesn’t tend to enjoy arguing with words, as he can never seem to find the ones to correctly express how he feels. instead, calvin is much more likely to act physically when something has irritated him (whether this be on a person or inanimate object).

calvin is an awful liar, he cannot lie to save his life as his face always tends to show when he doesn’t agree with an idea/opion/thought that somebody says. because of this, he is very outspoken, and will just say what he’s thinking regardless of if it’s going to hurt somebodies feelings. he’d rather upset them with the truth, than get caught out for lying.

calvin is an extrovert and gains energy from being around people - the more people the better, because of this, he has become a major party animal and loves attending any and all parties that is going on, despite if he’s fond of the hosts or not.

calvin is a heavy user of drugs, alcohol & cigarettes. this is primarily down to his naturally addictive personality and constant need to feel like he’s happy, so that he doesn’t get sad again. there will rarely be a day where he will not be intoxicated in some way and he will have a cigarette at least once an hour – and that’s on a good day.

calvin is very much into sports. although not a natural athlete, nor somebody interested in playing sports competitively, calvin loves watching any and all sports, and he likes to play them when he can. due to his smoking habit, he can’t play sports for too long, but will always give it a good go.

similarly to this, calvin is very much into gaming. calvin loves fast-paced games, because they manage to keep his attention despite him not having a very long attention span. most games that he plays are first person shooters, and he’s usually the guy on the mic screaming when a teammate fucks up during online play. a big appeal to him was that games were the only thing he could focus his mind on as a child.

calvin is very much a boys boy, he genuinely abides by the bible of ‘ bros before hoes ‘ because he’s stupid.

calvin hates movies but loves tv, he finds that watching moves involves sitting still for too long, but tv allows him to take more breaks and keeps his interest for longer. although. he’d probably trade both of them for a chance to leave the house.

...003. TRAITS.

[ G R E G A R I O U S ] (+) — a person fond of company; sociable.

[ I N T U I T I V E ] (+) — using or based on what one feels to be true even without conscious reasoning; instinctive.

[ F O R T H R I G H T ] (+) — direct and outspoken.

[ V O L A T I L E ] (-) — liable to change rapidly and unpredictably, especially for the worse.

[ V E N G E F U L ] (-) — not willing to forgive or excuse people’s faults or wrongdoings.

[ H E D O N I S T I C ] (-) — engaged in the pursuit of pleasure; sensually self-indulgent.

...004. WANTED CONNECTIONS.

CURRENT BEST FRIENDS — Possibly a boy squad? I live for a good boy squad. This person will have similar interests to Calvin, or be able to tolerate his volatile mood.

CHILDHOOD BEST FRIENDS — Someone with a similar upbringing from Brooklyn, most likely they grew apart when Calvin moved to Wilmington.

RIDE OR DIES — Although he primarily looks out for himself, I’m down to have Calvin have one person who he’s loyal to and will refuse to betray, we can come up with a fun reason for why he cares so much if you’re interested in this one.

HIS ROOMMATE — Somebody that moved with Calvin into his current apartment when he moved out at 18.

A GOOD INFLUENCE ON CALVIN — One of my favorite connections for Calvin to have is somebody who knows all of his flaws and attempts to help fix them. They’ll have to be patient, though, as Calvin doesn’t see himself for having any issues.

SOMEBODY HE IS A BAD INFLUENCE OF — On the opposite, I love when Calvin has somebody that he can introduce to bad things, corrupt easily and get a kick out of watching the commotion.

EXES ON BAD TERMS — Cheating on each other is usually an easy one to go with, but if you want, we can think of something more unique as to how it all fucked up and why they now hate each other.

EXES ON GOOD TERMS — Maybe they still occasionally fuck? There could still be an attraction there, but just no romantic chemistry. Alternatively, they tried it and both just couldn’t see it going anywhere.

EXES WITH LINGERING FEELINGS — There’s a ton of different reasons for why there’s still lingering feelings. The feelings could be one-sided or both ways.

EX FLINGS — Started as friends with benefits, one of them wanted more, the other didn’t, they decided to stop before someone got hurt.

FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS — No romantic intention, just a good way to kill time at 2 AM, or maybe it’s easy to know you have someone to go home to if you don’t find someone at a party.

FRIENDS FOR NECESSITY — This friend may not have that much in common with Calvin, they may not really get on in day to day life, but they are always there to get high, attend a party or do something dumb. an easy person to talk to when they’re both bored and wanna get out.

HIS YOUNGER SISTER — If anybody fancies a second character, I’m always down to have Calvins sister in the roleplay. They can either get along or not, we’ll just figure out the details.

EX FRIENDS — Used to be close but now aren’t, plenty of reasons as to why.

ENEMIES — Despise each other, seeing this person literally makes Calvins blood boil. Possibly sexual tension too if that would work, if not, they can just fight a lot.

WILL THEY / WON’T THEY — Lots of leading on and teasing each other, maybe they both think they’re stringing the other along but it turns out neither of them are interested? Maybe they start out not interested and it backfires later, by that time the other could’ve lost interest.

ANY OTHER IDEAS YOU THINK WILL WORK !

...005. ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.

Calvin is bisexual but heteroromantic, so any sexual-based connections can be taken by any gender.

Calvins Pinterest can be located here. Please note that it contains triggers for alcohol, drugs, blood & violence.

#chb.intro

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roman-writing · 5 years ago

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two, across (7/8)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Lysithea von Ordelia

Rating: T

Wordcount: 5,181

Summary: Lysithea can barely keep afloat under the workload of giving undergrad lectures and finishing off her PhD thesis. Meanwhile Dr. Hilda V. Goneril is somehow both the laziest person as well as the most successful young professor she has ever known. It’s absolutely aggravating.

Author’s Note: Please be aware that the previous chapter has adult content, but that this chapter does not.

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

Spring has officially arrived. The mornings still coat the pavement in frost, but it is quick to melt. Usually Lysithea would need to pick her way with care across the slick sidewalk on her way to the train station. It is easier when walking with Hilda, who somehow never loses her footing despite the fact that she wears nothing but the most outrageous heels.

Lysithea will never understand why Hilda bothers with heels, anyway. It’s not like she needs the extra height.

Most importantly, it is now warm enough that Hilda has insisted on getting everything she drinks in iced format. She cannot abide weather that is too hot or too cold, and so she pretends that it is neither one way nor the other by ordering food and beverages that do not suit. While Hilda starts ordering iced coffees with vibrantly coloured straws, Lysithea sticks to her mochas with extra marshmallows.

What surprises Lysithea most about the last month is how little has actually changed. Somehow she had expected a romantic relationship to involve far more change, but her routine has remained relatively intact. Indeed, Hilda has managed to incorporate herself as seamlessly into Lysithea's life as she had when they first started hanging out.

Perhaps that’s just Hilda. Perhaps other people would have required more effort. But Hilda is easy to love.

Hilda lets Lysithea hold onto the crook of her arm as they walk to work. Lysithea feels her feet slip beneath her, and has to grip Hilda's arm tighter. Her free hand holds her usual coffee. She is lucky to not lose a marshmallow from the lid by the time they make it inside the University building. It is a relief to finally ride the elevator up to the seventh floor.

"As much as I hate summer, I can't wait for spring to finally be over," Lysithea grumps as they step out of the elevator.

"So I can finally take you swimsuit shopping?" Hilda asks.

Lysithea glares as she bends down to pick up the newspaper from the floor. "No."

"No to the reason? Or no to swimsuit shopping entirely?"

Pursing her lips, Lysithea says, "Only if I get veto rights. I don't want you to dress me in some horrible bikini."

"How could you be dating me for nearly six months, and still think so poorly of my tastes?"

"We've only been dating for one month."

"Not true. I'm counting all those other months before we boned as dating, because we were literally dating. Just without sex."

Lysithea stops outside her office door. "I see the delivery boy came early this morning."

One of Edelgard's care packages is waiting outside her office. It's large enough that it reaches almost to her knees, and she wouldn't be able to wrap her arms around it if she tried.

"Could you, please -?"

Hilda is already handing over her coffee. "I'm on it."

Lysithea quickly unlocks her office door and opens it before taking the iced coffee from Hilda. "Thank you."

"Brawn is one of the many many benefits I can provide you."

"I already said 'thank you.'"

"Yeah, and I will also accept a kiss as payment."

With ease, Hilda picks up the heavy package. She carts it inside, and sets it down gently on a cleared corner of Lysithea's desk. Then she turns to Lysithea and leans down slightly, pointing at her own cheek and turning her face aside.

Faking a much put upon sigh, Lysithea puts down her mocha and kisses Hilda’s cheek. As Hilda starts to straighten however, Lysithea puts a hand on the back of her neck and tugs her down for a proper kiss. It tastes of coffee and marshmallows.

“I should do favours for you more often,” Hilda says when she straightens with a grin.

Lysithea hands back her coffee. “And here I thought you’d be the one trying to get me to do everything for you.”

“You’re still buying my coffee every morning, aren’t you?” Hilda waggles her iced coffee, and drops into the spare seat.

“Only because your rental prices are very competitive.”

Opening up one of her desk drawers, Lysithea pulls out a pair of scissors. While she is cutting through the liberal amounts of tape sealing the package, Hilda starts on the crossword. She slurps at her iced coffee and fills in the first few easy clues. Lysithea sits and pulls the now open box towards both her and Hilda.

The first thing that catches her attention is that there are two letters at the top of the package, rather than the usual one. The first letter is what she has come to expect from Edelgard over the years. A brief handwritten note listing the box’s contents, and expressing her warmest affection.

Lysithea opens up the second letter, and scans the first line.

'Lysithea, if you are reading this, please stop and give the letter to Hilda.'

Blinking in surprise, Lysithea stops reading. She holds the letter across the table. "It's for you."

With a curious hum around the straw, Hilda takes the letter. She sits back in her chair, her eyes moving rapidly across the page until she's finished. Lysithea studies the next crossword clue and pretends to not be waiting for Hilda to tell her the letter's contents.

"What's it say?" Lysithea asks, when Hilda is not so forthcoming.

Hilda folds up the letter. She tucks it away into the dark chasm of her purse, where all things inevitably fade into death and obscurity. "She said she included something in here for me."

Lysithea’s eyes widen. "Did she really?"

They look at the box. Then abruptly both she and Hilda start pawing through its contents for whatever it is that Edelgard packed. When they find the right bag - ribbon-wrapt and pale grey, with a tag bearing Hilda’s name in fine calligraphy - Hilda is positively trembling with excitement.

"Ohhhh, she didn't!" Hilda unties the ribbon, and opens the bag to reveal a smaller case in the same colour. She flicks that case open, and pulls out a pair of sunglasses.

At first glance they look identical to the ones Hilda prefers to wear most days. Upon closer inspection however, they are far far nicer. Their frames are - Lysithea presumes - made of actual gold, and with a more geometric shape. Despite the fact that they are inside, Hilda puts them on immediately, and her smile is beaming. The lenses are also pink, but lighter, so that Lysithea can see more of her eyes.

"Friendship officially accepted," Hilda says, picking up her drink and sucking at the straw in self-satisfaction.

"That’s all it takes, is it? Bribery?"

Hilda adjusts the sunglasses on her nose. They match her hair and nails to perfection. "It certainly doesn't hurt."

Lysithea snorts in amusement. “You’re so easily bought.”

“Um? Excuse you. These babies cost five hundred dollars.” Hilda taps the frames with one finger.

“Five hundred dollars?” Lysithea repeats, incredulous. "So, you're telling me that I could've befriended you faster by giving you stupidly expensive gifts?"

Hilda makes a contemplative noise around the straw. "Maybe. But your method was very effective, to be honest."

Still digging through the care package for her favourite biscuits to go with her coffee, Lysithea scrunches up her nose. "You mean my method of griping over a communal newspaper? That inevitably made you want to be my friend?

"Nah. It meant I wanted to jump your bones."

"Just how long were you wanting to do that for?"

"Oh, like, ages." Hilda crosses her legs, so that their ankles brush beneath the table. Lysithea does not pull her foot away. “I thought you told her we were dating?”

“I did. Pretty much the moment that weekend was over.”

“Huh.”

“Why?” Lysithea finds the biscuits and triumphantly starts to open one up to eat. When she leans back in her seat, it means that Hilda’s ankle brushes midway up her calf now.

“Oh, you know.” Hilda waves her drink a little.

“Obviously I don’t know, since I’m asking.”

“She’s very protective of you.”

“Ah. Yes.” Lysithea takes a bite of the outrageously expensive and delicious cookie, chewing thoughtfully. “She can be a bit over the top sometimes.”

Hilda hums a note in the back of her throat. Her eyes peer at Lysithea through the new frames of her pink sunglasses, as piercing as ever. They may have been dating for a month now - or over a month, depending on who asks - but Hilda still would occasionally wear an expression that Lysithea could not read.

And then, out of nowhere, Hilda asks, “Was Edelgard the person you had sex with before?”

Lysithea almost chokes on her biscuit. “What? No!”

"No?" Hilda holds up her thumb and forefinger very close together. She closes one eye and squints. "Not even a little?"

Lysithea can feel the rush of heat to her cheeks. "Well, we -" she clears her throat. "We kissed. Only the once."

It had in fact been the first time Lysithea had ever kissed someone. It had happened when they had been celebrating Lysithea getting into University at the age of sixteen. To them, it had marked a pivotal moment where they could both finally live a life that existed outside of hospitals. They had shared a hospital bed like they used to as kids. They had eaten all the food they were never allowed. They had to hide the bags and wrappers from nurses that stalked down the hallways past their door.

Edelgard had kissed her while they had been stifling their giggles beneath the sheets. It had been painfully sweet, tasting of all the sugary processed foods they had eaten. When they parted, Edelgard had started to say something, but stopped herself. Lysithea never did find out what it was.

And the next day, Lysithea had left on a plane for university. From that point on, she and Edelgard had not spent more than a week in the same city. Their lives were both too busy, diverging.

"It was so long ago," Lysithea adds, shaking her head as if to rid herself of the memory. "Almost ten years. Whatever romantic feelings Edelgard may have had for me are long gone by now. Surely."

Hilda is watching her with an indulgent smile around the straw of her drink. "If you say so."

"Why? Are you jealous?" Lysithea needles in return, expecting Hilda to scoff.

If anything, Hilda seems positively gleeful at the accusation. "Not at all! In fact, you're welcome to invite her around to our place next time she's in town. I’m sure the bed is big enough for three."

This time, Lysithea does in fact choke. She inhales a crumb of biscuit, and it takes her a while to stop coughing. "Please tell me you're joking," she wheezes.

Hilda shrugs. "Listen, I'm into whatever makes you happy. So long as you talk to me about it first, and everyone agrees, then that's fine with me."

"I don't -!" Lysithea sets the biscuit firmly on the table, and says in an overly calm tone. "Thank you, but that won't be necessary. You're enough of a handful as it is."

"Aww... that's the second most romantic thing you've ever said to me." Hilda taps at the newspaper. “Anyway, what’s another word for ‘COMPLEX’? Starts with an ‘L’ and has a ‘B’ in it.”

“How many letters?”

“Twelve.”

“LABYRINTHINE.”

“Perfect.” Hilda writes in the clue. “Have you still not heard from Rhea yet?”

“Not yet,” Lysithea sighs. She eats the last of the biscuit, then pushes the box away, and leans her elbows on the desk. Scooting closer to Hilda, she peers down at the crossword. “It’s only been - what? Two months? My Masters thesis took longer to grade.”

“Nah. Should be any day now. I can feel it in my bones.”

Lysithea wishes she had Hilda’s seemingly boundless confidence.

Another month passes. The mornings are no longer brisk. Lysithea starts to leave her cardigans at home, while Hilda starts to wear clothing that is borderline inappropriate. Lysithea spies Judith squinting at Hilda as they walk by the staff coffee room one morning, as if she were debating if Hilda should be allowed to wear that top to work.

Hilda pulls down her sunglasses and winks as they pass. Without comment, Judith scowls and returns to the sudoku they had left for her in the newspaper. Lysithea knows for a fact that Hilda carefully measures out the exact limits of the dress code with a little ruler just for that reason.

"You're playing with fire there," Lysithea murmurs when they reach the elevators.

Hilda jostles Lysithea's elbow with her own. "Says the one who tried to trick me into taking the sudoku instead of the crossword. Did you think I didn't know Judith would get mad?"

"If your track record is anything to go by, that just means you would've been dating her instead of me."

At that, Hilda's eyes widen behind her pink-tinted lenses. "Oh, shit," she breathes. "You're so right."

Lysithea laughs under her breath. The elevator doors open, and they step inside to go to their respective lecture halls.

More than once, Lysithea considers approaching Judith to ask how her thesis examination is going, even though she knows that Judith - as the Head of the department - has very little to do with the process. Lysithea and Hanneman are both excluded from talking to the examiners at any point, lest the entire thing be declared null and void by the university.

The only other option would be to approach Rhea. To be honest, Lysithea would rather have her liver be eaten by a wild animal. A meeting with Rhea feels about the same.

So, she waits. She teaches her classes. She spends time with Hilda. She texts Edelgard. She has the time to hang out with her old flatmates, now that she is no longer constantly working on completing her thesis. But always the lingering notion scratches at the dark spaces of her mind - that she might have failed. That something has gone wrong. That this shouldn't be taking so long.

It happens on a lazy Saturday morning. Lysithea is seated in bed. The sheets are pulled up around her waist. Her knees are bent, and she rests the folded newspaper on her thighs. Hilda is snoozing beside her, using Lysithea’s arm as a pillow so that she can also see the crossword puzzle.

"What's another word for ‘CONTENT’ that starts with a ‘V’?”

“‘SATISFIED’,” Hilda mumbles against Lysithea’s arm.

Lysithea rolls her eyes. “Yes, because ‘SATISFIED’ starts with a ‘V’.”

“Well, maybe your four down is wrong. You ever think of that?”

Lysithea chews thoughtfully at the cap of the pen. The answer occurs to her like a spark atop tinders. “It’s ‘VOLUME.’”

“I still like my answer better.”

“That’s because you’re still asleep,” Lysithea writes in the answer.

“Weekends,” Hida is adamant, “are for sleeping.”

Lysithea’s phone pings on the windowsill with an email notification.

“C’mon,” Hilda groans as Lysithea sets down the pen to pick up her phone. “I thought we agreed: no work on Saturdays.”

“I know. I know,” Lysithea says, even as she unlocks her phone to glance at who sent her the email.

It may have been from Edelgard. Oftentimes, Edelgard would send emails from her company account, and simply click on the first of Lysithea’s addresses that popped up, rather than select the secondary personal account.

The email application glows white. There are a number of unread messages, but she glances at the most recent one. Her eyes widen. She sits up very straight, which means that Hilda’s head drops suddenly to the bed.

“Yo! What gives?” Hilda mumbles grumpily into her pillow.

Lysithea hasn’t clicked on the email yet. “It’s from Rhea.”

That gets Hilda’s attention. Her head and shoulders lurch upright. She blinks blearily, the light streaming through the windows and painting her naked torso in bright strips. Her hair is a mess. She runs a hand through it as she straightens into a seated position beside Lysithea.

“Go on, then,” Hilda urges her. “Open it.”

Lysithea’s thumb trembles. She holds her breath, and presses the email open.

‘Dear Miss Ordelia,

The Dean’s Office for the Faculty of Biological Sciences and Physical Sciences is pleased to confirm that your doctoral degree has been graded and will be awarded, with a Merit pass for the thesis.

You are now required to lodge one hardbound copy and one electronic copy of your thesis with the main library, as specified by university regulations. As you have applied to attend graduation at the end of this term, this must be done in two weeks time by the latest.

Please find attached copies of the examiners’ reports.

Sincerely,

Rhea, President of the University for Biology and Medicine, Dean, Division of Biological Sciences and Physical Sciences, PhD’

Lysithea stares. Her mouth hangs open in shock. "I've passed."

"With Merit," Hilda says. "And you know what that means. No revisions whatsoever. Just spank and bank."

"Spank and bank," Lysithea repeats, as if in awe.

Hilda snickers at her, but she barely registers it. She's too swept up in the idea that all she has to do now is send her thesis off for printing, fill out a few forms, and then she's done.

“You knooow,” Hilda drawls, pointing at the screen. “She called you ‘Miss’ Ordelia, when really she should’ve called you ‘Doctor’ Ordelia.”

Even the sound of the title - ‘Doctor Ordelia’ feels so surreal - sends a thrill of pleasure shivering down Lysithea’s spine. Still, she sets down her phone and says, “Technically that’s not true. I don’t graduate for another month and a half.”

“Screw that! The literal second I received the news of my thesis results, I refused to answer my brother unless he called me ‘Doctor Goneril’ for a whole month. He was so mad. You should totally make everyone call you ‘Doctor Ordelia’ now. I’ll be the first to start.”

The sound of ‘Doctor Ordelia’ has not lost its magic. Lysithea can feel her face flushing at being referred to as such three times now in less than five minutes.

Hilda notices.

A slow smile spreads across Hilda’s face. “Oooh?” She waggles her finger. “I saw that.”

“Saw what?” Lysithea says.

Gently, Hilda pokes at Lysithea’s still burning cheek. “That. You like being called Doctor.”

“Well, of course I like it. I worked very hard for it.”

“No, I mean - you really like it.” With a grin, Hilda runs her finger down Lysithea’s throat. She traces the neckline of her shirt, pulling on the fabric so that she can peer down Lysithea's pajama top to where she's wearing nothing beneath. “You want to roleplay?”

"You also have a doctorate," Lysithea reminds her, but she doesn’t push Hilda’s hand away.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious, but also please consider: I don't get off on people calling me 'doctor'. You, on the other hand -" Hilda trails off suggestively.

"That's absurd! I don't -! That’s -!" Lysithea goes red, and splutters. “And you and I both know we’re not those kinds of doctors!”

“Oh, Doctor Ordelia,” Hilda says in an overly breathy voice, and drapes herself across Lysithea on the bed. “I’m sooo sick! I need you to perform a very thorough check up STAT.”

Lysithea pushes at Hilda without actually meaning to dislodge her. “I diagnose you with ‘horny and annoying.’”

“And only you can give me the cure, Doctor Ordelia!!”

“You are the worst. The absolute worst. Why do I love you?”

Hilda shrugs, smiling up at her from where she sprawled across Lysithea's lap. "You have exquisite taste.”

A warmth floods Lysithea’s chest, pooling in her stomach. She overflows with it. At first it feels like it stems from the thesis results - months and months and months of pent up anxiety clawing at her gut suddenly released. But then Hilda winks, and the feeling is near overwhelming.

Lysithea leans down to kiss her. "I suppose I do."

None of Lysithea's family attend the graduation ceremony. This does not surprise her. They had not attended any of her other graduation ceremonies in the past. Indeed, the last ceremony she could recall them attending was an embittered stamping of emancipation papers at the local courthouse. And that had not been a 'ceremony' so much as a 'mutual torture session.'

Edelgard rings up to relay her regrets that she is overseas on business, and cannot be there to celebrate with her and Hilda. She sounds distressed over the phone - there is far more background noise than usual on her call - and Lysithea has to assure her multiple times that they can celebrate some other time.

The hall is packed with people on the day. Undergrads and grad students alike line up in their ground floor seats before the stage, while the parents fill all the auditorium seats behind them in great wings. As a member of the faculty, Lysithea sits on the stage with the other academic staff. From her vantage point, she can see everyone in the crowd.

Spotlights streak down from the ceiling; they are blindingly bright. She tries to focus on Seteth, who is acting as the master of ceremonies at the podium.

"Can't believe I'm not allowed to wear my sunglasses to this shindig," Hilda grumbles. She is seated directly to Lysithea's right, while Hanneman and Judith are to Lysithea's left.

"You could've stayed at home today," Lysithea reminds her. "None of your students are graduating."

"And let you graduate without someone taking an obnoxious amount of pictures? What do you take me for? A buffoon??"

Even as she says it, Hilda clutches her phone as though clutching at pearls strung round her neck. To drive her point home, she turns the phone horizontally and snaps a picture of Lysithea.

Lysithea glowers.

Hilda continues taking pictures. "Oh, nice. Just like that. The scowl really captures your glittering personality."

Judith and Hanneman are starting to notice that Hilda is - predictably - starting a scene while Seteth welcomes everyone to the ceremony. Judith shoots them a look of disapproval. Lysithea can feel her cheeks heating up.

"Is now really the appropriate time for this?" Lysithea whispers furiously.

"Just you wait until you're up there getting capped."

"Oh, dear god."

Seteth's cool-toned words issue through the microphone, while Lysithea and Hilda engage in a wrestling match over the phone. They quiet down in their seats only when the undergrads start to be called up to collect diplomas. The names are read out in alphabetical order. Rhea stands to Seteth's side, handing over each degree and shaking every hand.

It takes ten minutes to get to the 'B's. Hilda sinks lower in her seat with a dramatic sigh. "We're going to be here until the heat death of the universe."

Nudging Hilda's elbow with her own, Lysithea points to another faculty member a few rows behind them. "Don't be obvious, but isn't that the new department head of the Divinity School? I thought they were on some sort of Sabbatical."

Hilda turns completely around in her seat to stare in the most overt way possible. "Oh, you mean Byleth Eisner? I'd heard they took a vow of silence or something."

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious. Have you ever heard them talk?”

Lysithea opens her mouth to respond, but pauses. “Well,” she admits. “No.”

Hilda gestures to her and then to Byleth as if that proves her point.

“Oh, shut up.”

Byleth notices them, and waves blankly in their direction. Hilda waves back, but Lysithea drags her hand down and turns them around to face the audience.

Hilda takes the opportunity to lace their fingers together. She pulls Lysithea's hand into her lap. Lysithea does not complain in the slightest.

By the time Seteth drones through the undergraduates and reaches the grad students, Hilda is bored out of her mind. She toys with Lysithea's fingers in her lap. She whips out her phone and challenges Lysithea to a game of chess, despite muttering adamantly that chess is a game for nerds and losers.

Half an hour later, the two of them are engrossed in a battle of wits and wills. Neither seems the obvious victor, and Lysithea is all but sweating beneath her graduation gown.

Hilda takes a black knight piece, and smirks. "You can always just give up, you know."

"Over my dead body."

When Lysithea does not immediately make a move, Hilda's smile turns smug. "Want to spice things up with a bet?"

Lysithea lifts her eyebrows, but does not look up from the board. "Oh?"

"Well, I figured we would be celebrating later this evening. Because reasons. So how about -?"

"You want to wager for sexual favours," Lysithea finishes for her.

Hilda's eyes gleam wickedly in the harsh light slanting across the stage. "How'd you guess?"

"Because you're so obvious." Even so, Lysithea sticks out her hand. They are hunched behind a few other faculty members, hiding Hilda's phone from view. "Fine. You're on."

The moment Hilda seizes Lysithea's hand to seal the deal, Lysithea moves her queen across the screen to take the last remaining white bishop. Slowly, satisfyingly, Hilda's grin slides from her face in realisation.

"Checkmate."

"Why, you sneaky little -"

"And now for our doctoral students," Seteth's voice says through the microphone.

Hearing that, Lysithea nearly jumps out of her skin. She sits bolt upright, but is still too short to be seen over the person sitting in front of her. Adjusting the gold and white hood around her shoulders, she listens carefully for her name to be called.

There are only four doctoral students graduating today, and Lysithea is last in the alphabet. When Seteth says her name and her thesis title, her ears are abuzz.

She rises to her feet. The lights flood her vision. It is difficult to see, and she has to lift the gown away from her feet to keep from tripping. It feels like walking through a dream, like the ground will yawn open beneath her feet and she will fall awake in her own bed. She barely even registers Hilda taking pictures all the while.

At the head of the stage, Rhea towers all in white, wearing an elaborate gold and red hood, and a scarlet cap. In her hands, she holds an identical cap. It is different to the graduate and undergraduate caps; it is squashy and velvet, and the gold tassel circles all around the brim.

Even now, Rhea's smile is cold and distant as a star. She refrains from showing any teeth. Lysithea does not need to duck for Rhea to place the cap atop her head. It feels like it will immediately slip to the floor. Somehow, miraculously it stays put.

Rhea hands over the diploma in one hand, and reaches out to clasp Lysithea's hand with the other. "Congratulations, Doctor Ordelia."

Lysithea flushes at the title, and Rhea's smile broadens almost imperceptibly. It is the first time anyone except Hilda has called her that. With a final chilly squeeze of her hand, Rhea lets her go.

Seteth nods at Lysithea as she passes on the way back to her seat. The entire row of the biological sciences department waits her her return - Hanneman flashing her a thumbs up - but only Hilda is standing at the end of the row.

Diploma in hand, Lysithea allows herself to be wrapped up in a warm congratulatory hug. Hilda kisses her cheek and murmurs for her ear alone, “Well done.”

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur. Lysithea vaguely remembers reading and rereading every line of her diploma as if trying to decipher a foreign language. The diploma is gilded in enough gold to feed a starving village. She traces every line with her fingertips.

Finally, it is over. The faculty are permitted to leave first, filing out of two separate doors in the wings. The students soon follow, pouring out onto the street until the pavement is awash with people.

Hilda leads her out, jostling her way further down the street in an attempt to find someplace less crowded. In her four inch heels and her far more colourful overseas graduation robes, she would be impossible for Lysithea to lose even of they weren't holding hands.

"Lysithea!"

Glancing around in confusion at the sound of her name, Lysithea tugs at Hilda's hand to get to her to stop.

There, striding through the crowd, is a very frazzled looking Edelgard. Hubert looms at strangers to get them to move, parting the mass of people like a shark through a shoal of fish. Edelgard has a folded up newspaper beneath her arm, and dark rings beneath her eyes.

“Sorry I’m late," Edelgard says when she manages to reach them, looking far more harried than her usual poise. "I rescheduled a meeting to be here, but the jet needed to refuel.”

Lysithea barely hears the words. She rushes forward and envelops Edelgard in a tight hug that makes her stagger back a step. It also knocks Lysithea's squashy cap loose. Hilda catches it by the tassel, and places it back on Lysithea's head.

Edelgard looks at Hilda over Lysithea's shoulder. "Do you have the pictures?"

With a jaunty wave of her phone, Hilda says, "So so many pictures."

"Thank you."

Pulling back from the hug slightly, Lysithea frowns at Edelgard. "Wait a second. All those pictures are your fault?"

Edelgard looks guilty. "Well, I was going to ask, but Hilda offered, and -"

“Alright, you two.” Hilda interrupts. She drapes an arm around each of them, and begins steering them down the street. “I’m starving, I look cute, and I believe Hubert has booked us in somewhere nice and fancy for me to show off my new outfit. So, let's not waste any time. I’m assuming everyone here is also on the ‘no drinking' bandwagon?”

“I think for today I’ll make an exception,” Edelgard shoots Hilda a grateful glance. Then, noticing Lysithea watching them, she smiles at Lysithea from beneath Hilda’s arm. “Just one drink, though.”

Lysithea nods towards the paper still held in Edelgard’s hand. “Anything important in the news?"

For a moment, Edelgard looks in confusion down at the paper. Then she shakes her head, and hands it to Lysithea. “Someone told me you hate having to fight over the crossword in the shared staffroom newspaper, so I bought you a lifetime subscription.”

Lysithea takes the paper in the same hand that holds her diploma. The front page is the same as ever. The world is falling apart, political crises cropping up everywhere, precarious markets teetering on the edge of another GFC. And yet, the crossword puzzle is blank and waiting, and Lysithea knows that Hilda always keeps a spare pen in her bag.

Notes:

1) if this feels finished it's because chapter 8 is going to be an epilogue from Hilda's POV. Stay tuned.

2) This story isn’t officially an ot3 or anything. I just like the idea of Edelgard being Lysithea’s first love in this AU. The two of them remain friends, and ultimately Lys does end up solely with Hilda.

That being said…....I’m always down with the idea that Lysithea has TWO hands...

#lysithea/hilda #hilda valentine goneril #lysithea von ordelia #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #roman writes #two across

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cupidmarwani-archive · 6 years ago

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Roaring (3/?)

Olivia’s covers have already been turned down at the corners when she returns to her room in the early reaches of the morning. She hates to stay up so late, but things need her supervision and there’s a part of her that needed to ensure Alex didn’t actually find someone else to ease her way through the night. She wants to slip between them, but there are rules she must abide by if she wants to remember where and when she is upon waking.

She doesn’t bother to fold her clothes or hang them up, nor does she put them with the laundry for the maid to do later. Instead, everything winds up in a pile on the soft carpet before she buries herself beneath silky blankets and sheets and grabs for the wine she keeps in the little dresser at her bedside. It’s expensive, even by her standards, but she deserves the extra pampering on a night like this she had intended to use to lose herself, but instead found her brain buried once again beneath a sheet of rubble she hasn’t quite learned how to dispel yet beyond just waiting and drinking.

Maybe she’d be happier if she wasn’t so alone. She has Alex, but at the same time she doesn’t and never can. They’re both waiting for the world to crash down around them for good. Cheers to the ending that can’t be far off now, she thinks, lifting the heavy bottle to her lips. She doesn’t like the taste of wine, is the thing, but it’s more tolerable than most others and she can only stand so many bubblies before she feels like the air accumulating is going to kill her.

When she shuts her eyes, everything turns back to the trenches and the blood and the way the soldiers treated her. She hated it so much, but she couldn’t leave. One cannot simply unenlist. And who would listen to her, anyways? None of them wanted to be there, and she wasn’t even a soldier, but a medic. Worse still, a woman. She thought she knew the limits of cruelty before, but when women are scarce and men are stressed, they seek any way they can to relieve themselves. She was there. She couldn’t stop them.

Olivia takes another gulp of wine and pulls her pillow over her head as if she can suffocate the memories. All she wants to do is go to sleep. At this rate, there’s no point rationing out the wine, and she just drinks as fast as she can until the last drops of it smear over her lips in a mockery of the rouge she refuses to wear.

She means to set it on the nightstand, but misses and it rolls across the carpet until hitting the wall. Then it stops with a dull thud. Olivia stares at the dark bottle, squints at it, studies it, as if it’s going to come back and be magically full again of more liquid medicine. Rafael wouldn’t like this, and neither would Alex, but they don’t know shit about the things she’s looking to escape. Rafael dodged, and Alex didn’t volunteer the way Olivia felt she had to. Neither of them can begin to understand how much Olivia needs it or why.

Of course, now is the time someone knocks on her door. Rafael, most likely, or the boy he’s been fooling around with sent by Raf to check on her. “Go away.” Someone knocks again, more insistently. “I told you to go away!”

Instead of knocking again, her door swings open to reveal Casey, hidden in men’s clothes. It’s not the same way Olivia does it, proudly and in order to communicate how much she resents her given station, but rather a disguise. The clothes are dirty, and Casey’s hair is tucked up messily into a ratty cap that must’ve come out of a dumpster. It’s one way to disguise herself, Olivia supposes, because someone looking for her would expect the stylish choices she was known for in New York, and not something as drab and boxy as this.

“Alex said you weren’t coming until next week.”

“Plans changed.”

Casey comes in further and shuts the door behind her with her work boots. They’re too big and slide around her feet a bit as she comes all the way to sit on Olivia’s bed. At the very least, she makes no mention of the bottle of wine on the floor filling the air with its perfume, or the fact that Olivia’s clearly bare beneath the blankets. Instead, she peels off her own coat and holds out her forearms for examination.

Little blue and black bruises litter the skin, not too fresh but not too old either. The hat comes off next, letting down greasy hair and revealing dried blood matted against the side of her head. Without the shade of its brim, what Olivia had assumed to be shadow from the cap turns out to be a black eye.

“Jesus.”

Casey narrows her eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“What do you want me to say? He beat the hell outta you, Case. This is the kinda thing he could actually get arrested for!”

“He won’t be. But don’t worry, yeah? Did you read the papers this morning?”

“Casey-”

“Did you?” she repeats. “The papers, Liv, did you read them?”

She shakes her head. She doesn’t read the newspaper. Anything she needs to know, Rafael or Alex will tell her, and she has better things to do than stain her fingers with muddy ink and smear the headline proclaiming how dangerous suffrage will be if it’s fully established. ‘

“I shoved him, is all. I didn’t mean to do it that hard. I took as much of his cash as I could get my hands on, bought a ticket, and came right here. I just thought maybe I could stay here? Just for a little bit, I promise, until I figure out what to do next. Or at least get these marks to go away. So please, can I stay just for now?”

As if Olivia would ever kick her out, even if her husband hadn’t beat her, or Casey hadn’t killed him. She nods, ready to offer pajamas and directions to one of the many spare rooms, but in a heartbeat, Casey is stripping out of her clothes and leaving them on the carpet, just like Olivia had less than an hour ago, before she tried to drink her mind away.

“Hey, hey, woah-”

“Please?”

Olivia should say no. But she’s tired, and she feels a little too alone (although it’s her own fault for refusing Alex), and she’s barely even spoken to Casey since before the war. They had been something, before Olivia and Alex began to cling to each other in the new society burning brightly around them.

The covers shift as Casey slips between them, and if Olivia was more sober, she’d be careful. But she isn’t. She lets Casey press up against her, wraps an arm around her in return. Her skin was smoother, before. Less scarred. Olivia’s is the same. However, even if it wasn’t, she wouldn’t complain because they’re meant to protect, care for, and uplift instead of providing the same pain so much society thrusts upon them constantly.

“I’m sorry I was gone when you came home.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Casey’s hands move under the covers, nervously pressing back and forth against each other. “What does Alex mean to you? I know you take care of her, but…”

It’s a million dollar question Olivia isn’t sure how to answer, even if she wanted to. There’s something, and they do belong to each other, but whether she should admit it and, if so, how, is the most pressing issue. She pushes Alex away almost as much as she doesn’t. One moment she’s doting and the next she’s acting like the bratty but also tender suffragette is as useful as the candles on the dresser she never lights.

“She means something.”

Casey hums and settles into the covers further, paying no mind to the way Olivia reaches to turn off the lights for a good night’s rest. Before she goes all the way under, she skims her sleepy lips across Olivia’s shoulder. She sleeps well, deep, and long. Olivia, even full of wine, cannot seem to keep her eyes shut very long before all the memories come flooding back.

#roaringfic #this isn't v cabenson its mostly liv and casey #fic #mine

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redefinethegrind · 6 years ago

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Borderline Personality Disorder, The Will To Power, Spirituality, and Happiness: tying it all together

I am writing this manuscript on Borderline Personality Disorder because I want to connect to others with the same diagnosis. I am a provider with the diagnosis and I have an intimate understanding of what my brain goes through on a day to day basis. It is fascinating to me that something as simple as going to the gas station and buying a coffee could cause so much anxiety and grief. It has, however tied me up. I have spent hours trying to gather the courage to understand the perfect way to obtain a cup of coffee and it has impacted the flow of more than one of my days on this earth. That is ridiculous, but seemingly unavoidable to me when my anxiety, obsessive thought, splitting, and mood imbalances all hit at once.

My perception of self has never equaled the perception that others tell me that they see. People around me assure me that I am funny, charismatic, outgoing, caring, and a good person. In my head I often feel that I am disgusting, pathetic, weak, and a loser. I feel like a parasite sometimes while I fully strive to be a giving human being. That is the faulty wiring of my brain that I adopted sometime in early childhood. I have formed my personality around hating myself and feeling like I am never good enough. I don’t even know what I am trying to measure up to.

Formerly I thought that feeling never good enough was a positive thing for me. I thought it would push me to achieve more as I rose in life. I wanted to be the greatest human being in the world and I hated myself for not being that person already. I set an unreasonably high bar and laughed at myself when I failed to achieve success. If I failed at any task I would use it as evidence that I was indeed the failure I had come to know. If I succeeded I would write it off as something that should have been done better or more efficiently. It was unreasonable and counterproductive to my being to have those thoughts, but I could not make them go away.

I began seeking solace in material possessions at some point in my life. I was buying expensive cars and bigger homes. The material things would distract me from my inner conflict and pain. Ultimately, I realized that material possessions can never fill the void that I was feeling. Human connection is the only thing that can satiate that craving. I am indeed a human being. BPD has made me truly feel alien at times though and unable to connect with others. That is a fallacious thought and I now recognize it as such.

I have had days where I look around and everything seems foreign to me. During periods of stress and duress I would swear that people’s faces change and even the colors of my surroundings change. My inner voice takes on a different tone. My perception of the world warps with my mood. I feel it intensely and deeply. I am not making it up or crying for attention as I was led to believe as a child. My world genuinely changes based on my mood and faculties. That very subjective nature of my own reality makes this personality disorder difficult to pin down and properly treat regardless of the time and energy I dedicate.

This had led me to studying the very nature of consciousness and reality. I have read books by Jeffrey Schwartz and Caroline Leaf on neuroplasticity. I have studied quantum mechanics, relativity, anatomy, physiology, and psychology seeking concrete reasons for my sensation and perception. I became familiar with Deepak Chopra’s views on tying quantum mechanics to our consciousness. I started to see that I was not alone in viewing this reality as a very mailable and ever-changing substrate. I saw that humanities greatest minds were struggling with the same questions and looking on with both awe and frustration.

I wanted nothing more than to understand what my perception of consciousness, space, and time, truly boiled down to and to share my experience with other human beings. The kinds of thoughts I have are not typically talked about over morning coffee or the evening’s spaghetti. My thoughts are sometime uniquely Ernie ‘isms and I must accept that. Having BPD makes me immediately feel lonely though as I struggle to connect with others on concepts and ideas. I am well adapted at helping others in my professional life because I have an outlined task at hand and an end goal. I actually think my personality disorder makes me a better provider in some ways because knowing the type of person I am, I do not pass judgement. I am able to relate to others and feel empathy. Because my emotions are felt so extremely I am able to understand the emotions of others.

One maladaptive behavior I have taken to over the years is stifling my emotions completely on the surface. I have found myself to be suppressing the expression of my emotions to the point of operating in a robot-like fashion. I remember actually consciously choosing this process as a young child, as young as 5 years old maybe. I chose to suffocate emotions of anger and to sit in a hallway for hours on end one day. As I remember it I was at a relative’s house I did not want to be at and instead of participating in any social activities I sat in a hallway staring at the wall. Even at that young age I would sometimes skip breakfast and lunch as to isolate intentionally and not participate in normal activities. This went from a conscious decision as an early child to a subconscious reaction as an adult. Where the switch happened I don’t know, but now I catch myself avoiding social situations, meals, or performing simple daily tasks without having ever thought about it. It will be something that another person will point out. “Aren’t you hungry?” and I will think “Hmm, I don’t know, let me think about it… I guess I am hungry, I didn’t eat lunch.” Sometimes I will find a reason. It is like I throw a subconscious temper tantrum. I don’t even recognize myself doing it at this point and I wish I could control it. I am now monitoring my mood and looking for cues in order to correct the maladaptive behavior. This is strange as I am 33 years old.

I recall an experience in preschool when I was asked to sit in time out for coming at another kid with a plastic chainsaw. I took my time out of two minutes as I remember it, without fuss, then I would not get up on time in. I refused to get up for the rest of the day in fact. I made the punishment intentionally extreme as a choice. I remember choosing to not stand up as an act of self-disparaging rebellion. I remember thinking “I can sit here all day in time out just to show these people it doesn’t bother me.” As an adult I evaluate the behavior. I am thinking it was a way for me to say “I can’t be broken by your punishment.” I took a strong nihilist stance early on. Rules were ridiculous to me and whether or not I was supposed to suffer I would refuse to. I think I was trying to show them that punishment would be useless. They could not change me. They could not break me. I was in charge. I think I needed to feel in control. I believe it was overcompensation for a life that was truly out of my control. That is the best theory I can put together as an adult.

This sense of loss of control and my struggle to maintain a sense of it went on to define many aspects of my personality. Perhaps I was wanting that preschool teacher to look at me and say, “enough is enough, you don’t deserve to be punished” and to look at the ridiculous idea of changing another sentient being’s social behavior. I never understood why someone else could make rules or boundaries that I had to abide by. I think even as a young child I found them to be repulsive and insulting… arbitrary at best.

Was this manipulation? Was I truly engaging in a mind game with an adult at such a young age? In my mind the internal voice kept telling me to sit at that table in time out. To just wait it out. To see what happens. Who would break first? Not Ernie. That is what I did. It was a small event that essentially meant nothing, but in my mind, I can still relive it and feel the same emotions I felt then. I needed to show these people that though they could physically put me in restraints, it didn’t change a damn thing.

As an adult I saw the same behavior in a woman I call my twin. She seems to have many of the same thought processes and beliefs that I do. She struggles with boundaries and guidelines. She finds life to be mundane at best most days. She wonders why in the hell someone with so much mental energy has to be caged in such a dull environment. I stood in her way during a minor mincing of words we were having. I blocked her path to exit our shared kitchen. I could see her anger building. She was absolutely not going to give me a single answer at that time no matter how much I demanded it. She was appalled that I could stand in her way and physically overpower her. Though I could block her way, I could not get her to speak a single word. I could not break her. She was in control. She struggled and longed to have the ultimate sense of control. She could be physically restrained but even her living twin, the person she connects with deepest on this planet, was not going to be able to pull a single utterance from her conscious mind if she didn’t will it so. She had to win.

I saw myself in her that day. I saw an absolutely unbreakable spirit. What twinsie and I share is beyond physical, sexual, or psychological. It is deep and I cannot label it. I have never seen it in two other people. It is uniquely ours to share. We have something that the rest of this world could only dream of. I am the one person that she will ultimately break down for in this world and I am proud to be the one person that will break down for her. To take away those secure walls and expose our vibrant inner beauty. I love seeing her stand true and proud, a defiant lotus that the rest of this world doesn’t have access to. I am actually driven by being the one person that she lets in to her secretive world. That is how I define true love. I will absolutely break down and give up my sense of security and become vulnerable to share the ultimate connection with my true twin flame. I feel as though I long to both break through her every wall and to allow her to simultaneously break through every one of mine.

That is something I was seeking in this life and BPD was limiting me from sharing. A connection. The world felt alien. Until I felt someone with the same splitting, angst, core values, and pain I didn’t think I would ever find someone who would understand me. That feeling of loneliness was overwhelming and was defining my life. It left me standing alone in a crowded room.

Back to childhood, I look to an incident on the school yard. I was dangling from the monkey bars. I remember kicking my friend directly in the testicles intentionally while playing “chicken.” In my mind I knew exactly what I was doing, and I intended to kick him in the most painful area possible to drop him from that collection of steel. I was a child, I don’t know why I wanted to hurt him, but my thought was “I need to hurt this person right now.” I am still friends with him today, his name is Josh. We went on to discuss spiritual matters as adults. That day on the school yard I brought my leg forth and connected as intended right in his groin. I then remember the teacher coming to me and telling the other children that it was an accident. I bought into her story and lied about my intentions. I claimed I did it on accident. I took the teachers story and went with it. I saw that I could get away with murder. I saw that given the right social performance I could do anything and spin it as something it wasn’t.

Unfortunately, that ‘social performance’ aspect became central to my childhood. I felt like an actor much of the time. I was playing a role to get the results I wanted from every given situation. I never let even my family know the real me. I only opened up to a few core friends, and even then, I never fully opened up and showed my real core. I felt vulnerable if people were able to figure me out, so I always acted. I would pretend to be engaged in some boring TV show just to throw people off of understanding my true interests. It was like I knew I was surrounded by people that I really didn’t want to connect with so I would connect with them on things I didn’t care about so that I could then have false relationships with them. By maintaining the superficial relationship, I was in control. If I ever felt comfortable enough I would break down the superficial connection and allow a true, deep connection to exist. I can count on one hand the number of people I have ever started that process with. The people I would feel comfortable truly connecting with were special and I would show them my true vulnerabilities and interests in music, art, video games, and science on my own terms. To give them some sense of control in getting to know me was my ultimate way of letting them know that I truly loved them.

I don’t know why I complicated my social interactions so much, but I did. It was elaborate and took a lot of my thought process. It continues to do so and I do it now without conscious thought or effort. The truth is, I am able to ‘bond’ with anyone on just about anything because I have become a chameleon at blending in when needed. I can fake being interested in just about anything when needed and people automatically see me as their friend. The truth is, deep down I have not connected and with most of those people I share surface level connection I do not wish to have anything deeper. I do not wish to let them in. I genuinely have come to love all people and I actually enjoy getting to know them, but initially that wasn’t the case. Early on I simply played a role and felt completely detached emotionally from almost everyone I came into contact with. I now get my sense of well-being from being able to keep everyone calm and genuinely liking me. I don’t know why, but my personality has developed in that fashion. It seems that if someone has a problem with me I genuinely internalize it and let it gnaw at my gut deep down. On the surface, however, I have made a habit of acting completely unphased by anything no matter how harsh. It is like I feel one thing and exhibit another on the surface. My personality is complex and maybe even inappropriate.

I knew at some point my truth was my own truth. I could easily manipulate reality one way or another even as a child. I found myself in deep thought over emotions and relationships. If something was not going my way as a child I would do something like go out of my way to put myself in an obviously vulnerable position in order to gain some leverage in the form of getting an adults attention and therefor gain control over my environment when the adult found me to be in a precarious situation and would come to my rescue whether it be mentally or physically. I could use my projection of deep sadness to get adults to feel sorry for me. I could use a projection of being excited about something that everyone else found repulsive as a way to get people to back out of my personal space and think I was weird. I was in control. I was letting people in who I loved and pushing people away who I didn’t. I was learning more about those people while they learned nothing about me. It was a guaranteed safe place.

I now see my eccentric likes and dislikes as an elaborate filtering mechanism. I would put up a wall of weirdness and if someone actually tolerated getting through all of the weird parts of Ernie they had earned the right to get to know the true Ernie. They could get through and see that I am indeed a loving, caring, compassionate, gentle, altruistic human being. But first they had to wade through a sea of dead baby jokes, menstrual blood tinged cottage cheese and conspiracy theories that Ernie also finds amusing.

The good energy that makes me up is also capable of appreciating the dark side of life and finding it amusing. It is important to me that my true friends see that and know that all in all I am a good person but that I can laugh and muse at the darkness. That having no boundaries and no limits is simply my way of being truly open to experiencing every aspect of life. That being able to test my power one day doesn’t mean I want to be in control, because the very next day I might test my vulnerability. I want to experience life to it’s fullest and most extreme. I am wired that way. I want to feel fully in control while knowing fully well that ultimately I am powerless.

Looking back, it seems like a child’s cry for attention. As an adult I think that sense of control over emotional relationships gave me comfort in a way. I was more comfortable knowing that I was leading the adults on and letting them think I was a certain person when in my mind I was not that guy. I am trying to honestly explore that feeling and to see if I am indeed driven by the want to control and manipulate or if this is truly involuntary… or at least to explore what it is like living in a mind with BPD

In my first marriage I connected fairly quickly with a quiet girl who had a somewhat bumpy past. Growing up she was also left to fend for herself at times, at least that is what I gathered from the stories she told me. I connected with this girl and we spent much time together. We learned each other’s personalities, likes, and dislikes. I was not always honest in the beginning. I would, for example, say I didn’t like sea food when in reality I loved eating fish. I would choose to not like it because she didn’t like it. I would lie to connect with her. That went on for the first few months of our young relationship. I was 17 years old when I met this girl. I was still figuring out who I was, and I was forming it with another person around a process of manipulating in the context of borderline personality disorder.

The relationship had ups and downs, but early on I was the first to say “I Love You.” I was the first to make the extreme moves and then use my brain to fill in the rest later, trying to logically connect the dots. I saw this girl in a hallway in high-school and my first thoughts were “could you ever marry her, would you be with her forever, would she be the love of your life?” I immediately began planning to go all in with her after we first agreed that we were dating. I escalated things quickly and vowed to spend eternity with her because she gave me the time of day. Most people don’t think like that. I did. I was all in day one. I also at the same time felt like I would destroy her life by letting her get with such a loser like me. I wanted to love her and to save her by pushing her far away from me. The selfish part of me needed her, the selfless part of me needed her to be free.

I started off spending my every waking moment obsessing about this girl and ultimately did go on to marry her, but in the process, something strange happened as I did not understand my brain at the time. I would get comfortable with her and things would be going well, and I would assume that I was not doing enough or good enough for her. I would then create tension and angst in the relationship and pressure her away from me. I would push and push. Because I was not perfect. I would always assume that there was some flaw or fault in myself that just wasn’t good enough and I would use it against us. I would tell her time and time again that I was not good enough for her and that I was a pile of garbage and that she could do better. That was my depression seeping in and it was not a valid thought. The example that I read from a person with BPD that really stuck with me is this: “I could see a person begging for money. If I didn’t give them money I would kick myself for being selfish. If I did give them money I would kick myself for not giving enough.” It was like no matter what I gave it was never enough. I was wired to believe that my all out best effort was going to fall short and therefor I was doomed to be a piece of trash.

The pattern of constantly self-loathing and memorizing disparaging remarks created emotional turmoil and I would then push my partner away and reel her back in. This happened over and over again. It was exhausting. It resulted in significant damage. My personality was unstable enough that she never knew what she was going to get. She spent her time going out of her way to keep me from going insane and I constantly tested boundaries. What would she truly tolerate? Did she love me enough to put up with this? Unfortunately, this also enabled the borderline behavior to exacerbate. It went from something that I was doing at age 5 as an experiment to something that I couldn’t control as an adult. My emotions had become out of my control and they were being used to shape relationships in my life. It was chaotic and seemed a bit peculiar when compared with the way other people seemed to feel.

I have often felt alien and alone in this world. I felt that other people could not possibly feel so disconnected to their fellow man while fully knowing that they are indeed human themselves. Now reading the literature, I am encouraged that many people feel just like me. Alien. Robotic. Foreign. They have unknowingly programmed themselves to inappropriately use emotions to influence relationships as some sort of response to stress. The problem with BPD is, by the time it is active and roaring, it is too late to look back. It becomes the norm. The ego is established and without a great deal of introspection, guilt, pain, and rethatching, identifying these things as maladaptive can seem undefeatable. As a young adult I lost control of my emotions quite a bit and I was a bit all over the place. I didn’t recognize why, or even see it as a problem. It was just me. I would have outbursts of anger at others, at myself, at friends, and at family. Relationships would seem to be crashing to me when others had no clue what I was even focusing on. I would sometimes just stay quiet and disappear. I remember that was my way of quitting bands or quitting jobs… I would simply stop showing up, stop answering phonecalls, and just cease to exist. I would back out of relationships rather than face the conflict of admitting that perhaps it was time that I moved on.

I didn’t want to face the conflict in person, eye to eye. I didn’t want to let anyone down. I truly wanted to give my all to make everyone happy, but at the same time, a part of me was dying inside by continuing to be fake. I felt like an actor. I felt like I couldn’t simply stand up sometimes and say “this music we are making isn’t what I want to make” and walk away. I wanted to be in control of the writing and creative process but instead I would remain silent in the background playing drums and flexing to keep others happy. All the while, my unhappiness was boiling over and being exhibited through my avatar (as I have come to call my body) in silence and palpable disconnection. Where other people wanted to make music to make crowds of people think they were cool, I wanted to make music that connected spiritually with myself. Sometimes my peers would view me as a weird guy just wanting to make weird music for the sake of being different, a cry for attention perhaps. That wasn’t the case. I wanted to write the kind of music that truly expressed how I was feeling.

I wanted to the go on to perform that music on my own terms in my own way for others to either appreciate or reject. I longed to connect to others through that music, but if they couldn’t appreciate it that was okay too. I felt disconnected from my bandmates who simply wanted to perform a couple of cover songs for a room full of drunks. I was not there to entertain, I was there to teach and experience. That is what interested me and ultimately why I wanted to quit every band I was ever in. I have not been able to find another person who feels the same way, of wanting to create something that we can all connect on at a visceral level.

I would give my all to writing and performing drum and vocal parts for some of the bands I was in over the years. I would try to contribute my musings through ironic lyrics and nuanced drum fills. All the while I felt underappreciated. I felt like I was just a guy who was there to fill in where any drummer could just sit in. I felt that my views on the world and lyrics weren’t taken seriously, as much as they were written in satire, that is the seriousness that I intended. To satirically point out the ridiculous nature of heavy metal’s backbone which is isolating and pushing people away more and more as they seek the next “legit” band and scoff at “posers.” I wanted to bring these people together and give them a sense of “maybe we’re all in the same boat and we should just have a good time” rather than worrying about how freaking gay breakdowns and hardcore dancing was.

I lost music somewhere along the way because I could never find like-minded people to play it with. I wanted to simply connect. I wanted to make music for the sake of music, connection, love, solidarity, and to express our feelings with the human experience. I didn’t want to replicate what other people were already doing. I didn’t want to entertain a room full of people on a Friday night. I didn’t want a free bar tab or a backstage pass. I didn’t want paid for a single gig. I just wanted to see who else was feeling what I was feeling. I still want that, but I don’t know where to look.

Moving on, ultimately, I went on to end my first marriage and I had reasoned that there was just too much damage done and that there was no way to mend from the amount of times I had pushed and pulled this girl. I also had begun falling in love with another girl who happened to share many personality traits with me: the aforementioned twinsie. I finally felt that deep connection with another human being that I had been seeking for so long, and it was on the tail end of me trying to come to the conclusion that I was in fact not human refuse.

That connection that I mention is a key part of my personality. It is central to my sense of well-being that I be understood, appreciated, and loved by someone else. I never recognized that before. I was so caught up in self-loathing that I honestly believed that I was not worth loving. I have read that this is common in those with BPD. A sense of being the one person that cannot be loved, appreciated, respected, or connected with has become central to many of us. We have developed maladaptive personalities as a response to absurd stimuli in the setting of distinctive genetics.

Western society has us filing through as caged animals. We are in fact mammals. We are designed by nature to eat, sleep, reproduce, and dominate. We have done a good job of dominating our environment. We are now at the top of the food chain on this planet, Earth. We human-beings are the apex predators and because of that we sometimes lose touch with our true inner animal. It is like the alcoholic who is 10 years sober who has that one drink, he is suddenly rushed back in to that cycle of drinking. Day after day and starting over at square one.

Human beings are complex social creatures. We thrive in settings of love. True love and empathy are the only ingredients necessary to produce positive results. We must love our children and nurture them. We must find ways to break down their walls and get through to them and let them know that we truly love them no matter what. That is the only ingredient needed for a successful life. Love. We must support them and bear with them as they learn this process of living.

I now realize that I am a valuable human being and that I do deserve to be loved. Unfortunately, it took me a very long time to realize this. It seems so simple, and on the surface, it is. But even with all of the logic in the world, my emotions would never allow me to love myself. I could have come in with this first, but it may have poisoned my understanding of life. I may have not gained the knowledge and insight that I have had I not suffered.

The worst decision I could have made in my life was to begin using chemicals to “shut my brain off” as I always called it. I began drinking heavily or taking sleeping pills to just go to sleep at the end of the day. The constant struggle of never feeling good enough or worth living. Studies clearly show the prevalence of alcohol and drug abuse with BPD. For me it was the option to turn off the torture generator in my head to drink enough alcohol to sleep. I wasn’t doing this to destroy my marriage, my career, or to hurt anyone. Ultimately it did cause a lot of strain and did cause stress on the things I valued. I didn’t choose alcohol over life, I chose shutting off painful thoughts over suicide. I was just wanting an off switch from the reality that I was interpreting as so painful. People don’t realize that. I feel sorry that people view it as a personal attack when I say reality hurts. I don’t mean it that way. I also don’t mean to ask for their sympathy. I simply want to live and let live. I will get by, I am strong, I have faith in me and I want others to have the same.

I was able to stop drinking alcohol and focus on myself early in 2018. But at that time, I was not really even thinking about the BPD, I was more focused on depression or bipolar disorder. I stopped drinking and started really focusing on myself through exercise and diet. I wasn’t aware of how my personality disorder played into my mood disorder. It was a chaotic dance of sorts. There were nuances of mania and depression rearing their heads with this an almost flat affect I had developed. I found everything in life to be absurd and treated life as though I were a stand-up comedian just musing on my observations. I kept a straight face. Only the most extreme things could cause me to truly laugh. I somehow inappropriately (or maybe appropriately, this is subjective) attached laughter with absurdity.

I was able to see the humor in everything. There was absolutely nothing off limits. My extreme personality allowed me to explore extreme topics. I had watched clips of people being hurt and killed and essentially found the ridiculousness of it all to allow me to laugh. My brain had seemingly wired a circuit to find absurdity funny, so I could escape the true pain that it was causing me. We see people get kicked in the scrotum on MTV all day and laugh at it, this is a light version of what I am describing. Having access to all things human via the internet I desensitized myself to the most extreme of human behaviors. I have seen video footage of a man being beaten to death with a hammer. I have seen a chainsaw beheading video. Even worse, I have heard a chainsaw beheading video.

When I honestly put myself in that man’s shoes whose lifeless body is gurgling for wind from some prehistoric reflex I feel the pain of the human condition. I am able to know that I am mortal. I will die. I will cease to exist in the form of Ernie one day. I have been face-to-face with death as a young child raised by elderly distant relatives, and I have watched other human beings take their last breath as a hospice nurse. I have hunted deer and geese. I have taken the life from a dove and consumed her flesh. It is a chaotic balance of energy that I have been a part of in this very real chain of events.

The will to power, the longing to be in control takes a darker turn at times. So for me to make the decision to take another sentient being’s life in order to eat, I now must question what that truly means. As a 33-year-old white male in America I am surrounded by meat and cheese. Lives lost for the sake of contributing energy back into the circle of life. It all comes back to me and I can feel so clearly the morning I first took the life of a white-tailed deer.

I was camped out in my tree stand. I was dressed like a redneck in camo and I had hiked into some fall scenery right out of a Mark Twain novel. I was sitting silently and waiting for motion. When I finally heard the crushing of leaves my heart began to race. This is it. This is the moment I have been waiting for. To kill this sentient being. The hunt was on.

I saw two does playfully wondering through a sparse patch of thin trunked trees. The leaves were golden and red. They were almost dancing with one another. They hadn’t noticed me but I watched them come into my field of vision. I moved and one of the does looked up. She made eye contact with me. Her tail flipped up. White flag! She was ready to run. She was afraid. I drew my bow and let loose an arrow into the distance.

There was a calamity of hooves and cracking leaves. My heart was racing and there was sweat on my brow. I could smell autumn. I was one with the nature scene I had very realistically painted myself into. I rushed down from my latter clumsier than I would like to admit and began taking large gallop-like steps toward a creek bed. I could see a faint trail of blood on the ground guiding me to where this injured creature must be. It was like I looked up and there she was. Right in front of me. I was on top of her and didn’t even see her. She appeared out of nowhere.

She was lying in a shallow creek bed making labored breaths. Begging mother nature for her life. I pulled my 9mm side arm from my waist and did what I thought was the right thing at the time. I mercifully killed her by shooting her in the head. To end her suffering. My adrenaline was coursing through my body and I could not imagine what my next move was. I picked up the lifeless doe that was once dancing with her friend and threw her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I carried her out of the woods like a “real man” and disrespectfully threw her body in the back of my hatch back ford focus. Her eyes were glazed over and her tongue fell out the right side of her mouth.

I brought her to my home and removed her skin. I hung her from her hind legs in my shed with some bailing twine that was laying around and I opened YouTube videos on how to butcher a deer. I called my friend Gabe to see if he had a knife, he was too drunk to help me dress my kill.

I began hacking parts off of this majestic creature’s body with an axe and a dull kitchen knife. I had already purchased butchers paper and I broke down the meat the best I could with the guidance of Youtube. I turned on a death metal album by Cannibal Corpse to get me in a disgusting mindset as I butchered away. I needed the distraction in order to complete the job. My now ex-wife came home to find blood on the back porch and door knob and she knew “Ernie got a deer.” What the fuck does it even mean? I got one.

We went on to incorporate this fresh meat into our cooking for the rest of that year and I even tried to consume the organ meats with Gabe as to not waste any of the animal. Looking back it seems so barbaric and out of character for me. I don’t think I could ever pull the trigger again or let another arrow fly. The sanctity of life is not something that I wish to choose when it shall end. All life is sacred in This consciousness. That is what I have come to appreciate. I know others struggle with it and take it lightly, but I have intimately been there. I have danced with death and I know every callus lunge.

To me, now, the thought of being able to obtain a permit to hunt and end a life is absurd. Of course, creatures need to eat. But I am looking at this planet as a whole. How can human beings simply choose what life is sacred and what life is not? We fish the oceans dry. Why must we consume those things with sentience in order to survive? I don’t believe it is necessary at this point. That seems a bit misguided to me to think that it is entirely just sack after sack of matter and therefore vitamins and nutrients. Sure, I have stomped out an ant hill, I have crushed a fly. But what gives me that right? I believe as a human being we are blessed and cursed to know that life is finite. I do not wish to be a god amongst plebeians.

Knowing that my true moral code is to love all life and to appreciate it and hold it in high regard is paramount to my existence. I can then, unfortunately, explore the very opposite of this notion. That life is not sacred. That this existence is pointless and meaningless. That we are simply chemical reactions. The view of materialists is that we are a complex series of reactions. While I don’t believe this to be accurate, I have had my brain chemistry altered to the point that I almost believed it.

I had a short stent of taking the drug Abilify for an episode of mania and panic. I was started on this in-patient and continued it for about a week after hospitalization. Honestly, within a few days of being on the drug I felt no emotional attachment to my wife of so many years. I also believe, however, my true emotional attachment to her had waxed and waned over the previous years as my personality disorder pushed and pulled my life. While on Abilify I was able to make cold and rigid decisions without any emotional repercussions. I truly feel I could have strangled somebody to death and not felt any remorse on that medication. Is it simply the neurotransmitters in our brains that regulate our sense of right and wrong or are we tuning into something greater like a collective consciousness?

Through the years professionally and personally I have chronically had angst about my performance or accomplishments. I would always immediately downplay my performance and know that I could do better. Until I drastically modified my lifestyle and stopped drinking alcohol I was headed toward self-destruction. Having our neurotransmitters out of balance is like tuning a piano with an out of tune reference. I don’t know how to better describe it. It is like interpreting the world through a faulty interpretation device. Nature provides us the tools to perfectly balance and calibrate our interpretation device if we are willing to take the time and effort.

In this eastern society it does take time and effort to calibrate your device. In the wild it would not. You would not worry about being depressed or manic in the wild for a number of reasons. The cycle would have simply played out as it should. In our artificial reality that we have constructed with these cities and roadways, we have to take the time to get back to nature if we want balance. We need to re-calibrate our brains. We need to balance our neurotransmitters.

Our neuro-endocrine systems naturally produce everything we need if they are functioning properly. In order to function properly they need the correct environment. Our biology is specifically fine-tuned to allow us to thrive in whatever given setting we happen to arise from. We are at a point in which we are modifying our environment faster than evolution can catch up with and thus we have the central disconnected feeling that comes out as angst and turmoil. Identifying this and utilizing our strengths to fit into our own lives on an individual level is the prescribed treatment. There is no one size fits all plan.

Neuro-endocrinology functions optimally when given appropriate ingredients and in human beings those ingredients can be obtained from plant sources, water, and of course love. In order to best fuel our bodies optimally we should be eating a vegan diet which is free of processed foods, hormones, antibiotics, and suffering. When we eat food, we are eating the building blocks of our body and mind. Food is information essentially. What we take in builds what we are. This is important. The fuel we run on is central to our functioning at our best.

Looking at myself now, I am obsessed with telling the truth and being accurate. I want to live a life that I am proud of and therefor hold no secrets. I want to connect with another human being on an intimate level in which I tell her no lies. I want to be as open and forth coming as possible. The ultimate vulnerability. The payoff, is the ultimate relationship. It is important that we all begin to shift our culture to a culture of openness. We should be proud of who we are. We should be able to express our deepest desires and interests freely.

If we have something to hide, it is likely leading to negative karma. This is how I weigh my karma. When I do something I ask myself, “Is this something you would feel proud to tell everyone in this world?” If it is not, there is a better option. It is important as a species as we continue to evolve spiritually and emotionally that we understand this internal compass and respect it. We need to always bend to the will of the internal compass and listen to it in order to have the most fulfilling lives. If your gut tells you not to do something, you seriously need to stop and reconsider that decision. Take time. Make the right choice. To truly work through this process is grueling but it will lead to the ultimate transcendence.

The ultimate will to power is to give up complete control. Give your life over to the laws of the universe. To love without questioning “what is in it for me?” to give without wondering “do they appreciate it?” to teach others to better themselves and stop judging them for what they aren’t. Start seeing human beings for their potential. To push forth and get every bit of positivity out of our fellow-man’s soul. To not wonder “how am I going to get by” and just wonder “how can I help someone else get by.”

That is what I am striving for. I will post this long post for free, relatively unedited, though it feels like it should probably be in some sort of BPD and spirituality book or something. I know that in my life the Universe will provide for me food, shelter, wisdom, and love if I stay on the right path. I have that faith. I am following it with open mind, open heart, and open soul.

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magzoso-tech · 5 years ago

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New Post has been published on https://magzoso.com/tech/the-silicon-six-spread-propaganda-its-time-to-regulate-social-media-sites/

The 'Silicon Six' Spread Propaganda. It's Time to Regulate Social Media Sites.

I get it: I’m one of the last people you’d expect to hear warning about the danger of conspiracies and lies. I’ve built a career on pushing the limits of propriety and good taste. I portrayed Borat, the first fake news journalist, along with satirical characters such as Ali G, a wannabe gangster, and Bruno, a gay fashion reporter from Austria. Some critics have said my comedy risks reinforcing old racial and religious stereotypes.

I admit that most of my comedy over the years has been pretty juvenile. However, when Borat was able to get an entire bar in Arizona to sing “throw the Jew down the well,” it revealed people’s indifference to anti-Semitism. When, as Bruno, I started kissing a man in a cage fight in Arkansas and nearly started a riot, it showed the violent potential of homophobia. And when, disguised as an ultra-woke developer, I proposed building a mosque in one rural community, prompting a resident to proudly admit, “I am racist, against Muslims,” it showed a wide acceptance of Islamophobia.

The ugliness my jokes help reveal is why I’m so worried about our pluralistic democracies. Demagogues appeal to our worst instincts. Conspiracy theories once confined to the fringe are going mainstream, fueled in part by President Donald Trump, who has spread such paranoid lies more than 1,700 times to his 67 million Twitter followers. It’s as if the Age of Reason – the era of evidential argument – is ending, and now knowledge is delegitimised and scientific consensus is dismissed. Democracy, which depends on shared truths, is in retreat, and autocracy, which thrives on shared lies, is on the march. Hate crimes are surging, as are murderous attacks on religious and ethnic minorities.

All this hate and violence actually has something in common: It’s being facilitated by a handful of Internet companies that amount to the greatest propaganda machine in history.

Facebook, YouTube, Twitter and other social media platforms reach billions of people. The algorithms these platforms depend on deliberately amplify content that keeps users engaged – stories that appeal to our baser instincts and trigger outrage and fear. That’s why fake news outperforms real news on social media; studies show that lies spread faster than truth.

On the Internet, everything can appear equally legitimate. Breitbart resembles the BBC, and the rantings of a lunatic seem as credible as the findings of a Nobel Prize winner. We have lost a shared sense of the basic facts upon which democracy depends.

When I, as Ali G, asked the astronaut Buzz Aldrin, “What woz it like to walk on de sun?” the joke worked, because we, the audience, shared the same facts. If you believe the moon landing was a hoax, the joke was not funny.

When Borat got that bar in Arizona to agree that “Jews control everybody’s money and never give it back,” the joke worked because the rest of us knew that the depiction of Jews as miserly is a conspiracy theory originating in the Middle Ages.

Social media platforms make it easier for people who share the same false premises to find one another, and then the technology acts as an accelerant for toxic thinking. When conspiracies take hold, it’s easier for hate groups to recruit, easier for foreign intelligence agencies to interfere in our elections and easier for a country like Myanmar to commit genocide against the Rohingya.

Yes, social media companies have taken some steps to reduce hate and conspiracies on their platforms. Yet these steps have been mostly superficial, and the next 12 months could be pivotal: British voters will go to the polls next month while online conspiracists promote the despicable theory of “great replacement” that white Christians are being deliberately replaced by Muslim immigrants. Americans will vote for president while trolls and bots perpetuate the disgusting lie of a “Hispanic invasion.” And after years of YouTube videos calling climate change a “hoax,” the United States is on track, a year from now, to formally withdraw from the Paris agreement.

Unfortunately, the executive of these platforms don’t appear interested in a close look at how they’re spreading hate, conspiracies and lies. Look at the speech Facebook founder and chief executive Mark Zuckerberg delivered last month that warned against new laws and regulations on companies like his.

Zuckerberg tried to portray the issue as one involving “choices” around “free expression.” But freedom of speech is not freedom of reach. Facebook alone already counts about a third of the world’s population among its users. Social media platforms should not give bigots and paedophiles a free platform to amplify their views and target victims.

Zuckerberg claimed that new limits on social media would “pull back on free expression.” This is utter nonsense. The First Amendment says that “Congress shall make no law” abridging freedom of speech, but this does not apply to private businesses. If a neo-Nazi comes goose-stepping into a restaurant and starts threatening other customers and saying he wants to kill Jews, would the restaurant owner be required to serve him an elegant eight-course meal? Of course not. The restaurant owner has every legal right, and, indeed, a moral obligation, to kick the Nazi out. So do Internet companies.

Zuckerberg seemed to equate regulation of companies like his to the actions of “the most repressive societies.” This, from one of the six people who run the companies that decide what information so much of the world sees: Zuckerberg at Facebook; Sundar Pichai at Google; Larry Page and Sergey Brin at Google’s parent company, Alphabet; Brin’s ex-sister-in-law, Susan Wojcicki, at YouTube; and Jack Dorsey at Twitter. These super-rich “Silicon Six” care more about boosting their share price than about protecting democracy. This is ideological imperialism – six unelected individuals in Silicon Valley imposing their vision on the rest of the world, unaccountable to any government and acting like they’re above the reach of law. Surely, instead of letting the Silicon Six decide the fate of the world order, our democratically elected representatives should have at least some say.

Zuckerberg speaks of welcoming a “diversity of ideas,” and last year, he gave us an example. He said he found posts denying the Holocaust “deeply offensive,” but he didn’t think Facebook should take them down “because I think there are things that different people get wrong.” This is madness. The Holocaust is a historical fact, and those who deny it aim to encourage another one. There’s no benefit in pretending that “the Holocaust is a hoax” is simply a “thing” that “different people get wrong.” Zuckerberg says that “people should decide what is credible, not tech companies.” But two-thirds of millennials say they haven’t even heard of Auschwitz. How are they supposed to know what’s “credible”? How are they supposed to know that the lie is a lie?

When it comes to removing content, Zuckerberg asked, “where do you draw the line?” Yes, that can be difficult, but here’s what he’s really saying: Removing lies and conspiracies is just too expensive.

Facebook, Google, and Twitter are unthinkably rich, and they have the best engineers in the world. They could fix these problems if they wanted to. Twitter could deploy an algorithm to remove more white supremacist hate speech, but they reportedly haven’t because it would eject some very prominent politicians. Facebook could hire enough monitors to actually monitor, work closely with groups such as the Anti-Defamation League and the NAACP and purge deliberate lies from their platforms.

But they won’t, because their entire business model relies on generating more engagement, and nothing generates more engagement than lies, fear and outrage.

These companies pretend they’re something bigger, or nobler, but what they really are is the largest publishers in history – after all, they make their money on advertising, just like other publishers. They should abide by basic standards and practices just like the ones that apply to newspapers, magazines, television and movies. I’ve had scenes in my movies cut or truncated to abide by those standards. Surely companies that publish material to billions of people should have to abide by basic standards just like film and television studios do.

Zuckerberg said social media companies should “live up to their responsibilities,” but he’s totally silent about what should happen when they don’t. By now, it’s pretty clear that they cannot be trusted to regulate themselves. In other industries, you can be sued for the harm you cause: Publishers can be sued for libel; people can be sued for defamation. I’ve been sued many times. But social media companies are almost completely protected from liability for the content their users post – no matter how indecent – by Section 230 of, get ready for it, the Communications Decency Act.

That immunity has warped their whole worldview. Take political ads. Fortunately, Twitter finally banned them, and Google says it will make changes, too. But if you pay Facebook, it will run any “political” ad you want, even if it’s a lie. It’ll even help you micro-target those lies to users for maximum effect. Under this twisted logic, if Facebook were around in the 1930s, it would have allowed Adolf Hitler to post 30-second ads on his “solution” to the “Jewish problem.” Here’s a good way for Facebook to “live up to” its responsibilities: Start fact-checking political ads before running them, stop micro-targeted lies immediately, and when ads are false, don’t publish them.

Section 230 was amended last year so that tech companies can be held responsible for paedophiles who use their sites to target children. Let’s also hold them responsible for users who advocate for the mass murder of children because of their race or religion. And maybe fines are not enough. Maybe it’s time for Congress to tell Zuckerberg and his fellow CEOs: You already allowed one foreign power to interfere in US elections; you already facilitated one genocide; do it again and you go to prison.

In the end, we have to decide what kind of world we want. Zuckerberg claims his main goal is to “uphold as wide a definition of freedom of expression as possible.” Yet our freedoms are not only an end in themselves, but they’re also a means to another end – to our right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. And today these rights are threatened by hate, conspiracies and lies.

A pluralistic democratic society should make sure that people are not targeted, not harassed and not murdered because of who they are, where they come from, who they love or how they pray. If we do that – if we prioritize truth over lies, tolerance over prejudice, empathy over indifference and experts over ignoramuses – maybe we have a chance of stopping the greatest propaganda machine in history. We can save democracy. We can still have a place for free speech and free expression.

And, most important, my jokes will still work.

#Miscellaneous

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hencethebravery · 8 years ago

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Title: “Alive,” (1/1)

Summary: Killian Jones kisses David Nolan for the first time in late spring. It is now summer, and he’s not quite sure how to pencil in the second.

Notes: Very romantic CC for my love, @phiralovesloki, who actively encourages all of this for some unknown reason. Please note, I’ve written a Killian Jones with mild PTSD and anxiety, so if you think you might find that triggering at all, read with caution. Could very well be part of a series involving CC and other seasons, but have not yet decided. Stay tuned. Also on Ao3. For all the other CC beans: @the-reason-to-sail-home @abbadons-little-witch @dassala @mahstatins @katie-dub

One day, I plan to love so loudly, my body abandons every demon harvesting me. — Arati Warrier, “Alive”

+ It’s a tricky thing. Once you’ve known the taste of someone’s lips and found it to be a far more momentous occasion than you had initially anticipated. Beforehand, one might think you’ll only know it the one time, and the odds of it happening again are unlikely, so… you do it, aye? Curious. How do you not do it again? That’s the question, isn’t it? Especially if it was a little bit unexpected, let’s say—it had failed to show up on the calendar for the month of June, and now the rest of your life is totally fucked to hell.

It’s not possible that anyone else’s lips could throw such a wrench into his schedule. Not even much of one, to be fair. Working freelance as he did, odd hours and odd jobs, one unexpected, life-altering kiss does not a fucked up schedule make. If anything, there was an added flair to his rather mundane existence that hadn’t been there earlier. Spike the coffee, eat an egg, walk the dog, kiss your mate, do the shopping—and what was that last thing?

You: “What was the what thing?”

Your Brother: “Kiss your who?”

Doesn’t matter. Point is, when you’re talking to your brother about sharing an all too brief kiss with the bloke you once rode the bus with, you try and keep it casual. After all, Liam Jones has no reason to know that you’ve circled June the 5th in an expensive black ink that’s bled through the page—all the way through to August, in fact, when there’s supposed to be a boat trip scheduled for the whole lot of you, and you have to ask yourself, “How do you not do it again?”

The answer to that question is that you bloody well don’t. You keep that tongue of yours firmly ensconced inside your own mouth unless you’re shouting down bar maids or showing up your know-it-all brother at trivia night. You manage to live your life for a whole two months without screwing anything up. Well done, you.

You manage to abide by the calendar you’ve kept since naval training—the calendar that, for all intents and purposes, saved your life once upon a time. Being the roughed up, dramatic younger brother had its perks, but in the end, rampant alcoholism, a suspicious rash, and a series of exceptionally burned bridges had taught him the benefits of following a careful schedule. It hasn’t managed to buff out all the sharp corners; rum tastes too sweet and his memory is a little too good, but no price is too high when you’re trying to avoid the odd skin allergy. Which is what it was.

Regardless, August arrives and it’s hotter than the East Coast has any right to be. He’s quite confident in his assertions that even Afghanistan wasn’t this hot, and considering the fact that Afghanistan was actually hell, he’s not sure what to make of the temper tantrum that the state of Maine seems to be currently throwing.

“Just last week you were complaining about how cold it was,” comes David’s muffled voice from below deck, “enjoy it.”

David Nolan is of an optimism so profound it’s certain not to be believed. The man has thought exceedingly well of almost everyone and everything in their lives since they were children, which, to Killian’s mind, can only end badly. He’s not written it down, but it has been inscribed within the gelatinous valleys of his brain somewhere, this unspoken responsibility—don’t let it ruin him. Having people like David Nolan in the world is a very important thing, and the only way to keep them around is to have people like Killian picking up the pessimistic slack.

“It’s my boat, mate,” Killian shouts down the hatch, “I’ll complain where I like.”

On the side of his monthly calendars there’s a designated “Notes” section, set aside for various odds and ends. He’s been known to put some poetry there on occasion, either verses he’s written or found, a phone number or two, an exceptional cocktail, what have you. For the month of August there’s a sailboat at the top (nothing too fancy), followed by wave, after wave, after wave, and then, down at the bottom, there’s a capsized sailboat. Hence, pessimism.

The heat is physically uncomfortable, to be sure, but it’s also demanding. For example, it demands that two men working on a boat out in the hot sun remove some of their clothing in order to avoid fainting or otherwise feeling ill in such unreasonable weather. This, however, requires him to confront the somewhat uncomfortable question of how he avoids doing the thing he had done only the once—with no intention of repeating said thing. His calendar said so.

David Nolan in a t-shirt is not unlike David Nolan wearing nothing at all. If anything, it might be worse. Without the shirt, it’s almost as if he’s existing in a moment of unreality, wherein there’s nothing especially remarkable about that chest over there other than the fact that it is one. He’s got one of those too—if anything, his is better, covered in a masculine dusting of hair as it is. David’s white t-shirt looks like it’s been run through the wash a couple hundred times. There are barely-there tears at the sleeves and around the collar. Today it is stained with sweat beneath his arms and lower back.

The heat is overwhelming, like the desert, only there’s a wetness in the air that makes it harder to breathe. For a moment, he misses the feeling of having a gun in his hand so he grabs a beer from the cooler and holds it against his neck, his pulse tapping against the glass like machine gun fire. Interrupt.

“You see those clouds?”

David’s voice is soft at his side, his own mouth wrapped around the lip of a bottle and he has to say that no, he hadn’t even noticed. The poorly drawn “ship” sailing on the pages of his calendar starts to sink in the wake of poor weather and his heart aches—keeps beating quickly in his chest and he knows a panic attack when he feels one. Inconvenient things, they seem to be.

“Killian,” David says, apparently for the second time, and he puts a hand on his shoulder. Definitely not in the calendar.

Killian doesn’t much feel like answering. Killian wants to write about the sky in his notebook. Not any sky, mind you. This sky, because it’s somewhat of a nightmare to behold. Even with the boat tied to the dock and the sight of safe, dry land in the distance, the sky at this moment is a wild thing. Moments ago, the air smelled like salt and bubbling yeast. The sun was a large, imposing spotlight on the deck of his ship, making the wood warm, their skin sweat.

In June the air smells like earth. Certain parts of the farm are freshly turned at this time of year, and no matter where you go, it emanates over the property. Through the fields, over the lake, between the trees. Over hill, over dale, point made. June is new. They are, the both of them, new. When Killian kisses David, it’s because he can no longer bear it.

“The wanting.” Answering the question, what was it he could no longer bear? Because he was starving in his little house by the sea full of dry, winter air that had given him nosebleeds. It was probably all that dirt in the air—all those trees in bloom. All that pollen in his hair, the perpetually dirty state of his hands.

The answer is a little bit dramatic, but David seems to take it in stride, either because he’s known Killian for most of his life, or maybe because he understands, either way, he smiles. When David smiles it’s a thing you don’t need to see, and sure, you should, of course you should, but Killian is exceedingly grateful that in this moment, he doesn’t need to open his eyes.

It’s his gut that’s empty, not his gaze. He is, quite frankly, sick of opening his eyes. All he needs to do is feel it, and he knows that his friend “wants” too—just as frantically, as hungrily, as poetically. He plays the follow-up question in his head on a tortuous loop the next few days. He even writes it down so he can stare at the shape of the letters and hate himself even more than he already does.

“How is it you smell like that?”

Because it is something… indescribable. He can wax poetic on the state of the air in June all he likes, he has words on words on words to describe it, but all of a sudden, the smell of this man is the scent of which he cannot seem to describe. And he answers, “Like what?” and Killian can only answer with his mouth against his, because it’s not about the words suddenly—it’s about the breath. It’s about David’s forehead against his, their lips barely touching, and he answers with a kiss because he’s a fucking idiot.

August doesn’t smell new. It smells tired. Or maybe he’s just tired. Either way, the bright, overbearing sun is lost behind a sky of heavy, dark clouds and the man at his shoulder smells like beer and sweat. Like the moth-eaten blankets he had kept below deck all winter. The trees are gone but he can still feel the bark against the skin of his back.

“We’ve got to tie the lot of this down,” he answers suddenly. He had wanted to avoid the inevitability of turning around to face him, the tree at his back—with that concerned look on his face. Killian smiles, but it’s not like David’s in June. You’d have to see it, or you wouldn’t even know it was there. “She’ll be fine tied to the dock, but I don’t want to lose any of this gear.”

He’d savor the refreshing feeling of the breeze if there were any time for it, but they seem to have run out of it, and thankfully for him, David seems to have adopted a similar sense of urgency. Moving around deck as he is, his hands wrapped deftly around thick rope, one knot after another. The thunder continues on in the distance, unperturbed, and there’s a flash of lightening that leaves an echo across a purple sky.

There’s another crack followed by a second flash, and the sky opens. Despite the maddening anxiety he has contended with all day, there is something undeniably satisfying about knowing he was right about the “shirt on being worse” thing. David pauses in his run about the deck to enjoy the torrent of rain that’s been unleashed on the two of them, a loud yell of relief passing his lips, and Killian wonders what they taste like in August. At sea, in a storm—like salt? Like rain? Like the beer they’d been drinking earlier. Like dirt, like himself, lingering on his tongue for months.

When David dashes across the deck, clothes clinging to his form, every muscle carved beneath wet fabric as if he were a statue, Killian is busy trying to forget about the sinking ship in his calendar. He’s trying to remember what it was his therapist had said about “being in the moment,” and suddenly David’s lips don’t taste like June. They taste like August, in the rain. Wet and messy and just as hungry as before.

“Aren’t you sick of it,” David not quite shouts against his lips, the rain and wind lashing against the deck, “that ‘wanting?’” He’s smiling again, that wide, sunshine-smile that he has worn everyday of his life and Killian can see it out of the corner of his eye. In between the heavy, wet drops hanging from his lashes and the hair falling against his forehead—of course he can see it.

“Yes!” Killian shouts over yet another thunder clap, both of their faces turned towards a manic sky. “Bloody exhausted!”

The sound of the storm is softer below deck, as if it were a record playing in another room. The ship tugs on her moors but she’s steady, tied against the dock as she is. The only other sound is that of the air heaving in and out of their lungs, heavy with anticipation and adrenaline.

“You smell good too,” David admits between each, tired breath, “I’m sorry I made you wait.”

“Sometimes the waiting is the best part,” Killian answers gently, and there’s something in his tone, a note of understanding that he’s impressed to find he actually believes. “I’m good at waiting.”

As David moves closer he peels the wet t-shirt off his back and chuckles, shaking his head. “No, you’re really not.” The shirt falls with a decisive, wet splat against the ground, but Killian is too distracted by the return of David’s forehead, his hand against his neck. His fingernails are short and blunt against his skin, the scratch of an almost, but he feels his skin prickle all the same. Standing still in wet clothes, the warmth of the sun a fleeting memory, he knows he should feel cold but there’s this heat inside of him—flickering and alive.

“If that’s the case,” he whispers, his own hands hovering at his sides, “what are you waiting for?”

The kiss is gentler this time, the shelter of the cabin urging slowness, carefulness. Here, they are beyond the reach of the whipping wind and stinging rain. The gaze of a seaside town, the towering pines. Their breath is softer, less like they’re running out of time, and there’s a drag between each pass of his lips. He feels as if he’s being savored and it’s not a thing that you deny yourself a second time.

“You should—” David’s voice is rough, like he hasn’t spoken in years and Killian’s pride does a little victory dance at the thought of its return, “You should change.”

Logically, Killian knows that David means “change clothes,” he knows this unequivocally. But he also has a tendency to err on the side of unnecessarily meaningful and he takes it to mean something else. Not in a negative way, he does not, by any means, feel that David wants him to be somebody else. This he also knows, unequivocally. What he also knows, what he has come to learn, is that his heart in its current state? It’s not sustainable. “You should change,” his heart speaks in David’s voice, “you need not want quite so much, when you can so easily have it.”

He shivers at the sensation of cool air hitting his bare flesh, but there’s hardly a moment to feel uncomfortable. There’s David’s hand against the soft skin of stomach, his fingers trailing through the fine hair beneath his belly button, and the warmth, it feels as if he’s slipping into a soaking tub. The rain continues it’s harsh pitter-pattering against the side of the boat as they move towards the small bed, clumsy step after clumsy step.

It smells like dust as they land, like the attic in the farmhouse, but the pile of blankets manages to catch them just fine. The cotton, washed one too many times, coming up to swallow their legs and shoulders, keeping them in a soft, dry place. He secures his own lips against David’s jaw, that sharp corner just beneath his ear and the moan that follows is more of a feeling than a sound—more of a sob than a gasp.

When he returns to his lips to catch yet another, quiet moan, it tastes even better than it had in June, then it had above deck moments earlier. Again, indescribable, and he feels a bit frustrated by the fact that words might fail him sometimes. After all, they do sit so well on his tongue, they feel manageable in a way that his thoughts don’t, that his heart doesn’t, and without them he worries that he’ll lose any sense of control he might have.

At some point the rain must stop, but it’s hard to notice, what with the hands and the lips and the feeling of his stomach as it moves against his own, in and out with every breath, sometimes quick and sometimes so slowly he’s worried that he’s holding it. At some point, in between the feeling of David’s lips against his rib cage and his hands at the button of his jeans, the sun very briefly returns before evening falls.

It’s his favorite time of day, those few moments before twilight. The rich, buttery light of the setting sun falls through the porthole over the bed, warming their entwined bodies atop the mussed blankets. The darkness behind Killian’s closed eyes turns a muted red color, and he can feel the warmth of the sun as it slowly sets against his skin, the fleeting light of day a gentle goodbye.

The water is calm against the boat, rocking them carefully back and forth, and his mind has never been quieter. The steady torture of a mind that refuses to settle, that must be shaken up and poured out over each and every month, everyday—that must be considered and thought over and applied and re-applied. Where no one means what they say, where he rarely means what he even says, but here, in this moment between sleeping and waking, it is blessedly silent.

He hears David mutter something against the back of his neck, and he knows, even without being able to see. He smiles.

#ouat ff #cc ff #cc fanfic #captain charming #cc: saved my life #@hencethewriter #this ended up being like #an exploration of my own #incredibly inconvenient anxiety #which whatever #but i'm emotional

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the-nysh · 8 years ago

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Opm dub: complete English OVA commentary (with links)

Oh man! I’ve been waiting for AGES to finally see these in English, ever since seeing the subs for them way back. My main incentive to compare how gay the translations are, and I can certainly say, I’ve not been disappointed! 8D

Below are my thoughts and impressions from each one, complete with links and a transcription of fun quotes I enjoyed! Have fun!

OVA1: The Shadow that snuck up too close

Saitama, to himself: “Man, I gotta admit, stalkers really are scary. Come to think of it, lately I’ve been feeling eyes on me from somewhere too. … It’s no big deal if it’s just someone with a grudge. But… if that anger turned into some kind of warped love or twisted infatuation the way it did in that movie, then…how should I handle it?” (Look at this, he’s ok being hated; he can handle physical confrontations, but emotional things like love and stuff frighten him! Ahh Saitama, just how will you deal with Genos’ type of attention?! 8D)

Genos: “Perhaps the secret to his power lies in his food. ... No normal person would dream of such behavior, therefore…” (Genos pls, there’s nothing special in Saitama’s trip to the diner, his diet, or his choice in food; the egg is just poor! Genos simply cannot fathom these conditions otherwise. Grasping at straws, yet doesn’t understand the most simple explanation. Important to note, this demonstrates how he couldn’t put two-and-two together to purposely bribe Saitama later with rent money (offering rent is simply proper boarding manners instead) as he doesn’t understand how tight Saitama’s finances are. Plus, once Genos writes off this superfluous ‘food’ explanation for Saitama’s power, it also writes off the ‘Saitama eats monster parts for power’ fan theory too.)

Saitama: “Thieving bastard! I’m so gonna catch you and kick your ass!” (GAWD I’m dying over these NERDS trying to out-stalk each other. XD)

Genos: “…DAMN! It IS just a french fry!” (overdramatic no indoor voice borg) “He has a normal diet; it is no different from an average person’s. I have not discovered a single thing. Is it possible that Master could be a cyborg like me? I have considered the data, just one thing left to do.” (CONFRONT HIM IN PERSON MY GUY. Also, his hope that Saitama could be like him. :’3)

Saitama, to the so-called monster/‘thief’: “COME AT ME STRAIGHT!” (LOL, the dramatic irony here how they’re indirectly talking to/about each other)

Saitama’s internal monologue: “If I continue being a hero, I’m sure this won’t be last time someone’s out for revenge against me. That’s my fate; it can’t be avoided I guess. I just need to change how I think. Right! I need to think positively! I simply have to believe there’ll be people in this world who appreciate what I do. People who’ll know that I’m there to help. I became a hero 3 years ago. I’m not saying I need fans or anything, but it’d be nice if someone noticed all the things I’ve been doing around here. …Oh yeah! There was that one guy who wanted to be my disciple.” (He REMEMBERED Genos! Thinking of things positively from now on too, thank god! :’D)

Genos: “Investigation day 5. I have prepared myself for the worst. *deep breath* Sensei, sir!” Saitama: “You actually showed up.” (Gawd, Genos taking that huge pause, mentally preparing himself to confront Saitama directly. Including preparing his whole backstory speech at ready too. But man, he doesn’t want to screw this up or upset Saitama from all this. :’D)

Summary: Man I love the dramatic irony in this ova. And how in the beginning, it was all dark in trepidation, with Saitama scared of a 'warped love, twisted infatuation' stalker, but in the end...he wants to think positively of what may come, and thinks of Genos :')))) (boy does he have a storm coming!)

OVA2: The Disciple who stinks at storytelling

The mafia guy…refers to the giraffe keychain as 'these babies' GAWD I’m already dying. “This little giraffe must mean a lot to you!” FFFFF!!! And HOW! 8D Genos: “Yes. It is extremely important.” BOIIII

THE BATH SCENE: full script I posted here. Gggnnghh, Saitama TRYING to get Genos to say how the water feels good: “How was it for you?” GAWD! Just trying to get Genos to relax (like in the drama cd), and Genos not quite understanding that and shifting the convo to a pitch singing match instead. Saitama’s “aww, c’mon really?” like with a fond, ‘oh man what am I gonna do with him’ smile, and then playing along anyway. :’))) Genos’ “that is the note for mi!” in english sounds so much like ‘me,’ like Saitama had delivered HIM the special note he requested! THESE DORKS!! 8’D Messing around together in a public bath house! (where that other old guy can totally witness their unabashed antics!)

*Saitama noticing Genos staring and standing awkwardly close to him while naked on the massage chair* S: “Uhh…you can take off without me, you know. *gives keys* Wouldn’t want you to get a chill after your bath. But hey, don’t lose those, ok? These are crazy times we’re living in. Losing your keys will only lead to trouble.” Saitama pls, Genos can’t catch a chill. XD But look at that, the egg worried for his safety/wellbeing anyway, as he gives him permission to leave ahead of him. ;D Seriously, those double-take side glances of his at Genos standing so expectantly next to his side! Like goodness, egg would like some space pls. XD But also, Genos takes Saitama’s key offering and instructions to protect it super seriously too. (he never changes the position of his arm while carrying it!)

*flash to present* G: “THAT is how important the key is to me.” Don: “Your stories are terrible. ‘Faah’-get about it! Nobody cares about any of this crap!” (lol, the audience does tho ;D) G: “Your ‘Fa’ should be higher; ‘Fa~’ see?” (HOLY SHIT what an ass! XD) Don: “Unghh!!” G: “In any case, the key is important and I would like it back now. Surely you have…one or two things that are important to you.” Don: “My Family means everything to me! I’d do just about anything for’ em!” G: “I see, then you understand how I would do anything for Master Saitama.” (!!!!!!!!!! The important, classic declaration line, delivered like this! :’D)

*flashback* S: “So you decided to wait around after all? It’s so cold, too.” *sneezes* G: “Are you ok, Master?!” S: *shivers* “It’s freezing out. The chill’s gettin to me.” G: *glances at his head* S: “Uh – were you just checkin out my head?” G: “No! I would never.” GAAHH! It’s so gay!! I can’t handle this. :’D Like, OF COURSE Genos wouldn’t leave Saitama alone there! Previously Saitama was worried Genos might catch a chill, but HE catches one instead! And Genos showing his open concern for him! Glancing at his head like mentally correlating his baldness with greater heat loss too (get him a hat, Genos!) Saitama noticing that detail and using the flirty, ‘checkin out’ language, GAH! Plus Genos’ BLATANT LIES. FFFFF!!!

S: *imitating Genos* “DINNER TARGET AQUIRED~!” With that super quick facial change, and Genos staring at him the whole time! 8D

G: *extremely close death glare at the store employee* “It is only 2 seconds past the posted time. Will you please make an exception? You still have the merchandise!” *seething and clenching his fist* “The attitude of that employee. Have you any idea how I felt?! IT WAS WRONG!!” (absolute, no chill drama borg throwing an emotional fit here)

*Genos continues to ramble on, with the Don getting pissed and annoyed at him to get to the fucking point already* G: “Be patient. There is an order to the series of events in question.” (this was the ‘words come from the heart’ line from the fan translations) *comes to the conclusion that they’re complete strangers with zero connection* Don: “You mean you’ve been running your mouth since the moment we got here, just so you could tell me you’ve met him on the street today for the first time?!” G: “You did ask. There, I told you everything. Now give me back the keys as you promised you would.” Don: “SMARTASS PUNK!” (and later: “YOU FOOL! How stupid can someone possibly be!?”) Genos plsss… Like, it’s adorable how naïve and straight-laced he is, expecting proper honest procedure from typical law-abiding citizens…however, these mobster guys are anything but! (and yet he doesn’t even recognize or expect they’re criminals at first) And him simply rambling about his complete bath story with his sensei to complete strangers!! His enthusiasm and priorities, man! X’D

*flash to the REAL present* G: “And finally after all that, I was able to get the key back. But unfortunately, I missed the sale.” S: “Well…I had a spare key so in the end it was no big deal. But it sounds like you had a lot to contend with, didn’t cha?” G: “Master, I must apologize to you. I am too incompetent to run your errands!” S: “Nah~! It’s no big deal! We’ll just have a tofu hotpot tonight.” (he’s really warm here :3) G: “This will not make up for it…” S: “Hm?” G: “But here, *offers special bag* I went by another store.” S: “Huh? NO WAY! That’s some super expensive meat you brought home!” (he’s super happy!)

S: “Good thing we had some eggs, it’s sukiyaki time! Let’s dig in!” (the egg mentions eggs, heh) G: “RIGHT!” (HE is so happy now too!!)

Summary: So GOSH, this entire ova can be summed up with a ‘GENOS PLS’ and ‘these total gay, hopeless dorks!’ X’D Also, the end scene reveals Genos had told Saitama this entire convoluted story too, but UNLIKE the Don, Saitama patiently listens to the whole thing without complaint! Even warmly reassuring Genos’ distress that everything’s fine. :’3 And yep, Genos humbly offers him the expensive meat in apology (as the best alternative he could find, as in his fool mind, best=most expensive), and Saitama is so HAPPY to receive something he would never normally get! Both of them, enjoying a fancy hotpot together. :’D Bless <333

OVA3: The overly complicated ninja (Sonic’s special)

Sonic’s epically horrible dream about getting punched in the dick by Saitama. Stranger: “Everything ok? I heard you moaning up there!” (WORD CHOICE, man! XD) “You kept calling out ‘Saitama…Saitama.’”

Sonic fukkin carves a detailed face of the egg into a tree… He’s eternally haunted by phantoms of an evil Saitama always ending their encounters by punching him in the dick!! c h r i s t ‘Why’ indeed! ‘Psychological trauma,’ as the old hunter says it is. :P

Sonic: “Fine then, I’ll admit it, Saitama. When I sensed your power, I was afraid!” Ahh, I like how he confronts his weakness. And is determined to overcome it! Training to control and accept his fear! 8D (and gaining a cute little boar friend for support~) Interesting of note to me, how he’s AFRAID of Saitama’s power. How many other people would be as well? When in contrast, people like Genos, would never be afraid of Saitama.

The hunter’s name…is revealed to be FRANK. Omg dub team, pls.

Sonic: “Hey, Hunter. If you’re defeated before you fight, the results will be the same, no matter how often you try.” And this is neat. How someone could be defeated mentally before even trying. :’) Much truth in these words.

Saitama *randomly pops out of nowhere* “Oh. A bear.” (HIS FACE I CAN’T!) Inadvertently saving the hunter while on the prowl, omg. Settling for the bear for dinner, as the baby boar ran away in fear recognizing his face from Sonic’s wood carvings. XD

*Together, at home* G: “So is this what you would call a ‘bear hotpot,’ Master?” S: “Yeah, you heard those rumors about the giant bear causing all that damage right? *snarfs a bite with blushing cheeks* YUM~” G: “You mean, you can really eat them?” S: “Sure, you can eat most any animal.” G: *takes out notes* “I see!” S: “Oh, a-and I hear wild boar is pretty good too.” G: “I LEARN SO MUCH FROM YOU, MASTER!” (omg, genos pls! this is becoming an ongoing gag line, to have him finish their convos with this level of enthusiasm! XD Also how wary he’d been eyeing the bear food, ahaha.)

OVA4: Bang, who is too overbearing (The excessively pushy Bang)

Bang: “Hm? Genos? Why are they together? Wait, come to think of it *recalls Genos yelling ‘Master!’ during the meteor* Could this be a teacher-student situation? But their rankings are Class S and Class C! So what’s going on?” (WHAT indeed! 8D Also, ‘situation’ changed from ‘relationship’ as in the fansubs)

*At the scene of the dead cabbage monster* S: “What should we have for dinner? I think we’ve got some cabbage left.” G: “Cabbage alone will not be enough. Shall I purchase some meat, Master?” S: “Ugh, what am I supposed to do with you, Genos? (OMG) Now listen! Don’t underestimate cabbage! Stir fried in yakiniku sauce goes great with rice.” G: “Ah! I see, so preparation is what truly dictates the results. Even a powerful weapon can be junk in the hands of the incompetent. Tell me; is that the lesson, Master?!” S: “Uh, I wouldn’t go that far.” G: “YOU TEACH ME SO MUCH, MASTER!” S: “Uaah, all your talk about meat made me wanna eat some! Great, way ta go, man.” Wah! This perspective has them inspired from the monster to eat their cabbage leftovers, rather than say, harvesting ingredients from the monster (no collecting monster parts here). :P Also omfg, but is this whole convo a callback to the second ova? About Genos purchasing meat again (Saitama like ‘oh no you won’t again!’) and indirectly calling himself incompetent (like junk?!) again!? (for failing against the meteor this time) Like GEEZ, the toaster is so hard on himself. :’) But, Saitama there telling him not to go that far. :’D And how casually/fondly Saitama speaks with him now (‘What am I supposed to do with you? Way ta go, man.’) Such good interactions!

Bang, to himself: “Up close he appears to be nothing more than an ordinary guy. Genos looks superior in every way, yet Saitama is guiding him. In terms of Association ranking, Genos is placed much higher, but if Saitama’s mastered a fighting style that surpasses rankings, it’s a different story.” (hohoho, how this summarizes so much! That classic ONE disconnect between appearance, rank and expectations there too) S: “What’s with the weird old guy? He’s gone all quiet.” G: “He is eccentric. Many are like that in Class S.” (Pfft, like…yourself, Genos? ;D And goddammit! Indirectly rude to his face too! XD Well actually, BOTH these dorks are rude to him, hah. They just fukkin get up and leave him – after Saitama asks Genos if he’s ready to go, together.) Bang: “That must mean this Saitama is an all-around outstanding teacher.” (huehue)

Bang: “How ‘bout this, why not stop by my dojo sometime? Might be interesting, what do ya say?” S: “Uh…nah I-I’m good.” G: “Master Saitama is a very busy man.” Bang: “C’mon, don’t be like that. Here, this is the address for my dojo. I’ll be there all day tomorrow.” G: “Did you not hear what I said?! Master is–” S: “Allllright, old man. See ya tomorrow.” G: “Uh! MASTER!” (Heh, Genos trying to defend Saitama, and YET! The ‘yoink’ from Saitama totally surprising him. XD Overprotective toaster, man.)

*later* G: “I thought for certain you were going to stop by the dojo.” S: “Well uh, I’ve learned old dudes like that can be persistent. Humoring them then blowing ‘em off is the only way to avoid big headaches.” Bang: “...He’s so very vulnerable and inexperienced.” *Saitama immediately dives in front of a truck* G: *gawking shock* “!!!! MASTER!!” S: “Thought it was a cat, but it was just a stupid plastic bag. And now all that delicious meat we bought has been run over by a truck and ruined.” OH MANNN!! Although I do prefer the prolonged yell of ‘SENSEIIIII~!!’ in Japanese, Genos is STILL stunned into overprotective shock for Saitama’s safety here. PLS, he JUST witnessed Saitama punch out a meteor! And YET he cannot help this protective instinct when the person he cares about appears *in danger*! XD Does Saitama’s normally ‘soft’ egg face make him appear ‘vulnerable’ to him too, as it does for Bang?!

Bang: (internally: “This changes all of my mental simulations.”) “You two look like you’re in need of some nourishment!” (OMG, this word choice! XD) S: *audibly scoffs* Bang: “Back at my dojo, I have some premium meat that the Martial Arts Association sent over.” (ooh they mentioned this detail here) S: “Ah! What a coincidence! I happen to have a bottle of yakiniku sauce! Where is your dojo?” (ahaha his projected heroic voice!)

Saitama, behind Bang’s introductions: “Ughh, this is such a pain in the ass…” Omg, him audibly complaining and annoyed already, he just wants the meat and to go home!

G: *finished clattering on phone* “Master, I will do it.” S: “You understand all the rules?” G: “I do. The explanation took too long, so I just looked them up.” Genos pls, you’re one to talk!! YOUR explanations take forever too! XD GAWD, these dorks I swear.

S: “All right then! The next hit wins, come get some!!” Omg, Saitama’s so into the game. XD Spirited, competitive and totally a sore loser about it too, buahaha!

Bang: “Maybe now you understand that you’ve had a match. Especially you, Saitama. Before you knew it, you enjoyed taking part in the competition. Otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten so serious. … Martial arts are appealing in this way, a way that you can never get from fighting and physical combat.” G: *with arms raised in the same attentive position as Charanko’s* “He has a point; Master was getting serious.” Ohoho, Genos is super interested the moment Bang says the game enticed Saitama to get serious. Interested in whatever can do THAT to his sensei!

Charanko calls him Bang-sensei! 8D (and not ‘Master’ like Genos)

S: “Whatever, let’s go one more round and finish this! I’m STARVING!” (HAH, Saitama pls!) G: “Master, shall I play you next?” (whoa, there!) S: “Uh-what? Why?” OMG Genos pls. X’D Heh, probably because he wants to challenge and see Saitama get serious against him this time. Like a sparring match of a different kind! ;D

Summary: AHHHHH, gosh!! Pretty much the whole ova was absolute gold, with plenty of prime interactions! (I had to refrain from transcribing every conversation XD) What a riot and so much fun!

OVA5: The sisters with too much going on

LILY!!! And FUBUKI!!! 8D Their voices! Ahhhh <3 ‘Gentle tomboyish’ is how I can best describe Lily’s voice. :P Also notably, the group calls Fubuki, ‘Miss Blizzard.’

Genos, internally: *introduces all the formal info for Fubuki* “But why is she…? Allergies, maybe?” (GENOS PLS, she is crying you fool!) THE LINE: “They are crabs. Crabs for my Master!” (EXACTLY LIKE IN THE SUBS I’M CRYING) Fubuki, internally: ??? “Uuhh, Isn’t this guy from Class S?” (She is horribly confused for their first ever line spoken together! XD Doesn’t even KNOW who his ‘Master’ is too!)

Genos, immediately with no chill or indoor voice: “EVERYONE, EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY! I have been informed there is a bomb on this train! PLEASE HEAD TOWARDS THE EXITS, TIME IS- *suddenly realizes* DAMMIT, they cannot! There is no way for them to escape!” (THIS FOOOOL I CAN’T HANDLE HIM HOLY SHIT X’D)

Genos, to Fubuki: “What is it? You cannot handle it without your underlings?” (HOLY SHIT THIS ASSHOLE xD He doesn’t approve of her style of heroics with rookie crushing, and doesn’t hide the disdain in his voice at all!) Fubuki: “No, I just don’t appreciate being ordered around, ok!?” (Heh, their interactions are off to a great start. :P)

The little Class C hero girl! Swim-chan, ahhh! Blushing in Fubkui’s presence. ;D Fubuki: “Shut up and get it together! All that whining’s not gonna change anything! Calm down and prepare yourself.” :’)))) Fubuki, doubly hard on herself while she lectures the girl (girl still blushing getting ordered around, heh). Speaking from experience and her OWN issues with inadequacy compared to her sister. Ahhh, my girl. <3

Genos, with extreme strained grunting holding the front of the ramming train: “YES!” (LOL, does this remind you of anything? ;D) Tatsumaki: “Outta the way~!”

Waaah, Fubuki responds to her sister’s quip, ‘why didn’t you just get off of that thing?’ with a ‘none of your business, is it?’ :’)))) Fubuki still has her PRIDE and sense of duty, man!! Aughh! She’s so upset her sister smothered her attempt to shine all over again! Can really feel sentimental for her. <3

Swim-chan comes to personally thank and express her gratitude to Fubuki for saving her. :’) Expressing her ongoing doubts of even continuing to be a hero (Fubuki can totally relate, always being in her sister’s shadow), but has gained renewed inspiration and strength from Fubuki today! :’DD Ahhh, so good! Both of them, uplifting each other to never give up!

*Naked, at the LAB* Genos: “Dr. Kuseno. Beyond strength, speed, range. I now know there is another type of power I lack.” Kuseno: “Well this is quite sudden. What is it?” Genos: *intense close up* “SUPERNATURAL.” Kuseno: *turns away* “I’m sorry to say my technology can’t help you with something like that.” Genos: *visibly distraught and pouting* Kuseno: “Must’ve been quite the formidable enemy you were fighting. Tell me, what happened?” Genos: *sulking* “…I utterly failed at shopping! *walks away* If only I possessed supernatural powers, the crabs would not have exploded as they did!” Kuseno: “The poor boy must be tired~” - Saitama, waiting for Genos to come home for dinner: “Sure taking his time, what gives?”

UAHHH!!! This boy I swear!! X’D And poor Kuseno too, totally used to this ‘poor boy’ always running with no chill (and his ridiculous requests). :’D Genos pls….Saitama has all the chill, patiently waiting for you to just come home!

OVA 6: The murder case that was too impossible (The far too impossible case of murder)

Immediately, Child Emperor’s voice, and soon enough, Lightspeed Flash’s voice too! “The answer to that is none of your business.” He sounds…posh and manly, heh. Meanwhile, Saitama and Genos are sitting side by side together in the water, minding their own business. :P

Zombieman’s voice?! It’s kinda…higher than expected. :O Like a young, nasally goody guy? Tank Top Master’s voice too…pretty deep.

PPP: “What a waste of a beautiful boy!!” (omg lol, plus the actor does his lines well btw)

Genos, literally fighting with a child to defend Saitama’s honor: “Hold on. Are you implying that Master Saitama is a suspect?” Child Emperor: *to Saitama* “Well, maybe not with that face.” (OMG no!!! X’D) Genos: “Listen to me! Even if My Master wanted to destroy Zombieman, he would not need weapons, a single punch would– *realizes, internally* Wait a second, if Master wanted to test the validity of Zombieman’s immortality, he might have used a weapon to go easy on him. Unfortunately, that would make sense.” Saitama: *notices Genos staring at him* “Hm?” Genos: *secretly to him* “Easy, Master. Do not worry. I will defend you at your trial.” Saitama: “I! DID NOT! DO IT!” (HOOOOO, it’s the ‘perjury for my sensei’ line! Classic. X’D)

King’s voice!! It’s like, deep and oily? Very ahh, distinct. Totally would not expect considering how his real character is like. Also his ‘King Engine’ here is a literal drum beat! (and not a heartbeat like how it is in the main anime eps)

Tatsumaki: “I know Zombieman doesn’t die when he gets killed!” (HAAAH referencing the ‘people die when they are killed’ meme, I can’t believe this XD) Zombieman: “Honestly it doesn’t bother me. This stuff happens all the time when you drink.” (HE’S SO CHILL OMG WTF. Treating getting stabbed like casual everyday shenanigans. :P) Everyone: “WHAT?!” Saitama: “Nuh-uh. Not at all.” (dude, exactly XD)

*Saitama and Genos, walking home in the sunset together* Saitama: “It was her, huh? The little brat caused all that trouble. You know, you gotta wonder why she’d do something so crazy.” Genos, internally: “…Unfortunately, that is likely your fault, Master.” *flashback* Tatsumaki: *offering Genos her drink* “I’m done~ Here. I just don’t like drinking, it tastes gross.” Saitama: *takes it away from Genos, scolding* “Of course you don’t like doing that! You’re still just a little kid! Stop trying to act so much like an adult, alright? You shouldn’t be drinking to begin with. Little kids should just have orange juice or something!” Tatsumaki: “WHAT!? Listen you–” Saitama: “I’ll go order one for you right now.” Genos, current time, internally: “Tornado’s pride got hurt, so in an act of retaliation, she forced herself to drink more, despite its flavor.” Saitama, beaming: “I gotta say, Genos! That hot spring sure felt great, didn’t it?!” Genos: “YES, MASTER!”

Ahaha! X’D Saitama can only view Tatsumaki as a child! And Genos, withholding such details from Saitama, while making sense of the whole fiasco for the audience. In any case, it’s great to see both our dorks HAPPY, side by side together. :’D

Overall, VERY enjoyable and especially so to see how faithful the dub team kept to their characters, never holding back on the gay at all, either! ;D (what a blessing!) Recommended for anyone to see the ovas again, in this fresh, alternative perspective! (special thanks to @dolltrash-etc for providing me with the links to study these, and showing me bits of her limited dvd release booklet! <333)

#opm #saigenos #english dub #commentary #I HAVE FINISHED AND PROVIDED LINKS WITHIN! 8D #this got way in depth omfg but i have no chill ESPECIALLY with content of our beloved dorks X3

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speakeasyinkiev-blog · 8 years ago

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No Zero-Sum Game with Russia

Dear Casey,

First off, I do wish to state that I’m generally a fan of your reports on regional affairs within countries occupying the post-Soviet space, and I appreciate the amount of time and energy you put into compiling the data upon which you presumably meant to base this article. You’ve certainly brought together a thousand different elements in hopes of making your case, and I’m never one to shun creativity and the stretching of logical boundaries. That being said, I found your conclusion in which the Kremlin handed Donald Trump the 2016 US presidential election through planting seeds of doubt in viewers of alternative media rather ham-fisted and inadequate.

You repeatedly conjured up “Alt-Right” and “Alt-Left” strawmen while offering insufficient information about what defines each apart from having the audacity to criticize Hillary Clinton in word or deed. Honestly, I’m still quite befuddled about the precise point you are actually seeking to make. However, your suggestion that international masterminds from an occasionally hostile government dupe well-meaning, but naïve liberal American journalists to drop hints about the ineffectiveness of American democracy to a small, but skeptical audience was enough to sway the election of our lifetimes is beyond absurd. Recognizing flaws and incongruences in how the status quo addresses the needs of the general public is not a step towards destabilization, but national advancement.

Before getting into specifics, perhaps you could indulge me by explaining how you came to define this so-called “far-left” in terms of a platform of ideas and public figures that represent it? Moreover, do you accept people who proudly call themselves “far-left” but don’t fit inside your well-defined parameters, and/or those who do not embrace the above title, but do fit into your matrix of qualifying beliefs?

Again, you’ve obviously put a seemingly gargantuan amount of time and effort into your research, and I in no means wish to dismiss it all. Still, I cannot be silent about the gaping holes in the very premise of your argument that the so-called “far-left” and “far-right” have conspired for some nefarious purpose at the expense of the “centrist” establishment, all with strong backing from covert Kremlin operatives.

Your mischaracterization of each cohort is problematic in its simplicity, and apparent disinterest in needs and priorities of each. The only thing the “far-right” and “far-left” had in common in the months leading up to the election was a willingness to admit that a need for substantive change was both eminent and imminent; the status quo wasn’t enough.

This “far-right” group had more than its fair share of racists, sexists, and other identity-based bigots—for sake of brevity, would you care to call them “Deplorables?” However, there’s nothing new or unique about them—xenophobia and bigotry is arguably the clavicle of American history. As much as I hate to consider it, there will always be a base of red-blooded American identity-based bigots. I find their rhetoric every bit as sickening and inflammatory as you, and would love to make it stop. However, silencing and punishing them won’t make them stop the hate—quite the opposite, really. Contrary as it sounds, you’ve got to listen. Millions and millions of people aren’t royally pissed off without a reason. Sure, there’s the sense of ennui that sets in upon realizing that you’re not destined to be a fairy princess after all, as well as a variety of other reasons to feel genuinely unhappy with the hand life dealt you. We each have our own unique paths to follow, but a desire for the ability to sustain one’s self and one’s own and a sense of worldly stability is pretty much universal.

Trump understood the importance of recognizing this desire and dissatisfaction on a PR/messaging level; Sanders embodied it at his core, with a lifetime of experience fighting for economic justice to back it up. Clinton’s campaign lagged behind both in that arena, which she had no excuse for doing. She had plenty of life experience helping underprivileged Americans to showcase in comparison to Trump, but her complicity in Bill’s globalization efforts in the 90s left her an easy target for Trump’s smearing, and she did nothing to fortify herself in that field, only hoping her opponent’s incompetence and repulsiveness would be enough to complete her coronation.

Your apparent disdain for what you conveniently call the “far-left” exposes the figurative rot in so-called “centrist” political thought, I do dare day. I use quotation marks with reckless abandon here specifically to demonstrate the general arbitrariness of the terms and how they are applied to people’s beliefs. What is your issue with demanding access to free healthcare and higher education, mocking it and calling it unrealistic, despite programs of both existing in nearly all other economically developed countries? What is so wildly unreasonable about requiring industry to make an immediate switch to clean, renewable energy, and not to drag out the process with so-called “intermediary” fossil fuel sources like fracking as a means of curbing greenhouse gas emissions and mitigating the worst effects of climate change? When you slam the “far-left”—which sounds an awful lot like anyone who expressed the slightest level of skepticism towards Hillary Clinton—those are also the ideas you’re slamming.

By placing RT in the position of chief media hub of America’s destabilization and demise, you give the network far too much credit. From my casual and cursory observation (reading, watching & some in-person conversations with staff over libations), at the very worst, they could be construed as “useful idiots” who occasionally engage in “whataboutism” (assuming we’re in the business of Cold War era vernacular). The vast majority of their TV-personalities at least, seem to have perplexingly little personal connection to Russia, today or at a time in the past. I am quite sympathetic to your concerns on how the network frames international news, particularly incidents and events in the geographical vicinity of Russia. I, personally took great issue with their coverage of the revolution at Maidan, and ongoing conflicts in eastern Ukraine, and have been quite vocal about these convictions. I feel little other than disgust when otherwise brilliantly savvy and culturally aware hosts courting the likes of thinly-veiled Kremlin shills (i.e. Thom Hartmann and Stephen F. Cohen, respectively). It’s beyond frustrating to hear someone with scant personal experience in Ukraine “culturally translate” events in a manner contrary to what I witnessed personally. I do commiserate. They do turn a convenient blind eye to Russia’s human rights infractions, by which I can simply not abide. That being said, their foreign policy suggestions are far from worthless: when push comes to shove, yeah, they do relay a slightly isolationist bent from my view. All told, I’m not entirely sure that’s the worst thing in the world, given our current track record of civilian casualties in the seven countries in which we’re currently engaged in military operations. With the distinct exception of Syria, in which countries is Russia closely poised to fill the power vacuum left by the departure of American forces?

I’m not here to defend RT, or anything the Russian and/or Soviet government has endeavored to accomplish: effectively all residents of the FSU have some bones to pick with Russia. Can you really blame them? I was face-to-face with one of the worst symbols of centralized Soviet imperialism when I attempted to visit the Aral Sea in the Karakalpak region of Uzbekistan in 2008, but lacked the funds to hire a military-grade jeep to traverse the hundreds of miles of sand dunes where a vast and bountiful sea stood less than half a century prior. An entire nation and populace saw the cornerstone of their fishing culture and economic livelihood eliminated, as well as their right to a clean environment and robust public health stripped away, all because Brezhnev had some really lucid dreams about growing a world’s worth of cotton in the desert. Of course, this is only one of many examples of Moscow assuming absolute dominance over the economic, social, and political endeavors of all post-Soviet republics, irrespective of the will of the people in each of these independent sovereign states. I can certainly appreciate the resentment many in the CIS feel towards Russia’s foreign policy based on historical precedent, even if I don’t always agree.

It’s ultimately about perspective, isn’t it? What you see depends to a shocking degree on whose eyes you are able to view reality from. The problem within is as follows: one whose only tool is a hammer sees the whole world as nothing but nails. Can we make this a weapons-free zone, please? Nobody exists in a vacuum—we are all influenced by our experiences in one way or another. Have you given much consideration to the idea of members of the media and congress most invested in pushing the narrative that the Kremlin was the primary actor in shifting the electoral college in favor of Trump (‘cause that’s all it was, essentially) may potentially have their own unique individual reasons for seeing the forest for the trees?

The list of players is long, but I’ll start with the easy A that is John McCain. As a decorated war hero who has spoken out against use of torture in Guantanamo, he deserves his due credit. Additionally, when Trump (Magic Bone Spurs-elect) mocked him for lacking the wherewithal to avoid capture by the Viet Kong, I was left with the singular desire to dust off those long-banished, bunion-causing stilettoes, and challenge Agent Orange’s claim that there were “no problems” where it counts…

But I’m getting well ahead of myself here. Morally speaking, there’s logical tracks a ’plenty with McCain’s [hypothetical] desire to serve a piping hot slab of personal justice to the imminent Vulgarian-in-Chief. You won’t find any arguments to the contrary here. I’m nearly apologetic, though, in saying that such logic isn’t sufficient grounds to stand as national recommendation for imminent security and/or military operations in this particular geographic sphere.

All thus far is strictly my opinion, but can also see through its share of peer review, if and when requested. This little bit of speculation comes from that spot you missed to wipe with some despondent child’s math homework oh-so-many-moons-ago: McCain, who endured a life of torture for several years under a nominally communist regime, is less than okay with the idea of feeling deferential to an old KGB boss-man. Again, I’d be inclined to offer the man a bit of sympathy if he kept his personal misgivings just that: in the realm of the personal. In a curious sort of way, strictly at face value “goldenshowergate” is the perfect public revenge for Trump’s tasteless dismissal of his esteemed military record. If they were just two guys punking each other in the privacy of civilian lives, I might give them a pass. That being said, these are not your average Joes on the street. Loose lips do sink ships when you’re high as a kite, after all.

Despite my occasional misgivings, I’ve kept up with RT-America’s coverage of the 2016 election. From what I gathered, the universal candidate of choice was Bernie Sanders. I’m always befuddled by how mainstream Democrats consider that an automatic claim of sympathy towards Donald Trump. I’ll repeat myself, ad infinitum if necessary: pointing out Trump’s economic protectionist rhetoric in contrast to HRC’s tacit nod to the globalization her less polished other half made the mainstay of the US economy more than 20 years ago is far from an endorsement.

RT-affiliated shows weren’t explicitly more outspoken and ardent in their skepticism (which is what it always was—never hatred, per se) than the likes of domestically-funded alternative media sites, such as The Young Turks. It’s relevant to point out that TYT hosts a large spectrum of opinions, none of whom are suspected of treachery along the lines you’ve implied for RT & Sputnik-affiliated media. Sure, Jimmy Dore makes me shake my head at a rate that would give Linda Blair a run for her money when he’s not making me laugh my ass off with his blatant prescience.

I am rather perplexed by the degree of unmitigated ire you have personally stowed away for Jill Stein. Sure, she was a lousy candidate, and the Green Party should’ve put forward someone else with greater long term policy goals and plans for nationwide Party development. In my frustration with Hillary, I even contemplated voting for her (still registered in MA, the bluest of the blue, at least at the presidential level) until I read the protest letters from top environmental activists in Russia as well as Green Party leaders throughout Europe highlighting the hypocrisies of her candidacy, and decided it wasn’t worth doing my little part to bolster the Greens to the 5% needed for federal election funding if this was the person I had to support in order to do it.

I’m still not quite sure why you saw fit to mention Jill Stein and Nursultan Nazarbayev in the same sentence as if they share a single thing in common besides calling Euromaidan a “coup.” Is Stein worried about China picking her natural resource base clean like a carrion crow, and interested in rekindling an old, if perhaps ineffective partnership? Is her goal to indicate solidarity with said partner by assuming their lexicon on an issue unrelated to her? Peculiar.

Also, what is your personal issue with RT’s choice to host third party debates? I’ll go out on a limb and assume you didn’t actually take the time to watch them, which is a pity on an entertainment level alone. The Libertarians had me in stitches the whole time, and it was pretty clear that the hosts had a hard time taking them seriously as well. By the same token, as much as I appreciated many of the ideas and opinions to come out of the Greens’ debate, their lack of political finesse made me pity them slightly. Pray tell, how did these exercises in democratic discourse serve as a threat to national security? Ultimately, Gary Johnson siphoned off a far greater portion of potential Trump votes than Jill Stein did from Clinton, so arguing that third party voters hurt Clinton rings pretty hollow.

At times, RT’s motto of “Question More” comes across as richly hypocritical, but what grounds do you have for questioning it at face value? Do you stand on the side of ignorance? Hyperbole aside, your fear of alternative perspectives suggests a hint of doubt on your own viewpoint. Honestly, just grow a bloody spine! Prove that you’re right by defeating your opponent in free & open debate, not obfuscating and muffling their voice. Of course, this requires a degree of integrity many corporate Democrats do not properly have, but is that truly the fault of the electorate? Must we put aside all of our scruples and misgivings and throw all of our support behind candidates who don’t especially support us?

I write you this not from an adversarial position, but from one of concern from a potential ally urging you not to conflate those who seek to fundamentally transform the country for the benefit of all disenfranchised through efforts to uncouple corporate influences on government (your “alt-left”) with those who want to make sharp changes for the perceived benefit of those in their particular community and demographic (i.e. the “alt-right”). For millions of Americans in poverty, and many millions more struggling desperately to stay above the line, this country is not “already great.” One needn’t be a Kremlin hack to see that and admit it.

#election 2016 #donald trump #hillary clinton #vladimir putin #rt #gop #democratic party #bernie sanders #jill stein #green party #dnc #tyt #jimmy dore #bill clinton #kremlin #euromaidan #john mccain

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