#i can understand entirely why i got rid of it but in retrospect i should not have

[ailinu]

Tragedy: I think I threw out my all-caps black and white crucified christ THIRST shirt in the middle period of my [high schooler (catholic)] --> ’everything is very complicated and also i am not going to wear that’ --> ‘this is by far the funniest shirt i could possibly own’ attitude evolution towards it

[kkusuka]

Aoba Johsai <3

team matserlist ----main matserlist 

(so it turns out there are some other members of Seijoh that we never really see so I'm just going to the main group.)

Poor manager-chan was bothered by Oikawa for a full week before you gave up and became the manager

You already had a pretty vague understanding of the team, hell you went  to Seijoh everyone knew about the volleyball team

After being cornered by Oikawa for the fourth time you just couldn’t take it anymore and just agreed to the poor boys begging.

Everyone on the team knew and was pleasantly surprised when you came with him

And even more, surprised when you announced that you would be the new manager!

(the team knew about you from Oikawa's constant chatter about y/n from his math class, the one with the pretty face and sits two rows in front of him.)

And when they saw you they could tell why you were just so magnetic

All of them wanted to be around you at once

And you were actually a really good manager, so that was helpful

You listened to them, took really detailed notes, had great team spirit, and you make hella good break time snacks

So it was really no surprise when some of the younger boys formed some little puppy dog crushes on you

And the ever-observant captain immediately noticed and was willing to talk to them about it

This led to multiple team meetings where it was discovered that all of them at one point would have loved to have you be theirs

With this revelation, Oikawa realized that he was not the only one who liked you, but he was going to be the one that got you.

So at practice, he was all over you, putting arms around your shoulder when the two of you spoke, and the final straw was the subtle kiss on the cheek

Oikawa had started a war

A war that came to head at one of the team dinners you were generously hosting

You had to mention how the recent days all the boys were kind of tense, and they would take every opportunity to be all over you, not that you minded but it was odd.

And they just unloaded everything on you...like everything including how you wearing a big shirt and shorts was not the best outfit to an all-boys-- and you--get -together

And somehow that turned into you indirectly, somehow daring almost all of them, it's confusing but it makes all of you happy so it’s ok

This wasn't the first time something like this had happened, it was a game day, of course, and some teams realize that they aren't going to win

And take a turn for the more vulgar route, mostly towards you

Just inappropriate comments across the court and makes everyone on your team lose their shit (for a lack of better terms)

This lead to two things: a win for Aoba Johsai, and a steamy rough fucking in the locker-room

Much to Oikawa's dismay: the younger boys start first, you don't want to tell them it’s because they prep you well and it easier to get rid of them first

Kunimi takes the opportunity to lay back and let you do most of the work. Much to the team's disbelief, it’s not entirely because he’s too lazy to do it himself; he likes watching you. You squeeze your eyes shut a lot, to which he loves to tell you to open them back up, if he was on top he would be too focused on moving to tell you that. And it means your boobs are bouncing right in his face too, he can't stop that one.

“Open ‘em, y/n, stop closing them”

“You can go faster, actually just go faster”

Kindaichi is actually always pretty hesitant, Kunimi is almost settled before he even has his hands on you. Two things can happen one easier than the other, the first is that he just tries to fit his dick in your already stuffed cunt. Or he’ll squeeze himself into your ass, which requires a bit more vocality from you to make sure he isn't hurting you. Then after some time he just reams whatever hole he’s in.

“Keep her steady-if you want to get off so bad move yourself” (they always argue)

“You-you feel so nice, I'm gonna fill you up”

After the first-years the only clear option is to let the second years have a turn, considering Kyotani is already on you before anyone can say different.

The team normally just lets Kyotani have his turn alone, he’s rather...aggressive- to say the least. He has a sort of ritual before staring, getting you on your back, missionary and he just attacks your thighs. The majority of the bite marks and hickeys come from him.

Then when he feels he’s left his mark, he flips you back onto your hands and knees and shoves himself into your dripping cunny. He's a big fan of hair-pulling and/or pushing your back until your stomach is on the floor but your ass is in the air, nonetheless speaking of the constant spanks.

(but he doesn't really talk all the much, mostly growls and lots of grunts)

When he finishes and finally lets you go, the other two second years take their turn.

Watari and Yahaba are significantly softer than the previous three, this time it's like an aftercare/ preparation for what's to come. Watari takes your mouth, telling you that any pace you want is fine and he’ll sit back. He’ll run your cheeks and give you soft mewls about how well you’re doing. Yahaba takes his chance to softly fuck your abused cunt, soft and slow strokes as he rubs little circles around your clit, making sure you cum.

“Just like that- oh you're so good”

“You’re doing so well honey, just a bit more, you can do it”

Then the real Armageddon begins.

Oikawa is on you in seconds, Iwaizumi following seconds behind.

Oikawa tries to stay on top but he only gets as far as marking up your neck before he’s pushed away. You both end up his chest, to your back, and your head falling over his shoulder as Iwaizumi takes his place. Oikawa-still marking up your neck enters your poor little hole and holds your legs open for Iwaizumi while rubbing your clit.

Hajime settles between your legs and maneuvers his penis around Oikawa you get himself in. He's the one who holds your hips and keeps you from jerking away, he’ll rub circles on your waist. And he’ll lean down taking one of your nipples in his mouth, then giving the same treatment to the other. Both of them are so in-sync it’s crazy. They also speak two different ways; Oikawa's praising moans compared to Iwaizumi degrading growls.

“You’re just a fucking cockwhore, you love this huh? You’re just a glorified cumdump and you love it”

“Oh, baby, you're squeezing me so well, and you sound so absolutely delicious.”

When the two of them let you go after cuddling you until you come back into reality, and they wouldn’t let you if not for Mattsun and Makki yelling about how they still have to go.

So when they get to you they waste no time, there is no foreplay everyone else has done for them. They are the most adventurous on the team, it seems like every time they have you they try something different. One time they both tried to fit in your ass, another they had you sit on Makkis face while Mattsun fucked your ass. But this time they seemed to settle for one in your pussy and the other in your ass.

Mattsun graciously took the place in your cunt, and he normally holds your ass open so Makki has a better view of your puckered hole. They always find a way to joke around like when Makki thrusts in he’ll jerk you into Mattsuns arms, then Mattsun thrusts back pushing you into Makki’s arms. They are also the meanest in retrospect. They jeer and make fun of you when you cry, they don't let you cum until they have to cum. But they never talk directly to you, they always have conversations with each other.

“Look Makki! Crying again? Really? We aren't doing anything bad, you’ll feel good in a minute if you stop feeling a baby.”

“You feel that Mattsun, should we let her cum, I don't think so she’s been bad, hasn't she? Well, maybe next time right!”

On the rare occasion, you immediately fall asleep after you wake up as they pamper you with food and bubble baths.

If not, you're carried around until you go to bed and waited for the next day. One time you even convinced them to go get food from a restaurant in an entirely different prefecture

It's a double reward- bomb sex and an entire team of boys waiting on your hand and foot. <3 

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

@guqin-and-flute​ I hope you don’t mind that I jumped in on this one? It happened to hit my inspiration bone just right so I wrote a quick one-shot while procrastinating my college assignments.

(Edit: now on my AO3, titled, “You’ll Have To Trust Me”)

--

In retrospect, Nie Mingjue supposes, he should have known that it would just be their luck - his luck, really - that they would run into something like this.

Leave it to Jin Guangyao to find the perfect excuse for the three of them to get away from the overwhelming crush of their duties for a night only to just so happen to walk right into a fucking trap that has conveniently left himself and Lan Xichen blinded and Jin Guangyao apparently untouched.

Oh not that he’ll ever get Lan Xichen to believe it was a trap, of course. It was an ‘honest mistake’ as far as he’s concerned, which he’s currently reassuring Jin Guangyao of throughout all the other man’s outwardly anxious fretting.

“Er-ge are you really sure you’re alright? You’re not hurt anywhere?”

“A-Yao -” Lan Xichen’s voice is soft and warm and even though the kindness isn’t even directed at him it still feels like a warmed blanket around Nie Mingjue’s shoulders. Lan Xichen is just...like that. “I promise I’m alright, not even a scratch.”

There’s a pause and then a tentative, “Da-ge?” from much closer than he would have expected. He doesn’t flinch though. He won’t give Jin Guangyao the satisfaction.

“What?” he replies, his tone as curt as Lan Xichen’s was affectionate. He can practically feel the disapproval radiating off of Lan Xichen in response but that isn’t anything new with their new..situation. Nie Mingjue has already made his peace with the fact that he is likely going to spend the rest of his life upsetting his oldest friend in some way or another.

“You’re injured.”

“I know that!” 

“Mingjue-xiong? You’re hurt?” Lan Xichen suddenly pipes up and Nie Mingjue knows that the only reason there’s not an accompanying rustle of clothing and a gentle touch on his arm is because Lan Xichen is as sightless as he is at the moment and likely afraid to move too much.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. Will you let me look at it?”

Nie Mingjue instinctively pulls his injured leg closer to himself and away from Jin Guangyao, biting his tongue instead of groaning when something grinds under the skin in a spot where he’s pretty sure nothing’s supposed to actually move.

“It’s fine. We just need to figure out how to break this fucking curse before something comes and eats us,” he grunts once he’s sure he can talk without screaming, dull flares of pain dragging up and down his entire left side, from toes to shoulder and back down again.

“Mingjue-xiong just let him look at it,” Lan Xichen sighs. “We’re not going anywhere for awhile anyway until we figure out how to do this safely.”

Nie Mingjue holds out in silence for another two minutes (he counts) before he relents with a nod. For a long moment he’s able to maintain the hope that Jin Guangyao wasn’t watching him to see it, but then there’s a quiet shuffling and small, cool hands are lifting the suspiciously sticky fabric of his trousers to take a look at his leg.

“What’s wrong? How bad is it?” Lan Xichen asks when Jin Guangyao sucks in a gasp and Nie Mingjue glares into the middle distance that he can’t fucking see because this spirit that Jin Guangyao just had to chase tonight blinded them and now he’s broken his fucking leg because of it. And he’s still somehow the only person in the world who doesn’t trust the oh-so-accommodating, oh-so-polite, oh-so-obsequious Jin Fucking Guangyao, so the chances that his accusations of trickery and malicious intent will be listened to are little to none.

He’s pissed, basically.

“That fucking HURTS Meng Yao!” he snaps, his voice too loud and sharp in his frustration at the burst of pain from whatever Jin Guangyao had just done to his leg. His hands go still and this time the quiet gasp comes from Lan Xichen.

“Mingjue-xiong,” he chastises as Jin Guangyao’s hands slowly pull away from his skin.

“It’s alright, er-ge,” he demurs and that tone gets under Nie Mingjue’s skin even more, that kicked puppy tone, that ‘I’m used to the world not respecting me’ tone that he always uses to get his way with Lan Xichen. Whether he does it on purpose or not (Nie Mingjue fucking knows he does) it’s exactly the right way to get Lan Xichen’s sense of propriety involved and suddenly Nie Mingjue is the one in the wrong for using his old name rather than his legitimized one. As if that name isn’t a slap in Jin Guangyao’s face all on its own, but no one but Nie Mingjue even seems to notice that bit. “His leg is broken and it’s gone through the skin. I need to go find something to make a splint with, I’ll do my best to stay within earshot.”

“Alright A-Yao,” Lan Xichen murmurs. “We’ll stay right here.” His smile is audible despite their circumstances and Nie Mingjue takes a deep breath in, squeezing his unseeing eyes shut. His anger won’t find a home here - not with these two as his companions practically drooling on each other with all their gooey affection in their own little world - but he doesn’t want to take it out on Lan Xichen anyways. He’s got quite a few things he’d like to take out on Jin Guangyao, but that would only end up hurting Lan Xichen as well, and his childhood friend doesn’t deserve that.

Jin Guangyao’s footsteps retreat through the underbrush, growing fainter and fainter until there’s nothing to hear but the wind through the trees.

“Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Xichen starts, his lecturing voice out in full force.

“Don’t. I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, Xichen! I know! I got it, it was just a slip of the tongue! Is your precious A-Yao the only one here allowed to make ‘an honest mistake’?!”

“Alright.”

They lapse into silence then, Nie Mingjue still breathing too fast and too hard but unable to stop. He’s angry, he’s in pain, and he’ll never admit it out loud but he’s afraid. Ever since he had woken up in the Scorching Sun Palace to find Lan Xichen defending Meng Yao so fiercely he had known he couldn’t count on Lan Xichen’s protection from the other, which meant that if he was to keep himself safe from Jin Guangyao’s scheming mind and murderous hands he would have to always maintain the upper hand. He can’t do that while injured and blinded and with Lan Xichen similarly incapacitated, the pair of them suddenly entirely reliant on Jin Guangyao.

It would be so easy for Jin Guangyao to arrange for an unfortunate ‘accident’ and get rid of him. He’d watched the man murder with the intention to frame someone else for his deeds. If he was willing to do it once, who’s to say he won’t be willing to do it again?

He’s on his own, and he honestly can’t say he enjoys the feeling.

“A-Yao?” Lan Xichen calls a few quiet minutes later, startling him out of his spiraling thoughts.

“I’m still here, er-ge,” comes the faint call from some distance away and Nie Mingjue hears a few dry leaves rustle as Lan Xichen shifts his weight, presumably turning in his direction even though he can’t see Jin Guangyao out in the trees. “It’s difficult finding sticks that are both as long as da-ge needs and as strong and also straight enough to be a splint. Are you both still alright?”

“Yes. Take your time,” Lan Xichen replies and then things are quiet again.

“You can’t really think this is a coincidence,” Nie Mingjue finally mutters, low enough not to carry too far beyond their spot. “Xichen, please. Just entertain the idea that this is all on purpose.”

“I can’t, Mingjue-xiong, I’m sorry.” And he really does sound remorseful about that, because of course he does. “I trust A-Yao. Accidents happen on night hunts all the time, and we three are not infallible. I am only relieved that he remains unaffected by this curse so that we have hopes of getting out of here safely.”

“And just why do you think he wasn’t affected?” Nie Mingjue can’t resist asking, beginning to become desperate to understand Lan Xichen’s way of thinking that can keep him from becoming in the least bit suspicious.

“We shielded him from it, of course.”

“I didn’t!”

“You did, Mingjue-xiong. You and I both.”

Nie Mingjue mentally replays the last moments before the world had gone dark. They’d been pursuing the spirit as it fled back towards where it had come from, all three of them running as fast as they could over unfamiliar, heavily wooded terrain. He’d seen the spirit whip back at the last moment, diving towards them rather than back into a stone hut nearly completely crumbled under moss. He remembers shouting for Lan Xichen to watch out and -

Yanking Jin Guangyao behind himself as he skidded to a stop next to Lan Xichen just in time for the spirit to slam into both of their chests and knock them all backwards.

He remembers the moments after that as well, his vision fading quicker than a candle guttering out. He had shoved Jin Guangyao at Lan Xichen just before everything had gone completely dark and his momentum had carried him over the edge of a small ravine. He had been the only one to fall into it, the others had joined him almost immediately after, but under their own power. 

Nie Mingjue growled low in his throat and pounded a fist against the soft earth beneath him once, irritated with himself for the moment of weakness; for his instinct to protect Jin Guangyao being stronger than anything else in him when it came right down to it.

He can’t admit to it.

“He’s smaller than us and he was lagging behind while we ran. We were in his way when the spirit turned and he couldn’t get around us, that’s all there is to it. We weren’t protecting him.”

“Alright,” Lan Xichen agrees far too easily and it’s clear by the tone of his voice that he knows Nie Mingjue is just trying to save face. He both loves and hates that knowing tone, as well as the fact that Lan Xichen doesn’t press him to tell the truth that they both know.

Nie Mingjue is thankfully saved from any further humiliation by footsteps returning through the brush and he sits up a little straighter, breath quickening again as he braces himself for the pain of having his leg shifted and splinted that he knows is imminent.

“I was looking for a crutch but nothing around here is sturdy enough for you, da-ge, you’ll probably have to lean on er-ge to walk,” Jin Guangyao supplies as he comes closer, stopping a few steps away. There’s the clatter of a few sticks being set down on the ground close to his leg and he forces himself not to flinch away from it. The movement would only hurt and it won’t stop what’s about to happen, so he holds himself still with a grim determination.

Jin Guangyao settles down near him again and his hands are back on his skin, his touch still featherlight and cool as he shifts his trousers up over his knee but now there’s a slight trembling in his fingers that Nie Mingjue can feel when the man places a hand flat on his shin just below his knee.

“I’m sorry, da-ge,” he whispers for Nie Mingjue’s ears alone. He doesn’t have a chance to reply before he’s letting loose a primal shout of pain that he has absolutely no control over whatsoever. He bites out a litany of swears next, his head swimming and unseeing eyes brimming with tears as the nearly unbearable flare of pain settles again.

“Mingjue!” Lan Xichen shouts and there’s the sound of movement from his direction.

“Over here, er-ge, take my hand. Don’t get too much closer or you’ll hit his leg.”

“A-Yao, give me one of his hands.”

There’s a bit of shuffling, the touch of two shaking fingers under his wrist, and then Jin Guangyao’s hesitant touch is replaced by the anxious surety of both of Lan Xichen’s surprisingly warm hands wrapping around his palm. He curls his fingers tightly around Lan Xichen’s palm in return, both to reassure him as well as to have something to hold onto as Jin Guangyao starts getting his leg splinted, every single touch against his skin like a line of throbbing fire. Somehow it hurts more when he can’t see what’s happening, can’t anticipate the next touch.

The fire starts to ease as he realizes Lan Xichen is passing him some of his own qi, two of his fingertips pressed firmly against the pulse point on his wrist. The thread of it is soothing, silvery blue where it slips along his meridians. It leaves the scent of fresh pine and the peculiar crispness of mountain air in his nose and on the back of his tongue in its wake as it chases away the sharpest pains and soothes the duller ones into a manageable ache.

None of them talk while Jin Guangyao methodically binds his leg and Lan Xichen tends to his pains as best as he can. When it’s finished Nie Mingjue hears Jin Guangyao murmur for Lan Xichen to stop before he exhausts himself too much to travel.

“I need you both to listen to me very carefully,” Jin Guangyao says, his tone perfectly even.

“Yes yes we know, you get to order us around to get us out of here - how lucky for you,” Nie Mingjue snaps, patience worn down to the absolute thinnest it’s been since he had been driven to threaten Jin Guangyao’s life in Qishan.

“No, I meant...well, yes. But..” Jin Guangyao sighs then, a heavy, world-weary thing. It’s been a very very long time since he’s heard Jin Guangyao - normally so silver-tongued - become tongue-tied over anything. He sounds exhausted.

Nie Mingjue is..dismayed but not surprised to realize that he can still be manipulated so easily by the other even when he can’t see him. Not that he’ll ever let on, of course, but that doesn’t mean the twinge of guilt at being part of the cause of that exhaustion isn’t real. “Let’s just get out of here first, I suppose. I have something to tell you when we return to the inn, and you’ll both have to listen to me. You’ll have to trust me.”

“We trust you, A-Yao,” Lan Xichen replies instantly. Both Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao’s silences speak volumes about what they think about that, but they both wisely say nothing. If there’s one thing the pair of them can agree on anymore it’s that Lan Xichen should be allowed to keep up his optimistic illusions about the world for as long as they can be maintained. He should always get to believe the best in everybody like he wants to.

Getting Nie Mingjue standing and propped up against Lan Xichen’s side for the return journey leaves him sweating and trembling but upright, and able to walk. Lan Xichen holds his free hand out to hold Jin Guangyao’s belt, Jin Guangyao warns them of any obstacles in their path, and Nie Mingjue does his best not to pass out.

They follow Jin Guangyao in this way back the way they had come, and while Nie Mingjue is constantly braced for something else to go wrong, after a small eternity they finally manage to return to the inn without further injury.

They agree to gather in Lan Xichen’s room, Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue sitting on the bed and facing Jin Guangyao’s general direction, and Jin Guangyao begins to talk.

“Just trust me,” he reminds them once again. “There are a few things you should know.”

----

In the morning, a scrap of post is sent from the smallest, cheapest inn of a small town that sits precariously on the edge of the forest on the far border of Lanling. The letter is bound for the heart of the territory under the control of the Jin’s, and Jin money is spared for the extra expense of ensuring it will arrive as quickly as it can. 

The letter will reach Jin Guangshan in the afternoon just in time for his usual break for tea, and Jin Guangshan will sit on his throne in Jinlintai to read Jin Guangyao’s report that the plot Jin Guangshan had devised has worked to perfection, that Qinghe Nie will no longer be a threat to his position. That he is retreating to Gusu to ostensibly grieve with his remaining sworn brother while doing his best to gain whatever secrets he can from their library to further secure their position at the top of the world.

Shortly after the letter begins its hurried journey to Jinlintai, three heavily cloaked figures - two tall, one short; one limping, one supporting, and one guiding - quietly slip away to begin their own journey in the opposite direction, bound for the safety that only the Gusu Lan can provide to shelter them while they plan just what, exactly, the three of them are going to do next.

[shinysobi]

i came in from the outside, burnt out from the joyride

this was born out of a conversation with @akinosakiya, so all credits go to her >.<

chapter i | chapter 2 (coming soon)

Han Joon Hwi and Kang Sol, years after graduation. post-canon fix it, idiots to lovers.

ao3

a/n : i got this idea as i feverishly dm'd my friend about a solhwi prompt,,, i took it too far i think >.<

please tell me if you like it!!

a/n: title taken from Hozier's Almost (sweet music) which i recommend while reading this.

chapter 1: you and i are lovers in the dark

There has got to be another way of doing this. I can’t be doing this all my life.

“You know,” the words from Yeseul makes her look up, “you didn’t have to do this to yourself. You could have not taken the case, eonni. I told you not to take the case.”

Sol doesn’t say anything, just hangs her head in shame. The soju burns as she tips her head back, draining the last dregs of it, “I knew I shouldn’t have asked you for help. You’re being insufferable now that you’re dating Bok-gi.”

Yeseul laughs, reaching for the soda can, “eonni, I think you’re thinking about it too much.”

“I am, aren’t I?” she looks at the other girl, clearly panicked, “does it show? Oh, it shows, doesn’t it? Oh, what am I going to do—”

“Ah, noona, you shouldn’t have taken this case on, then,” Bok-gi says as he enters the room and take in the sight of a dishevelled Sol and a grinning Yeseul, “oh, Yeseul noona, I was looking all over for you!”

Sol scowls, “haven’t the two of you been dating forever? Why do you still have the honorific? And for your information, I took the case before I knew it was going to be him that I would have to go up against.”

Bok-gi looks affronted, and Yeseul comes to her boyfriend’s rescue, “ah, I like it, eonni.”

“Of course, you like it, you’re just as gone for him as he is,” she grumbles, “so, Bok-gi, Yeseul’s been telling you everything now, has she?”

“Ah, eonni, leave him out of it,” Yeseul soothes her, rubbing circles into her back, “do you want me to take the case? Instead of you—”

“The client won’t agree on it,” Sol whines, “and just when I thought I had got rid of him.”

“Rid of who?” so Bok-gi doesn’t know, Sol notes with some amount of pleasure, good. At least Yeseul didn’t tell him about the fact that—

“Oh, eonni might have to work with Joon-hwi oppa,” Yeseul chirps, looking entirely too pleased for Sol’s liking, “she’s the public defender for Joon-hwi oppa’s case.”

“The attempted murder one?” Bok-gi sounds as perplexed as Sol is, “but I thought hyung only dealt with financial cases, what happened? Didn’t you say you had some other prosecutor to deal with, noona?”

Sol groans, “apparently he’s taking criminal cases too, and the first one he chose to take was mine,” she stands up, “can’t I ever get rid of him?”

Yeseul blinks, “why did you have to get rid of him in the first place?”

Sol groans, sitting down on the chair with a thump. This was becoming a frighteningly regular occurrence, groaning at the mere mention of his name, “I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”

“You sound like a sixteen-year-old right now, noona,” Bok-gi giggles, and she scowls at him. How dare they find happiness in my misery. Just because she loved them didn’t mean she would put up with everything that they did.

Liar. You’ll always put up with whatever they do.

Wait, why did that sound like him? Did he finally manage to get inside her head?

No. no, calm down, Kang Sol. Joon-Hwi is not inside your brain. Your brain is filled with statutes of law, precedents, your grocery list, the things you need to buy Byeol for her birthday—

You have too many things on your mind.

Ah, fuck.

She stands up again, taking a look at Bok-gi and Yeseul’s surprised faces, and sits back down, “never mind. It’s just him. how bad could it be? We just lost touch over the years, and I specifically made sure to not keep in touch with him after we graduated—I’m going to die, Yeseul-ah.”

“No, eonni, you won’t,” Yeseul props her up gently, pushing the bowl of bibimbap towards her, “at least eat something before you cry.”

“No, you’re right,” Bok-gi agrees, although Sol knows he’s laughing at her internally, the little shit, “it’s wrong to cry and not eat. I’ll be dehydrated.”

The food tastes bland in her mouth, although she knows she’s made it spicy, but Sol works her way through it with tears in her eyes (she passes it off as due to the spice) and promptly starts sobbing again, lamenting her crappy life.

“Eonni, the trial isn’t until next month, you have enough time to prepare,” Yeseul tries to placate her, but it only increases the volume of her groans.  A whole month spent dreading the presence of Han Joon-Hwi as she prepared for the trial. “You’ll win it, right?”

There. That was what had been bugging her. The fact that he hadn’t lost a single case since he’d become prosecutor. It isn’t like she hadn’t expected this from him, coming first in her class, but—

“Is this even fair?” she wails, “the attempted murder case doesn’t even have to have him as the prosecutor, it is going to be easy for me to win, the client was framed, and there is no evidence—”

“Noona,” Bok-gi peers at her, his eyes going wide, “you’re scared, aren’t you?”

“Ah, it isn’t like that!” she tries to defend herself. But Yeseul just stares, “fine. You caught me. I’m scared of losing to him, he hasn’t even lost a single case since he made prosecutor, he’s on his way to becoming head prosecutor in less than a decade, and I’m—I’m barely surviving as it is, so why did Attorney Geun-Tae give this case to me?”

Both Bok-gi and Yeseul look shocked, and Sol isn’t surprised. They should be. She was the one who cut off contact with Joon-Hwi after graduation, claiming he didn’t need her to weigh him down, and she was the person who did everything without a single glance backwards, so why was she being so defensive? “It’s not like I don’t want to whine all the fucking time, it’s just that—”

“Whoa, noona swears a lot when it comes to Joon-Hwi hyung, who knew.” Bok-gi says, clapping a hand over his mouth, “have you always been this way, or did this just happen after you found out that you were going up against him?”

Sol scowls, “you’ve been trying to act cute, don’t try that with me, Min Bok-gi.”

Yeseul nods at Bok-gi. Sol scowls again. Traitor.

--

The truth is, she should have known this was coming. Their field doesn’t leave much for anonymity, and even if it did, why did she think it would be so easy to avoid Joon-Hwi? The boy—sorry, man, she supposes she should give him at least that much, they were both in their thirties now—the man was everywhere, the newest rising star in the prosecution. Even her boss, the clueless Park Geun-Tae knew about it, and had requested her to work in a case against him. her, the person who barely passed her law school course at Hankuk. Who has a sister far smarter than her, better than her at all aspects, who really isn’t cut out to be in this profession, something which she’s heard all too often from everyone, and all she wants to do is yell I know, I know, she knows it all.

Which is why, when Han Joon-Hwi approached her after the graduation ceremony, a determined look on his face, she dreaded the words that would come out of his mouth, and instead chose to flee. In retrospect, it wasn’t the best decision, but Kang Sol A isn’t known for making the best decisions.

She still lives with her mother and Byeol in that same house, where Joon had once installed a CCTV camera, which Lee Man-Ho had broken with a well-aimed rock, but the camera is still there, and while Byeol is in middle school now, a big girl, who doesn’t like Sol picking her up from school every day and who is already getting into trouble with that big mouth of hers, and certainly doesn’t need protecting, the camera is still there, and every once in a while, she likes to take a look at it, sipping beer after a long day at work. It’s obviously dysfunctional, but she likes to imagine that Joon-Hwi still takes a look at the camera feed, doing whatever “top secret” things he did.

She sighs, opening the door to their home. I have work to do if I need to beat Joon-Hwi.

--

“Why was I assigned to this case?” Joon-Hwi asks, surprise evident on his face, “I usually take financial dispute cases, this is an attempted murder, and the evidence doesn’t even look solid. Why am I being given this?”

He’s speaking to the wall in his office, and his paralegals are out on break, but he feels as though he should at least vent about this to something, if not someone. He’s supposed to be a star prosecutor, someone who hasn’t lost a single case since they stepped foot into the District Prosecutor’s office. And it’s true, he hasn’t lost a single case since he began working here, spurred on by a desire to both step out from under his uncle’s shadow and to prove himself.

The cases he has handled until now, have all been financial, catching the people who use money to get their way in the world, much like Ko Hyeong-Su, people so entitled to the world that they didn’t consider the rest of them as human beings. He liked bring them down to their level. Hell, he loved it.

But his specialty is not criminal law, and that too, a case that would be difficult for him to win, given that there was very little evidence and whatever he had, would never fly in a court of law. He’s kind of pissed at Prosecutor Lee for giving him the case. No, scratch that, he is pissed at Lee for giving him the case.

Defending lawyer—

Defending lawyer, Kang Sol.

Could it be?

He turns to his computer, and contemplates for a second if he should ask the police officer about the defending counsel, but decides against it. I don’t want to seem like a fool. Which—is correct. He is a fool.

So, he calls up the person who had the case before him, Prosecutor Shin, and tries not to hide the excitement in his words when he asks, “did you meet the defence counsel when you arrested the defendant, Prosecutor?”

“She didn’t have one,” the prosecutor replies, voice scratchy, and he wonders of he did the right thing by disturbing someone who was in the hospital, “we’ve indicted her, but the defence counsel was changed at the last moment, something about the public defender dropping the case. Her new counsel is some young lawyer, although she has a lot of experience.”

A lot of experience. “A lot of experience?”

“Yes,” the voice on the other side cracks, and there’s some commotion in the background, “I remember meeting her in the courthouse once. People call her crazy, the lengths she goes to defend her clients are insane. She’s a good egg though, doesn’t take on cases that she doesn’t like.”

“Hmm, thank you, Prosecutor,” he mumbles, hanging up the phone. So that’s what you’ve been doing all this time, Kang Sol. how long has it been, four-five years? And we’ve never met once, impressive.

He’s suddenly very excited for the initial hearing, even if he knows its going to be nearly impossible to win. But at least he can see her for the first time in years, even if its on the opposite side in a court of law. At least he has that.

—

“You’re being stupid,” Jiho says without much in the way of context, but Joon knows what he’s talking about, “you had to take a case just to meet her? A case you are most likely going to lose? What kind of person does that?”

Joon-Hwi rolls his eyes. Jiho was a good man, but sometimes, he really didn’t know the reason behind things. Or to be more specific, why Joon-Hwi did some things. Still, it was understandable as to why he would behave like this. Neither of them has had any connections with each other over the past five years, missing each other by mere moments at times, and yet, he’s still enamoured by her memory, of the way she used to look at her law books and the way she used to stick her highlighters in her hair, her triumphant smile after she answered something correctly; he remembers everything, and he gets nostalgic sometimes, but such is human nature, one supposes.

“It’s been five years, hyung,” Jiho mutters, pushing the bowl of soup towards him, “isn’t it time you gave up on Sol noona?”

He raises an eyebrow, “I didn’t think you addressed anyone as noona.”

Jiho shrugs, “she’s older than me, so it’s only right. And I did work with her on a case about three—two years ago, and she’s really become good. Or is it all the experience that she has had now, working as a partner at Attorney Park Geun-Tae’s firm, which is unheard of, at her age, but she’s far more competent than him—”

He’s talking, but Joon-Hwi doesn’t register anything anymore, “you’ve worked with her? Together?”

“Hmm?” Jiho mumbles, thrown off his track, “yes, I literally just said that I did, what are you thinking about?”

“No. no, back up a little,” he insists, and Jiho’s confused expression clears when he realises what exactly is Joon-Hwi implying.

“Really? You’re jealous over the fact that I worked with Sol noona? That’s how petty you’ve become now, hyung?” Jiho rolls his eyes, and Joon has the incessant need to just—bury his face in his hands, “you could just give her a call, you know.”

He glares. Jiho nods, “guess not,” and resumes eating. He takes another look at the case file, and sets it down, proceeding to shove food into his mouth. The Japanese restaurant has good food, he does agree, but nothing beats eating too-hot ramyeon at three in the morning with your best friend after you’ve finished reviewing three lectures’ worth of notes together. Crap. He still remembers her as his best friend, even though they haven't had any contact over the past years now. Pathetic.

But self-deprecation isn’t his forte, and he shakes his head at Jiho, who’s determinedly eating, “how’s Sol B doing? Isn’t she going to be a judge?”

“She’s still practicing,” Jiho replies, “her mother wants her to be a judge, although I don’t think Sol wants to do it. She’s happy being a legal scholar. Wants to become a professor at Hankuk later on, if the constitutional law position opens up.” His face has a curiously fond look when he’s talking about her, Joon notices, or perhaps it’s a trick of the light, because Jiho straightens up, “who gave you the case, though?”

“My superior sent it to me because the prosecutor in charge had fallen ill, and had to be taken to the hospital,” Joon-Hwi replies, “it isn’t east for me to win this one, even though—”

“Even though you’ve never lost a single case?” Bok-Gi’s voice almost makes the two of them jump, and Jiho sends a well-aimed smack his way, “so you’re taking noona’s case, are you, hyung?”

Jiho snorts, “he’s losing sleep here.”

“When did I say I was losing sleep?” Joon-Hwi begins to say indignantly, but Bok-gi is still grinning as he slides in beside Jiho, “who told you that, Seo Jiho?”

Jiho doesn’t say anything, so Bok-Gi fills in for him, “hyung, you look terrible. Haven’t you been eating properly?”

Joon-Hwi squints at the other boy, how did he know I haven’t been sleeping well? Does it show on my face? Is it that bad?

“It is that bad, hyung,” Jiho pipes up, “you look like death warmed over.”

“It isn’t that bad, honestly,” Bok-gi says, and promptly shuts up under Jiho’s glare, “jeez, all right, all right, he looks bad. Very bad. Bad with a capital B.”

Joon-Hwi groans. He was supposed to have been handling another financial scam by this time, but he’s now talking to two of his classmates, preparing for a case that he was sure of losing, just to see the girl of his dreams.

Pathetic.

--

It had been two weeks since she had found out that Han Joon-Hwi was going to be the prosecutor for her newly-assigned case, and Sol already felt like she was going to drown amidst a sea of precedents, case studies, and more cases that she needed to read just once, in order to keep her client from getting a guilty verdict. She would have to work harder if she needed to beat him, and had even contemplated asking Professor Yang for help, not that the man would do anything to make her life any easier.

Instead, she settles for the next best thing, calls over Sol B and Yeseul for help, and while Sol B grumbles, Yeseul agrees enthusiastically, even offering to bring over Bok-gi for an extra pair of eyes. Not one to be outdone in anything, Sol B offered to bring over Jiho, who grumbled more than Sol B (if that was possible), but agreed to come along nevertheless, and they all sat in her tiny living room, looking as though they had lived there all their lives, and had helped her with the case, although the boys were more interested in devising ways to make Joon-Hwi lose, as Jiho put it, “noona is our best bet, and he owes me food if he loses.” No one could argue with that, honestly.

Except she feels like drowning, and the trial was only two weeks away.

Stupid Joon-Hwi. Why did he have to take my case? Why couldn’t he just remain in civil law? Why did he have to do this? Why, why, why?

She knew that she was being irrational. He didn’t have much control over the cases he was assigned to, and given the fact that the prosecutor in charge had been admitted to the hospital, she doesn’t think he had any sort of control over what cases he would be assigned to. Still.

You’re being irrational now, a voice that sounds surprisingly like Professor Yang’s pipes up in her mind, you’re being distracted right now, Kang Sol. You won’t win if you’re distracted.

Right. She turns back to her papers, trying her best to push the thoughts out of her mind.

I can’t be distracted.

—

He was distracted.

It wasn’t his fault, perhaps, but Joon-Hwi feels guilty nevertheless, especially as he stares at his two paralegals who are stuck alongside him, working into the night.

He’s been staring at the same picture for the past thirty minutes. In his mind, it qualifies as work, but what sort, he isn’t sure. It’s a picture from their graduation day, the seven of them (Seung-Jae hyung was behind the camera) and Professors Kim and Yang, Yangcrates even had a rare smile, something which he hadn’t ever imagined witnessing, at least not sober. Him with his arm around Jiho, who clearly didn’t want to be dragged into a conversation then, his attention focused on someone else. Sol B, staring straight into the camera, grinning ear to ear. Bok-gi and Ye-beom, the latter gesticulating wildly and Bok-gi just laughing at him, Yeseul with her head thrown back in laughter, and Sol—Sol was radiant, (he laughs at that, radiant, the Greek meaning fitting her like a glove, Sol, the Sun) the way she smiled at the camera, her hand held up in a peace sign. It was an imperfect picture, and he has the final, proper version hung on his living room wall, but it’s the warmest picture he has ever been in.

The trial is the next day, and he should be getting some sleep, but he finds himself staying awake even after his two paralegals have gone home, apologising profusely for leaving him alone, and then he takes out his phone, which has been blowing up with messages from Bok-gi and Jiho, asking to come out with them for dinner. He knows it’s a bad idea, that they would try and get him drunk, or worse, that he would voluntarily get drunk, and showing up hungover at the courthouse isn’t a great idea.

Except… he really wants to do so. It’s like he’s back in university again, trying to find ways to rile Kang Sol up, teasing her, to revel in the way she would get angry with him for cutting short her study times, even though she should have been in bed three hours prior. She would always look at him with that strange sort of expression in her eyes, Joon-Hwi remembers, as if she couldn’t decide whether to hit him or to just kiss him and shut him up.

His phone pings, and it’s a text from Jiho, telling him that hyung, do you want to come out for dinner? Sol’s buying.

He really shouldn’t. even if it had taken him a moment to know which Kang Sol Jiho had been talking about and even then, he couldn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat at the mention of her name, he shouldn’t.

Oi, Han Joon-Hwi, aren’t you a little too old and a little too responsible to be drinking before the day of an important trial?

The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like Sol, not Sol B—Sol A, although he doesn’t know how anyone could confuse themselves between the two—they were as different as light and day, and the one on his mind was not the one who was offering to buy him drinks and dinner. He sighs, texting Jiho a quick apology before he heads out of the office. He needs to be alone tonight, trying to get his thoughts in order before he faced Kang Sol in the courthouse the next day.

Even though he’s sure to lose, he just might win.

--

[real-american]

Supernatural: A dedication to its memory and how the show changed my life

Fifteen Years. 15 years and over 300 episodes of the greatest show on TV. 15 years of joy, heartache, tears, fun and inspiration; and for me, 15 years, two marriages one divorce, two tattoos and a show that brought me the love of my life. Supernatural has impacted us all on so many levels. I could easily write a 15 page academic paper on the seasons, the meanings behind each season and all the little things that made the show so great. Things such as the music, the brothers Winchester, the family dynamic, and the beautiful 1967 Chevy Impala (my dream car should I win the lottery. Black four door version of course). I could go on about each major and minor character, how they impacted the show and what each of them meant to me and the fans but this is not what this is about. This post is about how Supernatural changed my life and how it impacted me.

First a few housekeeping things to address regarding the final season and the series finale. I thought the pre finale show was excellent but definitely could have been longer and included more. However I do understand they only had 42 minutes or so to cram 15 years of memories and characters in so I understand they had to only hit the highlights. They should do a longer version for the Blue Ray 15 season collectors set which I'm sure they will make and that I am definitely getting. Regarding the final season, I thought it was excellent. My wife, who is also a big fan of the show (more on her later) didn't think it was as good as other seasons but enjoyed it none the less. The ending was good sort of expected with the two boys ending up in heaven together, but I was surprised they killed Dean in the sort of nonchalant way they did. Sort of anti climactic for the greatest hunter in the world. The final speech to Sam was heartbreaking and heartfelt and I loved it! I also loved the symmetry of how Sam's son Dean also gave him permission to leave this world as Sam gave (original) Dean all those years later. I'm glad they didn't show who Sam's wife was and she was just left as a mysterious place holder. Originally I thought maybe they should have had him with Eileen but in retrospect the way they did it was better and honestly I'm not sure if she (or the other AU folk) were even brought back with the rest of the world. Maybe someone can clear this point up for me. I was really surprised they didn't do the "carry on my wayward son" beginning but I soon figured out before it even happened they were going to do it in the end of the episode which turned out to be much better. All in all I give the last season an A- and the finale and how it ended an A+ Again there is a lot to say about the final season, the final episode, and all the seasons but I will leave that analysis to other people. This is about what the show meant to me specifically about how it helped me through my darkest days and ushered in my brightest of days which I am living now. This is that story.

I wasn't with Supernatural from the very beginning. The show premiered in 2005 and I honestly hadn't heard anything about it or did I know anything about it for a few years. I came off active duty from the Marine Corps in June of 2005 and after fighting my beloved country's wars for a few years I was out of the loop on many things. I first came across Supernatural on TNT catching a re run here and there but with no real interest and only getting bits and pieces of the story. In 2010 I met my first wife and was a casual fan at this point seeing enough re runs on TNT to get a general idea of the storyline for the first few seasons but again only as a casual fan. At this point of my life I was also falling down a dark hole. My alcoholism which is a result of my PTSD from my combat service started to get really bad. I was drinking more than most people could handle but as my father was, highly functional. This led to me staying with and eventually marrying my first wife which was a bad idea. She cheated on me constantly and probably didn't even really love me. We were also polar political opposites (you can figure out my political viewpoints from the rest of my blog) and not compatible really in the least. Why I ever stayed with her and married her is beyond me at this point in my life. So there I was drinking my life away in a bad relationship and trying to figure out how to manage my life. Then Supernatural came on Netflix and I decided to give it a real shot. This decision changed my life.

I quickly caught up on the first six seasons and started watching the show live starting with season 7. I was hooked. I loved everything about it. Dean and Sam, Cass the car, the brotherly love, the monsters, the angels, everything but I still didn't know how this show would impact me in the end. I continued to drink myself to death getting unhealthier fatter and no longer resembling the fit Marine I once was. I was in a constant haze drinking an entire bottle of whiskey every night to drink away the pain of my bad marriage and the pain of not being loved and cheated on by my wife. Supernatural was the one bright spot in my life.

In 2014 I finally divorced my wife but this was only the first step. I continued to drink and destroy my life causing me to get fired from my job. Fortunately I was hired on back into government work making much better money and with having no wife and no kids was finally able to live a little better financially but I was lonely and alone except for the alcohol. I continued to find refuge in the bottle but also in Supernatural. I watched every episode as it came on, re watched all the old episodes, blogged and facebooked about it to the point that I am sure I was annoying the one or two friends that I had. The rest of my life was a blur. Get up, stumble into work drunk or hungover, go home sick and jonesing for my next drink, bottle of whiskey till one in the morning, a few hours of sleep and starting the whole cycle back over. I was fat, ugly on the outside, ugly on the inside, and a bad human being. My drinking got so bad I destroyed my liver and was medically discharged from my job but was given retirement for all my years of service to the federal government. So now I was 33 retired with a pension and VA disability and really nothing to do but sit at home drink whiskey and watch TV. I had no love in my life, one or two close friends who didn't like being around me anymore because of my drinking, and my family was worried but couldn't get through to me. Even after my father died of alcohol abuse in 2015 I still continued down my destructive path. Finally in February of 2017 I was hospitalized and was told I would be dead in less than a year. I truly believe I was touched by God at this point because I went home dumped out three bottles of alcohol and never touched the stuff again to this day.

Now I had to learn to relive my life all over without alcohol. I started to exercise and lose weight (90 pounds in 5 months) I went back to church, and I started to try and find love again and of course needing distraction and something to occupy my mind I dove deep into Supernatural. I re watched and re watched again all the old episodes, I poured myself into analysis of the plot lines and characters, I got tattoos on my arms (the demon trap and the anti possession symbol), I obsessed with everything Supernatural. It helped me stay sober. When I wanted a drink I would watch an episode, when I was feeling lonely I would go hang out with Sam and Dean. When I wanted to give up I took refuge in the Impala. I became a super fan. So far Supernatural got me through my divorce, was my bright spot in my alcoholic haze, and helped me stay sober when I first gave up my demons. I cheered harder during the happy moments of the show and cried harder in the sad ones. I was an emotional wreck and my feelings only seemed to come out while watching the show. Although I had quit drinking, got rid of my toxic ex wife and started to improve my life, I was still not happy. I was alone and lonely but Supernatural came to my rescue once again.

Throughout 2017 and the first part of 2018 I managed to be in two relationships. I poured myself into them grasping at them as if they were my reward for turning my life around and ignoring all the signs that they were not good relationships. I was still learning to relive my life as a sober person. I never integrated back into society after I left the Corps in 2005 and finally I was doing so but it was a hard journey. Inevitably those relationships failed and I was utterly heartbroken each time, but Supernatural was always there through the good times and the bad. When my heart was broken I would go find refuge in my favorite show forgetting about my problems and trying to help Sam and Dean solve theirs. Finally in May of 2018 I decided to try and find love again. This time it would be different and this time it was Supernatural that helped me get there.

As part of my recovery and daily routine I started to eat at my local diner everyday. Everyday from about July 2017 to the present time in this story I would go in, order 2 eggs over easy, hash browns, sausage, and toast. Everyday I would sit in the same spot at the counter (counter 6 was the name of the spot) order the same thing and even had my own special coffee mug. I knew everyone who worked there by name and they all knew me by name. They knew my order and had it ready for me when I came in. It felt like a magical place, a place that would forever change my life. There was one waitress/cook that I didn't see very often. She mostly worked the night shift but occasionally I would see her if I was there later in the day than usual or if she occasionally worked a morning shift. I was drawn to this woman. About the middle of May in 2018 I decided to maybe try and work up the courage to ask her out. I would always look for her when I went in hoping she was working that day hoping she wasn't too busy so that I could exchange a few words with her and hoping she would even notice me. Then one day in July I went in and she was there. I said hello and ate my breakfast but we didn't talk much. When I was paying for my meal the other gal working there asked  what my plans were for the day and I said oh nothing much just gonna go home and watch Supernatural. Then she turned around. The woman I had been trying to talk to, the one I wanted to ask out, Michelle was her name. She said, "I love that show I'm watching season 13 on DVD right now". I perked up a smile came across my face. Nervously I said, "oh cool yeah its my favorite show" Michelle nodded and turned back to work, I went to my car got in and smiled. I knew how I was gonna break the ice now next time. A few days later on my daily visit to the diner I went in a little later than usual. It was about 3 in the afternoon. It was dark and gloomy, raining, and cold. It felt like a Supernatural episode. It felt like a 67 Impala should have been in the parking lot and two good looking hunters should be in the corner on a laptop researching their current case. It felt like a magical moment. Turns out I was the only customer in the whole place. It was just me the waitress and Michelle who was cooking that day. They took my order without asking as the usually did and I could already see Michelle had already started cooking it. She finished and brought it to me herself. We exchanged a look and a feeling of confidence I have never had in my life overcame me and I said to her, "So are you enjoying season 13?" That is how it all began we started talking about the show. How we started watching it who our favorite characters were, how much we loved this season or that one. The conversation was seamless. We got into other get to know you topics around our conversation about Supernatural and it was like we were old friends talking about a show we loved. Eventually I got up and went to pay the waitress and she turned to go back to the kitchen in the back. Feeling an opportunity slip away I said "hey Michelle, maybe we should go get some dinner some time and watch some Supernatural together". I held my breath. She would surely smile and politely say no. She probably gets asked out all the time by the customers, beautiful woman that she is. Then she smiled and said "sure that would be great" I must have smiled so big and my heart skipped 10 beats! I got her number which she wrote on a order ticket and the rest they say is history. Ten months later I wrote ,"will you marry me" on the back of that order ticket and gave it to her at counter 6 at the diner where we met, where we first started talking about Supernatural, where my life finally changed for the better forever, and she said yes! We were married two months later on our one year anniversary and we just watched the final episode together yesterday. We both had tears, we both smiled when Sam and Dean, soulmates, were finally together at the end because we both know how it feels to be with each others soulmate. We held each others hand and said goodbye together.

Supernatural has forever changed me. It has been with me through every major event in my life over the last 15 years. Through the dark times, through the hard times, and finally through the current happy times. I guess it is ok that Supernatural is over now. I no longer need it. I have my wife, my Michelle, my soulmate. I am finally happy. I have Sam and Dean's permission to move on and they have mine. Good bye Winchesters. Good bye and thank you. You have taught me to carry on and find my peace when I'm done, and to cry no more. This is but one man's story, one of so many. How many lives has this show changed? How many people have found comfort in the adventures of Sam and Dean? I'm not sure the answer. Too many to count I would wager. 15 years and 300 episodes of the greatest show ever on TV. Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.  

[seasaltmemories]

Puella Magi Madoka Magica Review/Analysis

So in 2020, if you know anything about magical girl shows, Puella Magi Madoka Magica is a juggernaut of a franchise, casting a long shadow over the genre for nearly a decade now.  While it was beloved when it first came out, over the last few years I’ve noticed growing backlash surrounding it, claiming that it was never really as revolutionary as people claimed to be.  Since despite watching it soon after it came out but not really having strong feelings about it, I decided a rewatch was needed, so this review will function more as a retrospective, spoilers abound

Madoka Kaname and Sayaka Miki are regular middle school girls with regular lives, but all that changes when they encounter Kyuubey, a cat-like magical familiar, and Homura Akemi, the new transfer student. Kyuubey offers them a proposition: he will grant any one of their wishes and in exchange, they will each become a magical girl, gaining enough power to fulfill their dreams. However, Homura Akemi, a magical girl herself, urges them not to accept the offer, stating that everything is not what it seems. A story of hope, despair, and friendship, Mahou Shoujo Madoka★Magica deals with the difficulties of being a magical girl and the price one has to pay to make a dream come true.

I included the summary because at this point it’s tradition, but it almost feels silly to do so for this show when practically everyone knows it is the “dark, grim magical girl show” still the fact I rewatched this with my roommate who I warned that it did get dark but knew none of the details about, I think it gave me a new appreciation for the show, spoiler alert, I think it holds up pretty well

PMMM is all about taking the familiar iconography of the magical girl genre and twisting it into something darker.  And it’s very good about explaining its world and divvying out new information at a easy to understand pace to accomplish it.  Everything from Walpurgis Night, Homura’s true nature, and even Madoka eventual ascent into godhood is foreshadowed and set up several episodes in advance.  And while in hindsight some revelations can look silly like “Soul gems are actually the girl’s soul,” watching it with a blind viewer, most every one of them hit effectively (even when she just randomly guessed the big magical girls = witches off-hand)

It is very obvious why it got big so fast as a complex story told in about as digestible way as possible, to me it feels like PMMM always wanted to be mainstream, and while I think that is a value neutral trait, I also believe that influences some of the culture or surrounding fanbase, PMMM very much got the reputation of being an “actually good” magical girl show by dudebros just want to put down traditionally feminine media, and of course many series since then have also tried to tap into PMMM’s market by copying it, but I don’t think the show itself should be held culpable.

For one, a show has no control over its reception.  But second of all like the ultimate ending of the show makes it hard for me to believe the claims that “actually this show is all about showing how stupid it is for girls to believe this fantasy,” because Madoka stands up for wishes and dreams, rewriting the laws of reality and even saving herself from damnation.  I think to call the show itself feminist would be a bit too generous, but feminist readings are not impossible to make.  While she can’t change every aspect of the system, the world of PMMM post-Madoka is much closer to more traditional magical girl shows with only a bit of an edge.  If you want pure torture porn just look at Uta~Kata

I guess people more emotionally attached to the iconography of magical girl shows would still be offended by the systematic tearing down of the imagery, but tbh frank I’m a bit of a fake magical fan in that most of my favorite entries tend to distance themselves from the exact formula.  Even aside from my personal preference though, like let’s not kid ourselves that elements of the genre only exist for later toy merchandising opportunities.  I love me a good toy commercial from time to time, but that doesn’t make it too sacred to be fiddled with later on.

However while I think this is a well-made show, my feelings about it overall still remain pretty neutral.  The narrative is very plot driven and focused on its systems first and foremost.  The characters aren’t entirely ignored, but most of their stories are little bite-sized fables at their core as opposed to fleshed out story-lines.  Also while there is justification for some of the writing choices, like Madoka’s lack of agency up until the end or how no real friendship or support systems exist, those factors still impacted my overall enjoyment from episode to episode.  Also the dark elements aren’t quite as revolutionary as its reputation would suggest.  Again its a PG-13 sort of horror, character death, creepy imagery, and unfortunate implications, but nothing about the series itself is very transgressive or boundary-pushing.

This is all just personal taste though.  I don’t think most of these are genuine flaws, but after a decade of that reputation of being to only good or only dark magical girl show, I can see these criticism starting to grow more and more overblown to match the exaggerated reputation it got as this singular exception.  I hope as more time continues to past that we can get rid of the dichotomy others have put on it and rather than treat it like the ultimate good or evil, acknowledge the history that created it and appreciate its unique little niche it has rightly earned for itself.

[badboysdoitbetter]

— hump and dump | sc

pairing: sen hatsumi x reader

fandom: kengan ashura

genre: angst, smut; pining!AU, doctor!reader, womanizer!sen

tags/warnings: one night stand, mentions/depictions of sex, swearing, sweet dirty talk, creepy!hanfusa, confused!ohma lol

word count: 1.2k

synopsis: being young and stupid, you learn the hard way that sen hatsumi isn’t the type of guy you want to be with. although, that doesn’t mean he won’t try his luck again and again...

His large, calloused hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him; while you grinded against him, desperate for any friction you could get.

His body was warm, and you could feel Sen's nails digging into your flesh.

"Such a pretty little thing~" He hummed, but you could feel he was preoccupied with the unsteady breaths that tickled your neck.

"Sen, please—"

"Oí, (Y/N), focus." You shook your head in an attempt to rid yourself of those memories. It'd been a few nights since Sen's body had intertwined with your own, but you couldn't stop thinking about the way his member felt inside—STOP IT, (Y/N). "I need you to wrap this man's knuckles, and while I love to see that cute expression on your face, I need you to daydream on your own time."

"Yes, sir." You nodded to Hajime as you brushed your hands down your nurses 'outfit' (it was so revealing you could barely call it more than a costume), and you could feel the man's disconcerting gaze on your figure. "I promise it won't happen again."

"Look, (Y/N), I get that you're young and new at this whole job thing, being fresh out of college and all, but I won't keep covering for you." You were about to clock out, but Hajime had insisted you stay back, something about taking notes on a new 'dissection.'

"I know, Doctor, and I'm trying my best to stay focused but—"

"I don't really care. If you weren't so pretty, I'm sure you'd already be on this dissecting table." He lifted a hand from your side and traced it on your jawline. "Such a fine specimen you are..."

"Yo, anyone home?" A familiar voice pulled Hajime's uniquely creepy-looking eyes away from your own, and he looked at the person standing at the door.

"Ah, Hatsumi, I haven't seen you here in a while. Take a seat anywhere you'd like." You could feel his eyes on you, but you paid him no mind as you quickly gathered your things. It was the end of your shift after all.

"Hajime, I think I'm gonna get going—"

"Please," The said male came close to you, and you could feel his hand lingering above your exposed midriff, "Finish things in here first, okay? I'll see you tomorrow, lovely~" A voice interrupted your uncomfortable interaction.

"Sorry, but I don't have all day, why don't you just clean me up and I'll be on my way, cutie." He winked at you, but you could tell it was more than playful. "How 'bout that?"

"(Y/N), your patient's waiting—"

"I'm going, I'm going."

Sen didn't say a word to you the entire time you rubbed the blood off of his chest. He'd been in a match, and the blood wasn't his, thankfully, but you expected him to at least mention your little horizontal tango session the other day.

The only thing he did was ogle at your exposed chest as you bent over in front of him, and brush his hand on your ass by "accident" every once in a while.

Other than that, nothing. In retrospect, it might have been a good idea for you to bring it up and resolve the conflict right then and there, considering it probably would have stopped the events that followed a few days later.

"Hatsumi you're so buff."

"Yeah, how often do you work out?"

"I bet you could lift me! Wanna try?"

"I think you should show me some of your moves later... Maybe at my place?"

These were only a few of the comments you heard coming from Sen's direction during the Ganryu Island party.

"Ladies, you're all attractive, and I promise I'll get to each of you eventually, but for now, how about you go on the dance floor and give me a show."

That asshole looked you directly in the eye as he spoke, but when you rolled your eyes in his direction, he gave the most obviously feigned look of confusion he could muster like he didn't know exactly what he was doing.

Oh yeah? Two can play at that game, Hatsumi.

"Ohma," Your voice was obnoxiously loud as you called for your friend. "Buy me a drink? I wanna spend some time with you."

"But drinks are free." Can I have any fun anymore?

"That's even better!" You grabbed his muscular arm and led him to the bar, purposely rubbing yourself up against him. "Ohma, your arms are so hot~"

Seriously, (Y/N)? Hot arms? That's the best you could come up with?

"Thank you, (Y/N)." He clearly didn't understand the purpose of the compliment. It looked like you'd have to kick things up a notch.

"You know, I can't really hear you in here... Can we take this up to my room?" The thought of sleeping with Ohma didn't necessarily turn you off, but there was someone you'd much rather be doing the deed within that moment. Maybe you would close your eyes and pretend it was Sen—

"Got a light?" Speak of the devil. You cocked your head to the side, recognizing a familiar Hawaiian shirt in your peripheral vision.

"I'm actually in the middle of a conversation, Mr. Hatsumi—"

"(Y/N), cut the shit." Ohma took that as his cue to leave, and Sen took over his place on the barstool adjacent to yours. "You look good in that outfit... Might even look a little too good for all these people to see." Shrugging, he tried to play off his relaxed demeanor as apathy.

Taking a sip of the drink you'd found in front of you, your glistening eyes met his sleepy ones. "Why does it matter to you, Sen? I mean, it's not like we're together..."

His hand moved from its place resting on the barstool to your hip, and Sen's thumb starting tracing the curves of your body that your dress accentuated perfectly.

"That doesn't mean we can't still have a little fun while we're together." You scoffed at his diction.

"Fun? That's all this is to you? That's all last weekend was to you?" Reaching to pull his hand off of your waist, you were surprised to find that he resisted your attempt. "Sen, if you wanna hump and dump a girl, there are plenty of whores here willing to do just that."

You hopped off of the bar stool with your heels clicking against the polished wooden floors. Taking one last sip of your drink before leaving, you gave your night together a last fleeting thought, knowing your dignity was worth far more than his pleasure.

"Unluckily for you, I'm not one of them. Next time you want to fuck someone in the middle of the night, you know who not to call."

[feelingsinwinter]

Asked by @journeythroughtherain​

So, I picked one from each prompt list, so you can choose which one you want to do the most! From the first list: WinterIron 7 - “Aren’t you a little old for trick or treating?”. From the second: WinterIron, Spells and Curses, 41. “How can I calm down!? I have a tail!”

Tony bent, picking up his pen from where it had fallen and Bucky stared.

Tony’s well-rounded ass was a marvel in itself. The muscular kind but with just the right touch of softness. Bucky could only imagine how it must felt under his hands, how tender it would be, how the flesh would give under his kneading fingers. The firm muscles would be amazing too and Bucky died a little inside at the idea.

He sighed and choked on it when Steve elbowed him in the ribs.

“Bucky,” he hissed, “you’re doing it again.”

On the top of his head, Bucky felt his ears flattening against his skull, both in embarrassment and irritation. Sad but resigned, Bucky pouted before sitting on the nearest stool. He bit back a whimper when his tail, wagging furiously, got stuck between his ass and his seat.

It was the only way he knew of to keep it from moving like the worst give-away.

From his position on the fridge, Clint sniggered.

It was all his fault anyway. The bastard, as soon as Tony had entered the kitchen, had thrown a pop-corn which had hit the pen stuck behind Tony’s ear. Following gravity’s law, the pen had fallen and Tony had bent to retrieve it, probably cursing all the while but Bucky had been deaf to it, only registering the engineer’s lovely voice. Even cursing madly and growling, Tony’s voice held something magical to Bucky’s ears. That they were now even more sensitive only made it worse.

Clint knew what it would cause, had done it anyway.

Clint was dead but unaware of it.

Sniffling pitifully, tears stinging the corner of his eyes, Bucky stared at his half-emptied plate, trying to will away the hot, breath-taking pain erupting from his stuck tail.

Bucky had been shot, kicked in the nuts, had been sliced like a pig, operated on while awake but nothing compared to the insufferable agony of a stuck tail. A hand laid on his shoulder and he almost jumped out of his seat but kind, warm brown eyes were looking at him, flickers of gold shining in them and Bucky relaxed instantly.

“You ok there, Bucka-r-oo?” Tony looked worried and Bucky had to resist the urge to stuck his elbow in Steve’s ribs since the bastard was hiding his chuckles behind his hand, Bucky could hear him.

“M’not hungry,” Bucky mumbled with a frown, looking back down at his plate and glaring at it.

There was a beat of a silence and Tony said: “Okay.” before turning around and leaving. Without the coffee he had come for.

Once Bucky was certain Tony was out of hearing range, he looked up at Clint, still nestled atop the fridge.

The archer yelped.

[beware the read more]

***

In retrospect, Bucky should have known better than to pick up a wand when they went out on a mission for the umpteeth piece of crap who thought October was the best time to fuck with magic. He should have, but at the time, tired and annoyed by the sheer number of wannabe wizards who thought October and Halloween would grant them the powers they’ve been dreaming of for whoever knew how long. The team had since long lost track of their mission and their number.

At first they counted, amused in a grim way, but they dropped it when they started taking turns to go on mission. They couldn’t keep up if they all went all the time, some were humans and needed rest, others needed to eat in order to sustain and replace the energy they burnt when on a mission.

This time Bucky was on the field and he wasn’t even that tired but annoyed and he had lost all patience four missions ago and this time he couldn’t wait for a special team to take its sweet time to arrive and retrieve the wand. What could go wrong?

What could go wrong indeed. The shifting had taken him by surprise, a piercing kind of pain that had sent him howling to the ground as bones and muscles shifted, snapping and breaking in a sick concert.

When Dr. Strange had arrived, Bucky was restrained and snarling, eyes burning bright gold. His body was an infernal mix between human and wolf, the kind seen in movie that could never quite retranscribe the nightmarish shape of a werewolf. Dark lips pulled up over long, deadly fangs glistening with drool as a low growl rolled up from his throat.

The Master of the Mystic Arts had found a way to reverse the process but only to a point. Since the shifting was still in progress when he arrived, Strange had managed to regress it a bit. Since then, Bucky was sporting a long, furry tail and tufty ears, both reacting to any and every of his mood and broadcasting it to the whole world to see.

Which wouldn’t have been too much of a problem, Bucky was good at keeping a tight leash on his emotions. Except where Tony was concerned. It hadn’t taken long for his tail to waggle as soon as Tony’s ass came into view, for his ears to point forward as soon as the man was in hearing range. His tail also wriggled at the smallest compliment, at the slightest glance, at the barest touch. Anything from Tony and his wolf features lost all common-sense.

Of course, then, how was he supposed to hide his stupid, ridiculous, crush?

Aside from Tony who seemed entirely oblivious to it, the whole team had picked up on it and while Bruce stayed quiet and understanding, Natasha had now that insufferable knowing smirk gracing her lips on a daily basis, Steve had a shit-eating grin that wouldn’t quit and let’s not talk about Clint who was a pain in the ass 24/7.

***

Bucky hid on his floor the next day. Tony had been avoiding him since the kitchen episode, nothing all too obvious but if there was one thing Bucky was mindful of, it was Tony. The genius hadn’t come up to refill his coffee which he had come for in the first place before Clint proved to be an asshole once again. Since then, he hadn’t been seen, not coming for movie night either. Sometimes Tony stayed in his lab to work on some important project but at the moment Bucky knew there was nothing keeping the genius’ mind busy. Except for the usual stuff.

So, Tony was avoiding him. He said as much to Steve, explaining his theory all the while going back and forth in front of the couch where his friend was sitting calmly.

Bucky felt like a lion in a cage. Or, rather, like a wolf in a bear-trap. His ears were slightly going backward, open but not as straight as they would be in a common situation. His tail hung low, tense, and the fur on it slightly raised.

“Why don’t you go and talk to him? I don’t know, I heard communication helped in the process of solving problems.”

Bucky snarled, the sound wild and violent, and froze guiltily as soon as he realized what he had done.

“Yeah, right, because going to him and talk it out, as I am, is a brilliant idea. What about you take some classes in making plans, sounds like you got rusty,” he growled, pacing some more.

Since the wand bullshit, there was always an underlying of violence, coiled tight in his muscles and waiting for the smallest excuse to explode in a show of brutality. He was grateful that Strange’s work had getting rid of the claws and fangs. Talking with oversized teeth would have been difficult, if not impossible, and the frustration might have driven him nuts. Also, the claws would have been dangerous for everyone involved. Bucky was already a hazard, he didn’t need any claws or fangs to make it worse.

“You should calm down,” Steve said placatingly, keeping his hands carefully in his lap. Raising them in order to appease Bucky might have the opposite result since wolves took that kind of gesture as a threat.

Bucky’s lips quivered, holding back another threatening sound. He glared at Steve and sat in the armchair. Only to jump back on his feet, a loud, angry snarl spilling from his lips when he sat on his tail.

“How am I supposed to calm down,” he roared, anger and despair mingling tight together in a sad mix, “when I have a fucking goddamn tail!”

Steve opened his mouth, his face pinched in that concerned way Bucky knew would lead to some appeasing bullshit that would give no result. Growling at his friend, Bucky stomped his way out of the room. The elevator’s doors opened for him, courtesy of JARVIS, and Bucky felt robbed from the possibility of slamming the door on his way out.

***

Anger and frustration burned in his guts as Bucky made his way up to the roof. Steve would let him be, at least for a while. Would give him some space and time to calm down. Then he would come back with his patented look of disappointment and spill all those nice crap supposed to lift Bucky’s hopes up.

Tony was so far out of Bucky’s league, there wasn’t even a way it could happen. Also, there was something deeply wrong about Bucky’s body reaction as soon as the man was around. The deep fluttering feeling made him queasy, it was worse than being sick and it wouldn’t go away no matter how hard Bucky tried to shove it down. The constant need of touching was unbearable but it had became infernal as soon as the spell had hit him. He was constantly longing for Tony’s eyes and have them on him, there was always those wondering thoughts about how Tony’s fingers would feel on him.

He knew how it felt, in a way. Tony was a very tactile person, always touching for a reason or another. A pat on the back, a hand on the shoulder, a small touch on the arm or a one-arm hug, any and everything. But Tony always retreated too fast, too quick, as if expecting rejection if he stayed for too long while Bucky yearned for more without daring to ask for it.

He sat carefully on the edge, keeping his tail out of the way and let his feet dangling in the void beneath. Bucky closed his eyes, smiling softly when a gush of air hit his face. It was cold outside, mid-October had brought its particular smell and the crisp air of Fall.

Natasha, Clint and Bruce were outside on another mission while Steve, Bucky and Tony rested from the previous one. The team had shifted since Bucky’s misadventure.

The burning pit of anger was settling, its glowing embers fading in the face of the cold, refreshing air and the calm of the night. Well, as much as New-York could be in the middle of October with Halloween approaching.

Footsteps made him tense but when Tony sat beside him, an arm length of distance between them, Bucky hesitated. The distance made him anxious and unsure but Tony’s presence and his smell made him want to relax and bask in it.

“Steve told me you were here,” Tony said quietly, looking straight ahead with his shoulders up to his ears.

Fucking bastard couldn’t leave it alone, finally. Had gone right to Tony and who knew what he had said to convince Tony to come up there.

“He shouldn’t have,” Bucky growled and Tony tensed furthermore, his back hunched and Bucky felt his guts twist in shame and guilt, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong. “What did I do?” He asked sullenly, feeling his own shoulders drop and his goddamn ears drooping sadly.

Tony startled and looked at him, eyes wide. “What did you do?” he asked, his voice dripping with disbelief.

“Well, yeah,” Bucky answered slowly, frowning in confusion. he made a gesture toward Tony: “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague lately. You didn’t even invited me to try out the ray of death we’ve been working on before something went wrong.”

Tony stared at him. “You are mad at me!” He protested, pointing accusingly at Bucky.

“No, I’m not! Why would I be mad at you??”

“Because it’s my fault if you’re like that!”

“What the fuck Tony! I picked up the godddamn wand on my fucking own, thank you very much!”

“But you wouldn’t have if you hadn’t gone there in my stead!”

Silence fell suddenly and they stared at each other, panting slightly. Bucky groaned and covered his face with his hands while Tony pinched the bridge of his nose.

“So, if I gathered it right,” Bucky said through his palms. “You think I’m mad at you because you were so exhausted you couldn’t walk straight anymore, so I proposed to you to go on the mission for you so you could rest for once. So you think it’s your fault if I, as a grown-up, made a decision of my own to pick up a not secured wand?”

Tony sniffed and dropped his hand in his lap. He shrugged. “Said like that, it sounds stupid.”

“I can see why you’d think I’m mad at you, I guess,” Bucky mumbled, thinking back on the last few days. “But I’m not. Mad, that is. M’not blaming you either,” he added softly.

Tony looked at him. Slowly, his eyes trailed up and stared at the tufty things on top of Bucky’s head. They were pointed toward him, relaxed in a way. Attentive.

“You’re not?”

“Nope,” Bucky answered, popping it and smiling when it drew a snort out of Tony. “If I’m mad at something, I’m mad at all those batshit crazy wannabe wizards,” he grumbled. “What’s wrong with them.”

“Halloween,” Tony said immediately, looking alternatively between Bucky’s ears and Bucky’s eyes, a small smile stretching his lips. Slowly, almost shyly in a way Tony rarely was, he asked: “Can I touch them?”

Bucky blinked, taken aback. Butterflies rose in his belly, fluttering all around. His heart hammered against his ribs. Behind him, his tail thudded against the roof’s ground and Bucky felt his cheeks warming up. “Yes. Please.”

Tony smiled, something sweet and soft and Bucky held back a whine as his tail thudded harder. Slowly, Tony scooted closer until they were side by side, Bucky’s left plastered against Tony’s right. Tony lifted his hands, his eyes going from Bucky’s face to the ears on top of it, watching Bucky’s reaction as his fingers finally made contact with his ears.

Gently, Tony petted them, scratching behind them and, with a touch of hesitation, carding his fingers through Bucky’s strands and coming back to the ears.

Bucky felt himself melt as he leaned against Tony’s shoulders, closing his eyes, a happy rumble thundering softly in his chest.

***

Later, when the chill of the air became too cold to be comfortable, they made their way down to the workshop where they settled on the ratty couch they usually sat on while discussing ideas. If they, later on, agreed on a date as soon as the craziness of Halloween died down, it was nobody’s business but their own.

Steve smiled as soon as he heard about it, smug as fuck. Smiling softly, Bucky kneed him and, as Steve yelped and fell, thanked him.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Countless Roads - Chapter 4

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 4 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

A/N: This is a new chapter (chapter 5 on Ao3) 

———————————————————————————-

The first time it happens, it's – kind of funny, actually. In retrospect, anyway.

"Don't you dare touch him," Mick growls from where he's standing by the door, glaring at where they’ve got Len all tied up. They being some Santini Family assholes who hired Len and Mick for a small job - nothing big, the main guy said, just need it done quick, don't want to get the Family name involved - and then decided they didn't feel like paying some freelancers for work they apparently should've been doing themselves. Sadly for them, Len's just smart enough not to have brought the goods with him and had no intention of giving said goods up until they coughed up the cash for them.

Damnit, Len hates Family jobs. They shouldn't have taken it, he knows that, but it'd been such an easy job...

"And what exactly are you planning to do about it?" the main Santini asshole drawls, smug and confident now that he's got his people with him.

"You'll touch him over my dead body," Mick says.

"Fine," the mobster sneers, and shoots Mick dead in the chest, the force of it making Mick stagger backwards and fall down to the floor.

"You fucking little – " Len shouts from the chair he's been tied to, eyes wide with terror, worried half to hell because he has no idea what happens when you make a ghost as solid and real as he's made Mick and then that stupid ghost goes and gets himself shot.

"Enough!" Santini snaps. "Or you're going to get a bullet yourself, Mr. Snart – "

"I told you," Mick rasps, and the entire room turns to look to see him standing back up. Mick makes a big production out of it, too, dragging his limbs up like he's in pain, like his joints are creaking, clutching at his chest, but he gets up, eyes fixed on Santini. "You'll touch him over my – dead – body –"

Santini shoots, but Mick takes a step forward. Another shot, another step.

The third bullet clicks to an empty chamber, and Santini just breaks, turning tail and running, each and every one of his men with him.

"You okay?" Len asks the second the last one is gone. He knows ghosts don’t feel things the way the living do, but he’s given Mick a lot of life over the years…

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure, I’m good. Stings like a Lisa special, nothing worse than that."

Lisa had once expressed her frustration with Mick by squeezing a lemon at him when he'd just cut his hand open in the kitchen and had been bleeding a little - more out of habit than anything else. Mick is never going to let her live it down.

"But you're okay?"

"All good, boss."

Len shakes his head, starting to grin. "Well," he says, biting his lips to keep from laughing. "Guess now they know you meant it about it being over your dead body."

Mick snorts.

The next time, they try shooting Mick in the head.

Of course, that doesn't work either - Mick confirms that lots of life or not, dead men don't feel pain the same way the living do, so it's all the same to him - but it does bring up some logistical issues.

Mick wisely plays dead until Len gets them to go away, because there's reputation and then there's revelation, and the whole gang that tried it unanimously flip their lids in a most satisfying way the next time Len walks in, Mick trailing behind him, same as always, and both of them playing dumb as rocks about the whole alleged – it's their new favorite word after a stint in prison and the justice system - the whole alleged murder thing.

Len's gotten Mick some damn fine fake papers, too, so the Fed threw them into the same prison, too. It was a learning experience.

Not one Len's all too eager to repeat. Mick got into fight after fight on Len's behalf, even with Len felling a few overly touchy guys personally. Next time, he's going to send Mick floating out the wall and get a quicker exit that way.

Mick's quasi-solid virtually all the time now, which Len likes. People think he's a living person, which in fairness is probably why they try to kill him.

Len's pretty sure he's doing the ghost thing wrong, that he's not supposed to give a ghost another life like this, a life made out of his own life, but he figures if he really wasn't supposed to do this, he wouldn't be able to use his feelings about Mick for the extra boost he needs to keep him solid so often.

Love really is the most powerful force. Who woulda thought it?

Other than literally the entire literary world, anyway.

Len still doesn't like it when Mick 'dies', though, whether the cause is an angry mobster or a hail of police bullets, so he starts doubling down on his plans, working on them all day and night so that they don't go wrong and Mick isn't called upon to protect him.

"You know it doesn't hurt me, right? Not really?" Mick asks from the poker game he's set up with a handful of friendlies: the nun who's waiting to see her last student graduate, the thirteen year old who died in a car accident on the way to hear his favorite band, the prostitute that got killed by a serial killer (Len's working on IDing the bastard in his spare time), and a grandmother with wicked children who wouldn't let her see her grandkids.

Grandmother or not, Sun-hui is kicking everyone's asses as usual. Tyrice is staring at her with an expression of awe – Len's got the feeling that the kid's going to be moving on pretty soon if he can convince Sun-hui to attend that concert with him.

(Len underestimates exactly zero of his friendlies - sure, they protect him from the unquiet dead, but Tyrice has a tendency to cause accidents on the street corner where he'd died and Sister Bea has a way of guarding her church schoolkids from trouble that includes nearly giving them heart attacks when they start to do something she considers stupid.)

"I know it don't hurt you," Len replies, not for the first time. "Makes me all queasy, though."

"Awwwww," Daniela says. “You’re such adorable snugglekins.”

"Shut up."

"Find the guy that beat my face in, and I will."

"I'm working on it!"

"Len – " Mick starts.

"Mick, if it makes you feel better, you can think about it as me not wanting to go back to jail, okay? If no one catches us, there's no problem."

"Fine, fine."

"Your plans are getting much better," Sun-hui says approvingly. "You leave very little trail behind you, like a ghost."

"Aw, thanks," Len says, grinning at her. He would never have understood Sun-hui in life, due to the language barrier that vexed her, but the dead all speak the same language.

He's not entire sure what language that is – he's pretty sure it ain't actually English – but that's what he knows, so he hears it in that, or else he just understands it regardless. Len vaguely recalls his mom saying something about how the curse of Babel didn’t apply to the dead, but the specific mechanics aren’t really that interesting to him – they can talk, he can listen, that’s all that matters.

“Plus your plans got much better since your old man got sent away,” Tyrice says, kicking his heels. He’s pretty short. Maybe he regrets not getting tall? Len should offer him some help with that. “Good-for-nothing dickwad.”

“Well, yeah,” Len says, because it’s not untrue. He’d resisted getting rid of his father at first, either by making a heist go wrong or via Mick’s preferred method of just up and torching the fucker, but that'd been because of Lisa, who needed to stay in a good school for her skating and grades. Once his dad fucked up her ankle right before a big skating competition because he needed spare cash, Len saw red.

He’d been able to sweet-talk the old lady down the street into signing up for fostering and then agreeing to take in Lisa for the remainder of her schooling once Lewis was on his way to prison for a good long time.

Having said old lady’s husband around – and said old lady being a devout spiritualist, or whatever the hell you call people that pay fake mediums too much money, much to her deceased husband’s concern – had really helped.

Besides, if her boo-boo told her the money was better used on taking care of Lisa than on all those mediums, who was she to object?

(Boo-boo. Really. Len is so glad he and Mick aren’t over-the-top smoochy like that.)

All things considered, it worked pretty well.

His remaining concerns about leaving Lisa with the old lady were misplaced: Mrs. Crabtree was officially Lisa’s favorite person ever, being a proper old grandma type, and Lisa chased the fake mediums who sought Mrs. Crabtree out for an easy mark away with a baseball bat, which in turn meant Mr. Crabtree felt comfortable moving on, which made everybody happy.

But since that skating scholarship didn’t look like it was going anywhere anymore, not since Lewis, that still left the question of somehow paying for Lisa’s continued schooling. It turned out high school was fine and all, being public, but college? College is an expensive pain in Len's ass, but he was determined that Lisa would go. Mrs. Crabtree certainly couldn’t help pay for it, living off her pension as she did, and neither Len nor Lisa would ever ask for her to. Now that Len knew that Lisa was somewhere safe, though, he could devote himself to dealing with that little problem.

With his dad gone, Len could recruit his own crew and hunt up some game of his own, and what glorious game it was: high end jewelry transports, art museums with shitty security, history museums with even shittier guards, fashion designer outlets where they carted away bags of dresses, much to the complaints of his crew until they found out they could sell that shit to a copy-cat place for very near the price of gold…

Okay, sure, it didn't work perfectly all the time – he spent a good few of Lisa's teenage years in prison – but after he got out again, he went right back at it, saving up the money for Lisa’s college and grad school and whatever else she wants in life. Two solid years of it, travelling the world, and it was fun and all, but Len’s not going to lie, he’s damn happy it’s over. Now that he’s had time to try all the different variations, he definitely prefers taking his time and planning out the perfect heist instead of doing them all rapid-fire like he has been.

Not to mention, now that the heat’s passed in Central and they’re mostly looking for him in Europe and the coast cities instead, it means that he gets to come home and settle down, and best of all that he’ll get to see Lisa again regularly instead of just talking to her on the phone like it’s been the last two years.

Lisa is twenty now – starting a bit later than the rest, yes, but money takes time and she's not so far behind that people would really notice. College freshman, thanks to the fudging of her high school record that he paid for to make sure she got to go anywhere she wanted, though she still picked Central City Uni so that she could live in her own apartment but still come back to Mrs. Crabtree’s for her laundry and to hang out, apparently.

College.

Lisa.

Man.

Len doesn’t even know what to do with that.

Like, he's been dreaming of it and planning it and counting on it, but now that she's actually enrolled, it's all weird.

He hasn’t been much of a brother these last few years, he feels – he’d been in and out of prison until she was seventeen, and he’d spent her last three birthdays out raising money for her. Len took care of Lisa as long as he could, and when he realized he couldn’t, he got her where she needed to be, but it’s not the same as really being there, even though Lisa assures him that between the near-daily phone calls and the week-long visits he tried to arrange at least once every three months, she never felt like he was too far away.

Still not the same, and he’s gotta admit, he’s feeling a bit insecure about it. Which, he suspects, leads to his current overreaction now that she’s coming to crash with him for her very first spring break.

Len spends a whole week cleaning up the place he’d acquired in anticipation of Lisa's arrival, and he never cleans.

"Why are you so worried?" Sun-hui asks, even as she supervises his (deplorable) cleaning attempts. "Your sister loves you, and will be happy anywhere."

"She's a college student now," Len says, focusing on his scrubbing. "I don't know, there's a difference."

"Nah, man," Tryice says. He’d finally gotten his concert, but he’d decided to wait on Sun-hui reaching her own goals before agreeing to pass on. "Still your sister. My big bro went to college, but he was still the same coming back." He pauses. "Smoked more pot, though."

Len gives Tyrice a dirty look, then sighs. "Well, s'long as it's just pot, we'll be fine."

"Yeah, crack's the bad stuff," Tyrice says all too wisely.

"Pssh, heroin. Now that's a college kid killer – and I should know," Julie says. She's new - died of an OD before flying home for Christmas, now waiting for next Christmas to go back and say goodbye to everyone, and she’s become best buds with Daniela, which is good since Sister Bea has finally moved on by now.

Kiki, another new one, a soft-spoken too-late-regretted suicide, nods in agreement.

“Very bad,” she says solemnly. Nora – a sad-looking woman in her late thirties who’d gotten stabbed in the chest and never saw her beloved eleven-year-old grow up – covers her mouth to hide a smile at Len’s expression.

"Well, I think meth – " Daniela starts.

"Will you all stop talking about drugs!" Len finally yells. "Lisa's not on any! So shut up!"

They all smirk at him, but fall silent. They usually listen to him, Len's found, especially when he means it. He's not sure if it's because they all want something from him or because he actually has some power over them, but he's been trying not to think about it too hard.

He's not a necromancer, damnit. His job is to help fix the world by doing his own special part of the spiritual cycle of life, just like the bacteria that eat the body of the dead, except he helps clean up the ghostly realms instead of the forest.

Julie thinks the metaphor is awful, and Nora agrees. Mick kind of likes it, though.

Speaking of Mick, he's been too quiet.

"Mick?" Len calls, but no, nothing. "Go check if something's on fire," he tells the ghosts, shaking his head.

"Nothing's on fire," Mick grumbles, walking through the door to the kitchen. The open door, for once; he’s getting better at pretending to be living on instinct. "I went grocery shopping and didn't want to holler back from the porch."

"Groceries?"

"If we're gonna impress your sister like you so obviously want to, we're gonna need some food,” Mick says like it’s obvious. “College students eat like pigs when the food’s free.”

Len sighs and looks down at the half-scrubbed floor. "I'm not gonna impress her either way," he says. "I'm a high school dropout with a criminal record – "

"Who raised her from childhood," Mick says skeptically. "Who got that criminal record paying for her schooling. Who got your dad put away on charges of theft and murder that'll keep him there for a few years at least, so that he won't find you guys when he gets out. Nah, nothing impressive there at all."

"But – "

"Lenny. It'll be fine. Relax."

[bisexualbellamyblake]

Happy new year, again, Rosie!! I'd like a drabble. I feel like we don't get enough flustered Clarke on the show so can you write a drabble with flustered Clarke + Bellamy's freckles. It could be canon or modern AU. Thanks for doing this, and you're amazing!

Three weeks later, and I finally got there. Sorry for sucking. Anyway, this fic is very ridiculous, deviates slightly from the prompt, and is a lot longer than originally anticipated, but I hope you enjoy it anyway, Hana :)

In retrospect, Clarke probably should’ve realised what was going on.

She’s in her third year of med school, after all, and usually has at least a basic level of common sense in her.

As it is, apparently Bellamy Blake makes her a bit of an idiot. And Bellamy Blake half naked? Well, Clarke’s not sure anyone can truly blame her for her brain short-circuiting and subsequently shutting down at the sight.

“You’re staring,” Raven comments easily, as he pulls off his top, leaving him in nothing but his swimming shorts.

And okay, Clarke at least has enough brain power to recognise that yes, she is staring, and it’d probably be a good idea to, you know — stop. But honestly, she’s not entirely sure how everyone on this goddamn beach isn’t watching him. Because Bellamy taking his top off definitely happened in slow-motion. With his skin glistening and his muscles rippling and his hair remaining perfectly dishevelled. That can’t have just been Clarke. She didn’t just imagine that.

But a quick glance to her friends, all still focused on their own tasks, tells her she did just imagine it. Which is a level above how her brain traditionally deals with her stupid feelings. Usually, she just fantasises about kissing him, or confessing her love, or worst of all, simply snuggling into his side and falling asleep. But this is some weird movie set shit her brain is delving into.

Which is probably the first sign that Clarke ignores.

“Shut up,” she mutters to Raven, spinning on her feet so she’s no longer facing Bellamy. He has a lot of nerve, being as beautiful as he is.

“I’m just saying,” Raven muses, ignoring Clarke’s response as she pulls out her towel and lays it down on the sand. “It’s likely that you’ll die today. Like, you barely keep it together as it is, and now you have to spend all day with him half naked. So, you know, just let me know how nice you want your casket to be.”

“If you think I want to be anything but cremated, you don’t know me very well.”

Raven snorts as Clarke helps lower her down onto her towel. “As someone who works in the medical field, your genuine belief that people can accidentally be buried alive is a weird one.”

“It could happen,” Clarke says, kicking Raven lightly in the shoulder when she just cackles.

“What could happen?” She hears from behind her, and when Clarke turns around there’s Bellamy, smile wide and eyes dazzling and freckles standing out so clearly against his warm golden skin. It’s a lot to take in all at once.

“Clarke could die of dehydration from being so thirsty,” Raven supplies unhelpfully, cocking an amused eyebrow when Clarke shoots her a dirty look.

“What?” Bellamy asks, frowning in confusion.

“Ignore her,” Clarke says, thankful that internet lingo isn’t really a strong point of his. “She’s being an asshole.”

“No surprise there.”

“You love me, Blake.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bellamy mutters with a small quirk of his lips. And then he looks back at Clarke, smile widening into a bright grin, and her brain kind of short-circuits again. “Want me to do your back?”

And, yeah, that certainly doesn’t help. Clarke blinks once, unable to get anything out but, “What?”

“Your back,” he repeats slowly, amused. When she just stares at him, probably resembling a deer in headlights, he continues, cocking an eyebrow. “You burn pretty quickly, princess. You really should put on sunscreen.”

“Oh right,” Clarke breathes out, shaking her head. She feels very warm suddenly, and it’s messing with her head. When Bellamy just keeps watching her with that amused expression of his, she realises she hasn’t actually answered him, and quickly amends. “Yeah, um. Thanks. That’d be, um — good,” she finishes lamely.

Bellamy chuckles, sending her a funny look as she grabs her bottle of sunscreen and passes it to him. And then she’s tugging off her top and turning around, and Bellamy’s hands are on her, and it’s like the universe is trying to punish her for some past life atrocity. Because his hands are large and rough and perfect, rubbing deep into her skin, and it’s hard not to imagine this exact same feeling in a very different context.

She feels a flush rise quickly on her chest at the thought, can’t help but sway back into Bellamy’s touch a little, but thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice, continuing with his task easily.

“Okay,” he announces a good minute later, running his hands down her back one last time. “I’m done. Do me?”

“What?” She asks, dazed, and when her brain catches up, “Oh, uh — yeah, of course,” she stutters out, feeling like a fourteen year old with her first crush again.

Of course, having her hands on Bellamy doesn’t help much, not with the way she feels the warmth of his skin and the tautness of his muscles, or the fact that she zones in on the freckles running down his back, all the way to the bottom of his scapulae before they pepper out.

It’s like the sun kissed each individual one onto his skin just to torture Clarke. She fucking loves his freckles.

And yes, she sees his freckles all the time, but for some reason they’re particularly mesmerising today, tugging on Clarke’s mind until it unravels a little. She feels herself rock backwards without really meaning to, stumbling in her stance, and has to brace herself using Bellamy’s shoulders.

Which is definitely the second sign, and once again, one she ignores.

It doesn’t get any better after that.

The water is lovely, of course, and the weather just as much, with the sun high and bright in the sky. And Clarke loves hanging out with her friends, enjoys swimming around with them and attempting to body surf, even finds herself joining in on the seaweed fight that breaks out when Miller cops some in the face curtesy of Jasper.

But she doesn’t feel completely right, skin hot and tight and mind muddled enough that she misses when people try to talk to her a few times. Her eyes keep getting caught on Bellamy’s form, from the curls stuck to his forehead to the golden brown of his chest, and when it gets bad enough that she feels slightly faint, she decides it’s time to get back onto solid ground.

“You okay?” Raven asks, when she joins her back on the beach, flopping down heavily on her towel. She still feels all hot and flustered, and apparently looks it too, if Raven’s concerned tone is anything to go by. “You don’t look good, babe. You need some water?”

And yeah, it’s kind of embarrassing that even that sign, spelt out right there in front of her, practically flashing to get her attention, isn’t enough for Clarke to realise something’s up.

Something other than the ridiculous explanation she’s come up with for feeling so out of it.

“I’m fine,” she mutters, beginning to fan her face with her hands. She just feels so dazed, and it’s absolutely absurd that seeing Bellamy like he is today is affecting her so much. It’s honestly normally not this bad. “I just — I don’t understand how he looks this good,” she explains, knowing Raven will catch on to her complaints quickly. “It’s like… it’s like he’s specifically trying to torture me.”

Raven laughs, sending Clarke a sly grin. “He’s probably just trying to look irresistible enough that you finally make a move.”

Clarke groans, letting her head drop back even as she shakes it in denial. “You’re delusional,” she sighs, eyes falling shut. They feel heavy, probably because they’ve had to look at something so beautiful for over an hour, which is totally a logical explanation.

“Yeah, I’m the delusional one,” Raven mutters lowly, and Clarke throws an arm out in an attempt to hit her, only to feel sand beneath her skin instead. “Okay, seriously, you’re acting even weirder than usual,” Raven says, voice etching on concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Clarke responds, stressing her point by waving her arms out wildly. She can practically feel Raven’s disbelief in the silence that follows, and sighs loudly. “Okay,” she eventually continues, words slurring slightly. “This is what it is. He’s a beautiful, freckled man, and my body can no longer handle it, probably because it knows my love is unrequited and I’m going to die alone, and therefore wants to punish me.”

“Uh huh,” Raven responds after a very long beat, voice slightly strangled. Then, “Babe?”

“Hm?”

“You, um, might want to look up.”

“Why?” Clarke huffs, opening her eyes to throw Raven a glare for making her do something that requires effort, only to find Bellamy standing right in front of her, eyes wide and mouth parted as he watches her closely. She blinks, feels her face heat up even as her brain sort of decides to shut down. “Oh.”

“I just came to check up on you,” he says, voice inscrutable. His brows pull together and he runs a hand through his hair, and Clarke watches in mute horror as any possible explanation for her words escapes her. “Who were you…”

“What?” she asks, shaking her head quickly as though it could rid her of his question. “No one,” she says, and without much thought at all stumbles up to her feet, just needing to get away.

She makes it one step before the world goes fuzzy around the edges, and all at once a wave of nausea floods her.

“Woah, woah. Clarke,” she hears in Bellamy’s voice, as a pair of strong hands quickly circle her around the arms, keeping her upright even as she feels her whole body waver, losing every ounce of energy.

“Bell,” she breathes out, blinking up slowly to look at him, catching his worried expression and his big, brown eyes.

She sees him say something, his mouth moving as though he’s calling out her name, but his words are lost to the sound of blood rushing past her ears, and the next thing she knows, the galaxy across his face fades until it’s nothing but the dark night sky, and she’s out.

*

Clarke’s fainted once before in her life. It was when she was nine years old, and trying to beat her personal record of thirteen cartwheels in a row.

When she woke up it was to Wells’ worrying, and the first thing she asked him was if she beat her record. She had, getting a fourteenth cartwheel before she apparently stood up, stumbled, and fell back down again, and it was an exciting enough revelation that Clarke viewed the whole experience in a positive light.

This time, the first thing she says when she’s awake and semi-coherent is: “Your freckles.”

It comes out slurred and somehow accusatory, and Bellamy’s brow furrows in confusion as he watches her closely. Her head is in his lap, and his hands are gently stroking her face, and Clarke has enough brain activity to recognise that it feels really, really nice.

And also, that she accidentally confessed her love to Bellamy.

“Okay,” Bellamy says, sweeping her hair from her forehead. “I caught you before you fell, so there’s no way you have a concussion. Want to try that again?”

Clarke shakes her head, struggles to sit up and lets Bellamy help her when she can’t on her own. Her mind is still sluggish, and so she doesn’t stop herself from continuing to talk. Just, you know, to knock in that final nail that is her coffin. Or however it is you prepare an urn.

“Your freckles,” she says, frowning when Bellamy’s lips pull up into a smile. “They — they made me confused. And flustered. And I couldn’t — I couldn’t think.”

“Okay, I’m only a history teacher and I definitely know that that’s not how things work.” His smile widens when Clarke frowns, and he passes her a bottle of water. She takes it and downs it greedily, not having realised how thirsty she was until the first drop of water hit her lips. She feels worlds better for it, her head clearing of its cloudiness and her body feeling a lot stronger. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“What?” Clarke asks, confused again.

“The last time you ate,” Bellamy repeats, reaching behind her to grab something. Clarke looks over her shoulder to find Raven, somehow both looking concerned and amused, handing Bellamy a banana and a bag of jelly lollies. “Or had any water, for that matter.

“I don’t know,” Clarke mutters, feeling herself flush all at once because oh my fucking god, she is such a fucking idiot. “Last night, I guess.”

Bellamy shakes his head, peeling the banana before handing it over.

“Eat,” he tells her, tone leaving absolutely no room to argue. Not that Clarke would, now that she recognises that her feeling faint was not the result of Bellamy Blake’s freckles like she originally thought, but instead a combination of low blood sugar, mild dehydration and heat exhaustion. You know, the more logical explanation. Seriously, she’s in med school. This is beyond embarrassing.

She does eat, finishing the banana quickly before taking a few of the jelly lollies, getting some sugar into her system.

“So, let me get this straight,” Bellamy says after a good minute of just watching her eat. Clarke feels herself blush furiously, and she’s honestly wondering how much of an overreaction it would be to move to the other side of the world tomorrow. But she confessed her love to Bellamy, fainted in his arms, and then told him it was because of his freckles, all in about a three minute time span. The mountains of New Zealand sound pretty damn good right now. “You skip breakfast,” Bellamy begins to list off, pulling Clarke from her spiralling thoughts, “forget to drink any water, go to the beach on a ninety five degree day, and when you feel flustered you think it’s because of me.”

He sounds amused, but something more too. Hopeful, maybe, and it sends a pang of warmth through Clarke’s chest. A good pang, not an I’m-going-to-faint-again pang.

“Have you seen you?” She asks, tentative, and when Bellamy ducks his head in a shy grin she feels herself smile. “It made a lot more sense in my mind.”

Bellamy’s laugh comes out surprised and delighted, and when he looks back up his eyes are shining bright and his smile is as happy as Clarke ever remembers seeing. Again, it’s a lot to take in, but the flutter beneath her skin is a distinctly good kind.

“So if I kiss you right now, because your love in not at all unrequited, is there any chance you’ll faint again?”

“No,” Clarke responds quickly, shaking her head. “I’m in med school; I know these things.”

He’s grinning even as he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I don’t trust you at all,” he says, but Clarke’s already reaching out to pull him down, guiding his mouth to hers.

His lips are warm and soft, and she sighs against them, slanting her mouth against his to better the angle. She deepens the kiss quickly, lets her tongue trace the seam of his lips until it slides against his, and then Bellamy’s pulling her onto his lap and Clarke’s hands are tangling into his hair, and they’re kissing like they don’t want to be doing anything else in the entire world.

She only pulls away when she starts feeling faint again, but it’s the good kind of breathless this time. The one that comes with being thoroughly kissed.

Plus, Bellamy basically just told her he loved her too, and that thought is enough to send her mind spinning a little.

She probably should eat some more, before they continue making out.

“I kind of died seeing you in this bikini,” Bellamy tells her as he rests his forehead against hers.

Clarke laughs softly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, hands tracing up her sides to reach the band of her bathers top. “But unlike some people, I recognise the importance of eating and staying hydrated, so you probably couldn’t tell.”

Clarke groans, dropping her head onto Bellamy’s shoulder as his body shakes with laughter. “You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?”“Yeah, absolutely not.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” she mutters, moving off of his lap to sit beside him instead. As much as she wishes she could, she can’t exactly keep making out with him on a public beach, in front of strangers. In front of their friends.

Remembering that little fact, Clarke turns around to find Raven staring back at her, thankfully alone, but looking altogether incredibly unimpressed.

“I can’t believe you literally had to faint into his arms to work out your shit,” she says, and Clarke shrugs even as Bellamy snorts out a laugh at the comment.

Tucking herself into his side and lacing their fingers together, it’s had to find a part of her that cares.

“Whatever works.” 

[historyiguess]

okay like I am pretty angry right now tbh

alright so this is bc where I live the teachers are having some problems negotiating a new contract with the government because they are asking for alot (raises of course but most of it is stuff like classroom size limits, etc.) so they are going to have a one day strike emmkay, but theres talk that it might continue longer than one day etc. I’m very annoyed by it and can see both sides of the situation (mostly leaning towards teachers) but I mostly want it over. So we were talking about it at dinner

and my grandfather was like “imagine all the money tax payers will save if the teachers go on strike”

and I’m like “wtf clearly our (me and my siblings) education is not important to you!”

and he’s like “there are other ways of education, in the future there will be less schools and teachers and everyone will be homeschooled online anyways”

so the conversation kind of ends

and then a min or two later he goes and refills his drink and comes back adn says some sort of math equation like “number x number what does that equal?”

im like “idk” im shit at math ok

so he was like “well its over 1mill and thats how much tax payers are going to save if teachers go on strike.”

and im like again “okay are education isn’t important to you, thanks man, like its not even just schooling but stuff like sports and drama, alot of people can’t afford to do it outside of school”

anyways the whole concept fucking disgusts me, its greedy, there’s no other way of putting it, there is no defense of this. If you would rather save some cash than educate people that is fucking shameful and disgusting. In retrospect I realized the perfect comeback should have been “I hope they get rid of free healthcare soon!! That way tax payers don’t have to pay for your quadruple bipass heart surgery and that entire month you spent in the fucking hospital!”

Yeah that would have been rude, and yeah I am bitter; but fuck you if you’re so excited by the prospect of teachers not working so you can save some money. The entire time I wanted to scream at him the statistic that maybe he really doesn’t want education because it is statistically proven that the less educated you are the more likely you are to be conservative. That is, because he is a deeply conservative man. I would also like to mention that just because you are conservative that you are uneducated, and being less educated doesn’t mean you aren’t intelligent either. I don’t even mind like moderate conservatives, like I will disagree with them but its typically a “I will politely disagree with you, not everyone should have the same opinions on things” thing. But no, my grandfather is a man of the far-right a “Who thinks we should trade Trudeau for Trump?” guy (this was also right after trudeau got elected so he hadn’t even grossly fucked up yet) and it was just like ummm no I would like a wishy-washy pushover than a bigoted idiot who has no fucking clue what he’s doing.

Anyways sorry this is just a rant on my grandfather, like I know he’s family but like, he is bigoted to the point that he can’t see hypocrisy. Like trust me this rant could me much longer. Like everytime I am shocked he has a new low, which is why this  post exists. I also understand that people want lower taxes, but taxes exist to cover basic needs provided to the people by the government. But if education is not considered a necessity than you need re-evaluate yourself. I also know that you can live without going to school but there is just such a HUGE benefit of having public education that it should always be considered an necessity unless in the wake of emergency. (but thats a whole other discussion)

[thisdaynews]

New York Mayor de Blasio on guns, Buttigieg, whether Bernie could have won in 2016

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/new-york-mayor-de-blasio-on-guns-buttigieg-whether-bernie-could-have-won-in-2016/

New York Mayor de Blasio on guns, Buttigieg, whether Bernie could have won in 2016

poster=”http://v.politico.com/images/1155968404/201908/2813/1155968404_6068407964001_6068402776001-vs.jpg?pubId=1155968404″

true

New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio spoke to POLITICO Monday as part of a series of interviews with Democrats seeking to challenge President Donald Trump in 2020.

[More Coverage:de Blasio on fried Twinkies, the ‘corruption of Rome’ | de Blasio says Bernie would have won in 2016]

Story Continued Below

Here are key excerpts from the hour-long conversation:

On how Democrats can win

“I think the reality is at this point when the Democratic Party is identified as the party of working people, when it has a clear, progressive, populist economic message, it is not only, from my point of view, philosophically, morally the right place to be, it is also the way to win elections. I think the 2016 election is the, unfortunately, the object lesson for the wrong way to do it. Because I think the party’s message and values were very unclear to a lot of American voters, thus many people stayed home, many Democrats stayed home.”

On endorsing Hillary Clinton

“Personally, I believed that she would be a very effective leader and that the ideas she put forward, she would have some real understanding of how to put into action. I also — as is clear from WikiLeaks — have pleaded with the Hillary campaign at the highest levels to address the sense of unfairness that people feel. To come out with a bolder economic vision. And honestly, that was a futile endeavor. So, I don’t think it was wrong to say that she was a candidate that I admired, respected, thought could do a good job. But I think that the entire party failed to present a vision and a message that could win that election.”

On whether he thinks Bernie Sanders could have beaten Trump

“In my heart, yes, I do. I think, you know, hindsight is 20/20. But I think when we look at it now, that was a moment where there was such desire for change. We were in the process, as Democrats, of losing a lot of our folks again, either to Trump or … many more to stay at home. And we had to excite them. And I think in retrospect, he offered a vision that could have done that.”

On why Sanders supporters should vote for him

“I think the world of Bernie, but I would say, I’m someone who has put these ideas into action, consistently and effectively, to a really tough environment. And I’m someone who can build the kind of coalition we’re going to need to win. So, I think there’s a governmental argument and a political argument. The governmental argument is — and I respect every legislator, I once upon a time was a local legislator, respect them all — but being an executive is just a different thing. Against some real opposition, we achieved a series of things in New York, whether you’re talking about pre-K for all, our massive affordable housing program or things like a rent freeze, which we had the power to do. It’s never been done before. Legal services to stop evictions and lower evictions by landlords. And obviously everything on policing: ending stop and frisk, which at the time was highly controversial. Showing that the city was actually getting safer, we got rid of the punitive type of policing. Doing that as executive is a different reality of what a legislator does.

…And then politically, there’s literally no place more diverse on earth. The only way I won to begin with was building an extraordinarily diverse coalition. You know, I ran for mayor against a very diverse field. The reason I won was I was able to win not just substantial support but majorities in communities represented by other candidates because I had a message that cut across a whole lot of demographic realities and that people can unite around. We’re going to need that as Democrats again.”

On working with Republicans

“Look, I’ve negotiated with all sorts of forces to get things done, which is why we’re able to get things done, including our state legislature, including what was for years a state Senate Republican majority. We got things done like pre-K for all, despite having a state Senate Republican majority, and we have to work with them to get it done.

I think what is really happening now is the solutions are more about political change than they are about negotiation. If you look at how dug in the Republicans are in the House and the Senate, maybe on some issues there will be some common ground in some areas for negotiation. But on many levels, only political change is going to move them, including political impact from their grassroots up. And I think that’s an area — bluntly — Democrats have not done a particularly good job at. I think the model of the presidency, once upon a time, was much more going out and educating people, moving them, moving hearts and minds, changing the way people think about issues. That is a template that worked for Democrats in sort of the glory days of the Democratic Party. And I think we have to go back to that because there’s lots of working people in America who are truly fed up with the status quo.”

On his gun-control position

“I think background checks, I think banning assault weapons, and I think, you know, from my point of view…you can protect the Second Amendment and still put a series of protections in place…It’s about a handful of senators and making their lives a lot tougher. Which right now, and I’ve been open about this, the Democratic Party, understandably, is fixated on Trump, but it’s too fixated on Trump. Understandably, it wants to pursue impeachment, but sometimes to the exclusion — at least to the public eye — of other issues.

Here’s a moment where we should lean in deeply to the gun-safety issue, particularly in those states where those key Senate elections are happening. And I feel very strongly — I think there’s a lot of historical precedent for it — you’re going to have some senators who are not going to be able to withstand that.”

On Obama’s legacy

“Affordable Care Act, clearly the biggest achievement and a stunning achievement. And I understand he sacrificed intensely to get to it, and I appreciate that he was extraordinarily persistent. I think a lesser leader would have given up. And it’s had a tremendously positive impact on tens of millions of Americans, and it has been one of the most important steps in addressing income inequality in decades. We gotta go a lot farther. But I think we have to acknowledge that extraordinary achievement.

In terms of what was missed, two things to me come out as lessons. And I can understand, again, what he was up against. But the first is to front-load labor legislation in the event that — whether it’s me or anyone else — there’s a Democratic president and a Democratic Senate. Achieving fundamental change on labor is essential.

…The second lesson, which is not just from the Obama years, I think it’s several decades, is to refocus on the state legislatures. Because what we have learned is that the presidency does not exist in a vacuum, if you will. It’s not just about what the president does with their executive powers or what they do with the Congress. We saw it in the Obama years, we saw it in the Clinton years. We lost ground in state legislatures, and we paid for it intensely, because even when federal action could be taken, in many ways it was undercut at the state level.”

On Ronald Reagan’s impact

“I think Reagan was a singular figure, much though I disagree with him profoundly, I will give him, you know, tremendous sense of how to use that bully pulpit. And he did spark foundational change. You know, from my point of view, in the wrong direction. But it was foundational. You have to give him that. And I think there is something objective about that fact that, I don’t like what he did, but it had a much bigger impact than just what he did in his eight years. He sort of laid the foundation for something bigger.”

On racism in the Trump era

“That’s been produced by Trump. It just has been. There’s a deep wellspring of racism in America. It’s always been that way. But Trump has tapped into it, normalized it, enhanced it, uplifted it in a way that has now led to pure violence. And I do think leadership matters. I think leadership is calling for unity and respect. People hear that and feel it. Leadership’s dividing us, and they pick up on that too.

…I’m in the school of this party that says: ‘There are some Trump voters who are never going to want to hear from me or anyone else who believes in a multicultural society. And there are other Trump voters who voted out of economic frustration and anger at the status quo, who I think can be brought back into our coalition. But only if they hear a message that’s about their lives.’ I believe if you say to a lot of those folks, ‘We’re going to tax the wealthy who created so much of this status quo. We’re going to do things that actually reach your family, like higher wages, better benefits, better health care, pre-K for children.’ Things like that matter to a lot of those voters, matter to voters across the spectrum. And if you make very clear that you’re not working on behalf of the establishment, that’s what a lot of them want to hear, including they want to hear that you’re pro labor.”

On NAFTA

“I want to remind people, look at those states where Democrats lost. Two glaring characteristics: a lot of union members who drifted away from the Democratic Party and those were the states that NAFTA, in particular, hit hard, the loss of manufacturing jobs. I am stridently anti-NAFTA. I’m saying our party should run the other way from the new NAFTA, have nothing to do with it. Change the entire nature of how we go about trade.”

On hate speech on social media

“I’m not listening for (Trump’s) moral guidance on what social media companies should do. But I think it’s right to say we’re in a situation that we’ve never experienced before in human history, where information is flowing in ways that of course must be kept free, but with realities that are creating, you know, real social dislocations that we have to address. And the portrayal of violence is a real issue. I don’t know how to change that, I honestly don’t. I think it’s a lot clearer how to address hate speech, for example, if you’re one of the companies that is trying to set standards. I think there’s — you can actually have some objective standards and relevant content to stand for. And I think violent videos is a tougher, a tougher venue.”

On why he didn’t endorse some New York progressives

“I’m very, very comfortable as a member of the progressive wing of this party pushing progressive ideas and trying to change the party as a whole. I look at individual races, and some I think it makes sense to get involved in. And some, I don’t. And also, when you’re a mayor of a city, it adds a whole other element. I don’t just go at it as someone with an ideological view, I have to think about a lot of other factors.

But to me, I think the Queen’s DA race is a great example of this. The debate already created the outcome in the sense that, you know, for a while we didn’t know who it would be. On one level, it was clear whoever it was going to be was going to have to make a series of changes because the conversation had already and the election process had already taken it that way.”

On Joe Biden

“I don’t have a relationship with Joe Biden, I haven’t worked with him in the past…I think a whole lot of swing voters right now are so appalled by Trump that they would be very open to a Democrat, whether that Democrat is more progressive or more moderate. But what I fear with Biden is…I’m not hearing an inspirational vision of change. I’m hearing something that sounds like the status quo most of the time.

“And I want to know that any leader can give a persuasive argument that they can make change. So, you can mouth the words, people see through that pretty quickly. How do you prove it? Again, what I bring to the table is, I said I was gonna do a whole set of things in New York. I did them. They constitute real change. I’m offering a very consistent vision from that experience for the country, showing how I want to take what I did in the nation’s largest city and expand it out to the country. You don’t find people saying about me, ‘Oh, you know, he doesn’t believe those things or he’s never done them or he’s just come up with it now because it’s convenient.’ The problem for Biden is, how is he going to convince people that he is going to break this American status quo that a huge percentage of voters don’t want to continue?”

On whether Kamala Harris is a moderate

“Honestly, don’t know her well enough. And, you know, I’ve seen her say different things that I’m not clear ultimately what her vision is. So, I struggle to give you a clear definition. Some people I think, are very easily defined. I don’t know exactly in her case.”

On the value of debates

“Debates are one of those, you know, they’re the ultimate comparison shopping…I think in the case of Biden — again, this is not me being a pundit, this is me being a candidate, saying this — he had two chances to help people see a vision that might actually be motivating, and I don’t think he did that in either case.

…We have to have this debate to sort it out. And it’s going to be decided by the voters in the primaries. But it’s also like this is — to use the sports analogy — this is the preseason. Like, if you are not ready for the much tougher stuff up ahead, you know, if you can’t do it at this level, you’re not going to do it later on. So, for him, he’s going to be asked these tough questions, increasingly. If he can’t answer them, then how is he going to be the nominee?”

On making the next debate

“I don’t know what people took from that debate yet. But there’s a lot of time on the clock. And the standards are very straightforward, and my job is to hit those standards by August 27.

…I’m not going to do hypotheticals, my job right now is to get there.”

On Medicare for All

“You know, I use a bad example, but I think it illustrates the point. I say bad example because it’s not an issue example in the same way. But I think it’s a wonderful example of social change: How did this become a country that embraces overwhelmingly marriage equality? If you remember that trajectory, and you look at the historical days, it is breathtaking how fast it went from not even civil union laws being acceptable politically to a lot of folks, through a few states starting to make change and a leader starting to speak out, and the way it moved, with, I think, a lot of help from the media and a lot of help from the cultural center.

But opinion is formed through these debates. And I think it’s fair to say this is the most energetic argument you’ve seen for universal health care in the history of this party. Because it’s not just being made by one Bernie Sanders up against the mega frontrunner, Hillary. It’s now being made by a lot of us. And it’s a fair fight for the first time. And I think it’s part of how you get the transformation.”

On what white America doesn’t understand about being a minority

“I think it was the end of 2014, when I felt it was very important to speak to my city about the changes we would make, even though people were in tremendous amount of pain of that moment because of what happened to Eric Garner and what was happening with the legal process as well. And I surfaced this reality in my own family, having a conversation with Dante about how he had to comport himself and deal with the realities … and there was controversy at that moment.

…But there was a whole lot of people who also felt it was a conversation that had to be had because millions and millions of Americans had a conversation with their kid. And it was somehow missed by the majority culture that that was a reality. And by the way, majority culture, if the shoe was on the other foot, they’d be having that conversation with their kids. So it was time to surface it.”

On making that case to white voters

“I would argue that that process of explaining to people, for example, imagine the others punish you on the other foot. You bring up your child, you put all your love and support into your child, and your child is stopped by a police officer regularly or followed in the store. Or if your child, you know, if a police officer came up to your child, that you’d have to worry about what might happen next because of a whole lot of history? I think a lot of people actually could get that.

We’re not saying, we’re not calling anyone a racist who hasn’t proven that they’re racist, right? But we’re saying there’s racism pervading our society, and we’ve got to surface it. And you have that conversation enough times, it changes things.”

On Mayor Pete Buttigieg

“I don’t think there’s any comparison, two different people. He started very early. I started very late. You know, he developed a substantial fundraising base. Again, my message is not going to be one that appeals to wealthy donors. It’s just not.

Q: “And that’s something Buttigieg is doing?”

A: “Well, he’s getting a ton of wealthy donors, isn’t he? I mean, look, I made a decision. And this has been evolving for years now for me, I think I originally experienced the more traditional politics. And my philosophy was always thoroughly progressive, but I thought sort of, ‘Oh, this is the way politics works. And you gotta deal with these realities.’ And I think more and more, we’re all being liberated from that. And the approach I’m taking, the message I have, it’s not everyone it’s going to attract … and someone with a more moderate message will.”

On grassroots fundraising

“The only way that someone like me ultimately gets there is with an overwhelmingly grassroots campaign. I think there’s practical realities of, if you’re getting started and you don’t have that kind of apparatus, of course, you’re going to have to put some resources together, but the way of the future for me and for others like me is to overwhelmingly go in that direction.”

Q: “Do you think at that point that means weaning off money from real estate?”

A: “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, but I think that is the way of the future.”

On politicians using wealthy people as aspirational figures

“It’s a lie. You know, very few people can get there. And it’s kind of an American mythology that was charming once, but now it’s been weaponized to, you know, tell people, ‘Stay where you are, and maybe someday you’ll get there,’ when it’s an overt lie. And it supports the further empowerment of those who are winning. So, I know it’s unsettling for some, for sure

…If folks felt the economy was working for them, they felt like they actually had decent prospects, you never would have seen a Donald Trump. He said, ‘I’m going to disrupt everything,’ and people wanted it to be disrupted. Why aren’t we saying we’re going to disrupt everything? Because we need to.”

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[inmomni]

No. 14

It was after my youth group’s 2015 winter retreat that i got saved for like, the third time that my best friend and i had an interesting conversation about our sin.  I remember we were on a night hike with a few other of my church friends when i suddenly started to get a strong urge for a cigarette.  I hadn't had one since the start of the winter retreat, which was about two weeks ago then and a long time for me.  It brought up this kind of frustration in me.  Not because the craving was getting worse, but because i had just been saved, again.  See in my mind, if you were with Jesus, you should just want to sin because of this new found love that you have for Jesus now; so in turn, that would make you naturally hate sin, ya know? Sharing the comment with Caleb, it sparked some talk about the fallenness of man and how we innately fall away from God, you know the gist, and we went on for about an hour when pent up with frustration about how i still want sin after all that God had shown me, after knowing what He did for me, after experiencing how much He loves me, 

 I said, “I wish God could just make us love him so much right now that we would never dare to sin again.”  

And from there my difficult journey of becoming a disciple of God started.

God works independently from you.  This is something that He has been teaching and showing me in this current season of my life.  I always had this imagery that depicted how I came to faith, and how I’m being sustained now: me being dragged by a rope tied to my hand by God.  Let me explain.  Looking at my faith, my life, my experiences, etc., I feel like i missed out.  I feel as if because God made me a Christian so early on with such strong convictions that i wasn't able to really have fun in high school.  As in the sex, drugs, alcohol portion of it.  A culture that always sounded so alluring and enticing because it gives you a good status; a “cool” status or reputation, one where no one has to question who you are, just as long as your there to have fun, you're family.  But my ties to the church prevented me from fully immersing in that culture, and i really did genuinely try to be a good christian while struggling with this sense of being cheated by God.  So this lead me to do something else: just drift in and out of the two. Not like split life type of deal, but just over the course of time that has passed up since then and now, I have tried, just once, a good number of drugs, was a pretty fat stoner, and am still currently working on getting rid of nicotine.  I hardly ever read the bible regularly, prayer was on SOS duty, but still during this entire time, I was, and honestly still now,  going to church, singing my songs, and repping the name of Jesus to those who knew I went to church.  

I thought I knew what a christian should look like.  I’ve been to church all my life, so that being said, I think I have a pretty good idea of what an idealized modern day non-Jesus Christian would be like: 

- Prays for at least 30 mins a day, an hour if it didn't cry at all to “push through and seek the Lord”....Or an hour if you did cry cause, you cried and you had a moment with Jesus.   - Reads the word every day without fail, even if you don’t have time for it cause you’re too busy serving, you get it in somehow by listening to an ESV ebook bible or through your 2min New Morning Mercies. - Just exudes Jesus everywhere they go, like to the point where you feel so sinful if you're around them, but somehow they're so humble that it doesn't even cross your mind. - Raises their hands every single worship song at some point in the chorus and definitely the verses cause no one raises their hands for those - Every single conversation they have in passing turns into some life changing prophetic revelation for both parties involved           The list can go on, but because of this mismatched lifestyle of knowing what is good but not living it out, there emerged a very cyclic pattern starting since senior year of high school: 

Summer is so good, its great, restful, had a bunch of fun, ready to get back to work Fall initially is really good, meeting up with friends, keeping up with academics, motivated, I’m doing okay with God, reading here and there, not consistently, but reading at least, not doing bad things and such... then it starts to drop off around late October. I start getting less motivated, missing more classes, sleeping in more, trying to escape reality more.

Winter is super bad, just bummy lazy disgusting, right up until finals week approaches from where I jump up out of bed and turn into a study machine

This carries on past spring and then probably into summer again.  Then it repeats. 

But during these times there have been moments where God affirmed me in my spiritual growth, all in retrospect of course.

I remember a time at Chick-fil-a with Caleb after serving at VBS where one of these moments happened. We had just finished up a day where the theme was the good news.  For some context, we started the day with a staff meeting where the pastor told us about the theme, what kind of message she will be sharing, the weight of this day and the significance it could have on the kids. Everyone was “mmm-ing” in agreement and prayer was loud so you know people were passionate, but i wasn't really in the mood.  I really wasn’t in a good place in my faith, then again when have i ever been, and i just said yes to a pastor that said they were understaffed.  So I brought along Caleb, who was walking with the Lord at the time.  But prayer was only 3 minutes long because the meeting started too late.  So everything started getting pushed back a little bit.  Stations were shorter, and the station leaders were rushing things to pass the group to the next station to the point where by the end, all the crew leaders were a little bit disoriented and tired.  So back to the scene at Chick-fil-a, after ordering food, I asked him, “Hey, what did you think about today?” He responded with a “It was kinda weird”, a prodding question to see what I’m thinking.  I started explaining how they didn't do the gospel justice, how this wasn't something that was deserving of being rushed or just gotten over with, especially if it is for these kids.  At one point, some guy paraphrased the gospel to, “uhh we sinned, Jesus died on the cross for them, and, oh shoot were out of time, can the crew leaders explain the rest on the way to the next station”

I was getting really emotional, and tears started running down my eyes at which point caleb asked me why I was crying.  I didn't understand his question, until i remembered that all the conversations we had and all the things he’s seen me do don't point to an impassioned college student upset because his church’s VBS didn't do the gospel enough justice when presenting it to 5-10 year olds.  That was when I realized God has taught me the weight of his gospel

There were other instances like this:

When i first got to Biola, and I hated it, but God told me through the song i hated the most during high school  (Christ is Enough) that though i may think that i failed because I only got into Biola, Hes bringing me to a place where I can say Christ is all I need, and he placed that desire in my heart

Placing me in Torrey so that I would have a deeper knowledge of the word and how to converse with people, and having that show up at a party half tipsy with a bunch of non-christians who were talking philosophy of a higher being and of a purpose in life

Seeing that through every cycle of highs and lows, regardless of how low that low was, I still came back to a place where God met me

This cycle continued starting senior year of high school, to hopefully not now, getting worse every single year, as in the depressed months started to bleed past their previous marks. Until last year, my junior year, when I failed 3 classes second semester. 

It had lasted til May.  

At that point i perceived myself as for what i thought i had become.  It was my junior year, and I’m a bio major.  I’m trying to become a doctor, but now I’m not even sure of that anymore.   I’m a slob, my sleeping schedule is a mess, I'm not even properly eating and what the heck is up with that, I don’t go to the gym anymore,  I’m not loving on the people that are close to me well at all I feel so selfish and twisted I feel so sinful, Holy i feel so dirty I feel so far from God, am i really a christian? I barely read the bible,  when was the last time i talked to God?  No other than a Sunday. I’ve been a Christian, or a so called christian for how long now?  Almost 8 years now? almost eight years.  Even after all these years I can't get this thing going God, I’m such a failure, I’ve tried so hard.  To be a Christian, to stay in the faith, but it’s too hard.  I don’t get it, and i don't understand it.  If i did, then i wouldn't be like this.  If i was a christian, I wouldn't be doing X, Y, and Z or i would have fixed this part of myself ages ago.  I should have had a consistent routine with God by now, talking with him, I should be the ideal christian by now.  IF I had truly been a christian up til now, holy, I’ve lived 21 years exposed to the gospel, and I don’t know how to do this thing.  I should just give up, I need to leave, 

But where would I go? 

Ecclesiastes puts it so well (I love this book) when it says that EVERYTHING is meaningless.  If you really think about it, there is no point to life. To pass on your genes? To have the most toys at the end of your life? To be a powerful change in society to those who are equally as insignificant and pointless as you are? as if your possible change will bring about anything more than which is your mere humanity, which is what, simplified by science, nothing more than a generation 10000 monkey all within a world that is dying and rotting each day that passes.  

So it’s either God, or death.  

Well, I don’t want to die... Yeah I really don’t want to die, so then how do I do this

HOW can I do this?  I’ve failed so many times I could probably map out and predict up until when I’ll be depressed, what I’ll be doing during that time

God, I don’t know what to do. That’s when it became clear to me.  If you've noticed by now, I’ve used the word “I” so many times up til this point.  God just started highlighting all of the I’s I used, and he started replacing them with His name.  and it all started to click.  Maybe the reason I failed all these times was to bring me to a place where I could say, with my heart inside out, “God help me please, I don't know what to do.”  I tried to do things my own way for 3 almost 4 years now and i failed every single time, maybe its time to look towards God and not myself.   God reminded me of a passage in Numbers 21:6-9 where it talks about God sending fiery serpents to the people of Israel.  These snakes were sent to kill people with their venom because of their sin and rebellion, and the passage says that many died from these snakes.  So the people cried out to Moses, and Moses to God, who instructed Moses to erect a bronze serpent in the middle of camp (on a standard) so that if any man looks on the serpent, that even if they get bit, they will live.  Now, a thing about snakes, they're not that tall, so the area that they'll probably bite you, if you're not laying down in snake infested areas, around your feet, legs, ankles, all areas that you have too look down to see.  So you’re here, dodging snakes on the ground for dear life, when Moses comes around and says to look up at this serpent so that you'll be saved.  I’m guessing that this bronze snake was up on a tall pole or structure so that not just people in the vicinity would see it, but people all over camp, which meant that if you wanted to look at the bronze snake, you'd have to take your eyes completely off the ground.  So you're surrendering your own ability to do the best you can to defend yourself from these serpents risking death, or to look up at a bronze statue of a serpent to live.  And get this, the bible doesn't even say healed, just “will live”, meaning to me that it probably still hurt like hell when they got bit, but they lived, which they wouldn't if they tried to do it on their own.  Our protocol is just to look at Him, nothing else, not to look good in front of him, not to hide your sins, not to say this or that, but to look at God like a child and say “help please”.  

Now

How do you do that.  

🤷🏻‍♂️

I don’t know what I’m doing.  I’m trying to read more.  Pray more, I don’t know what it looks like to do what I said just now, or what that actually looks like.  But regardless of what I know, or what I understand, God is doing things behind the scenes for my good.  That there is no other reason, there can't be any other explanation than the grace that God gives me and sustains me with.  In this most darkest season of my life, I have never understood more clearly what it means to work out your faith with fear and trembling, to know that I am a christian despite all my crap, that despite how hard I may want to leave, not even I can pluck myself out of Gods hand, because of the way He’s been teaching and shaping my heart. Grace prepares the heart for salvation, it is grace that one receives salvation, and it is through grace that salvation is sustained and sanctification is occurring.  I don’t know how I got here and how to get to where I need to be, but I just know that God’s got this.  

So I’m just going to take that and run.

[everydayhealthyfan]

From authoritarian power grabs to Andrew Neils nonsensical eulogy, the reaction to the Paris attacks proves that we havent learned from our past mistakes There were a lot of tributes after the horror in Paris. It has to be said that Trafalgar Square is an odd choice of venue to show solidarity with France; presumably Waterloo was too busy. One of the most appropriate tributes was Adele dedicating Hometown Glory to Paris, just as the raids on St-Denis started. A song about south London where, 10 years ago, armed police decided to hysterically blow the face off a man just because he was a bit beige. In times of crisis, we are made to feel we should scrutinise our governments actions less closely, when surely thats when we should pay closest attention. Theres a feeling that after an atrocity history and context become less relevant, when surely these are actually the worst times for a society to go on psychopathic autopilot. Our attitudes are fostered by a society built on ideas of dominance, where the solution to crises are force and action, rather than reflection and compromise. If that sounds unbearably drippy, just humour me for a second and imagine a country where the response to Paris involved an urgent debate about how to make public spaces safer and marginalised groups less vulnerable to radicalisation. Do you honestly feel safer with a debate centred around when we can turn some desert town 3,000 miles away into a sheet of glass? Of course, its not as if the west hasnt learned any lessons from Iraq and Afghanistan. This time round, no ones said out loud that were going to win. People seem concerned to make sure that Islam gets its full share of the blame, so we get the unedifying circus of neocons invoking God as much as the killers. Well, Isis say theyre motivated by God. Yes, and people who have sex with their pets say theyre motivated by love, but most of us dont really believe them. Not that Im any friend of religion lets blame religion for whatever we can. Lets blame anyone who invokes the name of any deity just because they want to ruin our weekend, starting with TGI Fridays. The ringleader, Abdelhamid Abaaoud, evaded detection by security services by having a name too long to fit into one tweet. How could the most stringent surveillance in the world not have picked up Abdelhamid Abaaoud before? I mean, theyd have got him even if they just went through lists of terrorists alphabetically. Were always dealing with terror in retrospect like stocking up on Imodium rather than reading the cooking instructions on your mini kievs. The truth is that modern governments sit at the head of a well-funded security apparatus. They are told that foreign military adventures put domestic populations at risk and they give them the thumbs up anyway. Charitably, the safety of their populations just arent of great concern to them. Realistically, domestic terrorist attacks play into their agenda: they allow them to grab ever more authoritarian powers with which to police their increasingly unequal and volatile societies. Of course, no one wants to believe that our government isnt interested in our safety, just like everyone really wanted to believe that Jimmy Savile cared about whether kids got to meet Duran Duran. Its not an insult to the dead to wonder why France, a $2tn economy, couldnt make a better offer to its disenfranchised youth than a bunch of sick bullies grooming them on the internet. Its not apologism to try to understand why something happened. When Syrias drought kicked in, 25% of the population became unemployed. The vast majority of the countrys livestock has died over the past decade. A lot of Isis are farmers with nowhere to go, their entire industry destroyed youd think theyd have more sympathy for journalists. Those who think radicalising a youngster has nothing to do with climate have you seen Tatooine? No one is saying climate change causes terrorism. Stop thinking that a global death cult is caused by one thing its a complex situation involving several different countries and ideologies, not a rattling sound in your washing machine. Personally, I think that for all our blaming religion, there will be peace in the Middle East when the oil runs out. But knowing their luck, then somebody will invent a way of making fuel by mixing sand and falafel. Maybe the wests approach is right. After all, if youve got a massive fight in, say, a pub car park, the best way of solving it is clearly standing well back and randomly lobbing in fireworks. You cant get rid of an ideology by destroying its leaders; youd think if theres anything Christian countries should know, its that. Europe has rejected the death penalty on moral grounds, and yet we relax this view when it comes to a group who want to be martyred. You cant bomb ideas. If your kid shits on the carpet, you cant stop them by bombing the person who invented shit though it would tidy up ITVs Saturday night schedule. Andrew Neil went viral with an impassioned eulogy that, like most eulogies, was just inaccurate nonsense in the form of nice memorable words strung together with angry sad words. A speech that would have made those named within it proud, but only because a good few of them were nihilistic absurdists. Listing the great French thinkers in a tribute to nuclear power showcased the worst aspect of historical fame: these were figures Neil could name but appeared to know nothing about. For a list supporting the French governments foray into bombing its former colony he chose Satie, a composer so questioning of state he put a question mark into La Marseillaise; Zola, a man so adamant about the function of a fair and full trial he may have been murdered for his beliefs; Rousseau Those who think themselves masters of others are greater slaves...

The post Frankie Boyle on the fallout from Paris appeared first on AFH.

[hollywoodjuliorivas]

Go Ahead, Millennials, Destroy Us

By TIM KREIDERMARCH 2, 2018

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As with all historic tipping points, it seems inevitable in retrospect: Of course it was the young people, the actual victims of the slaughter, who have finally begun to turn the tide against guns in this country. Kids don’t have money and can’t vote, and until now burying a few dozen a year has apparently been a price that lots of Americans were willing to pay to hold onto the props of their pathetic role-playing fantasies. But they forgot what adults always forget: that our children grow up, and remember everything, and forgive nothing.

Those kids have suddenly understood how little their lives were ever worth to the people in power. And they’ll soon begin to realize how efficient and endless are the mechanisms of governance intended to deflect their appeals, exhaust their energy, deplete their passion and defeat them. But anyone who has ever tried to argue with adolescents knows that in the end they will have a thousand times more energy for that fight than you and a bottomless reservoir of moral rage that you burned out long ago.

Like most people in middle age, I regard young people with suspicion. The young — and the young at mind — tend to be uncompromising absolutists. They haven’t yet faced life’s heartless compromises and forfeitures, its countless trials by boredom and ethical Kobayashi Marus, or glumly watched themselves do everything they ever disapproved of.

I am creeped out by the increasing dogmatism and intolerance of millennials on the left; I felt a generational divide open up under me last year when everyone under 40 seemed to agree that Dana Schutz’s painting of Emmett Till in his coffin should be removed from the Whitney Biennial. When I was young it seemed the natural order of things that conservatives were the prudes and scolds who wanted books banned and exhibitions closed, while we liberals got to be the gadflies and iconoclasts. I know that whenever you disapprove of young people, you’re in the wrong, because you’re going to die and they’ll get to write history, but I just can’t help noticing that the liberal side isn’t much fun to be on anymore.

Yet this uprising of the young against the ossified, monolithic power of the National Rifle Association has reminded me that the flaws of youth — its ignorance, naïveté and passionate, Manichaean idealism — are also its strengths. Young people have only just learned that the world is an unfair hierarchy of cruelty and greed, and it still shocks and outrages them. They don’t understand how vast and intractable the forces that have shaped this world really are and still think they can change it. Revolutions have always been driven by the young.

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I whole heartedly agree with the premise of this article. Change will come, regardless of what any segment of the population thinks. It is...

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You brought me tears of gratitude and admiration. Thank you so much for this.

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As a baby boomer with millennial children, I don't agree with every protest topic but do agree with passing on the idea of civic involvement...

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Ever since Columbine, almost 20 years ago, I’ve absorbed the news of more mass shootings than I can count with an ulcerating rage that gradually scabbed over into deadened cynicism. To those of us who have lived with certain grim realities our whole adult lives — the widening moat between the rich and the rest of us, the sclerotic influence of money on politics, the N.R.A.’s unassailable coalition of greed and fear — they seem like facts of life as unalterable as death itself.

I’d come to the conclusion that America has always been a violent nation, from our founding genocide to the slave labor that built the country to the arsenal, unprecedented in human history, that maintains our empire. We spend $60 billion a year on pets but won’t go to any inconvenience to keep second graders from getting slaughtered. Despite all our competitive parenting and mommy machismo and trophy kids, we don’t really give a damn about our children — by which I mean, about one another’s. When a race stops caring for its young, its extinction is not only imminent but well deserved. But maybe my bitter complacence about our civilization’s irreversible decline is just a projection of my feelings about my own.

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Power is like money: imaginary, entirely dependent upon belief. Most of the power of institutions lies in the faith people have in them. And cynicism is also a kind of faith: the faith that nothing can change, that those institutions are corrupt beyond all accountability, immune to intimidation or appeal. Harvey Weinstein ultimately wasn’t the one enforcing the code of silence around his predations: It was all the agents and managers and friends and colleagues who warned actresses that he was too powerful to accuse.

Once people stopped believing in his invulnerability, his destruction was as instantaneous as the middle school queen being made a pariah. Watch: As soon as the first N.R.A. A-rated congressman loses an election, other politicians’ deeply held convictions about Second Amendment rights will start rapidly evolving.

The students of Parkland are like veterans coming home from the bloody front of the N.R.A.’s de facto war on children. They’ve seen their friends, teachers and coaches gunned down in the halls. To them, powerful Washington lobbyists and United States senators suddenly look like what they are: cheesy TV spokesmodels for murder weapons. It has been inspiring and thrilling to watch furious, cleareyed teenagers shame and vilify gutless politicians and soul-dead lobbyists for their complicity in the murders of their friends. Last week Wayne LaPierre was reduced to gibbering like Gen. Jack D. Ripper in “Dr. Strangelove” about a “socialist” takeover and “hardening” our schools. You could see the whites all around his irises. That look is fear.

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One of my students once asked me, when I was teaching the writing of political op-ed essays, why adults should listen to anything young people had to say about the world. My answer: because they’re afraid of you. They don’t understand you. And they know you’re going to replace them.

My message, as an aging Gen X-er to millennials and those coming after them, is: Go get us. Take us down — all those cringing provincials who still think climate change is a hoax, that being transgender is a fad or that “socialism” means purges and re-education camps. Rid the world of all our outmoded opinions, vestigial prejudices and rotten institutions. Gender roles as disfiguring as foot-binding, the moribund and vampiric two-party system, the savage theology of capitalism — rip it all to the ground. I for one can’t wait till we’re gone. I just wish I could live to see the world without us.

Tim Kreider is the author of the essay collections “I Wrote This Book Because I Love You” and “We Learn Nothing.”

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The Need for rebelS #LiveWell, #Motivation, #Reddit

New Post has been published on http://glolocal.org/the-need-for-rebels/

The Need for rebelS

“Worry not about upsetting your employer” Dad wrote in one of our usual late night Skype discussions. I was about to quit my 18th job in the space of a year and a half.

“Hmm…I’m not sure” I retaliated.

“What if it takes forever to find a new one? I’m really fed up being stressed out looking for work.” In my mind I had already made the decision to quit. This was just procrastination. Putting off the uncomfortable phone call to my employer the following morning to explain why I would never be setting foot in the premises again.

Over the next two years, I had accumulated a total of 30 paid jobs and had been flat broke more times than I care to mention. You might say I had a problem holding down a job. That I may have a serious problem with authority. Or that I am very irresponsible and ungrateful. You might say a lot of things, but the reality was, I was very unhappy being taken advantage of repeatedly in every way possible and would not settle until I found a trustworthy, decent employer who would treat me with respect.

From my selfish point of view, my experience speaks volumes for how many sleazy, grimy, and disgustingly abusive ‘employers’ there are in the world. It also confirmed everything I had been taught growing up from books by Robert Kiyosaki and Anthony Robbins that being employed by someone in a meaningless job is not the best way to live your life. For many it is perfectly acceptable and they have no choice, which is fine, good for you, you have one up on me in terms of happiness. I personally came to view employment simply as a means to an end. A routine that merely supports you while pursuing other more worthwhile ventures in your spare time and, ultimately, figure out a way to support yourself independently.

The reality for the vast majority of the modern world in employment is go to work, put up with any and all abuse thrown at you, fear your employer, fake-compliment your way to where you want to be, lower your moral standards and self-respect, all in favor of a safe dependable paycheck at the end of the week. Not surprisingly, there was an overwhelming negative response from those who answered the survey question ‘Are You Happy In Your Job’. This is very telling of the human condition versus the way our society has been set up to make a living. Our natural tendencies for curiosity, exploration, and creativity are being painfully strangled every day at our worthless jobs.

And so my predicament was this – what do you do when you find yourself in a situation 95% of the world’s young adults would consider as a massive win, or a great hand to have been dealt, and yet you still feel deeply unsatisfied with your daily routine?

That question is so perplexing and terrifying that most people do not want to even entertain opening discourse on it, for it inevitably lets those eerie thoughts creep into our minds. The little ones that make us question ourselves, our purpose, our social status, our relationships, reconsider our choices to date, what our future holds, or has everything been meaningless up until this point?

It took a serious amount of deep self-reflection to finally arrive at some form of a starting point in figuring out how to best change my situation to rid myself of the feeling of emptiness and dissatisfaction. Essentially, that was deciding to attempt to start a business in an area I care about and can add massive value to, often referred to as ‘entrepreneurship’. A term I personally feel is completely overused and undervalued as a result. Listen to anyone with a business idea and they are a supposed entrepreneur. “I sold two used t-shirts so I’m an entrepreneur” or “I’m planning to make an app that helps dog-lovers track their dog’s toilet habits. Only an entrepreneur thinks like that.” It’s great having an idea and all. Really. Maybe just don’t preach to everyone in close proximity how you are some trendy entrepreneur who will make loads of money some day and will be laughing at us from your grand castle chambers on top of a mountain some day.

A term I find a lot more fitting and less horrendously pompous and delusionary, is ‘Rebel’.

Where entrepreneur applies strictly to business and financial pursuits, ‘Rebel’ is fitting for anybody who simply wants to change themselves or their situation to match their view of how life should be lived. Specifically, typical rebels would include creative types, original thinkers, those who go against the curve, aren’t afraid to speak up, who may be entrepreneurial in spirit.

Rebels will have a wide variety of goals and causes, may it be moving country to start a new life and re-invent themselves, finding their passion, start a business where they can deliver exceptional service, inspire positive change in others, or perhaps something as simple as rejecting the imbecile trends of the masses.

When thinking of rebels, who immediately springs to mind is my long-time friend, John.

From as long as I have known him (childhood), John appeared not to care what mostly anybody thought about what he got up to. He had seemingly total disregard for authority. His carefree attitude towards any and all responsibility, to the point where it seemed detrimental to his future, really frightened people. It was infectious. In retrospect, perhaps this one ‘flaw’ may have been a maturity issue and required remaining a little bit longer in the turmoils of puberty to burn some form of responsibility into his being.

Nevertheless, John is one of happiest, or most content, people I know to this day. A man of simple pleasures. Never gets caught up in the hype of mainstream news, or falls victim to ridiculous trends (endless selfies, incessant status updates – “here’s what I’m eating”, “here’s what I’m doing”, “here’s where I’m going”, “look at me, look at me” – “I’m offended”, “Did you assume my gender?”). He quietly has a blast with his close friends doing a select few things he truly enjoys, and does not rub anybody’s face in it. What he does for a living is simple and satisfactory for him and he does not feel the need to be consistently clambering up corporate ladders for social status or incremental salary increases. He is completely, totally, and utterly living according to his own set of special rules and remaining true to himself. I realized that after all this time of seeing John as a strange sort of cat, that there was actually a massive lesson I could learn from him.

Arriving at this conclusion, I made the conscious decision that it was time to try and be more true to myself, align my values with my daily life, and attempt to carve out the life I really want to live. Full of laughs, good conversation, good food, travelling, creating value for others and sharing all of this with a select few family members and friends. I gave myself authority to pursue a better and more meaningful life and to not feel guilty for being unsatisfied with what I had.

The most common reaction to revolting against whatever is expected of you or deviating from a set path is sheer uproar and terror among your peers. Understandably, it can be quite daunting for our social groups to watch us so calmly walk away from their expectations. It incites a fear of abandonment that serves only themselves, not celebrating your new pursuits about to be undertaken.

It is these rebels who end up changing perspectives, bring smiles to the faces of complete strangers, help others realize what is possible to do with your life, break new boundaries, change entire industries, or discover unconventional methods of doing conventional things. We all need to rebel a bit more.

For me, it began with reflecting on my life to see what path I was travelling down.

And simply saying “no”.

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