#babe that was certainly not the time to play caring therapist

[noroi-amaraciune]

"What happened to your leg, these weren't here last time" so I start giggling like an unhinged maniac

[bengals-barnesbabe]

so… guess who’s back on her meds😅

clearly I’ve been feeling a lot better (hence the content I’m pumping out, Joey B’s coming back tmr). I just wanted to take this time and update those who have left kind comments under my post about my struggles.

I also wanted to say, Depression, recovery, mental health and more aren’t linear. Patterns are fun to play with and study, but your symptoms won’t always look the same. You may not even notice the change happening to you because I certainly didn’t.

I’ve had this diagnosis since I was in 8th grade and the last few months were some I could barely wrap my head around. Until I was brutally honest with my care team. I know it hurts, but tell the professionals the truth about how you feel. Did i relive some bad moments, yes. But I’ve started to feel better than I have in months.

Listen to your therapist, they really are just trying to help.

-xoxo babe

[lxvislxdy]

Imagine Bakugou x stoner!reader

So... maybe I got carried away, and maybe this turned into more of just you and the bakusquad being besties, but I literally love this concept and will 100% be writing more.

Warning(s): obvious mentions of drug use, and some language. All characters are 18+.

So, let’s say, just for the hell of it, that this is a quirkless!college!au 

just imagine...

- you befriend Sero and Denki first, meeting them in a class, and they love you right off the bat

- you’re personality just meshes so well with theirs, you become bffs almost instantly

- the three of you raise hell in that class, I’m convinced, like RIP to whoever sits near you goofs

- you slowly start to hang out outside of class. maybe it starts as a study sesh, but let’s be honest here. the three of you can’t focus to save your life, and eventually Sero asks if you guys wanna smoke

- and, to their complete surprise, you outsmoke them (Denki later bows down to you, literally, and proposes to you with a ring pop. he’s such a dork I love him)

- this becomes a weekly thing, as it should, and the three of you are practically attached at the hip

- your favorite part of hanging with them is, of course, all their crazy stories about their friends

- so of course they want to introduce you to the bakusquad, and you are just as eager to meet the rest of the group, if not a little nervous

- Denki and Sero assure you they’ll love you (”c’mon, you’re just like us, they’ll adore you!!!”) and they take you out to lunch with Mina and Kirishima

- now, if you thought you, Denki, and Sero was a chaotic trio, just wait until you add Mina to the equation

- Kirishima lives for the chaos and thinks you’re adorable, but the guy has his hands full keeping the four of you out of trouble, that’s for sure

- (when Bakugou’s not around, Kirishima is in charge of the braincell, I don’t make the rules)

- Mina immediately kidnaps you for a girls night, and is ecstatic about having a girl to hang out with her and the boys 

- (SIDE NOTE, Mina introduces you to Jirou, and the three of you are THE baddest bitches around, thank you. the three of you definitely have girl nights and either kick the boys out, or force them to join, face masks and all)

- anyway, you finally get the opportunity to meet Bakugou

- and, as always, he’s in a sour mood. but! you don’t let his grumpiness upset you, in fact, you take it in stride and throw his attitude right back at him

- you aren’t mean, and you certainly aren’t going out of your way to bug him, but if Bakugou makes a snide comment? you better believe you’re throwing one right back at him

- and at first, Bakugou is annoyed, and thinks you’re mocking him. like, who do you think you are? 

- but the more he gets to know you, he realizes that you’re way too sweet to be that mean. you fit right in with the idiots he’s friends with.

- and, to be honest, it drives him nuts. because he likes you. he likes you, and he likes when you snap back at him, and he likes watching you goof off and laugh with his friends

- in true Bakugou fashion, though, you’re convinced he hates you. it’s just the icing on top of the cake when one night you notice that every time you’re there, and Sero lights up, Bakugou disappears 

- when you finally tell Mina this, she laughs. actually laughs! and you’re just like ....what?

- turns out, Bakugou hardly ever smokes with them, and he’s just like that. 

“Trust me, babe,” Mina tells you, “It’s not you. Bakugou just doesn’t know how to relax, he’s got a terrible case of trust issues and a bad attitude to top it off. But he likes you, trust me! He’ll come around.”

- you weren’t so sure about that, but you take her word for it. 

- and then, one night it’s just you, Denki, Mina, and Bakugou, and he stays!

“Someone with a brain has to make sure you idiots don’t do something stupid.” He says, when you ask.

- that night ends up being one of the funniest nights of your life. the three of you are high as a kite, and everything is funny. seriously, you can’t stop laughing!

- then, you find out Bakugou’s birthday is on 4/20, and you have never been so excited in your life (so you say). it’s the funniest, most ironic thing to you

- you go up to Bakugou, grabbing both his arms by the biceps, and are going on and on about it, bouncing on the balls of your feet and giggling, and Bakugou just listens to you talk and he blushes 

- you’re adorable, and he can’t lie to himself anymore, he likes you. he really likes you. and this realization really freaks him out (he calls Kirishima later that night absolutely freaking out, and he has to totally calm him down. Kiri ships it)

- over the next month or two, he tries his best to not give himself away, but it’s so hard. 

- he starts sticking around when everyone smokes together, and sitting next to you during movie nights (because you always fall asleep, and theres a good 80% chance you end up leaning on his shoulder), and he offers to help when you complain about a class you’re struggling with

- and it all comes to a head one night when he gets jealous. 

- he was definitely reading too much into things, but he swears you’re acting clingy with Sero, leaning on his shoulder, and grabbing his arm when you laugh, and playing with his hair. he definitely has himself convinced Sero is making a move on you, and he’s pissed.

- at some point during the hangout, he gets up and storms out of the room, and no one really notices but you and Kiri. after a minute or two you’re curiosity gets the best of you, so you go after him

- he’s in the kitchen, glaring at this plant Denki and Sero have (that is totally, 100% dying, and probably can’t be saved) and he’s pouting

“I don’t think staring at it is gonna bring it back to life.” You say, and he just looks at you weird and asks what you want

- you say you’re just checking on him, and he asks why you care. and you’re just like dude ??? i care about you? hello? we’re friends ??

- and Bakugou, being himself, snaps at you and makes some kind of rude comment

- so you snap back, offended because you’d just wanted to check on him

- and halfway through you telling him what a jerk he is, he kisses you

- he kisses you like his life depends on it, because he’s still pissed off about Sero and, come on, Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t do anything halfway

- and maybe the two of you make out in the kitchen for way longer than you want to admit

- and maybe you laugh and call him an idiot when he tells you he was jealous of Sero

- and maybe Denki catches the two of you, and screams like a little girl on christmas morning

- cue protective Denki and Sero telling Bakugou he better not EVER hurt you... and then crying happy tears a minute later because you’re so cute together

- after that, Bakugou is literally never seen without you by his side. he walks you to class, cooks you dinner at least once a week, helps you study and takes you out every time you ace a test. this man knows your coffee order, and has your schedule memorized, it’s impressive 

- god forbid he see’s you eating junk food

- listen, he knows how Denki and Sero eat when they get the munchies, okay, and that is absolutely not allowed. this man is such a simp behind closed doors, he will literally make you homemade snacks for when you go smoke with the guys. 

- he’s not the greatest with words, okay, but he loves you and he shows it through small things like that. he’s always pushing you to do your best, and bragging about you, and doing little things to remind you how much he cares

- he’s also a little over protective, but he means well, and cmon it’s kinda cute when he get’s jealous, sometimes

- but overall you guys are just the cutest couple. like the bakusquad is absolutely obsessed. (you make Bakugou soft, but don’t tell him they said that)

- and sure you fight over little things every once in a while, but you learn how to handle Bakugou’s attitude quick, and it never lasts too long. 

- if you do have a big fight, you take a step back and let each other cool down, and then you make Bakugou talk it out. he hates it at first, because sharing his feelings is so not something he wants to do, but it does help and he knows it.

- if, on the rare occasion, the two of you have a bad fight you can’t resolve on your own, therapist Kiri is there to save the day

Bonus:

- now, let’s get down to the whole reason i made this au in the first place

- the first time the two of you celebrate his birthday after getting together, he makes it clear that the day of he just wants to spend it with you

- so the weekend closest to his bday, the whole squad goes out and celebrates, but when it comes to his actual bday? Bakugou has a surprise for YOU

- you show up to his apartment, not really knowing what to expect, and this man pulls out a pan of brownies

- yeah, those brownies

- turns out, he and Sero used to sell them in high school

“What? Sero already sold, and I can cook, so we just... did it. It was good money.”

“How could you keep this from me?! Have I told you recently that I adore you?”

He just laughs, “You’re such a dork.”

- so you have the PLEASURE of getting high with Bakugou for the first time

- and let me just tell you, you’re in for a treat

- Bakugou. is. so. clingy. as soon as it hits, you know, because he’s wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his lap

- he’s speaking so softly?? and he’s just relaxed, and content with holding you and talking about anything and everything, just cuddling with music in the background

- high! makeout sessions! with Bakugou! that’s it, that’s literally it. he is INSATIABLE 

- the man just wants to kiss you, for hours, okay? give him what he wants!!

- he used to get super paranoid, that’s why he doesn’t smoke much, but with you he’s calm and comfortable, and not anxious

- it becomes tradition to make brownies on both of your birthdays, and you look forward to it all year

- and every once in a while, Bakugou will smoke with the squad, and they quickly learn that he can’t keep his hands off of you when he’s high. they tease him relentlessly, and Sero and Denki definitely have asked him (aka whined to him) to stop hogging all your attention

- also, he definitely lights the bowl for you, because he is a gentlemen

- shotgun kisses. yup. that’s all I have to say.

before I get carried away again, this is the end. Thank you for reading! I literally can’t get enough of this au I’m in love with it!! I’ll be writing more of this au soon, hopefully, and my requests are open!! 

[spectrumed]

2. voice

As a child I could not pronounce the letter R. I once complained to my mother for being so careless as to give me a name that had two R’s in it. Fredrik. Or as I pronounced it back then, “Fledlik.” Cute, right? I was a cute child, all blonde and with big blue eyes. At one point, I got surrounded by a group of older girls who forced me to pronounce my name, even though I really couldn’t. They laughed and laughed, teasing me for my inability to pronounce even my own name correctly. If I ever had a reason to develop a fetish for femdom, I think this would have been it.

Like it or not, in speech, there is no room for individual quirks. No, we’ve all got to learn how to speak properly. Historically, that has led to some pretty heinous attitudes towards regional accents, any tongue that was the standard was seen by default as being less or developed and intelligent. Regional accents were seen as practically unhygienic, the worry being that if people just got to speak as they wished, they might end up potentially thinking dangerous thoughts. While I understand the importance of being understood, it’s clear that the stigma that exists around speech difficulties stems from a place of prejudice. If a person has a lisp, do you really struggle to understand them? And while stammering can be quite debilitating, it should be blatantly obvious that shaming people who stammer, suggesting that they are bereft of intelligence, is not the way to help them. Humans are social animals, and language may be the one thing that distinguishes us as a species, it is natural that proper elocution should be treasured. But some people do struggle with their speech, and that should not cost them any respect or kindness.

As a child, I didn’t speak nearly enough. As an adult I am speaking too much. That’s the problem with you, Fredrik, you’ve never understood that there is a middle ground between two extremes. There is a way you can speak that is neither too quiet, nor too loud. It is how normal people speak. Why can’t you be normal, Fredrik? Are you going to spend this whole blog post talking about how difficult it is for you to simply learn to be like everyone else? Self-pitying yourself, much? Back in my day people pulled themselves up by their bootstraps, if they had something they struggled with, they learned to sort it all out, and they didn’t start complaining about society being all mean to them. You’re just spending too much time inside your own head, go take a swim, take up a hobby that requires you to step outdoors, it will serve you well. Don’t be a freak, Fredrik. Be normal, for once.

On a side note, “pulling yourself up by your bootstraps” is meant to be understood as an impossible feat. You can’t possibly pull yourself up by your bootstraps, it’s ludicrous to even suggest that such a thing may be feasible. While, yes, there are many things you can do to help yourself, ultimately, you can’t profoundly escape from a sorry situation you’ve found yourself in without some outside help. There is no shame in requiring help. To guilt someone into thinking that if they can’t do it alone, they are weak, is frankly sociopathic. Humans need each other, we take care of each other, we are there for each other. Self-sufficiency is great, but let’s not take it to levels of absurdity by suggesting that needing help from others is anything but normal. No-one succeeds in life without others there to prop them up. Instead of telling someone to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, you might as well tell them to go and swallow the sun, which is clearly another impossible task.

Most people will never in their lives experience what it is like to go through a neuropsychological evaluation. Turns out that it is not always such a pleasant experience. Though, considering the popularity of pseudo-scientific nonsense like the Myers-Briggs test, I am sure some folks would lie and pretend to love it. Certainly, there is a charm to being there and talking about yourself for several hours near-uninterrupted, but the exhaustion that you will feel at the end of it cannot be understated. Naturally, it does vary between who does it, and why they’re doing it. But if the stated goal is to find out whether you’ve had a neurodevelopmental disorder since you were but a young babe, then of course, there are going to be some pretty long conversations happening about those early days. Lots of stuff you may not have considered or thought about in a very long time will suddenly become very relevant to your current situation. And at the end of it all, you get some papers detailing your fashionable new diagnosis. Your entire life, all written down. Can make you feel rather wistful. And there’s really quite a surprising amount of typos included in the text, and barely any jokes.

Still, as part of my official diagnosis, there is a reference to my speech at being at times “stilted.” Though, the diagnosis does take very good care to mention that I appear intelligent and thoughtful, exhibiting a wide vocabulary and a good sense of the right words to use at the right moment. It’s flattering, for the most part. Yet, it does irk me that I could be perceived as being stilted. I know that at this point, I am being petty, because who cares if I sometimes come across as maybe a little robotic. I’ve got Asperger’s. Of course I am a robot. The closest role model we folks with Asperger’s ever had for the longest time was Star Trek: The Next Generation’s android named Data. God forbid anyone like me ever turned out to be the protagonist of a series, we’re all doomed to play the part of the robot, the alien, or the socially awkward geek. I should just be delighted that I am high-functioning. I know how much worse some have it. I should be grateful and pleased that I come across as mostly normal, mostly neurotypical. But… I really just don’t want anyone to think my speech is stilted. I don’t want to be Data. I want to be Riker.

It is never enough, you’ll never be good enough. If you fake it, they’ll see through it. If you struggle and if you work honestly to appear more normal, they won’t recognise it. As soon as they get an inkling you may be an imposter, looking like them, but having a neurologically deviant brain, they’ll single you out. For you, normalcy is an illusion. To attempt to be normal is to remake yourself only to receive nothing. Sure, you can be disingenuous, pretend you're not yourself, but it’ll never fool them. In the end, you’ll only lose yourself. Maybe I should just own the fact that my speech sometimes comes across as being stilted. Maybe I should own it. Be proud of who I am. But… sometimes I just don’t want to be me.

I want to be ignored. Sometimes, not always. But that goes for everyone. But most of all, I’d like to be able to go unseen whenever I’m not trying to impress anyone. When I’m just off to buy some milk. When I’m sitting on the bus. When I’m walking through the park. I know it is partly paranoia, but I can’t help but feel like I stick out. It’s always been like that with my friends growing up. The metaphor I used with my therapist is that I felt like a thumb. That they, my friends, were the fingers and I was the thumb. Sure, we’re similar. In many ways we’re the same. You could even say that I was crucial to making the social dynamics work. Who doesn’t like the thumb? What would you do without your thumb? But still, I was different. Some people would do anything to be different like that, to feel special. Some folks feel all invisible and forgotten in the crowd, and I’d lie if I told them that I didn’t envy them sometimes. The ability to go all invisible? That seems swell! There’s this question people like to ask as a sort of personality test. If you could choose a superpower, would you rather be able to fly, or would you rather be able to go invisible? The answer is obvious, as far as I’m concerned. Of course I’d love to be able to go invisible. To be able to exist without anyone seeing me. Without anyone judging me. Without ever having to worry if someone is going to treat me as different. For a moment to feel what it is like not to be some big, dumb, stupid, thumb.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not too anguished. Nowadays, I feel like I am in a relatively good place. But I would be lying if I told you that I still don’t get frustrated at the plethora of difficulties I face just trying to blend in. Even with family members, people who are supposed to know you the best, even then I have to go out of my way to behave a certain way, to exist a certain way, because fundamentally, they just don’t seem to get you. Not in that way. They have an image of you that you need to try and match. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell them that sometimes you need to be more direct in your communication to truly reach me, I don’t pick up on the many smaller little social cues they may throw my way, it’s still just me being silly and looking for excuses for why I didn’t understand them the first time around. And I am deathly afraid of hurting anyone’s feelings. A very prevalent misconception about autistic individuals is that we don’t care if we’re being rude. That if we are rude, our rudeness can simply be overlooked because, y’know, we’re autistic. While this sort of thing is commonly represented in media that is supposed to depict autistic characters, in real life, things don't quite work like this. Believe it or not, readers, being autistic is not a free pass to act like a dick. Autistic individuals still very much have to modulate our behaviour if we wish to fit in and be accepted. No-one will ever excuse you for being autistic. To be autistic is living with extra hurdles in your way, thinking that it’s anything but a social handicap is romanticising a diagnosis you clearly know very little about.

When I was a kid, I didn’t speak much. As far as I was concerned, I merely spoke whenever I needed to speak. It took until adulthood for me to learn that my parents and teachers were actually concerned about that. I was made to see a specialist, under the guise of learning elocution, but I’ve later come to realise that those meetings were about more than just learning to pronounce the letter R. Like, what does testing my memory have to do with diction? Yes, her job was partly to help my speech develop more in line with the other kids, but she was also there to evaluate whether or not I was intellectually disabled. I have come to learn that I had teachers at the time that were adamant about me going to a different school, more equipped to handle kids like me, but my mother vehemently defended my right to stay in the school I was in. After all, I did have friends, and to anyone who really knew me, they knew that I was a bright child. Sure, I wasn’t as communicative as the other children, but I clearly had no issues processing information, and it’s not like I was disruptive in some other way. But that was also part of the problem. The teachers that thought that I may need specialist schooling were concerned about the fact that I was too placid and too agreeable. They wanted me to express frustration at my lacking pronunciation, to see me get mad at others for not fully understanding me. That amazes me, if anything. The fact that I was a happy kid they took as some indication that I wasn’t quite right.

My mother delights in a memory of me as a kid once slamming my fist on the table and declaring that “now, I am speaking!” May I remind you that I was a cute kid. Sure, it is the sort of behaviour that parents of the old times would have spanked their kids for. Kids in the past were supposed to be quiet. To be seen, but not heard. I wonder if there’d be any kind of hubbub about my early development if I lived back then. I’d probably be seen as the ideal child, all pretty and docile and never too loud. Still, it was a moment my mother cherished, because for once, I really proved that I did have the capacity to speak. Though, I still couldn’t pronounce my R’s. But it was time for Fledlik to speak.

[alotsgonnachange]

Mystic Messenger Saeran’s AE Thoughts (.......And Prayers..) #Spoilerz

Hello, I just finished Saeran’s after ending and I have a lot of things to say and I am going to write it down while I'm still all keyed up about it.

First of all… Please DO NOT ask me how much money I spent to finish this as fast as I did…. I’m grown but my bank account is certainly going to have a good ole fashioned CHUCKLE at this….. It’s been a long quarantine I deserve a lil happiness as a treat methinks!

I have been playing this absolutely insane game since I think 2016? When I first started playing the deep routes had JUST come out I think? And I was just finishing up high school and am now a college grad...lmao

I’ve played all routes at least once except Jaehee but i’ve seen walkthroughs of her route (I’ve heard it makes you hate Jumin and he’s my favorite so um. hehe). V’s and Saeran’s routes I found to be so emotionally intense and just….a lot and I've been waiting a long ass god damn time for this after ending okay…. I would theorize and make up an ending in my head but i’m no writer so it was hard to figure out lol. I’m a Jumin stan mostly but I love everybody and yeah I should probably play that jumin dlc too but I need like a DAY to recover from Saeran’s AE. Enough about me HERE are my thoughts on it overall

Major Saeran AE Spoilers under da cut!

Can we please discuss V showing up to the C+R conference room with basically chloroform and made everybody Pass Out like??? I was alone in my room at like midnight just SCREAMING at my phone???? And the creepy ass CG ???? It’s like that gif of sarah paulson from ahs being like “I put arsenic in the wine….and the pasta”

Anyway I screamed at V a lot during this process!!

Loved RFA being sweet and kind to saeran (before V fucking drugged them…)

This is such common V behavior “I have to do it all myself...there’s no other way..” GIRL SHUT UPPP You do this every route....

SO many CG’s and I enjoy them a lot

Saeran’s sprite looks a little TOO crisp compared to everyone else but maybe its a glitch??? V next to him is in 480p while saeran is like 1080p

Hearing both Saeran and Saeyoung missing the other brother the whole time??? PAIN. All my homies know is PAIN

BOSS and his V for Vendetta ass guy fawkes mask??? I literally yelled “this game is TERRIBLE!!” several times at my phone

Their dad is so>??????? When he was sitting on the couch with saeyoung in that one CG while simultaneously telling him to kill himself?????????? Maybe chairman han is actually the best dad in this game somehow

When V and Rika were like we’re back together teehee teehee okay pack it up bonnie and clyde ..

When chairman han calls u and says hes jealous of u and saeran…..HUH????? I’m calling HR

When they go to the apartment and see boss and vanderwood and poor saeyoung is sitting there seeing his brother for the first time in years i wanted to D word sooooo bad like PAIN...PAIN….

Can we HAVE A DISCUSSION ABOUT JUMIN HAN BEING THE BEST CHARACTER IN THE GAME AND HE LOST EVERYTHING IN THIS AE……. he just took the blame and moved on jumin what the hell….. I love him so much r we serious? He watched his 2 closest friends betray him in the worst way and found out abt how Rika abused Saeyoung and Saeran???? I felt just AWFUL. Terrible ...Terrible….

Rika’s change in demeanor from Saeran's actual route is certainly a Choice. I find her much more bearable this time around and unfortunately i think I was too nice to her and ended up with a bad end LMFAO

I was happy to see Saeran stand up for himself and become stronger and confident. You go king!

The CG of Yoosung laying in Zen’s lap is everything to me…

HOWEVER YUP I sure did get a bad ending and I was so mad fdsafdskfdhsf ! (I would be happy to clarify how I got the good one the second time.) MAKE SURE To SAVE EARLY in days 2 and 3 bc the branches on day 4 is where the bad end will show up. For me it was the first day 4 chat and then a story mode titled “SAVIOR”.... If you see that RUN FOR THE HILLS!!

I was so mad! But I had saved in day 2 and replayed and MANAGED to get good end

I’m obsessed with everyone calling V and Rika “that psychotic couple” like…..its true its true…

No those two are so toxic… V’s route was torture watching them go on and on about the sun like yo can yall just call each other babe like normal people.

I respect straight people but not V and RIka that shit was just wrong… Straight marriage was a mistake

Oh lord i also FULLY Forgot Rika killed the twins’ mother…. Yeah that scene was um Certainly a lot but it needed to happen eventually

Like it’s good they know but damn that storyline is just so bleak

I think it was satisfying TO A DEGREE….To see Rika understand where she was wrong, why she was wrong, fess up and even APOLOGIZE! I was very surprised.

Saeran and Saeyoung are Certainly twins with the amount that those two self sacrifice in every route MY GOD…..

The scene with Jumin talking to his father and the other scene of him praying oh my god I cannot tell you how happy I was to see him begin to understand and address his own feelings in a route that was not his own. My main problem with Jumin’s route has always been the trapping MC in his penthouse aspect.. This way Jumin understands love and emotions without being overly possessive !!! YAY also loved seeing him be on good terms with his dad who was surprisingly profound

That last Story mode was Really a Lot…. and Strange things occurred which I will get into in just a minute

Jumin becoming a politician is so funny but ngl … i see it.

Yoosung going to france to study pastries ok king I see u! (it made more sense to me than the vet thing anyway)

Lastly Zen FURRY ERA

MY BEEF With the AE

I was happy with how they handled it for the most part. I think Cheritz heard our feedback about V’s after ending and was like okay….let’s try something different

HOWEVER

Saeran…. Sweet kind saeran… IS SO AFFECTIONATE HAHA….

He must have said I love you like 300 times…..very mushy gushy flowery language...and maybe that’s just his personality but for me it was like eating cake with buttercream cake. It means well, but god damn is it sugary and going to cause a stomach ache later.

He was just… SO MUCH! SO forward and ON all the time in his affections. I honestly felt kind of smothered and by day 3 and 4 I was sooooo over all the compliments… King you’ve come a very long way, but ur still putting MC on a pedestal and probably need to see a therapist.

Nextly….Rika and V….. Naw that knock out gas really ...that hurt lol. Coming from “I would do anything to protect RFA” V? Idk like…. EYE felt betrayed reading that. It was just hurtful. I can’t even imagine how the members would have felt as they were passing out. It was just so cruel. I suppose I understand why but like?? Just TERRIBLE

Them being in cahoots with the agency and the prime minister..HUH??? Also too much

V just felt so irresponsible like I do understand that he ended up in a weird web of secrets that’s hard to untangle but he’s so fucking stubborn he’s SO stubborn it makes me insane. Like sir… It seems like in other routes he wanted to try to protect Rika and the RFA.. But in this AE it seems more to me that he was like yeah i’m protecting Rika and That’s It… so fucking hurtful to me. Both of y’all apologize ESPECIALLY to the twins and Jumin..

The forgiveness thing…… Okay so I think some people will not like that Saeran decided to “forgive” the people who hurt him (Rika, V, Saejoong, his mother). I would point out that I actually think this was approached somewhat well. He says at one point that he doesn’t think they’re good or bad, just people. I think he sounded mature and like this was the way for him personally to accomplish his healing process. Would I have loved for Saeran to flip V and Rika off and kick Saejoong off a cliff? Yea I really would. But like…. If that’s what HE needs to do to heal then who am I to judge?

HOWEVER…. Everything Eye just said goes out the window when the scenes at the end with Saejoong come up… I was PERPLEXED. Like why did he HUG his deranged father who just kicked the shit out of him??? Also all the chat options that MC has with him r like blah blah you’re like this because no one loves you were so corny to me LMFAOOOO?

AND WHEN HE WAS IN THE ROOM LATER WITH SAERAN… i’m sorry but if that were me I would have called a nurse to deck his ass. Cool he turned himself in YOU SUCK SOOOO BAD AND I NEVER WANT YOU TO COME NEAR SAEYOUNG AND SAERAN AGAIN THANKS.

*scratches ass* I wish I got to see saeyoung and saeran finally sit down and have that first conversation after a long time and hug CG but the ending was fine I GUESS….. I dont care about ROMANCE I want those boys to be happy brothers together

Anyway that was really emotionally exhausting but I fr think I got it out of my system after literal years… And I can rest in peace knowing the choi twins are happy. THATS ALL I WANTED TO KNOW!!!!

[askintothevoids]

The Epilogue:

Roman and Virgil:

They never did get married, because they didn’t want to. Virgil believes it to be a british social construct to control women and the lower class, and Roman believes marriage to be bad luck.

They did get into that huge funky war that we were talking about, and had to put Babe with Protection. After weeks of convincing, Valentine, Mac-Kenzie, and Junius fought by Virgil and Roman’s side, and they won after 5 years of fighting.

Virgil fulfilled his lifelong dream of making Bonner regret his words, and plunged his mother’s dagger into his chest. Something about Bonner that Virgil never mentioned was the fact that the man often shared the same words as his former husband, so perhaps that fueled his anger. After a lot of crying, Virgil came to the conclusion that maybe he’d leave the fighting to Angie, and hire a royal therapist.

There was more to Virgil’s story than that though, he did raise Babe with his beloved partner, Roman, after the war. He made an excellent father. Anne even came back and apologized, earning her role back into Virgil’s and his son’s life. He even got to see his nephews more often.

Seeing that his son is now only 12 years away from being a full fledged adult (to him that isn’t very long), Virgil now has to see that Babe is very different from other children. Honestly, he never thought his own very very dead mother would be assisting in the parenting of his child, but hey, Virgil has to remember that he isn’t always right, even if he can see the future.

Meanwhile Roman pursued his love for music and theatre, he even opened a music program for Oteriphanne, showing the lovely folks the beauty of music that isn’t just only about killing the French and Brits in order to stop deculturalization of their land (though that’s not a bad topic, Roman literally just wanted 14th century vampires to enjoy Spice Girls and it worked).

He obviously, but admittedly very awkwardly, learned how to parent a child. Roman wasn’t as picture perfect as he would’ve liked to be, he did after all accidentally make his son cry many times. Like Virgil, he now sees that their kid is different. His son’s ears are full of words that he can’t understand, but hopes to try his best to ease Babe’s worries and hardships in life.

Through five years of virgous studying, Roman became a quarter fluent in Pterannan. With even more studying and training, he finally became a fully trained Knight and earned his spot next to Virgil with his forementioned music program (turns out teaching a population several new skills, means he bettered the population which is a requirement to become a king when you're not blood related to royalty).

Still there’s somethings that Roman still regrets, he never did come to an understanding with his stepfather, who was his namesake. Nor does he see Remus and his husband as often as he wishes he did. And he kinda wants to buy a cow.

Even after being together for almost 10 years, they still love each other, and yes, Virgil still calls a phone, a magic box because some things never change.

Patton:

After he and Logan adopted the children from the Dragonwitch au that they accidently orphaned, Patton certainly was trying his best to keep going, and he did a pretty alright job.

Patton single handedly traveled across the country from Florida to Indiana with four small children whose identities he had to hide along his.

Once he had made it to the David-Dase residence, he explained what had happened and asked for help, and here’s what happened.

Nicholas and James owned property in rural Saskatchewan, which they had inherited from Jane Phoebe David (James’ deceased mother) and never really knew what to do with it. So in order to keep their son’s husband and their new grandchildren safe, James and Nicholas let Patton and their grandchildren live there. It was a good spot for them, it kept the reporters away from Patton and kept people away from Daniel, Jane, Harper and Buddy.

After receiving help from James and Nicholas, Patton had to figure out how to explain his disappearance to the police so that he could gain some form of normality, and a good enough job to support his growing family.

Stuff didn’t exactly go well at first. Still grieving over his separation from Logan, he did often find it hard to smile for his children, nor did he find it easy to explain to them that they couldn’t out in public without being hidden from the world’s view. It didn’t help when his O’Pa (Janus Van Den Bosch-Brzozowski) passed away from a deteriorating body, it was for the best, but it hurt to lose another parent.

He kept going though. His brother, Patton Reyes-Baker, moved in with him and got a job helping a local beekeeper. It wasn’t so bad, grief can strengthen some bonds. His step father, Remus, visited every so often, it was clear that he probably wouldn’t be around much longer either.

He’s doing a pretty good job raising those kids. Still it doesn’t help that Patton wishes he did it with his beloved. There have been many long nights of waiting and crying. There’s a good chance that Patton won’t move on until old age, which could be a good thing for a certain someone. Overall, if he were to describe it, it’s like the worst nightmare and the best dream ever at the same time.

Patton did get to open that diner, he did get to take his puppies home with him, and he did teach his kids how to ride bikes (except Buddy), but it still wasn’t the same. For all he cares, he’s still a married man.

Hymnthian:

Being one of the oldest motherfuckers ever, Hymnthian is still kicking it. Under Virgil and Roman’s rule, he’s pretty happy. He does find some common ground with his great (times a couple hundreds) grandchild though. Babe’s remarkable ability to hear the dead often comes in handy for a grieving widower. In return for hearing what his dead wife has to say, he teaches Babe how to play To-Ouch, an Oterian instrument.

Janus and Remus:

As you might've heard earlier, Janus passed away. It’s important to remember that death is an important part of life. In Janus’ case, they were fine with it. After an aspiring career as a ballerina and potter, not being able to use your hands or foot can often be depressing. When their body finally gave out, Janus figured it best if their sister took their place. Janus died comfortably and happily. What else can I say that will convince you? Death isn’t always a bad thing.

Remus O’Malley-Gator was a different story. After the death of Janus, he found himself once again lost. He visited Patton, Patton, and his step-grandkids every so often. Remus spent most of time adventuring, looking for some kind of fulfillment. I suppose that sounds bad, but I always write a bittersweet ending.

Camila and Lotte:

After spending most of her adult life in the void, Camila was beginning to feel hopeless. Her sons were already grown and had found their soulmates, while she had still had nothing. Camila wandered for a while, universe after universe, she turned up with nothing once again.

With Janus having passed, their replacement would soon have to come in. And well, she was certainly surprised. Camila had no idea Janus had a younger sister! Lotte had been frozen for over 200 years, and arrived fresh from the fridge at the ripe old age of 48.

Camila had her fair share of trying to tell this beautiful, intelligent, strong woman that she was from a soulmate universe and that Lotte was her long awaited soulmate. Let’s just say, it took her a couple years.

Lotte had her share of pining as well. I mean, Camila is an equally beautiful, intelligent, strong woman who was tall (every short lesbian’s weakness).

She found her footing as her sibling’s replacement eventually, while she didn’t wield a shepherd's crook but having arms of pure steel sure did come handy when dealing with the dangers of the void.

Eventually, you know that their had to be an equally cute lesbian void wedding, where Patton and Roman became cousins, so that’s cool.

Logan:

As the only void dweller that actually only lives in the void, his life, honestly, sucks.

As the years go by, Logan’s hair only gets grayer and his yearning only grows stronger. He builds his tough exterior up once more, with some dull hope still intact. Logan knows the probability of never seeing his husband and kids again, and lets the gnawing feeling eat away at him.

But you know what? He did get to be cool Uncle Logan (his Ultra Secret Oterian Code Name was Protection) for about five years. He loved the shit out of Babe, even taught that boy some french and how to clear his mind even when people’s thoughts are louder than all shit.

Then he had to give Babe back to Virgil and Roman, knowing he should take the offer to live in Oteriphanne, he did.

Nothing became of it, he’s just a guy in a country full of vampires. There’s nothing there for him after all. Logan knows Babe isn’t his to parent, and chooses to keep his distance so he doesn’t crowd Roman and Virgil. Maybe in a few years, he’ll risk his life. For now, he’ll just become a grizzled middle aged man.

[lannister-slings-and-arrows]

would you write me something sweet and nice? i'm really really depressed and i had a panic attack on the way to class today. (don't worry. i see my therapist wednesday.)

Panic attacks are the actual worst friend, I’m sorry you had to go through one today :( Here’s a little something that I hope helps a little bit:

“So what are we watching tonight?” You ask, throwing yourself half onto the couch and half onto the man who had already sprawled over more than his fair share of it. Air left his lungs with an “oof” and he shoved your elbows away from some of his more vital organs with feigned irritation. He inhaled deeply and shrugged.

“What’s in your queue that we haven’t seen yet?” You stare at the TV and it’s warning that no devices were being detected.

“I don’t know and I can’t reach the remote to find out.” You turn your stare onto him and stick your bottom lip out a bit. He looks at you, unimpressed, and rolls his eyes with a tiny smile before stretching his arm out and grabbing your Xbox controller from the coffee, handing it to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you further on top of him. You settle in, back against his chest, sitting between his legs and navigate the console’s menu to pull up Netflix.

“Okay, looks like we’ve got V Wars, Longmire, Spinning Out, and,” you pause, grinning before tilting your head back so you can catch his eyes. “We’re watching Narcos.” He looks away from his phone that he had been checking, first at the tv screen where his face was now prominently and dramatically displayed and then down at your grinning face looking up at him. He raises his eyebrow at you and you can see the deep crease begin to form on his forehead that only happens when you have well and truly annoyed him.

“No we aren’t, I’ll watch that idiotic cowboy cop show you love so much again before I watch myself on tv.” You struggle out of his hold and sit up, turning to face him, still grinning.

“Oh come on, babe, I’ve heard so much about these supposedly really steamy sex scenes, I want to check them out, see if I can pick up any tips!” His ears turned a violent shade of red and he leaned forward to try and snatch the controller out of your hand. You laughed and held it away from him.

“Come on, why do you even have that in your list?” He mumbled, still trying to get it out of your hand. You held him off, controller behind your back, other hand braced against his chest, a smile on your face.

“How about this, we’ll play for it. You win, you get to choose what we watch, I win, I choose.” He stopped trying to reach around you.

“What do you want to play,” he asked suspiciously, brown eyes staring into yours, trying to figure out your angle. You shrug.

“I don’t care, anything. You pick. Just hurry up, I want to see your bare ass on my flatscreen.” You cackle at him as he huffs at you and shoves you backwards on the couch. He sits over your now prone body and traces his fingers across your collarbone.

“And I can pick anything?” He clarifies, fingers edging towards your side, where the black plastic controller now rested loosely in your hand. You snapped your arm and it’s prize away from his grasping, cheating fingers and tweaked his hooked nose with your other hand.

“Yes, you cheater, you can, now pick something so I can watch you get naked,” you tell him with a laugh. He smolders down at you.

“Well if that’s all you want, I can certainly-“

“Pedro!” You interrupt, laughing. “Just pick something!” He holds your empty hand to his cheek and thinks for a second before smiling deviously.

“Thumb war.”

“What?”

He grins down at you and holds your own hand in front of your frowning face, shaking it slightly, before poking you in the nose with your own finger.

“Thumb war. You said anything, and that’s what I’m choosing!” You sit up and stare at your joined hands. Yours is comically small compared to his, his thumb much thicker and longer. You never thought that you would have cause to regret how huge his hands were before now.

“Sure you don’t want to play never have I ever or truth or dare or something?” You ask slowly, looking at him from beneath your lashes. He shakes his head, still grinning, and holds out his hand for you to take.

“Nope, this is good, come on, don’t sulk.” You place your hand in his and lock your fingers together, and he rests the pad of his thumb against yours. “Who knows? Miracles happen, you might win!” You glare at him and grumble under your breath as he performs the necessary pre-war ritual.

“One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war.” He immediately starts to move his thumb and you let go of his hand.

“Hey! No cheating, butthead!” You exclaim, shoving his hand away.

“I wasn’t cheating, you let go!” You toss the controller onto the coffee table again and cross your arms. “Did you just call me a butthead?” He asked, nose furrowed, smile creeping back over his lips.

“You didn’t finish the beginning part!” He furrowed his brow at you, still smiling, eyes doing that crinkle thing they did that melted your insides.

“What are you talking about, yes we did.” You roll your eyes and grab at his hand again. He lets you maneuver his fingers into the proper position and you start the chant again.

“One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war. Five, six, seven, eight, try to keep your thumb straight.” You intone, before moving to try and quickly pin his thumb to your joined fingers.

“Adding extra words won't save you, you know,” he informs you, easily escaping your attempt at a sneak attack, still grinning. You stick your tongue out at him, your own eyes never leaving your hands.

His stupid giant mutant thumbs win a few seconds after that and you agree to watch Moana again. Which is fine, you’ve already watched Narcos a few times through on your phone, and plan on using your birthday request to get him to reenact that one scene from the second season with you.

[maggiewrites]

team starkid's “black friday” musical

feel free to edit where necessary!

"Don't be scared!"

"His belly is so squishy!"

"He's all that you wanted! He's all that you needed!"

"Do the wiggle!"

"Doors open at 7am,"

"Lose your mind!"

"Drop dead!"

"How many times are they gonna play that ad?"

"Relax, it's just a toy,"

"Cabbagepatch Kids were just toys, and there were RIOTS over those things. Literal riots."

"Well, we're here. So you can get off your soapbox,"

"I mean, he is an asshole."

"Hey, everything's going to be okay, okay?"

"Who are you?"

"Well, we haven't put a label on it yet!"

"But we are intimate."

"That stuff is for little kids!"

"I do not get flashbacks, I remember bad things vividly."

"I didn't do for you."

"I don't have a drill press, and even if I did, how would it fit into the sedan?"

"This kid deserves one fucking thing that he asked for."

"Even now it's a dream. the kind that makes you question reality."

"Someone's gotta pay for it."

"I couldn't hold him still enough to teach him guitar."

"I hit replay on that night, over and over again 'til it gives up the fight. But there's no end - there's no end - there's no ending in sight."

"What have I done?"

"I don't say it enough. I'm scared you blame me. I'm scared you blame me for your luck."

"I'll give up both of my arms to get you on track."

"All I need is getting you walking towards the paradise you dream."

"Excuse me, you think it's okay for me to park here?"

"I was hardly valedictorian."

"How does it feel to be a role model?"

"You know, I could. But that would be violating company policy, and everyone's telling me I should be more responsible lately, so I'm gonna go with them on this one."

"These little friend-o's are gonna take you so far into the black, that you ain't never coming back."

"You are gonna make a killing!"

"You'd think that a drop-out with a record would be thankful to have a job."

"See, she CAN be taught!"

"We'll see who's laughing by the end of the day!"

"Where's my sister!?"

"Do I have to put a leash on you, like a dog, or my cousin Oliver-"

"Is today a good day or a bad day?"

"Oh great. Now we gotta talk to the imaginary spider from outer space."

"Bad blood. Crossed. Black and white."

"Can you translate? I don't speak crazy."

"Don't you fucking laugh."

"Cross my heart. Hope to die."

"I'd make a great dad, I'm just saying."

"Seven fucking thousand!"

"My mom's a bitch!"

"It beats being broke."

"That's not how cameras work, babe."

"We're missing in action!"

"Get yourself a new trailer. 'Cause this one is broke. as. shit!"

"Let's go, I need a cigarette."

"I did not cut, I bought my place in line!"

"That's called a bribe, and it's illegal...Or it should be."

"I hope you don't get a toy. I hope you fucking die."

"Well, my children were accidents. You don't see me pushing my problems onto anyone else."

"Not that ra ra school spirit cheerleader bullshit that you never grew out of."

"Did you think your neighbours didn't notice you wearing sunglasses on cloudy days? Turtlenecks in the summer? Well, they knew what was happening, they just didn't care."

"What do you say when you love each other? What do you say when years have past?"

"Just skip to the fucking!"

"Nah, I'm shopping for myself, I like dolls... I'm just kidding. I don't like dolls. Least not, like that."

"We're not liable for anyone who dies."

"You should be ashamed of yourself, you disgusting little pervert."

"It's mine! It's mine! It's certainly mine!"

"You never should settle for a lifetime that is handed to you. There's always a line to be cut and someone to barrel through."

"Let go! Do you have a death wish?"

"This is not the type of place you can haggle."

"Don't do it. Two doors, not one."

"Bad place. Black and white."

"Look, I know you're nervous to leave home. But you gotta trust me. It's gonna be so much better for you out of there."

"He's got a knife!"

"No, I'm not frightened! I'm annoyed!"

"Oh, I don't know if you wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna fuck with me."

"And you - you are the most special person here."

"You keep looking for it in the arms of other men, or the smiles of your ungrateful little brats. But you have been cruelly denied it."

"That's the kind of bullshit you feed to your therapist or your life coach."

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Back off or I will send a laser guided ballistic missel to your house in Denver, and you will be scrapping what's left of your kids off the fucking pavement."

"I will bite your nipple off."

"That was a joke, sir."

"Behind the veil of the universe you perceive, are entities both ageless and foul. And these eldritch forces are rising. There's a creature at work here, one with designs on humanity far worse than any nightmare we can comprehend."

"There are monsters and there are men."

"When the clock strikes three, see you at the rink!"

"-the fuck I am watching?"

"Maybe he crawled for help."

"You've got to forgive yourself, 'cause if you don't, how is anyone gonna forgive me?"

"You look just the same as I always remember."

"Take me back in time to love you."

"You don't look the same at all as I remember. The light has left your eyes."

"If you asked me, I'd still go to prom with you."

"Hold me closer than before."

"Tell me something Santa would know."

"This is the best movie ever!"

"Bet you didn't guess that the lord of despair would be so cute and cuddly, did ya!"

"That's heavy."

"You want to send me to the fucking Twilight Zone!? To have a sit-down with the devil? Fuck that, fuck that, that's all folks!"

"We're trying to stop the birth of a god."

"If we have faith, we will be rewarded with a cuddly toy."

"Kill them! Fucking kill them!"

"I dislike that word. 'Cult'. No, it's a new exciting religion that I started."

"I've met God. He had nothing nice to say about you."

"I demand your love and worship too."

"I will destroy everything, and then I will destroy everything."

"I'm in the black and white now. It's just like California, it never rains."

"I swear on my own grave."

"You're being a rotten little banana. I'm going to have to peel you. I'm going to split you in two. I'm going to eat you."

"We don't get tricked. We're grown ups."

"You don't scream at a child, it frightens them. You lure them in delicately. And you put them to sleep."

"I'm sorry, babe. No dice."

"The poor get poorer, and the rich, well, they keep getting richer."

"I can't be evil, I'm a status quo democrat."

"It happened on your watch, your time is running out."

"There's something that's beautiful, being awake for my funeral."

"Is there some lesson to learn? Should I even have wanted?"

"Only my ashes will see the sea."

"I'm authorizing you to use my firearm."

"Look me in the eye, and make a solemn vow to become your best self now."

"Gather your forces. There's a warrior of light trapped in deep sleep. Wake the warrior, kill the prophet, save the world."

"I hope they didn't tow my car."

"Kids don't want that thing. They're all into Fortnite now."

"Everyone's dying, and that includes me too."

"I failed you once, and I will fail you again."

"You're not that cute, in fact, you're real fucking ugly."

"Wake up! Belittled you isn't as fun if you're not upset."

"You've been outfoxed by a fucking moron."

"Oh, the plans he has you and me, me more favourably."

"Do you see what I see?"

"Tomorrow will come."

"Tomorrow won't come."

[unendeligtid]

hello! could you do #21 davenzi?

Anon said: Davenzi with 21? Please?

Anon said: 21 davenzi? I love them all so far

hello friends! i most certainly can! 

21. “He got me flowers.”

When Matteo gets home from his shitty part-time job, he knows that he’s going to spend the rest of the day in a miserable mood.

Okay, so maybe it’s not just the fact that his summer job at his local cafe really sucks, it’s also the fact that he’s lowkey been depressed for the past week or so. His roommates have tried to get him out of his funk. Hans and Mia have tried to give him cooking lessons in attempts to get him to stop making so much pasta. Even Linn has joined him on the couch and insisted they watch movies together so that he’s not alone.

David, of course, has been the most supportive out of them all, despite the fact that he works about 12 hours a day on set.

It doesn’t bother Matteo too much normally, as David is more than happy to fall into his arms after a long day at work. Normally that’s enough for Matteo to forget about his troubles.

This week, however, David’s been working extra-overtime for his shifts, and therefore, has barely been able to be with Matteo.

Matteo knows that he’s a little too codependent. It’s something that he and his therapist are working on. But he also know that whenever he spends too much time alone, the dark thoughts overwhelm him. Before he’s even realised it, he’s spending the whole night staring at the wall and playing the same vine compilations over and over again.

He’s just about to do that tonight, without even speaking to anyone. Matteo can’t even be bothered to move his mouth.

“Matteo?” Mia’s voice comes in through the kitchen as Matteo’s taking off his shoes.

“Yeah?”

“There’s uh, mail for you,” she says, smiling brightly. “I left it in your room.”

“Danke,” Matteo calls out, walking lazily towards his bedroom.

When he walks in, however, all of his tiredness vanishes.

Sitting right there on his table, perched upon piles of old school books, is a small bouquet of flowers. Matteo doesn’t even know what kind, but he doesn’t particularly care. His heart soars.

He picks them up cautiously, startling slightly as a small piece of paper falls to the ground from the bouquet.

Matteo puts the flowers down and pick up the note. The familiar handwriting greets him.

Hey, babe. It reads. I know that you’re not feeling too well and I wanted to get you something to cheer you up. I’m coming over once I’m done work tonight. I love you.

A feminine voice in his doorway startles him. “So?” Mia asks, a wide smile on her face.

“He got me flowers,” Matteo stammers, unable to stop the grin on his face. He hasn’t smiled in awhile.

“He did,” Mia confirms, her voice amused. “You guys are so adorable.”

“He is,” Matteo murmurs dreamily, training his attention back to the note.

Yeah, okay. Maybe he’ll be okay.

Send me prompts yo!

[mythicalsecretsanta]

I Am Not (G)

This gift is for: Elyssa (AKA @rhinkityrhink​) I hope you enjoy your little ficlet “I Am Not”. It’s based off your request for jealous!rhett; however, it is impossible for me NOT to include some hurt/comfort (no blood, though!) From your Secret Santa, Christy (AKA @your-borderline-babe​)

Link to AO3, or read below:

Rhett was a reasonable man. A man of intellect. He may not be the most intelligent man in the whole world, but he felt comfortable in believing that he was the smartest man in any given room. So, when he began to feel uncomfortable when Link discussed his time at the gym, he immediately began to analyze those feelings. His therapist was trying to get Rhett to feel these feelings. Advising him to take a moment to let those feelings register. Take note of what part of the body he felt those feelings. But knowing and doing are two separate things and Rhett wanted to know where these feelings came from. Then make them go away.

It’s not like Link had just started going to the gym. It’s been years since they both made working out a part of their weekly routine. In the beginning they discussed going to the same gym but they had made a conscious decision to spend more time apart. Given a choice they would naturally gravitate towards spending every waking moment together, but, for the health of their relationship they knew that time apart was healthy. They were in this for the long haul. Friends til the end. So, whatever they could do to make that happen they were willing.

Rhett had been sitting at his desk staring at his email inbox, unfocused and in deep thought when Link entered their shared office. It wasn’t strange that Link did not greet him with a ‘Good morning.’ They just didn’t do that. Had rarely done it in decades. Does one greet the other half of themselves?  Link went through his well-conditioned morning routine. Just listening to the sounds, Rhett could tell exactly what Link was doing: Hanging up his jacket and backpack. Turning on his desk lamp. Lining up any desk top items that had been pushed askew from Jenna being there. Changing his glasses from prescription outside to prescription inside.

Rhett smiled to himself. He knew Link better than Link knew Link. And that thought made him happy. He knew the intimate details of Link’s life. They shared so many experiences, but even those he experienced during their times of planned separation, Link was quick to share the details. As was Rhett. He felt confident that Link held no secrets. No really big ones, definitely. Rhett was sure of that.

“What’s got that big brain working so early this morning? I can literally hear the gears turning.” Link deadpanned from his desk, not looking up from the mail he was reading.

Rhett huffed in amusement and benignly responded, “Nothin’.”

“Hey, I’ve got an idea for a show.” Link spun around in his chair, suddenly fully animated. Rhett turned his chair around as well full concentrating on Link. “Trent was telling me about these games they played at a party he was at. It’s called Minute to Win It. They do these crazy activities in competition with each other. What he described was pretty juvenile, but there is plenty of room to spice it up.”

Immediately, Rhett felt it. His skin started to crawl. His anger piqued. A small pain expanded in his chest.

“Trent?” Rhett repeated tightly.

“I told you about Trent. At my gym?” Link raised both eyebrows and gave a small jut to his jaw.

“Oh, yeah Trent.” Rhett acknowledged dryly.

“So, what do you think?” Link prodded.

Rhett thought about it for a minute, “Even though you’re just finding out about this, it’s actually been around for a while and we want to keep things new and cutting edge. Right?”

Link shrunk in his chair looking dejected, “Oh, right. Yeah. No, you’re right.” Link’s head sinking to his chest.

Rhett studied his business partner and felt Link’s disappointment in his own bones, “But, we can throw it to the writers to see if they can come up with a new angle?” His head angled down to see Link’s fallen face.

Link raised his head with his expression lightened, “ Great! I’m so excited. I can’t wait to tell Trent we might actually use his idea.” Link spun back around and attacked his projects for the day.

Rhett sat there looking at the back of Link’s head. His irritation spilling over. He stood abruptly and walked quickly out the door. What the actual fuck? Who was this Trent? Who was this Trent to Link? They both have friends individually. Maybe not close friends. But, they definitely have casual acquaintances individual from each other.  But now there’s this Trent person who works out with Link several times a week, who Link shares ideas with, who Link probably laughs with. What kind of name is Trent, anyway? A dumb name.

Rhett stood there dunking the tea bag into his mug over and over on the kitchen counter. Stevie walked in and greeted Rhett with a ‘Hey’ and bent to grab a flavored water from the fridge. As she stood she studied Rhett.

“Uh, Rhett. Did you get that tea bag to admit it was a witch yet?” Stevie quirked her mouth.

Rhett snapped out of his thoughts, “What? Oh, yeah.” Rhett pulled the bag out and wrapped the string around it and pulled.

“What’s on your mind?” Stevie pulled her eyebrows together.

“Nothin’. Hey, you go to the gym. Do you have a gym buddy?” Rhett asked without context.

“Nah. I pretty much get my cardio in and hightail it out of there. Why?”

“No reason, really. Just wondering about something.” Rhett dismissed.

Rhett went about his day and thankfully his obsessive thoughts of the morning were pushed aside with Mythical business. His reprieve ended that evening. He lay in bed his mind drifting in the limbo between sleep and wakefulness. 

Why do I care who Link hangs around with? Why is this bothering me? Am I afraid of losing my friend? That somehow Trent will replace me as Link’s best friend? When Rhett articulates the concern, he recognizes the lunacy of the thought. He reassures himself that that will never happen and he lays there and waits for the resolution to wash over him. But the anxiety does not lift. That wasn’t it.

He was close. He was afraid of Trent usurping Rhett in some aspect of his and Link’s relationship. He knew that. But what was it? He lay staring at his ceiling as if the answer would soon be projected there. Rhett was a smart man. He would figure this out.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, Rhett was on his second cup of tea when he realized Link had not yet arrived. He made the rounds of the office to see if perhaps Link had gone directly to speak with someone. Coming up empty, he sent a text off. After a few minutes he sent another. Ignoring the fear starting to creep into his chest, Rhett finally called Link’s phone. After quite a few rings, an unknown voice answered.

“Hello?” Not-Link answered.

Rhett pulled the phone from his ear, making sure he dialed the correct number.

“Hello?” Not-Link repeated.

“Uh, is Link there?” Rhett ventured a response.

“Rhett? Oh hi. Yes, he’s right here.” Not-Link answered casually, obviously reading his name from the caller ID.

“Can I speak with ‘em?” Rhett asked with a sharpness entering his voice.

“Yeah, not right now.” Not-Link responded matter-of-factly.

“Why?” Rhett’s voice rose, all pretense of pleasantness erased. “Who’zis anyway?’

Rhett has been known to lose his temper on occasion. Well, if he was being honest with himself, quite a lot. Okay, maybe he has an issue with his anger. And at this moment, he was very angry. Scratch that. He was pissed. 

“Oh, yeah, sorry. This is Trent.” The man sounded distracted.

Rhett was dumbfounded that this person, Trent, was either incapable of sensing Rhett’s full blown anger or had chosen to ignore it. Rhett sat there in stunned silence as he felt his face burn, his body shaking, and his blood pressure skyrocketing. He heard Link’s voice in the background. He was asking a question and he was sure he heard his name.

“What the fuck is goin’on?” Rhett bellowed at a decibel that would certainly attract attention from nearby staff.

He could hear a rustling, then murmuring, and then more rustling. He was sure that if he didn’t hear from Link and soon, he was going to hurt someone.

Finally. Finally.

“Rhett?” Link’s voice was weak and strained. If he was in a better mood, he might even characterize it as a little whiny.

“Link, are you okay? What’s wrong?” In response to Link’s tone of voice, Rhett had dialed back his anger considerably to mildly irritated.

“I fell.” Link sounded pitiful.

“Fell? Off of what?” Rhett questioned.

“Don’t laugh.” Link asked in a small voice.

Rhett rolled his eyes and sighed. All parties involved were testing his patience this morning.

“I promise.” He tried to make it sound calm and reassuring.

There was a pause. He imagined that Link was gathering the courage to share something potentially embarrassing. Rhett steeled himself to take in the information stoically.

“I fell off the treadmill.” Link whispered, barely audible.

Rhett’s emotions dove from intense anger to amusement. He bit his lip to stifle the laugh that had bubbled up.

“I see.” What Rhett could not cover was the smile in his voice mirroring the one that had broken out on his face.

“You promised!” Link exclaimed with new strength.

“I didn’t laugh!” Rhett contradicted his statement by laughing around the response. Biting his lip again to stifle it.

Link responded with silence.

“I’m sorry. Did you hurt yourself, bo?” Rhett transitioned to a sweet coo.

“A little.” Link responded back in his small voice.

Rhett waited for Link to continue.

“Skinned my knees and hurt my wrist. I’m icing it down.”

“Do you need me to come get you?” Rhett would not have sounded any different talking to a small child.

“Trent said he’d bring m-.” Link started.

“I’ll be right there.” Rhett cut Link off, pressed end and sprinted out of the door.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Rhett entered the gym his eyes immediately started scanning for Link. Some guy waved enthusiastically from the back of the room. He had a head of light blond hair and a round face belonging to someone not older than 16.

As Rhett approached the pair, he saw Link sitting in a chair with beet red scratches on the front of each knee. He was holding his left wrist with a towel containing was Rhett assumed was ice.

Link looked at Rhett with eyes that were red from crying and obviously in pain.

Rhett squatted next to Link and wordlessly opened up the towel to examine the injury. From his years of playing basketball, he had become an expert determining a sprain from a fracture.

Rhett poked a few places which caused Link to suck air between his teeth. When he finished his probing he left his hand on Link’s forearm.

“Move your fingers for me.” Rhett’s voice was gentle.

Link moved his fingers easily.

“I don’t think it’s broken but we can go to Urgent Care if you want to double check?” Rhett soothed, gently rubbing up and down Link’s arm.

“Yeah. If you don’t mind.” Link leaned on Rhett. Rhett smiled at how a moderate wrist injury had apparently made Link so “weak” that he had to lean on Rhett.

“Sure thing.” Rhett gave his arm a soft pat.

Rhett rose to his feet and saw the blond jutting out his chin to the music from his earbuds and playing some game on his phone.

Rhett looked at Link,”Trent, I suppose?” Link nodded re-wrapping his wrist in ice.

Rhett touched Trent’s arm to get his attention. His head shot up and he pulled at the earbuds.

“Uh, thanks, man, for, um taking care of Link. Sorry, I was, uh, like that on the phone.” Rhett was feeling all kinds of embarrassed for his earlier behavior.

“No biggie. Mr. Neal is an okay dude. Hate to see him face plant like that. I kinda wish I had caught it with my phone. You know?” Trent elbowed him conspiratorially.  

Rhett smiled and nodded his head in acknowledgement, “Gotta get those clicks.”

“It would have gone viral, man!” Trent picked up his gear. “Feel better Mr. Neal.”

“Thanks Trent. Good luck on the Algebra exam.” Link called out.

Rhett shouldered Link’s bag and helped him stand. Link winced as he straightened his knees.

“Hurts like a son of a bitch.” Link winced.

Rhett rubbed Link’s back sympathetically.

As they made their way through the gym, Link looked up to Rhett, “What was that about you being some kinda way on the phone?”

Rhett burned again with embarrassment. He looked away, not wanting to own up to his behavior. Knowing Link like he did, he knew that he would eventually pull it out of him, so he came clean.

“I sorta yelled at him.” Rhett mumbled.

Link stopped and stepped back, “You what?”

“It’s not important.” Rhett dismissed and directed Link to start moving.

Link acquiesced, but continued to study Rhett. His expression of someone calculating all the reasons behind why Rhett would have reacted that way.

Link’s face flashed with realization, he snapped his fingers and pointed at Rhett, “Oh my god, you’re jealous!”

It was Rhett’s turn to stop and step back. Hand on his chest. “I. Am. Not. He’s just a boy!”

“Yeah, but you didn’t know that!” Link excitedly poked his finger into Rhett’s chest.

Rhett felt called out. His mind raced to defend himself. Get out from under this accusation. He needed deflection.

“Why didn’t you mention that Trent was a teenager?” Rhett responded triumphantly.

Rhett must have struck a nerve because Link’s smile faltered and a red blanket of guilt descended over his face, neck and chest. He quickly began to move to the door.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rhett got Link settled in the car and buckled in. They started towards the clinic in silence. Link had been correct. Rhett had been jealous of Trent, initially. Not of his friendship necessarily but he had been jealous nonetheless. Of what, he wasn’t sure yet but he owed Link that much.

“Maybe I was jealous. A little.” Rhett said quietly, glancing at Link and then back to the road.

Awkward silence. 

“Maybe I wanted you to be. A little.” Link said in the same volume glancing up to Rhett and then back at his bandaged wrist.

Really awkward silence.

The staff at Urgent Care was efficient and friendly and in no time Link was x-rayed, medicated, and splinted. 

The whole experience was fairly routine but as Rhett watched the medical staff work on Link the terrifying thought of one day losing him floated into his consciousness. Then that feeling came back. That anxiety. Then it dawned on him.

That’s what I was worried about with Trent! Losing Link to him. 

Rhett sat with that thought for a minute. 

What if circumstances or another person takes Link from me? Oh, god. Please don’t take him. Don’t take my sun. My moon. Don’t take my heart. My … love.

Rhett chastised himself for being so stupid. Not realizing what was right before him. And Link had wanted him to be jealous. Did that mean he feels the same way?

When Rhett got Link back in the car. His mind was playing one thought on repeat. I love Link, I love Link, I love Link.

Link let his head fall against the headrest. “Boy, that shot they gave m—-“

“Link, I love you.” Rhett blurted out. 

Link pulled his heavy head off the headrest and struggled to focus on Rhett. “I know ‘m high asa kite, buddy roll, b’ that sounded like ya tellin’ me ya love me.” Link slurred out.

“I know it’s terrible timing, but I just realized it and if I don’t say it, I’ll end up back in that clinic with a stroke or something.” The words spilled out.

Link blinked slowly then his head fell back on the headrest one last time, eyes closed. Rhett watched his jaw relax and heard a light snore. He smiled warmly at the sight of the man. His man. He hoped.

Rhett opened Link’s car door when they got to Link’s house. He bent down and whispered in Link’s ear, “Wake up buddy, you’re home.”

Link looked around and nodded in recognition. Rhett supported Link’s unsteady efforts and guided him into and through the house. He got Link’s clothes off down to his boxer briefs with very little help. Rhett tucked Link in, propping his wrist on a pillow. He looked down at Link’s angelic face and couldn’t resist kissing his forehead. 

As his lips pressed against Link’s skin, Rhett heard his sleepy voice, “Now that we love each other, can you stay with me?” 

“Yes.” Forever.

~ The End Beginning ~

[josiemaxinegallows]

LIFE BEGINS AT CUM Sermon #1 of the SUNDAY SATANISM series by Josie M. Gallows

Life begins at cum. Cum doesn’t have a heartbeat but it can travel. Cum is alive. When a cumshot is killed we call it “spermicide.” When an egg dies that’s called “ovicide.”

The abortion debate is a moral stopwatch. When is life alive? Choose your philosophy. The intrepid sperm is alive. The egg, also. Both have potential to become Bible believing patriots. Inshallah. Certain extremists take these factoids deadly serious. The anti-masturbators of the past are the great-grandpappies of today’s anti-abortion sharia.

Zygotes and blastocysts are living. But they’re unthinking. Devoid of personality. No stake in the world of human affairs. No history, with thousands of man hours invested. Unlike the mother, the fetus is alive but has no life that can be halted, delayed, or destroyed. Nobody relies on the unwanted fetus. The fetal heartbeat can’t be heartbroken. It knows nothing about itself. The fetus is the most innocent thing in all the world, because it’s a non-person.

Pregnancy effects the woman more than abortion effects the unborn. Abortion isn’t a care free decision but the scales have been miscalibrated. Intentionally.

It’s political theater. The Christians who rule value the cumshot more than the woman. They legitimize their rule by appealing to ignorant sentimentality. Observe the very same men, and their dutiful wives, dispassionate towards every other example of innocent life. It’s assured these men are unsympathetic to strange fetuses. They bother because of theater, simple and plain. Their own misogynistic superstition plays a role, and takes its toll, but whatever the motivation, the damage is the same.

Dysfunctional Christian strongholds such as Georgia and Alabama are threatening the state’s violence against women who might need an abortion. I’m sure, the Mega Churches blame loose moral values for the “murder of babies.” They indict everything but Christianity for the sorry state of family values. But they don’t get off the hook. Christianity is the loose moral value.

The state of family life is botched by religions like Christianity. The church is why the proletariat struggles to find its footing. Place your hopes and your values in the unreal and a barren harvest is a sure thing. The Satanic Age can’t be faulted. The church can be blamed for Girls Gone Stupid. I blame the peer pressure of good Christian morality for every teenage girl who stunts her future by the wretchedly sentimental act of becoming a teen mom, in this day and age; if she has any choice. Chances are, she doesn’t have a choice. I don’t blame sexual promiscuity.

Without the church, abortion and dysfunction wouldn’t occur at the rate they do. If the Satanic Age, an age of meaningful liberty, were allowed to flourish and take its final shape – and sooner rather than later, it will – only the most necessary of abortions would take place. Anton LaVey himself commented on this in Satan Speaks!, where he suggested compulsory sterilization. Read for yourself, The Third Side: The Uncomfortable Alternative, pages 30-31. With everything we’ve learned since then, perhaps it’s time to elaborate.

The Christian types have resisted, corrupted, or destroyed efforts to create a more responsible public, better fit for parenting and less likely to abort. The Christian resists education as a natural predator, because it challenges the primacy of The Holy Bible as the sole source of public wisdom. But it’s sexual education he truly rails against. Private neurosis becomes a civilization wide crisis.

As much as possible, the public’s kept in the dark about their own bodies, practically bereft of deeper knowledge about birth control and relationships. Resistance is met with an unhinged freak-out, each and every time. Ignorance, not family, is the public institution.

Forthcoming generations will be deprived of choice through sheer ignorance. The mutation is already taking hold. What good is a public, today, where only the therapist and the educator are compelled to learn about child psychology and child education? This is a profound loss to the species because Mega Church Christians are hysterical, in need of a 72-hour psych hold, that gays might be included, that women wouldn’t be beasts of burden by default. The unreality of porn is the greatest source of sex ed for boys. Good going, Jesus.

There is a gaping hole where adult values have been effectively sledge hammered out of the wall between order and chaos. The most basic of instruction is morally troubled. The young won’t learn the folkways and traditions that made life effective in the old world. The third world can do more with less. The western kiddo is deprived, because the girl might be oppressed and the boy might be sissified by wearing an apron. They aren’t taught to cook, clean, build, organize, mend, hunt, or study for anything but a standardized test. They don’t learn to grow, preserve, take inventory, or balance an account. They certainly won’t learn to be effective parents, parents on purpose, able to delegate roles, and capable of discipline without abuse. Their own parents won’t be around to teach these things in full because, thanks to Protestant austerity, both parents are entrenched in the workforce. Seeing as the churches on every street corner don’t pay their taxes, to subsidize the results of their own fuck-up failures, it wouldn’t be affordable to institute these solutions anyway. Let me make it Satanically clear, the zygote has little to look forward to.

Let’s no longer pretend Christian hyperbole isn’t to blame, please and thank you. It’s time to skewer the bastards. They’ve had US Surgeon Generals fired in disgrace for trying to turn the tide. It’s not hypothetical. Our botched republics are at least one part theocracy, right now. Each of us have a vested interest in dismantling Christendom.

The Christian man can’t get a clue. After millennia of accrued evidence that hormones are stronger than scripture, he persists in his delusional pipe-dream that abstinence will save the soul of the nation. Of the 2 billion odd Christians, the majority of them are Catholic. The Catholic is well known to teach the poor, destitute, or insane, to forego contraceptives. The missionaries of Christ are plague rats who journey to regions frequented by famine, drought, and genocide. In their wake, they leave behind the building blocks of ignorance. Be fruitful and multiply, and should the babes die of dehydration, God bless. If abortion is murder, are missionaries enacting crimes against humanity? If we’re talking results, let’s talk negligent manslaughter. Can we try the Pope in Nuremberg? Every Mega Church pastor, too? And why not? Lately, they love the idea of threatening us with the state’s violence. Tit for fucking tat.

I suspect the degeneracy and misery they sow is coincidentally of great benefit to Christendom. If a child is born with his hands outstretched for alms then he’s a vassal to whoever controls the collection plate. The destitute and dysfunctional are most in need of the mad hope of spiritual religion. The more dysfunction at play the better, with less help to go around the desperation can only deepen, creating ever more loyal subservience. This is why the junkie, the convict, and the lunatic, are often the most devout believers. Look to the worst human settlements and you’ll find the most religion. It sure looks that way. It’s coincidental, but all the same.

Christian men don’t lead. They force. They penalize. Ironically, it’s not we Satanists who love a human sacrifice. It’s the Christian type, the Muslim type, who make burnt offerings of suffering women and children. The stench is pleasing to the nostrils of Allah. Here’s a secret: killing a woman isn’t necessary to sacrifice her to God. Remember that.

We do need a program of family planning. A real institution. A revolution of prevention would provide all the family values we’d ever need. What do we get instead? Pale face sharia.

The frauen of the church want the children of rape born into this world. The morally unsatisfied Christian man wants a mother’s trauma relived at every milestone of development. Allahu Ackbar. Children of incest would skinny dip in our gene pool, protecting and defending the purity of southern heritage. Christians want their own nightmarish conjuring of “family values, with no compromise and no revision. The Handmaid’s Tale feels less like speculative fiction and more like a plausible threat under the right working conditions. Christian family values reduce women into beasts of burden. Breeding stock. If it means killing our mothers, sisters, and daughters, then praise be. They would rescind the right to terminate a high risk pregnancy. In Jesus name, hands to the sky. A family should lose its matriarch for the sake of one doomed pregnancy.

The mother’s heartbeat is a chicken heart, to the Christian – she exists for her eggs. Her own heartbeat is a petty concern. Her body is meant to warm the nest and receive the cock. Nothing more. Thy Kingdom Cum.

By the sign of the cross, the bodies of women are livestock to be tortured, not respected. Should her fetus be nonviable, this Peckerwood Caliphate would have her carry the miscarriage to term, wrecking her mental and physical health in the process. If an accident should happen, should contraceptives fail, should a bright and talented woman be impregnated against her will, the saints would have her follow through. Carry the mistake to the very bitter end. Nevermind the repercussions to herself, to her family, or to her society. God is good. “Live with your mistakes,” she’s told. “Take responsibility.” Yet abortion is often the most responsible choice possible.

Under His Eye, a profoundly deformed fetus would be denied a merciful death in the comfort of the womb. The family home would become a hospice care for the irreparably broken. Christians fancy using adjectives like “unnatural” and “abomination.” Their tongues can’t taste the irony. There couldn’t be a more apt description of permissive, degenerate behavior, than rooting for the legally required birth of genetic tragedies. And yet, they’d deny women, at every opportunity, to choose health over deformity, to choose success over pointless drudgery. Foundering horses get more mercy at the hands of the farmer.

Since these Christians can’t send us to hell themselves, they seem bent on making the Earth as miserable as possible. And with what they’re pushing, they’re getting the job done as best they can.

What might be the Satanic alternative? The third side? “Of course, whenever an issue becomes more important than a solution, don’t expect to stumble over a third side.” Dok LaVey was right. And I don’t suspect any real solution, proposed by any Satanist, stands a chance of becoming the mainstream institution. Flying the banner of Satan over an issue would probably be detrimental, anyway. Though what could we do, individually, to fight back?

We need to knock the crucifix off the flag pole. We need education, to start with. Miseducation is the church’s lifeblood. With so much agitation about the pay of teachers, there’s not much talk about the usefulness of what they’re allowed to teach. The program must be fixed, from K to 12, from Associates to Bachelors. If the public infrastructure is rendered obsolete by moral trouble, then rational, secular, wealthy individuals with a stake in the future, might consider building an alternative – freely available. Perhaps. A revival of classic education and training, strengthened by the lessons we’ve learned in the last century, could be useful. Sex ed, and what comes after birth, would have its place.

Up next, accountability. I know it sounds feminist – and I know that puts it in the bargain bin of ideology for a great many of this “congregation” – but men aren’t taking nearly responsibility they could. The burdens of sexuality and care of the young still fall, mainly, to women. Should we stay 2,000 years backwards, also?

If not, it’s time to talk about the vasectomy. The vasectomy is the most effective, lowest risk, cost effective, least detrimental form of birth control on the market. It has no effect on hormones. It poses no risk of blood clot or mood instability. The vas differens, the small tube that makes ejaculate fertile, provides around 2% of the total volume in a cumshot. If a spectator were genuflecting for her facial, she could never tell the difference. It’s reliable and reversible. Some 80% of American men are circumcised so there should be no squeamishness involved here. Unlike circumcision, the vasectomy doesn’t decrease sexual pleasure. It’s not outwardly visible.

If it’s such a man’s world, where’s the man’s choice in conception?

How many parasitic industries would collapse in a generation were the vasectomy as common as the circumcision? If the vasectomy were incentivized, normalized, and subsidized as the responsible choice it is, Christianity would spring another leak in its gas tank. And we could start to say “Good riddance.” Where Satan is no longer an effective spook to lure in the masses, abortion picks up the slack. Take away abortion and we deprive the church of its holocaust propaganda.

The courts would lose their cut of the child support racket. Ghettos would flourish. With more to go around, and less waste, what would become of the welfare state? And in turn, the nanny state?

Schools would no longer be overcrowded brainwash laundromats, where thanks to inherited hardship we still separate our whites from our colors. Missionaries could dig wells while doctors without borders could perform vasectomies. The global population could start to shrink, reduced to only the most wanted, most loved, best cared for generations of children.

Tract housing wouldn’t scar the earth and wildlife could return, ecosystems restored. With so much concern for global warming and the clear cutting of rain forests, isn’t any sensible environmental policy one that reduces the human population and human consumption together? With so many human rights violations, wouldn’t a smaller, better educated, better prepared generation, be less susceptible to tyranny? By virtue of there being fewer people, each person would matter all the more. That sounds like pro-life to me.

Is my speculation so far fetched? Could the proliferation of schooling and the all-but-compulsory vasectomy get so much accomplished? Look to their absence. Look to a Christian Nation, as forced as it is. Look everywhere ignorance and theocracy hold hands.

The outrage will have its way. A woman’s choice vs. a woman’s jail time. And for all the sorrow caused by unplanned, unmitigated, uneducated parenthood, solutions will go ignored. Remember this, the uncomfortable third side is so uncomfortable because nobody gets to feel like a messiah, and somebody has to do an honest day’s work.

HAIL SATAN! Josie Maxine Gallows Kali Yuga

Disclaimer: the views expressed here are not THE Satanic view on abortion. But they are MY Satanic views on abortion. Cross-posted from my official website. Want more? Become a member of The Kali Yuga by subscribing to my content on PATREON. www.patreon.com/josiemaxinegallows

[nflfanpointii]

40 is the new 35 when it comes to NFL quarterbacks like Tom Brady and Drew Brees

Back in the day, it was less common for quarterbacks to excel past their mid 30’s. Sure, there was Warren Moon, Vinny Testaverde, Brett Favre, Kurt Warner, and John Elway. But that short list is dwarfed by a painfully longer one filled with Hall of Fame quarterbacks who seemed to crap out well short the 40 year marker.

Even these all time greats experienced precipitous drop offs in their mid to late 30’s. For Roger Staubach, Steve Young and Fran Tarkenton, it came at 37. For Bart Starr, Jim Kelly, Dan Marino and Dan Fouts, 36. For Johnny Unitas, George Blanda, Bob Griese, Joe Montana and Terry Bradshaw, 35. For Otto Graham, Joe Namath, and Troy Aikman, 34.

This makes it all the more amazing that so many older quarterbacks are still playing at an elite level in today’s NFL. There might very well be five to seven future Hall of Famers starting in the league right now. Tom Brady and Drew Brees are officially in their 40’s. Philip Rivers and Ben Roethlisberger are both 36. Aaron Rodgers is 34 and Matt Ryan is 33; and both signed extensions in the past couple years at times in their careers when former quarterbacks usually retired.

It’s true, quarterbacks are more protected by the rules of the NFL than ever before, and this certainly has played a part in their new found longevity. In 1978, the league restricted contact between defensive backs and receivers to within five yards of the line of scrimmage. This resulted in a dramatic increase in passing attempts per game, which in turn suddenly made the quarterback position more valuable.

Since 1993, quarterbacks could simply escape the pocket and throw a pass out of bounds without incurring an intentional grounding penalty. This made it harder for pass rushers to get to them before they got rid of the ball, therefore avoiding a sack or quarterback hit.

Roughing the passer penalties have become more and more common as the definition has broadened to include late hits, forcible hits below the knee, hitting the helmet, and landing on the quarterback with one’s own body weight.

Last year, former Packers linebacker Clay Matthews was flagged twice for roughing the passer while making what seemed to be perfectly executed sacks. Ironically, it was probably a hit on Packers quarterback Aaron Rodgers the previous season that may have led to the rule change that cost the Packers two victories a season later.

One would think that with these modern day quarterbacks dropping back more times throughout a game than ever before, their careers would be shorter, not longer. That’s why I think there’s more to it than the implementation of more rules that inherently protect the quarterback.

Because they played before GMO’s and modern day fast food chains, many old school players of the past had access to better food. But that doesn’t mean they took full advantage of their timely access to healthier lives. Joe Namath smoked cigarettes on the sidelines for god’s sake.

I doubt they were paying attention to the pH of their foods like Tom Brady or paying upwards of $200K a year like James Harrison did on therapy treatments like massage and acupuncture. The modern day athlete has to be almost obsessive in their quest for success. Talent alone won’t cut it anymore if you want to stick around in today’s NFL.

Extremely strict diets, fitness, and recovery programs have taken the place of binge eating like Babe Ruth, snorting cocaine like Diego Maradona, and binge drinking like Lawrence Taylor. The two oldest current quarterbacks in the NFL also happen to keep two of the strictest diet and fitness regimens across all sports.

Drew Brees has been working with Todd Durkin in San Diego, CA since his days with the Chargers. Brees loves working with Durkin every offseason. “Whenever I come back for the summertime to get in the best shape of my life for training camp, he’s always got something new or a few new things that make me feel like we’re way ahead of everybody else.”

What’s interesting to me, however, is that even though Brees isn’t Durkin’s biggest, fastest, or most agile athlete, he may have benefited the most simply because he’s willing to work harder than everyone else. And that’s saying a lot considering Durkin’s vast client list also includes Carson Palmer, Aaron Rodgers, Darren Sproles, LaDainian Tomlinson, Mark Sanchez, Alex Smith, Brandon Cooks, Reggie Bush, Charles Tillman, Zach Ertz, John Brown, Dontrelle Inman, Malcom Floyd, Ryan Griffin, Chase Daniel, Sean Canfield, Josh Freeman, and my fellow Saints Ignatius College Prep alumnus, Igor Olshansky.

”Drew Brees, first and foremost, is a special person. I will probably not have the opportunity to work with a guy like that in the next 20 years. His concentration and focus are amazing, and he works extremely hard. He’s not the biggest guy or the fastest guy, but he’s going to beat you with his athleticism, his smarts and because he’s such a competitor. I don’t care what it is, the dude wants to win at anything. He’s always restless and never satisfied,” said Durkin.

Brees is absolutely methodical in his training and game preparation. “I know where I’m going to be at a specific time,” he says. “I know what I’m going to be doing; I know what needs to be accomplished for me to feel confident and go out there and play at the highest level.”

His focus has shifted from the archaic meathead approach to training he learned in college at Purdue to a more functional and efficient approach. “I think maybe those [exercises] served the purpose at the time.” Drew says. “But now I’ve wised up to the things that I need to do in a position-specific and functional fitness kind of way to benefit me as a quarterback.”

If you have 30 minutes to kill, watch this video of Brees’ workouts with Durkin.

I’ve been a fitness trainer and instructor for 12 years and I’m telling you, Durkin is the real deal. I love his approach to fitness. I stopped lifting heavy weights years ago and have focused more on agility ladder work, TRX training, yoga, and generally maximizing my strength and endurance gains while also minimizing sheering forces on my joints, tendons, and ligaments.

Tom Brady takes his fitness protocol in an even more holistic, and dare I say, Eastern direction. He and his trainer/business partner Alex Guerrero founded the TB12 training facility next to Gillette Stadium in 2013. Guerrero, though highly controversial, isn’t a total quack in my opinion.

Of course claiming his supplements could curemultiple sclerosis, AIDS, concussions, and other diseases with no shred of testing or evidence based proof was incredibly disingenuous and downright dangerous. Settling with multiple investors out of court for defrauding them is no better either.

But I have to hand it to him: he has kept Tom Brady in phenomenal shape to survive and thrive in the NFL past the age of 40. Guerrero earned a Masters Degree in traditional Chinese medicine from a school in LA that closed after losing its’ accreditation. He is not a physical therapist and does not hold any Western degrees that would qualify him to do a lot of the work he does with his clients.

Yet, Guerrero is highly respected and retained by many professional athletes including Rob Gronkowski, Julian Edelman, Wes Welker, Danny Amendola, Willie McGinest, Jimmy Garoppolo, LaDainian Tomlinson, and Chris Hogan. Instead of focusing on lifting huge weights and tearing muscle fibers, Guerrero prescribes more body weight moves and exercises with resistance bands that are designed to increase the muscles’ “pliability.”

Brady often sees Guerrero twice daily and receives intensely specific massages in which he tenses the muscles while Guerrero massages them. The goal is to lengthen the muscles and increase their flexibility so that Brady can withstand the weekly car crash that is an NFL football game.

The other main focus is to reduce inflammation in the body by maintaining a strict diet. Brady does not eat white flour, white sugar, MSG, iodized salt, coffee, caffeine, alcohol, fungus, dairy, nightshade vegetables and most types of fruit. This diet may sound strange, but it’s most likely derived from the Ayurvedic tradition which is over 5,000 years old and trusted throughout Asia as much as we trust Western medicine.

The part where Brady and Guerrero lose me is by making sweeping statements like everyone should drink 25 glasses of water a day, or eat this exact diet, or that everyone needs to consume TB12 branded electrolytes or wear TB12 branded muscle recovery pajamas.

I’m not 6’4” and 230lbs; I’m 5’6” and 130lbs, so I don’t need more than 65 ounces of water a day, unless Tom wants me to get hyponatremia and die of brain damage. Don’t just replicate a professional athlete’s diet and fitness regimen. These have been specially tailored to them. If you work for Google and sit at a desk for eight hours a day, you probably shouldn’t eat and drink exactly what Tom Brady does.

It’s okay to be skeptical too. Brees isn’t much more trust-worthy with his shameful peddling of Advocare products. It’s important to rely on evidence-based research conducted by independent bodies without a financial stake in the products they test. Even more important, think for yourself and do your own research before listening to athletes that have a financial stake in the health philosophies they are sharing with the public.

If you aren’t hip to eating according to your Ayurvedic dosha (My dosha is roughly 70% Pitta, 20% Vata, 10% Kapha) like Brady seems to, you can go the Western route and still learn something about how to function at a higher level, no matter what your lifestyle is. Drew and Brittney Brees got food sensitivity blood tests done back in 2004. That’s when Brees found he had significant sensitivities to gluten, dairy, and certain nuts.

“As you can imagine, I was shocked because I was consuming most of these things every day. And just to think how long I’ve had these sensitivities and had continued to feed them. Guys coming in fresh out of college are used to going to the training table and eating and drinking whatever they’re given.”

“In many cases, I see myself as a veteran player – pulling those young guys aside and, as part of teaching young players how to be a pro, talking to them about their diet, their sleep habits and their recovery. They’ll start to ask questions like, ‘Hey Drew, what do you do?’ That’s when I explain to them that I use coconut milk and almond milk products.”

It’s not just Brees’ direct teammates like Reggie Bush, Sean Canfield, Chase Daniel, Brandin Cooks, and Ryan Griffin who have followed his lead when it comes to diet and fitness. “It took the fourth or fifth time hearing, ‘You need to do this,’ and then reading about Drew Brees and Tom Brady and others who are your peers doing it,” Kirk Cousins said. “I realized, ‘If I want to hang with these guys, then it’s time to stop playing around.’”

18 of the 32 quarterbacks starting in the NFL are over 30 years old, and by September that list will grow to 21 with the 30th birthdays of Cam Newton, Tyrod Taylor, and Andrew Luck. Even though five quarterbacks were drafted in the first round last year, there’s a good chance less than a third of the starting quarterbacks in the league will be younger than 30 years old.

40 might be the new 35, and it’s not just because of some changes in the rules. Players are spending highly on optimizing their health and performance through a multitude of practices both new and incredibly old. Cousins is right, it’s time to stop playing around.

[zombolouge]

Body Dysmorphia - An Evil Parrot

So, as you guys may or may not have seen, I made that lovely post about my journey with weightlifting, which was largely what sucked all my time away in 2017.

Anyways, I thought I would share some of the psychological developments that went along with it, part of which includes my concept of reality collapsing in on itself like an ill-tempered flan.

Discussion of mental illness and weight loss below. Buckle up, babes, I’m gonna get salty.

Y’all probably heard by now, but I have some brain-space friends. Namely: Anxiety, Depression, and PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, for those that don’t know and are too lazy to google).

It’s not a secret that I have a trifecta of mental illnesses, like I dropped down a well and found the world’s shittiest triforce with my goddamn face.

I’ve got this whole episodic, cyclical Zelda game happening with my thinking all the time, and it isn’t as fun as you would think. Link is running around my head for anxiety, sticking his sword in things and throwing pots full of bees so that I’m all twitchy and convinced that a swarm of murderous cuckoos are following my every move. Zelda is moping around the castle basement, Princess Depression herself, pointing out all the times where we failed to save ourselves and how nothing we do really matters, so who cares if we ever have fun or sleep or see the light of day, it’s all going to crash in a repeating cycle of despondence and chaos at some point. Then there’s Ganon, big ol’ behemoth PTSD, stomping around my brain and messing with my perceptions so that I don’t trust myself, I’m convinced I’m wrong, I’m convinced everyone I know is slowly coming to hate me or is out to get me, I’m sure that I’m messing something up at all times, and when anything bad happens it is obviously my fault. Worst of all, he’s just back there laughing maniacally the entire time and spilling more miasmic gooze all over everything.

I might have been playing too much Breath of the Wild lately.

Still, my point stands. It’s a shitty triforce, and it can make my life difficult because sometimes these pieces are working together to slow down my functionality while other times they’re all fighting each other, and I’m just caught in the crossfire.

I’ve coped, however. I lived (poorly, miserably) with the PTSD for about 5 or 6 years before I was diagnosed. It was my general physician that caught it (apparently constant, unrelenting nightmares that occur every time you sleep is not a normal thing. Go figure!), and she referred me to a therapist, who diagnosed the additional depression and anxiety. Those two were probably always there, but the PTSD came later. We theorize – “we” meaning myself and all the professionals I’ve ever seen – that the PTSD started very early when I was quite young. It wasn’t until I was in an abusive relationship that it really got powered up, however. The severity was probably exacerbated by my age – I was 17 when we started dating and just under 21 before I left him.

In any case, I got diagnosed, I got put on an assortment of medication, and I got treated. I spent 6 months in somewhat intensive therapy before it all sort of clicked together. One day I just…woke up. Having PTSD the way I did was like sleepwalking through life, as though someone had taken all of my essence and boxed it up somewhere inside me. When the therapy clicked, it opened the lid to the box, and I found myself in a life that felt incredibly foreign to me, like someone else had borrowed my body to live for a bit, handed it back with all these new shapes and situations.

Foremost of that – and more to the point of this post – was my weight. In the first year of my abusive relationship, I gained 100 pounds. After the relationship, the weight stayed around. After all, losing 100 pounds doesn’t exactly happen by accident, and I was still addled with PTSD for a large portion of it, which compounds your ability to lose weight. It would sometimes fluctuate by ten or so pounds, but never more than that.

The weight never seemed to bother me, though. After all, it never held me back from having relationships or making friends (nor did it contribute to any of the times I set those bridges I was building on fire, but that’s for another post). I didn’t feel like it stopped me from pursuing my writing career. I read a lot about body acceptance and I got to where I was at peace with my size. I can’t say that I found myself beautiful, per se, but I knew that I wasn’t ugly, and if I was ugly, it wasn’t because of the weight.

Now, fast forward about three years, and I find myself sitting on a hospital gurney in a hallway, a brace strapped around my neck and the world spinning and blurring around me. I had fallen about 30 hours prior to that point, slipping in ice. I had known that I bit the concrete hard when I went down, but I had thought I was okay…until the next day when I couldn’t type, started feeling drunk, and just barely got myself to an urgent care before I was slurring my speech. I won myself a concussion, a sprained wrist, a sprained ankle, and a sprained cervical spine, which is a terrifying thing to be told you have sprained.

After that, I spent about two months recovering. I couldn’t write much, had to avoid reading, so I just sat around and played a lot of video games that didn’t overload me with text. I thought I was fine, but I think not being able to read or write broke something in me, though I tried to deny it. It also highlighted how very little I enjoyed life without those things, even if I kept promising myself that my writing would be fine, that I would get to come back to it.

The end result of this storm of doubt and escapism was that I realized my life was full of a lot of waiting. Waiting to recover, waiting for the right time to publish my book, waiting for some random sign to descend from on high giving me permission to do all these things I wanted to do. I mean, I had a list a mile long of things I would like to be or do, but I just wasn’t taking any steps towards them. I had it in my head that somehow I wasn’t “ready”, and I was metaphorically pacing and twiddling my fingers as I waited for someone or something to tell me “it’s time”.

Turns out a concussion is a good way to snap out of that kind of bullshit.

Initially, I started my journey with weightlifting for two reasons: to use exercise to help control the symptoms of my triforce of garbage, and to gain control over my body that would allow me to do the things I wanted. You see, I like doing things. Things like going to concerts, wandering around a new city, trekking through the woods so that I can point at animals and shout their names like I’m five and discovering the world for the first time.

When I was in high school I did all sorts of active things before my abusive boyfriend came into the picture. Some of my fondest memories were from playing rugby in the park, often after dark, screaming with glee into the night air as we slammed each other into the grass with tackles that were more about clobbering ourselves than they were about getting to the ball. I was also in marching band, which doesn’t sound like much, but holding up a trombone for extended periods of time builds some decent arm muscles. I used to go hiking and fishing all the time with my dad when I was little, and regular swimming trips were a requirement until I moved to New Mexico where water is only a figment of your imagination.

The point being, I wasn’t doing a lot of things that I enjoyed doing, and part of that was because I wasn’t physically fit enough to do them. So, I started with lifting weights.

Now, again, initially this was not about weight. It was about getting stronger and giving myself more energy, it was about getting to a point where I could be the things that I wanted to be. I ignored the weight loss aspect in the beginning because I didn’t want to focus on it. Focusing on weight in the past had gotten me into unhealthy habits (‘sup, anorexia), and that was certainly not what the journey was about this time.

That attitude lasted up until the point where one day, almost out of nowhere in its suddenness, I looked in the mirror and recognized myself. Until that point, I hadn’t even realized that I didn’t recognize the shape that I had become. I mean, I was certainly used to it. It wasn’t as though the face in the mirror was unfamiliar. I saw it every day, after all.

But there was one day that I looked up in the mirror while I was brushing my teeth, and I saw a version of me that I felt a kinship with. Suddenly the image of myself that existed in my head had become physically represented. I looked into my own eyes, and I didn’t see the armor of weight that I had draped on my frame during the years of abuse. I saw the person that I felt I was underneath.

It was a bit like living for 10 years with cloudy skies, and then one day the sun breaks through and you remember that the fucking sky is blue, not grey.

This had a tremendous effect on my mood and confidence. I realized that I wasn’t happy with my weight, not because it was high, not because being fat was anything to be ashamed of or anything terrible, but because it didn’t look or feel like me. That life that someone had been living for me while I was locked in the PTSD box had included a body that just wasn’t mine, and I’d still been using it without realizing it wasn’t a good fit. Shedding the pieces of that ill-fitting suit of armor was liberating and poetic in its beauty.

I went through a period of deep and illuminating emotional discovery alongside the physical changes. I’m now more in touch with who I am and who I want to be than I’ve ever been, which is great most of the time. I would like to say that I continued getting to the size that I wanted, reached it, and lived happily ever after.

If that were true, nobody would complain about how hard it is to have mental illness. If there was really a magical happily ever after where we never had any issues with our mental problems ever again, well, it wouldn’t be so damn hard to exist.

In October of 2017 I lost someone important to me. The death was sudden, which was awful, and almost assuredly preventable if they had been at all focused on self-care, which was infuriating. In my grief, my triforce of terrible brain function reared its ugly head, and I developed a bad case of what I would later learn is body dysmorphia.

Now, I am by no means an expert on body dysmorphia. I can talk at length about depression, anxiety, and PTSD, because I’ve spent enough time with them and done enough research that they’re old friends by now. Body dysmorphia is something new to me, an unknown beast that’s camping out with the others. I didn’t even have a name for what I was going to until I had been venting to a friend about my frustrations with my self-image, and they turned to me from their position on the neighboring treadmill and said “Girl, that’s called body dysmorphia and it’s fucking normal when you lose half a person like you have.”

Well, shit.

So, I can’t speak for everyone’s experience with this particular issue nor can I tell you what’s common or average. What I can do is talk about what I’m going through personally, and shed some light on what happens when body dysmorphia hits during weight loss.

It was about three days after my loved one’s funeral that I woke up, looked in the mirror, and was convinced that I hadn’t changed at all. According to my eyes, I was exactly the same size and shape as I had been back in April before I started lifting. I could no longer see the muscles, I became convinced that my face had rounded out once more, and I stared at my stomach like it was an alien creature attached to my waist. I was certain that any minute an evil spawn wearing my ex boyfriend’s face would burst out of my torso, cackling wildly as it taunted me for having thought I escaped all those negative thoughts and habits.

This was, naturally, quite depressing. I sank into a deep, dark hole that didn’t really have a bottom or a top. It was just rough dirt and mud in all directions, and I was drowning. The only thing that saved me, that kept me from sinking into that muck for good, was – of all the strange things – numbers.

You see, what I saw in the mirror wasn’t matching up with what I knew to be the inalienable facts of the situation. If I was back to the size I was in April, how could I still be wearing pants that were 5 sizes smaller? If I had gained it all back, how could I still be wearing all the smaller shirts? Why would the measuring tape still show a one inch loss around my stomach from the last time that I had measured?

If I hadn’t been marking my progress with these things, I might have panicked. I don’t quite know where my headspace would have led me if I didn’t have actual evidence that was contrary to what my perception was trying to tell me. I know that it wouldn’t have been good, that’s for sure.

I suffered with this depression for only a couple of days before I blurted out my frustration to my friend, largely because I had just gone through a weightlifting session and wanted to cry after each lift, for no other reason than I had to see myself in the massive, wall-length mirrors the entire time and the visual made me feel weak and horrible. I wasn’t lifting less, I was still increasing my progress on-pace with my plan, but I didn’t look good in my own gaze, and therefore hated every bit of effort exerted that day.

That’s when he mentioned body dysmorphia, and this beast in my head was given a name.

I tried for about a week to resolve the issue on my own, but my depression kept getting deeper and darker. I started having obsessive, negative thoughts. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever had obsessive thoughts, but they’re quite frustrating, especially when you don’t want to hear them, and you certainly don’t intend to listen to them. It’s like I had a parrot hanging out on my shoulder, right next to my ear. It spent its time repeating the phrases that it had learned, all day long, and the person that had originally trained it fucking hated me.

Why would you ever think you could be strong or pretty? You’re hideous and you’ll never get anywhere in life because of it. Look, you’ve fallen back to where you started, because you fail at everything you do. It was downright delusional to think you had made progress in the first place. Welcome to reality, fuckup. Everyone who knows you must be so ashamed. They all doubted you and now you’ve proven them right. You’re probably terrible at writing, too. I mean, you can’t even exercise, what makes you think you could do anything else? You’re so stupid for trying. You’re stupid and your stories are stupid. You should die. You should definitely just kill yourself. You should take every pill in the house, lay down, and give up. You should drive your car off the side of a bridge. Nobody cares if you finish your stories, just forget about all of it. Just stop existing.

Yeah, that parrot was a piece of shit.

My experience with my garbage triforce is that those thoughts and feelings are always there, in the background. They never really go away. BUT. When I am handling the triforce well and coping in healthy ways, the parrot’s voice is so small that I can ignore it. I can barely hear it because I’m doing well and focused on working towards my goals. It’s like, when I’m functioning well, I get to shove a bunch of crackers in its mouth and I get some peace while it tries to talk around them. When I’m not coping well, the voice gets louder, and sometimes it will drown out everything else.

A week after giving my body dysmorphia a name, I knew that I was not coping well. I couldn’t muscle my way out of this rut on my own because the body dysmorphia and depression were gorging themselves in this big feedback loop. The more depressed I got, the worse my self-image was. The worse my self-image got, the worse the depression got. I was trapped in a circle of suck, and that parrot was fucking screaming at me from the minute I woke up to the minute I finally passed out at night.

Fuck that shit.

I did the research and found myself a therapist, after which I promptly requested (and was given) antidepressants.

This has been a lifeline, and I’m starting to see improvements even though it’s only been about a month. Therapy is helping me dig up the emotions that are at the root of this spiral, and the antidepressants are a nice supply of crackers to shove into Polly’s spiteful face. It’s not perfect – I didn’t wake up and find myself magically cured. Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I see myself again and all the progress that I’ve made, and I feel amazing. Other times I can’t bring myself to be positive, and the parrot starts squawking all over again, though it’s not as obsessive. The suicidal thoughts are gone, which is nice. I never had any intention of acting on them, but when your brain is calling for death, it can certainly dampen your ability to do anything besides beg it to shut up.

I’m confident that I’ll get back to where I want to be, though. With the combined powers of therapy and antidepressants, I should be able to drive the parrot back into its cage and get control of my triforce once more. In the meantime, the steps I’ve taken keep all those problems from holding me back, so that I can still do all the cool things I want to do with my life, like writing and hiking and finally getting all those damn Korok seeds in Breath of the Wild.

But I wanted to share this aspect of my story, in case anybody else was grappling with whether or not they should go to (or go back to) therapy or get some antidepressants. I know it can be hard to know when that breaking point is; when you should throw your hand out into the darkness and ask for help. I figured out what that point was, and I’m glad I did it when I did.

Never let yourself suffer for longer than necessary. Always remember, it isn’t supposed to be that hard just to live. When it is, it’s time that you found someone to help you through it.

Get help, and tell that parrot to shut its goddamn face.

[boyswanna-be-her]

goretober: space

“Hey, it’s me. Don’t be mad.”

Amal is mad.

She told the goddamn CAPCOM to keep her wife home--to keep Carmen out of all of this as much as possible. She asked him as a colleague and as a friend.

So what the fuck is her wife doing on this transmission?

“I know you hate it when I say shit like this, but it’s totally OK for you to be stressed out right now. You’ve been alone for a long time.”

Amal isn’t afraid of being alone.

She’s trained for years, prepped, spent months in carefully monitored isolation like a zoo animal. Amal can do years alone standing on her head.

Being alone wouldn’t be a problem.

The problem is that Amal is not alone.

“This stuff you’re seeing--this stuff that’s happening--it’s because you’re stressed.”

Carmen is being so careful with her voice and Amal can’t decide how she feels about that. Angry, she decides, because Carmen feels like she has to be careful. Thankful that someone exists back on earth who cares enough to want to treat her gently. Frustrated that Carmen--along with everyone else in Houston--doesn’t believe her.

“I can’t say we perfectly understand why it might be happening, but all of your vitals have been relatively normal.”

“Fuck my vitals,” Amal says to the empty capsule. “It’s not my vitals that are freaking me.”

She hasn’t been alone for three days, and if everyone back at mission control would just listen for half a minute, they’d know that.

“Please, Amal, take the diazepam. Get some sleep.”

She knows how much Amal hates being sedated. They all do. It’s part of what makes Amal such a good candidate for a years-long solo mission like this. She’s never been interested in sleeping away problems or worrying about them less.

You identify the problem. You assess the problem. You work the problem. That’s what astronauts do, and Carmen knows that because she’s been through the same training, been through the same emergencies on missions. Those situations should’ve been terrible--the type of thing to knock you down onto the therapist’s couch for a solid decade--but had instead been exhilarating for all of them, for the entire crew, and though Carmen and Amal never talked about it, she knew Carmen felt it.

Carmen may have started in Star City as a physician, but they all came out on the other side of Hermes I as astronauts.

Their minds went somewhere else--became something else--when potential catastrophes presented themselves in space. Training kicked in and took the situation out of their hands, the spectres of their months of drills in a swimming pool suddenly conjured up.

The crew became a troupe of dancers working through complicated choreography when they tackled problems together, and in the same way that Amal imagined a dancer might feel a high coming off of a good performance, they all knew the distinct sensation of seeing death’s design, understanding it, and dismantling it.

They beat death over and over again. Hell, manned space exploration in itself was an exercise in conquering death over and over and over again.

Fires. Breaches. Malfunctions.

None of those things were ever solved by popping a pill and zipping in for seven hours.

“Anyway, try not to be mad at Patrick for calling me in. I was already up anyway--and to be honest? He’s not the only one down here worrying about you.”

Amal snorts. “No shit, babe. I’m in charge of a multi-billion dollar operation and you all think I’ve lost my marbles.”

She lets herself wish for one split second that Carmen was there to roll her eyes.

“I’m not going to stick around for your transmission back because I know you’re going to tell me that you took your diazepam and you’re about to strap in for bed.”

Carmen is lying of course. Amal knows there’s no chance she’d split without waiting for a response.

“I love you Amal. I’ll talk to you on Tuesday.”

###

Carmen has been sitting at the empty desk next to Patrick, pretending desperately to pay attention to what he’s saying instead of staring at the time on his monitor.

She should’ve responded by now. Right? It’s been fifteen minutes. What’s she doing up--

“Shit, here we go,” Patrick says.

Carmen watches a status bar on the computer monitor tick up until it’s full and then there she is, floating a few feet away from the camera.

Carmen’s wife never looks different in space like everyone else does.

Space suits Amal, strangely. Her face doesn’t puff up like Carmen’s always had, and her close-cropped hair doesn’t need to be pinned and looped and braided like Carmen’s. No, in zero gravity and halfway to Mars, Amal still looks the same. The bruise-dark smudges beneath her eyes are the only real change.

She needs to sleep.

“She’s too pretty to be real,” Patrick sighs out--and Carmen laughs because their mutual and very gay friend Patrick is the only person in mission control, she thinks, who she doesn’t mind commenting on her wife’s appearance. Coming from anyone else’s mouth, it would either be completely irrelevant or totally inappropriate.

Coming from Patrick it’s ok because he knows she’s thinking the same thing.

Carmen’s heart is full to bursting every time she sees her. That’s part of why Carmen hasn’t been hanging out in mission control. It makes being apart too hard.

They’ve done this before. They got through it. Amal’s first stint on ISS was the hardest, but it all got easier after that. Carmen knows from experience that she deals best with her wife’s absences when she continues on with her own research on earth in the meantime.

This is the part she hates--the part they both try to avoid. These little snippets, these short speeches they deliver and then shoot through space to each other. It’s worse than not communicating at all.

In the fifteen-minute-old video, Amal reaches up to stabilize herself, grabbing handles on either side of the comms unit. It gives Carmen the uncanny feeling that her wife is reaching out, grabbing her by either side of the face, begging her to pay attention.

“I know it’s impossible,” Amal says--and her voice has a ragged edge now. “I know it doesn’t make sense. But I’m not alone in here. And I’m not taking a fucking xanny so that everyone can rest easy about me being sedated. I need to be sober if I’m going to--”

Amal goes still and it takes a beat before Carmen realizes that Patrick has paused the video.

“What’s up?”

“There’s something wrong with the unit,” Patrick says, frowning and leaning in to peer at the monitor closer. “There’s a reflection or--hm. Why’s it doing that?”

Carmen leans in and she sees it now, too. Amal’s face is being reflected in the observation bay window--but that doesn’t make sense.

“It can’t be a reflection,” she says. “It’s behind her.”

The statement makes Carmen shiver. It’s behind her. Like something out of a B-movie. The call’s coming from inside the capsule!

“Weird,” Patrick says. “I used to get rando visual artifacts from transmissions but I thought I fixed that. Whatever, I’ll worry about it tomorrow.”

With one hand, Patrick massages the bridge of his nose and with the other, he taps play on the video.

“--figure out who or what is fucking with me up here,” Amal continues.

Carmen’s heart drops. The more Amal talks like this, the more worried she gets. Why won’t Amal just bed down for a few hours? This is ridiculous.

“Anyway, I’ve got it under control, I’m working the problem, and it’s not like you can do anything for me from where you are.”

In the recording, Amal releases the handles and kicks off the wall, tucking her hands behind her head as she floats backwards.

“And Carm? You know I love you baby but the whole Nurse Ratched routine doesn’t really fit for you.”

Carmen rolls her eyes, sighs, leans back in the chair. At the same time, Patrick is leaning forward.

“Holy shit. Holy shit.” He goes stiff and suddenly he’s holding the desk like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. “Fuck. No. This isn’t… Carmen, what the fuck?”

She sees it then, the thing that’s set him off.

Amal is moving, drifting, playing it cool like she always does.

Her reflection is doing none of those things.

“It’s not a reflection.”

“It’s a messed up transmission artifact, like you said,” Carmen says shrugging.

“--Also, I totally know you didn’t just drive home without an answer from me, so quit being tacky and lying to me where Patrick can hear.”

Patrick is absolutely still beside her. He’s holding his breath. Why is he holding his breath?

It’s so odd to watch the two images of her wife on the screen: the Amal speaking clearly, joking, ribbing Carmen just like they’re sitting in their living room together, and the Amal who is a mirror image of herself, grainy but still just visible in the background.

“It’s not an artifact, Carmen.”

The reflection takes a breath. The reflection opens its mouth.

Very quietly but unmistakably, the reflection says its own name.

“Amal.”

The Amal in the front, the commander of this mission, hears it just as plainly as they have both heard it down here, so far away in Houston.

Amal’s biceps twitch. Her spine crooks. She falters in the air, moving her limbs to try to move her body, to face the noise, flailing and looking for an instant like someone who doesn’t understand the way a zero gravity environment works.

It’s panic.

She’s panicked.

In the eight years that Carmen has known her wife, she has never seen her panic.

Through fires. Through breaches. Amal doesn’t scare and she certainly does not panic and it is not until this moment that Carmen is truly frightened.

As Carmen watches, the center of her entire universe, the unshakeable core of what has made life bearable, the human vessel into which Carmen has placed all of her hopes for the future fights for leverage in a tin can hurtling towards a planet 55 million miles away.

Finally, Amal kicks a wall and spins to face her reflection--and now Carmen can’t deny it. She’s wrong. It’s not a reflection. It can’t be an artifact. Carmen struggles to make sense of what she’s seeing.

Amal faces her double and lets out a single yelp, hoarse and high and odd, a sound Carmen has never heard her make before. Amal--the wrong Amal, the one in the back, the thing that cannot possibly be her--Amal smiles.

Just as it had before, a moment passes before Carmen realizes that the video has stopped. She looks desperately to Patrick, but he hasn’t paused it.

The transmission is simply over.

[doyouwanteggyeggs]

Day 6/7: We’re going into lockdown again

July 7th/July 8th. I didn’t know why he hadn’t called me yet or tried to reach out to me yet. Was he ashamed of me having caught him on Tinder? Was he glad to finally get some time to breathe? Was he relieved to know that I wasn’t in his life anymore? that he didn’t have to pretend anymore?

Pretence. Everything was under pretence for the past 6 months. I hadn’t let that fully sink into me on the basis that I was in denial. I did not want to admit that the past 6 months were a lie. Because they weren’t. As a generally anxious person, I make it a point to do self-checks every so often where I’d try and ask him a question to revisit his stance in our relationship. I’d ask him about whether we were going to get a dog coz some of our friends had adopted one during lockdown. I remember that fight when we were walking Max in Brunswick and towards the end of that walk I got really sulky with him. He eventually asked me what was wrong and I asked him why he had said “we aren’t getting a dog now and no where in the near future”. It hurt me to think that he didn’t want to make serious commitments with me when again, his other actions would suggest otherwise. Naming our unborn children, talking about how we would raise our teenage children, discussing the possibility of me moving overseas if he wanted to pursue career options.

I was in denial. Yet slowly, my mind began accepting the reality of the situation. I went on my browser and cancelled Stan because I knew I couldn’t bear to see another email sent to me saying our Stan subscription was cancelled. It would honestly just kill me again. The first time he did it when we first decided to go on a break. I remember calling him that night, freaking out, asking him if he had already made up his mind. My forever. The love of my life was asking for a way out. I wasn’t ready to give it to him yet and neither was I in a position to accept that he wanted to leave. “You should have taken that as the first red flag, H”, said my psychologist. “That was him saying he wanted out but you forced him, yet again, into wanting to stay. He didn’t want to hurt your feelings and he didn’t know how to pull away. You put him on the spot when you asked him why he cancelled your Stan. He only reacted to appease you.”

My first instinct was to call him when they announced a second lockdown. Ask him how he was going to go on without me and how he could imagine doing it without me. I thought back to all the little things we did during lockdown. How we once snuck off in the middle of the day to have sex. How he pulled me towards him as I ended my workout and made love to me on my yoga mat. How he bought me these leggings as a surprise gift because he was “bored” of my black legging activewear which had become a staple. How we walked to the  markets and did a run and always had B at the meat stall ask us, “did you go for a run today guys?”

I didn’t want to go back to the south Melbourne markets anymore. I didn’t want to tell B from the butcher that him and I were not together anymore if she asked me where “Harry” was. I didn’t want to run anymore. His voice lingered in my head. “Breathe three in and breathe three out”. “Babe, I can only do two at a time. My lungs are small”. “Okay that’s fine babe. You’re doing great”.

I love him so much. I really do. I don’t know if I’ve ever loved someone until I met him. Everything about our relationship was an absolute first for me. The way he played with me, the way he kissed me, the way he hugged me and the way he cuddled me at night. I hated that he wouldn’t always give me a massage when I asked or that he wouldn’t cuddle me through the entirety of the night, but I know that when I woke up and he woke up next to me, he’d say “morning beautiful” and then proceed to cuddle me and spoon me.

I want him back so bad and even though its been a week, I can’t shake that feeling off. The feeling that he betrayed my trust, lied to me for so long and just didn’t want me the same way. What my brain was fighting back was that the past six months were not a lie. He just hit a roadblock where he felt slightly bored in our relationship and it was fair that he did. He saw me 24/7 and our routine, while varied, mostly revolved around me. I was obsessed with him but he didn’t share that same feeling. Perhaps he would never share that feeling with anyone ever and that’s the type of relationship he wants. Where he doesn’t feel constantly guilty for not being obsessed with his partner. Being with me made him feel uncomfortable almost as he saw me give and give and he felt uneasy just taking and reluctantly reciprocating. 

I want him to realise and know that I don’t expect that kind of relationship. That I was happy with how our relationship had progressed and how connected we were. 

I shouldn’t call him. I’m only pushing him away and not giving him that space he wanted. I’m latching onto an idea that doesn’t exist anymore. I’m desperately clutching onto straws hoping that these sessions with his psychologist will help him realise that he’s making a mistake. I want to tell him that I forgive him for Tinder and all I’m waiting on is a call from him to ask me back.

I don’t want to shut off from the idea of him yet. I know that I’m being destructive to my personal health by hoping he will return. But as the therapist said, “he waited until you got professional help. Until you were in safe hands for him to completely let go”. Then why did he agree to a second, prolonged break? Because he loves you enough to care about you but not want to be in a relationship with you.

Please come back. Why won’t you watch my Instagram story and realise I miss running with you? Why won’t you call me or reach out to me to ask me if I’m alright? Why won’t you tell me that you miss me because I know you are. I feel like you’re looking at my last seen on WhatsApp just like I am which would probably explain why you’re more online on WhatsApp. I’m shutting out the idea that you’re probably still talking to the girl you picked up from Tinder. That you’re trying to meet anyone new because you’re mind is engrossed with the thoughts of me. My mind certainly is. I didn’t want to swipe right anymore. Have any more dirty conversations to feel validated. I just want you.

I love you. Come back to me. Please.

[ramblesofadreamerofthestars]

Therapy? In The Final Season of  The 100??

It’s more likely then any of us ever thought??????

Spoilers of course for the 100 7.07

Dr. Eric Jackson said “is anyone going to treat Literally Everyone for the trauma we go through” and had to wait seven seasons before giving up and doing it himself. I fucking love him and I Adore that Madi is getting therapy and that they are CONFRONTING WHAT HAPPENED TO A LITERAL CHILD. Jax read one (1) psychology book and decided he was now a licensed therapist and you know what? good for him. 

Someone....let me at Madi’s wardrobe. Babe looks like she rolled up fresh out of Amity from the Divergent movies and like...killing it but What was the inspiration. I am So Happy she gets to play soccer and have therapy sessions and just be a regular kid for what is apparently, the first time in her entire life. I Miss her and Clarke and i wish Clarke was here to see Madi starting to flourish because that dynamic has been pushed So Far to the side this season and I just miss them. I Love that they finally addressed how fucked up it was putting the flame in Madi’s head i seriously love love love it. yes it was necessary but it was also extremely traumatic and not something a child should have to go through and I’m so happy they talked about it (for at least a moment anyway)

Lindsey Morgan and her team said You get to deal with trauma, and you get to deal with trauma, and you - . No but for real, I was pleasantly surprised with the things that got addressed this episode- The flame, Octavia beating up Bellamy, the beginning of Becho. Not as good as Bardo lore but we take what we can get.

(Also shout out to Ms. Morgan for an incredible directorial debut, what a talented queen) 

I Loved Octavia saying outright how fucked up it was that she beat up her brother It’s been 84 years too many seasons of waiting for it, her growth this season? Incredible. That being said, literally What The Fuck was that comforting scene between her and Echo I’m. “You’re my family too” bitch Where. I understand Octavia trying to comfort someone she knows her brother cares for, and I know that Octavia saw how lost and angry Echo was, and this is just my own thoughts but probably recognized something in Echo that was reminiscent of her when she lost Lincoln, at least in her eyes, but it came out of no where?? These two have Never had a good relationship and while part of it is obviously Octavia’s growth the scene felt a little stilted. 

So. Echo. First thing right off the bat (as always, this should literally be the expectation but for the people in the back) THE ACTORS ARE NOT THEIR CHARACTERS, THEY ARE REAL PEOPLE, AND PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GODS LEARN TO SEPARATE THE TWO. I have so much respect for all the actors and crew who are trying their absolute best and making this show something I look forward to watching.

I had Such high hopes for Echo. And honestly the tiny little rat part of my brain that never lets things go still wants to hope for a satisfying end to the spy’s story. I Want her to reach a point where she can look at herself with clear eyes, and come through to the other side. I Want her to have happy ending where she understands that though loyalty is admirable, there has to be more in your life, that you cannot dedicate yourself to one person entirely. The realistic part of my brain that has watched this fucking show for years knows better. Tasya Teles is doing an excellent job of Echo’s continuing downward spiral, 10/10 choices. But all the lighting and framing and crazy intense gaze do Not bode well for Echo’s sanity and her carving the Azgeda marks into her face was I think the point of “no return”. Which makes me sad, to see this end for the character, but it is a path I can see Echo going down, as much as it sucks.

“We got shaved Bellamy but at what cost” makes me cackle but honestly, I liked the Ring flashback. Setting aside how late it is to be Doing ring flashbacks, I think it was a Very interesting look at Becho. Echo on the ring is so cute sorry not sorry, like I Love seeing that girl happy. Her and Bellamy’s little banter reminded me of their earliest dynamic which I enjoyed seeing because I do think those characters have an interesting relationship. Also, Bellamy using his own experiences of the dangers of blind loyalty to try and help Echo, love to see it but her “it’s not real” right before he kissed her...the implications. They knew what they were doing and I think it was a needed perspective into their relationship because we have barely anything except for people saying things about it which is Not The Same Thing.

Moving On! HOLY SHIT Y’ALL HOPE AND DIYOZA I FUCKING LOVE THEM THE ACTRESSES WERE INCREDIBLE, THE DYNAMIC WAS AMAZING, BEST STORYLINE OF THE  EPISODE BY FAR. I seriously just Loved watching their scenes, their relationship is So Good and I loved them trying to figure out the new dynamics they have to work through and the way they don’t really know how to act around each other in the beginning but at their core they’re still mother and daughter and Hope’s broken “they took my mommy” almost had me in tears seriously These Two Y’all. 

Hope thinks of Dev as her father...I’m soft :’)

I’m tired of Nikki. That’s literally all I want to say about her this episode like I’m so tired of the Sanctum storylines and I just do Not care about her little revenge plot. Nelson joining her side is stupid but he was in a very emotional place at the moment so I Guess. 

Emori tried So Hard to make things better on Sanctum and I want to give her all the things it’s what she deserves what a queen. (Luisa d’Oliveira an actual goddess I’m so happy she got a chance to shine this episode). Memori consistently being cute and domestic af love that for them, seriously these two fit so well together “ besides, you’ve been worshiping me for years” when I tell y’all I screamed. Also I’m not like, super convinced about the Emori is pregnant theory and don’t really know how I feel about it but “maybe it’s the palace life giving you that glow” was a...weird choice of words. 

Sheihedea shut up forever challenge. Seriously why does anyone let him speak?? The bitch is so dramatic when he starts going on his “I can give you want you want” speech just walk away from him?? Like what’s the bitch going to do start yelling after you?? And let everyone know how desperate he is to get people on his side and also that he only has one real strategy of getting people on his side?? I think the fuck not. Honestly though, he has one (1) method of getting people on his side and it’s psychoanalyzing them while they play chess which goes on ForEVER btw (like this post w h o o p s) i’m so tired of him. Murphy calling him on his misogyny was certainly a highlight of the episode though, good for him.

And Finally, that ending though. Wow I’m super shocked that the shepard is Bill Cadogan. What a surprise. Never saw it coming. I thin the ‘plot twist’ still worked ish mostly because everyone fucking forgot about his existence but idk it was what I expected and I just Don’t Care? You have crystal giants outside and you want me to care about some musty ass white man who’s been in the freezer for thousands of years?  

I genuinely thought (because I’m a dumbass) for half a second that the old dude in the freezer coffin was Bellamy because I though Anders was going to do some dramatic reveal of where he was stashing our king and the rage I felt in that split second when I thought they really had the audacity to do that. But no it was just Another Plot we get to explore :)))))

ALRIGHT CLOWNS YOU MADE IT TO THE END SO. HOW ABOUT THAT BELLARKE CRUMB WE GOT. Can’t believe I Still can’t retire my clown makeup, please just Give Them A Break. Ms. Morgan really did that though, the framing close up of Clarke, the Bellarke theme in the background, all the other characters looking right at Clarke as she breaks on the inside ( and holy shit kudos to Ms. Eliza Jane for that scene, the sheer heartbreak and almost feral desperation in one expression was Everything). I know I said I love parallel’s and who does parallels better then them but I feel like the “they do this every year” audio, just let them be together for more then Five minutes without some new crisis blease. 

Next episode will be a prequel (?) set up (?) which will be...interesting. Going to be real honest I don’t really care about the premise but Becca scenes are always a plus. More of the Diyoza women please, Clarke and Octavia deserve to have a (better) moment grieving over Bellamy together thanks, let Miller say more lines, and p l e a s e let Bellamy and Clarke be on screen together soon I miss them. 

Friendship ended with Gabriel now Levitt is my only friend