#i am excited . this is my first year participating here’s HOPING the sick goes away soon

[matildainmotion]

All That We Carry - and the launch of the MWM Peer Mentoring Programme.

Image by Zoe Gardner @limberdoodle​

“How are you?”

“Oh, you know, surviving,” I say. 

Or

“Taking it a day at a time.”

Or

“Just about upright!”

Or sometimes I say nothing but describe a hilly landscape with my hand - “Up and down,” I might add.

Over the last ten years, since my son was born, I have accrued a ready-made stock of replies when someone - at the school gate, the shops, on a zoom call- asks the generic “how are you?” I can’t bring myself to smile gaily and say, “Great, thank you!” so my responses are designed to indicate just enough of the truth not to make the questioner worried or burdened, but do not tip me into the territory of barefaced lying. Because, the fact is, it’s hard.

‘It’ means everything - my son, my daughter, their school, my mother, time for my husband, the house, my work, my health, my sleep, the world.

‘It’ is a tiny word. In this context ‘it’ makes me think of an ant - the way they clamber across the dirt track by our house, carrying a stick, twice their size and weight. We do this. Parents and carers do it. Women do it. Non-binary people too. We carry A LOT, and often we do it in relative silence, either because we are too exhausted to shout about it, or even to notice or fully acknowledged it to ourselves, or because we do not know who to tell or how to tell them.

This is not new. Not news. We have been doing this - carrying a lot - for a long, long time. In fact, there is even a well-researched theory that the first thing that a mother ever made was probably a net or sling* - a thing to put things in, to enable her to carry more than she could manage to hold with just her hands, just her arms. We have been carrying stuff around in nets, slings, sacks, pots, on our heads, on our backs, in our bellies, in our hearts, we have had loads on our minds for millennia. The act that is less well documented, because it happens less, is that of us setting things down. Of course, some brave pioneers have done it, through acts of radical art, or resistance: Hildegard of Bingen, Rosa Parks, Mary Wollstonecraft. But all too often when we hear of someone ceasing to carry it all, it is a story of crisis - of dropping the lot, out of exhaustion, ill health, burn out. Because mostly, as a carer, there are so few opportunities to set things down, we just carry on carrying.

Six months into motherhood, when I was feeling the hardness of it already, I enrolled on a support course for parents and I still remember the phrase that the course facilitator used: most parents, she said, walk around with “a huge empathy deficit.” Empathy, I believe, involves someone else bearing witness to all you are carrying, acknowledging its full weight. It is a miraculous thing, but this acknowledgment in itself lightens the load, or perhaps, more accurately, the load gets no lighter but we feel stronger, better able to bear it. Earlier this year - still feeling the struggle - I enrolled on another course, a Hand in Hand Parenting one. The founder of Hand in Hand, Patty Wifler, did so out of a recognition of the severe lack of support that parents receive in our culture to do the enormous task of raising children. A cornerstone of her approach, her answer to the ‘empathy deficit’ is the idea of Listening Partnerships - a peer support arrangement that enables parents to offload regularly, safely, with another adult.

For a long time now, I have wanted to run something like this within Mothers Who Make- a way to provide one another with support, encouragement and accountability, as we do the almighty work of caring and creating. It is the same impulse that informs our peer support groups, but there is something vitally different that can take place in a one to one exchange - a more precise sharing of the weight of what you are carrying, a chance, for however brief a time, to set it down and take a good look at it. This month then, I am delighted to announce the launch of the MWM Peer Mentoring Programme. I ran a trial in July and it was everything I hoped it could be, so I am very excited to offer it again now. Please read about the programme below - what it is, how it works, how to enroll. Before you do, however, I want to use this moment as I might a peer-mentoring session, to set down what I am carrying, not because I need empathy (though, like everyone else, I do!) but because I hope it will give you permission to do the same. One thing I love about writing is that, despite the distances of time and space it traverses, it is strangely intimate, like a one on one exchange - just me, telling this to just you.

So, in answer to the question, “How are you?” here is the fuller response, which I do not give most of the time:

I am tired, always, and tired of being tired. The nights feel like dark imprints of the days, a negative image, not restful but grainy, smudge. Last night I slept on the children’s bedroom floor because it was easier to relax without the pressure of being in a bed, with the hardness of the floor against me. Today my breasts are tender even though I am only partway through my cycle - I googled it - another symptom of the perimenopause. Next door, as I write, my son is playing Lego Star Wars on the TV and my daughter is watching Lego Friends on Granny’s iPad - their daily dose of screen time so that I can have my daily dose of this, but it never sits easy. I dread the week ahead, of dressing them in bed, still half-asleep, readying them for school, where it is uncertain how their day will go, how long they will stay before I get a call asking me to pick them up, how they will be when they come home - it is a shock, although it shouldn’t be, to realise that both my children are neurodiverse. This is a trendy term nowadays, one to celebrate, and I do, but it is also a weight, to carry all the not-fitting-in-ness that goes with it. The last two nights my son has thrown up with anxiety, from the fear of anything bad happening to any one of us. I managed to get the potty-as-sick-bowl there in time, on to his top bunk, calmed him at last, till he fell asleep just before midnight. I went downstairs to turn off the lights - I always stop at this moment, to look through the back window into the tiny dark of the garden, to Granny’s room, or shed, at the end of it, and wonder how long my mother will live and if it will be long enough to see my novel published - apparently it takes two years even once you’ve got a publisher. I told her this yesterday and she frowned, said she would have a word with God, thought she ought to be able to manage it. I am wondering, though, how I will manage it - manage to do the rewrites the book needs, to do the work MWM requires, and the work I have taken on for Improbable, the finding of a new home for the company, but also for us, a new school, a place for us to be. And meanwhile, the house is overspilling – every room - with toys, books, dvds, with plastic trinkets from the inside of Kinder eggs, dried up felt tip pens and stale biscuits, stored in tins too late, which I should throw away but I can’t face the waste and so I continue to pretend that one day they may get eaten.

That’s me. And all the short answers are still true - I am surviving, I am still upright, taking it a day at a time, through all the ups and downs, and I am, actually, in a position of great privilege, on many levels.

And you? How are you? That’s my question for the month. And I’m interested in the long answer. Here are some ways you can respond:

You can post below this.

You can participate in the MWM Peer Mentoring Programme - read all about it and apply here: https://motherswhomake.org/peer-mentoring

You can attend a peer support meeting - read all about that and book your space here: https://motherswhomake.org/international

*The Carrier Bag Theory of Evolution by Elizabeth Fisher in Women’s Creation (McGraw-Hill 1973)

Image by Zoe Gardner @Limberdoodle

[embeanwrites]

Finding Home Gavin Reed x Reader

Ch 27

Masterlist

I was sitting at the front of the lecture hall with my laptop grading the end of the semester presentations. Part of me regretted not doing a one and done scantron to make my life easier, but the students brought a lot of interesting topics that made it all feel worth it. One student went into detail about the Jericho raid and talked about the legality of it, which I had been toying with mentioning in my book. It was interesting to see another side of the conversation. 

Most of the students had decided on doing a presentation rather than a paper and a few students even went with ideas that are way outside of the box. One student had made a short comic book depicting different events that had happened in Detroit with the sociological theory and explanation of the theory. It was easily one of the coolest projects in the bunch and luckily the student is letting me keep it. I plan to scan it and use it next semester, giving the student credit of course. It was clear some students half-assed their projects, but way less did than I expected which I consider a plus since this was my first real course and I knew from experience students tended to take advantage of first-year teachers’ inexperience.  

After the final presentation was done I noticed we still had ten minutes left, perfect to say goodbye to my class. It was hard to believe how fast time had gone by, but with one semester done I couldn’t wait to teach this class again with what I’ve learned this first time. Hopefully, with time the school would assign me some different courses. 

“Well, everyone, it's been amazing being your professor. This class was so fun to teach and I enjoy everyone’s questions and participation. I truly hope you’ve learned something about android and human relationships and the complexity that goes with it, even moving forward. This class has a lot of information I hope you can apply to your everyday life.

“I appreciate all the feedback I got and I’m sorry that we didn’t have a guest speaker this semester, things just got too crazy in the middle, but hopefully that will be different next semester and I will see what I can do about giving you all the opportunity to sit in on the class that day. 

“All of your projects were truly amazing. I was blown away by not only the creativity but the quality of them. I wish you all the best of luck on the remainder of your finals and I hope to see you all around campus. Please feel free to stop by my office anytime you need someone to talk to or have a question.” 

I smiled and waved to the students as they left. Some stopped to say goodbye, but many just went ahead and left. Which was fine, I remember finals week in undergrad. What a nightmare of a time. It felt good being done and now I had four weeks to prepare and relax for next semester. Four weeks to also settle into Gavin’s house. I was also almost fully done packing and Gavin, Connor, and Tina were helping me move my stuff over in three days. I was excited to say goodbye to that sad apartment. I just assumed I would live there until my contract expired and move on with my life. Now I was happy I had barely unpacked, less to pack now. 

As everyone filed out I gathered my stuff and put on my coat. I was meeting Gavin at the precinct, he was taking the afternoon off so we could go shopping for some new furniture and decor for the house. 

I decided to walk to the precinct since it wasn’t that long of a walk and for early December it wasn’t too bad out. I knew if I got sick I would never hear the end of it from Gavin and Nines about the importance of staying out of the cold. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, but it was sunny out, and not a lot of wind. It was relaxing to see the city so peaceful. It was almost the first anniversary of the android revolution, I needed to talk to dad and Gavin to see if we could do something special for Connor and Nines. To think one year ago many people were fleeing Detroit and the streets were on complete lockdown due to peaceful protesting. I looked over to see an abandoned Cyberlife store, I thought about asking Elijah about their plans for the remaining stores. With no clear laws, Cyberlife was in a major gray area, currently, they were only allowed to give spare parts directly to androids for free. 

Sighing, I walked into the precinct and gave a small wave to the receptionist. At this point, they all knew who I was and I didn’t have to check-in. Walking into the bullpen the first thing I noticed was that Gavin was in Fowler’s office, so I walked over to dad’s and Connor’s desks. I gave my dad a pat on the shoulder as I moved to jump up on Connor’s desk since my dad’s was too messy to sit on. 

“How was your last day of class?” Connor asked, leaning back in his chair. His LED was a calm blue. I smiled at him and noted the calm feeling around the two of them. Desk duty was clearly doing dad some good, even though both of them were eager to get back in the field. Connor had made that very apparent when he took Sumo out for a walk, that turned more into a run.

“It was really good. I’ll have to show you some of the projects I got. I think you’ll find them interesting. Maybe you could even pass them on to Markus, there’s one in particular that I think he’ll like. The student included a lot of artwork.” I hummed and looked up at Fowler’s office. From where I was sitting I could tell Gavin was frustrated, his fist were clenched and his body language was stiff. 

“Markus would definitely enjoy that. I’ll contact him to see when he’s free. I know he’s been busy with negotiations still.” 

“It’s been almost a year. I wish the government would work with them instead of stalling. Warren is just trying to stay neutral to keep her approval ratings decent.” Connor nodded in agreement. Androids were still not allowed to vote, so Warren didn’t have to worry about their votes. Hopefully, Markus would be able to change that soon. Androids should be able to vote in their own representatives. Snapping out of my thoughts that were meant more for a paper and less for small talk I shook my head and looked over to Fowler’s office. “What’s Gavin doing in Fowler’s office?” 

“End of the year evaluations.” My dad answered. I nodded and glanced over to where Nines was sitting. He was facing Fowler’s office and watching the two men talk, from his expression and Gavin’s it didn’t seem to be going well. I wondered for a moment if Nines was able to hear them and if he could, could Connor? “Are you two going furniture shopping?” 

“Furniture and just house stuff.” I pulled my legs up and moved to face my dad, sitting criss-cross applesauce. 

“You two are pretty serious, huh?” He asked, I couldn’t help but smile and nod. “It’s nice seeing you both happy.” 

“Thank you. I know it’s been hard to get used to us being together, but I appreciate it.” I looked back towards the office and saw Gavin shaking Fowler’s hand and heading out. We made eye contact and he grimaced. “Alright, I’ll see you two later!” I said my goodbyes to dad and Connor and walked over to Gavin’s desk. He was quickly packing up his stuff and avoiding eye contact with me and Nines. “Hey, you okay?” I whispered. He shook his head as he swung a backpack over his shoulder. 

“Let’s just get out of here.” I nodded and grabbed his hand. Gavin led me out of the precinct and towards his car in silence. Occasionally I squeezed his hand, hoping to offer some reassurance. 

We both got into the car, but Gavin made no move to start his car, instead he leaned forward and laid his head on the steering wheel. I watched him take a few deep breaths and I moved to rub his back. 

“Do you-”

“I didn’t get the promotion.” Gavin interrupted me, keeping his head down. I could feel him tense up under my hand. 

“Gav, it’s ok-”

“It’s not okay!” He shouted, his head shot up as he smacked the steering wheel with both hands, the loudness stunning me for a moment. I moved my hand from his back to his shoulder, attempting to keep him grounded in the moment. “I worked so fucking hard for this. I work my ass off. I’m constantly working on cases even outside of work and the thanks I get is ‘be better!’ What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?” Gavin was seething but keeping his eyes forward. He hit the steering wheel again, hitting the horn on accident. “Fuck.” He whispered hoarsely, looking over to me. He looked exhausted and his eyes were glassy. 

“Hey,” I whispered, cupping his face with both of my hands. I gently pulled him closer and kissed his forehead. “I don’t care what Fowler says. You are a kick-ass detective, you’re smart, you’re dedicated to your job, and I love you. Just because you didn't get the promotion today doesn’t mean you won’t ever get it. Go in tomorrow and prove him wrong every day until he understands that you are the right man for the job.” Gavin sighed and closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. 

“I-I know we’re supposed to go shopping-” He stuttered. 

“Let’s head home, we can shop another day. Nothing we had planned today is urgent.” I kissed him gently and I felt him release a sigh of relief. He gently pulled back to start the car. I buckled my seat belt as we headed back to the house. 

The drive was quiet, neither of us made a move to turn on the radio. I closed my eyes and laid my head against the window, listening to Gavin drum his fingers to a beat inside his head on the dashboard. Gavin really deserved that promotion. There were more times I could count where I would wake up around 3 am and find Gavin still working on a case. He was dedicated to his job and he dedicated himself to every case he had. 

Pulling into the driveway, we both made our way into the house and immediately plopped down on the couch. Gavin put his head in my lap and closed his eyes. I started running my hands gently through his hair, feeling the tension leave his body. He made no attempt to move or talk, so I started humming softly. 

“Thank you.” He murmured. 

“Of course, Gav.” I gently moved one of my hands to sit on top of one of his which was on his chest. He intertwined our fingers almost immediately. 

“You’re so good for me.” He said, his eyes were still closed so he didn’t see my smile. 

“You deserve good, Gav,” I whispered, quickly resuming my humming and attempting to comfort him. “Hey, have you thought about asking my dad for a letter of recommendation or for him to talk to Fowler?” Gavin let out a sigh. 

“I feel like that’s wrong.” He whispered.

“Why?” 

“Because we’re dating, he’d feel like he’d have to.” He opened his eyes and looked up at me. He looked so exhausted, the bags under his eyes were purple. I gently ran my thumb across his eyebrow. 

“My dad would say no if he didn’t think you were right for the job, Gavin. Maybe just ask him what more you could do? He’s not putting in a good word for you, he’s just giving you advice. You shouldn’t feel bad about that.” I said softly, he closed his eyes and sighed. 

“Maybe.” He mumbled. “I’m sorry we didn’t go to the store.” 

“Don’t be. We can go some other time. There’s nothing on our list that’s urgent and even if there was you are more important than anything on that list.” I leaned down and kissed his forehead. 

“Thank you.” 

“Of course.” 

After about half an hour of Gavin laying in my lap, he left to take a shower while I made something low effort for us to eat. We spent the rest of the day just lounging about and cuddling. Even the cats ended up snuggling into both of us. Nines would be very disappointed in our food choices and lack of doing anything productive, but it really seemed to help Gavin. Which at the end of the day, was all that mattered to me.

[starlightinhumanform]

Power and Control

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ships: Familial Dark Sides (Anxceitmus)

Summary: Virgil has gotten used to living with the light sides, in fact he quite likes it. But when one of Logan’s experiments goes very wrong, he remembers where home really is.

Warnings: Moderate Language Throughout, Description of Blood, Loss of Control, Memory Loss, Imprisonment, Mentioned Animal Death (Please, please tell me if there’s anything I need to add). 

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort 

A/N: Started off as a vent fic, turned out as... the dark sides being a tight knit family? Writing this really helped me work out some of my internal angst and I hope this can at least entertain you while we get through this uncertain time. Please be careful though— this fic is a lot darker than my usual writing and I would hate to trigger or upset someone. Stay safe and healthy. I love you all 🖤✨ (P.S. Deceit’s name is Ethan in this)

Ao3    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Virgil woke up to blood dripping out of his mouth. In fact, it was everywhere; gurgling at the back of his throat, coating his tongue, crusting at the corners of his mouth as it flowed over his lips and merrily ran over the curves of his jaw. The fountain finally ended at his hands, congealing in his palms. As his gaze followed the trail of blood, he noticed with a start that one of his hands gripped a raw and ripped hunk of meat. It must have been the source of the blood but why he would have it and, even worse, why he would put it anywhere near is mouth simply made no sense. It fell from his fingers but he didn’t even notice the sickening squelch it made as it hit the floor.

Virgil’s hands were shaking . He felt numb and cold and sick all at once. It felt like every cell in his body was trying to tear in a different direction. Except maybe his stomach. Those were working on condensing into diamond and then forcing their way up his throat, sharp corners scraping along the sides the whole way up.

He was on his knees and the cold gray concrete he sat on was eating through his jeans and gnawing on his skin. He bent forward, retching and coughing and suddenly very very aware of the thing around his neck. It was cold. Definitely metal. Definitely a collar. Leaning forward, it pressed against his throat and only increased the coughs that were shuddering violently from somewhere deep within Virgil’s body. He couldn’t help but scratch at it, slippery fingers useless against the smooth metal.

“Hello there, little beast. We were wondering when you were going to wake up.”

Virgil jerked his head up and was startled to find two other men in the room. Well, if you could call this a room; it was far more like a dungeon. It was a bleak box of concrete, entirely gray and without any source of light except for the open door at the opposite side from Virgil. On the wall behind him, a chain led from a ring and attached to the thing around his neck.

And in front of him... two men stood only feet away. Only feet away but still out of reach. The one who had spoken looked down with fascination at the huddled mess of Virgil. The other was berating him, growling at the taller one for calling Virgil a beast. If Virgil hadn’t already been coughing he might have choked out a laugh. An animal was exactly what he felt like.

“Hey there, Virgil. You had us worried for a second,” The smaller of the two knelt down in front of him. His voice was soft and his gaze dripped with pity as his eyes ran over Virgil’s body. Half of his face was patterned by scales, like something off a snake. It should have been repulsive but somehow it was so familiar.

He shuffled slightly closer to Virgil and slipped the gloves off of his hands. The man reached out with trembling fingers, shushing him quietly as if that would dissuade Virgil from bolting away. Luckily for the other, Virgil couldn’t have moved if he wanted to; between the chain and the convulsions shuddering through his body, he may as well have been sewn into the ground.

Shaky hands ran through his hair and Virgil’s mind was snapped back into that direction. They felt so familiar- he knew those blunt fingernails, the way they scratched gently against his scalp, he even recognized the smooth spots where skin melted into scale. The fingers fluttered away from his face and unlatched the collar.

Virgil raised himself up just enough to collapse into the man’s waiting arms. He nearly felt bad for spitting blood onto the other’s shoulder, “I know you?”

“Yeah, yeah, you know me. I’m Ethan. Sometimes I go by Deceit? We lived together for years,” His voice wasn’t upset or even worried, just tired. Exhausted as if this was far from the first time this exact conversation had played out.

Oh, right. Ethan. His best friend. They had grown up together. They had watched each other change and evolve as Thomas had done the same. Virgil knew every single angle of Ethan’s multi-facetted personality. So how the hell could he have forgotten him?

Virgil glanced up at the other who had strolled over to Ethan’s side and was now mindlessly fiddling with the cape over Ethan’s shoulders. He was muttering under his breath and staring at the wall as if he could look right through it. Very much like- “Remus?”

He jerked his head down and to the side to make eye contact with Virgil, “Hello!”

“H-hi,” Virgil tore his eyes away; Remus’ expression was just a bit too delighted at the moment for him to handle. Ethan was still in front of him, checking over him like a concerned mother and grimacing at the red marks around his neck. Virgil decided to focus on him instead, “Ethan, what the fuck is going on? Why am I like this? Who put me here?”

Ethan had moved on to studying Virgil’s hands but refused to look up at him, “We put you here.”

Virgil jerked his hand away and shuffled as far back as he could without standing up, “Why the hell would you do that?”

Ethan sighed and managed to look at Virgil this time. His eyes were far older than they should have been. Virgil got the feeling Ethan had explained this many, many times, “It’s for everyone’s safety- including yours.”

“Ethan how the hell is chaining me up in the fucking basement for my safety? This looks like a fucking horror movie,” Virgil tried to scoot away further but his back hit the wall. Against the cold concrete, he could feel the sweat racing down his spine.

Remus butted in, cackling, “Well you saw how you were acting- who knows what havoc you could wreck if we let you lose in Thomas’ mind!”

Ethan turned on his heel to glare at Remus, “Which is something we are not going to do.”

“So, what, you’re just going to leave me locked up in here?”

“No, of course not. Only, only when-“ Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose as he stood up and Virgil couldn’t help but flinch away from the movement, “Only when you’re different.”

“Different,” The word felt bitter and heavy as it rolled off of Virgil’s tongue. Or maybe that was just the coppery coat of blood that still lurked in every nook of his mouth. He feared he would never be able to forget that taste.

“Yeah, silly, different. When it’s night and you get just a bit-” Remus had swaggered across the room and squatted down next to Virgil with a bounce. He reached out, dragging one pointer finger along the lines of Virgil’s face and tapping him lightly on the nose as if to punctuate the word, “-crazy.”

Virgil studied the face in front of him. Remus had poison apple green eyes that flickered like he had managed to trap lightening in them and a grin to rival the Cheshire Cat. Right now his eyes looked like a thunderstorm captured in a snow globe; he was either really excited or scared beyond belief. Virgil wasn’t sure which option was worse, “What do you mean crazy?”

Ethan sat down next to Remus so they were all at the same level, “You lose control, turn kind of wild. It’s been happening every night of this week- don’t you remember?”

“I don’t remember this week at all. Ethan, why the hell is this happening to me?” Virgil’s voice was shaking nearly as hard as his hands, still covered in the red grime. He knew exactly what it was but his mind simply refused to accept it.

“I guess it started with Logan. He wanted to learn about what makes a ‘dark’ side different from a ‘light’ one— no bad intentions, I’m sure. You happily volunteered to participate in his research and I’m not sure what happened next. He gave you something and it fucked you up. It was supposed to bring out the traits that make you ‘dark.’ He was just curious about what made us different from them. Except, it didn’t just made you dark; it made you as bad as a side can be.”

“And then they dumped you with us because they couldn’t handle you!” Remus grinned as if he were quite proud of his conclusion to Ethan’s explanation.

Ethan winced, “Well I wouldn’t exactly put it so bluntly. They... tried to help you but they couldn’t manage it. They knew we would be more prepared for this sort of thing.”

Virgil ran his tongue across the front of his teeth. He half expected to find a row of fangs or at least some pointed canines; something to match the snarl he felt building up in his gut and clawing its way to the back of his throat. He wanted to yell, to scream until his voice was too raw to sound anything like a human. He wanted punch his fist right through the concrete wall and he couldn’t tell if he wanted to damage the wall or just wanted to feel the pain in his hand, just as a reminder of what was real. How dare they? They turned him into this and when he was too much, they tossed him aside like a broken toy they had gotten bored off. Them. Virgil wanted to tear his teeth into the neck of one of those pretty little light sides. Wait, no. No. He didn’t want to do any of that. That wasn’t him. That was- No no no no no no no no.

The word ricocheted through his head, one clear point through the murk of his thoughts. Except it burned, far too bright as it buzzed through his mind. His head pounded and the room was closing in and the faces in front of him were swimming. Virgil bunched his legs to his chest, hanging his head to his knees. He was trapped; trapped in this room, trapped in the situation, trapped in the dark slime that suffocated his mind.

“Hey, hey, hey,” A hand smoothed across his back and lightly gripped one of his shoulders, “Don’t go there. We’re right here.”

Virgil raised his head up, somewhat startled by the effort it took, almost as if there was a weight pressing down on his neck. Ethan rubbed his hand over Virgil’s back and reached out with the other. He wiped a tear off of Virgil’s cheekbone with the side of his thumb and smiled softly, “We’ll figure this out, Virge.”

“Yeah, we always fix things eventually,” Remus ruffled his hair maybe a little rougher than necessary, but Virgil was used to it.

He couldn’t help but grin a little bit and, as weak as it was, it felt good, “Yeah, we fix it after you fuck it up in the first place.”

Remus winked, “And where would we possibly be without me being the only one brave enough to fuck shit up?”

Ethan gave a small snort of a laugh, “Maybe you should hold off on causing chaos until we’ve got this sorted out.”

“Ah, well, no promises but I’ll do my best,” Remus suddenly jumped to his feet, “Now come on, are we just going to sit here all day?!”

“He’s right, you know, we shouldn’t stay here and you look like a mess,” Ethan gave Virgil’s shoulder one last squeeze, “Do you think you’re ready to get up?”

Virgil looked down at his hands; they were still tremoring and the red was quickly drying to burgundy, “I’m not sure if I can stand but there’s no way in hell I want to stay here.”

“Ah, no issue!” Remus leaned down just long enough to scoop Virgil into his arms princess-style and stood back up.

Virgil should have been worried; this was a compromised position after all. But somehow, it felt so so much safer than that floor. The floor was cold and rough and covered in a viscous mix of blood and Virgil’s sins. And Remus— well he was warm and safe and secure and smelled like a weird mixture of metal and saccharine flowers. Besides, Virgil’s head was already swimming, his body might as well joining it in floating away.

He let his head fall against Remus’ shoulder and closed his eyes; every part of his body felt like lead, even his eyelids. It wasn’t until they reached the top of the stairs and the warm glow of light washed over Virgil’s face did he realize they had been moving at all.

Remus swung Virgil’s legs down gently but kept one of his arms wrapped around Virgil’s waist, keeping him from keeling over on the spot.

Ethan seemed to be taking advantage of the brighter light to look over Virgil again. He lifted Virgil’s chin gently, grimacing at the marks around his neck and the blood surrounding his mouth, “You really are a mess this time; do you think you could take a shower?”

Virgil managed to huff out a laugh, “I think if it weren’t for Remus, I would be passed out on the floor right now. So, uh, no. Sorry.”

“No, no, that’s ok. Remus and I will help you get cleaned up and then we can all hang out on the couch together and you can get some sleep. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, yeah sure,” Virgil slouched against Remus’ shoulder and tried to keep his feet from sliding out beneath himself.

“Hey, buddy?” Remus jostled him lightly.

“Huh?”

“We’re walking now. One foot in front of the other, ok?” Remus held him a little closer and started half-dragging/half-supporting him down the hall while Ethan walked ahead.

By the time they made it the bathroom that the dark sides shared, Remus was basically carrying him, one arm looped around Virgil’s body so he just kind of hung at Remus’ hip.

Remus set him down on the counter and Virgil let himself slump back against the mirror. The glass was cold on his shoulders through his shirt but he hardly noticed, oddly fascinated by the spots on the ceiling above him. They looked like mold— probably a result of one of Remus’ experiments. Yeah ok... so his mind was definitely drifting away.

Ethan brought him back to the present once again, handing him a cup of water and ordering him to drink it. Virgil felt like he was out of his body and watching the scene from several feet in the air; at least the picture was starting to come in a little clearer.

“Hey, Virge?”

Virgil leaned his head on the mirror at an angle he could face Ethan from, “Yeah?”

“Can I take your hoodie off?” Ethan’s hands hesitated a few inches above his chest like he was afraid Virgil would bite him at any moment.

Oh that was reassuring. Oh yeah, Virgil, everything’s totally fine but I’m definitely worried you’re going to go absolutely fucking feral and eat me but don’t let it bother your pretty little head because it’s all sunshine and rainbows here.

Virgil was suddenly taken aback by the anger he was feeling. His fists were clenched and his lip was curling into a snarl and he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Maybe Ethan had a reason to treat him like a ticking bomb.

“You,” Remus poked him, “Yeah, you. Snap out of it.”

Virgil shook his head as if he could jumble all the pieces back into place, as if he could make everything normal again, “Right. I’m, gosh, Ethan I’m just really sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Ethan’s voice was steady and soothing but his hands shook as he pulled the zipper of the Virgil’s sweatshirt down and helped him shrug it off his shoulders, “You just need to relax a bit; it’s fine.”

“Ethan, no! It’s not fine! How can you say that? You fucking chained me up in a basement I didn’t even know we had.”

Ethan hung his head. Virgil couldn’t see his eyes but he could tell he was exhausted. Virgil had hated the optimism Ethan had been faking but the honesty of this change was sickening, “Look, Virgil, I have to think everything will be fine. I can’t give up— not on you. I’ve always believed in you and I always will. I have seen you go through so much and I’m not going to lose hope just because we have another obstacle to overcome. And if I’m being honest? I have no idea how we’re going to get through this one. I have no idea how much worse everything is going to get. But I can promise that we’ll keep taking care of you. And Logan will keep looking for a solution.”

“And I‘ll help him!”

Remus’ interruption managed to pull a small smile over Ethan’s face, “Yeah, Remus has been working with Logan while he works on a cure of sorts.”

“I’m a lab rat!”

Ethan reached up to muss Remus’ messy hair, “That you certainly are.”

Virgil looked between the two men in front of him. This was his family. He loved the light sides but when things got terrifyingly real like this, these freaks were the only people he really trusted. This was his family and if there was anyone he wanted to lose his mind around, it was them.

“I love—“ Virgil’s voice broke, “I love you guys.”

Remus leaned down and wrapped his arms around Virgil, squeezing hard enough to make Virgil worry about breaking a rib.

“Ok, enough being sappy, we’ll have plenty of time for that later. Right now, Virgil is still covered in blood,” Ethan untied Remus from around Virgil and started scrubbing at his face with a cloth.

“Hey, yeah, what is that about? I’m not bleeding... so whose blood is that? What the hell was I eating?”

“Oh, that. It was venison— kind of,” Ethan explained casually as he continued attacking him with soap and water, “You were hungry but you didn’t eat any normal food and Remus found this dead deer in the Imagination and you seemed to like it so we just let you have it.”

“You let me eat roadkill?!”

Remus hopped up onto the counter next to him, “Well it wasn’t by a road so technically it’s not road-kill. But, yes!”

Ethan paused scrubbing a moment so he could fully take in the horrified expression Virgil was giving him, eventually just rolling his eyes, “What? I’m sure it won’t hurt you.”

Virgil stuck his tongue out at Ethan, “You say that now but just watch— I’m gonna develop some rare disease or something.”

“God you must be feeling better if you have enough energy to be this dramatic,” Ethan shook his head and started working on Virgil’s neck, definitely being a little rougher than necessary.

After a few minutes of the continued bickering, Ethan had managed to get every speck of blood and sweat off of Virgil— and probably a layer of skin along with it too. Ethan and Remus even managed to get him to change into clean clothes before Virgil got bored off arguing over whether or not he was going to die because they let him eat the deer.

“Bottom line, it’s just disgusting.”

“I’ve eaten worse, and I’m just fine!”

“That doesn’t matter! You’re, well, you’re you; you could eat steel shavings like cereal and it wouldn’t matter ‘cause your metabolism is built like a nuclear waste processing plant.”

“Yeah, I have tried that! It was good!”

“Alright you two,” Ethan interrupted Remus And Virgil’s squabbling and gently pushed them out the door, “I think Virgil could do with some rest.”

Remus broke away from their little group and started bouncing down the hall like Tiger from the Winnie the Pooh cartoons. He pumped his fists in the air, screeching, “MOVIE TIME, MOVIE TIME, MOVIE TIME!”

Virgil and Ethan watched him with a mixture of horror and admiration.

Ethan chuckled, “I have no clue where he gets all that energy.”

“Maybe it’s the hearty bowl of steel shavings he starts the day off with.”

“Heh, maybe,” Ethan laughed at Virgil’s joke but when he turned to face him directly, concern was written in every line on his face, “How are you feeling? Are you doing alright?”

Virgil ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back as if clearing his bangs from his eyes could clear up his thoughts. How did he feel? Well that was a damn good question. He felt like his brain was made of cotton candy and someone was pouring a cup of water over his head, drops slowly melting away the strings that held him together. He was tired. Above all else, he just wanted a fucking break. He didn’t want to think about how he was feeling or what the future might hold or the fact that he was going to turn into an animal that night, in a matter of mere hours. The idea made his skin crawl and contents of his stomach curdle.

But Ethan was standing next to him, rubbing his hand across his shoulders and looking at him with the big yellow-green eyes that Virgil had known all his life. Maybe he wasn’t ok now. Maybe that was ok too. Maybe being safe was close enough to bring alright.

Virgil tried for a smile, “It’s gonna be ok.”

Ethan grinned back, “You bet your ass it is.”

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist, please just send an ask or reply to this post :p

~ @phan-fander @abi-beehive @fandomfan315 @reggieleigh07 @cas-is-a-hunter @endless-rain-of-words @vicdehart @im-actually-ok @softnic ~

[jenovahh]

The Honey Pot - 2

This was originally titled “Black Rose” but i’ve finally settled on a title \o/

===========================================================

“They’re making you go after who?!”

You wince slightly at your friend’s shrill scream of outrage, bowing slightly in apology to the other customers in the restaurant.

“Lyse, you really need to keep your voice down,” You try to hush her, pushing her bowl of noodles a bit closer to her person. Her sparkling blue eyes are aflame in anger, hand roughly snatching the bowl so quickly that broth sloshes onto the table. Her blonde hair is tied up high in a ponytail, her police uniform clean and pressed. 

“How can I be quiet when they are having you do such a high level mission?!” She snarls, all but shoving her chopsticks into her food.

“Really Lyse, her captain wouldn’t have given her the assignment if she didn’t think she wasn’t capable.” Y’shtola chimes in, ever the calm to Lyse’s occasional hotheadedness. “Though I must admit, I have my reservations...” She trails off, brows furrowing. “Also, could you tell me where my chopsticks are?”

“Three o’ clock.” You and Lyse reply, to which the Miqo’te woman thanks you. Though blind, Y’shtola was a nurse at a local hospital, and though she did not work directly with you and Lyse, you had often bumped into her enough times on calls to make her acquaintance. With delicate hands, she picks up her chopsticks and begins to eat.

“Look guys,” you begin, taking a sip of your soda, “I’m nervous too, but like ‘Shtola said, I don’t think the captain would give me this mission if she didn’t believe in me.” Picking up your chopsticks as well, you lightly stir the noodles in the broth, resting your chin on your free hand. “Besides...if this mission goes well, imagine what it could mean for me in the long run? A promotion? Climbing up the ranks?”

“A promotion? In this economy?” Lyse snorts, pausing to slurp up some more noodles. “According to the files, no one even really knows much about the guy’s son anyway and they’re just throwing you in there on a hunch! You said in the reports that this Zenos guy right,”

Y’shtola has to stop herself from clapping a hand over her friend’s stupid mouth. “Lyse! Be careful!” She hisses, tail frizzing up.

“What else am I supposed to call him? We don’t know shit about him right?” Lyse defends, pointing her utensils at the riled Miqo’te. “They are feeding our friend to the wolves Y’shtola! I have a right to give the captain a piece of my mind,” You stop your friend’s tirade by reaching across the table and flicking her square in the forehead. “Ow! What did you do that for?!” She whines, rubbing at the offended spot.

“Lyse, while I appreciate your concern,” you begin diplomatically, giving her a small smile, “I’m not worried about this mission at all. In fact I’m a little excited.” You admit, your smile growing wider.

“Only someone as crazy as yourself would be eager to go fight the son of a crime lord...” Lyse grumbles, not at all hiding her pout. “Regardless, you promise to be careful, won’t you?” Y’shtola presses, her voice leaving no room for argument.

“Of course ‘Shtola. I would never be anything less.” You grin, steering the conversation onto easier, more pleasant topics such as Y’shtola’s relationship with her boyfriend Runar and Lyse fending off coworkers who can’t take no for an answer. 

The next day finds you back at headquarters preparing for a debriefing. Your name is no longer yours it feels like, being written away like that one movie you watched as a kid. Honey is the name you are given, and though it is a bit masculine, you find yourself unable to care. It isn’t your name, and that’s what matters.

“So, Honey, here’s how we’re going to weasel you into the crime underworld.” Merlwyb’s voice carries clearly in the room, Raubahn sitting casually at his desk, but his eyes are as hard as ever. You turn your eyes to the projection on the wall, showcasing the Rakuza District. It’s certainly not the seediest place in the city, but even you wouldn’t go out of your way to go there. 

“Word on the street is every once in awhile, you can catch a few decent brawls down there. Simple stuff, some petty gangs getting together to strut their stuff. None of them are anywhere near the level Varis is on in terms of their ‘goods’, but still they attract Zenos’ attention all the same.” The slide shuffles over to a seemingly abandoned warehouse. “Rumor has it that Zenos himself has been known to grace these lowlives with his presence in hopes of a challenge.”

“You’ll be working closely with another operative, whose code name is Thancred. We’ve had him slithering into a low level gang called the Marauders; all they do is petty crime. Break into a few jewelry stores, rob some gas stations. My twelve year old could take on these chumps.” She scoffs in disdain, complete with an eye roll. “We could clean these guys off the streets any day. But what matters is they’re our in; you’re going to join them under the guise of being a new recruit. Showing up on your own would look too suspicious.” She crosses her long arms pinning you with her stare. “I’m sure you understand that you must use whatever means necessary to catch his attention.” 

You definitely catch what she’s implying, and resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Hopefully he’s just interested in a good fight and nothing else.” You sigh, shifting in your seat. Merlwyb nods and gestures to Raubahn, who then speaks.

“We want you to look the part, play the part as much as possible. Don’t worry about any small theft or crime they have you participate in; it’ll be cleared from your record. We need you to be as convincing as possible. These people are smart Honey, the top of their class. Do what you must to get the info, but most importantly do what you must to stay alive.”

You nod in understanding, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You are moved to a new apartment on a different side of town from your own, given a different car, a different ID, a different wardrobe.

You wonder if it’d be too much to ask them to let you keep it all. After all your thighs do look amazing in fishnet tights and tight leather shorts, a snug leather vest sitting just so under your breasts atop a red tanktop. Your favorite fighting gloves adorned your hands; the only real leather you owned prior to this whole operation. With your combat boots and some black eyeliner, you finished off what you hoped was a bad girl look. You had binged on a few movies to try and get the look as close as possible.

“Hey baby, how you doin?”

Well it seemed to get the “right” attention anyway. The first few weeks at the Marauders are surprisingly uneventful, the hideout seeming restless as if waiting for some action. Sure enough Merlwyb’s words ring true. They’re nowhere near the level of crime that the Galvuses are. It’s just a group of big, burly men and women acting tough, Maetifyst heralding as their leader. He’s certainly the biggest and burliest of them all, and Thancred warns you to steer clear of him at all costs.

You do your best to hold your own, not at all trained in matters of espionage. You decide that aloof and mysterious is the best persona to take on; aloof to the point of oddity. That strangeness seems to give you a negative reputation in the gang, though it is soon bolstered with respect when you start winning your first infights. The members of the gang are all worse than amateurs compared to your training, with zero combat experience and used to simply throwing their weight around at whoever pisses them off. There are a few who approach you in challenge, thinking themselves bigger and smarter, only for you to send them packing and running to get patched up with their tail between their legs.

It is your talent however, that puts you right in the way of Maetifyst. 

“You’re tough lil’ cookie ain’t cha?” The Roegadyn’s green skin somehow glows warmly in the light of his makeshift office, looking deceptively decent somehow in this abandoned warehouse. Dressed in a stark black suit and his hair styled upwards, he certainly carries himself as the boss. “Checkin’ up on new recruits ain’t much to me. All I need is muscle who will do as they’re told. You however...” his eyes run across you in a way that had you not needed to be undercover, your fist would be through his chest. “You might be just what we need.”

You pause for a moment to tilt your head. “Need for what?” You ask, playing the innocent doe.

“Tell me girl, have you ever heard of the Galvuses?” His voice his hushed now, his hand reaching to pour himself a glass of whiskey from a nearby bottle. He gently grabs a nearby glass, pouring the liquor smoothly until it is half full.

You take another moment to pause before answering. “You mean like the businessmen?” You question, watching as the man smirks.

“Aye, the businessmen. ‘Cept they ain’t no businessmen. They’s some right crooks, that they are.” He chortles, swirling the liquor in its glass. “The Galvuses have little people like us under their heel yeah? Might shock ya to know, but they’re actual crime bosses; like the ones in the movies.” He reclines in his chair, knocking back the whole glass and slamming it on the table when he’s done. “And we’re sick of ‘em.”

You lean forward slightly to show your interest. “Do they...bully you or something?” You ask, wincing at your choice of words. Maetifyst seems to not notice, instead bellowing in laughter, eyes twinkling with mirth.

“S’pose you could say that huh?” He chuckles, crossing one leg over the other. “When it comes to crime in Kugane, we answer to them in a way. Ya see we deal in DVDs, watches, even some cheap drugs on the side. But it’s not the real stuff. It ain’t Black Rose.”

You do your best to hide your spike of interest, fighting to remain aloof as Maetifyst just gives himself away. He must really want you to worm your way into the Galvuses’ gang to be giving away this info for free. “Black Rose...isn’t that,”

“It’s the good stuff.” He chuckles. “Students love the shit, yeah? For awhile the Galvuses had a monopoly on the stuff, but seems like they got a bit too big for their britches if ya catch my drift. I got in contact with a fellow gang called the Gunbreakers and they been cookin’ up some equally good shit. It’s been bringin’ in some real money for us.” Opening a drawer at his desk he pulls out a cigar, accompanied by a lighter. “However, them Galvuses ain’t too keen on us pushin’ in on their turf. Things been tense lately. But with you...” He trails off, giving you a once over again.

“If I can get you to catch Zenos yae Galvus’ attention with skills like yours, you just may be our in.” He sneers, taking a long drag from the cigar. “Not to say I don’t like havin’ ya around, but we could probably trade ya for some corners. I wouldn’t worry much about it. I know they treat folks good over there, with all the cash they got.”

You can’t hold back your snort fast enough, fumbling to recover. “Me? Good enough to get in with the Galvus line?” You do your best to come off as incredulous as possible, hoping he buys your slip up. The irony of the situation is not lost on you.

“Now’s not the time to act humble kid. My fightin’ days may be over, but even I can tell you wreck shop.” He takes another long drag, blowing out smoke into the stuffy office. “The Galvuses keep their crew tight. Don’t replace their ranks unless one of them ‘leaves’ if you catch my drift. Your opportunity comes this weekend, where we’ll be putting you in their little tournament. Climb to the top and snag the attention of the Galvus’ lines higher ups. If they like ya enough, maybe they’ll send one of their boys on their way out.”

“Just like that, huh?” You question, trying not to huff at Maetifyst’s easy grin.

“Just like that.”

[dailyaudiobible]

12/28/2019 DAB Transcript

Zechariah 12:1-13:9, Revelations 19:1-21, Psalms 147:1-20, Proverbs 31:1-7

Today is the 28th day of December. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I’m Brian. It is great to be here with you as we close down and release into our history the final full week of the year 2019, leaving us with only three days left in our journey together through the Scriptures this year. So, we can see…we can see land. We set sail a year ago, almost and now we have…and now we are approaching the end of our journey, but we are not there. So, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Let's immerse ourselves in this rhythm that will lead us through the rest of this year. We’ve been reading from the Good News Translation this week, which is what we'll do today. And we’re reading from the book of Zechariah. Today, Chapters 12 and 13.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word. And wow! Wow! You have brought us to the end of the last full week of this year and we sit with that. So, many things that we could reflect back upon that You have done in our lives through Your word and that have happened in our lives this year, so much to think about. And that's what we do this time of year, we start looking back, the whole culture does it. It’s in or magazines, it's in our television programs, we’re reflecting back on things that happened in the last year, people that we lost in the last year, just reflecting as we prepare to move forward. And we read in the Psalms today that You take pleasure in those who honor You, those who trust in Your constant love. And as we look back over the years, we can see clearly that this is true, we can see the times that we have trusted in Your enduring love, that Your love endures forever. And we can also see times when we weren't sure about that and we can see times when we even almost lost it and just didn't know. And yet, here we are. Like we’re here and Your faithful love does endure forever. We’re here and You have brought us here through so much. And what we see in the Psalm is that You take pleasure in those who honor You and those who trust in Your constant love. We want You to take pleasure in us God. That is what our hearts long for, that You would delight in us as a Father would his children. And we see from the Psalm that You take pleasure in those who honor You and to trust in Your love. And, so, here we are contemplating what the next year might look like and the things that…the furniture that we want to rearrange in our lives for the new year and this is just blinking like a neon. It should be the thing that we want most in the new year, that You would take pleasure in us and our way of participating in that, in that collaboration will be that we honor You and trust in Your constant love for us, that we don't set our faith in an expectation of what You might do, but that we would set our affection on You and You alone no matter what You do because whatever You do is good and just and righteous and right. And, so, we must trust in Your constant love and honor You in it. Oh…that is one heck of a New Year's resolution, to set a goal that we might be Your pleasure. It's a big one but it seems that all we must do is honor and trust in Your love. And, so, Holy Spirit come. May we follow where You are leading and may we recognize that when we find ourselves in seasons of doubt and perplexed…being perplexed, most of the time we have veered from the path, we have stopped talking with You, we have stopped talking with You, we have stopped the rhythm of our lives that is leading us on the narrow path. Help us to recognize these things. You are the first person we blame on so much that You have nothing to do with. So, come Holy Spirit, take pleasure in us, may we honor You and trust in Your constant enduring love for us. I pray this in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, its home base, where you find out what's going on around here.

And we’re just in preparations for the clock to strike midnight on the 31st, right? And then everything begins again. And there’s an incredible amount of preparation for that to take place. And so, we’re in the middle of that. And in many ways, you’re probably involved in the same sort of thing, thinking through how to enter into the new year by finishing this one well. And, so, definitely we’re praying for one another in that. This is the last weekend of a decade, and we’re gonna go into a new week, and before that new week is out, we’re gonna be in the new decade and in the new year. So, that brings with it an enormous amount of excitement and an enormous amount of reflection, at least for me. I look back and it's just…in some ways it's a blur, but there are…and you look back and you see those moments that really really jump out and you’re like, “that was an important thing.” Like my daughter got married this year. That was an important thing. There’s so many of those. And, so, yeah, I encourage you to do the same. It's…it's good, it's good to reflect back on God's faithfulness in our lives. And even in the difficult times. I have had a couple of really difficult times and last year that I now can look back and say God was faithful. Of course, He was. Of course, He was. He always is. Why did I endure so much suffering that was unnecessary? Of course, He was gonna be faithful. So, yeah spend some time in reflecting as we go through this weekend.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible in the final days of the year 2019 then I thank you with all of my heart for your partnership. There is a link, it lives on the homepage at dailyaudiobible.com. If you're using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment 877-942-4253 is the number to dial or you can just press the Hotline button in the app.

And that’s it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I’ll be waiting for you hear tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi DABbers, this is Lucy in Alabama I’ve been listening to Daily Audio Bible since 2015 and I’m a first-time caller. I could really use your prayers. I have been dealing with illness my entire life and never could understand why I always sick when I was growing up. It wasn’t until I was in my 30s that I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue syndrome, and then shortly after that common variable immune deficiency. The CVID means that I was born missing a gene that would’ve help me fight upper respiratory infections and I was born with no immunity to pneumonia. That made sense because I almost died of pneumonia when I was six. There is a treatment for the CVID and it’s almost a blessing that I was diagnosed with this because it is a treatment that adds the…what is missing in your genes, it adds it back to your blood. And I had checked with my insurance to see if they would cover it when I started another job in 2016 and they would cover it. And by hematologist discovered that my platelet count was getting high while he was checking my blood count and it just kept getting higher and higher and he stated that he needed to do a bone marrow biopsy in February of 2017. It was when I had that only marrow biopsy that he diagnosed me with Essential Thrombocythemia which is a fancy name for bone marrow cancer. I could really use your prayers. It’s hard being sick all the time. Thank you.

This is a prayer for Diane Olive Brown from Treasured Possession. Gracious heavenly Father, Lord Jesus, Holy Spirit, I lift Your daughter up to You Father God who is hurting, who…who needs to know the love, the security, the hope, the peace that only You can offer. Our earthly fathers Lord God are a reflection of You, and she is losing her earthly father Lord. I pray that he goes into Your hands Father God. I ask Lord God that You would fill her to the full and overflowing of Your Holy Spirit, give her experiences Father God of Your outrageous love that goes beyond all we can ask, think, or understand. Wrap Your arms around her. You are her Father Father God. You are her Father for eternity. I pray Lord God that You would just hug her and hold her and give her Your piece and bless her in Jesus’ name. Amen.

I thought that I was standing tall but really I was down smiling broadly ear to ear trying to hide the frown believing I could do all things while running from the doubt saying straight and narrow is the path but walking in and out confident and self-assured trying to hide my fear growing stronger day by day get dying every year life is one big paradox we say and still don’t do help me Lord to reconcile and surrender all to you

blindony1016@gmail.com. Like to give a shout out to Sherlock and Kim and Michelle from LA and David Michael, know you all are very much loved thought of often and prayed for every day. And once again Brian and the Hardin family, thank you for this wonderful podcast for God’s Holy Spirit flow. Keep it flowin’ y’all. All right. Bye-bye.

This is Holly from Glendale Arizona I would just like to pray for Mary whose husband passed away. Mary my husband passed away three years ago, and I would just like to let you know that the Lord will be with you through all this sometimes day by day, sometimes moment by moment. Seek Him and He will guide and direct each step along the way. I will be praying for you. I will remember you. Reach out to us in times of need. We are there for you. God bless you through this season. We will remember you and your family. I know it’s difficult. It does get easier. You always remember. He will always be a part of you and I just want to let you know that I care about you and I will be praying for you. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.

Hello DAB family this is Eleanor from Albuquerque New Mexico I have never called before, but I have been listening to the DAB from partway through the first year. I am sure there are others like me who have never called in but are listening and praying. Many prayers go up for those who are in need and you won’t know about them, but God knows about them. I wish you all a blessed Christmas and a wonderful new year. God bless you.

Greetings everyone this is Toni from Germany I don’t know when this will be played, if it will be before the new year or after but happy 2020. I…last year I had made a proposal that with the word of the year that whenever we are meeting people for example when they’re giving us customer service or when we are perhaps giving customer service or when we meet someone on train or somewhere, a stranger or someone we don’t know and they ask how are you doing, last year the word was Maintain. And, so, to indicate that we are part of the Daily Audio Bible just in case they are we can say I’m maintaining. So, I think perhaps we can do it this year and say I’m settling or something to that effect, I’m getting settled, I’m focused on being settled. And I think that could be our key phrase or word that should trigger others to know that we are part of the Daily Audio Bible. Someone in the Christmas party said that her word was endure. My goodness, the two really resonate for me together. Settle and endure. Scott, from Portland Oregon, I’m…I’m laughing at what you said. I identify with everything that you said except for I do make it more than two times a month to church. God bless everyone. I hope you’re enjoying the holiday season and I especially think about those who are alone and who are suffering for whatever reason. May God be with you. Amen.

[tiny-personal-university-thing]

My {Formerly} Bad Student Story: Physical and Mental Health Almost Destroyed Me - But I’m Back and Better Than Ever

Please read if you have suffered from chronic illness/pain or with your mental health to the detriment of your education!

Where to begin?

To start, a little bit about me. I am 21 years old, and currently a junior in college at Texas Tech University. I was born and raised in Houston, Texas, but I currently go to school in Lubbock, Texas – 532 miles from where I grew up in Houston. I’m what my school calls a “University Studies” major, which means that my degree is comprised of three “disciplines.” Those include Women’s Studies, Legal Studies and Environmental Science. This is all in the hopes that I will make a well-rounded candidate for law school.

 So this is where it gets interesting; this is the “{formerly}” bad student part. Basically, I didn’t do so hot my first two years at college. I suffer from chronic nerve pain due to 6 bulged discs because of a really bad car accident I had my senior year of high school - my truck was actually totaled. Additionally, I have this autoimmune disease called Hashimoto’s. It’s also called Chronic Lymphocytic Thyroiditis. It’s not fatal - it just sucks. In fact, it’s fairly common. My mom also has it. It’s just a major lifestyle change because my thyroid is either under-functioning or over-functioning. One of the most common symptoms across the board is debilitating fatigue. One may also experience copious hair loss (from it literally breaking off), hyperthyroidism/hypothyroidism, unexplained weight gain, depression/anxiety, joint stiffness, memory lapses, or complications such as heart disease. You can’t really be cured of Hashimoto’s, you just have to do your best to keep your life in a state of equilibrium. On top of all that, I was also officially diagnosed with an anxiety disorder (GAD), my freshman year of college; however, I have suffered from high-functioning anxiety since I was in the 2nd grade. I actually tested in the 98th percentile for anxiety. With my Hashimoto’s and chronic pain severely limiting my ability to even physically get out of bed, my grades really suffered. I was involved in a total of 8 organizations my first year of college, co-founder of two (one that focuses on raising awareness about sex trafficking that I am particularly proud of), and another that raises funds to establish legal aid clinics in less developed nations. I was also an officer in three of the aforementioned organizations, including the president of my dorm. But when I started to really get sick, participating in anything became so hard. I felt my peers judging me. I knew they didn’t believe me. My anxiety, which had been dormant for a couple years, came back with a vengeance. It almost destroyed me. I became isolated. I barely left my dorm - only to feed my horse each night or to buy food on campus. Every Friday, my mother would literally beg me to go out with friends, to reach out to literally anyone. I frequently considered the possibility of taking my own life - although I would describe it more along the lines of a general desire to cease existing, or to have never existed at all. I had never been so low in my entire life. My first semester, I did decently. I managed to go to the majority of my classes, and make decent grades that didn’t raise any red flags with my family or my school. While my social life did pick up my sophomore year and I began to form the close friendships we associate with college; unfortunately, I continued to regress academically in the semesters that followed.

 But, enough about that. The fact that I was always in pain/tired to the point of delirium/constantly ill made it really hard for me to focus on school. Often, the pain or fatigue was so bad I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t participate in the organizations I was excited about, ride my horse, play violin, or go to classes despite being eager to learn. When I did feel okay enough to go to class, I was bombarded by pervasive, irrational thoughts like “I’ve missed class for weeks, the professor/students are going to judge me when I show back up again tomorrow.” I just didn’t get it. I didn’t understand how I went from the girl who begged her mother to let her go to school when she was violently ill with the flu in 7th grade because I loved it so much, to the girl who hadn’t gone to class in so many days she lost count. I ended up having to take a semester off from school. I remained in the city where my college is and bided my time by working - serving and eventually bartending full time. While working 40+ hours per week, I also tried to find a good pain management doctor and a decent endocrinologist. By remaining in the city I went to college, I was able to maintain a facade that I was still in school. When anyone asked me about school, I kept my answers terse, and general. School was “good,” I was taking “some classes.”

 When my semester off came to an end, I actually elected to take another semester off. I was torn in my decision to do this. I felt like I was letting everyone down a second time, that I would be stigmatized as a “drop out,” and I felt like no one believed me when I said I was going back. However, in my heart I still knew that I wasn’t in that much better of a place than I was when I left school. I am so glad I made that decision.

 My second semester off, I found a good pain management doctor not far from where my mom lives. My insurance covered spinal injections frequently used to treat bulged discs, where I underwent general anesthesia and essentially my doctor went into the epidural space in my spine to administer steroids to the bulged discs that he believed to be causing my nerve pain. While these injections are temporary and I’ll have to go back and get more injections whenever the pain returns - they have brought me great relief.  I continued working my job at the restaurant and became much more financially independent. This helped me to feel like less of a burden, and much more productive, in turn helping me with my anxiety. It also felt good having money. I was able to take over paying my rent, utilities, groceries, and costs associated with my horse. I also learned about Hashimoto’s, the symptoms (intolerable fatigue, insomnia despite said fatigue, gluten intolerance, inability to lose weight, my hair literally breaking off at alarming quantities, unbearable intolerance to the cold, inflamed joints, etc.) and how to live with it.

 After that semester, I was ready and determined not to fail. As the Spring 2018 semester neared, I made an appointment to see an advisor at my university, who became one of the two advisors I saw about every 3 weeks. They knew all aspects of my life; my mental health, my physical health, my struggles with my job, my aspirations, everything. It was in meeting them that I realized my first year at Tech I made a huge mistake by only meeting with the advisor assigned to me when I had some sort of hold on my account - which was once a semester at best. My advisors have fervently supported me. I am so grateful to them for the resources and affirmation they have provided me with this semester. Additionally, I learned to be more honest about my struggles with the rest of my support system, including my family and friends. I kept the secret of my two semesters off from everyone I was related to except for my mom. Even my dad was unaware until my second semester off. I did this mostly out of shame, but now that I’m back on track I actually want to tell everyone my story.  I also learned to be honest with myself about my genuine short comings that are unrelated to my health - including my organizational skills and time management skills. Lastly, I learned to be proud of myself, even for little victories.

 This is now (as I am writing this) my first semester back at school in two semesters (not including the summer sessions). Again, I am actually genuinely proud of the work that I have put forward. I’m aspiring to make my school’s Dean’s List or President’s List every semester from now until I graduate (which, by the way, is still in 2019 - the same as it was when I first came to college, which just goes to show you that it’s okay to take time off from school if that’s what you need). I’m aspiring to graduate at least cum laude. I’m aspiring to receive at least a 172/180 on the Law School Admission Test, and I will get into law school. I know that I am capable of these things because of the time I took away from school to better myself. Finally, my hope is that other college students facing similar adversities will be able to resonate with me, realize that college is not a race (you are under no obligation to be out in exactly four years or less), and see that they absolutely can overcome their obstacles.

Finally, I am certain that my struggle is not rare. I know that some of you may struggle with anxiety or depression. I know that some of you may suffer from chronic illness or pain that peers your age cannot truly relate to. I know that some of you may fear disappointing your family. I would like to add that I am here for you. I can promise you that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. If anyone - ANYONE - feels like they need someone to talk to, please feel free to reach out to me. I am up at all hours of the day and night usually. If you need just general advice, I got you. I hope that my story resonates with some of you.

My Story will be permanently linked to my blog via the “My Story” tab. As always, happy studying, fellow realistic students. And thank you again for 100+ followers. I am overwhelmed by your continued support. 

[ennergetics]

Can you make hunger games! Woojinm with bulletpoint style and hapoy ending?

[woojin prompts are always welcome! this got a little intense, but i’m pretty happy with how it turned out. hope you like it, anon!]

(image credit)

pairing: park woojin x reader (hunger games au)genre: angstsummary: The red string of fate may be a long-forgotten legend, but you and Park Woojin are hoping it is enough to spark rebellion. warnings: mild gore, death

when you’re eighteen years old, you become district 4’s oldest volunteer tribute

your father looks on with a grim expression, his eyes uncommonly bright with tears

your mother is long-buried, lost to a blazing fever that took everyone by surprise

‘who could have imagined that a victor would succumb to so common a sickness?’ people whispered ten years ago, when you and your father had carried your meager belongings from the victors’ village to his old home

the capitol had cared little about the family of dead victors, and your father had taken up his old trade once more, tying knots and catching large fish by the sea

you were always by his side, and were witness to the blackout that had lost him a limb, the harpoon slipping in his grasp and cleanly taking his fishing arm

with little left to support you and your father, you began to train as a career tribute at the late age of nine years old, which ensured your family received rations from the underground, unofficial leaders of your district

in the meantime, your father started reading the books your mother had left behind, collections of long-forgotten mythologies he would tell you about before you fell asleep

and as you sat in the sand at midnight, exhausted from training, you wondered if this were the fate prometheus had imagined for humankind, if yuè lǎo had woven the threads to tell this story

on your seventeenth birthday, you and your father begin to plot the seeds of rebellion, with your plan culminating in your participation at the next hunger games

now, as you stand on the stage, your father says, “i am proud of my daughter for facing her destiny,” and he takes you into a tight embrace

“be strong, my seastar,” he says softly into your hair, and the scent of sea salt and tobacco surrounds you, your face wet with your tears and his

at the tribute parade, you make sure to look the innocent, lost little lamb, your simple white dress the perfect canvas for your token, the single red ribbon twined loosely around your torso, ending with a dainty knot around your right pinky

“this is my fate,” you say mysteriously during your interview, “i know what the stars and sea have told me, and i will listen, wherever or to whomever they lead me.”

at the training center the next day, the career tributes immediately take you into their alliance, though they’d rather talk amongst themselves than to the strange, older girl with the ribbon round her wrist

but you see a nondescript boy lingering at the corners, watching the others warily

his hair is the colour of the dark rocks at low-tide, and when he opens his mouth, his snaggletooth is barely visible

he’s from district 8, the textile district, and his name is park woojin

you lock eyes with him and he doesn’t look away, and though his gaze is fierce, it is not crazed with bloodlust or fear or excitement, as are those of the tributes around you

you flash him a small, genuine smile, knowing he’s the final piece of your plan

all the other career tributes are younger than you and they mostly talk among themselves, leaving you to train alone

“hey,” you say, approaching woojin, “woojin-ah, spar with me?”

he looks at you warily, and you laugh softly, adding, “everyone else here is under sixteen years old,” like your flimsy excuse matters, and he stares at you some more before nodding once

you have him in a grapple hold, your arms strong from working with nets, but he doesn’t let up, muttering, “what do you want?”

“district 8,” you say under your breath so only he can hear, “meaning you know your way around a needle and thread. fabric isn’t so different from skin. who knows what’ll happen? ally with me.”

he yields with a yes, and you train together for the rest of the day

on the third day, you and woojin are the last tributes in the training room, and the two of you are lying down on the mats, exhausted from the day’s drills, and he turns his head to you

“i don’t want to die,” he says, and though he’s kept a poker face the whole day, you can hear the dread in his voice, the same one you’ve been fighting since you first volunteered, and you realize how lonely it is to be carrying out your plan, destiny be damned

so you lean over, letting him know what you and your father have talked about for the past year, grasping his hand like it’s a lifeline

when you finish, you close your eyes, wondering if you’ve made a fatal mistake

but you feel him cradle your face in his hand, his fingers calloused from handling fabrics his whole life

and you know it’s the stress of your impending deaths, the frantic emotions grasping the both of you and making you cling to each other in desperation

but there is comfort in the gentle touch of his lips against your own, in the steady warmth of his embrace

you get little sleep that night, readying yourself for the bloodbath to come the next day

so many things could go wrong, you think as you grab a random backpack of supplies and a spear from the cornucopia, using the pack’s hard side to shield yourself from the attacks of the other tributes as you run away

you’re hiding among the bushes, your back to the trunk of a tree, when you spot woojin, and you whistle once

he nods, and you come out into the clearing, noticing the odd look on his face, then you see the blood on his shaking hands

you run to him and embrace him, and though you’re trying to build a narrative for the audience, part of you is truly relieved to see he’s alive

he takes your face in his hands, his voice deep and loud as he says, “fate has brought us together,” and you thank the gods that he pulls it off, ignoring how the words send a pleasant shiver up your spine

later, you’re keeping the first watch of the night, noting the fourteenth cannon fire, glancing every so often at woojin as he sleeps, both of your torsos tied to the tree you’ve climbed

when you feel the net you’ve woven move on the forest ground, you look down, shaking woojin awake at the sight of the district 1 tribute fumbling for his bow and arrow

without being asked, he winds his arms around your waist to keep you steady as you both straighten up, your arm winding back to aim the spear at the boy below

it hits him straight in the chest, and as you watch the life fade from his eyes, the numbness you expected to feel is replaced by shock and disgust, the urge to vomit barely held at bay by woojin’s arm wound tightly around you, his other hand stroking at your throat lightly

a cannon goes off in the distance and you say a quick prayer to the gods of old, with woojin telling you to rest while he takes second watch

the rest of the night is quiet save the three cannon fires you hear even in your sleep

when the clouds begin to grow dark, the two of you go down from the tree to look for another hiding spot, and you’re caught unawares by the female tribute from district 2

woojin kicks her in the stomach and you’re tying her tightly to the tree, mumbling an apology as she writhes against the knots, when woojin blanches and he moves to your left right before a searing pain hits your right arm

you turn around and see your fellow district 4 tribute, his face mad with rage, screaming of your betrayal, but woojin takes a baton from his pack and bludgeons him unconscious, allowing you to use the rest of the rope to tie him to the tree

your gaze lingers on him, a thirteen-year-old child whose place was not on the battlefield, and you place a tender kiss on his forehead, woojin pulling you away as the howls of the animals grow closer

three hours later, you hear two cannon fires and weep quietly

woojin is sewing your arm wound up with red thread, and he says, solemnly, “i am here for district 8, but should i win, those of district 4 will always be welcome in my home,” and it’s a dangerous thing to say, almost beyond what’s acceptable within the plan you’d whispered to him what felt like a lifetime ago, and you have no choice but to nod

you slice your ribbon in half and wind that around his wrist, and as you fall into a fitful sleep you find yourself losing your grasp of what’s real, unsure if you lean your back onto his chest for the audience or for yourself

two days and a cannon fire later, a package floats down to the cave where you’ve hidden, marked with a simple number ‘8’

woojin opens it to find two pairs of well-made hunting gloves, the pinky fingers embroidered with scarlet thread

“my parents made these,” he breathes, stroking the gloves fondly, and you pull one from his hand, noting how putting matching gloves together reveals a torch design, the symbol of prometheus

you smile genuinely, throwing your arms around woojin as you blink away your tears of joy, murmuring in his ear, “the flame is ours,” and he looks at you, his eyes as wide as your own

you resist saying anything else, but you both know it should only be a matter of time

three days pass and your food has run out, the landscape not yielding anything for you and woojin to eat

as the cannon fires for the twenty-second time, you drink the final canteen of water, handing the last of it to woojin to drink, and you’re breathing deeply, trying not to panic at the thought of failure

you and woojin are at the cornucopia, your weapons poised as the snarling creatures from before begin to surround you

you’ve finished the last of your arrows and the wolves are climbing up the giant horn structure

“i can go,” woojin says quietly, and you glance at him, horrified, kicking the knife from his hand

before you can say anything else, tell him he needs to stay alive, that you think you might love him, that there’s no one else whom you would have died for, you see the forcefield disintegrate

the dome’s top explodes and the smell of burning is everywhere

you and woojin begin to run to the huge hole in the wall

outside, you hear your father yelling, prophesying about the people’s fate and encouraging them to go on, and you cannot believe things have gone as you’d planned

it had seemed impossible before, but with woojin’s rough fingers laced between your own, twin ribbons around your wrists, the beginning of the rebellion brings the hope blossoming in your chest and the fierce, beating desire for a better tomorrow.

[arplis]

Arplis - News: To see more in this series “My Single Girl Story {Navigating COVID-19}”, click here.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I appreciate my “me” time.  I’m a strange combination of introverted and extraverted.  I’m often the biggest personality in the room amongst friends, and then I shrink into my athleisure clothing over the weekend to recoup my energy solo. On a normal week, I have the opportunity to get enough social stimuli through work, friends, and chats with family.  At the end of my first ten days home, I’m starting to feel disconnected and isolated.  It’s necessary, but I’m feeling it big time going into the weekend. You’ll notice that I’m not talking about “social distancing” in this post, because for us single ladies, it’s next level.  It’s social starvation, and I am on “me time” overload. I can already feel it.  I’m getting lonely. When you’re single, there is fantastic notion and pride in taking care of yourself.  Anything you have and that you’ve accomplished is yours and because of you.  It could be as simple as paying your electric bill, decorating a room, or unloading the dishwasher.  None of these things happen unless you do it. At the same time, there is a scary feeling tied to being completely self-reliant.  Example:  I have lived in Colorado for nearly 15 years now, and I’ve never skied.  While that sounds insane, I also know that breaking one of my 43-year-old bones would not be in my best interest.  So, I have to make safe decisions sometimes. In the same sense, in light of COVID-19, I can’t get coronavirus.  I went down a dark, twisty hole this week thinking about how this would play out if I were to contract it (more on that in another post.)  That was a fun night…  All this being said, I’m taking social distancing very seriously.  We all should be.  While Coloradans are still free to roam the land (but not dine out, get your hair colored, or go to the gym), I’m choosing to stay put. WORKING FROM HOME I love working from home.  It’s my jam.  I get so much done, and I love being close to my kitchen and comfortable.  I eat healthy meals.  I drink tons of water  The bathroom is clean and just 12 steps away (ooo… something to verify.) My company (unfortunately) has a no “work from home” policy.  While they’ve lifted it right now, it’s been a LONG TIME since I’ve been able to work from my home office.  If you remember, I redid this space years ago, so it’s bright and comfortable and happy.  It’s one of my favorite spaces in my home, and I’m highly productive (and happy!) here. On Friday, I had a call with our executive team and I knew that they might have a fondness for video.  Unlike the other days I’d logged in, I got up and put makeup on and piled my hair on top of my head, suspecting that I might need to show myself on the call.  Like clockwork, 40 people logged on WITH VIDEO.  And, I have to tell you – – I can’t even believe I’m saying this — I liked it! It was great to see everyone after not seeing them for a while, and people brought their personalities to the Zoom and during varied speaking parts.  Really nice. But guys, if I’m for VIDEO CALLS, I’m definitely missing people. MEETING THE NEIGHBORS I’ve also met my neighbors.  This sounds like no big deal, but I’ve lived here for eleven years… and up until this week, I’d met one person.  I’ve said hello here and there, but I didn’t know people’s names.  You best believe I do now.   I met Bonnie and Katie (and her cute baby who’s name escapes me) and Sheila this week.  All very kind and coming together as a little community of helpers.  When someone’s outside, you can tell we all need interaction and we just chit chat a little (responsibly from 6 ft away).  It’s really nice, and have been some of the bright moments of my week. GETTING THE MAIL Hands down, this is my favorite moment of every day.  I live in a condo, so I walk to the mailbox bank every day to see what’s up.  Most days, it’s bills or those dumb flyers that go straight in the trash (I mean, when do those stop being a thing?)  I’ve also been trying to send out cards to friends – – little hellos, as I have to believe that everyone is loving mail right now — and this is where I drop them off to be mailed. Again, I’m starved for interaction… if you’re getting mail at the same time I am, be prepared.  I’m going to chat you up.  This, ladies and gents, is where I met my new friend Glennis.  I’ve decided Glennis and I are BFF.  She probably has a knitting project going right now too.  I naturally started up a conversation with Glennis at the mail area about the census paperwork that showed up.  I mean, that’s exciting and conversation worthy. As I was walking away, I turned around and asked Glennis if she had everything she needed.  She responded that she just got back from vacation and is having a tough time finding (yes) toilet paper.  I gave her my address and told her that I could hook her up with some squares, should she run out.  Naturally (like we all do), Glennis said she’d be fine and that she’d keep looking.  She also mentioned that she had kleenex she could use too.  I reiterated I had extra to share, and we said our goodbyes. When I got home, I couldn’t stop thinking about her and decided to find her in our HOA directory and pop by with some TP.  Her unique name made her easy to find, and I bopped over with four megarolls of the Charmin Soft. Her response when she opened the door reminded me so much of my grandmother.  She was just tickled, as Lenora would have been.  “I’ll always remember you…” she said with a smile. What she doesn’t realize though is that I will too, and that moment was hands-down my favorite of the week. ADDING FACETIME TO MY PHONE I disabled Facetime on my phone a while back.  A courtesy to friends that I used to Facetime late at night after a few too many rosés, everyone seems to want to Facetime and I’m here for it (and using it somewhat responsibly.) Last night, we had a group Facetime that was a lot of fun and way too much wine.  Initially, it seemed like just a fun moment with friends, but I literally can’t even describe how much I needed that. Protip:  You can do group Facetimes.  Open a group text conversation, and at the top of the screen, you’ll see an option for Facetime.  Click it, and it will initiate a group Facetime.  So easy! If you’re in an office, team virtual happy hours might be a fun idea.  We’re having our first one next week with the team; I’ll keep you posted how it goes. VOLUNTEERING TO DO THINGS At work, we have a women in technology group that I don’t get super involved in usually.  My busy-body self attends when I can, but I don’t typically raise my hand to lead things.  UNTIL NOW. I just set up a virtual book club at work, and the fact that 45 women want to participate WARMS MY FREAKING LONELY HEART.  We’re reading Fierce Joy by Susie Rinehart, which is hands down my favorite read of 2019. We all could use a little Fierce Joy right now, am I right???  As I re-read, I’ll be sharing some highlights and a-ha moments here and on social media.  Stay tuned, it’s the most lovely book. If you could use a little Fierce Joy in YOUR life –> Click Here. REMEMBERING I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO NEEDS SUPPORT We all need support.  To be clear, you may not be single but everything I mentioned may be tricky challenges you’re facing as well.  I hope not (and that you’re feeling a-ok), but if you are it’s completely normal.  It’s completely normal to feel lonely.  It’s completely normal to feel not lonely. Let’s all try to reach out to people more often right now.  Only good can come from it! MSGS Tip of the Day:  Take a few minutes to send a card to friends and family near and far.  We’re all loving happy mail right now, and this could be a little way to spread joy.  If you have kids, let them get in on the action too!  Artwork + a happy note = BEST MAIL DAY EVER! Related posts: My Single Girl Story {Navigating COVID-19}: Stocking Up and Settling In My Single Girl Story {Navigating COVID-19}: When You Get Sick Homemade Cabbage Rolls My Single Girl Story {Navigating COVID-19}: About Social Starvation originally appeared on No Thanks to Cake on 03/21/2020, which is not permitted to be copied on other sites without written permission from the original author. #SocialStarvation #MySingleGirlStory{NavigatingCOVID-19} #COVID-19 #SocialDistancing

Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/to-see-more-in-this-series-my-single-girl-story-navigating-covid-19-click-here

[beigetortoise]

Synecdoche, New York

I just watched Synecdoche, New York.

There will be spoilers, but I don’t think the point of this movie is in its plot. You might need to watch it twice anyway.

What you probably know about it is: “A theatre director [Caden] struggles with his work, and the women in his life, as he creates a life-size replica of New York City inside a warehouse as part of his new play”. This is bollocks.

I.

Synecdoche, New York is a movie about how it feels to be stuck with no self-love, not knowing that you need it, not knowing how to get it. Never being loved unconditionally. Spending your whole life in this state. Having no idea what’s wrong with you.

Caden’s wife doesn’t even dislike his play—she doesn’t think it’s worth anything. “I can't get excited about your restaging someone else's old play, it just... There's nothing personal in it.” Later she leaves him.

Pretty Hazel is into Caden. But when she finally gets him to come to her place, she makes him beg for a kiss:

—Does [the drink] make you wanna kiss me? —Kind of. —Tell me why. —Because I feel a lot of longing. —Beg a girl, why don't you? —Please, Hazel. —On your knees. [...] I want you to beg me on your knees for a kiss.

During sex, Caden breaks down and starts crying: “I'm just really confused. I'm sorry. I... I'm really sick. And I think I'm dying”. Hazel’s response is “You should go”.

Fast forward, Caden is old now. Scroll to the title image and back. He is going to have sex with Tammy—an actress playing Hazel in his play. “You're very pretty”, he tells her, and follows with “Sometimes I wish I could be pretty like that”. Maybe he could’ve gotten unconditional... something... if he was a girl.

—What, you wish you were a girl? —Sometimes I think I might have been better at it.

Tammy tells Caden that he’s pretty, but he doesn’t believe it. Immediately after they are shown in a car. It’s morning. Tammy goes “I shouldn’t have drunk so much fucking beer last night”—his fear, I think, is validated.

Before dying, Caden’s daughter asks him “I want to forgive you, but I need you to ask for forgiveness first”. He begs, and then she says “I cannot forgive you” and dies.

II.

What does Caden do with all this?

After getting a MacArthur grant for his previous work, he decides to write a play. “You see, the idea is to do a massive theater piece. You know, uncompromising, honest”. So he buys a huge warehouse and hires a lot of actors.

How do you write something uncompromisingly honest? Caden addresses the assembled troupe during their first meeting:

“We'll start by talking honestly, and out of that, a piece of theater will evolve. I'll begin. I've been thinking a lot about dying lately.”

We don’t see anybody else “beginning”, though. For the rest of the movie, it’s mostly just Caden’s life. An actor playing Caden, and an actor playing Hazel. An actor playing Caden’s second wife, and an actor playing her new boyfriend after she leaves Caden. Paralleling everything happening to Caden in real life.

I had a similar idea when I was a kid, in a long-distance relationship (and my first relationship overall). “I had better save all chat logs”, I thought. “Later I will write a book about this relationship—just the whole history of it. It will be so awesome. Everybody will love it. And be jealous, too.”

Caden’s idea is: “if I show people my life, maybe this will amount to something”.

It’s not narcissistic rage (“and they will see how I suffered”). He doesn’t try to embellish anything, doesn’t try to present himself better than what he is, doesn’t try to draw a lesson. “Theater piece. Something big and true and tough. I'm gonna finally put my real self into something. [...] The MacArthur is called ‘the genius grant’, and I wanna earn it.”

In other words—if he manages to show people his true self, his idea of human experience (both his and others’), they will love him.

III.

Charlie Kaufman, the writer and director of Synecdoche, New York, doesn’t talk about it much. But it doesn’t matter, because three years after the movie he gave a lecture pretty much explaining it. I talked about it on my other blog—Charlie Kaufman does public self-therapy.

[When writing, do yourself, not somebody else.] It isn’t easy but it’s essential. It’s not easy because there’s a lot in the way. In many cases a major obstacle is your deeply seated belief that you are not interesting. And since convincing yourself that you are interesting is probably not going to happen, take it off the table. Think, ‘Perhaps I’m not interesting but I am the only thing I have to offer, and I want to offer something. And by offering myself in a true way I am doing a great service to the world, because it is rare and it will help.’

Caden tried it, but missed a crucial ingredient. He is not trying to help the world by offering his understanding of human experience—he is trying to sell himself.

But more importantly, if you’re honest about who you are, you’ll help that person be less lonely in their world because that person will recognise him or herself in you and that will give them hope. It’s done so for me and I have to keep rediscovering it. It has profound importance in my life. Give that to the world, rather than selling something to the world.

This is what he doesn’t do. He does it to be counted as a genius. He thinks he’s dying, and he wants to prove himself, to amount to something. Kaufman hopes to change himself by being honest about his experience—Caden thinks he’s already good enough, but nobody sees it.

Caden spends forty years trying to create a truly monumental play, all just to get someone, anyone, to relate to him. Imagine that.

IV.

In the end, by some twist of dream logic Caden merges with another character—Ellen, who was Caden’s runaway wife’s cleaning lady.

As a side-note: if you’ve seen the movie—note how Caden finds comfort in doing Ellen’s job. Cleaning is the only thing he does that is directly useful to others. It has meaning. If only he had figured it out earlier.

The shot above is not from the end of the movie. What happens in the end is better.

Everybody has left the set. Caden sees a woman. “Would you sit with me for a moment? Because I'm very tired and lonely.”

She does not reject him. She does not roll her eyes. They sit together. The woman is Ellen’s mother. “I feel like I've disappointed you terribly”, he goes. “Oh, no. I am so proud of you”, she replies.

By this time, he is no longer the director of his own play. He’s given up the role. He wears an earpiece telling him what to do, how to act.

“Ask her if you can put your head on her shoulder”, instructs the earpiece.

—Can I lay my head on your shoulder? —Yes. —I love you. —I love you too.

At last, unconditional love.

And then he dies.

P.S.

Kaufman’s preface to the published version of the movie script:

They want me to write an introduction to this thing. They’re pestering me. This guy, Keith, at Newmarket Press. [...] So here I am, as I knew I would be once I agreed to having this thing published, trying to write an introduction and being mad at Keith. I don’t even know Keith. I’ve never seen him, as far as I know, which may be completely untrue. I may have met him forty times and not paid attention. I don’t even know his job title, that’s how much Keith and this screenplay book are part of my life.

[...] He’s an annoyance to me. That is all he is. But if I stop and think about it, which I just did, if I try to broaden my view of the world, which I just did, I realize that every moment I exist as me, Keith exists as Keith. He is not the occasional letter in my e-mail box. Every moment of every day, he is living a life somewhere far away from me. As an experiment, I decided to e-mail Keith and ask him to tell me a bit about himself.

[...] Wow. Keith’s letter did way more than I anticipated. Now I love Keith. Now I feel a connection with him. There are so many things I love about Keith’s letter. Not the least of which is his willingness to participate and his openness in talking about himself, his leap of faith that I would not abuse the confidence. I love that he took me seriously. It made me think: How many hundreds of people have worked on this film whom I’ve never had a conversation with, whom I don’t know at all, didn’t think it was important to know?

[travellers-survivor-old-west]

Episode 1 - “It's not my fault our team chose the same song as the other team” - Cas

Let the games begin..............................

we out here. i'm on the cute yellow tribe. the only person on my tribe rn is Nicole and I already like her. i hope there's an idol hidden under joe del campo's cowboy hat

* A couple seconds later*

FKDSAHKDJFS LMAOOOO MY GIRLFRIEND ASHLEY ON THE OTHER TRIBE AND SHE LOOKIN LIKE A KARDASHIAN IN HER VID

Very excited for this to start! Tribe seems nice so far get a good vibe from eve and Ashley for sure. Just gotta feel everyone out a lil more and see how this first challenge goes

OKAY sooo I'll keep this first one brief. My tribe is pretty cool. I love Jared, I'm a little bit worried though because 1) he knows I'm a snake and will be scared of me and 2) he'll prob be able to know I'm friends with Ashley, but otherwise, he's my number 1 on this tribe and my favorite person in the cast other than ash. Like I'm so blessed to be with him and I don't think he'd turn on me yet since we'll be loyal. This Nicole girl seeemd cool in her vid then never messaged me back. Dylan seems nice but I think he might have been in bermuda or somethin LOL i've def played with him before and have no clue from what.... Sammy is cool, know him from before. And then uhhh that weird kid who had a three second vid, I hope he's out first. Ashley is on the red tribe I think? I LOVE HER she's literally my best ORG friend and she hasn't played in forever. Hope we get to a swap or merge without her doing something dumb first akhfdj. Patrick seems familiar I know he's old school and won HOS so that's cool. Eve seems cool never played with her but is that the same eve that does the challenge minis bc if so she knows im gonna pop off. Keaton good. Isaac good lol although I'm scared he'll come after me bc one time in his confessionals for a game we were in (i think indonesia?) eh talked about how big of a threat I was oops. maybe ashley will get him out for me LOL. and that austin guy seems cute, second game only awww. Black tribe has chloe YAYAYAY love her and excited to play with her. I think I'm on okay terms with Nick again, at least I really hope so lol bc bbclue was a mess but we kind of made up in ihos.... Vi/Cas I don't rlly know. payton seems like rhone but with a little more hair and less elderly wisdom. aidan's vid was weird but glad he got to the point I'm looking forward to this :) but I hope my tribe gets more active soon.

Okay so- Howdy! This is your cowboy speaking. I am going to go over my general strategy for the game and what I have done so far. I want to play a very physically/socially-centered meathead kind of game- a James Clement if you will. I want to try and win every challenge that I participate in and if we lose, I want to have 1 alliance with the strongest players that I will be 100% unwaveringly loyal to. Pretty basic stuff. So my alliance is with Owen and Sammy, which oddly enough- the last 2 Big Brother games I played, they were the people who got me out, respectively. Owen/Dana/Quill in BOTS and Sammy in Legacy3. So it's a risky group but this is the strategy that I outlined for myself so I'm gonna stick to it. They will be my F3 and I will literally ride with them until the wheels fall off. Until the hooves fall off, in western speak. I have no clue if they will be loyal to the end or try to target me on some point, but I have to try to keep them from eating the apple, because I'm not going to flip as my one-dimensional gameplan will not allow that! I confirmed with both of them that this is a trio they are good with, and the Pika-Dudes were born. I think it would be pretty rewarding for me if I could actually get them to stick together and make it to the end. But they could have other alliances on this tribe and vote me out this round for all I know, but so far my perspective is that they seem loyal Lastly, I suggested that we do the song "Before He Cheats" for the challenge, and that's the first time a tribe has ever taken my suggestion for the song, so I'm happy with that. I'll check back in if we lose the comp :)

okay so first confessional...honestly I am super excited to play with some of the people in this game. But I am just gonna talk about the challenge right now, umm so it's a music video which means.....hosts hate me...because I am always the one having to edit:,( okay so everyone got their videos to me finally except Nicole sent one vertically after I clearly said "@all plz film horizontally" so I just said bippity boppity bye. She seems sweet though and I don't want her to go anywhere soon. Anyways, Jared approached me with the idea of an alliance with me, him, and Owen which I'm totally fine with but I don't think I want to work with Jared like long game because idk if I can trust him to be like loyal to me. He is one of my fav people I just know it's a game. However I think if we go to tribal I probably would vote either Nicole or Xander. Not much confess right now except I am on a tribe with casper and his friends bc everyone forgot how to talk. alright that's it for nowwww.

#FuckMichael

What the fuck is Terlingua on someone better pray for my dude Aidan

VL: Oops

Omg yay!!!! We are safe for first tribal which I love. I'm starting to form pretty good bonds with issac,eve,and ashley so hopefully I can get it to where we all link up together for some kind of alliance.

Well so far it seems that Aidan, Chloe, Nick and I are in same mind set of voting off Payton. We shall see if it actually goes through. It’s really sad Bc the judges are all biased so now we have to vote someone out. Editing isn’t easy at all DX. I’m so sorry Payton if you’re do get voted out. You should move to the us to survive a bit longer ;-;

So my back’s been killing me all day. I thought it was from sleeping funny but clearly its from carrying this damn tribe.

This weekend was so flipping busy. I'm trying to get caught up at work before vacation and Matthew is here. I don't feel like I've gotten to bond with my tribe much. I'm glad to see Dylan A. We've not really gotten to play together much because he always gets voted out early in games we play but I don't think he will come for me and he's a bigger target than I. I like my tribe a lot. Jared is really funny and Sammy kicked butt in the challenge. I've talked to Owen a tad. I'm glad we didn't lose because I deserved to go home. I didn't get back from Erica's bday thing until 4 and then it wouldn't let me use the song I bought some it is copyrighted so I only had 30 sec then I couldn't get it to film horizontal. I'm a big ol mess. Yeeeeeeehaaaaaaw! 😂

Whew okay so I don't know anyone on my tribe (kinda) which is good but also a bit scary since its just 6 of us. Overall, I feel like everyone's a bit quiet and not too talkative. That being said, they might be talking a bunch in PMs. Right now, I am trying to stay under the radar and just be friendly with everyone. I really like Austin, Eve and Patrick right now. Keaton and Isaac are nice too but I dont really talk to them as much. If we would have lost this first immunity challenge I would have definitely wanted to vote for one of them. No official alliances yet but its still early so I think its okay. THANK FUCKING GOD WE WON. Okay well, we got 2nd but thats a win in my eyes. I just really hope I make it to jury and I will be happy so not being first boot is GREAT. Im trying to get this damn idol but I cant catch a fucking break and my ass keeps getting zapped... I dont think anyone has gotten the idol yet so I hope i get lucky and somehow get to it first. Here is how I see everyone as of right now: Austin: Probably my fave right now and hoping I can get into a f2 with him. He's funny and sweet and I feel like we get along and its pretty easy to talk to him. Eve: Eve is iconic! Want to work with her but I feel like she is really social so she might be a threat later on. Pat: Same as Eve, even though I just met him, I actually have known about him before since he is friends with some of my friends. I know he does good in games so he is someone I would like to see leave a bit sooner since I think he will be hard to get rid of later. But hes amazing and his video for the music video was ICONIC. I can see him and I becoming friends for sure. Keaton: Not much to say, I do know keaton from playing a game with him in the past but he was voted out first I think and then I hosted him in HOS but i wasnt super active in that one :) Anyway, I feel like we dont have much to talk about so I need to make more of an effort with him. I really wouldnt care to see him go tbh but who knows, this can definitely change if we start talking more. Isaac: omg okay so night one I go into everyones PMs to say hi and i notice that I already had messages with him which I found super weird because I didnt know who he was but I guess we kind of got into it like 3 years ago??? I told him I didnt remember this but i do. He was basically an asshole to me for no fucking reason. But this was 3 years ago so i really dont care so I hope he doesnt try to target me over it. He seems nice I guess but I havnt really talked to him much. In his defense he has been sick apparently but if we would have gone into this first TC I would have wanted to see him voted out first for sure.

Confessional 1: So right off the bat I talk a lot to everyone but Payton but my main issue is he’s probably not going so I’m gonna need to vote out someone I genuinely like right away. I think I’m decently connected and unless these guys are pulling off the best blindside ever I think I might possibly be semi safe??? Who knows though there’s a lot left of game to play this round so let’s let’s see who the votes will land on. I’m kinda trying to indirectly get my way but it’s like just not working out lol.

Its been a fun couple of days, im talking to my tribe and just feeling them out. Im very happy I don't have a history with any of them so I can just relax and start a clean state. Im a big fan of Jared and Sammy, but honestly nicole can go. She annoys me more than Jess's love of alcohol. I'm hoping to just chill and slide my way to merge where from there actually make moves and make my way to final 5 where we all know im gonna be voted out.

Idk what the fuck is going on lmao. I think I’m getting voted out because I haven’t talked to anyone but I’m trying to push the vote in cas instead but it might be too late because I just started talking to everyone cause I’ve been working too much.

https://youtu.be/bMY6mumIAQ0

Am I disappointed with my tribe? No. Am I disappointed with the outcome? Yes. I'm not a fan of these subjective challenges because the criteria literally changes everytime and all the judges (who are usually unqualified, uneducated and underemployed) seem to like to harp in on the most random shit like- I can't. And the fact that I, someone who never edited a fucking video before, had to do that shit just shows how useless my tribe is overall. Either useless or lazy but either way... I'm predicting a Matsing performance from this tribe. Why the fuck did I get placed here? So far people are fine but I don't /love/ anyone. Maybe I could put in more effort but like Chloe/Nick/Vi all seem fine and fun but like nobody I'm too connected with yet. I'm sure it'll come. Chloe and I seem to have the most similar personality but something tells me she's like connected idk. I don't see her going far with me. I see Nick/Vi being loyal though. Payton and Cas are like fine I guess but afaik they're the ones on the chopping block because of minimal socialization. I will be voting for Cas but honestly I don't care who goes home as long as it isn't me. I just want a tribe that isn't awful.

I like my tribe ok I guess. They’re all a girl or a gay except Keaton so that’s a plus. Despite my lack of participation in the first challenge due to my meningitis I’ve been assured that I should be safe on this tribe and I’ve been offered an alliance so we’ll see where that goes. I’m looking forward to beat sent home by Jared’s homophobic ass though. It’ll be fun

Dont sue me I'm dumb Okay this tribe is an interesting bunch, Ashley is great but scary, eve knows wtf is up, Pat and I are playing a game together rn, Issac... And Austin knows about me! Luckily we are safe but I think I can traverse this group without TOO much issue.

https://soundcloud.com/user-327042896/dylan-confess-1/s-HFs1s https://soundcloud.com/user-327042896/dylan-2/s-nVSd2 https://soundcloud.com/user-327042896/dylan-3/s-65KCP https://soundcloud.com/user-327042896/dylan-4/s-kLYio https://soundcloud.com/user-327042896/dylan-6/s-r6uNi

So like, love my tribe so far, I think Issac, myself Ashley and Austin are going to become a possible / close alliance, I also LOVE LOVE LOVE pat! What a fucking legend. Rly wanna try to work w him!! Idk dont wanna lose bc that means someone has to go :(

Dont sue me I'm dumb Okay this tribe is an interesting bunch, Ashley is great but scary, eve knows wtf is up, Pat and I are playing a game together rn, Issac... And Austin knows about me! Luckily we are safe but I think I can traverse this group without TOO much issue.

[snowkatze]

A Vampire in Kinky Boots

Genre: angst, a bit of fluff Summary: Simon runs his father’s shoe factory, but the business is not going well. Fortunately, Baz Pitch is here to help. Whilst working together, things don’t always go as they hoped for… Based on the musical Kinky Boots, which you don’t need to have seen to understand the story.

Chapter One , Chapter Two , Chapter Three , Chapter Four , Chapter Five

Chapter Three - The History of Wrong Guys

As I'm sitting with Baz in Penny in a café, I start to daydream about what's going on in my life right now, whilst Baz and Penny chatter along. (They don't need me to make conversation. I guess I might be a bit jealous of how well they get along, considering my relationship with Baz is still bumpy. I wish there was something I could do about that.)

Working together with Baz, it's almost exactly like it used to be. And by that I mean way back in the past, before fifth year. Baz and I, we haven't always been enemies. Or rather, we didn't always want to be. When I make a joke at Penny (usually a not so well thought out pun), Baz forehead crinkles, and I can tell by the way the corners of his mouth twitch that he's trying not to smile. When we were still kids and barely eleven years old, Baz didn't smile a lot either. But sometimes, when Penny and I were laughing our heads off, Baz'd smile with us. And I'm talking the real deal here, teeth flashing and dimples, the whole package.

Back then, I thought to myself that I could make him crack, that closed-up mysterious boy. He bore so many secrets I knew nothing about. I made it my goal back then to get him to tell me all his secrets, but I never got him to. Only one.

During second year, we were locked out in the Wavering Wood, we laid on the ground and we were watching the stars. I took his hand and felt his gaze on me, and then he told me about his mother. How she'd died when he was five years old. How she was the one who'd hung the moon.

We were best friends. The way room mates that are cast together by the Crucible are supposed to be. It didn't matter who our families were; we were just kids after all.

Now I think back to these times a lot. I can't stop myself when he's around so much. Whenever out gazes meet and my heartbeat quickens, I blush and turn away, thinking how we used to be so close.

He never told me why. Why we were one day listening to music together and sharing our food and the next he couldn't even look at me. He even stopped calling me by my name. (He hasn't called me 'Simon' ever since. Not even now. I think maybe he never will again, and I can't stand that thought.)

I'm tempted to ask him now that so many years have passed and there's no such a thing as 'enemies'. But I'm too afraid that, the moment I ask that question, he'll be out the door and bailing on me.

But every day the tension inside me grows stronger and every night I fall asleep thinking of him.

Since a few weeks have passed already, we've made lots of progress. We've figured out a technique to make the shoes wearable for men, and we've also already got a few different designs. It won't be long before we can start the production and Baz has organized our participation in a fashion show.

Everything is going well and I'm a little excited as well as concerned. Things never go smoothly, exactly according to plan. Then again, I suppose the original plan never involved Baz in the first place. As it turns out, he's majored in business studies as well as marketing. And as I expected, the only job he does besides working for us is as a barista. (Not that he would've told me, but I happened to walk into the same direction as him when he left... Accidentally. Completely by hazard. And I saw him work behind the counter, but I never confronted him about it. I guess I like having a secret from him, for once.)

But he's brilliant at what he does. I can't imagine he couldn't have found a much better position somewhere else; and doesn't his dad run a business, too? He surely has lots of connections. I think there's something he's not telling me, but that's probably got little to do with (opposed to what I always thought) and more to do with him. He doesn't like talking about his personal life. And I think someone might've hurt him.

I haven't asked about his high heels either (He still wears them.). I guess it'd be rude to do so.

I'm deep in thought when suddenly Baz sets his eyes on me and I flinch like a startled squirrel.

Damn. I didn't mean for him to catch me staring. Staring? I guess I was, but not in a creepy way, just the way you might stare at a really beautiful painting. (Fine, maybe it is a bit creepy to stare at a human that way. But somehow I can't keep my eyes off him.)

And I don't really have an explanation for that. For any of that. For the way my skin prickles every time he barely touches me, the blushing, the staring, and my heart that goes crazy every time he's nearby. It's almost as if he's put a spell on me. A spell that makes me slowly go insane. And think about him all the time. Maybe it's a prank. Ha ha, from now on every second thought you have will be about me. Very funny.

Maybe I'm getting sick. I can't really think of anything else that would make sense.

But suddenly Baz is smiling (really smiling), like he used to, with the teeth and the dimples and suddenly I'm burning on the inside. Fuck. My heart is swelling up inside my chest and I can feel myself smiling as well, even though I didn't even get the joke.

And then it hits me like a bucket of ice over the head. Because suddenly I acknowledge the urge to feel his smile against my mouth. Fuck. Am I fucking stupid, how have I not realized this before?

I think I have a crush. I can't. I think I'm falling for him.

Oh no.

But then again, why not? I've been making bad choices all my life. Are you gonna be another one of them?

My heart starts beating faster and I feel my hands go sweaty. I used to think he was my enemy. But now? Now that I can see that really, he's just a boy... He's kind of cute. (Very. Very cute.)

I press my fingernails into my palms. Fuck. Abruptly, I stand up and the chair almost falls over.

I have to get out of here.

“S-sorry,” I stammer. Can I behave as anything other than an idiot in front of him? I never could. (I think maybe I've always felt this way.)

“I have to get going,” I mutter and stumble out of the café. And then I run, as if I could run from any of this. You can't run from the truth, moron.

This is wrong. I can't be in love with him, he doesn't even like me. (If only he wasn't so bloody perfect... Then everything would be easier.)

I only get a few blocks further before I come to a halt. My condition is not the best. Out of breath, I prop myself up against a street lamp.

“Simon,” I hear someone say behind me and I immediately recognize his voice. I stand up straight.

“Wow,” I mumble bitterly. “Now you're calling me by my name. That's just great.”

“What are you talking about?”

I turn around and look into his infuriatingly perfect face.

“I just want to know why, Baz! You never told me. You just... vanished out of my life like it was nothing.” “I didn't vanish.” “No. You started tormenting me and started being my enemy. That's so much better.” My voice is dripping from sarcasm.

“I didn't start being you enemy! We were enemies all along. We never should've forgot that in the first place! I never should've let you get to me!” “Then what are you doing here?! If you want to be away from me so badly, why did you come back?” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head in frustration, as if I was acting like a stubborn child.

“You don't know anything, Simon,” he whispers.

“Then tell me! Just fucking say it to my face, you coward! What's your problem with me? Why did you suddenly start hating me? What have you been up to all these years?” “I've not been up to anything.” “I -” “Don't act like you never did anything wrong, Snow. You started accusing me of plotting at any chance you'd get. Don't pretend like it bothered you that I stopped being your friend.” “Yeah. You're right. I'm just a gigantic liar, that's it. I'm crying right now because I've never cared for you at all. Those are happy tears, you know. I freaking like getting rejected.” “I didn't mean -” “I don't care what you meant. I want the truth, Baz. What do you even want from me?” He stares at me for a moment, I see his eyes shimmering. Then he shakes his head.

“Fuck you, Snow,” he hisses and turns on his heel. I stand for a few seconds, watching him leave, then I come back to my senses.

I didn't want to upset him like that. After everything he's done for me and Penny, I can't treat him this way. After all, that stuff is all in the past and he's helping us now.

I rush after him, even though I have no idea what I'm going to say. An apology would be good.

It takes me longer than I expected to catch up with him. He took many turns and kept his steps quick, almost as if he knew that he was being followed. Or maybe it was just because he was upset. It's almost like in fifth year, when I followed him around sometimes, just to figure out what he was doing. I never followed him when he went down in the catacombs, though, when he was visiting his mother's grave. That's where I drew the line.

When he finally stays still, we're in a dark alley. What could he possibly be doing in this part of the city? (Is this another one of his secrets?) Does he live here? Does he want to buy drugs? No, he's above that, isn't he?

I approach him slowly, while I'm still trying to catch my breath. I start getting suspicious when I see something in his hand. He leads it to his mouth... Wait a second, is that a rat? Is he drinking its blood?

I stop in my tracks. Is Baz...? No, he can't be.

Sure he can't, Simon. Deny the truth when it stares you right in the face.

My blood runs cold.

Great job. Leave it to Simon Snow to fall in love with a blood-sucking vampire.

[swaggin--dragon]

Teach Me

Holy shit okay so here’s a Klance oneshot based on the song “True Love” by P!nk. I really hope you guys like it I’m super nervous I haven’t posted my writing in literal years so ahhhhhhh please forgive any spelling errors or other wierdness it is past midnight and I am Tired so anyway here goes 1963 words of nothing.

~~~

It was a rare down day in the castle ship, and Keith was as restless as ever. The training bot had grown boring, the Altean pool was still somehow upside down, and if he had to eat the green food goo once more than necessary he was sure he was going to be sick. Now he was left to aimlessly wander the halls of the giant castle. Keith sighed, silently wishing for something interesting to do. He rounded the next corner, and heard a familiar, yet faint sound. Intrigued, he followed the sound, intently listening to the captivating tune until he found himself at the entrance of the lounge area. Sprawled out on the couch was Lance, holding a guitar and mindlessly plucking at the strings.  How he managed to sneak a guitar onto the ship was beyond Keith, but he wasn’t complaining. He had always loved the sound of guitar, but never had the chance to learn how. Keith listened to the Cuban play for a moment more, before an idea sparked in his mind. “I didn’t know you played.” Lance screeched, nearly falling off the couch before sitting upright and glaring at the other. “Don’t sneak up on me like that! You nearly made me break precious Sophia!” Keith smirk faltered. “Wha- Who’s Sophia?” “Uh, this gorgeous beauty, obviously.” Lance gestured to the guitar, now resting comfortably on his lap. Keith sighed, wondering why he thought this was a good idea in the first place. Oh well, he was committed now. “Why do you wanna know?” “Well, I was wondering… And you don’t have to say yes…” Keith looked away, regretting his earlier decision. “Keeeeeeiiiith…” Lance prompted impatiently, continuing to play softly. “Teach me how to play?” Lance looked up from the guitar, surprise gracing his pointed features. Keith stood before him, arms crossed in his usual manner, a light dusting of pink on his cheeks. “What?” “You heard. Teach me.” Lance scoffed, bearing a pompous smirk on his lips. “Where did this sudden interest come from, mullet? Can’t resist a man who can play?” Keith froze, blush deepening. Lance would be lying if he said his heart didn’t skip a beat at the sight. He grinned teasingly at the man standing across from him. “Guess I was right.” Keith ran his hand down his face in exasperation. “Ugh, never mind. This was a mistake. I’m just gonna go ask Shiro inste-“ “Ah, no, wait! I was only kidding, geez. Don’t take everything so seriously.” Lance shifted over, motioning to the cushion next to him. “Sit down, mullet.” Keith reluctantly walked over to the other and stiffly sat down, trying to ignore how Lance’s leg was touching his. “So,” Lance continued, “do you know anything about music at all?” “N-no, not really…” “Hoo boy, this is gonna be tougher than I thought. Have no fear, though. As long as I’m teaching you, you’ll be a real virtuoso in no time!” Lance handed Keith the guitar, his mouth stretched into a confident smile. Keith hesitantly took the instrument, familiarizing himself with the curves and lines of the guitar. Placing it in his lap, Keith listened as Lance drawled on about the ins and outs of the guitar, chords, and strum patterns. After finishing his brief lecture, Lance slid closer to Keith, making him swallow nervously. Grabbing his gloved hands, Lance wrapped himself around the other’s back, supporting Keith’s arms with his. Keith tried to swallow the burning sensation rising up his neck. Chuckling lightly at the sudden color in Keith’s face, Lance guided his fingers to the neck of the guitar and lightly placed them on the frets, hands covering his. “Let’s get started, shall we?” He whispered in the other’s ear. Keith shivered. This was going to be a long afternoon. ~~~ “My fingers feel like they’re on fire.” Keith groaned, placing the guitar down next to him and shaking his aching hands. The two had been practicing for a few hours now, and they had progressed through the basics of reading a chord chart. Lance had so kindly picked out a song for Keith to learn- one with the cheesiest, yet oddly relatable, lyrics. At least the chords were easy, even for a beginner like Keith. “You’ll live. They’re gonna be sore for a while until you develop callouses.” “How long’s that gonna take?” “A while. Don’t get your hopes up, mullet head.” Lance teased, though his tone had nothing but affection. Keith groaned in defeat, laying his head back over the edge of the couch. “How do you do it?” “Practice. It’s alright, you’ll get there.” Lance placed a hand on Keith’s back comfortingly. “Let’s play it through one more time, then we can stop for today. How about it?” “Alright, but I don’t think I’m quite ready to sing and play just yet.” “Awww, now you want me to serenade you? If you insist.” Lance winked, making finger guns at the other. Keith had to laugh at his over-the-top personality, causing Lance to laugh along, cheeks growing red. “Okay, for real this time. Just look at the paper if you forget the chords. I’ll start after four bars. Ready?” Keith nodded nervously, slowly placing finger by finger into the first chord position. “Hey,” Lance interrupted, placing a reassuring hand on Keith’s shoulder, “you got this.” Keith smiled at him, then focused his gaze at the frets. He began playing- first the G chord, then the Dsus2 (Lance had explained the meaning behind the ‘sus2,’ but the chord was easy enough to remember), then A minor and C. After completing the intro, Lance began to sing.

Sometimes I hate every single stupid word you say Sometimes I wanna slap you in your whole face (whoa oh oh) There's no one quite like you, you push all my buttons down I know life would suck without you (whoa oh oh) Keith nearly forgot how to play. Lance’s voice was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. Keith could sing, but he was nowhere near Lance. Somehow he managed to keep playing, despite the shock of the other’s beautiful voice. Lance, in usual Lance fashion, was animatedly singing to Keith as he played. Although Lance was acting goofy, he still detected a hint of truth behind the words. At the same time, I wanna hug you I wanna wrap my hands around your neck You're an asshole but I love you And you make me so mad, I ask myself Why I'm still here, or where could I go You're the only love I've ever known But I hate you, I really hate you So much I think it must be True love, true love It must be true love Nothin' else can break my heart like True love, true love It must be true love No one else can break my heart like you

Woah oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh Woah oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh As some people talk with their hands, Keith learned Lance sings with his. As he sang, he would motion to Keith as if he was telling him how he felt. His heart raced at the idea of Lance actually having feelings for him, but he pushed down his excitement to keep playing. Just once tried to wrap your little brain around my feelings Just once please try not to be so mean (whoa oh oh) Repeat after me now R-O-M-A-N-C-E-E-E Come on I'll say it slowly (ROMANCE) After spelling the obvious word, he motioned to Keith to repeat after him. Keith smiled at his goofiness, but refused to participate in Lance’s shenanigans. Lance grinned mischievously, then leaned in to the other to whisper “romance” loudly in his ear. Keith giggled, leaning away from the ticklish breath on his ear. Lance breathed a laugh in return, staring into the other’s deep violet eyes before winking teasingly. You can do it babe Keith swallowed, heat rising to his cheeks. Lance was still singing, but he had a blush matching Keith’s adorning his face. Both were still grinning at each other, as if they were sharing a funny inside story only the two of them knew. Keith had gotten used to the chord progression, so he decided to take the risk to join Lance and sing harmony. At the same time, I wanna hug you I wanna wrap my hands around your neck You're an asshole but I love you And you make me so mad, I ask myself Why I'm still here, or where could I go You're the only love I've ever known But I hate you, I really hate you So much I think it must be True love, true love It must be true love Nothin' else can break my heart like True love, true love It must be true love No one else can break my heart like you

Woah oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh Woah oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh The look on Lance’s face had been priceless when Keith joined in. His eyes widened in surprise, and his normally flawless melody faltered, if only for a second. Then his grin widened, and he continued singing with more passion than he ever had before. Though the song had been meant as a joke, Lance found the lyrics had more truth in them than he anticipated. The two continued singing, voices fitting together like two puzzle pieces that completed the picture. Think it must be love (I love you) I think it must be love (I love you) Why do you rub me up the wrong way? Why do you say the things that you say? Sometimes I wonder how we ever came to be But without you I'm incomplete I think it must be True love, it must be true love It must be true love

Nothin' else can break my heart like True love, true love It must be true love No one else can break my heart like you Woah oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh Woah oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh No one else can break my heart like you Woah oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh Woah oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh No one else can break my heart like you Lance rested his forehead on Keith’s as the two completed the song in perfect unison. The two began laughing, sheer contentment filling them both. “I had no idea you could sing like that.” Keith commented shyly. “Me neither. You have the voice of a freaking angel!” Keith laughed at the other’s excitement, pink rising to his cheeks. Lance smiled, staring in awe at his laugh, his perfect, beautiful laugh. “God, you’re pretty.” Keith stopped laughing, shocked to hear the words leave Lance’s mouth. Lance felt his blush spread down his neck and to his ears. “I-I mean, well, of course you’re pretty, uh, pretty good, at, uh, playing, for just learning, y’know, like today…” Lance trailed off, his embarrassed rambling causing him to avoid eye contact with the other. He waited quietly for a response, each second feeling like years. Suddenly, he felt a warmth press quickly to his cheek. He looked to Keith, whose face was the color of a tomato. “Don’t worry, I think you’re pretty too.” He smiled shyly back at the Cuban. Lance laced his fingers with Keith’s, grinning goofily. “I know it’s by no means a proper date, but… will you go to dinner with me?” Keith smiled warmly at him. “I’d love to.”

[hannahindie]

Hannah & Manda’s 200 Follower “Punk’s Not Dead” Creative Challenge

Hey everyone! It’s me, Hannah! And over there is my lovely Manda! We both are excited and very thankful to announce that we have both hit 200 followers. We were so excited that we decided to have a special challenge to celebrate!

The name of the challenge is “Punk’s Not Dead”. Why’s that, you ask? Because Manda and I both grew up with and love 2000s pop punk, and it’s one of the great things that we have in common! We decided to pick out some of our favorite lyrics to inspire you all to create amazing things. The rules are listed below! We hope that you are excited to join us and we can’t wait to see all the awesome things you all come up with!

WHAT IS THIS?

This is a Creative Challenge! We know there are so many creative people with amazing talents in the SPN fandom and we want to give you a chance to share yours! Anyone is welcome to participate!

Do you write fanfiction? Awesome, write your heart out!

Are you an incredible aesthetic designer? Yes, please!

Is art more your thing? Fantastic - make all the things.

Love making compilation videos? We have a great list of songs you can use for inspiration/background!

Got another totally awesome talent that you want to utilize to participate? Sweet, we can’t wait to ohh and ahh over it!

THE RULES:

Following both of us is NOT required but would be appreciated! Pick a prompt from the list below (you can click the song title to hear the song if you are unfamiliar)

Send an ask to either Hannah (@hannahindie) or Manda (@pinknerdpanda) with the number of the prompt that you would like and if you will be creating a fic, aesthetic, art, video or whatever your clever little selves would like to do! (messages and reblogs won’t count so we can keep track of them easily)

Any pairing except NO WINCEST please! :)

SPN only

Any Genre, length, format (Fic writers - just be sure to use a “Keep Reading” break if your fic will be more than 500 words)

The lyrics you choose should inspire your work in some way. If you choose to use the lyrics in what you do, be sure to bold them and give credit to the artists

Be sure to tag both @hannahindie and @pinknerdpanda in your work

Use the tag #HanPan Punk’s Not Dead Challenge

Entries are Due June 5, 2017 (If you need more time or need to back out for some reason - that’s fine, just let one of us know!)

THE LIST OF PROMPTS:

“When I was younger/I saw my daddy cry/And curse at the wind/He broke his own heart/And I watched/As he tried to reassemble it” - The Only Exception by Paramore

“The faster we're falling/We're stopping and stalling/We're running in circles again/Just as things were looking up/You said it wasn't good enough/But still we're trying one more time” -  In Too Deep by Sum 41

“But now this broken soul of a boy/Falls in pieces with no choice/At the sound of her voice/He falls apart/But now this broken soul of a boy/Falls in pieces with no choice/At the sound of her voice/He falls apart, he falls apart, he falls apart” - Sincerely Yours by Hit the Lights

“I'm troublesome, I've fallen/I'm angry at my father/It's me against this world and I don't care.” - The Young and the Hopeless by Good Charlotte

“Simple words we never knew,/The power behind what they put us through,/Now it's all begun,/what it takes to make it real./We're standing on the edge of this,/When our soul is gone,/what will we miss?/We lost what it takes to really, really feel.”  - Save Us by Cartel

“I watched the smoke, as it grew darker and blew up through the roof/I watched the fed, saw them panic, as the fire grew/I saw virginia, get rid of langley, and its secrets too/I held your hand, and sat there knowing, that we'd make it through.” - Watch the World by Box Car Racer

“Is it still me that makes you sweat?/Am I who you think about in bed?/When the lights are dim and your hands are shaking as you're sliding off your dress?/Well, then think of what you did/And how I hope to God he was worth it/When the lights are dim and your heart is racing as your fingers touch your skin” - Lying is the most fun a girl could have without taking her clothes off by Panic At the Disco

“As for now I'm gonna hear the saddest songs/And sit alone and wonder/How you're making out/But as for me, I wish that I was anywhere with anyone/Making out.” - Screaming Infidelities by Dashboard Confessional

“And the record won't stop skipping/And the lies just won't stop slipping/And besides my reputation's on the line/We can fake it for the airwaves/Force our smiles, baby, half dead/From comparing myself to everyone else around me” - I've Got A Dark Alley And A Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth (Summer Song)  by Fall Out Boy

“Wait, they don't love you like I love you/ Made off/Don't stray/My kind's your kind/I'll stay the same” - Maps by Yeah Yeah Yeahs

“Well if you wanted honesty, that's all you had to say./I never want to let you down or have you go, it's better off this way./For all the dirty looks, the photographs your boyfriend took,/Remember when you broke your foot from jumping out the second floor?” - I’m Not Okay (I Promise) by My Chemical Romance

“I remember the look in your eyes/When I told you that this was goodbye/You were begging me not tonight/Not here, not now” - Ocean Avenue by Yellowcard

“Your sins into me/Oh, my beautiful one/Your sins into me/As a rapturous voice escapes, I will tremble a prayer/And I'll beg for forgiveness/(Your sins into me) Your sins into me/Oh, my beautiful one” - Silver and Cold by AFI

“Laying in the summer grass, you told me not to talk so fast,/As I told you how I feel,/You made me feel right at home,/You told me I was not alone and you knew just how I feel,” - Seasons by Good Charlotte

“life is/only/as good as the memories we make/and i'm taking back what belongs to me/polaroids of classrooms unattended/these relics of remembrance/are just like shipwrecks/only theyre gone faster/than the smell after it rains” - So Long, Astoria by The Ataris

“Back then it meant so much to have you by my side,/I always had your back and you always had mine,” - Let Me Go by Good Charlotte

“feel your fire,/when it’s cold in my heart/and things sorta start/remindin' me of my last night with you/i only need one more day/just one more chance to say/i wish that i had gone up with you too/and i'm sure the view from heaven/beats the hell out of mine here/and if we all believe in heaven/maybe we'll make it through one more year/down here” - View From Heaven by Yellowcard

“I don't care about a thing today /I used to but I'm fed up/And I can hear the words you say/I wish that you would shut up” - Festival Song by Good Charlotte

“Light breaks underneath a heavy door/And I try to keep myself awake/Fall all around us on our hotel floor/And you think that you've made a mistake/And there's a pain in my stomach from another sleepless binge/And I struggled to get myself up again” - Globes and Maps by Something Corporate

“you see, it's never bad enough /to just leave or give up/but, it’s never good enough to feel right” - This Photograph is Proof (I know You Know) by Taking Back Sunday

“Days swiftly come and go./I'm dreaming of her/She's seeing other guys/Emotions they stir/The sun is gone./The nights are long/And I am left while the tears fall.” - Swing, Swing by All American Rejects

“And when it all goes to hell, /will you be able to tell me sorry with a straight face.” - The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes - by Fall Out Boy

“But I’m too tired to go to sleep tonight/And I’m too weak to follow dreams tonight/For the first time in a long time I can say/That I want to try to get better and/Overcome each moment/In my own way.” - Even If It Kills Me by Motion City Soundtrack

“Oh don't mind me I'm watching you two from the closet/Wishing to be the friction in your jeans/Isn't it messed up how I'm just dying to be him?/I'm just a notch in your bedpost/But you're just a line in a song” - Sugar We’re Goin Down by Fall Out Boy

“I'm gonna tear your ass up like we just got married/And you're all mine now/Tonight is the night we've been waiting for all our lives/Or maybe for just tonight” - Bedroom Talk by The Starting Line

“I tried to be perfect/It just wasn’t worth it/Nothing could ever be so wrong/It’s hard to believe me/It never gets easy/I guess I knew that all along” - Pieces by Sum 41

“And the mindless comfort grows/When I'm alone with my 'great' plans/And this is what she says gets her through it/"If I don't let myself be happy now, then when?/If not now, when?" - For Me This Is Heaven by Jimmy Eat World

“I've given a lot of thought to the nights we use to have/the days have come and gone/our lives went by so fast” - There Is by Box Car Racer

“Forgive me, I'm trying to find/My calling, I'm calling at night/I don't mean to be a bother,/But have you seen this girl?/She's been running through my dreams/And it's driving me crazy, it seems/I'm going to ask her to marry me” - Remembering Sunday by All Time Low

“Are you gonna live your life standing in the back looking around?/Are you gonna waste your time?/Gotta make a move or you'll miss out.” - A Praise Chorus by Jimmy Eat World

“I just can't look, it's killing me/And taking control/Jealousy, turning saints into the sea/Swimming through sick lullabies/Choking on your alibis/But it's just the price I pay/Destiny is calling me/Open up my eager eyes/'Cause I'm Mr. Brightside” - Mr. Brightside by The Killers

“Hey, you know they're all the same./You know you're doing better on your own, so don't buy in./Live right now, just be yourself./It doesn't matter if it's good enough for someone else.” - The Middle by Jimmy Eat World

“The angry boy, a bit too insane/Icing over a secret pain/You know you don't belong/You're the first to fight, you're way to loud/You're the flash of light on a burial shroud/I know something's wrong/Well everyone I know has got a reason to say/Put the past away” - Jumper by Bedlight For Blue Eyes version

“Since the day I met you/And after all we've been through/I'm still a dick/I’m addicted to you” - Addicted by Simple Plan

“I got a couple addictions/But I swear that I'm coming clean/I got a new way of thinking/Yeah, you're bringing out the best in me” - Chemicals Collide by Boys Like Girls

“I can't remember the time or place,/or what you were wearing,/it's unclear about how we met,/ all I know it was the best conversation that I've ever had,/to this day I never found someone,/with eyes as wide as yours” - The Story So Far by New Found Glory

“What if I wanted to fight/Beg for the rest of my life/What would you do?/You say you wanted more/What are you waiting for?/I'm not running from you” - The Kill by 30 Seconds to Mars

“Your eyes were covered in sunglasses /When they first met mine/I sat there and stared at you /You didn't seem to mind” - I Don’t Wanna Know by New Found Glory

“We drive tonight,/and you are by my side./We're talking about our lives,/like we've known each other forever./the time flies by,/with the sound of your voice./its close to paradise,/with the end surely near./and if i could only stop the car/and hold onto you,/and never let go (and never let go)/i'll never let go (i'll never let go)/as we round the corner/to your house/you turned to me and said,/"i'll be going through withdrawal of you/for this one night we have spent."/and, i want to/speak these words/but i guess i'll just bite my tongue,/and accept "someday, somehow"/as the words that we'll hang from.” - Tiger Lily by Matchbook Romance

“Think i'm dying without you here/so i drink myself to sleep/and then i hide beneath the sheet/and i try to disappear” - Dumb Reminders by No Use for a Name

“First my car broke down/So then I had to hitch a ride/I was almost there/When the motor died” - My Life Story by MxPx

“Now here I sit, so far away./Remembering all our memories./It's times like these that I miss you most,/Remembering when we were so close.” - Jaded (These Years) by Mest

“Well there's a million other girls who do it just like you./Looking as innocent as possible to get to who,/They want and what they like, it's easy if you do it right./Well I refuse, I refuse, I refuse!” - Misery Business by Paramore

“We're traveled like gypsies/Only with worse luck and far less gold/The kids you used to love/But then we grew old/We're the lifers here til the bitter end/Condemned from the start/Ashamed of the way/The songs and the words own the beating of our hearts” - Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year by Fall Out Boy

“She/She's figured out /All her doubts were someone else's point of view/Waking up this time to smash the silence with the brick of self control/Are you locked up in a world that's been planned out for you?/Are you feeling like a social tool without a use?/Scream at me until my ears bleed/I'm taking heed just for you” - She by Green Day

Forever Tags: @@trexrambling @wheresthekillswitch

@pinknerdpanda  @hiimaprofessionalfangirl  @emptywithout @escabell @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes  @deanssweetheart23 @dean-winchesters-baby @aubreyreadsstuff

[southernmamaspeaks]

The Callback List

The Callback List

 Confession: I am a Show Mom. Sort of.

Two of my five biological children participate in Christian Youth Theater, otherwise known as CYT. They sing, they dance, they act, and they put on gorgeous Broadway-style productions by kids ages eight to eighteen in our local community. This week marks another set of auditions, and something every thespian young, and old loves to hate:

The Callback List. But is there more?

On the surface, a Callback list is a compilation of names, or numbers generated by a production team, of potential cast members who are requested to return to participate in further rounds of selection based on the quality of their initial audition. For us at CYT, the release of the list normally follows two nights of open casting calls where brave, and hopeful kiddos present a one minute song selection, and monologue from a list of options provided by the production team. It is a beautifully scary, and harrowing experience to watch someone you love stand in front of strangers to be judged worthy, or unworthy based on less than two minutes of interaction.  As so little time is available to make a good impression on the artistic team, much thought and effort is placed into every detail of the audition. As the indelible Mary Poppins states, everything must be “Spit Spot” to ensure the best possible outcome: a Callback.

Let me stop right here, and say this was not my idea. My oldest daughter had a friend encourage her to try out for a show about a year and a half ago, and the rest is showbiz history. Yet as she has gotten older, and improved on her dramatic skills, auditions have taken on a slightly more intensive tone. We stopped hoping to merely make it into a show, and started hoping for her to get specific roles. And as her mom, of course, I think she should get every role for which she tries out. After all, she is beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Don’t believe me? Take a look at this headshot from uber-talented photographer Amber Trementozzi of AMT Digital Photography (or click a link to her Facebook page here-  https://www.facebook.com/AmtPhotographyDigitalDesign/ :

  I told you she was gorgeous. Also, her voice is beautiful, she dances gracefully, her Improv skills are spot on, and she has a real gift for comedic timing. (And she took that headshot photo after she was dancing at rehearsal for something like two hours. I mean, who actually looks that good AFTER they sweat? It boggles my mind.) However, as we rolled into the Winter show season, my daughter, Sharaia, decided she was going to audition to be Betty Hanes in the CYT Fredericksburg production of Irving Berlin’s “White Christmas”. I have to admit, I thought her chances were good. Sharaia was called back for a lead role before, when she wasn’t even trying. She has a good relationship, and reputation among the adults in charge, and the ability at nearly sixteen to hit some of that sultry alto register like Rosemary Clooney. To say we got our hopes up for the part would be an understatement.  

Auditions came, and Sharaia sang a Rosemary Clooney song from “The Pajama Game”. I teared up when nerves got the best of her for a moment in front of the audience, as she was putting so much weight on herself to put in a fabulous audition. But I was so proud of her as she pulled it together, and put in a solid performance. We felt good leaving auditions, but were still very nervous about the outcome. Sharaia and I stayed up until midnight waiting for the Callback list to be posted on the website. I think I squealed almost as much as she did when we spotted her callback number in a list with twenty-two other girls to come back the next day at the studio. Saturday was very intense. I packed Sharaia a lunch I knew she would not eat, and we drove in relative silence the twenty minutes to the studio. I told her how proud I was of her to get this far, to just be herself, to have fun, and enjoy the experience. I wished her a cheerful “break a leg” as she exited the car, but underneath it all I may or may not have considered going inside to bribe the director with hefty amounts of cash to give Sharaia the part. (Thank God five kids, and a ridiculous house payment toss my family into near-poverty each month so I could avoid the temptation of throwing cash at the production team.) I drove away praying that they would see my daughter for who, and what she is, and that Sharaia would have comfort and strength to persevere through the day.

As the day wore on, the audition stakes seemed to get even higher. Sharaia made it through two rounds of cuts, as they whittled the potential Judy’s and Betty’s down to only six girls after about eight hours of rehearsing. Sharaia would sneak calls into me, and tell me with pride how well she performed in a scene, or sang a song. I was finally able to pick her up at about 10pm. And we sat in the parking lot of a local fast food place as she binged on a burger after being too sick, and nervous to eat anything all day. She was excited, and hopeful. I was excited and hopeful for her.

The Other Show Kid

Around the same time, my son, Craig Scott, was auditioning for a lead role in the CYT Fredericksburg production of “Junie B. Jones”. He is another very talented, and totally adorable kiddo in my quiver.

Craig Scott loves football, running, breakdancing, and tap. He is incredibly compassionate, and wants to help everyone he meets. He sort of fell into the whole CYT-thing because of his older sister, and has reluctantly accepted he is amazing at what he does. Because of some scheduling, CYT was going to be putting on back-to-back shows. Thus, both of my kiddos were auditioning right at the same time. Craig Scott’s story, however, is very different. Relatively few boys take time out of sports to sing, and dance. I am blessed with a husband that thinks it is just as masculine to perform a kick-ball-change as a split-back offense, so he did not bat an eyelash when we said we were forsaking travel football for Junie B. Jones. Always a jokester, Craig Scott turned in a very funny monologue during auditions as he tried out for Sheldon Potts.  And, in what I have found to be a true theater/show business reality, Craig was one of only six boys called back to fill-in the leading male roles. His callbacks were much shorter, and a little more fun, as the female hopefuls rotated between the boys auditioning to read their parts, or sing songs. And before he left, Craig Scott felt very solid about landing at least some named-part in the production. Both of my babies seemed destined to get what they were hoping for.

The Final Call

The days of the final Cast List were fast approaching after Callbacks. Again, this list is posted late in the evening the day after Callbacks have been completed, and the production team toils over who stays, and who goes from the final list. We sat at our electronic devices and refreshed the webpage repeatedly until the lists were finally posted for each show. We hooted and hollered as we found out Craig Scott was cast as Sheldon Potts. We waited with anticipation to see which part Sharaia would receive. As the cast list finally came out, we broke into tears. Sharaia had not obtained the part of Betty Hanes. She was not named as the understudy. She was not a Featured Dancer. She was cast in some ensemble roles in the play. Out of the six girls who made it to the end, only she and one other were relegated to the Ensemble. My girl was devastated. I was devastated for her.

How should a parent handle the moment when a child does not achieve their goals? I have seen, and participated in many of the examples. I will admit I cursed heftily under my breath when I saw the list in the other room. How could they?! How could they not see her for the fabulous, wonderful, “perfectly perfect in every way” girl that I did? Sharaia cried. She may have even stomped. I certainly know she asked me why, and I couldn’t answer. It was a tough night. My son asked if he could ask to give up his role in his play so that Sharaia could get a leading role in hers. I fell in love with him just a bit more after that, but had to tell him that was not the way the world worked. You couldn’t sacrifice yourself to give to another…

And then I realized how wrong I really was.

For me life is often made up of two forms of consciousness. The first is me fumbling along trying to make it through the day, remember which kid has to go where, whether there is something in the fridge I can make into a passable dinner, and the name of the child to which I am currently speaking on the first try. The second, and decidedly more rare, is that moment of absolute clarity when I realize the Lord is trying to teach me the most perfect something, and I actually hear it. That is what this moment turned into for me.

The first thing I realized was that there are so many lists we all try to get onto so very frequently in this life: friend lists, party lists, job lists, house lists, calling lists, credit lists, school lists. Lists that go on and on. But there is really only one list that matters. And, believe it or not, it IS a Callback list; although not the kind you may think. At the end of the day -the end of this life- the only list I want my children to be on is a Callback list from the Lord. I want them to “shew thee my faith by my works…[for] faith without works is dead” (James 2:18-20). Craig Scott had offered himself up in return for his sister. Sharaia had comforted countless friends as heartbroken as she was. None of us had fallen victim to anger, or backbiting. Because the second thing I realized is that every other list forces us to be judged on something superficial. And while some are more worthy than others, only God can judge our hearts. And who do I want my Father in Heaven to say my children are? Ultimately, my greatest hope for them is that he will look at them and say to them as in the parable of the talents, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things” (Matthew 25:21). Craig Scott had achieved his goal. He had made the list for which he was hoping. But Sharaia, like so many of us in our life, had not. Not yet, anyway. Did that make her less? Was she less talented, less graceful, less wonderful than those other girls? Absolutely not. She simply had not achieved her goal yet. My second realization was that goals, roles, and lists come and go in this life. They change with the times, and the seasons. But our goal of Returning to our Father in Heaven should never go away. We may be Betty Hanes for a moment, but we are children of God for an eternity. And we should seek to do His will “in all times, and in all things, and in all places” as we stand as witnesses to God, and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. As I spoke to Sharaia and Craig Scott about their most essential Callback list in this life, I do not know that it lessened the sting for what was not achieved. But what I do know is that it re-focused our attention to the things which matter most, and helped re-instill in my daughter her infinite potential and worth as a Daughter of God.

Craig Scott auditioned for a part last night in “Willy Wonka”. Sharaia is busy working on her Original Oratory for Forensics this season, and honing her dancing and singing skills to try out for “Shrek” in the Spring. But in the end, I am not completely absorbed with which role they will, or will not get. Mostly because I already know whose list they are already on.

 Love,

Mama

[dpargyle]

Radio Free Lucy: Episode #1: Out from the Wardrobe Transcript

[RADIO ARGYLE INTRO STING - This 5 & a half second sting involves: the fumbling of a needle onto vinyl, the low murmur of vinyl crackle, what sounds like some sort of scifi engine ramping up, the rumble of thunder paired with a distinct sonar blip - then finally - a high-pitched female youth with a British accent (filtered through the subtle distortion of a phone/radio line) saying “Radio Argyle”]

[Lead In Background Music FADES IN: It’s playing soft & low in background as lead in rolls on. Lead In Music - it’s “Arrival” by How the Night Came - an upbeat, brief, acoustic guitar piece]

[Podcast VO - Lucy. A youthful female British voice]

Welcome! You lovely lunatics & worthwhile weirdos! This! is Radio Free Lucy.

[Lead In Music FADES OUT.]

[Episode Background Music 1 FADES IN: - it’s “Fluidscape” by Kevin MacLeod, which serves as a slightly hopeful, slightly ambient underhum for the piece.]

Episode One: Out from the Wardrobe

~

Hi.

I’m not sure how to say any of this out loud, yet. This Radio Argyle Bot player, which is a modified text to speech robot voice, will serve my purposes best. She’ll be clearer than my, actual, garbled disabled, boy, voice. Anyway, here goes. This isn’t going to come out perfectly, sequentially, or even logically, but I hope it’ll come out, me.

This isn’t a persuasive essay. You’ll either listen, & at least try to understand, or you won’t. I know a lot of what I say may be shocking, & it’ll definitely take some time to adjust to, even for me, but all I’m asking, is that you try.

This is more a memoir, or a prose poem. & poetry is flowers. Beautiful. But they can, & they will, cut you with their sharp pointy thorns. Truth, like the gods, can be a fickle bitch. She can hurt you. So please, be patient with me, while I bleed here before you, for a bit. I also ask that you make yourself comfortable, & listen to this in a safe space, away from prying ears.

Thank you.

While my primary purpose here will be to explain to, you, what’s truly been going on, with me, I think it will also be very helpful for me, to explain to, myself, what’s been going on with me. In as concise & as clear a manner, as I possibly can. Conciseness, however, has never really been my strong suit.

So you might as well buckle up, buttercups. Shit gets heavy from here.

*

I’ve always had a pretty contentious relationship with my body. When you drive a wheelchair, essentially as big as a Warhammer forty k mech, into the first day of suburban kindergarten, you realize pretty quickly, you’ll always be set apart. Not only in all, Their minds, but also always in, your own mind, as well. This isolation has lasted my whole life, & increasingly in my adulthood. Please understand, I don’t blame anyone. It’s just been a fact of my life. Family has been a boon, but family can’t, & shouldn’t be, my entire social circle.

The thing is, this isolation isn’t merely social. It’s mobility wise. If something is off my local light rail line, I simply can’t get to it, without extensive help. It’s logistics-wise. If people want to hang out at night, which let’s be honest, that’s when most people are available, I can’t participate due to having people who take care of me working at specific schedules & times, which means I have to get in bed way before any fun parties, even think, about ramping up. Not that I’m much of a partier, but perhaps there’s a reason for that. & now I’m too old for any of that shit, anyway!

This segregation. yes, segregation! Has also affected my career prospects, which I won’t get into here, as I no longer dream of labor. Just know that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to make any sort of consistent money in this life, even after graduating college, & jumping through all the world’s nonsensical hoops, & playing along with their games, which have all been rigged from the start. In the end, though, I’ve always wanted to earn my way through my creative endeavors alone, so that’s why I’ve been working so hard on my podcasts lately. I don’t know how much I can earn from them, but I’m giving it my best go.

More painfully, the world’s reaction to my disability has deeply affected my romantic prospects, too. Not just because a lot of people refuse to even see me as a sexual being, or are repulsed by my disabled monstrousness, or whatever, but because, even if I did happen to meet a girl who reciprocated any kind of romantic slash sexual feelings, if we did get married, the bastard government would slash my healthcare entirely, immediately rendering me completely financially dependent in that relationship. I’m not saying monogamous marriage is the only valid endpoint to any successful romantic relationship, but these cobwebbed bureaucracies, running all our lives like great evil capitalist elder squids, have severely limited my choices in life. I’m not even legally allowed to save up more than two thousand dollars in my own bank account, before they start slashing my funds. I have, increasingly, felt as if my life is not my own.

So if I ever do get married, it will be an elopement & the government will be none the wiser. I have no use for illegitimate certificates from the, equally, illegitimate Powers That Be, anyway. The holy union will be between myself, the woman in question, & the gods, alone. Though these days I’m beginning to realize, a polyamorous situation, like a polycule, or a commune, or something, would be healthier & a stronger support network for someone in my situation. We were always meant to live communally. It’s what our noble ancestors once did. Hashtag every day we stray further…

Anyway…

I am getting slightly off topic. What I’m trying to illustrate with these examples is how the world, & my experience within it, have severely affected how I see my body, & how I see myself as a person with any value to give, in, that body. It’s hard not to start feeling a little bit like Quasimodo, thrust high up in the bell tower, shunned from all the realms of mortal men, after a while.

My whole life, I’ve tried to make the best of it. I survived by carving a distinction, in my head, between my mind & my body. I saw myself. & then I saw my body. They were always these two bifurcated things. Weirdly, I always saw my mind as sort of like those hilarious detached floating Presidential heads from Futurama. I found my worth, not in my two headed boy, circus freak in a jar body, but in my mind. I was a brain, & nothing more. I was my words. My wit. My passions. My epic, ineffable, nerdery. I could rely on that. I could never rely on my Judas body. I hated it. I still do.

I’ve never told anyone this, but back when my babby sister was born, when I was fifteen, I remember so vividly the first time I saw her precious face. I remember the moment like it was yesterday, because, well, obviously, because it was the first time I met this person who I knew, even back then, was immediately one of the most important people in my life, but also because, I remember the first thought I had when I gazed upon, the infinite galaxies of her kaleidoscope eyes. “How could anyone so beautiful, be related to me?”

I hated myself for thinking this, because it was otherwise this transcendental, celebratory, jubilant moment, & I had to go & make it all about me, at least in my head. So I never told anyone about it. I just let my self-hatred fester. I pushed it down. I endured. As men are expected to do. Stiff upper lip, always look on the bright side of life, etcetera etcetera.

I built this happy, plucky, go get ‘em! persona, who doesn’t want, nor need, the finer things in life. The finer things, like happiness, non-digital community, & self-actualization. I don’t remember the last time I was happy. Maybe it was back in college, but even then, I struggled mightily. I’ve suffocated myself so long, I’ve forgotten how to breathe. But sometimes, even drowning folk get sick of being wet!

I don’t tell you all this so you can pity me, or feel guilty about not seeing this, because first of all, I’m a phenomenal actor, & a seasoned liar, so how could you possibly know what lay beneath? Pity & guilt are pretty useless, in my experience, in any case. I tell you all this, so you can truly understand where I’m coming from.

Life is too short to keep concealing the things I really want. The things I really need. The things I really am.

For the last several years, with increasing intensity, urgency, excitement, curiosity, &, ultimately, hope, I’ve begun to realize some things about myself. Well, one thing about myself, really.

Holy shit, time to be brave, for once.

[Lucy inhales FX]

Sometimes. OK. a lot of the time. I wish I was a girl. A woman.

The yearnings began to coalesce six years ago, when I was. Uh. You know. fantasizing, as one does, & suddenly I was imagining myself as a girl. It scared the ever, loving, shit, out of me. I immediately stopped.

It scared me so much, because…

I liked it.

The thought excited me. In this fantasy, I was still disabled. But I was desirable! Girl me finally felt, OK, in my body. I was happy in my body! I could celebrate my body! It felt like coming up for air. It felt like freedom. Like some sort of, & forgive my nerdy metaphors, they are all I have, Pacific Rim mech pilots style, drift compatibility. At long last, both my body & my mind hooked together seamlessly. But it was just a dream, right? A fantasy? A fetish! I’ve felt so few moments of, genuine, freedom in my life, I instinctively crawled back to my comfortable, miserable, corner.

I tried to push it out of my mind. It wasn’t real if I didn’t think about it, right?. Denial has kept fossilized empires running, simply on calcified inertia, for hundreds of years! I could do that in the comparatively short amount of time I had left on this dumb rock, right? But my denial couldn’t last. I couldn’t just put these intrusive thoughts out of my mind that simply.

I tried to tell myself I was just a creep. Some sort of pervert with a fetish. I was appropriating trans girls’ experiences, & obviously making light, of very real, incredibly terrifying, hardships they go through in this world. I’ve done a lot of research & soul searching since then, but back then I still believed the lie, in order to be trans, you absolutely had to have had gender dysphoria as a kid. & I didn’t think I had. But upon further reflection, I realize I’ve had dysphoria, my whole life. I just thought all these feelings were what being alive felt like, for everyone!

I grew up in an Evangelical Christian household, so I was incredibly sheltered as a kid. I didn’t even know trans folk could even be a thing! until I was 21, & in college & literally face to face with a friend, who got called a name of a different gender they no longer went by. I asked them, “why did that person just call you by that name?” & they graciously explained they were trans, & that they had just been ‘dead named,’ as the community calls it. In retrospect, they were being incredibly generous with me, considering the mental violence. yes, violence, which had just been wrought upon them, right before my eyes.

As you can probably imagine, that conversation blew. My. Freaking. Mind. It was like some scifi crap – like the trill symbionts from Star Trek Deep Space Nine, etcetera, who always made my mind go brrr, but in a very good way, back when I couldn’t quite verbalize, or even admit to myself in my own mind, why even the thought of them made me feel. A certain something I didn’t even have words for, at the time.

But talking to this trans person was in the actual, flesh & blood, realm! I knew about Drag Queens, & cross dressers, thanks to that dusty library copy of, Rocky Horror Picture Show, my brother & I hid from our parents, which I only vaguely understood anyway, but changing your actual, GENDER? In real life? Wizard shit!

At the time of this college era conversation, I was still drowning in Evangelicalism, Patriarchy, chauvinism. all of the things, but despite all this, I remember this moment so vividly too. Because my friend, who had just been violently dead named, was leaning across the table from me, being honest with me, open with me, almost begging me to accept them, & I realized right there, right then. This was a human fucking being. & even though my mind had just been BLOWN, & I was still HIGHLY CONFUSED, & terrifyingly curious, I could be a cowardly dickhead, or I could follow the path of love. True love, not White Jesus Love, (TM). & that night? That night, I chose love. & I’m so freaking glad I did.

Looking back on it, this moment turned out to be one of the first bricks I tore down in the Tower of Babel, that had been my Evangelical Faith. I was still a sexist, phobic, (of everything!), clown at the time. I still had a lot of deep character building & reworking to do, far down within my soul. I still do. I always will. Self-improvement is a life-long, internal battle. but this became one of the first steps.

Which have led me all the way to here. Staring down into the chasm of femininity. I am scared, but determined. I am leaning across the table from you, but I will not beg for your acceptance. I’ll have it or I won’t. & we’ll just have to live with that, won’t we?

I still posture, at least somewhat, masculine. I still often get my head shaved, down to the skull, like I’m going off to war. Because, living in my body has often felt like a war, to be quite honest. So I try to be masculine. No frills. Surgical. Spartan. Because I’ve been terrified if I grow my hair any longer, people will, know. My judging parents will, know. The true believers in this red as a rash state will, know. & what if they all, knew, the truth?

Would they hate me?

Would they hate me if they knew, I yearn to grow my hair out long, & dye it blonde, or pink, or blonde & pink, like a total badass? Would they turn their heads in shame if I wore cute makeup & sweaters, & not wear the same scruffy football hoodie & T-shirt combo I’ve been wearing, every day, since I was fifteen?

Truth be told, I hate wearing men’s clothing. I’ve always hated it. Especially male dress up clothes. The jacket & tie? The monkey suit you wear, for getting choked by the noose of always looking like every other mediocre asshole dying, a little more each day, in some dark dungeon of a cubicle?

I don't want to be mediocre anymore. I want to be. fucking. spectacular.

Look. I know how hard it is in this society for disabled people to be seen as sexy. As desirable. Clothes never fit right because they are often not made for us. They’re always cockeyed, or ruffled, or simply utilitarian. But damn it! I want to be sexy! I want to be desirable! I want to be lovely! Not just for other pretty girls, (though for them too, obviously!), but for me. For my confidence. For my self-worth. For my fulfillment, & happiness.

I no longer seek the dullness of masculine sexiness, either. Muscles, in my honest opinion, are wasted on dudes. I don’t want to wear anything with lots of buttons, either. I never have. My hands aren’t great at working them, anyway. For the last few years, I’ve made a whole index of feminine clothes I like the look of on Tumblr. I want to wear girly jeans, skirts, dresses, & on, & on. I want to experiment with jewelry & makeup & nail polish.

I don't want to live in a box anymore. I want to live in a curve. I want to, be, the curve. I want to be the fire, & the twinkling lights &, the hair on the wind, & the giggle on the grass. I don't want my stupid testosterone holding back my tears. I want to weep, & laugh, & LIVE! I know it sounds like I want to become a manic pixie dream girl, or something. But. Like. Why the hell not? Girls can be whoever the hell they want to be!

I’m tired of sublimating everything. I’m tired of holding back what I mean. Holding back who I really am. I’m done with the mask. Give me the cape, & the show. Give me the whole damn theater, & I’ll light up the world.

Though, look, just because I want to be more femme, does not mean I want to immediately, if ever, wear pink layer cake dresses like I just stepped off the carriage from Versailles, or somewhere. A lot of this is going to be an adjustment period. For everyone. I still love a lot of traditionally masculine things. For example, I’ll always love my Packers. (That’s the Green Bay Packers, who play American football, by the way, for those who thought I may have been referring to the, other, kind of packers, trans masculine folk sometimes use.) Again, I want to reiterate. I’m still going to be me. Just new & improved.

Over the last few years, I’ve also come to realize I’m not, entirely, alienated from my body. In fact, there’s parts of my body I’ve always had affection for. I’ve spent the last twenty nine years, (since I was three), sat in a wheelchair every day, eight to twelve hours a day. As a result of this, my growth has been stunted. So, I'm five feet nothing basically. To be honest, I've always liked being short.

Also due to my disability, (but probably also as a result of my genetics), I have small, delicate hands & feet. I've always loved them, too. I've often been complimented on my feminine eyelashes, & my thick hair, (usually by jealous girls), & my hair grows faster than a chia pet! I’ve liked those aspects of my physical body.

I understand to be femme, & or feminine, you don't need to have any of these attributes. That would make a boring ass world, no doubt. These are just, 'traditionally,' feminine attributes. & the parts of myself I've always liked, are, in fact, girly. Again, in the, 'traditional,' sense of the word. I am, of course, qualifying all this, however, due to thirty two years of drowning in patriarchy, & beauty standards, & racism, & fatphobia, & just a whole bunch of nonsense. That's all bull, obviously. Femme is whatever we make of it.

Along with preferring these, more, traditionally, feminine, aspects of my physical body, I have also always preferred the company of women in general. I always felt more comfortable with them. Not just because of my attraction to them, but because I’ve never found their presence anywhere near as exhausting, or demanding, as the presence of men, at least in large groups. Perhaps this is a biased assessment, & the only reason I feel this way is because women, & girls, have always clocked me as male, & therefore never involved me in the infamous vicious backbiting, of their group politics.

Even so, women, on the whole, have always seemed, softer, to me, in every way. With men, especially in groups, there’s always this endless jostling, this never ending posturing! There can never be two male lions in the pride, two tigers in the cage. You must always, always! PROVE YOURSELF! & FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT to assert dominance. What a weary way of life. Meanwhile, I always just wanted to talk, & laugh, & hug, & be affectionate, & be myself. I suppose I was yearning for something I could neither have, nor ever, be, as a man.

The way in which I have always related to women, I realize now, has often been in a quite feminine way. I’ve always like girls. I’ve always, loved, girls. I had my first crush when I was five. At least on a non-fictional girl, anyway. (More on my first fictional crush, which occured even earlier, if you can believe it, a bit further along in this mini manifesto.)

I was fascinated with girls. Obsessed, with them. Enthralled, by them! Not just because I found them pretty, or beautiful, or captivating, though there was always these aspects to it all, humming hungrily in the background, but I hungered for other things I saw in them, too. Subtler things. The way girls moved through the world. What soft, heavenly, potent, magic! I wished I had even one ounce of their fairy dust. It was, & is still, intoxicating.

I didn’t always dream of making love to them, though there was quite a bit of that, admittedly. I yearned for them in less carnal ways, as well. For their companionship. Love. Trust. Affection. I was always entranced by the ways in which they navigated the world. With a dignity & strength men could never hope to match. (They don’t have, THE RANGE!) & then when women put on ARMOR? Holy shit, HEART EYES! It was like, they were almost, underdogs, in the patriarchy.

As a disabled kid, I knew what it was to be an underdog. I saw me in them, & them in me. I'm not saying being disabled & a woman are equivalent in this society, they are most certainly not, obviously. But I could, sympathize, with being seen as less capable than I actually was. Still can. Every day of my life.

Also, from my teenager hood all the way up through my long & lonely years, I had this very irritating habit of falling in love with sapphics. Which is, to be honest, kind of devastating, when you are under the impression you are a dude. But once you realize you certainly are, not, a dude, things begin to really click into place for this aspect of your sexuality. I kept crushing on lesbians & the like, because I, am, one!

Duh!

Speaking of sexuality, & please bear with me if this makes you uncomfortable, I’ve been realizing I have always, actually, related to my sexuality, & therefore my body, in a feminine manner. I’ve never really been interested in pornography, or other titillation, which panders to the assumed male gaze. This genre of cinema’s incessant focus on men’s pleasure bores the hell out of me, to be quite frank. But show me genuine female pleasure, or erotica focused on feminine sexuality, especially if the arousal is conjured by another woman, & I am, all about, that good time. Not in the leering sort of way, either, like, “oooo look, two girls making out, that’s, soooo, hot!” I never imagined myself watching them. I always imagine myself, being, them.

Lately, I’ve even come to accept that I long to relate, & indeed do, now, relate to sex, as a woman. The thought of having sex as a man, with male parts, doesn’t hold as much interest, excitement, or fulfillment, for me, as the thought of making love as a woman, with female parts. It’s the difference between machine-like mechanics, & almost, animalistic, apotheosis. I don’t know how I’ll ever get there. But I will.

OK, the really sexy times confession session is over. Apologies if I over shared there, but I felt it was necessary. If not for you, then certainly for me, in my quest to become more honest with myself.

I’m a writer, & a lover of stories, so I find a lot of solace, strength, & truth in fiction. The deep lore, the myths, the characters. They all matter. So much. Long past the moment the poets who wrote them, turned, to dust. So that’s why I’ve chosen a name for myself, straight out of fiction.

A brave girl who believed.

Queen Lucy the Valiant.

The character who has always been closest to my heart, & who always will be.

Now. Look. I know she comes out of C S Lewis, & The Chronicles of Narnia, & therefore there is, A LOT, of baggage wrapped up in all that. The particular flavor of Christianity, forever entangled with the narrative & thematics. My boy Clive’s, GAPING, blind spots, specifically when it came to the portrayal of a faux Islamic world, or girls & women, particularly at the time he wrote those books. But. Look. I have a lot of baggage too. These are still my roots.

Narnia were the first books I read when I was three. Or listened to the abridged audio versions, anyway. The first fictional character I ever fell hard for? Lucy Pevensie. I told you. I’ve always, loved, girls. The first fictional character I aspired to be like? Lucy. Not because she was a warrior. But because she was still the bravest, despite being the littlest. Perhaps, because, she was the littlest.

[Episode Background Music 1 (MacLeod’s “Fluidscape”) FADES OUT.]

[Lead Out Music (Instrumental) FADES IN.]

She was always the best of them. Lucy believed when the others could not. Would not. She was the first to go to Narnia. She had seen the next world, & it was nothing short, of spectacular. Lucy believed in its wonders. In its endless promises. Lucy had hope. Sure, it was all meant as some sort of stilted Christian allegory. But I’m taking what I want, & leaving the rest. Because, I believe her story speaks to something universal. Lucy believed in, a BETTER, world. A BETTER, tomorrow. The name ‘Lucy,’ originally meant, ‘as of light,’ or, ‘born at daylight, or the dawn.’ She is the light bringer. & that’s who I aspire to be. The girl full of hope. Belief. Faith. Maybe not in any single church, or doctrine, but in love. In that, BETTER, tomorrow.

So here’s me. Rolling out from the darkness of my old wardrobe.

Lucy.

I’ve been terrified to talk about all this for the past several years, as I already feel like a burden, with all my disability stuff, & then I lost my job, & then the pandemic happened, & then, & then.

But I can’t live as I was living. Not anymore. I hope you can understand that.

I still don’t know how any of this will work. How my future will look. How I’ll figure out how to scrape the money together, on my own, I won’t be asking for any money for any of this, to transition in a safe manner, with all my other medical crap. I don’t know how my caregivers, throughout my life, will react. I don’t know how, anyone, will react. All I can control, right now, is myself, & how I need to be, myself.

My babby sister came out as bi this year, at least to the immediate family, & her self-assurance, & joy, have given me hope. I want to learn how to be brave like that again. Like my sister, before me.

Like Lucy.

~

[Episode Lead Out Music FADES IN: - playing soft & low in background as lead out rolls on. Lead Out Music - first the instrumental & then the vocal versions of Josh Woodward’s “Words Fall Apart” - which is a piano piece - almost a lullaby - featuring the following words:

“We're here at the start, where the words fall apart

Where language is lost in the wind

The syllables sway, in an ancient ballet

The meaningless sounds that we sing

Sleep, baby, sleep, baby

Sleep till the feeling is gone

Sleep, baby, sleep, baby

Everything's new in the dawn

The faces and sounds, where the truth goes to drown

In the deepest expanse of the sea

Our dreams and our hopes are concealed in codes

And no one would dare hold the key

Sleep, baby, sleep, baby

Sleep till the feeling is gone

Sleep, baby, sleep, baby

Everything's new in the dawn

Everything's new in the dawn”]

Lucy VO: Radio Free Lucy, is written by, Lucy Argyle, & performed by Lucy, a Radio Argyle Bot Player. Join Radio Argyle’s Patreon at patreon dot com slash Radio Argyle. All one word.

Music in this episode included “Arrival” by How the Night Came. Find their music at the Free Music Archive.“Fluidscape,” by Kevin MacLeod. You can find their music at Incompetech dot com. &, both the instrumental & lyrical versions of Josh Woodward’s “Words Fall Apart”. You can find their music at the Free Music Archive, Spotify, iTunes, Google Play, etcetera.

Other episode credits, as well as free transcripts for the show, are available on my Tumblr, where my user name is Radio Free Lucy. Also all one word. Simply search the hashtag Radio Free Lucy on my blog there & you’ll find them.

I’ll be back. Soon! Until then, I send you all, my love & strength. Take care, you lovely lunatics, & worthwhile weirdos.

[Lead Out Music eventually FADES OUT.]

[RADIO ARGYLE OUTRO STING - This 7 second sting involves the intro sting, mostly in reverse: the scifi engine powering down, the high-pitched British girl saying “Radio Argyle” - and then the needle fumbling off the vinyl - into radio silence…]

EPISODE CREDITS:

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(patreon.com/radioargyle)

Muse Tier Patrons:

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Music (All Edited):

“Arrival” by How the Night Came. Find their music at the Free Music Archive.

“Fluidscape” by Kevin MacLeod is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 license. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

Source: http://incompetech.com/music/royalty-free/index.html?isrc=USUAN1100393

Artist: http://incompetech.com/

“Words Fall Apart” (Lyrical & Instrumental Versions) by Josh Woodward: https://freemusicarchive.org/music/Josh_Woodward/Addressed_to_the_Stars_1995

Sound FX (All Edited):

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One Of Afghanistan’s First Women Air Force Pilots Is Living In Exile In Florida

TAMPA, Florida — Sitting outside a sidewalk café on the waterfront in Tampa, a light breeze making for one of those perfect fall afternoons, is a feminist icon.

You might not recognize her — and the tourists eating ice cream and skateboarding kids certainly didn’t — but Niloofar Rahmani is one of the best-known Afghan women in the world.

That’s because Rahmani, 28, shot to fame in 2013 after she became the first woman to pilot a fixed-wing jet in Afghanistan’s air force. Photographs of her in dark aviator sunglasses, with a scarf loosely covering her black hair, went viral across the world. Look at what the women of Afghanistan can do, the pictures seemed to scream.

Niloofar Rahmani, 23, Afghanistan’s first female pilot to serve in the air force since the fall of the Taliban.

08:39 AM – 14 Apr 2015

For Rahmani, it should have been a time of triumph. After all, she had dreamed of flying a plane since she was a little girl — however impossible that might have seemed to a young woman growing up in a conservative society.

But in the years since, her dreams have all but fallen apart. She has been accused of desertion, of acting improperly for an Afghan woman, and she and her family have received hundreds of death threats — some from anonymous trolls, some even from members of her own extended family. As Rahmani became more successful as a pilot and more famous, the threats against her multiplied until her life in Afghanistan became unbearable.

Rahmani’s family has been forced to move again and again, leaving behind the house in the capital, Kabul, that her family had lived in for generations. Her father lost his job because his employer saw the threats as a liability; her siblings couldn’t find work. Rahmani ended up having to cover her face with a niqab just to leave the house.

After years of living in hiding with her family, Rahmani — who prided herself on never giving a damn what anyone thought of her — did something she never believed she’d have to do: She fled.

Rahmani’s story is a testament to the cost born by the women in Afghanistan whom the West has elevated as feminist heroes. As the US negotiates with the Taliban in hopes of a peace deal, women’s rights have been largely ignored, and women across the country face an uncertain future.

It’s not as if Rahmani ever really wanted to become a feminist hero — she just wanted to be a pilot. Now, she believes her only path forward lies in the US, where she sits in administrative limbo waiting for her life to begin again.

Eve Edelheit for BuzzFeed News

When the US invaded Afghanistan and ousted the Taliban from control in 2001, it ushered in a period of tentative hope for women, who were able to recapture some of their most basic freedoms, like going to school and joining the civil service. But those gains came at a heavy price. Women leaders in the country routinely endure attempts on their lives, death threats, and more.

Rahmani is no exception.

Sitting beside her sister at the café in Tampa last month, Rahmani wore her long hair loose and a black floral dress. Most of her face was covered — by a big pair of sunglasses, even if they weren’t the aviators she’d like to be wearing right now.

Rahmani has been living in Tampa since the US granted her asylum in 2018, while her sister Afsoon is still seeking asylum. Rahmani said she might be safe now, but it’s a hollow feeling. No longer able to fly, she works as a translator between the three languages in which she is fluent: Farsi, Dari, and English.

Rahmani dreams of flying planes again; this time for the US Air Force. To do that, she would have to become a citizen first, and, as it’s unclear how long that might take, she worries that her skills will decline in the meantime.

More importantly, her parents and most of her siblings remain in South Asia. (Rahmani wouldn’t say exactly where, out of fear for their safety.) Their support for her has never wavered, but because of the constant barrage of threats and violence, they’re still scared for their lives.

“It never goes away. Ever,” said Rahmani. “I thank God that I am safe, but always, half of my mind is still thinking about them.”

“My path, since I was born, has been difficult,” she said. “Kids here have so much. I never had that kind of freedom. I never got the chance to feel like one of those kids.”

Rahmani talked about the state of women’s rights in Afghanistan, bouncing from an explanation of social movements through the country’s history to interpretations of the Qur’an. Her arguments, which she makes eloquently in English, her third language, barely conceal the anger of a woman who has spent her entire life being underestimated.

But still she occasionally wondered if she was somehow at fault for what has happened to her and her family.

“Sometimes I doubt myself … I wonder if I did something wrong. Did I deserve to be treated that way?”

Eve Edelheit for BuzzFeed News

Rahmani was the first woman fixed-wing pilot in the Afghan air force.

Rahmani was born in the midst of a civil war in the 1990s. The day her mother went into labor, she said, the building beside her family’s house in Kabul was bombed. There was no way to get to the hospital, so she was born at home.

Shortly after, the family fled to Pakistan. Rahmani came to learn about her home country through her parents’ stories of the ‘70s, when many women had relatively more freedom to dress the way they wanted and participate in public life. Her father grew up hearing Russian jets flying through the skies above his city. He had dreamed of being a pilot, but when he was young, he lacked money to bribe his way into a coveted job in the air force. Instead, he became a civil engineer. But he taught his children about planes and the way they worked.

In 2000 — the last full year of Taliban rule before the US invasion — Rahmani’s family returned to Kabul. She saw a country she couldn’t recognize from her father’s stories. Hardly any women could be seen walking the streets. One day her sister fell sick and had to see a doctor. Her mother tried to take her, but she forgot to put on socks under her sandals. An officer from the Taliban’s notorious religious police caught and beat her.

“When she came home, my mom was bleeding all across her feet,” Rahmani said. “I felt that this is not my country.”

The Taliban forbade girls from attending school, so Rahmani’s parents taught the children at home. When the US invaded, she heard the same sounds her father grew up with as a boy, but this time it was the roar of US jets. Rahmani, who was 9 at the time, knew she should have been afraid, but she wasn’t.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off the sky,” she said. “I had never been on a plane. I was so excited by the arc of the jet trails, the noise they made.”

Standing on the same balcony her father had once stood on as a boy, she watched them soar through the sky.

Shah Marai / Getty Images

Rahmani in Kabul when she was 23.

In 2010, when Rahmani was 18, she went to apply for officer training school in Kabul. Even applying was bold, but she wasn’t thinking about gender equality. Mostly, she was thinking about flying planes.

It didn’t exactly go smoothly.

The Afghan air force’s doctors tried multiple times to deem her physically unfit to fly, she said, but eventually she was accepted into the officer training program. She was the only female pilot candidate, and said she was belittled endlessly. There wasn’t even a women’s bathroom. “The men treated me like I would fail,” she said. “I was just 18 at the time. I tried to ignore it.”

She had no choice, she said, but to be twice as good as her male classmates, getting up extra early to study and ignoring their taunts.

“They always told me I’d fail because I am a woman, and because I am weak I would crash the plane and kill myself,” she said.

When she doubted herself, she’d call her father, who had always supported her.

The hard work ultimately paid off: She was one of only ten in her class selected to become fixed-wing pilots.

The night before her first solo flight, she was too excited to sleep, her heart pounding in her chest. When she got into the cockpit and felt the wheels lift off the ground, it was as if the weight on her chest had lifted too.

“I felt like nobody could reach me up there. Like I was on Mars,” she said.

Most of the other men on the base, she thought, had hoped she would fail. She had proven them wrong.

Rahmani’s flight made headlines and her accomplishment was hailed in the US as evidence of progress for the country’s women, and photos of her flew around the world. She remembers feeling “amazing” and powerful.

Other pictures of Rahmani started to show up on Facebook and Twitter. Some were taken out of context — like a photo that showed two US Air Force women throwing her in a pool of water. It depicted an international tradition after a pilot’s first flight but was a portrayal of an Afghan woman that many considered improper. Some speculated online that it could have been a man who had dunked her, or that she was being baptized by Christians.

Overnight, she became a public figure. The praise bolstered her, as did the thought that her fame might spur on other young girls to become pilots. She took time out to speak to girls in elementary schools about her career, wearing her uniform.

“I’m proud of that,” she said. “They’d say, ‘Oh, I saw you on TV.’”

But things soon took a dark turn. Her brother was shot at twice by militants in Kabul. The first time he escaped unharmed, but the next time he wasn’t so lucky and ended up in the hospital. From 2013, her family started receiving so many death threats that they had to move from house to house, once moving three times in a month. Rahmani stopped being able to buy vegetables at the market without attracting attention.

People would call every day to make threats — some were strangers, and others were people the family knew well. A letter arrived that bore a Taliban stamp. It said simply, “We know where you live.”

The Afghan air force did nothing to help her, Rahmani said, telling her she could quit if things were really so difficult.

But she still loved the job itself. On one mission, she saved a man’s life by flying him from the remote northern province of Kunduz to a hospital in Kabul; on another, she transported the bodies of Afghan soldiers so they could receive a proper burial. In 2015, she traveled to the US to receive an International Women of Courage Award presented by Michelle Obama, sparking another wave of press. When she returned home, her superiors didn’t even acknowledge it, she said.

“When I went home, it was like nothing had happened,” she said. “It felt like nobody had even noticed what I had achieved.”

From the outside, Rahmani’s life looked perfect — a story about a woman who had defied the odds and triumphed over patriarchy. But Rahmani felt crushed. She had gotten recognition from the White House, but her own colleagues treated her as if she were anonymous — or worse, with open contempt. She remembers these days as some of the hardest of her life.

“We tried to support Niloo, but inside we were scared too. It was hard in a different way for each of us,” said her sister Afsoon, who now lives with her in Tampa and spent years in hiding in Kabul along with the rest of the family.

In 2017, Rahmani traveled to the US for a yearlong training program for military pilots from around the world. It was a welcome break — she worked for months to earn the certification to fly a C-130, a military transport aircraft that can serve a variety of purposes.

The day she got her certificate, she called home. The sound of her father’s voice told her something was wrong.

“When can I come home?” she asked him.

Her father, who had supported her through so many years of pain and striving, sounded defeated for the first time. The family was going back to Pakistan. “I can’t live like this anymore,” he said.

“That was the moment I gave up on my career,” Rahmani said. “That was the moment I quit.”

That night, she cried herself to sleep.

Eve Edelheit for BuzzFeed News

Rahmani was granted asylum in the US after about a year of waiting — a process that was likely sped up because of her fame, said her lawyer, Kimberley Motley.

It wasn’t without its bumps though.

Soon after Rahmani filed for asylum in the US, she remembers a particularly humiliating moment when a US government bureaucrat made fun of her for not having a birth certificate. She didn’t have one, she pointed out, because she was born at home in the middle of a war, not in a hospital.

Afsoon had to flee her country for the same reason as Rahmani, but her asylum-seeking process may be longer, Motley said, because she isn’t a public figure.

The sisters have hardly a negative word to say about their adopted homeland. Afsoon’s Instagram — which she uses under a pseudonym — is full of snaps of the ocean and the Jet Skis they sometimes rent for fun. (“I love anything that goes fast,” Rahmani joked.) But Florida feels isolated compared to Kabul — you have to drive to get anywhere. And their status in the US still feels shaky.

Motley, a well-known defense attorney who has extensive experience practicing in Afghanistan, said she’d repeatedly requested that US immigration authorities expedite Rahmani’s citizenship — something they have the power to do — but has received no response.

Rahmani’s fame had been a double-edged sword, according to Motley.

“I’ve just seen so many women oppressed in Afghanistan who don’t get media attention, who are military personnel or police officers, and it’s a real struggle for them, even more so in some ways,” she said.

Rahmani is quick to say she does not blame the media attention or her supporters on social media for what happened to her — rather, she blames the people who came after her family and the Afghan military, which told the New York Times she shouldn’t receive asylum and accused her of lying about being threatened.

More than flying, now, she thinks about her father and the rest of the family she left behind. She and her sister hope to someday bring them to safety in the US.

“I feel like my life is on hold right now. I have to start from zero,” Rahmani said. “In truth I have felt alone for most of this time. I don’t want to die losing my dream for the future.” ●

Opening image: Shah Marai / AFP via Getty Images

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