#as far as i can tell they are just worse in every conceivable way

[starlightparks]

kay so im currently reading good girl, bad blood in anticipation of the AGGGTM tv show coming out soon and i Have tm to share my findings...

(mild spoilers under the cut but they aren't even really spoilers but oh well)

im just going to rewrite the quote because it actually had me howling with laughter at a dead tree.

(in chapter 9)

[Ravi has handed Pip a Coco pops cereal bar]. "Eat that please, madam. Now."

Pip shot him a look of surrender and unpeeled the crackling wrapper.

"Breakfast of kings, that is," said Ravi, "Nice and softened by my arse-heat."

I love this book so fucking much! I haven't laughed at a book this hard possibly ever

[orcboxer]

listen 20 years ago i was happy and now i'm not so as far as i'm concerned yeah the world is getting worse

I grew up in a hyperreligious, hyperconservative family and church that was constantly convinced that we were living in The End Times and the future always looked bleak and every new problem was The Worst Things Have Ever Been and we were all miserable all the time. And when you believe without question that Things Are Always Getting Worse, that implies Things Were Better In The Past. And that's like, a cornerstone of right wing ideology. On the big picture, if you can't conceive of a better future, you won't bother trying to make one, and that makes you easier to control.

Now I can't speak to your personal life, of course, and I'll admit my life is better now than it was 20 years ago (I left the church, came out as gay, started treatment for my mental health, all that jazz). But I can tell you that the quality of life of the average human has improved, and things are, overall, largely improving on many different levels globally.

Over the past century, globally speaking, the average lifespan has increased, infant mortality has decreased, poverty has greatly decreased, education has become way more accessible, voter inequality has decreased, water quality has increased, food availability has greatly increased, access to healthcare has increased -- I could go on. You'd actually be really surprised how much better things have gotten. Every person I've "quizzed" on it has greatly underestimated the quantity of statistical improvement. It's like we're all conditioned to assume the worst.

It's easy to fixate on all the problems, and it doesn't help when that's all anyone ever talks about. But that's why it's so important to keep things in perspective. If a headline is like "525 billion tons of pollution is in the ocean" you just see a big number and assume it's bad, but you have no frame of reference for it so you're really just going on vibes. You gotta ask like. How much pollution was there last year? What is being counted as pollution? How did they arrive at this number? What initiatives are being taken to remove pollution? So on and so forth.

We are constantly flooded with hyperbolic doomerism and while there absolutely are very real problems that need urgent action (like climate change), it is also completely unhelpful to anyone for us to burn ourselves out trying to be The Correct Amount Of Upset about all the problems in the world all the time. You can't fix everything, you have limits, but there are things you can help with. Do those things and let yourself feel good about it. And let yourself actually appreciate the work that other people have done to make the world a better place. So many people whose names will never grace history books have paved the way for you to do your thing, and it's a damn shame all that work goes underappreciated by most folks.

Learn to question negative statements. If someone says "The world is getting worse" you should be asking, "By what metric?" And then you should be asking, "How can we improve those numbers?" I swear to god it makes a huge difference for your mental health.

[johntayjinf]

take me on

rrthiel - athletic (ym2151 + ymz280b)

i was inspired so i wrote a vocal mix! ack

for anyone who wants the commentary:

the pain of vocal production on a tracker with simple detuning controls

no, genuinely i can't tell you how frustrating the vocals were to tune; first i set the entire project to 435hz (440 is the default tuning that every single daw in existence uses), but the consequence of that is that it also lightly detuned every single sample, making timing very difficult to manage. i felt like the devil having to artificially extend my vocals to fit both the timing and get the tuning right, but you win some you lose some i guess.

on top of that i feel very unsure about my own vocal performance and there'd be a few noticeable tuning mistakes, i think? i mean before i tuned them again tonight they were even worse, but apparently the trick to that is just to listen to them outside my headphones; because listening to the lower frequencies to tune vocals isn't going to give great results. or maybe that's just me and my habits. my shit phone audio that exposed the mid frequencies did a good job at telling me that, "hey, you tune terrible for a gal that likes to say she does music production to people when you like silly video games and music that came out before you were even conceived"

venus theory made a very good point about having a "shitbox" (like, a boombox that is shit) so it exposes frequencies you would've never heard otherwise, and that was quite the enlightening experience to say the least. i wouldn't say my tuning is terrible; frankly i think it's fairly okay for someone with informal training and practice, but i genuinely didn't expect to go so out of tune in my one (yes, one) take of the main vocals... and then i learnt that way that the voice that you think you're singing varies widely with what's actually produced from your vocal cords, your mouth shape, and how much air you put into it. needless to say this was a really good, and *horrifying* learning experience, and hopefully this means more vocal covers and originals in the future.

as for the lyrics, i was going for the "mindless 80s love song" cheesy lovey dovey kind, and was inspired slowly after a few listens of the og song. it's not my first time writing english lyrics, but it's fair to say that it's really rare coming from me.

Lyrics

sometimes i feel like i'm afraid of heights

(don't look down now)

sometimes i feel like i wanna hold you tight

oh you would never know the sight,

because right now we're so high we could almost die

but now you're here with me, i'm like on ecstasy

if anything ever happens i won't mind

'cause with the two of us, our hearts combined

we'll always have our time to shine

together we can find a place or run away

it's okay

you could pretend that we would be so far

but i will find my way 'cause you're my north star

i hope that you and i are on par

i don't wanna put my feelings in a jar

is it just my mind that is pacing, my chest that is aching

the things i wanna say could be said everyday

is it just my heart that is racing, the love we'll be sharing

and we will never say goodbye

you see that all is fine,

now put your worries all aside

[guitar solo]

'cause with the two of us, our hearts combined

we'll always have our time to shine

together we can find a place or run away

it's okay

you could pretend that we would be so far

but i will find my way 'cause you're my north star

i hope that you and i are on par

i don't wanna put my feelings in a jar

is it just my mind that is pacing, my chest that is aching

the memories we'll make will never fade

is it just my heart that is racing, the love we'll be sharing

and i will always play my part

we should take on the charts,

or maybe begin from the start

[aheathen-conceivably]

Hello Darlings 🌻

So I received a Nonny message asking for clarification regarding Zelda’s situation in yesterday’s post. While I am always glad to answer Nonny messages, please keep in mind that I do not have the ability to answer those asks privately as I would if you sent them off anon. While I totally understand why y’all use anon, it does limit my ability to address them, especially for more sensitive or personal questions.

However, I still wanted to resolve this question as yesterday’s post comes from a very personal place, and perhaps for that reason, I do want it to be clear moving forward. While I think subsequent posts may do that, in case they do not, I will also answer it here.

That said, I will be doing so under the cut because it involves a more in depth discussion of Zelda’s situation in yesterday’s post. So if that post is as far as you would like to go on this subject, please stop reading here.

No, Zelda did not have a miscarriage. Nor did she just “not become pregnant.” Zelda and Antoine have more or less been trying to get pregnant for a year, and she has continued to get her period month after month. Let me make something abundantly clear, I am in no way minimizing the pain of having a miscarriage, nor ignoring how that could have been the conclusion of that post. However, I am specifically writing about a different experience with one’s fertility and how that can affect one’s mind in its own way.

I am clarifying this because it is its own, albeit deeply related and sometimes simultaneously experienced, pain. That is because many people will view it as “you never had anything to lose” or “there was never any traumatic event to be upset over.” It is a slower pain, damn near constant; that comes to you in cycles as you follow your own so closely.

As many women who have tried to get pregnant can testify, the hyper awareness of one’s fertility can be overpowering, as you restart each and every month, planning your life around the best time to try and conceive. Then once that passes, you search your body for every little sign to tell you whether or not you succeeded. But still, there’s nothing you can do but wait.

There’s a very specific line in that post that sometimes Zelda was late enough to make them think she had conceived. Imagine there is no pregnancy test, and all you can do is hope that every time you look down, you haven’t started your period. Even if it’s “just” one day, or a few hours, you do it every single time. Every single trip to the bathroom becomes a high stakes moment because if it’s there, then you “failed”, and you have to start all over again. Until sooner or later it eats away at the excitement and hope you felt when you first began the process.

It is exhausting and Zelda’s statement that “she is broken” becomes an almost inevitable thought as it happens over and over and over again. Meanwhile there seem to be countless examples or even other women telling you that it should be easy or that all you have to do is relax. Even worse, you’re told you have to “keep trying” because nothing “bad” has happened, has it?

There are countless women in this position, and if you are or have ever been one of them, my heart goes out to you. That is why I wanted to clarify this before we proceed any further in this story, because this is a very intentional experience I am writing about and I don’t want it to be misinterpreted for that very reason.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

My favorite thing about Jemrauth, last king of Arateph, is that he is so devoted to his wife and the concept of marital fidelity that it reshapes the politics of an entire planet. Unfortunately, he keeps falling out of any stories I try to tell in this setting, and even if I do manage to get him to show up, there's no way I'll be able to fit in any of this backstory. Which is an excellent reason to talk about it here.

Jemrauth's grandfather, King Evris, had no interest in ruling a planet and preferred to focus on his interest in landscaping, botany, zoology, etc. Which meant that by the end of his reign, the royal palaces had amazing gardens, but the planetary government was in shambles (because the ruling Houses had been able to run rampant without oversight).

Jemrauth's father, Hilath, (who basically started running the planet as soon as he was old enough to hold adult conversations), thus decided to value his duty to Arateph over any personal preferences. This included marrying a politically ideal woman that he didn't care two straws for.

Hilath thought the pursuit of virtue was irrelevant to ruling Arateph, and this philosophy spilled over into his private life. Once the succession was secure, he saw no reason to remain faithful to his wife, and openly filled his needs for companionship with an array of mistresses he housed in the palace.

Unfortunately, Jemrauth's mother did care for Hilath, and her husband's behavior broke her heart. (Especially since he'd string her along just enough to make her think he still cared for her and maybe they could fix things.)

(Also, it wasn't like she could have her own set of lovers, because while the king can do what he wants, cheating on the ruler of the entire known universe comes with extreme political, social and sometimes legal consequences).

After she gave her husband his heir and spare (Jemrauth's older brother and sister), Jemrauth's mother decided that this third child (conceived unexpectedly during one of those stringing-along periods) was hers. She took an active role in raising Jemrauth and was very close to him. Jemrauth was thus very aware of how much his father's behavior hurt his mother, and learned to view infidelity as one of the most heinous sins.

Jemrauth became his father's unfavorite--how could Hilath respect someone raised by his wife, who always took her side? It wasn't like Jemrauth was necessary anyway.

Except, um, surprise! Hilath lost his heir and spare to a plague in Jemrauth's late teenage years, which left Jemrauth as the only heir, despite not being raised for the role.

When it came to choosing a wife, Jemrauth knew he needed to marry a woman who he loved and respected and who he would always remain faithful to.

Not long after meeting Marastel, Jemrauth knew that she was the perfect complement to his personality and would make an ideal wife and queen, and he fell head-over-heels.

Hilath was outraged when he found out. Jemrauth had chosen possibly the most unsuitable woman on the entire planet. She was part of House Kepha, which was historically distrusted by the crown and the other houses because of a history of rebellion--and worse, she was on the lowest rungs of it. If he'd fallen in love with a commoner, it would have been better than this, because then at least she wouldn't come with the political baggage. As it was, her low-but-not-low enough rank was just enough to enrage people from every House, and Hilath forbid the relationship.

Jemrauth believed that the relationship had gone too far for him to honorably release Marastel--and besides, he didn't want to. He couldn't marry Marastel, but he refused to marry anyone else. This went on for years, with Jemrauth and Marastel remaining faithful to each other.

Finally, Jemrauth reached the age of ascension and took the throne. His father wasn't worried about the marriage question; an elder king still held a lot of political power, so even as king Jemrauth couldn't marry without his father's consent.

Except, tradition held that the king takes a virtue name upon coronation to define the virtue he holds most important to his reign. Jemrauth took a name that meant loyalty. Caring about people more than the power of the throne--openly declaring he was going to be the opposite of his father. Even worse, the name also had a layer of meaning that stated Jemrauth would remain loyal to Marastel specifically.

At the time of Jemrauth's coronation, renewed societal interest in virtue had Hilath under political scrutiny for his lack of it. He couldn't keep his son from living up to his virtue name. Hilath was enraged, but had no choice but to relent.

Hilath died a short time after Jemrauth took the throne, so Jemrauth was able to rule without his father's interference (or his help, which actually would have been valuable).

As king, Jemrauth wasn't great at keeping his personal feelings separate from his need to cooperate with someone politically. If he found out that someone was unfaithful to their spouse, he immediately classed them as "absolute scum unworthy of respect" and would not work well with them.

The nobility quickly learned that if you want to get anywhere with the king, you either have to be faithful to your spouse or (more often) work really hard to keep the king from hearing about your philandering. This caused upheavals in the Great Houses as lords cast aside or tried to hide mistresses and illegitimate children.

When Marastel was struggling with miscarriage after miscarriage and Jemrauth refused to divorce her, some of the lords tried to set up Othello situations--since the king found infidelity horrendous, they tried to convince him that Marastel was unfaithful so he'd cast her off and marry someone more suitable. They didn't count on the fact that these two loved and trusted and communicated with each other, so none of the manufactured evidence had any ring of truth to it.

The nobility (and some later historians) tried to convince themselves that Jemrauth wasn't really faithful to that wife of his--he was just trapped by his virtue name. They tried to read a lot into Jemrauth's interactions with other women--sometimes the king attended social events while his wife was at home recovering from miscarriages/related depression--but though Jemrauth may have been a bit too sociable (especially when trying to distract himself from his own depression after the deaths of his children), he was never unfaithful and always madly in love with his wife. 1000% chose the right queen. Zero regrets.

This is my way-too-long no-one-read-all-of-this way of saying that I love that this guy's most enduring trait is how much he loves his wife and is dedicated to the concept of true--as in, faithful--love. And I think about it all the time.

[laugtherhyena]

Ingrid Elise Sauer-Von Dutch

So, why did i make a Daarin kid if i don't ship them? Simple, me and my friends were chatting about a concept i had of them and we kept talking and talking which ended up in me developing said concept and my friend writing about it. Highly recommend reading if you're up for pain, he's an awesome writer!

What's the concept, you may ask?

The idea is that Daan and Karin are the only survivors of Temrina, being the only people who share such traumatic experience they stick together afterwards and form this unhealthy relationship where there's no love or comfort however they're dependant one another and the prospect of being left behind by the partner is far too frightening.

They seek comfort from one another by indulging in drinking and sexual acts, since neither of them will comfort the other in normal means, it's in this bender that their unwanted child is conceived.

As you can probably guess, neither of them woulf be good parents in the state they're in. Karin burries herself in her work and personal project of exposing what happened in prehevil to the world, hardly ever speaking or taking care of the kid usually just telling Ingird to don't bother her. While Daan was, at best, a distant father he feels a sense of obligation in taking care of their child, while he never spoke much to her he would be the one to prepare meals and take care of her when she got sick.

Much like in Daan's B ending, Pocketcat never leaves him, after Ingird is born it feels like the cat's presence is becoming worse, as if he's observing him on every dark corner of the house. This eventually becomes too much and afraid that Pocketcat could grow to prey on Ingrid Daan left them, feeling that this was the best way he could keep Ingrid safe from that monster as Pocketcat would continue to follow him wherever he goes.

This makes Karin furious, betrayed, terrified. Ingrid was only 3 years old and now she had to take care of her because there was no one else to do so. She got worse. She didn't like looking at the child, that regret, that burden.

As Ingrid grew older Karin put her on every extra activity you can imagine, language classes, dance lessons, literature club, you name it, anything to keep her out of the house and away from Karin as long as possible. One of these activities was piano classes, the only one out of all them in which Ingrid actually enjoyed learning, even if it started as an obligation she found comfort in the melody, it was her way to let out all of her emotions in a healthy manner.

At age 15 Ingrid went to a boarding school and both her and Karin couldn't be happier that they wouldn't have to live together anymore. On the day she left her childhood residence Karin handed her an old letter, it was written by Daan, a message he left for his child to read once she was older, an explanation for his departure. Karin thought about ripping, burning or destroying this letter many times through the years, he left them on their own he doesn't deserve this. Yet, Karin could never bring herself to do so.

Having it handed to their only child could very well be this man's last will, it didn't felt right for it to never reach Ingrid's hands.

At the end of the day, the tormented child appreciated her father's words.

[evita-shelby]

No one but you

Or Buck and Diane won't leave me alone and they demanded an au of them getting together.

Cw: unplanned pregnancy, mentions of illegal abortions, cheating, spoilers for Masters of the Air (and some for Peaky Blinders since Diane is a Peaky Blinders OC)

Link to No one has to know

They shouldn’t have let come this far, and yet they are meeting up in a hotel room because neither can stop themselves from this. They loved each other, they were each other’s peace in this hell and yet, there was no guarantee this would change for the better tonight.

She waits for him on the bed that might as well be theirs considering how often they come here. She’s nervous, she’d broken up with Tom last time he was on leave because she knew he would never raise a baby that wasn’t his. It had hurt, she loved him, but she loved Gale, and it was his baby she was having.

He didn’t know yet. He would leave this room knowing that but whether he is willing to leave his Marjorie to raise a child with her is another thing entirely.

Diane had known of someone here who could take care of it before it even showed, and yet, she hadn’t wanted to erase a future with a blond-haired baby boy that was a perfect mix of them both.

John Gale Cleven, blonde haired with his smile and her mismatched eyes. Conceived in love and sin under a tree.

“Are you feeling better, Di. Helen said you weren’t in today because of it.” He asks with concern as he left his jacket on the hook and, for a moment, became Gale Cleven, not Major Gale Cleven with a sweetheart back home.

“Yeah, just needed some time off.” She smiles nervously and hates herself for not being careful. This was the last thing they needed, but she doesn’t want to get rid of it, and it’s better if she tells him now. “Actually, I need to talk to you about that.”

Buck knows exactly what she means and goes through every stage of grief--- except anger----as he crosses the room and joins her on the bed. “How far along are you?”

“A month, maybe more.” Diane answered avoiding his eyes, she has no idea why she’s bracing herself? Rejection? No, Gale Cleven isn’t the type to do that. Shame? Actually, both were already keeping their entire relationship a secret because both had someone waiting for them, so it could be that.

“Does your Tom know?” Gale held her hand in comfort, and she shook her head. He knew she’d ended things with Tom, but never the specifics of it.

“He thinks it’s just the guilt of our arrangement that led to me breaking things off with him. I didn’t want to make it worse when I still wasn’t sure if I was pregnant.” Diane leaned against his shoulder knowing her fears about him tossing her out like last week’s trash for getting pregnant. “You don’t have to do right by me, I have enough money to not care what people think of me as an unwed mother,”

That is a lie, the word whore will be thrown around enough for Gale to feel the insult all the way in America.

“I’d marry you even if there was no baby, Diane. At least we won’t have to hide any longer.” A small consolation even if it means setting themselves on fire to make this wrong into a right.

“A small consolation, isn’t it?”

And it is.

While what men did off the clock was no one’s business, Gale’s reputation of an honest and principled soldier does take a hit.

Bucky is angry on Marjorie’s behalf, and angry at him for not listening to him. Even worse for not telling him.

“I love her, Bucky, and she’s having my baby. I feel terrible for what I did to Marge, but its too late for that now.” He can’t just abandon his own child, and even if everything’s gone to hell, Buck can’t regret choosing Diane over Marge.

She understands what he’s going through, she is here and perfect and this was their only chance to be together.

“Can’t argue with that, Buck. So, when’s the wedding?” he gives him a pat on the shoulder, still smarting for this betrayal of their friendship and yet still there for him as always.

“As soon as her folks come from Birmingham, and we get a license. I don’t want to risk the baby being born on the wrong side of the sheets if I don’t come back.” Buck answered getting to the good part. “I was thinking of you being my best man.”

“Only if I can sing at your wedding.”

Even with Bucky’s caterwauling and the night bombings, it’s one of the happiest days in his life.

It’s September, when Gale Winston Cleven marries Diane Elizabeth Shelby a month and two weeks since they made love under their tree.

She looks beautiful, in a plain white dress and whatever flowers the children at the base managed to make into a bouquet for her.

He gets three days in London as his honeymoon, three days and two nights in a townhouse owned by Diane’s father, a man who understands why he can never accept a medal in this godforsaken war.

“I’ll come back; I promise. Take care of yourself and the baby, Di.” He said before every mission and kissed her goodbye because now she was Mrs. Gale Cleven not the nurse he pretended was only his friend.

The letters from home had come, angry, disappointed, and resigned. Marge’s had tearstains from crying, his mother was happy for him even if she compared him to his father, but they understood why he did this and wished them the best.

If she makes you happy in ways I couldn’t, then I hope the two of you will be happy together, Marge had written and with that her letters ceased all together, her photograph sent back and replaced with Diane on their wedding day.

When he asked her what she thought Tom did with his picture of her, she shrugged and answered, Tom had torn it up, burned the pieces, and tossed the ashes in the shitter.

But Tom and Marge were their past, Buck and Diane were now each other’s present and future.

“I love you.” The words still come as whispers, and yet they no longer carry the guilt or shame they used to come with.

He has six more missions to go.

Six more and he will get to see the mysterious Arrow House before going to train boys in the States. They’d have to face his family and friends sooner or later, sooner seemed better if it took them away from the bombs.

Being Mrs. Cleven is great, they are out in public as husband and wife with nothing to stop them. Some dirty looks are there because everyone knew about Tom and Marge and yet none of them can truly judge them because everyone sought comfort any way they could.

They are given a tiny house on the base because, they do provide space for married couples serving together. She does her work he does his and at the end of the day they are each other’s peace here.

Gale kisses her hungrily when he comes back from his missions, seeking release from his torments in her and relishing having no reason to stop loving each other anymore.

“Twenty-two. Three more and we get to go home.” Buck trails his fingers on her arm and kissed her shoulder so sweetly Di wished he didn’t have to go.

She had a bad feeling; she’d seen the results in the cards and felt a stab in her heart when Gale’s card came next in the sequence and known this was a mission he wouldn’t come back from. The young witch had told him about it, but he assured her he’d always come back to her.

He loves her and she loves him even if death tries to part them.

“I know, can’t wait to see where you grew up.” She pushed back the preemptive grief and smiled through it. She has good news too, something that will give him some bit of joy before everything goes to hell. “The cards say it’s a boy.”

He smiles broadly, almost silent in his joy as he embraces her tightly as they lay in bed. “Would you mind if we named him John?”

“Not at all, love.”

They decided on John Egan Cleven when he leaves for Bremen. Bucky would be his godfather, of course, and the godmother would be Janey Dogs, one of Diane’s best friends who happened to be Romani as well. Janey’s father, Johnny, had two wives even if it went against tradition and the law, but he was the exception amongst the families they traveled with, something Buck still couldn’t wrap his head around.’

“I’ll come back; I promise. Take care of yourself and the baby, Di.” Those are the last words he says before he goes on the mission he did not come back from.

No one save for Bucky understands the pain she feels and promises he will be avenged when they part ways, Bucky to Germany and Diane to her parent’s home in Birmingham.

Bucky’s captured two days after.

She writes to his mother to comfort her; she promises to use her dad’s and her own money and influence to find out what happened and if necessary, demand they return his body home.

He's not dead, Di feels it in her heart that he’s alive and tells his mother so.

They begin corresponding, taking comfort, and learning every little thing they can about Gale’s life before the war, during the war and now as he is held in a German Prisoner of War Camp.

Diane writes letters to him the moment she learns where he is, assures him they are fine here in Arrow House. She tells him about the estate, the gardens, about her family and how well she gets on with his mother through letters.

All of them holding anything that can help them survive long enough to escape the Germans. It takes a while for him to write back and sends Bucky’s apologies for getting captured too and asks her subtly what they should do next.

“You used to do the same with Marge’s letters,” Bucky points out as Buck inhaled the still fresh smell of Diane’s perfume in her letters.

It was as comforting as Marge’s had been back at Thorpe Abbotts, he had almost forgotten that. He still felt guilt for hurting her that way, but Gale couldn’t say he regretted choosing Diane and his son that day.

“I know. If I hadn’t fucked it up, they could’ve been friends.” The blond admits to seeing the similarities in the two women.

“What does Mrs. Cleven say?” Bucky asks as the most trusted of their men gather pretending to listen go on about his wife.

News from the front and what her readings say they should do are hidden in meaningless phrases, made up gossip and anything she can make up under the guise of a lovesick young bride. He writes back in a similar code asking her to ferry the information they manage to hide in love letters to anyone important enough to be of use.

Gale sees his twenty-sixth birthday at Stalag Luft III. He doesn’t tell her what he did to stay healthy enough to live, as far as she knows he’s being kept well. She tells him his namesake, Winston fucking Churchill, has put her in contact with Allied Intelligence to come up with a fool-proof escape plan when the invasion begins.

Stay put, stay safe, we will be waiting for you as we always are, she wrote.

Winter of 1943 turns to the spring of 1944 and on May 14th of 1944, John Egan Cleven is born in great health contrary to the lie of him being premature like they told his family.

On June 18th of that year, as his Father’s Day gift, Buck receives a photograph of his son and a lock of blonde hair wrapped in a thin ribbon with a code.

While the invasion of Europe had begun that summer, they couldn’t escape safely until 7 pm, January 27th, 1945.

“Di says evening of January 27th of next year. Do you think we can stay put until then?”

“Gives us enough time to plan this shit right.” Bucky lights up at the news and quickly forgets all the times he doubted Diane’s abilities for telling them to stay put. “Nurse, heiress, psychic and spy, you sure know how to pick them, Buck.”

“Meatball picked her, if anything I should be thanking DeMarco for the mutt.”

Seven months to have the allies close enough for them to escape safely.

And they do, with minimal casualties they reach allied soldiers after escaping during the Moosburg March on January 27th of 1945 at seven in the evening just as Diane had said.

“I told you; I’d come back, I always do.” Twelve days later, on February 8, 1945, he is reunited with his wife and his son at the same tree they fell in love under.

[bullet-prooflove]

BlackIce!Series - Part Three: Check In: Frank Castle x Reader

Companion Piece to Black Ice & Ice Pack

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Black Ice Series:

Part One: Black Ice - Frank rushes home after hearing you've been in a car accident.

Part Two: Ice Pack (NSFW) - Frank loves you for the first time in months.

It’s been almost two months since you last laid eyes on Frank, since he slipped from your sheets whilst you were sleeping and disappeared into the night. It’s not unusual, the real surprise is that he stuck around for six weeks this time. Normally it’s a night or two, no longer than a week.

You’re out for a run in the park when someone falls into step alongside of you. You know it’s Frank, you’d know his presence anywhere. The two of you have a six sense when it comes to each other.

“Castle.” You huff out his name between breaths, keeping your gaze fixed on the bench right straight ahead of you.

“Knee’s holding up pretty well Lieutenant.” He remarks as you slow to a jog.

The truth is it’s aching already. You’ve been pushing yourself lately, trying to get back in the field because being behind a desk is killing you.

“Physio’s helping.” You tell him as you stop alongside the bench, the one where the two of you had sat all those years ago. You’d been a Sergent back then, reading the morning paper and sipping a cappuccino when The Punisher had sat down alongside you and told you Lou Beretti had put a hit a out on you for killing his son during an undercover op.

The two of you had been exchanging information for a couple of years by that point. He got the jobs done that you couldn’t. The law wasn’t infallible, far from it. Sometimes bad men walked free, they went on to kill again, to rape and torture, that’s where Frank came in.

“It was him or me.” You’d told him, pulling up your sleeves so that he can see the scars that transect your arms. He knew what they were, defensive wounds from a knife, he had a couple of his own. “I chose me.”

Kyle Beretti had a reputation for beautiful women and blades, the two interests intersected more frequently than his father cared to admit. You’d seen the bodies, so had Frank.

“Look,” he’d said. “I don’t want to see you dead.”

You’d laughed then and that laugh…

It lit something up deep inside of him, something he hadn’t felt for a very long time.

You weren’t just someone he swapped information with, you were someone he trusted, and humour was the way you dealt with shit when things got tough. The fact he knew that about you was just a testament to how close the two of you had got.

“I’m gonna take care of it.” He’d assured you.

You’d given him that look, the one he’d come to know so well. You were stubborn, you always had been, it’s one of the reasons he’d liked you. You knew who you were, and no one was going to change that.

“I don’t need you to do that.” You’d told him forcefully. “I can take care of it myself.”

It’s an age-old adage he’d heard a million times before and it always ends the same way, with a bullet in the brain. What Lou Beretti had planned for you was much worse, he’d wanted to take you apart piece by piece until you begged for mercy and even then, he wouldn’t end it. He’d keep you alive for days, recording every second of your terror, your agony until your body gave out. Frank couldn’t let that happen.

He'd tried to explain that to you in every conceivable way but you, you were a pain in the ass. You wouldn’t go into protective custody, you wouldn’t take a few vacation days and disappear for a while, you wouldn’t listen to any of his suggestions. It goes round and round until you get up from the bench and walk away.

They come for you that night. You manage to take down two of them but the third gets the jump on you, it ends with a concussion and a spiral fracture in your left arm before Frank gets his ass in there. He has to say he’s appreciative of your work. You’d used the riot shotgun on the first two, gone hand to hand with the third.

When he catches up with Beretti he makes it last, he does the exact same thing the crime lord was intending to do to you. When he’s finished, he sends a bouquet of brightly coloured daisies to your hospital room with a card that says, ‘Rest Easy – F’. That’s how you know he’s taken care of the problem.

“Look.” Frank says interrupting your reverie. “I just wanted to check in.”

You tilt your head towards him. The stubble that lined his cheeks the last time you saw him has flourished into a closely cropped beard. His dark hair’s grown a little long, strands escaping from underneath the charcoal-coloured beanie that’s perched on his head. He’s wearing a grey zip up hoodie over loose running shorts and leggings. The same attire he used to wear to your meet ups.

“The knee is fine. I’m fine. People are still doing stupid shit, so the job is fine.” You tell him, taking a sip from your water bottle. “I think you’re all caught up.”

“Angel…”

He sees the way your jaw clenches at his use of the word. You give him that look, that fierce stare of yours. It causes a pang in his chest because he knows he’s hurt you, and he fucking hates it.

“You know I couldn’t stay.” He says gruffly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

“That’s not the part that gets me.” You tell him, using the back of your hand to wipe the water from your lips. “You stay, you go, it’s part of who you are. I accept that.”

You do, you always have. This thing between the two of you has been going on for a couple of years now, you’ve never once chastised him. It’s the other thing that’s cut you deep, the thing he didn’t do, the thing he normally always does.

“I didn’t say goodbye.” He says quietly, his gaze lowering as he scuffs at the tarmac with his sneaker.

“Yea.” You say, replacing the cap in your water bottle with a click.

He always says goodbye, he has ever since the night he slipped up and called you angel in the throes of your love making. That’s the way he thinks of you, his beautiful, battle-scarred angel, the one that gives a shit about other people, who tries her best to do the right thing. You are the one person he doesn’t disappear on, you may not know where he’s going or what he’s getting up to but he never leaves without kissing you on the lips and telling you goodbye.  He opens his mouth to explain but the words, they just won’t leave his throat because that means coming clean, admitting that he’s vulnerable.

To you his silence speaks volumes. You laugh and it’s a harsh, bitter sound that stabs into his chest like a knife.

“I don’t need an explanation,” You tell him, your attention diverting to the path ahead. You have that look in your eyes, that faraway distant expression. You’re withdrawing from him, shutting down. “I think I got it loud and clear. Now if we’re done, I need to finish my run, my shift starts soon.”

“I started to settle,” He says abruptly, reaching out for your hand and clasping it in his. “I started to settle, and I didn’t want to leave.”

“Frank...” You begin but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

“The first thing I did when I heard about your accident was get in the car to drive here, I was in Minnesota. It took me almost twenty-four hours to get back to the city. I couldn’t get through on your cell and I just kept running all these crazy scenarios in my head. When I saw you, I was so fucking relieved, you have no idea…”

Those dark soulful eyes of his meet yours and you are completely captivated, because you had no fucking clue. You remember that night, how calm he was as he stood before you when you opened the door, how tender he had been in the aftermath.

“All I wanted to do was stick around and take care of you, do you know how nuts that is?” He asks you; his hand comes up to clasp your face, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek. “I don’t do that kind of shit and it makes me realise just how crazy I am about you.”

His kiss is soft, tender. It says a thousand things that words just can’t.

I love you; I want you, you’re everything I’ve hoped for, everything I need.

The two of you are far from perfect but you don’t need to be.  

It’s messy and it’s complicated but its yours.

At the end of the day that’s all that matters.

“Let’s get you home.” he whispers against your lips. “That knee must be killing you.

Love Frank Castle? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[abigailspinach]

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/27/magazine/pete-buttigieg-interview-election-democrats.html

Tear down obstacles — I mean, the obstacle many would say was President Biden himself. A new New York Times/Siena poll shows that over 80 percent of voters are happy that Biden dropped out. Clearly voters were hungering for something different. Why did the party ignore that desire for change for so long? I think this is something the party was wrestling with for a long time. And then the president wrestled with it personally. And then he did something that is world-historically rare, for not just the leader of a country, but the most powerful person in the world to lay power aside.

CNN reported that there haven’t been any full cabinet meetings since late last year, so I don’t know how often you were meeting with President Biden himself, but as a surrogate, did you not have any questions or doubts about his abilities? The last time I was working with President Biden really closely was during a disaster a few months ago. I’m reminding myself I’m not supposed to appear in my official capacity, so I won’t delve into that. But look, nobody’s denying that he’s 10 years older than he was 10 years ago. The point is that he’s really good at being president and in my view still is.You have framed this as, he sacrificed for his country, that this was a noble act. But the reality was that he was facing sliding polling numbers and a defection of donors and members of his party. He could have made that choice weeks ago, giving Vice President Harris or any eventual nominee a much longer runway and time to defeat Donald Trump. And he didn’t do it. Did he wait too long? One of the things you sign up for when you go into politics, and certainly when you’re in high office, is everybody else telling you what you should have done. And we can all say he should have done this, or he should have done the same thing but a different time, or should have done it in a different way. But the fact stands that he did an extraordinary thing.

But it wasn’t unfair. Well, certain dimensions I think were unfair. For example, the fact that in a given day, you might have almost identical flubbing of names by the two major candidates, but only one of them would have that plastered in certain people’s commentary.

They’re calling her a D.E.I. hire. And worse stuff that I don’t want to repeat. And I just wonder, as a surrogate, how you combat that? Well, I do think that those attacks have been a bad look for Republicans. And you can tell because, when you’ve got somebody like Mike Johnson, who is a very, very conservative figure, the speaker of the House, telling his own caucus, hey, cool it, he’s basically saying that they are embarrassing the party, and I think acknowledging that they are diminishing the party’s chances by indulging in that kind of rhetoric. The fact that they can’t think of what else to do besides go right to race and gender isn’t just revealing about some of the ugliest undercurrents in today’s Republican Party. It’s also just profoundly unimaginative, because it means that they can’t speak to how any of this is going to make people’s lives better. In other words, they can’t conceive of a politics that isn’t just about the personalities. And their inability to explain how your life as an American every day will be any different, certainly any better, is revealed in the fact that they immediately reach for one of two things, saying she’s too far left, which is what literally every Republican says about literally any Democrat who is running against the Republicans. If Joe Manchin were the nominee, they’d say the same thing about him. It’s just standard and therefore boring. Or these really ugly attacks, which maybe are meant to get attention, but they are very much telling on themselves when they go there.

 I am thinking about how you see your role right now, because while Biden rarely talked to the press, you not only engage with people like me, but you also go to Fox News. And I am wondering why you do that. Because I know that there are so many people who tune in in good faith. I don’t always feel that the corporation that runs Fox News is acting in good faith, but I know that the viewers might be tuning in in good faith and getting their information from this news source. So I, as a political figure, can hardly blame a voter for not being responsive to our message if they literally have never heard it. And we’re in a very fragmented environment. Honestly, we’re lucky if we can get to somebody through TV, versus just even more fragmented internet sources. And I know that if I’m on that network, I’m one of relatively few voices with our message, and so if I didn’t go there to give that message, somebody might never hear it. I also know that you cannot assume who somebody is or how they’re going to vote just based on what network they watch. Of course, there are a lot of strong patterns, but there are a lot of people who can be moved. And sometimes the person who picked the channel is not the same as the other person who’s also in the house, listening to what’s being said. Sometimes when you explain what you believe to somebody, even if they don’t completely agree with you, they respect you more, and are inclined to maybe trust you and give you the benefit of the doubt. So that’s why I’m there.

[pb-dot]

The Sisypheanism of Self Care

I don't know if the title is strictly accurate or uses words that are actual words, and neither do I care. Today's been a rough one and I'm granting myself license to be a little extra.

In the last year or so I've become acutely aware that the various mental health care I've been receiving hasn't really been hitting the mark. The talk therapy fails to function as much more than a pressure valve, although it in fairness has been a great pressure valve when I could get it. The problem is that we, that is to say, I and my doctor, former therapist, and social services caseworker haven't really made any inroads into making my life any better or breaking me out of my depression, or this spiral of unemployment, taking a job that doesn't fit my strengths, working until I have burnout and quit - repeat that I have been caught in for most of my adult life.

I was hoping there was an end coming to this time of faffing about with common sense cures for depression, my doctor currently suggests I lose some weight (I know, you're shocked) and take cold showers. In fairness, treatment-resistant depression probably isn't her field of expertise being a GP and all. Anyway, the reason why I hoped this was because I've recently been referred to the public psychiatric center that I know takes a somewhat more clinical approach to treatment, so although I wasn't holding out hope of being "cured" anytime soon, I was kind of hoping this would land me with a treatment plan of some sort. Maybe some different meds? A supplementary diagnosis of some sort? Who's to say, but a fella can dream, can't he?

So far I've talked to two separate mental health professionals who both seem deeply unsure about what to do about me. Out-fucking-standing. Oh, there were also some blood tests as I expressed I was a bit uncertain whether my antidepressants were, in fact, doing anything. I suppose that is the first thing you do in that instance, but I'm just expecting to hear that my body is treating the meds right, and the question if it does do something remains kind of floating in the air. That is, if it doesn't turn out I'm secretly immune to these as well.

Anyway, it's impatience on my end, and I'm fully aware of it. Diagnosing mental health conditions and neurodivergence is tricky and the consequences for making the wrong call can be pretty bad. That said, I'm just tired of getting mh treatment that I can't actually tell if does anything at the same time as I'm getting help getting back to work that I can't tell if does anything, and every time I talk to anyone in my life about this I can't but shrug and go "it'll pay off eventually... I hope."

It's all just such a waste. I was such a bright child in school, and although I wasn't quite as much of a standout during university, I did ok considering I was heavily depressed at the time. Hell, I'm still smart, pretty darn smart in certain fields, I would suggest, and my last formal test of my mental capabilities would agree. And yet, here I sit. Unemployed, frustrated, depressed, a walking pile of anxiety and dark thoughts so robust they almost, but thankfully not quite, should count as a philosophy by now.

Where did I go wrong? There are probably a bunch of things I could have done differently, but frankly, I also feel like Society, that old villain, has failed me in some rather profound ways. It's not just how difficult it has been getting mental health help that actually does something, or how absolutely debilitating being unemployed can be, although these certainly do contribute. My problem isn't just that my life is being made measurably worse by our old foe Late Stage Capitalism, although most of these are just made worse by that cancerous corpse of an ideology. The world seemingly has no place for me it feels like. Loneliness pushes in around me from every conceivable angle, dating is a nightmare, every job requires multi-year experience or specialized education I hadn't even heard about before reading about them, there seems to be no thought put into how exactly anyone not fitting into this cripplingly overspecialized work market is supposed to live their godfuckingdamned life, and that's not even getting into the climate shit.

I honestly hate how easy it is for me to pivot from talking about depression to unemployment. I hate how employment has to be a factor in my mental health. I hate how approximately nobody I've talked to about it, on the professional side, seems to get that I wasn't less depressed back when I was working. I hate how I can't get a job because it feels fucking impossible to be enough of a "go-getter with can-do attitude" to even make it to the interview stage when nothing feels good or worth it. I hate the fucking catch-22 of it all, and I hate that neither psychiatrist nor doctor nor case worker can even begin to unravel this Gordian knot for me, or even tell me where in the good grace of fuck I might begin pulling.

It's like they're saying "Sorry, your depression is untreatable and although we won't say it to your face, the labor market's general indifference to you should tell you that you have no place in it which in the current order of things means you have no value. Shame about that, someone probably should've told you all this before you did your best in school and endured the social ostracization that followed with being a kinda weird kid that loved books, all fueled by the fucking lie that it'd get better once you were done with school."

So yeah. I'm not having a fantastic day today, but I think getting some bile out of my system might have helped me feel a little less terrible? Better days than this will come, I'm sure. I'll try doing nice things for myself the rest of the day, although I'm not quite sure what they were. If I shitpost or rb more saucy art than usual today, that's probably what I ended up with

[the-knights-who-say-book]

it might be your wound, but they’re my sutures // a Griddlehark playlist

reposting playlist because i made some changes to it for AO3 posting, but have to take it down from AO3 now as it's too much quotation

I. They fought each other bloody and grew up in each other’s pockets

Pyrokinesis - 7Chariot Neither one of us could gain control over our powers Over one another we could fight like this for hours Words deep soaked in gasoline and it will never change And even if you loved me now it’d just feel cold and strange

Need Nothing - VÉRITÉ Oh, I’m sorry I’m so condescending The pride on my shoulder, it keeps me standing And I’d call out an ending If you’d hold it against me

The Last of the Real Ones - Fall Out Boy I was just an only child of the universe And then I found you, and then I found you You are the sun and I am just the planets Spinning around you, spinning around you

II. Immersed in salt water (one flesh, one end, bitch)

Flaws - Bastille All of your flaws and all of my flaws They lie there hand in hand Ones we’ve inherited, ones that we learned They pass from man to man

Holy Water - Freya Ridings I bathe in holy water In holy water for you You don’t feel the torture Feel it like I do

Fear & Delight - The Correspondents I don’t show it but I quiver whenever you come near And I cannot decipher between the thrill and the fear I wanna stop it but like it too much to let it stop here It’s wrong but I want you tonight

Graveyard - Halsey I would’ve followed all the way, no matter how far I know when you go down all your darkest roads I would’ve followed all the way to the graveyard

III. The cruelest thing anyone has ever done to you

I’m Not Your Hero - Tegan and Sara Feeling like I am now, lighting up the hall I was used to standing in the shadow of a damaged heart Learning all I know now, losing all I did I never used to feel like I’d be standing so far ahead

The Knife - Maggie Rogers The knife of insight tore its way in me A brash collision without sympathy

Bleeding Out - Imagine Dragons So I bare my skin And I count my sins And I close my eyes And I take it in I’m bleeding out I’m bleeding out for you, for you

Medusa in a Stone Garden - molly ofgeography I laced my fingers round the things that hurt me The way he looks when all my words desert me We weren’t bad just young, but that just makes it worse He said love does not compel, no, it converts me

IV. I cannot conceive of a universe without you in it

Control - Halsey I paced around for hours on empty I jumped at the slightest of sounds And I couldn’t stand the person inside me I turned all the mirrors around

Somewhere in Between - VÉRITÉ Somewhere between living and dying Making believe the walls have gone quiet My soul concedes, we’ll set it on fire So I can sleep in smoldering silence

Shots - Imagine Dragons Am I out of touch? Am I out of my place? When I keep saying that I’m looking for an empty space Oh, I’m wishin’ you’re here but I’m wishin’ you’re gone I can’t have you and I’m only gonna do you wrong

Bitter Water - The Oh Hellos Well, I still taste you on my lips Lovely bitter water The terrible fire of old regret is honey on my tongue And I know I shouldn’t love you I know I shouldn’t love you, but I do

Saint - VÉRITÉ Baby, I’m magnificently shut down Take me to the water, watch me drown Watch me drown Cause I know I’m not innocent But if you let me, I could show you how it feels To be buried underground

29 - Run River North Your words are cold like the wind They hold no weight around me Let go, you're telling me to let go I know the shadows are the only ones

V. The quick death to anyone who looks at me in fear

Immortals - Fall Out Boy Sometimes the only payoff for having any faith Is when it’s tested again and again every day I’m still comparing your past to my future It might be your wound, but they’re my sutures

The Lighthouse - Halsey And I’m glad I met the devil ‘Cause he showed me I was weak And a little piece of him is in a little piece of me

Cold War - Janelle Monáe I’m trying to find my peace I was made to believe there’s something wrong with me And it hurts my heart Lord have mercy, ain’t it plain to see That this is a cold war Do you know what you’re fighting for

I am not a woman, I’m a god - Halsey I am not a woman, I’m a God I am not a martyr, I’m a problem I am not a legend, I’m a fraud So keep your heart, 'cause I already got one

Blue Flame - Gio Navas I’ve discarded my skin Cremated your sins Held onto your eyes, its color staining mine

VI. I already gave my flesh to you, and I already gave you my end

Demons - Imagine Dragons They say it’s what you make I say it’s up to fate It’s woven in my soul I need to let you go Your eyes, they shine so bright I wanna save that light I can’t escape this now Unless you show me how

I Bet My Life - Imagine Dragons Now remember when I told you that’s the last you’ll see of me Remember when I broke you down to tears I know I took the path that you would never want for me I gave you hell through all the years

Ya’aburnee - Halsey I think we could live forever In each other’s faces 'cause I Always see my youth in you And if we don’t live forever Maybe one day we’ll trade places Darling, you will bury me before I bury you

Like Real People Do - Hozier I had a thought, dear, however scary About that night, the bugs and the dirt Why were you digging, what did you bury Before those hands pulled me from the earth

[archaeocommunologist]

"If you're not having fun, you're free to disengage. It's really, truly, no skin off my nose."

we could spend all day picking apart the fundamental problems with your assertions and arguments regarding the actual issue (as if you were ever willing to engage in a good faith discussion with someone who is, in fact, pro-Palestine) but honestly? i think this post of yours really encapsulates the actual "quiet part" with you.

you went from rape threats, stalking, and very rabid & violent forms of exclusionary rhetoric (which as far as i can tell you might still be engaging in) to this, here, now. you apologized for the rape threats/stalking and claim to have stopped. i am normally someone who genuinely believes in redemption and hates when past, apologized-for actions are hung over someone's head indefinitely. the problem is that you didn't just need to apologize; you needed to mean it. you needed to actually, truly examine the source of this disturbing, vicious rage and do some very serious deprogramming. and you BEYOND needed to step away from the harassment.

it is just not healthy that you can't stand up for something without suicide-baiting or tagging a call of "kill [x]" or insulting/baiting (for the record, i'm talking about the way you stole phrasing from the people you're attacking, too).

i am very passionately pro-Palestine and I'm sorry, but your absolute refusal to believe that spending our efforts humanely & strategically is a good thing, that it's better to avoid spreading misinformation, that Nazis are sometimes latching onto solidarity with Palestine to spread their poison, and that "Zionist" (more specifically "Zionist Occupied Government" but yes, sometimes just "Zionist") can be a Nazi dog whistle, is just batshit. none of those truths are in any way talking points against Palestinian liberation. The truth is just nuanced.

Of course you "find these liberal 'I’m-not-a-Zionist-but' American Jews' more despicable than the out-and-out settlers." They are accessible to you. Of course an American Jew questioning the best way to stop this genocide and liberate Palestine in the most humane way possible is, to you, worse than actual war criminals, rapists, and mass-murderers. They speak English just like you, have blogs on this platform, taggable usernames, and inboxes. They are a "great evil" YOU, personally, can hurt.

"If you're not having fun, feel free to disengage." What a sad thing this was to read. It all really is "fun" for you, isn't it? To you, "disengage" means surrender, surrender means you win, and that's what's actually important to you here, just like it always is every time you repeat this ghoulish cycle. You need to literally print out some of the shit you've written & done, take it to a good therapist, and have them help you do some serious self-examination and growth.

First off, I wanted to thank you for this message. Despite what people say about me, I really appreciate this kind of feedback and I am very open to conversation and criticism. That said, the fact that you are an anonymous and hostile stranger does undermine what you're saying. Also, the fact that I am open to criticism doesn't mean I value all of it. Like it says in the Big Book, we grovel before no one, and that includes you.

Second: I don't think you understand that this is a two-way conversation, that I have my own perspective, and that I am under no obligation to accept your framing of events. I know exactly where that "disturbing, vicious rage" came from: the multi-year harassment campaign I was subjected to, first by radfems and later by a loose group of (mostly) women on Tumblr. I was sent death threats, rape threats, and suicide bait. I was told that I deserved the sexual assault I've experienced. I was denigrated in every conceivable way, compared to a plague rat and a rabid dog. I was told over and over again that everyone I know would be happier if I were dead, and that I was a dangerous threat to everyone around me.

So forgive me if I'm not interested in whatever "deprogramming" you think is appropriate. If you're still confused as to why I was angry, and why I lashed out the way I did, you are welcome to review my old blog at sobercommunist.tumblr.com.

Third: If you're going to assume I'm a liar, you should expect the same in return. I don't believe that you "genuinely believe in redemption," with me as an unfortunate and grotesque exception. I don't believe that you are "passionately pro-Palestine" either. You've even misrepresented my positions in this ask, whether intentionally or not: I never said that "Zionist" couldn't be a Nazi dogwhistle, nor have I ever supported spreading misinformation.

Finally: when I wrote "settlers," I meant something more like "settlers and the Zionists who support them." The latter definitely speak English and have blogs on this platform, because they're in tributary's notes.

Hope this was helpful! Have fun out there.

[studiomkm]

The Not-So-Friendly Face of Death

I am not usually a vindictive person. I am Death, the final person that people see when they leave the Earth to move onto the hereafter, and that comes with a literal eternity of perspective. Everyone is truly equal in death. Young, old, rich, poor… when the mortal coil has been shuffled off, nothing matters anymore. It is the ultimate peace, at least for those who have lived decent lives.

Life, unfortunately, does not share that same equality. The way people reach me varies in seemingly infinite ways, with never-ending variety. Before they enter my realm, I can do nothing for them no matter how much I sometimes wish to. It is only after they join me that I can finally exert my influence. I am almighty in my realm between life and the afterlife and I can do many things to help make things better. I can also do many things that make things much, much worse.

Rage burns in my eyes as I slowly start to form the existence that will interact with Julian DeSantos. I have been there for each and every single one of his victims, all 31 of them. I had to comfort 31 children as they were cruelly torn from the realm of the living after suffering horrific torture. They came to me, broken and traumatized in ways that no one that should ever have to experience, let alone anyone so young.

I used my power to take their pain and trauma away, to make it nothing more than a scene from a movie that they had just watched instead of experienced firsthand. Each of them chose to move on immediately to the afterlife, just to try and get away from the cruel memories of the lives that had been cut short for them. I hadn’t cried so much in decades.

“Must keep going. Must keep going.” Julian says as his spirit comes free from his dying body as it collapses onto the dirt in the Nevada desert.

“You’ll find that difficult, DeSantos.” I spit out his name as the visage that he’ll conceive me as comes fully into existence.

“M-mother…?” he squeaks out meekly as he turns his spectral head to look at me.

Of course I look like his mother. As his entire sick, twisted life becomes part of my vast store of knowledge, that fact makes perfect sense. His mother had been the root cause of all of his vileness. Not through any fault of her own, mind you. She just had a sick, twisted little boy who hated the fact that his mother spent just as much time with the kids of the orphanage she ran as she did with him. He wasn’t special enough for her and that made him violently angry.

“I’m not your mother, Julian DeSantos. I am Death.” I growl at him.

I have no choice in what form I take in front of any individual soul but that doesn’t mean I have no control over it. With most people, I would change little things like my hair or eye color or the shape of the face they unconsciously gave me. With Julian, however, I decided to go far beyond that. I twisted the form of his mother in the most nightmarish ways I could think of, with more than a little help from the many creators of horror stories that I’ve helped along.

My face contorted and became slowly skeletal, my eyes sunk into their sockets and my bones cracked and popped at unnatural angles. I made myself taller as my teeth became like shark teeth, endless rows of sharp, jagged terror. My fingers elongated and I decided to make my eyes glow an unearthly purple color, simply because it’s Julian’s least favorite color. By the time I’m finished I look like Margaret DeSantos had been molded by the imagination of Lovecraft.

Julian’s spirit screams and collapses onto his rear.

“Yes, Julian. You’re dead. All your many sins have finally caught up with you.” I tell him, making my voice deeper and more twisted with every word.

He runs. He can’t really escape me, nobody can, but I let him run for a few minutes anyway just to cultivate a false hope in him. I need this monster to suffer. I don’t know if he’ll continue to pay in the afterlife, since I don’t know what happens to those who move on from my realm, so I need to make sure there is real consequence to what he did. Like I said, death is fair. I make it so, sometimes with extreme prejudice.

I let a few minutes pass and summon a long chain with a rusty hook on the end. I could have gone for the traditional scythe but the chain will scare him more as it drudges up his own cruelties. He always enjoyed using chains and meat hooks. We’ll see how much he enjoys them now.

“You can’t run, Julian.” I say, knowing he can hear me no matter how far away he’s managed to run.

It takes me mere moments to speed across the desert and catch up to him. Based on the look on his face, he’d wet himself if he were still able to. He tries to crawl away from me but I’m done giving him any false hope of escape.

“You’re not among the living anymore, Julian DeSantos. There is nowhere you can go anymore, not without my say so.” I tell him as he whimpers and struggles in vain against the chains that rapidly wrap around his body.

I lift him up slowly once the chains are nice and tight on his spectral form. He screams and wriggles uselessly back and forth as I force him to look me dead in the eye.

“I was there for all of them, Julian. Every single one of those children you brutalized came to me after their suffering finally came to an end. I was there to deal with each and every ounce of pain and misery you inflicted on them. I was the one who sent each of them on their way to the world beyond this one.” I explain as my hands tremble from the sheer sorrow and rage that fills every last micron of my being.

My words get him to stop squirming and he turns to look at me. Suddenly, he’s not terrified anymore. Well, not completely anyway. Now his horror has turned to rage and I can feel all of it. I am not impressed.

“I was sending them to you?! Sending you more reasons to ignore me?! I AM YOUR SON!!!” he screams like an overgrown child throwing a tantrum.

“I am not your mother, Julian DeSantos. I am the being who governs the realm between life and the afterlife.” I say again as I slowly grow even larger with the sickening crack of bones, “I am there for all who die. You are not my first monster, nor are you my greatest. You are just a sad, sick, disgusting thing and you are not leaving my realm until I say so.”

I’m nearly 15 meters tall by the time I finish those words. The fear starts to return to him as he’s forced to watch the ground slowly get farther and farther away. Whether he chooses to look at me or not, I will not allow him to lose his fear. His victims deserve that.

“So what?!” he shouts as he shakes in place like a Chihuahua, “I’m already dead. What could you do, huh? You’ve got nothing because you are nothing!”

I don’t even bother answering him. Any further words would be wasted on this blight upon mankind, so I simply jam the rusty hook into his spectral body. He screams in a manner so blood-curdling that it actually soothes me just the tiniest amount. It’s far from the end for him though, so I let him drop the ground once I’ve grown to 30 feet tall.

He hits the ground with a thud, dispersing dust in a very rare interaction with the physical world. With anybody else, I’d have loved to spend time discussing it with them but I don’t want to deal with this man for too much longer until it’s time to finally send him on to the afterlife.

“I took their pain and trauma away, you know. All of your victims came to me broken and left me as healed as I could make them… but that kind of emotional energy doesn’t just flutter away, you know.” I say to him as I start walking, dragging him along the ground at the same speed as a galloping horse.

“I’ve held onto every last ounce of it. Every second of pain, every inch of fear, every ounce of hopelessness and every milligram of despair that every single one of your victims experienced is tucked away inside me, just begging to be shared. Would you like to know what it feels like?”

He doesn’t bother to answer me and I don’t bother to wait for him to answer. Instead, I transfer everything I took from those children into the chain and force it to travel down the chain. In a few moments, it will pour into him through the hook I’ve embedded in his chest and he’ll become nothing more than a screaming mess. I lift him up from the ground again and summon a dark void directly underneath where he’s dangling from.

“Julian DeSantos. For what you’ve done, I deny you the right to move onto the afterlife. Instead you will spend every single one of the years those children would have lived if you had not ended their lives suffering everything you inflicted on them. Until that time, you will be banished to my dark place along with the other filth that has stained the world of the living.” I tell him right before the energy of all those children’s pain pours into him.

He screams in the kind of agony that I am glad no human will ever be able to know in their life as I feel the sweet relief of my unloaded burden leave my body. I do not regret taking their pain into me for even a moment but neither did I do anything but suffer myself under it. I take a deep, cleansing breath as Julian continues to scream without end and for just the briefest moment, I feel a tiny twinge of pity for what he is about to endure.

“I will see you again in 2,170 years, Mister DeSantos. Oh, and if you see Hitler or Stalin in there, please do me a favor and inform them that they’ve only made it to 2021 so far.” I tell him casually as I release the chain.

His scream dies the second his head touches the empty void and a second later, the rest of him disappears completely. I’ve sent him where I send all those who I simply couldn’t let get away with the atrocities they committed in life. Perhaps I shouldn’t bother, as there might be a Hell that they go to when I finally allow them to move on, but I have no way of knowing if that is true. I simply refuse to take the risk that they’ll get to move onto something better without ever facing any real consequence for their actions.

Some of the souls I have met have told me that I overstep my bounds in doing so, that I should leave them to whatever the afterlife has in store for them. It’s mostly philosophers but more than a few good police officers have agreed with them. I simply tell them the same thing.

I am Death. In this realm, between the here and the hereafter, there is no greater being. No greater power for me to answer to. I am the beginning and the end and I have chosen to connect with humanity and serve the infinite parade of souls in whatever way I can. I include making sure that true justice is served, as that is my prerogative after embracing humanity.

In other words, nobody tells me what to do but me.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t take suggestions.

[my-reality-my-rules]

Hai! so quick question, do you think our dreams are just us seeing a glimpse of our other version's/variant's lives in that universe?

Once, I had a dream so vivid, I questioned myself if I successfully shifted because I scripted something a bit similar before. And then there were other times I had nightmares that slightly traumatized me, and I pitied my other self for having that life.

Also, thank you for answering my questions and I learned a lot from you. I can't wait to tell you when I finally shift. <33

[thanks for this ask!]

now, I'm not an expert on dreamwork, so if you're looking for advice on that, i might give you only the bare ideas of it. to answer your question, however; I'd like to think so, yeah.

even before knowing about the concept of dreams being other realities (something which i vaguely remember is discussed in marvel's multiverse of madness), i had always leaned towards the idea that dreams are the medium of transcendental communication.

I've started actively supporting it when i learned about plato's 'realm of forms' in philosophy class.

in simple terms, it states how the physical world we experience isn't the 'real' world, and instead reality lies beyond what is merely physical. that behind every object we know about, there exists an eternal and unchanging essence (or the being of the object). in even more simpler terms: the physical world is nice, but the world of ideas (your mind's world, basically) is even better. it's reminiscent of that one albus dumbledore quote; Of course it's happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it's not real?

for instance; a tree and its shadow. the shadow would imitate the tree, from its leaves to roots; everything that it appears to be, the shadow will take after its form. but the tree will vary—it can have round leaves, a thick trunk, or downturned branches. but there's an idea of what an actual tree should be, its 'one true form' (so to speak), even if it would have differing features and shadows each time.

that's the simplest explanation i could make for explaining what the theory of forms is. how dreams and separate realities factor into this is incorporated in a slightly separate manner.

you have your many realities (the multiverse, i guess), and each one is different from one another. it can be an HP DR, a royalty DR, a roblox DR, and what have you. but it stands that, with every shifter, there's always an ideal reality for them—and the ability of being able to conceptualise it is what makes reality shifting so versatile. if you can imagine all these worlds with all these different forms, then your mind is already a separate reality on its own.

and dreams, at least in my (admittedly, reaching) opinion, are what links each of these realities together; because your mind is the 'higher reality', and also the place where your ideas and your desires are conceived. there's an overlap, because the realm of ideas is the medium for shifting realities.

basically: your mind is the medium for both dreams and shifting, and because of that, with it being the connection for both phenomena, they can shingle over one another. you can shift to or during a dream, and you can also dream while or about shifting.

sorry for the long-winded statements; i always tend to want to make supporting arguments, just in case lmao.

I'm sorry if you had those nightmares too, to be honest. i don't know if you meant that in a joking manner, but regardless, i do agree with your sentiment. yes, there are realities far worse than the ones we want, have, or know about—but that's the truth of it, and you can't always do anything about it. the best way to go about it is to make peace with the situation, and try to go about with a better DR.

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 4th June

Well, another week, another bit of jaunty piano. Honestly, I think I underestimated the public appeal of jaunty piano to a 1950s audience, because it's been a remarkably resilient genre. I have no clue what the specific appeal was, but this one went to Number 1!

Roulette - Russ Conway (peaked at Number 1)

I've got no idea why this is called Roulette. It wasn't written for anyhting, and it doesn't sound obviously casino-ish. Nope, this is an ice cream van jingle, and nobody can convince me otherwise. It's jolly, it's cheery, and it's alarmingly similar to the Postman Pat theme, and that's really all there is to say about it.

(Actually, Postman Pat apparently debuted in 1981, and had a theme written by somebody called Bryan Daly, who could conceivably have been influenced by this. Or perhaps it's just a super basic tune).

As said, I have very little to say about this. Actually, this might just be the least I have had to say about a song so far? I like it more than Side Saddle, I think. It's just a bit faster, and the big descending scale at the start is kind of fun. Plus the guitar strumming along underneath gives it a bit more interest than Side Saddle had. That said, it does get irritating, oh, maybe 40 or 50 seconds into its total run time? Which is only just over 2 minutes, so that's kind of impressive (in a bad way).

I Go Ape - Neil Sedaka (peaked at Number 9)

While Roulette was tinkling around at Number 1, this song only reached Number 9 - further proof, if you needed it, that chart performance is not the same as actual quality. Because this is a pretty serviceable, if silly, boogie woogie song, with a novelty monkey theme. Not earth-shattering, but fun, nonetheless!

Neil was one of a generation of upcoming songwriters, mostly based in New York out of the Brill Building. We've heard his work already, in Connie Francis' Stupid Cupid, and honestly, you can kind of tell - this has the same sort of goofy sense of humour, packing in sass and one-liners all over the place. Except this time, it's Neil himself performing. But yeah, with a few lyrical tweaks, I could see Connie also killing it on this one!

It starts with a real attempt to sound serious. The opening, in particular, with the backing singers' soft oooohs could be the opening for a proper rock and roll ballad, with proper soft, cliché lyrics about how the moon is bright above / Oh what a night for love / And as I hold you near / I whisper in your ear...

And then, a little pause, almost like you can see Neil smile, knowing the barrage of silly lyrics he's about to hit you with. The backing instruments go berserk, and suddenly we're in it, with lyrics about how I go ape every time I see you smile and how I'm a ding dong gorilla and I'll carry you caveman style. It's a solid shtick, and it just keeps coming, as Neil tells us how I'm a monkey's uncle who's a cousin to a chimpanzee, and ranga tanga ring ting tong / I'm related to old King Kong. Indeed like a barrel of monkeys on an abadaba honeymoon / I go a-squealing' and a-screechin' and a-howlin' like a big baboon. He'll bring his love bananas and coconuts, and they'll live in a zoo together - like I said, silly. But it kind of works, just beacuse of the sheer volume of them, and the way that Neil keeps them coming.

I think the other thing that sets this song apart from other novelty songs that I've liked less is that it's also just pretty good and solidly-made, musically. Throwaway novelty's fine, but I like my songs to have a bit of substance, under the hood. There's nothing worse, to me, than a novelty song that sounds disposable, or like the performers don't actually care about it. Thankfully, that's not the case here - everybody involved sounds like they're fully commited to the bit, even with lyrics about swinging from coconut trees and going full prehistoric on your lover. Neil, in particular, sounds like he's having the time of his life!

Conceptually, it reminds me of nothing more than the Disney song The Monkey's Uncle, from the film of the same name. That film came out in 1965, but the vibe's remarkably similar - and not just because of the monkey puns! Much like this song, it's a song that lives or dies on also being a decently made, well-performed rock and roll number - a Sherman Brothers number performed by the Beach Boys, no less! I had it on a compilation album of Disney songs, growing up, and it's a bop, not gonna lie.

I think my favourite of these two should be obvious. Neither song's exactly required listening, but one's miles more interesting and less irritating. Plus, I learnt that the Beach Boys were involved in a song I've known since I was a small kid. Which isn't strictly related to this song, but was a cool fact I didn't know.

Favourite song of the bunch: I Go Ape

[horriblelolipop]

People keep telling me I'm gonna be very successful one day and that I'll do great things and I know that, like, 90 percent of it is just people being nice, but I also know that there's that 10 percent of people who might genuinely believe what they're saying, or at least, they have so much hope for me that it almost feels like belief. Either way, I can't help but to feel like I will not, in fact, do great things. I get tired so easily. My mind shatters at the slightest touch. And isn't that just horrid? To be young, talented and so deeply afraid? To be a might've been, a should've been? To be your own the one who got away? I know I sound like fatalist, but I just cannot conceive of a future where I'm happy, where I'm not dragging this inexplicable shame i feel like a bodybag everywhere i go, toe tag hanging out and everything. And it keeps piling up. The longer I live the more regrets I'll have. Happiness too, yes, but it's all wrong, it's all so wrong. Even the happiness is tinged with melancholy. Nothing lasts. Nothing lasts.

This, I believe, is the central, core conflict of my life. I can only talk about it in metaphors and analogies, I can only talk around it like water circling a drain forever. I'm aware the fleeting nature of it all. And, okay, let's say i, for once in my life, stop focusing on the big picture but instead think smaller, more local, personal, but even then, it's not enough. I might even go so far to say that it feels worse. Everyone I love is going to die. Each and every single person I hold dear has a reasonable chance of not simply ceseaing to exist tomorrow. Car crash. Heart attack. An Incurable illness. Slipping and falling in the shower. So many ways to go. So many ways for my heart to shatter irreparably at any second. I think this how I move through life, I think this is why I'm afraid of even attempting to give my life a semblance of structure and meaningful aspirations. Even if I do achieve things, It could all be stripped away from me at any second. And I mean that both in a literal way (I buy a house, house burns down/ i get a job, I lose the job/ find love, lose love) and in a more abstract way. The minute i achieve something it feels pointless and not worth being proud of because it is precisely i who has achieved that thing, rendering it meaningless and downright embarrassing because if i (Bad, Wrong) achieved it then it either must be as easy to achieve as a participation award or not actually all that amazing in the first place. I don't allow myself the satisfaction, at least not for long most of the time. I strip positive feelings away from myself. I don't allow myself to feel happy.