#i am not very experienced with drawing scarred tissue

[psychopomperanian]

@praxieserver's Wilson Pearce generally does not like being touched, but daniel keeps insisting on sitting entirely too close

i was so indecisive about their expressions that i made an animatic that combined all the options under consideration:

[haintxblue]

also, get your fucking flu shot. i am so exhausted at seeing people who firmly believe that there's no such thing as long-term effects from any virus other than covid and get really cavalier or hand-wavey about the flu. after i had the flu around 2018 (signing out of the hospital against medical advice and refusing oxygen because i was broke, firmly convinced i was probably going to die at home gasping for air or of the fever that put me in the ER), i coughed for six months, was very sick for a year, and still have permanent throat damage (and probably lung damage too). i coughed so much i had to temporarily wear incontinence pads because i lost all my pelvic floor tone and had to do pelvic floor therapy to not piss myself. i couldn't draw a full breath for months after the coughing stopped. i had episodes where eating was difficult because the scar tissue in my throat was choking me. I couldn't yell for over a year. i used to walk five to eight miles a day and even a year and a half after the flu could barely make a mile.

i saw multiple doctors during that time period and every single one of them told me that nothing i was experiencing was unusual after a bad flu and it does, in fact, often take multiple years to recover from an especially bad flu. every single one of them told me this was not the *usual* reaction to a flu, but it wasn't *abnormal* either.

get your flu shot.

[drdemonprince]

Hey congrats on top surgery! As you get further along recovery and into scar care, I thought i’d share my experience as a bit of a cautionary tale – though feel free to ignore. My post op went pretty well, i had very little pain and i was careful with movement, but soon the scars began to thicken (not sure if keloid is technically the right term), especially on my left side (non dominant). My guess is partially due to genetics and possibly because the surgeon took off just a bit too much skin, which put more tension on the scars. My surgeon suggested steroid shots and so i did three treatments a couple weeks apart, starting about three or four months post op. This did start breaking up the scar tissue but as time went on it just kept going and went way too far, extremely severely atrophying the scars and surrounding tissue. The skin became extremely thin and fragile which made the scars stretch a ton. Not only did it ruin the results aesthetically but especially functionally. I’m probably looking at skin grafts if i ever go for a revision. I wish I’d done more research before hand and not blindly trusted my surgeon, I mean the surgery itself was ok but in hindsight she obviously was not experienced or competent enough to have administered the scar treatment, and was very arrogant and dismissive of my concerns when things started getting worse. Later I saw a dermatologist (which i should have done at the start instead) but there wasn't really anything he could do.

Wow! I am so sorry this happened to you Anon. I'd love to hear more about anything you think precipitated this that can be avoided -- or how you could first tell that a problem was starting to develop.

As you probably saw, my scars are wider on one side than the other, and in my case it's clearly because of movement. I'm not sure if you have any tips for keeping an eye out for a problem like this? I assume that everybody feels their scars "pulling" slightly when they are too active or when they extend themselves, but how far is too far, and how does one know when it starts to be a problem? I think I'm doing alright, and part of me would rather have slightly wider scars and not have to do PT from not moving my arms enough, but it seems hard to suss out where to draw the line sometimes.

[one-boring-person]

You Asked For It.

John Spartan x reader

Warnings: sexual themes heavily implied, some injury detail, swearing

Context: John has to teach the reader a few things ;)

A/n: this wasn't what I originally had in mind to write, but it happened, so here it is!

Masterlist

"Is that a punch bag?" John sounds mildly surprised as he steps in behind me, eyeing my domicile with interest. 

Glancing over at the looming shape, I smile fondly and go further into the room, calling out for the lights as I go, illuminating the poster-laden walls and memorabilia-filled shelves. I grin, gesturing to a particular wall, where a very familiar poster is stuck to the wall, the trinkets placed meticulously on the shelf well-known to the other cop.

"It is. I watched a couple of Rocky movies and got into boxing." I shrug, for once glad that my double life between Cocteau's world and Friendly's rebellion has meant my speech is more like John's.

"You like Rocky?" He questions again, turning an amused smirk on me, "You've got taste."

"Thanks." I chuckle, ignoring the flush of heat rising to my cheeks, "Do you want anything to eat or drink? I still only have the old stuff, though."

"No, I'm good, thanks. Could use the bathroom, though." He declines, removing his hat and placing it on the table to his left, leaving his stun baton with it.

"Just over there." I point to the room, smiling shyly as he thanks me and goes into it, the doors closing behind him smoothly.

Left to myself, I let out a breath I didn't realise I was holding, before I collect myself and move off towards my wardrobe of clothes, swiftly picking something out. Stripping off, I change into these clothes, feeling slightly more at ease as I throw my uniform into a pile, trying my best to calm my racing pulse. The sensations I feel with John around are new and inexplicable, nothing I've ever experienced before, despite my spending half of my life down in the sewers with men and women who didn't abide by Cocteau's rules.

Uncomfortable, I go back over to the table, picking up John's hat as I approach, carefully running my fingers over the soft fabric. It's his old beret, the one from before he was incarcerated in the cryoprison. He insists on wearing it now that our police department has been retrained into a more competent faction, saying it feels better than our own uniform caps. Touching it now, I can see why he might think that - it's one of his only links to the time he came from.

"You alright, (Y/n)?" John's rough voice interrupts my thoughts, snapping me from my reverie as I spring back, dropping the hat with a sharp swallow.

"Y-yes, sorry." I stammer, running a hand through my hair as I try to regain my composure.

John lifts an eyebrow but doesn't push it, watching as I go to the side and take out  a bottle of water, idly punching the punch bag as I step past it, the action pure instinct by now. It rattles loudly on its chain, swinging back and forth from the blow, slowly coming to a halt again as I return to the main room.

"So how long have you been boxing?" John questions me, following me and taking a seat in the square depression in the floor, watching as I sit opposite him.

"Oh, about four years? Maybe longer." I inform him, flexing my hand absentmindedly.

"Four years? Damn, you must be good." He praises, rolling his eyes when the machine by the door buzzes at the sound of his words.

Blushing, I take a sip of water before replying.

"I guess so." I chuckle, embarrassed by the focus on me.

"Is that what happened to your knuckles?" John asks me, gesturing to my hands.

"My knuckles?" I frown, confused.

"Yeah, I noticed you have quite a few scars on your knuckles." He explains, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh, right. Yes, the scars are from the boxing." I confirm, placing the bottle down to rub a finger over the ugly scar tissue, "When I started, I never used anything to protect my hands. Eventually it started to hurt, and got pretty bad, so I started wearing gloves."

He nods at this, leaning over with his own hand outstretched, glancing up at me for permission. I nod, offering my arm to him as he gets up and comes to sit beside me. Taking my hand carefully in his, he waits for me to relax into his touch before he starts to softly caress the marks, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. My breath hitches in my throat from his secure grip, my lip pulling between my teeth as I relish the feeling of having him so close to me after so long of having next to no physical contact from another person.

Having noticed my sharp intake of air, John pulls back slightly, lidded eyes flicking up to meet mine.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" He asks quietly, voice somewhat huskier now that he's in closer quarters.

"N-no, it feels...nice…" I admit, turning my face away out of embarrassment again.

After a moment, I feel his fingers gently press against my chin, my eyes widening as he tilts my face towards him.

"Don't be embarrassed, (Y/n). This kinda shit is normal." He hums, lightly caressing my jawline with his thumb as the machine across the room buzzes again.

"R-really?" I stutter, unable to think straight with the feelings his thumb is now stirring up.

"Yeah. Totally normal." He leans closer, our proximity so near now that I can breathe in his comforting scent with each breath, a sense of relaxation flooding me. 

Inexplicably, I become aware of an urge within me, my body wanting nothing more than to lean into him and press itself against his muscular frame, my hands almost itching to smooth over the taut plains of skin I know to be underneath his tight-fitting uniform. Subconsciously, I swallow dryly, still held captive by his dark stare, only now noticing how his pupils have darkened, nearly swallowing the deep brown of his irises.

"Can I kiss you, (Y/n)?" John suddenly asks, his breath fanning out over my face as he speaks, his voice dropping an octave as he watches me for a reaction.

Nerves suddenly explode within me, my eyes widening in panic.

"I, err, um…I've never…" I stumble over my words, flustered by his request, wanting to say yes, but terrified I'll disappoint him.

"You've never kissed anyone? I figured." He chuckles lowly, the sound reverberating through me as he gently reaches around to grip my hip, "I also figured you'd want to learn."

And with that, he drops his other hand to my waist and pulls me over to him, easily manoeuvring me into his lap. Squeaking in surprise, I feel my hands fall to his chest, my legs instinctively wrapping around his lithe waist as he presses himself against me. His fingers gently run over my back, one of his hands coming up to cup my face, pulling it closer to him, our lips brushing ever so lightly against each other.

Tenderly, John presses his mouth to mine, the action careful and caring, allowing me space to pull back if I want to. Unsure of what to do, I allow my instincts to take over, glad now that I watched Huxley's movie collection with her, remembering how some of the romantic scenes in those played out. Moving hesitantly with him, I kiss back, heat rushing through me as my heart pounds loudly in my ears, my hands gingerly moving up to cars through his dark hair. Smiling slightly, he pulls me closer, kissing a little harder as my eyes fall closed, pleasure flooding me, my body relaxing into John's grip. He sweeps his large hands up my body, rubbing my back reassuringly as he pulls back for air, watching me closely again.

"How was that?" He husks, licking his lips.

"Amazing…" Is all I can manage, breathless from the kiss, my heart still racing.

"Good." John grins, leaning in to kiss me again, holding me tightly against him as his lips smooth over mine, a groan escaping him as I accidentally pull on his hair, "Careful, or kissing won't be the only new thing you'll try tonight."

The promise behind his words makes me gulp, an odd desire sparking to life within me as his hands slide down to cup my ass, using it to pull me closer to his torso. Curiously, I let my hips jump forwards a little, relishing in the way his hands tighten around me and a guttural groan falls from his lips.

"Alright, you asked for it." He growls playfully, a smirk on his lips.

All of a sudden, I find myself on my back, the dark haired man hovering over me briefly before he plasters his lips over mine again, grinding his hips down onto mine. From the new sensation, I can't help the moan that escapes me, every new sensation unfamiliar to me yet so very welcome. Chuckling, John pulls away and kisses down my neck, mouthing at my pulse as he goes, drawing louder sounds from me.

"You're gonna love this." He promises me, speaking against my skin.

A low shiver goes through my body at his words.

[jackywroteabook]

6 Ways to Find Inspiration for Your Story

Inspiration… the fleeting rush of ideas that seem to only come late at night or right in the middle of important tasks. Some days, it seems that inspiration has packed up and left forever – but don’t fret! No matter how hopeless it may seem, there are always ways to get that inspiration flowing again! Here are some of my favorite ways to draw in ideas when writer’s block eats away at you:

1. Personal Experience

A little over a year ago, I joined our local community theatre. My life had never been boring by any means, but since joining the theatre, I’ve had so many incredible (and hilarious) experiences… not to mention meeting quite a few interesting characters. It was like no other place I’ve been. In a time when I was desperate for ideas, a wellspring of inspiration came rushing out of this place. Now, if I were to tell you half of the antics that have gone on behind the scenes of our shows, you would never believe me. My life has gone from fairly normal to feeling like I live in a sitcom 24/7. I’ve found that backstage fun is fuel for comedy – which is my strongpoint in writing.

Though the book I’m working on has nothing to do with theatre, the experiences I’ve found there have inspired so many scenes, characters, and plot twists. You never know when one experience could turn into your favorite idea!

2. People You Know

Don’t be afraid to write about someone close to you. Trust me, I know the awkward feeling of writing about a family member or friend, wondering what they’ll think if they find out you’ve put them into a story as a villain when they’re a hero in real life. Don’t let it stop you! If you ask any writer, they’ll tell you they do the same thing. They play matchmaker with their characters by making their best friend the love interest to the story’s heroine. Most non-writers will understand – and they’re often flattered to think you’d include them! (If you’re too worried, just ask the person. The worst they can say is no – then, you change their character just enough for them to not be suspicious and have fun with your new idea!)

One of my close friends has become one of these fun characters – we’ll call him “Liam,” which is the name for the character he’s inspired. I met Liam when I was the newest person to join a group and he was the first friend I made there. In all honesty, he’s unlike any other friend I’ve had.

Not only does he have a huge heart, but he has never lost his childlike quality. Despite seeing horrible things in his life that scar even the bravest of souls, that childlike innocence has never left him. However, he has triggers that terrify him – such as loud noises. We went out for coffee one afternoon and a wet floor sign collapsed with a loud “BANG!” that made him come out of his seat. It took four of us to calm him back down. You could see the terror in his eyes taking him back to that place of horror – but, once he was able to pull himself back, his playful energy returned. Many people don’t take him seriously because of his childlike qualities – like becoming fascinated with things most people take for granted – but he is one of the most intelligent people you’ll meet… and his fierce loyalty is a rare, wonderful trait.

Recently, I’ve had a “HELP WANTED” sign hanging from the door in my brain that leads to my writing. The main character in my novel is a spunky, outgoing, and odd girl who has been in desperate need of a best friend to help her through the events in her book – and cause a bit of fun trouble along the way. “Liam” was the perfect fit!

(I have yet to tell him about this character, because I’m planning to surprise him with it once I’ve written more of the manuscript. He’s been a huge encourager of my writing and I’m very excited to stick him in.)

3. The Internet!

When in doubt, look it up online! The internet isn’t always your enemy (though it’s quite a lovely procrastination tool). Whether you’re in need of a story idea, or just a prompt to get the words flowing, the internet can be your best friend! Many websites have millions of writing prompts right at your fingertips!

4. Don’t Forget Your Notebook!

Wherever you go, never forget to have some way of capturing an idea the minute it comes – whether you have a physical notebook or a writing app on your phone. You don’t want to come across your best inspiration yet and be caught without a way to write it down! (Though, in the unfortunate case that you don’t have anything to write with, borrow a pen from someone and find the nearest thing to write on. I’ve been known to use tissues, toilet paper, my arm, and just about anything else within reach!)

5. Go out in the world and look for things.

Looking for inspiration isn’t always as hard as it seems. As writers, we’re all guilty of staring at our screens, waiting for the perfect idea to pop into our heads. I do it more often than I’d care to admit. Inspiration doesn’t work that way.

I am the type of person who sits in a meeting and observes my colleagues – every mannerism; facial expression; even just the way they speak when proposing something versus the way they speak in normal conversation. I find the distinct nature of each person fascinating. It helps tremendously with character building!

Have writer’s block? Go out for coffee with a group of the quirkiest people you know and spend four hours letting their conversations inspire you instead of four hours smashing your head against your desk. If you don’t have a quirky group of friends, go out alone or with the person you’re closest to and eavesdrop on the most interesting group of people you can find. Listen to that elderly man in the back of the coffee shop, having a sultry and questionable conversation with his girlfriend over Skype. Watch how that quiet, teenage barista longs to talk to his female co-worker, but can’t bring himself to it. Pay attention to the Dad humming his favorite Disney songs, while his twelve-year-old daughter sits beside him, sipping hot chocolate and reading her favorite horror novel. You never know who or what could inspire your bestseller. Getting out there and experiencing all of the ideas this world has to offer is much more fun than sitting alone in frustration!

6. My final, most crucial piece of advice: Never give up!

It may seem like you’ll never find the right ideas for your novel��� but don’t give up hope. Be persistent, keep searching, and I promise you will find your inspiration!

[gogh-save-the-bees]

Self Harm Masterpost

Recently, I have recieved asks and messages about self harm; How to cope with self harming? How to stop self harming? How do i help a friend who is self harming? I’ve decided to put together this masterpost to answer these questions and more.

I’ve inserted a keep reading link because this topic can be triggering and because this post will be rather lengthy. Below I will discuss coping mechanisms for self-harm, how to help yourself/or someone else struggling with self-harm and linked online resources and apps.

Please reblog this.

Disclaimer: I am not a health professional. All the information below has came from reliable recourses or have came from my own experience of having a self harm addiction.

How to stop self harming-

Tip 1 - Confide in someone

When you are ready to get help with self harming the first step is telling someone. This can be scary and feel impossible - after keeping the secret for so long it can feel unsafe to tell someone but i promise you that the relief you will feel far outweighs the fear. It’s important to confide in someone you can trust, a best friend, a family member, a teacher or a counsellor if you have one. Telling a adult is best but if that is too daunting, stating with a friend is a good starting point and they could even help you tell a adult/health professional at a later date once you are ready.

Communicate in whichever way you feel most comfortable. If you’re too anxious to talk in person start the conversation with an email, text, or letter and then the face-to-face conversation will be easier. Don’t feel pressured to share things you’re not ready to talk about. You don’t have to show the person your injuries or answer any questions you don’t feel comfortable answering.

Remember to give the person time to process what you tell them. As difficult as it is for you to open up, it could also be difficult for the person you tell, especially if it’s a close friend or family member. The may get angry or upset, and you have to be aware of this, but know this is because they care about you and they’re anger/upset comes, most likely, from fear. 

At the start, you may feel worse but once things calm down you will feel relief.

Tip 2 - Identify your self-harm or cutting triggers

Understanding what triggers you to cut or self-harm is a important step towards recovery. Self-harm is most often a way of dealing with emotional pain.

What feelings make you want to cut or hurt yourself? Sadness? Anxiety? Anger? Loneliness? Shame? Emptiness?

Tip 3 - Find new coping mechanisms

Self-harm is a way of dealing with unpleasant feelings and difficult situations. You need to have alternative ways of coping so you can respond differently when you feel like cutting or hurting yourself.

If you self-harm to express pain and intense emotions, you could:

   Paint, draw, or scribble on a big piece of paper with red ink or paint

   Start a journal in which to express your feelings

   Compose a poem or song to say what you feel

   Write down any negative feelings and then rip the paper up

   Listen to music that expresses what you’re feeling

If you self-harm to calm and soothe yourself, you could:

   Take a bath or hot shower

   Pet or cuddle with a dog or cat

   Wrap yourself in a warm blanket

   Massage your neck, hands, and feet

   Listen to calming music

If you self-harm because you feel disconnected or numb, you could:

   Call a friend (you don’t have to talk about self-harm)

   Take a cold shower

   Hold an ice cube in the crook of your arm, leg or the palm of your hand

   Chew something with a very strong taste, like chili peppers, peppermint, or a grapefruit peel

   Go online to a self-help website, chat room, or message board

If you self-harm to release tension or vent anger, you could:

   Exercise vigorously—run, dance, jump rope, or hit a punching bag

   Punch a cushion or mattress or scream into your pillow

   Squeeze a stress ball or squish Play-Doh or clay

   Rip something up (sheets of paper, a magazine)

   Make some noise (play an instrument, bang on pots and pans)

Finding coping techiniques that work for you is important. It can be a trial and error process. Some techniques will help more than others, some will help you more depending on what emotion you are experiencing.

Warning signs that a loved one is cutting or self-harming:

Unexplained wounds or scars from cuts, bruises, or burns, usually on the wrists, arms, thighs, or chest.

Blood stains on clothing, towels, or bedding; blood-soaked tissues.

Sharp objects or cutting instruments, such as razors, knives, needles, glass shards, or bottle caps, in the person’s belongings.

Frequent “accidents.” Someone who self-harms may claim to be clumsy or have many mishaps, in order to explain away injuries.

Covering up. A person who self-injures may insist on wearing long sleeves or long pants, even in hot weather.

Needing to be alone for long periods of time, especially in the bedroom or bathroom.

Isolation and irritability.

Helping someone who cuts or self-harms:

If you’ve noticed suspicious injuries on someone close to you, or that person has admitted to you that they’re cutting you may feel unsure of  what to say? or how you can help?

First, deal with your own feelings.

You might feel shocked, confused, or even disgusted by self-harming behaviors and guilty about having these feelings. Accepting your feelings is an important first step toward helping your loved one.

Educate yourself, do some research.

The best way to overcome any discomfort or disgust you have about self-harm is to learn about it. Try an understand why they are hurting themsleves.

Don’t be judgemental.

Avoid judgmental comments and criticism—they’ll only make things worse. Remember, the self-harming person already feels distressed, ashamed and alone.

Offer support, not ultimatums.

It’s only natural to want to help, but threats, punishments, and ultimatums won’t help anyone. Express your concern and let the person know that you’re there for them whenever they want to talk or need support.

Encourage communication.

Encourage them to express what they arefeeling, even if it’s something you might be uncomfortable with. If the person hasn’t told you about the self-harm, bring up the subject in a caring, non-confrontational way: “I’ve noticed injuries on your body, and I want to understand what you’re going through.”

If the self-harmer is a family member, prepare yourself to address difficulties in the family. This is not about blame, but rather about communicating and dealing with problems in better ways that can benefit the whole family.

Resources

No Harm Done - The project is aimed at young people who are self harming or at risk of self harming, their parents and the professionals working with them. 

Harmless -  Harmless is a user led organisation that provides a range of services about self harm and suicide prevention including support, information, training and consultancy to people who self harm, their friends and families and professionals and those at risk of suicide.

SI0S -   A non-profit outreach initiative providing information and resources about self-injury to those who self-injure, those who have recovered, and those who want to help.

Calm Harm (app) -  Calm Harm provides tasks to help you resist or manage the urge to self-harm. You can make it private by setting a password, and personalise the app if you so wish. You will be able to track your progress and notice change.

Big White Wall -  Big White Wall is an online community for people who are stressed, anxious or feeling low. The service has an active forum with round-the-clock support from trained professionals. You can talk anonymously to other members and take part in group or one-to-one therapy with therapists.

Blue Ice - BlueIce is an evidenced-based app to help young people manage their emotions and reduce urges to self-harm.

Catch It - The app will teach you how to look at problems in a different way, turn negative thoughts into positive ones and improve your mental wellbeing.

Feeling Good - Relax your body and mind with a series of audio tracks designed to help you build confidence, energy and a positive mindset.

Also, facebook groups, tumblr blogs and local charities are great options!!

[cyclicallife]

(This body of work makes me very proud!)

i have found that, over the years, i have become more and more incapable of fully expressing myself with words. i fancy myself a bit of a wordsmith, however when i re-read some of my writings, as proud as i am of them as individual pieces, i find that they are lacking something — some core piece that i have yet to extract. when looking back at my last entry, the one regarding my time in france and  the subsequent “breakdown”, i wonder if that which i was trying to pull from my chest, it the substance which was within me, was not a metaphor for trying endlessly to put words to my feelings and emotions. in many ways this makes sense; i didn’t understand what it was then, but i am starting to consider this. since this occurrence i am being presented with dreams, little fragments of this one particular image. i am standing, open mouthed, releasing only air while pulling the stringy substance from my chest.

i have relied on art throughout the years — in fact for the majority of my life i have done so. i distinctly remember one pottery class i took when i was 7 or 8 years old. we crafted simple coil pots, glazed them and, at the next class looked at our finished works fresh from the kiln. when i was glazing mine i was spending the majority of my time on the inside of the piece. i remember not really paying attention to the work as a whole, but rather working with a sort of feverish intensity on the inside. i have such a vivid memory of painting and painting, glazing and glazing the inner walls of the coil pot. i wanted the walls and, even more o the bottom, to be, upon firing, smooth, glass-like. i recall the bottom of the pot had accumulated so much glaze that a tiny puddle forming.

of course i look back now and place all these ideas and theories on why i was doing so, what i was trying to convey, etc. a part of me can’t help but look into this, to study this, not the actual piece, god knows it was that of a child, but at my intention. now, after 6 years of formal art training, most of which consisted of getting my ass kicked when my work was being torn apart during critique sessions, i certainly can’t help myself. the beauty of child, in terms of expressing and creating, is that they don’t drag so much theory and conceptual nonsense into it; a drawing of a dog is just that, a drawing of a dog. a coil pot with a puddle of glaze at the bottom is just that… a coil pot with a puddle of glaze at the bottom it.

i wanted the inside to look good. i remember thinking this. there is no theory or conceptual bullshit attached, this is what i remember wanting to do; i was curious about how it would look post-firing. i was interested in how it might look to others, too; a coil pot with a bottom both rich in color (i chose a deep blue) and as smooth as glass.

most of the time i fumble for words. my sister and i have a back and forth about this; she wants me to talk and open up and express that which i need at this time in my life and how said needs can be met. i am left frustrated, trying to manage these emotions upon which i can’t place a label — even though i so desperately want to! even with my psychologist, with whom i’ve been working with on a weekly basis since diagnosis, i find myself lacking the appropriate words. often, we will spend many-a-sessions working through an emotion or thought and then, after a laborious undertaking, we find the words needed… or, rather, some of the words needed. more often then not i speak too quickly. not necessarily in terms of speed, though i did struggle with a stammer as a child as my brain was moving too fast and i couldn’t formulate the words to match the momentum. but i speak without forethought. i fire off a thought without considering how it will be taken or interpreted. this has fucked up more relationships … i cringe now at some of the things i’ve inadvertently said. they weren’t meant to be harsh or cruel, as this is never my intention, they were just unfiltered, unrefined, unpolished, rough-around-the-edges, etc. etc. in an attempt to understand someone or probe a bit to gather more information, i’ll muddle things up to the point of no repair. Equally, it is my hope to find the appropriate words to express my own thoughts or feelings. it’s as if i’m casting a line and doing so in realtime, hoping i’ll reel something in that closely resembles my current state of mind, my emotions. this, too, can end poorly; going along and sharing, prattling on, seeking words on the fly … …

then, boom!… the realization of my faux pas is crystal clear.

in my opinion this is getting worse. i asked my neurologist about various aspects of this in terms of toxicity (multiple chemo agents specifically designed to penetrate the blood/brain barrier) and other phsyiological damages to the actual brain tissue itself such as scar tissue, narcotic tissue, etc. not to mention all the psychological shifts that undoubtedly impair various parts of my overall being. his response was reassuring, but also slightly disheartening. “it’s no wonder you’re functioning as well as you are, jeremiah.”

these psychological (and emotional!) shifts are event, especially considering the recent experience in france and the “breakdown” i experienced there.

i am working on a series of self-portraits to which i do attach theory and concept. after the recent experiences in france, as well as all these experiences as a whole, i am left with so many emotions, almost all of which i can’t articulate. i am left with pain and other emotions i can’t share because i simply don’t have the words! it is my hope that these portraits might, in some small way, express all that i so desperately want to share. they are already revealing so much to me; bit by bit, line by line, things are emerging.

for the majority of my life i have relied on art in one way or another. now, more than ever, i am turning to it not only as a place of refuge during these times, but to aid in my understanding of self and expressing and communicating that which is just under the surface and in need of release.

that which is already being revealed to me through my work, these ink drawings, through these portraits, are little steps in the direction of further healing.

[nerdy-flower]

Folks on AO3 seemed to like this one, so I decided to cross-post it here! Enjoy!~

Solstice

Jesse and Hanzo's wedding ceremony + Genji's best-man-by-default speech, absolutely the sappiest nonsense I have ever written.

The tile of Fareeha and Angela's master bathroom is cool beneath Jesse's dress socks as he leans closer to the mirror. A delicate touch is needed with the comb to coax his hair into the nice, slightly slicked-back look he wants without raising any cowlicks. He sings to himself, a low echo beneath the struggling air conditioner and the chaotic din of their charming cabin-type setup.

Weddings have oddly never meant much to Jesse. The slivers he remembers of his mom indicate he was born on the wrong side of the blanket. His grandfather was just a photo over the piano and a pair of boots in the hall closet, his and Gran's rings pawned to pay for something or other back then. In Deadlock, no one could afford to end up on paper, even at a drive-thru chapel out of Vegas, so relationships had to be memorialized in other, louder ways. He's been to the occasional engagement happy hour for various coworkers since, but hadn't so much as attended a wedding until Genji and Zen got hitched last year.

“Oh I'm, gonna do this ri-ight,” Jesse hums, lips sticking together as he smooths his recently trimmed, still-damp beard into tidiness. “Show you I'm not movin', wherever you go-”

“Are you done yet, Jesse?” Ana raps on the half-open door, looking like she stepped out of a high-end fashion magazine. Forever classy, despite maintaining the highest kill-count in her division. She chuckles at his suit, seeing it for the first time. “Very handsome! But I thought white was only for virgins?”

“Nah, see? It's hussy white.” Jesse gestures to the cream-coloured jacket as he shrugs it on, satisfied with his face.

Ana snorts into her hand and brandishes a red rose, its stem wrapped with ribbon and baby's breath or whatever those little white things are called. “The flowers arrived, let me.”

“Thanks, Ma.” Jesse smiles warmly, sticking his chest out so she can pin the boutonniere to his lapel. “Everything goin' okay out there?”

The theme of their wedding might be “no fuss, for chrissakes” but Jesse still wants it to be a good time. Everybody had worked so hard to put this on for them. It might not be a big shindig, but he wants it to be a memorable, relatively disaster-free one.

“Of course,” Ana demures with a smile and a slow wave of her hand. “Everything's fine, nothing's on fire, these are not the droids you're looking for.”

Jesse laughs and gets an affectionate pat to the cheek before she hurries off to check on something or other. The younger Ms. Amari appears in her wake, plum-painted lips all pursed. “Get out of my toilet, I need to unfuck this eyeliner.”

“Told ya not to use your phone,” Jesse smirks, glancing at her enormous bunny slippers as they swap places. “Oh, please tell me you're wearing those for the photos.”

“I have hose on!” Fareeha gestures exasperatedly at her legs before rubbing a q-tip over her tongue. She looks real cute, all dolled up in that blue number Angie's sure to love.

Jesse shuffles down the hall in a mild fugue state, fixing his cuffs unnecessarily. He ought to be doing something, but he doesn't know what. The reception is a while away yet, that had been more his bag. He's less about ceremony and more about celebration, he supposes, but that's a bit reductive, isn't it? The faint burn of a red dragon recently inked into his upper arm is telling. He has a poetic heart, so he's told, a love for a symbol's secret meaning rather than its apparent one.

“There it is,” Gabe says behind him, Jesse turning on his heel to see Genji jogging up the stairs, a flush in his cheeks. “You alright? I heard shouting.”

“Oh yeah, just Hanzo being himself.” Genji rolls his eyes as he passes off Jesse's missing tie, nodding at him. “Do you have the lint-roller?”

“Olivia had it, last I saw.” Jesse answers, sending Genji hurrying back to the living room, hopefully to put on something besides pants and a tank top. “D'ya mind- ah, thanks.”

Gabe smiles as he leans into Jesse's space to fix his collar and tie the tie. “So, you ready to stand up in front of God and everyone and bet half your stuff that you'll love this guy forever?”

“Damn skippy I am,” Jesse laughs, watching Gabe's scarred hands work on a perfect knot. “Oh, by the way, I had Lúcio put 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' on the playlist for you two.”

“Aw, how thoughtful.” Gabe drawls, doing that fake-grin that stretches out the hole in his cheek for effect. “Are you gonna cry?”

“'Course not, we live together. There's nothin' to cry about.”

“He's gonna cry,” Jack says confidently, leaning on the banister while Gabe fixes the tie just so and steps away to grab some things. “Hana put tissues in your inside pocket.”

“You might need some, I won't.” Jesse retorts, jokingly defiant. He rocks back on his heels and takes a second to breathe. The last six weeks were a blur, but he remembers the next steps. Enter with Gabe and Ana on his arms, stand tall and look pretty waiting for Hanzo, everything else is on note-cards. Easy as pie.

“Hey.” Jesse adds after a moment's thought, and after Jack's screen-reader finishes telling him that Lulu ate her food and is doing fine at the kennel, thanks so much. “You don't feel- left out of this, do ya?”

He isn't sure what he'd do if Jack did, at this point, but it seems worth asking. Jesse's time in their patchwork family had seen him through their good times and their not-talking periods where Gabe continually said he was fine, but played way too much shitty music to mean it. His attitude had clashed with the former soldier's early and often, and at times it felt like it was him and Gabe versus Jack. He's way too old for that shit now, and the guy had paid for his GED, amongst other things in his quest to accidentally parent everyone he ran across.

“Hm? Oh, god no.” Jack breathes a laugh, folding his arms. “Honestly, I'll be happy to sit down and relax for the rest of the day.”

“You sat down the whole way here,” Gabe notes, handing Jesse his fancy shoes. “At least you got to nap.”

“I got out and pumped gas,” Jack replies, with an almost petulant cock of his head. “And do you know how boring that highway is without the scenery? I nearly lost my mind.”

“I know, I know,” Gabe scoffs, gripping the man's bicep in a manner that could be construed as loving. “And you did such a good job pumping that gas, it's what I keep you around for.”

“Hmph.” But there's an entirely fond smile with it, his fingers curling over Gabe's. Goddamn they're cute, in their black and slate suits with the little matching pocket squares. They had best not start making out at the wet bar, though that would be an improvement on Jack pretending he knows how to do the running man.

As they step out of the sliding-glass patio doors into the heady summer air, Gabe squeezes the back of his neck in what Olivia calls a 'man-hug,' though Gabe is far from the too-insecure-to-actually-hug type. “No la cagues, alright, mijo?”

Jesse snorts, knowing he doesn't mean walking down the aisle. “I won't.”

There's nothing fancy to it, not even a proper altar, just a bunch of folding chairs and a borrowed music stand  for Mondatta to set his notes on. Camping tents off to the side, lights and flowers strung through the surrounding trees, music playing softly through Lucio's speakers- a piano version of the ending credits theme to a movie they both love. But then Hanzo walks out, in the same outfit he'd tied Genji into last year, his brother on one arm and Amélie on the other. There's some shuffling and laughing over how to link elbows properly, but then their eyes meet while everyone's backs are turned and he smiles so sweet and Jesse's chest feels so full- “Oh god, he's so gorgeous.”

“Called it,” Fareeha whispers, smug as anything at his side, rose pinned to her chest and ringbox in hand. Jesse smacks her discreetly, to the amusement of the spiritual leader behind them, but can't say anything around the lump in his throat.

It's all he can do not to smooch those lips right there while Genji steps to one side and Amélie takes her seat. Hanzo takes his hands and grips tight, the afternoon sunlight doing wonderful things to his brown eyes, and it's enough for now.

“Dear friends, we gather here today to celebrate what will hopefully be only one of many happy days shared by Jesse and Hanzo. They have asked me to thank you on their behalf, for coming together to support them.” Mondatta begins, and goddamn if he doesn't sound straight out of a movie with the gravitas in his voice. Add the resplendent, silvery robes on top, and Jesse gets the draw of his speeches, and why Lena looks like she might explode whenever he's around. Dude's got charisma for days. “There are so many people who influence our lives and the paths we take, from before we are born until after we have gone. If you'll permit me a moment's indulgence, I would like all of us to close our eyes for a minute and think about those people, perhaps especially the ones who cannot be with us today. I'll keep the time.”

In the head-bent pause, Jesse feels Hanzo's hands shake minutely and he squeezes back tight. It's one thing to wonder, with gratitude and frustration, about how he got here and why. It's another to know, and speculate with all the acute pain of memory.

“Thank you,” Mondatta says, looking up from his simple wristwatch and back to his notes, a smile in his voice. “As we stand in recognition of the commitment that these two are making to each other, we acknowledge that their life together is not starting, but has already begun. They have withstood many hardships and experienced many joys that have led them to make this proclamation not lightly, but gladly, solemnly, and with great courage. In your shared life, we all wish you peace, but acknowledge the yet-unknown hardships that will test you and the bond you share. Are you prepared to take on these challenges together?”

“We are,” they manage in almost-unison, Jesse half a beat behind. Hanzo smiles at him sideways, sweat building at his temples as the sun beats down on the black cotton of his kimono.

Mondatta nods, almost cat-like in his satisfaction. “Good. Now, while you are self-sufficient adults-” Oof, that might be a stretch. “-You will still need a community to nurture you, and many hands to help you on the road ahead. So I ask all of you here today, do you pledge to support these two and the family they've created, to speak the truth kindly to them, and to lend them your strength in times of need?”

Scarcely a second passes before the air rings with “We do!” and the occasional “Hell yeah!”- even an impressive whistle from someone. Hanzo's eyes well up then, as they smile out over the crowd, though he thumbs the tears away quick as can be. Heaven forbid someone capture him having an emotion on film, Genji's quip materializes in Jesse's mind with only a sharp smirk over his brother's shoulder.

“How wonderful,” Mondatta continues, off-script and genuine. “The two will now exchange the vows they have written. Jesse, I believe you 'called first dibs.'”

Jesse's face aches from smiling while the titter dies down. He locks his eyes on his fiancé's and tries not to talk too fast. “Hanzo, you know me better than anyone else in the world and somehow, you still love me.” Muted laughter again, and an endeared chuckle from Hanzo, the same one he'll never get enough of. “You tell me all the time how I've made you a better man, but I don't think you realize that you've done the same to me and more. So, I promise to remind you of that every day, and I'll do everything I can to look after you and make sure you don't regret this, till death do us part.”

Hanzo's laugh turns wet, but his smile doesn't flag. He clears his throat at Mondatta's nod, shutting his eyes a moment to block everyone out. They had purposefully kept it short, Hanzo struggling to be sentimental in public. Even still, there isn't an ounce of hesitance in his serious, stage-worthy tone. “Jesse, I promise to always give you the best of myself, though you have often put up with my worst. I will take your family as my family, as you have already taken mine. I will work hard to make you at least half as happy as you've made me, to ensure our life together is well-lived, and I'll always draw you handsome.”

The laughter is mixed with sniffles now, one at Jesse's back and surprisingly none at Hanzo's, though Genji's glasses do nothing to hide the red in his eyes. The 'boring bit,' as their rehearsal sticky notes read, allows Jesse to catch his breath. They sign the register with their loopiest signatures, Genji and Fareeha stepping forward to do the same. Genji pours the sake for the san-san-ku-do ceremony Hanzo taught him the week before, Jesse kneading his chest afterwards. “Oof, shoulda had breakfast.”

“Do not vomit,” Hanzo whispers in that crisp, eye-narrowing tone Jesse's come to know and adore. He just snickers, though he hopes somebody remembered to make dinner rolls.

In the slim moment where the cups and bottle are cleared away, Jesse looks back. Zen's in the front row, neatly dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief, cute guy that he is. Ana is beaming, a single tear slipping down her cheek while she there-there pats a weepy Reinhardt. Gabe and Jack sit in similar tired old men poses, but their eyes tell all, Jack's arm looped around Gabe's shoulders. Torbjörn's brood takes up the two back rows, Brigitte shushing some of the younger ones as they fidget in the formal clothing they were wrestled into this morning. The rest of their friends sit rapt and smiling, leaning on each other and fanning themselves in the sticky heat. Even Amélie's smile is softer than usual.

“Now it is time for the exchange of rings,” Mondatta intones with something like giddiness, or as close as someone like him gets. He pauses so that Genji can open the box for his brother to take the ring, the glance between them speaking volumes. “Hanzo, if you would please take Jesse's hand and tell him first why you love him, second why this day is important to you.”

Hanzo obeys, having requested to go first so that he might 'maintain some dignity,' since Jesse's dignity obviously up and went a long time ago. He takes Jesse's flesh hand in his, his smile more than blue skies and sunshine to his fiancé in that moment. “I love you because you are a truly good man, one stubborn enough to love me.” Everyone gets a good laugh at that while Hanzo pushes his braid back over his shoulder. “And because I wished to show you that I'll never leave your side.”

The multicoloured band slips on with ease. They've worn them as engagement rings all this time, but slim tears still join at Jesse's chin. The levity in Hanzo's words somehow keeps the tremble from his own, but only just. Fareeha's grin is as big as his while she holds out the box, Hanzo's right hand almost fragile in the grip of his metal fingers. “I love you because you showed me that my dreams weren't anywhere near as good as reality.” Hanzo's lips pull thin at that. Who knew they'd both grow up to be such sappy bastards? “And because I wanted to prove how serious I've always been.”

The weight of Mondatta's hands on their shoulders is almost paternal, pride shining in his face as he speaks that much louder than his previous words. “What the two of you have made together, let no one unmake. You may-”

Hanzo's patience flames out exactly then. He cups Jesse's jaw and pulls him down for a chaste, but very firm and knee-weakening kiss in front of everyone they know.

***

Genji stands up and rolls his shoulders, much like their judo instructor taught them to do as boys. Lena passes him an unopened bottle of champagne (the good kind, he owes Winston a hug) with a cheeky grin. Hanzo and Jesse's thank-you speech was cute and all, but he'll never let his brother get one up on him.

“Several years ago,” Genji begins, minding his feet as he steps outside the circle of guests around the fire pit. “I agreed to go shoot pool with some weirdo I met in our dear Doctor Ziegler's waiting room, with the sole intention of getting him to stop bothering me. Spoiler: It didn't work, but at least I got him to quit calling me Shimada-san.”

That nets a laugh and Genji smiles, warmed by the setting sun and the half-finished fourth mojito in his other hand. He doesn't often drink now, beginning to fret over what medicine and addiction have done to his liver, but he's been working harder than Cinderella's mice this week and getting lit once a year never killed anybody. “Jesse and I spent a lot of time together back then, mostly eating and binge-watching stupid TV shows on a streaming account belonging to someone who shall remain nameless.” He gestures with the neck of the bottle. “But on an unrelated note, Fareeha, you should really change your passwords once in a while.”

“Son of a bitch!” Fareeha shouts from across the fire, firing a chunk of cake at Jesse which he catches and promptly eats just to spite her.

“I came to consider Jesse a good friend, one of the first I'd had in some time.” Genji keeps an edge to his smile while the crowd softens. No need to bust that emotional nut too early. “Luckily we never slept together, or this would be really awkward.”

Another chorus of giggles and snorts, the first groan of distaste from Hanzo. Perfect. “Around this time, a wild brother of mine appeared.” Genji quickly dances past the smoke, not wanting to linger on a painful point by collapsing into a coughing fit. “And in accordance with his lifelong pattern of terrible taste, developed a big fat crush on one Jesse McCree.”

“Love ya too, asshole.” Jesse smacks him on the way by, but Genji keeps going. At this point, he might need the perpetual motion to stay upright and dignified. Hanzo's eyes are trained on him, but he's not done yet.

“But unbeknownst to him, Jesse had also caught feelings,” Genji takes a sip of his drink for a brief dramatic pause. “Despite the fact that my brother is a stuck-up grouch who sucked his thumb until he was twelve.”

A proper snarl of his name sets him cackling, though Jesse is kind enough to restrain and smooch Hanzo into submission. He pushes his glasses back up, realizes he isn't wearing them, and carries on. “Jesse's approach to this situation was to drive to the other side of town every day for terrible sandwiches and a chance to glimpse his beloved's perpetually exhausted visage. Hanzo's approach was to do absolutely nothing.”

More laughter, more Hanzo grumbles. “They did finally go on a date with no insignificant amount of prodding from yours truly, but since it's their special day, I won't congratulate myself too much. Except to say, you're welcome!”

That inspires some gentle jeering aimed at the two of them, Genji bouncing back on his heels and almost slipping, gesturing with both arms. “But truly, I never expected things to turn out this way; Hanzo marrying the guy who taught me how to roll joints specifically because doing it one-handed is a pain in the ass.”

A deeper groan at that one while the others laugh and shout. “Relax, Jesse, it's not like your entire family's here or anything!” He slows his wandering to one side of the fire to avoid further swipes, lifting the bottle to draw attention to his left hand. “Being married myself now, I get to incorrectly call myself an expert and assure you that it's totally great- no, honest! Hey, I'm not here for those ball-and-chain jokes, you've all seen my husband. He's literally right over there, look at him.”

Zenyatta has been watching him with that knowing 'I will save you from yourself if necessary' look this whole time, but his posture softens noticeably, his hand on his cheek as he sits curled up on their blanket. So goddamn cute, it isn't fair.

“You already know exactly how annoying you both are, so I won't bother reminding you.” Genji grins again, lifting one finger from the stem of his drink. “Though by the same token, don't say I never warned you!

“Thanks again for letting us use your matrimony as an excuse to throw a party, that was cool of you.” He pauses for a chorus of cheers and glasses clinking, the sun nearly gone now and their friends' movements reflected in flickering shadows. “I think I speak for all of us when I say I look forward to you two enjoying a long and happy life together, and bickering like old hens when the sex gets boring.”

Another loud groan from Hanzo. Zen mouths 'be nice' at him on his way by, but Genji can tell he doesn't mean it. “Just kidding, a Shimada's stamina never dies! Don't skip physio, McCree!”

More jeering, a request from his brother to be put out of his misery. He paces again, his cheeks buzzing with laughter. “Hanzo and Jesse specifically requested no gifts- but we all ignored that and put money in the cards, right?” A beat before a series of nods and sarcastic put-offs, eliciting some whinging from the couple. “Okay good, otherwise I'd want my five dollars back.”

The laughter rises again and he speaks again before it falls, slowing the groove he's wearing into Angela's lawn. “What these two nerds don't realize is that I'm taking home the biggest gift of all, and they gave it to me without even realizing. Can anyone guess what it is?”

A few shout over each other, making Genji knit his brows together. “You guys are gross.” He smiles then, holding up his glass in proper toast. “The truth is that I've spent more time worrying about both of you than I care to say. When you two finally got serious, I was so relieved. Partly because I no longer had to listen to Hanzo's bitching, and partly because I knew I didn't have to worry so much anymore.”

Hanzo's face is rather blurry at this distance, but he can see the change in it. The way his eyes get big and how his spine straightens up. Genji's smile stretches impossibly wider. “The rest of you can laugh at this part if you want- but I honestly can't tell you how grateful I am that I get to watch you become who you always deserved to be.”

He keeps his gaze over everyone's heads because if he makes eye contact with anyone right now, he might cry and he cries super gross. “And I never thought I'd say this, but I couldn't be happier to have a new big brother.” Genji tips his glass in their direction, giggling at the odd feeling of the words in his mouth. “Thanks for sticking around, Jesse. God knows we haven't made it easy for you.”

He doesn't let more than a couple “aw's” and fond chuckles escape before interrupting, shaking the bottle as hard as he possibly can. “And on that note, congratulations! Let's get this party-”

The cork pops off suddenly, hitting the metal gutter of the porch with a spectacular bang while those nearest to him shriek and dodge the spray of foam. “Oh, whoops.”

“Trying to break my windows, are we?” Angela appears at his side with eyebrow arched, yanking him down by the tie as the others scramble up, Lúcio dashing to the DJ station he'd set up beside the bar.

“Now how was I supposed to know it would do that?” Genji giggles, filling her empty glass with flat champagne and kissing her cheek. She seems appeased as they finish it themselves, good. He's ninety-nine percent sure she could suplex him without breaking a sweat.

Hanzo and Jesse had opted out of the first-dance business because “It's embarrassing and I don't want to,” blah blah. That means Lúcio cranks the beats right from the start, to which Genji is not at all opposed. He lets Angela spin and dip him before shaking and shimmying his way to Zenyatta's side, then bouncing from person to person across the rented dancefloor like a tipsy pachinko ball.

It's not a huge group, the younger half of the Lindholm children already back at the monastery for a monk-supervised sleepover. The older half put the trampoline through its paces while the adults make fools of themselves. But damn, if there isn't a perfect energy to the night, both excitable and intimate. Emily pours him another drink and he revels in it.

Zarya ends up stealing a table to arm-wrestle any willing participants, which include his husband, who lasts an entire minute before she puts him down. Twice as long as Genji last time, he's impressed.

“You are like bamboo branch!” Zarya declares, lifting Zen's lean arm by the wrist and affectionately slapping his bicep. “Lean, but surprisingly strong!”

Zenyatta flushes, looking adorably sheepish as Gabe, Jack, Ana, Mei, and Lena clap for him and wait their turn. Genji's just about to walk up and tease the hell out of him when he feels someone grip his shoulder from behind. It's Hanzo, frowning slightly, how entirely unexpected.

“What's-” Hanzo wraps his arms around him before he can finish, his face pressed against Genji's shoulder. He can't help but laugh, though the tight embrace constricts his ribs. “Aw, two hugs in one day? You do love me.”

“Shut up,” is Hanzo's only reply, because of course it is. His eyes are doing the sad puppy thing when he pulls back. He was sort of born looking sad, but it's still concerning. “My speech at your wedding wasn't nearly as good.”

“You know, you're right! Tell you what, I'll get married again so you can do it over. Will that make you feel better?”

Hanzo scowls at him. Ah, such a nostalgic sight. “Can you stop ruining the moment for ten seconds?”

Genji downs the last of his cocktail and snaps his fingers into a point. “Nope.”

Hanzo sighs, his brow pinched like he has a headache but his eyes remain gentle, shining in the glow of the string-light canopy. He toys with the cord of his obi. “I will pay you back for this if it's the last thing I do.”

“The hell you will,” Genji huffs. “You don't have to wear that damn thing all night, you know. I didn't.”

“I like it, it's comfortable.” Hanzo insists, having not removed so much as the haori despite the heat. He folds his arms across his chest, his eyes lowered, the many piercings he chose to leave in because they were 'more attractive than empty holes' glinting slightly. His voice is barely audible when he finally speaks. “There is much I admire in you, and much I can never repay you for.”

Genji's response is stolen by the approach of Jesse. Hair askew, jacket off, and a big stupid grin on his face. “C'mere, you shit.” He hauls Genji into a bear-hug as soon as he raises his arms for it, gladly accepting it in lieu of the ones he used to dodge.

He groans as his toes leave the ground. “Ugh yes, crush me so I can skip this hangover.”

“Not a chance.” Jesse laughs, dropping him and slinging his arm around Hanzo, bending to kiss his forehead. The way he acts around him still makes Genji shake his head in disbelief. All Velcro eyes and little sighs and darlin'-honey-sugarbean's. Unbelievable.

Even more surprising is the ease with which Hanzo turns into his touch, lifts his chin to hold his gaze, lets his arm be stroked as they speak. To see his big brother smile again, watch him do the things he wants, not what he feels he must or is ordered to do- it's worth the world to him.

As he's having that realization, a certain slow song comes on and Jesse gets excited, tugging Hanzo towards the dance floor. He looks back at Genji for permission, legitimately concerned about his brother feeling ditched. Genji can't help but grab his face, squishing his cheeks and planting a smacking kiss on his forehead. “Pft, you're so cute, anija! Go have fun!”

“Ugh, don't.” Hanzo recoils from him like an angry cat before Jesse laughs and hurries him along.

He giggles and leans against the wall of Angela's house, considering asking Lúcio to put on something loud and fast after this so he can do an ill-advised handstand or twerk towards Bastion or something. No meds plus rum certainly leaves him with lots of ideas.

Zenyatta rolls up beside him then, merely smiling and setting his brakes when Genji plops himself into his lap, perhaps ten percent too confident his presence is desired there. God, he looks and smells so good. Buttoned into one of those gauzy pastel tops he prefers, features ringed with thin gold jewellery, nails painted and eyes lined in deep blue. His hand is so soft against Genji's cheek. He's beautiful. “You're beautiful.”

“And you're very warm,” Zenyatta observes, reaching for the buttons of his black vest. “Let's get this off before you overheat.”

Genji chooses comedy over tenderness, striking a pose worthy of a soap opera. “Ooh, Mister Tekhartha, are you trying to undress me?”

“Oh, you are drunk.” Zen replies, an amused statement of fact rather than a question, fixing him with a cheeky, freckle-bunching smile once he helps him out of it. “Try not to let your lips write cheques your body can't cash this time, hm?”

“I said I was sorry, I got the spins!” Genji whines in his defence, but quickly abandons that in favour of sweetly kissing Zen. He fits so perfectly in Genji's arms when he cuddles up to him afterwards, nuzzling against his temple.

“Do you want to go dance, dear one?”

Genji looks back, catching a glimpse of Hanzo tucked under Jesse's chin, Jesse's cheek on his crown, their hands clasped. With his glasses back on, their smiles are easy to see even from here. They both look so- safe, is the only word he can come up with.

“In a minute,” he murmurs, turning to share another, slower kiss with his husband in the electric night air.

[haphapner]

The Madonna of Allentown

It happened again at Big Len's place in Allentown, Pennsylvania.  A steady flow of true humanity came through there every day.  Big Len's specialized in cold beer to go and weekly room rentals, an odd mix but it had been around for years.

I had just returned from buying a carton of cheap cigarettes.

It was my daughter’s sixteenth birthday.  I hadn’t been pregnant for fifteen years, eleven months and nineteen days.  On that morning, I experienced a miraculous conception.  What would come from my womb some months later would not, indeed could not, be, from a man.

Long ago, I recognized that one should take these things as they come.  The years and more than five-hundred-fifty pregnancies have tempered my weariness and bone crushing sadness with wisdom.  Inexplicably I felt driven to invest in this child so that it would be more successful than all the others combined.

One minute, I was walking up the backstairs to my bug-infested room, a communal toilet and shower down the hall.  The next, a fresh new soul spontaneously generated in my ancient womb.  The cigarettes slipped from my grasp and bounced down the dingy stairs, bounding higher as they picked up speed.  The carton cracked against the door and burst open spewing cellophane wrapped pleasure across the sun-lit landing.

“Shit!”

I can’t explain it; I just knew it had happened again.  It’s like Zen, if you’ve experienced sartori, you get it; otherwise, you’re shit-out-of-luck.

I sat down three quarters of the way up the steep stairs.  “Shit, shit, shit … I’m too tired for this.”  I slammed my elbow against the wall; dingy, faded wallpaper fluttered. “How does this always catch me off-guard?”  I took a long drag on a generic cigarette, my last.  “So many myths about gods becoming men and walking among us, the gods of mythology were too chicken-shit to become women.”  I ripped at a piece of wallpaper exposing years of corrupted paint.  “Woman’s work my ass,” a sarcastic laugh slipped out. “Men should try motherhood.”

My story starts in the mists of time, before I conceived the collective unconscious of humankind. Known by a thousand names – Eve, Ishtar, Isis, Mother Earth – I am the Oracle of Delphi who doled out visions, generation upon generation, ad infinitum.  The Greeks referred to me as Gaia, the one who sprang from Chaos and became the mother of all things.

Myth cloaks the truth trapping humanity in ancient prisons of ignorance.  A son once said, “The Truth shall set you free.”[1]  I have born more grief than the mind can conceive.  In vain, I have staggered through humanity searching, always searching for true companionship, a true equal.

Jung wrote, “Whenever the earth mother appears it means that things are going to happen in reality; this is an absolute law.”[2]  His words were confused.  I do not appear.  I never disappear.  I keep moving, looking into eyes that cannot see, listening for words that convey meaning. Carl understood one thing.  For those who come to know me, reality takes hold.  Through the mind-numbing millennia, I have witnessed pockets of hope, people whose peaceful coexistence drew me toward the mainstream.  Such communities were but flickering flames blown out by human progress.

Every sixteen years I become pregnant and carry the baby to term – which is usually some time during the twenty-fourth lunar month.  I neither consult nor require a patriarch to participate in these sacred events. These children of fiat are my offering, my sacrifice to humanity, gifts meant to foster evolution so that humanity might come to a full realization of their divine nature.

Through the centuries, I have mothered some famous and infamous people.  Ishmael and Isaac, those naughty boys who denied the goddess, were mine.  Siddhartha and Jesus were my sons as were Attila the Hun, Genghis Khan, and Mohamed. You see, I am doomed to have sons, boys and men who must throw off the fear and oppression of women or die.  Warriors, orators, gurus, and shaman alike I have birthed, but very few wise men.

Sid was a rebellious boy in the beginning.  Jesus died too soon.  I fled the Christian lands after seeing so much harm done in his name.  Humans constantly teeter on the brink of madness.  After the first jihad, Mohamed tried to honor me in his book, “Christ, the son of Mary, was no more than a messenger; many were the messengers that passed away before him.  His mother was a woman of truth.  But they had both to eat their food.”[3]  Can you imagine?  My own son did not understand the divine reality of the one who bore him into this world.  With a broken heart, I slowly made my way north and west.

Sadly, most of my sons turned out to be self-centered egomaniacs.  Tragedy seemed my only companion.  Witnessing their utter lack of respect for women and the goddess, I began to desert my boys by their sixteenth birthday.  Hitler broke my heart long before he broke the world.  I fled to the west.

I arrived in the new world just after the turn of the century.  My next child, Sunnyland Slim, soulfully interpreted my heart through his fingers and songs.  But the moral decay and utter inhumanity of the last several centuries had brought me low. I took a long vacation, which brought me to Big Len’s with my only daughter.

Human potential for greatness is exceeded only by its arrogant individualism.

Around each child’s thirty-third birthday, when the calendars of the sun and the moon align, is a powerful opportunity in their lives.  At those times, the collective unconsciousness draws toward the surface of conscious thought throughout the earth’s inhabitants.  At that time, every generation faces the great question – will they accept their maker as she is.  Only during that powerful alignment of the lunar and solar phases, is vision able to break the bonds of human limitation and broach the domain of collective reality.  That unified vision is the key to human evolution.

I loved the renaissance when men nearly grasped the divine nature of humanity.  Rubens honored me, and all women, with his exquisite art. Things had always been dicey with the boys, but they really went downhill fast during the industrial revolution. My son Karl wrote about a community of equals, but he was no Jesus.  He thought economics could alter the human condition.  He could not see that lasting social change will only come through an evolved race.

For thousands of years, since the men of this species overthrew the goddess, violence toward women and children has run rampant.  The prehistoric patriarchal revolt disfigured the male capacity for love, trust, and connection.  In the process, my heart fractured and so began my perpetual search for wholeness.

The myth of the ages is that human men become mature. Their adult lives are lived as an extension of their boyhood.  They do not mature they merely age.  Their deeply buried true self rarely surfaces.  Panic ensues in the hearts of men when they glimpse their feminine side. The fear of homosexuality is but a disguise.  Their terror lies in something sinister and primal that they cannot face.

They fear me in them.  In the gap between Eden’s fall and recorded history, they knew me as the goddess of all things dark and uncanny.  Men’s hearts filled with fear, knowing I could strike them down with arrows of conscience even from afar.  In rebellion against the true nature of all things, they have subjugated women since the dawn of human history.  Once they seized control, they denied their essence and proclaimed their superiority.

To survive I had to go on the lam.  Of course, modern humans have no recollection or understanding of these things.  Primeval instinct leads men to oppress and deny their nature and needs.  They do not comprehend that their claims of physical superiority and manifest destiny are born of fear.

Men need not fear.  I am the self-existent One.  Ex nihilo I made all things.  I am woman and man, the beginning and the end, the lover of all things.  I draw many into oneness creating a race of divine equals, who knowing their origins choose to embrace their divine nature.  I alone procreate – the divine begetting the divine.

A sign flashed above my head, Sacred Heart Hospital.  I floated along into an elevator.  Everything smelled clean and white.  Doors parted, closed, and opened again.  People rushed past my horizontal floating frame.

“She’s in trouble.  Get her into surgery.”

Who could they be talking about?  How long had I been here?

I hear my daughter’s voice, “What is it?  What is wrong?”

“She’s hemorrhaging.  We need to take the baby now.”

“Looks like a lot of scar tissue, possibly an acute ectopic. Get the on-call surgeon.

“Blood pressure’s dropping, pulse is dropping.”

“She’s going into shock; we’re losing her.  Come on people!”

~

The doctor explained that they had done a “clean house” hysterectomy.  I would never have another child.

My firstborn daughter, now eighteen stepped forward and looked into my eyes.  She held her new little sister with pride and hope.  “Mama, she’s the one; the last one.”

[1] Holy Bible, New International Version, John 8:38

[2] Douglas, Claire, Editor.  Visions: Notes of the Seminar Given in 1930 – 1934 C.G. Jung. Princeton University Press.  1997. Page 790.

[3] Koran 5:75

[the-chanteloup]

Official Hello !

Hello everyone!

It seems like I’ve gained a shit ton of followers since my -cough- glorious return to Tumblr. (Not that I did anything spectacular before my hiatus… Lol) Thanks for following my reblogging skills! <3 

So I wanted to do an official meet and greet post so y’all can get to know the crazy behind the sociopath and know that this isn’t just a dumping ground for the sexy creatures of Yu Yu Hakusho. (Not that anyone is complaining…) Anyway, so here’s a quick bio about myself!

Name: Ashleigh (Fancy, European posh spelling for Ashley. You must hold your Pinkie aloft when you say it)

Nicknames: Ash, Foxy, Asher, Little Bat

Birthdate: 02/14 (No year because I’m forever 25. Fake it ‘till I’m dusty!)

Relationship Status: Taken by a very patient guy. Bless his heart.

Astrological Sign: Aquarius

Hometown: Houston, Texas (Y’all)  

Occupation: At the moment, I’m in school working towards my Associate’s of Science, then on to Nursing school to get my bachelor’s degree with a focus in labor and delivery. After that, two years of working, then back to school to either get my master’s degree as a Nurse Practitioner with a focus in OB/GYN or my MD in Dermatology.  Formerly, I was a Vampire. Like, for real! I was Phlebotomist for a major hospital here in Houston. I drew blood for in-patients, and occasionally the ER. I did that for two years before being “promoted” to a Lab Technician in the Anatomic Pathology department. Basically, I got to play with organs, tumors, fetuses, legs, arms, toes and rectal foreign objects while filing patient information and faxing things. Fun times!

Favorites/Likes: Cats. (I am the crazy cat lady of my inner circle) Unicorns. Foxes. Bats. Wolves. Pigs. Corgis. English Mastiffs. Gypsy Vanners. Shetland Ponies. Sheep. Goats. Hawks. Sushi. Brownies. Ice Cream. Chocolate chip cookies. Fruit. Chinese Food. Steak. (Medium Rare, or it’s burnt) Potatoes. Daisies. Lilies. Orchids. Yellow Roses. Irises. Jasmine. Gardenias. Fairies. Vampires. Werewolves. Centaurs. Dragons. History. (The Renaissance Era, Ancient Greece and Rome, Ancient Egypt, and France before the Revolution) Writing. Science. Medical Stuff. Genetics. Teal. Blue Hues. Purple. Black. (It matches my sense of humor) Silver. Eyes. Hands. Necks. Tattoos. Hugs. Nuzzles. Snuggles. Rock Music. Pop Music. Musicals. Country Music. Heavy Metal. Science Fiction. Fantasy. Dystopia Futures.

Hates/Dislikes: Spiders (I’ve been bitten by two Brown Recluses. My hate is justified) Roaches. Blatant Ignorance. Any Form of Abuse (Animal, Child, Spousal, etc.) Bullying (Cyber or in real life) Body Shaming. Unjustified Hate. Judging People Based on Appearance. My Anxiety. My Body (It’s trying to kill me.)

Fandoms: Yu Yu Hakusho, Vampire Hunter D, InuYasha, Dragon Ball Z, Night Walker, Outlaw Star, Gundam Wing, Seraph of the End, Cowboy Bebop, The Grimoire of Zero, Sword Art Online, Sherlock, Reign, My Little Pony, Danny Phantom, The Tudors, Versailles. -Bold are my tops and ones I’ll RP.  

Bio:  (With pictures! Yay!)

If you have made it this far, you’re a saint. 

So, I’m just a sarcastic, foul mouthed, perverted Nursing student trying to survive college with people 8-10 years YOUNGER than me. Lawd. 

I’m an on/off fanfiction writer with a main focus on Yu Yu Hakusho and Vampire Hunter D.

I’m an old school multi-paragraph RPer from ye olde days of MSN Chatrooms, and Yahoo! Messenger chatrooms. I used to run a room on both called “The Hideaway”. I can’t draw for shit. XD

Personality wise, I’m a bit of an introvert with social anxiety, but if I get comfortable enough, I suddenly have the gift of Gab. I’m really easy to get along with, and just go with the flow. I’m usually pretty friendly, but I do have a bit of a short fuse, especially if there’s stupidity or ignorance involved in my annoyance. I’m usually the go to friend for information or advice. I’ve had a pretty colorful life for my age and enjoy spreading my knowledge. I’m the friend that likes to lend a hand, if I’m able, or the one to find help for my friends. I’m the “3 am designated driver call” friend.  I am nowhere near confident with my appearance. I’m extremely self-conscious and can usually be found in a t-shirt and jeans.

At the age of 15, I was diagnosed with Systemic Lupus Erythematosus, Rheumatoid Arthritis, Sjogren’s Disease, and Raynaud’s Syndrome. Basically, Lupus is a genetic disorder that turns your white, illness fighting cells against your own body and organs. They think that everything is a threat. Symptoms include a facial rash in the shape of a butterfly, red, swollen, painful joints, immobility (I was bedridden at 15 and had to teach myself to walk again), and it can destroy organs (usually the kidneys) and the nervous system. Rheumatoid Arthritis has the same symptoms, only instead of destroying organs, it causes inflammation in and around them. I have a small lung capacity because of scar tissue in my lungs due to the inflammation. Sjogren’s is basically super dry mouth and eyes that never goes away. Raynaud’s is a circulatory syndrome that causes my feet, hands and lips to turn from white to purple to black depending on the level of cold I’m experiencing. It also causes numbness in my fingertips. I should be fucking studied. Lol. All of my illnesses are terminal, there’s no cure but there’s treatment. If there’s anyone following me who has any of these, or any auto-immune disorder, feel free to reach out and chat! <3

I have three original characters that are my main squeezes. I’ll post separate bios for them at a later date, but they are:

Yu Yu Hakusho – A Dragon demon named Anghel. (I’ll go into the backstory of her name in her bio) 

Vampire Hunter D – A Dhampir Barbarois hunter named Amelia (Amee)            

InuYasha- A Hanyou Geisha named Setsuna (No art for her since I just revised her from my MSN days)

I’m totally open to any RP! Just send me a message!

I’m a cat mom to 4 silly, kitties. Midnight, Peyton, Bear and Puck.

I’m a Renaissance Faire junkie. Seriously, I have more Renaissance garb than I do regular clothes... My home Faire is the Texas Renaissance Festival. I play a Maned Wolf Pirate Lady named Serena Louvel (Louvel: French- Little Wolf.) I’m not a furry. I play a fairy-tale animal characters straight out of any Mother Goose story. (Pictures below because she’s amazing)

Pictures:

So, I’ll include a few pictures to again, connect the crazy to the sociopath driving this Tumblr. Feel free to drop me some ASKS if you have any questions, or whatever!  

Peace y’all! <3 

Serena was hand made by the super talented @netherden !! She’s still going strong! Thank you! <3 

[luisneer]

selected tweets 2016-17

These are tweets from my first @luisneer twitter account. Recently I made a new twitter account with the same username, after having deleted my account and having been without twitter for several months. These tweets are from August 2016 to March 2017, which was most of my first year of college at Shepherd University, in Shepherdstown, West Virginia. I don't go to Shepherd anymore; I transferred to West Virginia University, in Morgantown, WV, after my second semester. My tweets from late March 2017 to [July or August] 2017, when I deleted my twitter, were not archived. 

I'm creating this blog post so the world will have access to some of my tweets from the deleted @luisneer, in case they have any merit as literature. I'm still not sure if I will continue to use twitter in 2018/the future. Usually when I use twitter I feel like I'm actually wanting to be doing something else, but I don't know what; or wanting to be using "another app" that doesn't exist. Twitter generally seems bad for me. Questions about my tweets August 2016-March 2017 can be directed at luisneer@gmail.com. Thank you

    2016

   morgantown has ~48 vape shops

 **morgantown has ~480 vape shops

 siri has werner herzog-like inflections

 considering changing outfits when i take several walks in one day (so nobody thinks im a serial killer, stalker, spy, alien)

 think i remember ~5% of things i said today

 imagined vague connection btwn 'vitamin d' and 'reptar'

 felt distinctly that i was a monkey or chimpanzee while crouching in the corner of my dorm room eating peanuts out of a jar

 just thought (as a request to my mom) 'fax me my skateboard...'

 looked at toilet in bathroom stall with expression of 'utter terror' for what felt like ~15 seconds while it flushed

 listening to bright eyes with headphones at house show

 feel that the toothpaste i use is advancing decay of my teeth

 feel 100% certain that i could train myself to use telepathy to operate my phone during classes

 enjoying the sensation of my right leg 'falling asleep' during psychology class (left foot is also 'asleep')

 felt 'sociopathic' after eye contact w library worker who watched me pick up & pocket a pair of apple headphones someone had left on a chair

 left stolen apple headphones on gray bench across the street from my dorm

 repeatedly placed/removed sunglasses while walking in hallway

 strong desire to remove all positive patterns from my life and perpetuate/embrace all negative ones

 feel that my laptop 'knows' which parts of its screen im looking at

 in winchester, VA

 thought of my own music as having 'no compelling audible elements'

 thought of myself as being legally named 'the fuck up', then couldnt remember my actual name

 successfully, i feel, duplicated 'sociopath facial expression' during eye contact with arch-nemesis in stairwell

 ive taken 13800mg ibuprofen since i got to college

 feel compelled to ask my 9 yr old brother for advice re 'college-level' personal issues

 feel smart after sitting on couch in painting studio + reading art magazines for 2 hours

 persistent notion that 100% of students at my college personally hate me

 psychology professor muttered something like 'scary snake... endocrine system...'

 feeling heavily drugged/sedated in psych class

 psych professor seems obsessed with/terrified by snakes

 imagined kanye smoking crystal meth and tweeting something like 'please help me... cant feel mouth... need help'

 saw a moth at open mic, thought about god

 experiencing difficulty trying to smile

 enjoying using numerous cliches ('the case is closed', 'taking a step back', 'harsh realities') in an essay

 intrigued by conversation i had 9 hrs ago w/ 2 boys who countered my tone (calm, eloquent) exactly by being loud and rude in a friendly way

 felt simultaneously really cute and really lonely while giggling with my mouth closed in french class

 imagined kanye inventing the word 'compactualize' and using it in a sentence during a televised interview

 enjoyed 8-sentence john updike bio in norton lit anthology

 perceived person standing outside bathroom stall occupied by me could 'sense', via something like echolocation, that i was/am depressed

 spoke to french professor in what felt like a distinct persona/alternate luis neer called 'marge simpson voice' luis neer

 feel confidently that the public debut of 'marge simpson voice' luis neer was a success

 feel that 'marge simpson voice' luis neer is the culmination of an unconscious process that initiated in my mind maybe 3-5 years ago

 i want to identify/analyze additional alternate luis neers

 i dont like videos

 i came to college and got weirder, better at writing, more arrogant, more defeated, more sensible

 simultaneously feel that i should run 3 miles and that, at this moment, i would be incapable of running any distance

 feel urged to draw new attention to my 'marge simpson voice' tweets

 huge power outage at shepherd lol

 realized theres no such thing as a 'nation'

 remembered ive blown off obligations to several people, not just one person, so my irresponsibility doesnt 'have a focus', felt comforted

 feel that my follower count is 'crystallized' / will never increase or decrease ever again

 struggled to convert 'stick-and-poke' to past tense during conversation in line at sheetz

 feel it would be pleasurable to take a donut + bottle of coca-cola from this sheetz via armed robbery

 crossed busy road, felt really surprised i didnt get hit by a car, also i wasnt wearing glasses, was walking to sheetz, bought an icee

 laughed alone in my dorm thinking that i should print out a picture of barack obama to put on my wall

 drank from separate glasses containing soymilk, coffee, iced coffee, apple juice, cranberry juice, water, sprite for dinner/breakfas

 just thought 'from adorno to zizek' sans context while shitting

 opened gmail, emailed my father, closed gmail, opened gmail again, viewed email to my father, forwarded it to myself

 'camcorder' would be a good band name

 i thought arnold palmer had already died

 willem dafoe doesnt make me uncomfortable

 i want to stop being mean

 i hate bfs but i want to be someones bf

 wishing i was in a car with friends and no cellular service

 tangled up in myself and others

 twin peaks is depicted as a small town but its population is greater than that of every city in west virginia including the state capital

 eating shark

 thought of my own intelligence as 'frightening'

 thought while walking to class that ginger ale should be made public domain

 had the stitches on my chin removed today, touched the scar tissue for the first time

 i miss being in therapy

 i love carpet

 i love carpet !!

 just thought about my own tweets and lol'd

 mood lately very fragile

 this is what i get for staying up til 5 am

 all night i've felt a wave of dread swelling up, now it's really hitting me

 sound of laughter in public still frightening + unnerving

 my instinct for when to unfriend people on facebook has adapted so that i unfriend people over statuses that make me feel no emotions at all

 fuck, im feeling so much terror

 gucci mane was born 3 days before conor oberst

 the other day i mentioned that i was a poet and this vape guy interrupted me to say "and you didnt know it" and i went fucking nuclear

 interacted with mailman who was picking up mail as i was trying to mail chapbooks, he didnt notice at first that i was talking to him

 what if old people have secrets

 my dad is making me root for a football team but im in pain emotionally

 i feel guilty in general

 thought of my poem "portrait of a nation without any people" as the "lead single" for my full length; it appeared in potluck 14 months ago

 im close friends with satan rn

 feel like travis scott never intended for people to spell his name with a $

 from now on every time i get honey on something ill list the thing in this thread

 finger

 desk

 coffee cup exterior

 pajama pants

 knee

 carpet

 chin

 phone

 shirt

 shoe

 thought that my elderly geography prof. moves by "shuffling"

 feeling shorter, broader

 the only part of the new bright eyes box set i want is the booklet

 is there a booklet? i know there are nvr b4 sn photos

 the song "lime tree" came to conor oberst in a dream

 i like citing things in MLA

 i write essays by pretending im werner herzog

 doesnt seem to be getting later

 lit professor gave my project (sequence of 6 sonnets) a C, i wish she would have gotten me expelled, shelley + ginsberg both were expelled

 heard someone in another room ask "where's wal-mart?" as if wal-mart were a person whose location could change

 i think i just swallowed a filling while eating popcorn, i am very scared, please help

 crazy how things get worse

 there are people on my floor having tons of fun and im upset

 bit my mattress while sitting in the chair next to my bed

 weird that chance the rapper only has 2.4 million followers when he's sort of one of the most famous artists in the world rn

 also weird that donald trump has made 34,000 tweets, seems like an incredibly large number

 the strangeness of yesterday was, for me, augmented by people on the internet talking about a tv show that ive never seen or heard about

 the sunlight is obscene

 im so upset about the sun being so bright im afraid to go outside

 im glad im the only poet who likes trailer park boys

 i slept in a blanket fort under my bed and havent left it all day

 yr = your ur = you're

 my favorite things are pdfs

 now that ive adapted my living space to allow me to never leave my blanket fort i feel like my roommate, omar, exists in a parallel universe

 i hear him but i never see him

 i love latte art, i drink many lattes

 thought that twitter "isn't worth it" in an upset tone while drinking mtn dew

 felt pleasant considering uniqueness of all parent-offspring relationships

 went through my closet + made sure all shirts and jackets were zipped/buttoned

 my blanket is generating flashes of light from static electricity

 record store guy became visibly sick of me several months ago; feel a little guilty every time i enter his store to spend money

 i prefer EPs

 felt "out of control" walking downhill listening to dead kennedys with headphones

 writing an essay is difficult because idk how much relevant information other people have already considered / moved on from

 have been wanting to write at least one poem inside my blanket fort but i don't think it's going to happen, i don't know why

 the internet isn't big enough

 usually when i think "i dont understand the uproar about [event]" i realize there is no "uproar"

 "uproar" is media's way of manipulating the public spotlight and distracting people from important tasks

 feeling helpless + melancholy after dying 15 times and killing 2 stormtroopers in star wars battlefront

 the only way to attain conor oberst-level emo hair is to lay in bed and sob for hours

 i'm sad

 my mom was confused when i told her my first book comes out today

 was luis neer in odd future

 thought "sometimes i just want to end it and start all over" in an exasperated tone re my goodreads account

 becoming increasingly convinced it would be best for me personally to take myself extremely seriously/never joke about myself

 thinking that my tweets would seem terrible if i were a senator/governor/other politician

 imagined doomsday device for future @starwars movies: the "death train," a normal train that exists in space and destroys planets

 how does anyone do it

 in science fiction movies, spacecraft usually look like shopping malls

 everyone in the world is high except me

 feel like i want to have poems published immediately

 having delusions of grandeur

 im sitting on my record player

 my most-used word in 2016 was "bleak"

 prepared and ate garbanzo beans w a lot of rosemart at 2:00 AM

 my brother has a friend over and is being mean to the friend

 all i want for christmas is to never cheer up, ever

 watching eyes wide shut and hugging duckuc

 my nose feels like it's going to bleed

 im sad because every bf looks like me

 getting better at eating ice cream by punching it with my tongue

 the internet is too freaky...

 i think 2017 will be a year of realizing things

 im watching the angry birds movie

 the angry birds movie is so shitty... why was it made...

 ive never had a new years kiss

   2017

   im weird

 eating medicinal ice cream

 im not going to do any drugs in 2017

 made a medicinal phone call

 i want to drink some blood

 i dreamed that roger ebert wrote a negative review of life after ppl and called it "liner notes"

 years dont kill people

 feel inexplicably/explicably really scared about the future of my poetry career

 i've felt stoned since i was a baby

 downloading google earth

 made eye contact in starbucks with possible luis neer incarnation from ~50 years in future; bon jovi "dead or alive" played through speakers

 realised that at some point in the future i will become extremely interested in watching football

 i recommend reading poems extremely slowly while touching the text with your middle finger/index finger

 experiencing cognitive dissonance

 used phonetic clues to correctly predict meaning of & use the word "tandem" while discoursing with myself internally

 i miss steel pedal guitar sounds on conor oberst songs

 my previous incarnation "college luis neer" has evolved to become "high school luis neer-like luis neer in college setting"

 thought "man, i got to stop caring what people think about me" in an emphatic tone that seemed confusing/interesting

 mediocore

 beyonce is cool i think

 i want to re-read "v for vendetta" and to not tweet about it

 remembered that i own a pinata

 i will be at awp

 how could i make twitter a better place

 i saw 4 people wearing yeezys in dc this weekend

 feeling increasingly self-conscious about how much i use the phrase "in the world" or refer to "the world" in poems

 felt robot-like while attaching detachable headphones cord to my headphones while wearing the headphones

 watching shepherd univ lacrosse team practice from "safety of" student center

 i invented releasing two chapbooks in one day

 im dumber than me

 reasoned mentally that im more likely to produce accurate drawings of myself because "i basically look like a bird, so i just draw a bird"

 i want to have a "fake tweet" (e.g. a simple phrase) to tweet repeatedly every time i feel urged to tweet an uninformed/unimportant opinion

 my fake tweet for the foreseeable future will be "i dropped my textbook in the stairwell". when i tweet this it means i have an opinion

 i dropped my textbook in the stairwell

 does anyone remember the chapter of "the hobbit" where bilbo avoids starvation by ingesting peanut butter, honey, cherry nyquil, and water

 sensed that all my college friends just simultaneously shifted from having vague/non-serious negative feelings about me to hating me

 resulting from continuous building of irrepressible/inevitable conjecture in the friends' conscious thoughts

 eating chicken and squash

 i click on 100% of poetry links tweeted by poets i follow

 when i was writing Waves i was obsessed with waves (e.g. energy waves, frequencies) and used the word "waves" at least ~10 times every day

 i dropped my textbook in the stairwell

 white nike swooshes on shoes of boy in library look vibrant/magical

 terrified of being cool

 walked to library really slowly while listening to noise music through big headphones

 i was really, really yung when i started publishing and i'm still really yung

 2 chainz always looks like he's walking in an airport

 i have 5 twitters

 i didnt know what bill paxton looked like, i was thinking RIP gene hackman

 why doesnt anyone blog about me

 thesis statements arent real

 thinking about my book

 i deleted both my tumblrs by accident

 sad about my tumblr

 my name is all over the internet

 im a lizard

 someday there'll be no more ppl

 a lot of conor oberst song titles have parentheses

 feeling sad about the actions of my clone, who passed away

 idk how to use venmo or what it is

 present-day tumblr is like the end of the never ending story where atreyu is talking with the rock biter and the nothing is swirling around

 when someone, anyone, is upset with me im afraid im going to be assassinated

 the views-era apple music ads that depict drake working hard in the studio have really affected and inspired me

 on tumblr i have 4 followers

 almost all of my tweets seem unimportant

 feel that if someone told me that one of my tweets made them upset i would just apologize and delete it

 ground control to commander venus

 i like my new tumblr

 i would be wearing a cardigan rn but i dont have one

 feel that i will continue to generate bright eyes-related content throughout my life

 is everything ok

 i look like michael moore

[the-elf-mahat]

A Broken World

(( Prompted by @firebiter‘s post here! CW below the cut for blood and implied torture. Also a small caveat about Mahat’s backstory, which we’re touching on here: it’s lorebendy. However, you’re welcome to consider her delusional if you don’t want to push canon; I tend to leave it an open question just how sane she actually is. ))

Something was wrong. Mahat awoke from deep sleep with her ears twitching, a strange pressure building in the air. The hour was so early it was nearly very late, and the distressed howls of dogs and other creatures could be heard echoing even through the thick stone walls of their Ironforge home. She slipped out of bed to dress quickly and soundlessly in the dark, before making her way outside. There were others about, dwarves in dressing gowns looking haggard and complaining to their neighbors about the noise. A few were heading to the city gates. Mahat joined them, eager curiosity mingling with a dull sense of dread in her stomach.

Outside, the air was crisp and frigid, the sky black with scattered stars beginning to fade before the dawn. But instead of gentle moonlight illuminating the mountainside all around them, the white snow was tinged a sickly green, reflected from the monstrous body looming above.

It was a broken planet. Its shattered silhouette and swirling storms of felfire seemed to take up half the sky, like a doom-laden promise.

Mahat and the others gaped upwards, stunned and awed into silence, until someone began to scream. Another followed suit, and in short order chaos had broken out, as some panicked and others tried to comfort the panicking, some tried to rush back inside only to collide with those who were pushing outside to see the terror for themselves. Mahat barely noticed the impending riot, darting away from the clamor and crowd, feeling her way along the mountain until she reached a secluded crevasse and curled up inside. She moved by instinct and memory, every other sense useless to her as reality seemed to warp and twist in her mind. Her breath grew faster and her eye was locked wide open, fixed on the sick wrongness above. From the shadowed places in her head, she heard their voices call out.

D'ye remember?

Do you remember, little one…?

Where have we seen that before…?

Three worlds, three moments layered on top of each other, Mahat's body and senses experiencing wild vertigo as she saw through three sets of eyes, heard through three sets of ears, felt three different hearts racing. And there was so much pain…

In one world (the real world, she told herself, and hoped desperately it was true) she was whole, frightened but safe for the moment, shivering on a mountainside. Alone. Not alone.

In another she was dying, slick blood flowing from the ritual symbols and web-like patterns carved deep into every part of her skin. Green flames blazed from the shackles at her wrists and ankles, holding her down to the stone altar, melting and searing her flesh. Rough, strange voices chanted in an unholy tongue somewhere in the shadows beyond her sight, but above her she could see cold stars.

In another world she wished for death. A man with cruel eyes and a kind smile, a sorcerer, promised her oblivion soon, soon, he had finally found a use for her outside the close, dark room where he kept her and played with her brain and broke her body (it was justice, he said, they all said, she had done such terrible things).

“I want you to introduce me to someone,” he teased, close and warm as a lover, “They've been whispering to me in my dreams, speaking of power, a way to burn the filth and weakness and disgusting hypocrisy out of our world.” She heard the words now, she had heard the words then, but she hadn't understood them—she'd been out of her wits with fear and pain by then, barely more than an animal. Now she comprehended fully. Now her stomach clenched as he murmured, “You'll help me, little thief. You'll call them here. How could any god or demon resist a soul as fascinatingly twisted as yours?” His fingers rested on her collarbone above her heart, and he smiled. “You are the perfect--”

SACRIFICE.

The coarse chanting grew louder and faster, and she writhed against the felfire restraints. A gnarled green hand hovered over her flesh, sealing her gaping wounds into twisted ropes of hardened gray scar tissue. The pain did not lessen. In fact it sunk deeper, past skin into muscle and sinew, past these into bone, somehow, and then further still, until her nervous system blazed like a star and she thought she might only be pain that had imagined it was once a woman. The chanting was practically a howl now, one mad sound from dozens of throats, and she could no longer see the stars, only green flames rising higher. A void opened before her mind and began to draw her in, eating her memories piece by piece, gnawing on her fears and hopes, slavering as it devoured every drop of her self.

WHO AM I?

He ripped her from her body and reshaped her, made a coalescing orb of dark magic from her essence. But she could still feel the raw edges of her sanity bleeding, still watch as he burned the husk of her body, until it was a charred ruin that a simple brush of his foot crumbled into gray ash. She screamed without a voice, wept without eyes, for the release of a death she had begged for and been denied. The soul was immortal, she had been taught. No rest for the wicked. Not even in their tombs.

There was a ritual, incantations, surges of crackling power and a night wind tearing at the sorcerer’s robes as he used her torment to craft a gateway. She saw a tall, pale man in armor, winged and horned, step through. She saw the sorcerer bow before him. Then she was elsewhere, her mind torn across galaxies or realities, images fragmenting and scattering before her like light from a prism. A vast, broken planet, tendrils of verdant green fire reaching out to corrupt and consume everything they touched. A dry tawny planet, a place called home, shattering apart and beginning to burn. A little world, mostly blue, lit by two moons, where something was calling her.

All around her was seething void, seeking to tear her apart and swallow her into nothing. But somehow, she was caught by that small blue world, anchored and drawn in by a force beyond her understanding. It was like an unnatural absence, a place where something once was and now was not but must be. A vacuum pulling her inexorably, a taut string connecting two moments across time and space that when plucked, sounded a chord of multiversal harmony.

Mahat opened her eye, vision now singular and clear. She unclenched her jaw and forced her hands open from the tight fists they'd been curled into. She took a deep breath, and looked up.

The broken planet was still there. And there were still screams in the distance. They saw it too.

“Aye, I… remember,” she murmured to herself in hoarse disbelief. “I saw it… in th' dark places b'tween. I saw it—we was there. I en't crazy.”

A bleak chuckle sounded from the corner of her mind. “Congratubloodylations, enjoy tha' feelin' while y'kin. Cuz th' whole world's abou' ta go fuckin' mad.”

[pocketseizure]

The Marriage of Lanayru, Chapter Nine

Light and Shadow

Zelda opens her heart to Ganondorf in her room – and in her bed.

2,400 words ☆ NSFW ☆ (Also on AO3) (Story Tag on Tumblr)

* * * * *

"You are my fiancé, after all." Zelda blushed as she said this, but she forced herself to look at Ganondorf.

He was without his armor, and he had removed the sharp crown that framed his face within a halo of blades. He wore a loose robe over a long shirt with a high collar, and he had pulled his hair back into a loose and tangled bun. No longer a demon of legend or a warlord from a forgotten past, he appeared to her as the man he must once have been.

Although Ganondorf seemed angry to be interrupted when she walked in on him in the library, Zelda suspected that he wouldn't have stationed himself here if he didn't want to be found. He had the run of the castle, and it wasn't as if she were forcing him to stay in Hyrule. He was free to leave her just as Link had, yet he remained behind.

Zelda's intuition had told her that she would find Ganondorf here, but she still experienced a moment of surprise when she laid eyes on him surrounded by small hills of discarded books. Her hunch had been correct – he was researching Hyrule's history and trying, in his own way, to find a means of exorcising what haunted this cursed kingdom.

"But I'd prefer for us not to be observed," Zelda continued. "Can you take us to the tower?"

As the darkness grew thicker around them, Ganondorf stood. "I suppose I can do that," he answered, holding her gaze.

The shadows were heavy on his face, and his expression was unreadable. The light she had cast was fading. She used all the energy she could muster to create it, but she knew it wouldn't last long. She had not been born with magic, and it was still largely a mystery to her. Zelda wondered if the princesses who came before her had been overwhelmed to find themselves at the center of the movements of such powerful forces.

Ganondorf rolled his shoulders, and the lines of the embroidery on his robe began to glow with a rich golden red. Zelda stepped forward, stopping mere inches away from him. After regarding her for a few seconds, his eyes shining with reflected light, he enfolded her in the wings of his sleeves. The fabric smelled of incense, and she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. When he carried her through the Twilight, she barely registered the bitter chill of the transition.

In the blink of an eye they were in her room, but Ganondorf did not immediately release her. He seemed to be waiting for her to direct the situation. Now that she was finally alone with him, she found that she was unsure of how to proceed. Even after she became the ruler of Hyrule in all but name, Zelda had been forced to lead by suggestion instead of by command. Ganondorf expected her to communicate without circumlocution, however, and he responded to her ungilded expression of her will without challenging her authority. At first it had been difficult to speak with him, but she was growing used to stating her mind without veiling her intentions.

"I'd like to see the scar left by the Sword of Sages," she said. "Is that all right?"

Ganondorf lowered his arms without responding. Zelda feared she had offended him by being too forward, but she did not step away.

"It's fine," he finally answered. Zelda was momentarily confused by the tone of his voice before realizing that he must feel as uncertain as she did. The memory of his defeat on the point of the sword of her chosen knight must still be fresh in his mind, just as it was in hers. Fate demanded that they be enemies, and he had no way of knowing for certain that she did not wish to harm him. Regardless, she pressed on.

"Can I open your shirt?"

Again there was a gravid silence. Zelda searched Ganondorf's face for an indication of what he was thinking, but his expression remained as neutral as if she were not standing close enough to hear his every breath. This encounter was not turning out as she planned. She had worked with Ganondorf closely over the past several days, and he was never without a means to break an impasse. Unlike her, he wielded power over others as if it were second nature to him. It was strange that he should now stand so still and silent, and Zelda realized that she would have to take action.

She reached down to his side and clasped his hand before pressing it to her chest directly above her heart. As she counted her heartbeats to calm herself, she watched Ganondorf's face slowly soften. Eventually he took her hand and placed it on his collar, sliding her fingers under the band of fabric that covered the smooth metal clasps holding it together. His fingers lingered on hers, his touch warm and dry, as Zelda began unlinking the closures.

Ganondorf's shirt fell open, and Zelda saw that his torso was covered in scars that drew pale lines across his skin. He didn't seem to be that much older than she was, but he had seen things she never would. She couldn't begin to imagine what he had lived through. The wound from the Sword of Sages was larger than she expected, almost as if it had been blasted by an explosive. It had not healed well. The mass of scar tissue was ropy and discolored. Zelda touched the tips of her fingers to its outer edge, and Ganondorf sucked in his breath sharply.

Suddenly the Triforce crest on the back of her hand flared with light. The wound began glowing in response, sending bright tendrils of pulsing illumination outward. Zelda leaned forward and touched one of the shining pathways spreading from its center. Her fingertips tingled with the strength of the magic. She traced the radius of the light, but it was as hard and cold as steel and felt nothing like skin. Although she had never witnessed anything like this, she instinctively knew that she was looking at sealing magic of the highest order.

"That's enough," Ganondorf said, his voice oddly choked. Zelda had gotten lost in her analysis, and Ganondorf's words forced her to return to herself, bringing her back to the reality of breath and skin and touch. She envisioned herself in her mind's eye, standing in front of a man while caressing his bare chest. As she backed away, she couldn't help glancing down, and she glimpsed the ridge of a hard line through the loose fabric of Ganondorf's trousers. He saw that she had seen, and he turned his face away from her as he stepped back.

"I should go," he said, lifting his hands to refasten his collar.

"Don't!" Zelda raised her voice to stop him as she caught one of his arms. "I mean... please. Please stay."

"Zelda..." Ganondorf turned back to her and took both of her hands in his. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to sacrifice yourself for what you think I want."

"But what about what I want?" she protested. "No one ever asks. If the Triforce of Power isn't returned to Hyrule, the land will crumble, and so I asked you to remain here. But that isn't about what I want. If I don't find a spouse to legitimize my rule, then this kingdom will fall, and so I proposed marriage. But that isn't about what I want either. I'm just doing what I'm expected to do. I wasn't supposed to do it like this, and you were never supposed to be here. But this is about me, and this is about what I want..."

Zelda's words trailed off, and then there was only the beating of her heart and the soft glow of the Triforce crest on her hand and the terrible wound on Ganondorf's chest. Before she was aware of what she was doing, Zelda reached for Ganondorf just as he bent down to her. When their lips met, it was as perfectly choreographed as if it had been planned centuries before they were ever born.

Zelda savored the touch of his lips on hers before drawing away slightly. Ganondorf pulled her closer and kissed her again. She ran her tongue across the seam of his lips, and he opened himself to her, stroking her hair as the kiss deepened. His hands were gentle, but his tongue was not. Zelda felt her inhibitions melting under the heat of his ardor, and she pressed her body against the hardness of his shaft.

Ganondorf made a small noise and then pushed her away, holding her at an arm's length.

"It's been a very long time for me," he said, his voice low. "I may have gotten carried away. Is this really what you want?"

Why does he keep asking me that? Zelda thought in frustration. Is it really so strange that I would want this? Is there some sort of problem with me?

"Am I not good enough for you?" she asked. "Is it just this kingdom you want?"

"Zelda – " Ganondorf interjected, a pained look crossing his face.

She shook her head and continued. "Hyrule is decaying, slowly but surely. Link left as soon as you came, and without his Triforce, it's only a matter of time before the kingdom falls. We're so isolated, and all we have left are chasms and ruins. No matter how hard I try, there's nothing I can do to fix this. I can keep things together a little longer, but it doesn't matter, not in the end. This is a dying land. If you want Hyrule so badly, you can take it."

Zelda felt tears gathering in her eyes as the thoughts she had concealed for years poured out of her. It had been a mistake to do this. Embarrassed, she tried to turn away, but Ganondorf held her to him. He cupped her chin in his Triforce-branded hand and tilted her face up to his.

"This isn't about Hyrule," he said, and kissed her.

At the touch of his lips, Zelda's anxiety fell away. The glow of the wound on Ganondorf's chest grew dim, as did the Triforce crests on their hands, and soon there was nothing in the room with them except the moonlight coming through the tower window. The spark of Zelda's desire grew, becoming hotter as it was fanned by the pressure of Ganondorf's hands. She slid her palm under the collar of his shirt, separating the thin fabric from his skin. He shrugged it off along with his robe, and when he reached for her again he lifted her from her feet.

As he carried her to the bed Zelda marveled at how easy it had been for him to pick her up. Ganondorf was tall and imposing, but it had never been his physical presence that she feared. It was his words that he used to shape the world around him, and she had never given much thought to the body that might lie under the layers of metal and cloth he draped over himself. For the first time she realized how strong he must be, yet she felt secure in his arms. If he intended to hurt her, that time had now passed, and he presented the vulnerability of his bare skin to her like an offering.

He set her down on the edge of the bed before kneeling to unlace her boots as she pulled off her jacket and shirt. She hadn't been given an opportunity to change out of her riding outfit, and the cool air felt wonderful. Ganondorf kissed her again. The goddesses help her, she loved the way he felt and tasted.

Zelda grabbed his shoulders and allowed herself to collapse backwards, pulling Ganondorf down with her. He positioned himself at her side, and she shivered with delight when he took one of her breasts in his hand and began circling its peak with his thumb. She could feel every callous on his fingers, but his touch was warm and kind.

Before she had become a princess, Zelda fooled around with a few young men in the service of her family's household, but she had never experienced a steady surge of sensation like this. Ganondorf's fingers on her skin lit a fire deep within her, and she burned for him. Her entire being was attuned to him, and only the touch of his hands could calm the ache of her desire. She leaned into him, pressing the hard line of his cock into her thigh as she took his hand and guided it lower.

He traced his fingers along the valley between her legs, creating a delicious friction. She couldn't help moaning when he pressed his fingertips onto her apex.

"Do you like this?" he whispered into her ear.

"You know I do," Zelda answered as she undid the rows of buttons at the waist of her riding pants. Ganondorf pushed them down eagerly, and she kicked them away while he toed himself out of his boots, which fell to the floor alongside her own.

He laid her down and cupped her mound in his hand, running his middle finger down her slit. He kissed her chin and neck as he continued to stroke her, caressing her folds while drawing wide loops around her throbbing clit. He moved slowly, his skilled fingers teasing her, and she felt herself losing control.

I wonder if he's proportional? Midna's voice echoed in her mind. Zelda smiled and slipped her hands into Ganondorf's trousers. His cock rose to meet her, and she slid her palm along its thick length.

Ganondorf gasped, and his muscles tensed. He drew himself up over her and forced his tongue into her mouth as he slid two fingers deep into her slick opening. The wave of pleasure that crashed over her was intense, and Zelda arched her back to meet his touch. Ganondorf thrust his cock into her hand as he fucked her with his fingers, his breaths coming rough in her ear.

When Zelda first understood who Ganondorf was, she knew that she was fated to confront him. The bond of their destiny was deep, but this was not how the legends of past princesses unfolded. She shouldn't have wanted this man, and yet this felt so right. She moved her hand to his wrist, signaling him to be still. He gazed down at her, desire shining in his eyes. She kissed him lightly and then sighed into his waiting mouth, "I want you."

[dailyaudiobible]

03/31/2017 DAB Transcript

Deuteronomy 16:1-17:20 ~ Luke 9:7-27 ~ Psalm 72:1-20 ~ Proverbs 12:8-9

Today is March 31st.  Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible.  I'm Brian. It is great to be here with you as together we will wrap up another month.  The day is day 90 of the year so it is day 90 of our adventure through the Bible this year.  Well done. One quarter of the year has been…well, is about to be completed.  So, if we’re this far in together, we can do this!  We can make it.  Good job getting this far.  And oh, the adventures that are yet to be discovered as we move forward into the year. But well done on three months.  

We’re reading from the Common English Bible this week.  We’re listening to Moses in the book of Deuteronomy say the final things that he has to say, that is the entire book of Deuteronomy. So we’re listening.  We’re among the children of Israel on the banks near the Jordan River listening to the impassioned pleas and reviews of where the people have come from and where they are going and who God is and why this all matters to them.  Deuteronomy chapter 16, verse 1 through 17:20 today.  

Commentary

In the book of Deuteronomy today, like we said at the beginning, like we’ve been saying, he's saying the last things that he has to say, memorializing all of this thoughts over the children of Israel before he disappears from their presence and goes off to pass from history and they will move forward.  So the last couple of days we’ve been hearing some instructions about capital punishment.  It's important to point out something here.  

So yesterday we were reading about how somebody comes in and they are kind of like a seer or a fortune teller and they give a prophecy that comes true and then try to seduce a person away to follow a different god, that that person should be eliminated from the community.  That resolve on a spiritual level isn’t really different today. Anything that would seduce us away from God is something that needs to be eliminated from our lives, although in today's world it's not so much people.  It's ourselves and all of the distractions.  

Today Moses is reiterating the law that God gave about capital punishment. Lest we think this is just barbarism and anybody in this culture could just all of a sudden find themselves facing a crowd of people holding stones, getting ready to do away with them, let's understand the safeguards that are built in here, two or three witnesses. Of course, our laws are built upon these same principles, but in the Mosaic Law, those witnesses had to be willing to be the ones to do the execution, right?  So nobody is allowed to anonymously give a deposition.  Nobody is allowed to just kind of give some testimony and just leave.  People have had to have seen this crime that was worthy of death and be willing to be the perpetrator of justice in it, and be that sure, that absolutely, totally sure of the thing, which is very sobering, especially if you were put in that position.  Very, very sobering.  So there isn’t just indiscriminate capital punishment in the Mosaic Law at all.  In fact, there is every deterrent possible.

What is the point of this law or any law but to understand this is the line? You don’t cross this line.  This steps over what God will allow you to do. Or in a culture, this steps over what society has decided for itself.  So you understand the parameters and what will happen if you don’t listen.  

This kind of relentless intentionality on God's part is not to enslave his people.  They have already been slaves.  Slavery is basically the only thing they do really understand.  This law wasn’t given to simply install a new prison, a new level of slavery for them.  It was to say if you will stay within these borders, if you will stay within these commandments, you will be on your way to a rich, bountiful, plentiful life in the promised land.  So anyone living within that has nothing but joy to look forward to, nothing but good will come from it.  But as a warning to those things that can come in and destroy this culture, we need to be very vigilant and intentional.

That's not different now.  We may not have to abide by all of these rituals and customs, but as we move back through review of the law that Moses is giving now, we see so much of human society is built upon so many of these principles that have stood the test of time. Anything that is going to draw us away from God is something that will eventually destroy us.  We should understand that clearly because then it snaps our resolve and intentionality into place:  That can’t be in my life.  I can’t participate in that.  I can’t turn to this.  I can’t be involved in those things.  They pull me away from God.  And anything that is going to do that will destroy me.  

May we invite the Holy Spirit to give us that resolve and to give us foresight and insight into the things that we’ve allowed and the intentionality and resolve to move away from those things because when we’re moving away from those things, we’re moving toward life.  

Prayer

Holy Spirit, we invite you into that completely, fully, in every way, in everything.  What are the things that we’ve allowed into our heart that are seducing us away?  And how do we rid ourselves of those things with an intentionality that would be worthy of the unmerited favor that you have given us so freely?  What are the things that are interfering with the relationship that we share with you, the intimacy that we have with you?  Come Holy Spirit.  We ask in Jesus’ name.  Amen.  

Announcements

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If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, thank you so much. Thank you humbly and gratefully for your partnership.  There is a link on the home page of www.DailyAudioBible.com.  If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible App, you can press the More button in the lower right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is P.O. Box 1996, Spring Hill, TN 37174.  

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment, (877) 942-4253 is the number to dial.  

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

Community Prayer Requests and Praise Reports

Good morning DAB family.  This is Prophetic Intercessor Rising Up from North Carolina and I was listening to the March 25th Community Prayer and was moved by Katrina from Ohio who was calling in on behalf of her friend Gwyneth R., I believe the name was, who was suffering from stage 4 lung cancer that had spread to her brain and asked us to lift up our collective shields of faith to pray on Gwyneth's behalf, believing that God would step into the midst of the situation and perform a miracle.  And so I just want to call in this morning to pray for Gwyneth.  God, on behalf of Gwyneth, we come lifting up our collective shields of faith.  We ask you, God, to step in the midst of this situation as Jehovah Rapha.  You are, in fact, a god that heals.  You are Jehovah Perez, the Lord of the breakthrough, and we ask in the name of Jesus that you would break through in the midst of this situation, that you would stretch forth your nail-scarred hands, which is an eternal reminder that you bore the stripes upon your body so that we could stand in total and complete healing and deliverance.  And so we lift up our shields of faith, O God, to decree and declare life over Gwyneth.  We stand on your finished work of Calvary's Cross.  We stand on your word that says that it is by your stripes that we are healed. And so we decree and declare this morning that she is healed in the name of Jesus.  We ask you to breathe in her direction, O God.  Breathe the breath of life for you are the creator of life, the giver of life, the sustainer of life and we bind sickness and infirmity, God. Breathe in the midst of that hospital room.  Breathe until her lungs are regenerated.  Breathe until her heart tissue is regenerated.  Breathe until the lung capacity and the heart capacity of her heart pumps with a new fervor, O God.  In the name of Jesus, dispatch your ministering angels to stand in the four corners of that hospital room to minister health, healing, and wholeness and we too decree and declare that this sickness shall not be unto death but she shall in fact live to declare the glory of the living God, for you are the same God yesterday, today, and forevermore.  

Good morning family.  This is Abbie from Maryland.  It's been a while since I called in, a little over a year or so, but I just wanted to let you all know I am lifting you all up in prayer.  I just wanted to give a shout-out to a couple of people that I have listened to your stories and prayers and I want you to know I'm praying for you.  Especially Brian.  I'm sorry for the loss of your mom.  When I heard it, it really touched me.  But what touched me most was the fact that everyone was lifting you up in prayer and just want you to know that you are in my thoughts.  And also, Candace, I'm sorry for the loss of your husband.  May God comfort you, continue to wrap you in his love.  And today I listened to a lady who called to ask for prayer for her son Josiah who is experiencing some health issues.  I lift you up, Josiah, into the hands of God Almighty who is able to do anything, who is able to do exceedingly beyond what we can think of or ask for.  I ask you, O Lord, to heal Josiah and every health issue he is having in his growth, in his development, and soak him into the blood of Jesus.  This touched me more because I also have a son, Enoch, who is growing well, but he also has some delays.  So I ask that you all continue to lift my son, Enoch, up into the hands of God, that every form of developmental delay, God, heal him, touch him, make him whole, and also lift up his sister, Ella, into the hands of God to just continue to watch over her.  And just my entire family.  I love you all.  Love hearing from you.  Blind Tony, I love your prayers and your poems.  I love Biola from Maryland.  She's on fire.  God bless you all.  God bless this community.  You guys have been a blessing to me beyond what you can even imagine so God bless you.  

Dearest Debbie in Des Moines, this is Annette A. from Oklahoma City.  Probably the day you were calling and getting your message from the Lord about somebody praying for their son, that was probably me. My son came from Colorado and came to Oklahoma City and he came to see me, unbeknownst to me, I didn’t even know he was going to be here, and told me that he was involved in some very nefarious activity at which time I was pleading with him to not do what I thought he was going to be doing.  And it was very painful to watch somebody that you know is just heading down a terrible spiraling road and I really did not know if this was going to be the last time that I would ever see my son again.  As he was leaving, I was hanging onto him and praying and crying, “Please don’t do this.  Please don’t leave.”  And I was begging God to keep him safe.  So my sister, I thank you for having my back and I thank you for your prayers and it is never…well, it's always an amazement to me how this community will hear God and not know why and things will come to mind when we pray for one another and we’re not quite sure why, but I am thoroughly convinced that we are hearing the voice of God.

Hey there Daily Audio Bible.  This is Rita from Tennessee, down below Brian and Jill in Memphis, outside of Memphis in Collierville, TN.  This is my third year to listen to the Daily Audio Bible and I cannot tell you all how blessed I am by the spoken word and by your prayer requests.  I feel like I know some of you who call in frequently, but I'm blessed by every prayer request.  I’ve got a big one.  It's been on my heart for a long time and I'm finally calling in to ask for prayer for my son, Turner.  He is 33 years old and has battled addiction since he's been (sorry), since he's been about 18.  He is at a rehab in Michigan and he has been there before.  I'm just praying that the Holy Spirit would come to him in his time of need and just restore everything that has been broken and taken away and that this would be the final time that he has to be in rehab and that he would finally turn his life over to the Lord once and for all and that he would be healed  Thank you so much for praying because I know you will.  Have a great day.  

Hello beautiful Daily Audio Bible family.  This is Cheryl calling from Arizona.  This call today is specifically for Patricia in New Orleans.  I was just listening to the podcast on Tuesday, March 28th and heard Patricia's call in for Candace in Oregon.  And Patricia, my heart is so moved for you, my sister.  I love you so much.  When I heard your words of comfort for Candace, it deeply touched my heart, and Candace in Oregon, I love you as well and have been praying for you. Patricia, I also wanted to echo what you said about Victorious Soldier and her prayers.  I so agree and say amen to that.  What a blessing she is to all of us.  And Patricia, I do pray in the name of Jesus for you and that you have everything that you need in every way and that the comfort and the provision of the Holy Spirit be with you to sustain and protect and provide for you.  I just want to extend my love to you today, my prayers to you today, and my thanks for you today and for all of you at the Daily Audio Bible. You are so precious to God and to me. Community, I hope you have a wonderful rest of your week and hope to speak with you all soon.  Alright, I love you.  Bye-bye.  

Hello Daily Audio Bible.  My name is Pat from Montana and will you pray for me?  (excuse me)  Thank you for reading the Bible because it has brought me so much closer to God.  I'm __________ a such a happy marriage with my husband, but my life has been miserable for a very long time.  I have a 51-year-old son who is a full-blown alcoholic.  He works on and off and on and off.   He __________ and he drinks himself daily to death. How he survives, I honestly don’t know. It's just that he's a very healthy, fit person, works out and always puts good food in his body except for this bad liquor.  We have been trying to get help for him for years but he goes in and comes out and goes in and comes out.  And I just want to ask everybody out there to just pray.  We’ve prayed for years and years and it has __________ stopped.  And I love him so much.  He knows that but he doesn’t hurt anybody, but he hurts himself and I wait for that call every day to come.  But that is how it is.  __________ to all the beautiful, wonderful people caring.  And Brian, every time you read the Bible, it brings me closer to God.  He's blessed you because I know you read this and you help a lot of people.  I'm very sorry about...

[gaiatheorist]

Blind faith.

(I’m smirking at that play on words, but my left eye is already ‘going’, it remains to be seen, or not-seen whether I’ll be able to see anything at all on the left side soon enough. It’s annoying, but I can work around it by turning my head, and not moving around any more than I need to, having one eye ‘gone’ buggers your depth/spatial perception.)

The NHS is celebrating its 70th ‘birthday’. Inception date, I suppose, and I genuinely doubt there’s much celebrating happening. Someone has posted a link from a BBC Radio programme asking ‘Is the NHS a new religion?’ I was going to say I hadn’t read it, but it’s radio, I haven’t listened to it. My immediate thought? “Is it bollocks!”, I then tangent-bounced through various “Religion is bullshit!” opinions, before remembering that I do have a religion of sorts. THEN I remembered all of the people I wanted to punch after my brain haemorrhage, for telling me I was ‘lucky’ and ‘a miracle’, and ‘must have a guardian angel.’

Semantics, but words are my thing. I wasn’t ‘lucky’, I was a statistical anomaly, the type/grade of haemorrhage I’d had has a statistical mortality rate of between 80 and 90%. The 10-20% of us that ‘wake up’ don’t all immediately shout ‘Hallelujah!’, and claim that we have ‘seen the light’, because a lot of us can’t speak, or see. The dancing in the church aisles has to wait, too. I can mostly walk and talk now. Sometimes I walk into things, sometimes I fall over, and sometimes I assess the risk of walking, and decide to stay sitting down, to avoid significant injury to myself. I can talk in relatively short bursts, until my concentration starts to fog, and I start word-slipping, or babbling absolute jumble. I repeat myself A LOT, and I quite often think I’ve told people things when I’d actually just THOUGHT ‘remember to tell...’ I am in varying degrees of pain at all times, and have only just started accessing prescription analgesics, after three years of gritting my teeth and ‘getting on with it’ through the pain haze. Lucky? I’m alive.

I’m not ‘a miracle’, I’m a stubborn bastard. That obstinate streak could have killed me. When the aneurysm ruptured, when I felt the irregularity in one of the arteries in my brain burst, and was struck down by the most blinding, indescribable pain I have ever experienced, I played it down. I told the friend who was with me that I thought it was a migraine, and then tried not to vomit in my office bin, because I didn’t want to put a dampener on his weekend. I told the ex I needed to sleep, and, when I woke up, and vomited in my son’s bedroom, it wasn’t a ‘miracle’ that he woke the ex, it was his judgement that there was something seriously wrong with me. There was, the rupture was pumping blood into my skull, which is a closed unit as far as circulation goes, my brain was being crushed. It might have been a minor miracle that the ex got out of bed, but that’s just me being bitchy. It wasn’t ‘a miracle’ that the ambulance was eventually sent, or that the ambulance crew eventually agreed to take me to hospital, that was a clinical decision based on my presentation, they didn’t have scanner-eyes, they couldn’t see what was happening. My ‘Glasgow Coma Scale’ rating was around 7 on admission to hospital, I had very basic muscle-response, virtually no eye-response, and was non-verbal, and unresponsive to verbal commands. At that point, I was probably ‘dying’, there wasn’t much of me ‘in there.’ 

Another not-miracle was the clinical decision to send me to another hospital, rather than write-off the drooling, cross-eyed lump that I was at that point in time. The surgeries that saved me weren’t miraculous, they were examples of skill and judgement by the medical staff. (On a Saturday morning, I’ll add, for the type of politician who likes to infer that the NHS is a Monday-Friday 9-5 institution.) I don’t have a time-line for the surgeries, the first one was similar to something from a horror film, the second more of a futuristic science fiction thing. Intubated and anaesthetised, the surgeons shaved a chunk of my hair away, used a bone-saw to make a groove-incision in my skull, and a drill to make a small hole. That’s not the goriest bit. Then, they very carefully punctured the membrane that stops your brain chaffing against your skull ‘subarachnoid membrane’, I think, and it probably made a right old mess, with the blood, and cerebrospinal fluid that was causing the hydrocephalus. Membrane punctured, they laid some sort of plastic tubing from the large incision at the front of my skull to the small drill-hole at the back. (I’m sorry, I should have asked if you wanted a sick-bag.) Plastic tubing, along the surface of my brain, poking out of the hole in the back, and draining the STINKING accumulated fluids out of the water-bomb that had been my brain-sac, into a plastic bag on one of those IV-stand doofers. High-end trepanning, isn’t it? It wasn’t ‘a miracle’ that they didn’t slip with the drill, or the bone-saw, it was technological advances in imaging, that meant they knew how deep to go. It wasn’t ‘a miracle’ that the bit of tubing IN MY SKULL didn’t track bacteria or infections into my brain, it was scrupulous attention to cleanliness and infection control. ‘Drain infection’ is a real thing, I’m glad I didn’t Google that phrase until afterwards.  That was the horror film bit.

What they did next was amazing, a marvel of technology and medical expertise combined, but it STILL wasn’t a miracle, it was ‘hard’ technological science, combined with knowledge, and centuries of medical developments. Also very steady hands. Having drained off the fluids that were physically crushing my brain, it was assessed that the bleeding was coming from a ruptured aneurysm on my Anterior Communicating Artery. Imaging also noted two other aneurysms in there, but science is logical-rational, they weren’t urgent or life threatening, the ruptured one was. Linear-logical-analytical, although my ex and son had been taken into one of the quiet side rooms, and told I might not ‘pull through’, and I wouldn’t be ‘the same’ if I did, the risks of the surgery were minimal, compared to the battering my brain had already given itself, they weren’t going to make me any worse. I can’t even find the scar from that surgery. An incision was made in my groin, over the femoral artery, and a surgeon guided wires and cameras and all manner of improbable machinery into my brain. Science knows that the human body builds scar tissue around foreign bodies it can’t eject, so, that’s what the surgeon did, he fired multiple tiny platinum coils into the burst aneurysm, to encourage scarring. (Don’t weigh my head in at Cash Converters, I assure you it’s worth more to me, and I bite.)  A ‘miracle’? No, science and technology.

‘You must have a guardian angel!’ No, just no. My survival, and subsequent ‘recovery’, although impossible without the NHS intervention at point of need, were all down to me. There’s no delusion of grandeur about that, it was a life-altering medical emergency, with a statistical mortality rate averaging 85%. Most people don’t survive at all, and the majority who do don’t go back to work six weeks later. The NHS is strained beyond breaking point, I wasn’t ‘discharged’ from hospital, because there wasn’t a doctor on the ward, so nobody told me what I was, or wasn’t ‘allowed’ to do. Two weeks after my brain leaked, and my head was hacked into, I just sort of wandered out of the hospital, because the ex was whining about being bored of waiting. Everything after that first two weeks was me, because when I eventually had my rehab clinic appointment, I was an absolute horror, and told the poor woman that I WAS going back to work, that I WASN’T going to ‘be looked after’, or ‘make colour-coded charts for household chores.’ Yeah, I misjudged how ‘better’ I was going to get. My bad. 

Despite having ‘a religion’, I’m not a big fan of the organised mainstream religions. I was raised Catholic during my formative years, and I never quite managed to step out of the ‘Shit, I’m going to get caught!’ guilt-trip, into the ‘if I do get caught, I’ll just atone, and it will be fine.’  I didn’t ‘put my faith in God’ after the haemorrhage, I trusted the medical staff to do the best they could, and hoped my body would eventually repair itself. 

My religion. A couple of hundred years ago, I would have been burned for it, you get the drift. I’m a throw-back, a glitch in the system, because I understand most of how the human body works, based on science, but I can also pinch a bit of a plant between my fingers, and tell you, from the smell, what medicinal value it would have. It works, my son has been prescribed pharmaceutical drugs twice in his entire life, and I’ve successfully treated animals with herbs and aromatherapy oils, you can’t argue placebo-effect on that. I’m that weird old woman, living mostly alone, except I’m not in a tumble-down shack in the woods, I’m in a detached house in a cul-de-sac just off the main road, couldn’t tell you if my right-hand neighbours have two children or three, and today was the first time I ever spoke to the lady-neighbour on that side.    

Here’s the old cross-over between medicine and religion, that old woman in the woods would have been feared and revered, but, with the emergence of science and medicine, that link was lost. I genuinely don’t believe that the ‘pray for...’ Facebook posters have given any thought to the immense unlikelihood of a collective consciousness having any impact on a dog with ham on its face, or whatever they’re babbling about now. I think it’s just a ‘thing’ that’s stuck. We don’t believe that our soul is going to fly out of our nostrils when we sneeze, that’s just snot, but we still say “Bless you.” The ‘thoughts and prayers’ phenomenon drives me insane, I think it’s just as much of a reflex-nothing as ‘bless you.’ 

I don’t think that the people mouth-barbling, or typing that nurses are ‘angels’ are drawing any real correlation between over-worked, under-paid humans doing phenomenally difficult work, and cherubim and seraphim, they’re just weightless words. There has been a shift, with the advent of the internet, and the increasingly litigious nature of society. The ‘man in the white coat’ is no longer as respected or revered, because we all have Dr Google now, and can look up our symptoms, disregard the first result that says we’re clinically dead, and stomp into our GP’s surgery to tell them what’s wrong with us, and what we want doing about it. (If we haven’t actually died during the 4 week wait for the next convenient appointment.) 

My ex father-in-law had prostate cancer. He’s all clear now because he ‘went on the computer’, and looked up emergent techniques available locally. This is a man approaching 80 years of age now, who always followed his doctors instructions to the letter. To the extent that, when I queried whether he should STILL be ‘on tablets’ for his ‘bad toe’, he shushed me, as the doctor hadn’t discontinued his prescription. I can’t remember what the medication was, but it wasn’t intended for long-term use, and accumulated in his liver and kidneys, causing significant damage requiring surgery. From a man who wouldn’t question his doctor, he became a man who would. (Still paid no attention to me, I was just ‘a girl’, not a doctor or nurse...) 

It’s not all good, because the NHS has limited funding, and, if we all demand everything we’ve seen on the internet, and the poor over-stretched GPs are concerned about legal action, we will screw it into the ground. Free at point of use is what we’re used to, but that Gods-like obedience to whatever our doctor says is slipping away. (I know, I’ll only see one of the three doctors at my surgery, because the other two are fond of ‘everybody gets that’, and ‘you survived, what more do you want?’ The third one listens and responds, he doesn’t just dismiss, and THAT is the relationship I need.)  

Doctors are not Gods, we do not worship them. We respect them, but we do not revere them as our spirit-guides, and we know they can’t hex us. The NHS is ‘a Godsend’, in the loosest sense, thousands, if not millions of us would be dead without it, but to ask if it is ‘a religion’ is the silliest of wordplay. People who say ‘Thank God!’ generally aren’t, and people who do ‘Thank Gods’ generally don’t bandy the phrase about, lest it lose weight, a Djinn only gives a fixed number of wishes, after all, and there’s a price to pay. 

I’ve been tapping away at this, in fits and starts all day. I am thankful for the functionality that the NHS managed to save, and I’m wary of the way that the government is asset-stripping and disassembling it. For 70 years, the UK has had free medical care at point of need, and, this week, almost 20 ‘non-urgent’ surgical procedures were removed from the available catalogue of things we’ve always had access to. This anniversary will see many of us reflect on life-saving, and life-preserving procedures, care and compassion. It will also see many people reflecting on why they had to leave the NHS as an employer, lack of funding and cohesive support mechanisms mean that the system can no longer function as it was intended. Is it a religion? I don’t believe so. Is it fundamentally a compassionate and humane service, intended to preserve and prolong life? Almost certainly, for now. Our ‘Christian’ Prime Minister would do well to acknowledge that. 

[jaroslavprachar]

Lumps On Dogs: When To Get Them Checked By A Veterinarian

When people find lumps on dogs, they often panic. It’s easy to assume the worst. And then we often avoid finding out more. But really: what should you do?

Get lumps on dogs checked by a veterinarian. ASAP. Most of the time the lumps are benign … but when they’re not, the longer you wait to get them checked out, the worse the situation becomes.

Watch and Wait Approach?

But what should you do when your veterinarian wants to “watch and wait” or flat out refuses to test those lumps for cancer?

Best case scenario: the lumps really are “nothing to worry about” and your dog is fine, just a little lumpy.

Worst case scenario: your dog has cancer, and misses a window of opportunity to get early surgery. Early surgeries are smaller (so less expensive) and, depending upon the location and cancer type, can often cure cancer.

This “watch and wait” attitude is something we’re hoping to turn around, because it’s not good for dogs, and it’s not good for dog lovers. For example, here’s a message our Dog Cancer Vet Customer Support team recently received:

I have an otherwise healthy labrador of 14 1/2 who has several lumps that her regular vet is unwilling to aspirate and against treating dogs for cancer entirely!  I hope that they are fatty lumps as suggested but my dog keeps drawing my attention to the largest lump and has been known to indicate breast cancer in at least one human.

Well this just makes my blood boil! A vet won’t aspirate?! How can this be when early detection saves lives! Why would a veterinarian choose to not check a skin mass? Especially when the dog’s guardian believes it’s necessary?

Not even the most experienced veterinarian can look at or feel a mass and know if it is cancer or not.

We must sample lumps, and evaluate the cells under a microscope to determine what they are. There is no other way to know whether a lump is benign or malignant.

Your veterinarian must perform a fine needle aspirate and/or a biopsy to make an accurate diagnosis. If your vet won’t do it, then find a vet who will.

There are so many things we can do for cancer these days, which is good, because cancer is now the #1 killer of dogs. That’s why Dr. Dressler and I wrote The Dog Cancer Survival Guide, which is full of practical advice from all over the spectrum. Not only my specialty, chemotherapy — but also surgery, radiation, diet, supplements, and even mind-body strategies. Dogs are living well and long because there are so many things we can do.

Fine Needle Aspirates for Lumps on Dogs

Aspirates are important and can help identify many types of tumors. They’re also quick, just a tiny needle inserted in the lump, and they aren’t expensive and don’t require anesthesia.

I know, it’s scary to think that the lump can be cancer.

But the sooner we determine whether a mass is cancerous and should be removed, the better for your pet. Most skin and subcutaneous (just under the skin) tumors can be cured when diagnosed early, when masses are small.

But do you really not want to know? Many dogs and cats have lumps and bumps, and not all of these masses are malignant (cancerous) tumors.

In fact, most tumors are benign (not cancer).

So if you find a lump while petting your dog, or your vet finds one during a physical exam, don’t just monitor it. If you See Something, Do Something.

See Something, Do Something

“See Something Do Something” is a set of guidelines I am developing with my colleagues at VCA Hospitals to help guardians and veterinarians figure out what to do when they find lumps on dogs skin, or just under the skin.

See Something: When a skin lump is the size of pea or larger or has been present for one month,

Do Something: Aspirate or biopsy, and treat appropriately.

A pea is about one centimeter, or about half the diameter of a penny. Why so small? When masses are removed early, the prognosis can be excellent, with no additional treatment needed after surgery.

But to limit the number or surgeries, we must get a diagnosis with cytology or biopsy early and before removing a tumor. This will lead to an improved outcome for your pet. A single surgical procedure can cure your pet for the majority of tumors. This is especially true for benign tumors, and some cancers that are only locally invasive (those that don’t spread or metastasize to other parts of the body).

Benign Tumors

Benign tumors may not need to be removed immediately. The location of the mass on your pet’s body should be considered. Will an increase in growth in this location prevent successful surgery? Is the mass causing pain, irritation, secondary bleeding or infection? Unless the answers to these questions are yes, you may not need to do surgery at all. Your veterinarian will be able to help you figure this out for each benign tumor.

Malignant Tumors

But if the mass is malignant, the first surgery is your pet’s best chance for a cure. Therefore your veterinarian needs to know what the tumor is before it is removed.

What is the danger of waiting too long?

Larger masses are more difficult to remove!

This is especially true for masses on the legs, head and neck area, and for smaller pets.

Over time tumors are likely to increase in size making them more difficult to remove and/or they may metastasize (spread) to internal organs. A larger mass is also more likely to need additional therapy after surgery, such as radiation therapy or chemotherapy, to prevent recurrence.

Smokey’s story

I wrote a blog about my nurse’s dog, Smokey that you should read. Smokey was an amazing white Pitty (aka Pit Bull), and I adored him. (Smokey is no longer with us, but did not die of his cancer but other medical issues later on.)

I had aspirated MANY skin masses on Smokey over the years. And the masses had always been benign fatty deposits, lipomas.

But then one day when Smokey came in for his routine lipoma check, it wasn’t a benign lipoma. This one was a malignant cancer. And the now five centimeter connective tissue cancer required a very large and complicated surgery to get the important wide and clean margins.

(The tumor was a soft tissue sarcomas. These have tentacle-like projections, so these tumors require three centimeter, more than an inch, margins around the tumor, and a tissue layer below. That is a really big surgery: for a five centimeter tumor, the resulting scar should be at least eleven cm, or about 4.5 inches.)

In hindsight, if we had aspirated this earlier when the mass was one centimeter, Smokey’s surgery would have been much smaller.

Stay Vigilant About Lumps on Dogs

So just because your dog has had multiple lipomas or other benign masses in the past, don’t get too relaxed. Stay vigilant and have those lumps and bumps aspirated. It’s not a big deal for the dog, and it is worth knowing what you’re facing.

Remember, no one — not a vet, not an oncologist, and not you — can tell what a lump is just by feeling. And “watching and waiting” is not a good idea. Get the masses aspirated. Don’t assume it’s just another lipoma. The earlier we find tumors, the better.

With early diagnosis, less treatment will likely be required, and a smaller surgery may be curative. This means cost, a better prognosis, happier pets, and guardians too!

See Something, Do Something!

Live longer, live well,

Dr Sue

PS: Dr. Dressler wrote about this years ago and his post is useful. I Found a Lump on My Dog

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