#i’m not strong enough to have viral posts anymore i don’t think. what is even appealing about this post i don’t get it

[blueskittlesart]

bro u got posted on r/curatedtumblr congrats! it was the christian babies post

so that’s why there are so many people who can’t fucking read in my replies

[lailyn]

Take My Breath Away, Part 2

TW: Paralysis

Metro-General Hospital

“I think it’s Guillain-Barre syndrome.”

“Are you sure?” Christine asked in new-found anxiety. "Are you absolutely sure?"

“Of course I’m not,” Stephen said tersely. “I can’t be. But the clinical picture fits. He had the respiratory infection that was going around last week, and the tingling and weakness started today.”

For the hundredth time since he brought Loki in to the emergency room, fully paralysed from the waist down, he cursed himself. “I should have known something was up.”

How could he have missed the signs? The lingering weakness, the unsteady walking, the general malaise that was so out of character for Loki...all of them Stephen had simply put down to a post-viral infection fatigue, instead of something much more serious.

Life-threatening, a voice corrected. 

“Don’t beat yourself up, Stephen. It’s not helping.” Ever the voice of reason, Christine was still the grounding force he had once relied on. “Focus on what’s important.” 

“It’s progressing way too quickly,” Stephen said worriedly, staring through the observation window into the room where Loki was currently resting. 

“He hasn’t consented to assisted ventilation?”

Stephen shook his head, visibly morose. “He hates the idea of being put to sleep.”

“He’s going to tire soon,” Christine warned. “We’re risking respiratory failure.”

“I brought in the big gun.”

Stephen nodded at the tall figure whose silhouette they could see pacing Loki’s room like a caged tiger. “Let’s hope Thor can knock some sense into his brother.”

***************************

“Brother, you are clearly struggling. Why are you giving the doctors a difficult time?”

Loki refused to answer. He was not wasting precious breath explaining his reasoning, unreasonable as it may be, to someone so adamant in his mission to subjugate Loki to the mercy of doctors, human doctors who knew nothing about his kind.

"Loki, we don't have much time."

"There is no 'we' here, Doctor Banner."

Loki turned his head slowly to the other figure in the far corner of the room. 

Like a Shadow. Like Death. Just standing there waiting. 

“There is no treatment. You said so yourself.” Loki closed his eyes. He did not wish to see Thor's expression. Also, the double vision was worsening. “They can do nothing."

“Human immunoglobulin therapy is incompatible, and we are risking anaphylaxis with artificial plasma exchange,” Bruce repeated the conversation he had with Stephen word for word. "But there's still something we can do to help you tide this over - "

"There is no tiding over anything," Loki said in frustration; if he had the strength, he would have ripped out the oxygen-delivering cannula from his nose. "What you are doing is merely prolonging the inevitable."

"Going on life support is not a death sentence, Loki," Bruce said, his voice hard. 

"None of you can tell me with absolute certainty when you can take me off it," Loki rasped. "What was the 'ballpark' figure again? Weeks to month? No."

The outburst cost Loki energy he could not afford, and the harsh sounds of his gasps drowned the noises of the machines.

"Brother!" Stricken, Thor dropped into the chair and grasped Loki's shoulder. "Save your strength."

The wiry cords of muscles of Loki's normally slender neck bulged as the Asgardian struggled to pull air into his starving lungs, and Bruce could not help but stare. Soon, those muscles too, like the respiratory muscles in his thorax and diaphragm, would cease to function. 

When one's own immune system attacks one's own nerves, the result is devastating, Stephen had said. 

"I'm calling Strange," Bruce said.

“No, you are not,” Loki gasped. “I will not be put down like some kind of animal."

If Loki had seen the devastation in Stephen's eyes the moment Bruce told him they simply did not have enough of Loki's blood sequestered in storage for emergencies such as this, Loki would be singing a different tune.

"Stop being such an idiot," Bruce snapped. "Noone's putting you down, and you are not going to die. Get over yourself and snap out of it!"

Loki's sneer curled into a cruel, ugly smile. "Of course. I had no say in how I lived. How could I expect differently now that I am dying?"

"Loki," Thor growled warningly.

"What will you do, Brother?" Loki asked. "Take Mjolnir to my head? What will you do to force me to submit to you?"

Now that he was calmer, he could breathe easier.

Or perhaps, it was simply a momentary respite, a blessed, temporary relief before…

Before what?

Loki stared at the bright lights over his head and something in him died at the paradox of seeing something so glaring, so full of life, when the rest of his body from the neck down was shutting down.

"I wish to be alone."

***************************

"Any luck?" Stephen asked quietly.

He had pulled some strings and gotten Loki a private room, away from the public eye. It was good thinking on his part, for the expression on Thor and Bruce's faces as they stepped out of the room and into the hallway could only be described as murderous.

"There's no getting through to him," Bruce fumed. The physicist looked furious enough to punch a hole through the hospital wall, and for a precious moment, Stephen felt touched by the sentiment.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "For trying."

Bruce pulled off his glasses and massaged his eyes. "So what do we do now? Just wait till he passes out and then stick a tube down his throat?" 

"Christine would never agree to that." 

"Surely you can do it?" Thor asked. 

"Physically, sure. Medicolegally? Ethically?" Stephen shook his head. "And I would never do that to Loki."

"Can't you make this immunogoblin thing? The one that you said wasn't compatible?" Thor pleaded. 

"IV immunoglobulin's derived from a large pool of plasma collected from thousands of blood donors, Thor," Bruce said glumly. "There's only one of him."

"But we've started saving Loki's blood, have we not?" Thor pressed. "Can't you two work with that?"

"Even if we had the resources to isolate and autotransfuse Loki with his own immunoglobulins, it will not be enough," Stephen said quietly. "And the treatment is only helpful in lessening the severity of the disease." 

"You don't mean…" Thor could not bring himself to complete his sentence.

"There is no known cure for Guillain Barre syndrome."

Thor's jaw gave an abrupt click, before his broad shoulders squared a split-second later. "Then I go to Jotunnheim."

Bruce's head whipped up, and together, the two humans stared at the God of Thunder like he had gone mad. 

"Quill can take me. We're good friends and he has a strong, sturdy ship." Thor's chest swelled in sheer determination. "We set course for Jotunnheim and I will come back with what you need."

Stephen fought to hold on to the last shred of composure, to keep his voice steady, "Loki will not last the night."

Thor turned as white as a sheet and began to shake.

"For Norns' sake, Man, will you not do something?"

The tears brewing in the stormy blue eyes was all the motivation Stephen needed; with a determined nod, he pushed Loki's door open and stepped inside.

***************************

Stephen watched Loki's chest rise and fall, shallow and laboriously slow. 

"I do not fear going to sleep," Loki finally spoke when he could no longer stand the deafening silence. 

"Then what is it?" Stephen begged. "What's got you so scared that you won't even try?"

"I fear coming out of it."

"What?"

Loki's lips wobbled. "I heard what your Christine said, about the possibility of permanent damage."

"Loki, we don't know anything about any of that."

But Loki was not listening, so consumed was he by his delusion. "I fear coming back a cripple. A degenerate."

Stephen could only stare at him, stunned. 

"I was broken when I came to you," Loki said quietly. "I cannot come back broken. Not again."

"You would rather die for fear of something you think's going to happen? Something unknown?" Stephen asked incredulously, the betrayal blatant in his eyes and bitter on his tongue.

"Then tell me something," Loki said softly. "Tell me that something unknown."

"When we first met..." Stephen's thumb danced across the back of Loki's insensate hand. To think that Loki could not feel him anymore, it hurt him beyond reason.

"You asked me how this was all going to end, for us," Stephen recalled. "Do you remember?"

"What about it?" Loki asked, his voice hollow. 

"This is not it," Stephen said, gripping Loki's hand firmly. "This is not how it ends."

Loki's eyes brimmed with tears. "Tell me how."

"I see you and me at the far edge of the world ." Stephen kissed Loki's eyelids, one after the other. "Standing shoulder to shoulder, just us."

"Standing?" Loki echoed breathlessly. 

Stephen nodded, and his own tears landed on the bed, darkening it in places. "At the altar too."

Loki let out a sob. 

"I love you, Loki." A hand grasped the side of his face tenderly. "Whole, broken, I don't care. I just love you."

"As do I," Loki wept silently. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, what with the invisible weight on his chest. "So very much."

Stephen kissed his mouth fiercely, long, hard and desperate.

"So you gotta do this for me. For us." Stephen's forehead felt hot against his. "Okay?"

"Okay." Loki breathed in as deeply as his constricted chest would allow, committing what he could of Stephen's scent to memory. "Okay."

In a matter of minutes, Loki found himself staring up into a pair of hazel eyes, familiar in their kindness, comforting in their confidence.

"We will take good care of you, Prince Loki," Doctor Christine Palmer smiled reassuringly. "Don't you worry about a thing."

She nodded at someone Loki could not see, and a mask was placed over his face. A sweet-smelling gas began to fill his mouth and Loki coughed weakly. 

"Shhh." A hand he knew very well caressed the top of his head. "Sleep, Brother."

Loki's vision blurred. Shadows merged into swaths of colours, of bright blues and greys.

Stephen.

His tears ran freely down the sides of his face but he could no longer feel them. 

He was floating, and there was no one there where he was going. 

Then he heard a whisper in his ear, "I'll be here when you wake."

There you are, Loki thought, and everything went black. 

[punksarahreese]

I might not get another chance for recurrence?👀

Hehe

Uncertainty | Recurrence

Cancer!AU; Ava makes a leap of faith after a bad thing happens

Prompt: “I may not get another chance.”

Word count: 1451

CW: cancer talk

Part 2 of Collapse

***

This was something Sarah had feared since Ava first said the words. It was never a dealbreaker, she didn’t dwell on the idea because she knew it would drive her insane, but it was a worry. Ava meant the world to her, she had become so important to her in such a short amount of time and her love grew greater as they became closer. Ava was so strong, so confident, and her past only proved how far she had come to get to where she was. She had been doing so well, since she was fifteen years into her remission the only thing they ever had to worry about was her missing ribs and minimized bone density. It was all supposed to be okay, Sarah had been so confident, but her hopes were shattered when Sam found her that day.

“Doctor Reese,” she had caught up to her in the cafeteria and Sarah was confused, “I need you to come with me.”

“Doctor Zanetti, I-”

“It’s Ava,” those words had her attention in milliseconds, “She collapsed.”

Sarah had almost cried right then and there, terrified for the wellbeing of her girlfriend. Still, Sam had taken her hand and tugged her out of the room, knowing she needed to be with Ava in that moment. Everything was so uncertain, especially since they didn’t know why she collapsed, and both of them feared for her. The two weren’t close, only friendly because Ava gave them a common relation, but they were here for each other in this. Sam knew if this was bad news that Sarah would bury her own fear for Ava’s sake, so she silently made note to check up on her too.

Ava was in an ER bed, an oxygen mask over her face and her eyes half-lidded. She was clearly medicated, barely noticing Sarah had entered the room until she came over to the bed. A gentle hand on top of hers got through to her, though, and Ava looked up at Sarah weakly. She was embarrassed, that was obvious, but her breathing was too shallow and ragged for her to make any believable excuse for her being there. Something was wrong, they both knew that, and they could only wait for the worst.

“What happened?”

It was Connor who answered, walking into the room again, “After a surgery I went to ask her about a case. We were walking to the ward and she collapsed, her respiration was really low.”

“Chest… tube,” Ava muttered as she gestured vaguely to the plastic tube that Sarah hadn’t seen sticking out of her gown before. She looked at Ava incredulously, knowing that her flinch from that morning had been way more than just a strained rib. Hindsight was 20/20, though, and all Sarah could do was sigh and lean a bit closer to bonk her head lightly against Ava’s. She needed to be close to her, to be sure she was okay; it was all she could do.

“Fluid?”

Connor nodded but didn’t say anything, just leaned heavily against the wall across the room. He wasn’t there as a doctor, she realized, he was there as a friend. Sam had stayed outside, citing that it was too cramped in the room and she didn’t want to make Ava uncomfortable. They all knew she hated this, the worry and the coddling, but it was all they could do.

“Best case scenario is pneumonia, then,” she concluded with a shaky sigh, making Ava tug on her wrist.

“H-hey,” she took a deep breath that Sarah could hear rattling uncomfortably in her chest, “I’m... fine.”

“Ava, I had to shove a plastic tube into your mediastinum less than 45 minutes ago,” Connor retorted incredulously, “You had to have known something was wrong.”

Sarah looked at her pointedly but didn’t add to that, because she didn’t need to be chastised or embarrassed anymore. Ava had a habit of pretending she was okay until she wasn’t and this was just another one of those times. She was used to pain, she spent half her childhood and adolescence in pain, so of course she was used to it. Ava didn’t like to appear weak and to her this was probably nothing, even though they all knew the implications.

“I didn’t want to assume the… the worst,” she shrugged, “I’m alive, for now.”

“Ava, don’t,” Sarah warned, not ready to even think about what she meant by that. Of course Ava was assuming it was back, even though pneumonia would make more sense. It was cold and viral pneumonia was going around the inpatient ward, she probably caught it when doing post-ops. That’s all Sarah could tell herself because she was too afraid to admit what else might be happening.

“Sorry…”

“You’re okay,” Sarah leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head, “Just… you’ll be fine, okay?”

“I’m fine, darling,” Ava concluded, the sure nod she gave Sarah was enough to soften her and ease her nerves.

“Gross,” Connor rolled his eyes as the brief affection, “I’ll go check on the CT.”

When they were left alone, Ava shifted a little on the bed and looked up at Sarah. The space she made was a peace offering, an apology for hiding her pain and for making light of the bad situation. It was also a silent request for comfort, even though she wouldn’t ask outright in a situation like this. She needed Sarah, she needed to feel grounded and safe in so much uncertainty. It was what they both needed and it’s why Sarah didn’t hesitate to sit down on the uncomfortable gurney mattress beside her.

Ava leaned into her immediately, hiding a flinch when she jostled her chest tube. Sarah just wrapped an arm around her, mumbling a “be careful,” into her shoulder.

“Sarah?”

“Yeah, Avey?”

“I-” she sighed shakily and held out her hand, waiting for Sarah to take it. Their fingers laced together as perfectly as they always did, a familiar pressure that soothed them both. Sarah waited for her to gather her thoughts, knowing she was probably terrified and trying to make light of it all to cope. This was hard on her, sure, but Sarah couldn’t imagine what Ava was feeling right now.

“I’ve got you, okay?” she said gently, “Whatever this is, I love you, Ava.”

That had Ava squeezing her hand, a shy sound escaping her as she looked down. She nodded and then glanced back at her with a little smile. Sarah wasn’t sure what she was thinking at that moment but the words that came out of Ava’s mouth had her in shock.

“I want to marry you.”

“A-Ava I-”

“I’m serious,” she added firmly despite the way her breathing was uneven, “I love you and… I may not... get another c-chance to say that. So yeah, I do want… want to marry you.”

“God, you will be the death of me,” Sarah muttered as she hid her face in Ava’s shoulder, even though she knew she had already seen her embarrassed blush. She wasn’t upset, she honestly felt her heart swell knowing Ava wanted to marry her, but the situation was hard. She didn’t want either of them to think about a future where they couldn’t spend it together, even though the threat was looming over them.

“Don’t say that,” her words were a little muffled, “You have every chance, okay? You’ve made it this far and I’m sure as Hell not giving up on you, so you better not either.”

“Sarah…”

“Hey, I want to marry you too,” she added pointedly, “So you will keep your stubborn ass alive, won’t you?”

Ava grinned at her, mood immediately improving as she took off her oxygen mask to lean forward and steal a kiss from her lips. Sarah just laughed a little, kissing her back gently. Despite everything, this was the kind of comfort and reassurance they both needed. Whatever happened they were together and they would get through it. Ava certainly wasn’t going to miss a chance to see Sarah as a bride, her bride, that was for sure.

It was short lived, though, because Sarah knew she was struggling to breathe enough as it is. She urged her to put the mask back on, though she did press another kiss to Ava’s forehead to appease her. Ava compiled without complaint, just happy to know Sarah was there. Despite all this uncertainty, one thing she was sure of was that she would marry Sarah Reese one day; not even cancer would stop her.

[crayonwriting]

You’re Beautiful

I know I’ve been gone for a looooong time, I guess I’m back (?) (Might explain in a separate post.)Maybe not as regular as I want to be, but hey, expect a few things from me soon.  Btw, I just had to bust this out because of a few viral videos I saw. So, this was inspired by them. Happy reading!

Bucky parked near the school entrance and hopped out. He leaned against his car as he waited for his precious girl to finish her day at kindergarten. Soon enough the bell rang and in a matter of minutes, kids filed out of the school doors. 

Parents greeted their own with hugs and kisses. Bucky stood straight, craning his neck over the small crowd in search of his four-year-old. His eyebrows knit together in worry,  seeing her walk sluggishly through the crowd. He walked up the small stone path and waved at her.

“Tatiana! Hey, princess!” He called over. She turned her head towards the voice and when she spotted her father, she gave him a soft smile before walking up to him. He met her halfway and knelt down in front of her.

“Hello, baby.” He greeted her. “How was school?”

She didn’t answer him right away. She kicked at her shoes and looked from side to side.

“‘Is okay, Papa.” She whispered. Bucky didn’t believe her one bit. He softly held her by the shoulders, rubbing his thumb against them and coaxed her to look at him. 

“Tati,” he said in a serious tone. “What’s wrong?” She sighed deeply and shook her head.

“I want home, Papa.” She opened her arms out to her father, a silent gesture of hers, asking to be carried. Bucky didn’t hesitate one bit and wrapped his arms around her as he stood up. Tatiana latched on to her father’s neck, burying her face on his shoulder. Bucky brushed the back of her head lightly and gave her a kiss on her temple.

He walked back to his car and, instead of strapping her into the car seat, he took her with him to the driver’s seat and sat her beside him. She helped her out of her bag and placed it on the car floor.

She still didn’t look at him. She sat quietly, playing nervously with her fingers.

“Tatiana Barnes, I know something is up. You can tell me.” He said, softly. The little girl puffed out her cheeks, trying her best to not cry. Bucky’s heart is cracking by the second. What could’ve happened that made his daughter feel like this? He heard her mumble something under her breath.

“I’m sorry, princess. What did you say?” He asked. Tatiana let out a shuddering breath.

“I’m ugly, Papa.”

Bucky could not believe what she said. Ugly? Who would call a little four-year-old girl ugly? He's not biased because she's his daughter but Tatiana was indeed beautiful. A mixture of his genes with yours resulted in a gorgeous baby girl who looked like a porcelain doll if he were to be honest. 

"What? You're not ugly, Tati. Who said that?" 

She couldn't hold it in anymore. Her face broke into a huge frown. Her tears spilled all over her cheeks as a strangled cry burst out from her. Bucky's heart instantly shattered at the sight. Tatiana heaved and bellowed even louder. She extended her arms out to her father, silently asking him for a hug. 

Bucky didn't waste a second longer before he scooped her into his arms. She planted her face on her father's shoulder, like she did earlier, as her tears soaked the fabric of his shirt. Bucky rubbed soothing circles against her back.  

"I'm not pretty, Papa. No-nobody likes me-e." She whispered. She broke out into a cry once more. "I wa-wanna see M-M-Mama!"

"I wanna see Mama too, baby." Bucky squeezed her tight. Was his daughter getting bullied? Are four-year-olds even capable of bullying? This was wrong. She shouldn’t be thinking this way. He had to say something, at least. So, he sat her down by the middle console despite her resisting. 

"No, Papa. Please! H-hug!" She pleaded. Bucky firmly, but oh so gently, pried her hands off of his neck. 

“I know. I’ll give you a hug but I have to tell you something first, okay?” He held her tiny hands in his. Circling his thumbs over the back of her hands,  persuading her to look at him.

“C’mon princess, I need you to look at me.” The little girl shyly looked up to her father. Bucky wiped her tear-stricken face clean. “Now, I want you to know that you are not ugly.” Her small lip started to tremble. “You are very, very beautiful; inside and out. I mean, c’mon. Have you seen your eyes?” Bucky brushed her hair away from her face. “They’re so blue, I feel like I’m looking at the ocean every time I stare into them.”

She sheepishly looked up at him. “You have blue eyes too, Papa.”

“Yeah, well, yours are much, much prettier. And brighter, too.” He bopped her on the nose lightly, making her giggle. “You’re an amazing girl and I know you’re very smart too. And don’t get me started on your kind heart. You never forget to remind me to drink my orange juice in the morning.” He smiled.

“Mama says it’s good for the body.” 

“And mama is right. And just like Mama, you’re strong and loving and brave. Very brave. I know you can do anything.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Ignore the people who say you can’t.” She could only nod.

“I’m always here for you, my princess. You can tell me anything, alright?” He held out his pinky to her. She smiled, big this time, and linked her small finger to his. 

“Promise daddy?”

“I promise. Now,” he opened his arms, “Someone wanted a hug?”

Tatiana laughed lightly and jumped into her father’s arms. She closed her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

“I love you, Papa.”

Bucky returned the favor and kissed her temple.

“I love you too, princess.”

-

permanent tags: @awkwardfangirl2014​

[humansofhds]

Amber Scorah, MTS ′22

“I no longer feel zealous for a religion, but rather for the beautiful treasure that this life is, and the incredible fact that any of us are here. I am just trying to use this life in the most meaningful way I can, not just to create meaning for myself, but also for others.”

Amber is a first-year master of theological studies candidate studying religion, ethics and politics.

Earliest memories

I remember fear mostly, because the Jehovah's Witnesses believe that the end of the world is coming any day and have been preaching this for over 100 years. Our children’s Bible story books had violent images of people being massacred by “God,” and I think it made me into a little bit of a dark child—a child that was thinking about things that other children probably weren't thinking about. Since I didn't celebrate birthdays, Christmas or do activities that my peers did, I felt this sense of being an outsider in the world. Therefore, I can’t extract my childhood memories without the religion looming large.

Beyond that, I have had such a weird history that I don't know which part of it to focus on. I'm Canadian originally, but a new American now. I was born as a third-generation Jehovah's Witness, and was a member of the religion all the way up until I became a missionary in China. When I was in Shanghai preaching, I ended up waking up to the fact that my religion wasn't everything that I had been taught it was. It came to a point that I no longer felt I could morally be a part of the Jehovah’s Witness organization, so I left my post, moved to New York City, a place I had only been once before, and started a whole new life from scratch. I now am an author and work in media activism.

Where have you been all your life?

Part of being raised a Jehovah's Witness is that you're told not to get a career. You're taught that if you have any talents or abilities, you shouldn't pursue them because all of your time should be used to preach and convert people. So, whenever my talents surfaced, or educational opportunities arose, I did not pursue them. By the time I left the religion, I was in my early 30s and didn't think I could do anything because I had only ever preached and worked part time. However, when I moved to New York, everyone that I would tell this story of my life to—the underground preaching, living in China, etc. —would say "This is crazy. You should write a book about this." Enough people said that to me that I thought, "Maybe I should just write down the story.”

I did end up writing the story and it got published, which was a shock to me. (See book publisher page here.) It was also terrifying, because it meant that I was coming out publicly as someone who did not believe in the Jehovah's Witnesses anymore and would be branded by my family and friends as an “apostate” and shunned.

But during the process of writing, something happened that I didn't realize would happen. I was able to revisit the past in a way that stitched it together and brought it into my present. Writing a memoir let me revisit in my memories—all these people that I missed and loved but would no longer talk to me. It helped me to make sense of it all and to just understand for myself: “What does it mean to lose everything and to start over?”  

I have had to come to terms with my mortality because the Jehovah's Witnesses believe that once you survive this apocalypse, you will go on to live forever. After my departure, facing death was existentially difficult. Figuring out what I thought about God or the meaning of life was something I had to deal with. When every question you might ever have about life is answered in a specific belief system, and then you find out that the very foundation of that belief system is not true, then you have to figure out what the truth is.

I have also struggled with feeling behind in life. Everyone else my age had already gone to college, had a career, some of them were already having kids. And here I was, ejected into this world, where I didn't have a college degree, a career, friends or family. I was afraid that whenever I would go on a job interview, they would look at my resume and think; "What's wrong with you? Where have you been all your life?"

Unlearning, and re-learning religion

When I first left my religion, I hated religion and had no interest in it. I had a religion hangover because my religion was so all-encompassing and had overtaken my identity. But even though I felt repulsed by religion, I could never feel like an atheist.

As time goes by, those questions of meaning are still with me, just as they have always been, even as a child. I love this idea of approaching religion not as a religious person, but as a person seeking to understand what it is that makes us create religions, or to be part of religions, or what gives rise to all different kinds of religions. I am interested in answering those questions not through a holy book, but through eons of human experience and exploration. It was this quest that brought me to Divinity school.

Since classes started, my mind has been blown. It's really addictive, actually. Being here is like having a mirror that shows me what I’m interested in, and what I have to give the world. I am a little bit of an activist at heart and have a really strong sense of wanting to take action when I see a wrong that needs to be righted. I feel happy to no longer be an outsider, and to be able to find ways to do that.

Walking through unimaginable loss

In 2015 I had a baby boy. Karl died as an infant, on his first day in childcare. It was a horrific tragedy, and one which I believe firmly could have been prevented if America, like most developed countries in the world, had a national paid parental leave program. If I had not had to go back to work so early or be faced with losing my job and my health care, he probably would not have died. One in four women in America have to leave their babies at two weeks old. I was one of the lucky ones, in a way, because I had three months.

After Karl’s death, I became an activist for parental leave and joined forces with another mom who had lost her child in a similar way. I wrote an article that went viral in the New York Times and this campaign reached the 2016 Presidential election campaign and led to meetings with the Clinton campaign. Shortly after our campaign New York State passed a paid family leave bill.  

I am also now a co-partner in a company that does media activism, where we bring untold stories of people who don't normally get heard from to the media. I used to check out and think that God would solve all problems, but I now realize that we all have a personal responsibility to do what we can to make things better.

On the horizon

I want to write a book about the struggle to find a sense of morality after leaving a religion that is so all-encompassing; Having had my morality dictated to me for so much of my life by religious leaders, I now find that I question everything that others take for granted. I am very curious about ethics and morals that aren’t grounded on religious beliefs.

Another thing I want to pursue, which I hope that my time at Harvard will help with, is more media activism. Going to Harvard connects you to a world where you can have a greater impact, since you will be broadening the subjects you are versed in and learning from other students who come from all different backgrounds.

While on my journey here, I carry with me my late Father, and the rest of my family members who are still Jehovah's Witnesses. I also think often about the many people I know who got out of religions like mine and those who committed suicide after they were shunned. I carry their stories here too, because not all of them get to go to Harvard. Now that I know we are mortal beings and this life appears to be all we get; I feel this zeal for living a rich life. A life that not only intellectually expands my world, but also gives me the tools that I can use to lift other people up. I no longer feel zealous for a religion, but rather for the beautiful treasure that this life is, and the incredible fact that any of us are here. I am just trying to use this life in the most meaningful way I can, not just to create meaning for myself, but also for others.

Interview by Suzannah Omonuk

[mahalkitajohnnysuh]

Housemates (Jaehyun)

Of course, I had to do my version of having Jeong Jaehyun as a housemate. Expect fluffy happenings and realizations on his part in this piece. 

As always, here’s a Jaehyun GIF for you. I just want to poke and squish his cheeks here!  

Mahal ko kayong lahat! :)

–––

Summary: Like the previous ones, this story is inspired by this post. There was one item that I wasn’t able to write about, and one of the scenarios here is inspired by real life. Can you guess what that is? 

POV: This has a mix of both 2nd and 3rd POVs since I wrote them at different times. 

Word count: 2,100 + words, which is the longest I have for this series. 

Warning: Truthfully, I wrote this piece sort of a prelude to their affair, so expect that he’s quite sweet with Essie on this. 

–––

There was a time in Essie’s life that she and Jaehyun were housemates before their affair. Maybe that experience was why the guy fell for her but still didn’t do anything about it until it was too late.

Essie stayed in Jaehyun’s old place when he and Taeil were still housemates. This time, Taeil was staying with Donghyuck since they became closer over time. Not that the old roommates weren’t friends anymore; they just grew apart.

Essie and Taeil loved bonding over music and cats. Jaehyun will observe them from afar, with his trademark dimpled smile, as they played with kittens while listening to Frank Ocean.

“Are you guys hungry?” The pink-haired guy interrupted their moment, moving closer to them so they will notice his presence. “Yeah, we are!” Essie and Taeil said at the same time, which made them giggle afterward. “Aren’t you hungry too, Ying?” The girl cooed at the white kitten on her lap. “I’m sure Yang is hungry!” The guy beside her said, stroking the fur of the black kitten he now carried in his arms.

Jaehyun chuckled at his housemates before grabbing his coat. “I’ll get you your favorites, please wait for me.”

“Okay, bye! Take care!” Both voices said at the same time, along with the soft meowing of kittens.

\\\

“I can’t sleep,” Essie whined one evening when she appeared in Jaehyun’s room. The girl was dressed in men’s pajamas, which she probably swiped from Johnny.

“How can I help you sleep?” The guy asked, motioning her to come further into his room. She walked hesitantly towards the small chair beside his shelf of knick-knacks, her eyes roaming all over his room.

“Your place looks cute and cozy, it’s very you,” she commented before taking a seat on said small chair.

Jaehyun had just closed the door to his room and was now standing in front of Essie. “Thanks sweetie, that’s very thoughtful of you,” he sat across from her on the edge of his bed, “but what would you want to do now?”

She assumed a thinker’s pose – hands cradling her chin – and hummed. “Are you watching anything right now?”

“A series? Let’s see,” he got his phone and checked Netflix. “Just re-runs of ‘Friends’. Would you like to watch it with me?”

She nodded eagerly, and he set up the television. “Thanks, dude. Maybe watching a series might make me sleepy,” she mumbled as she was now seated on one part of his bed.

“No problem, my sweet Essie. I’m happy to help you out,” he said as he plopped on the space beside her as the iconic introduction of the series now played.

A few episodes in and Jaehyun noticed that the girl was yawning. “Okay, I think you’re sleepy now,” he whispered. She gave a small nod before yawning loudly. “Thanks again, Jay. Sorry if I had to crash here just so I can be sleepy.”

“Anything for you, sweetie.” He squeezed her hand, which she returned. “Just drop by when you have a problem or something.”

She got up from the bed and waved silently before leaving his room. This was one of those moments that he felt weird and warm at the same time – he was slowly falling for her.

Maybe he should stop giving her pet names? That might be the reason why he found her more attractive each day. Or maybe he’s just making an excuse because he has always been interested in her from the start.

\\\

“Good morning, honey,” Jaehyun greeted Essie, who looked like she needed more hours of sleep despite sleeping for more than the recommended 8 hours.

“Honey? Yesterday I was sweetie,” she mumbled while rubbing her eyes. “You never seem to run out of nicknames for me, eh?”

“Yup, as long as I think of anything to call you, I’ll call you that.” He said, smiling at her as he handed her the box of cereal. “Do you want anything else?”

“Milk, of course. How am I supposed to eat this without it?” Essie shook the box in front of him in annoyance.

He chuckled at her reaction and handed her a carton of milk from the fridge. “You just want some milk, okay then,” he muttered.

This got her laughing as she remembered a viral video of him studying for his English oral exams, and netizens highlighted that line as one of his iconic moments.

“Don’t you dare bring it up, honey,” he grumbled as he got a bowl and spoon for her.

“But that was really funny, Yoon Oh!”

His only response was a glare, which didn’t faze Essie at all. Instead, she burst into laughter and even slapped the table for emphasis.

\\\

“You poor baby,” Jaehyun said, brushing the strands of Essie’s hair away from her face. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this, usually I get better with meds and rest,” the girl replied, her voice a bit hoarse.

Essie got sick during the second week of her stay in Jaehyun and Taeil’s apartment. The latter was out, and it was just her and the former at home.

At first, she was just sneezing more than usual. Then, she was coughing. Soon enough, she had to wear a facemask despite her aversion to them. Jaehyun noticed that her eyes were red and watery as well.

When he decided to check on Essie a while ago, he saw that she was completely wrapped in her comforter even if the AC was on. He took matters into his own hands, and that’s why they ended up like this.

“I heard from Johnny that your mom always made you warm calamansi juice whenever you got sick,” he said as he reached for the mug on her bedside table.

She got teary-eyed as she took the mug from him. “You didn’t have to do this for me,” she said before taking a sip. “I just needed more rest, that’s all.”

“You’ll get better faster when there’s someone to take care of you.”

Essie felt her insides warm up even more with Jaehyun’s comment, and she drank more of the juice he made her.

“I also made some chicken noodle soup. Everything to get your flu out of the way, okay?” He flashed her a smile and patted her thigh.

Essie was practically burning from his touch but did her best not to show that she felt such. She smiled weakly and went back to sleep.

Despite Jaehyun’s good intentions, his actions made Essie’s temperature go higher.

“And I thought you’ll be better faster with my warm offerings,” he said the following day as he got the thermometer from her.

“I’m sorry, but as I said, I need more rest. But you can make me more of that warm calamansi juice though. Please?” She attempted to bat her eyelashes at him, which made Jaehyun giggle.

“Alright, I’ll make you more of that. I’m glad you love it though,” he said as he kissed her temple.

“Thank you, Jay. You’re the best. Your future girlfriend will be so lucky to have you,” she murmured before closing her eyes.

He took one last look at her before going to the kitchen to prepare her drink.

Yes, Essie. You are lucky to have me.

\\\

One of the things that irked you when you were roommates with Jaehyun was that he always had to put his game on loudspeaker.

You groaned as you heard the sound of machine guns, a female voice screaming ‘Victory’, and conversations between the characters of the game.

“Jay, would you turn it down a bit? I’m trying to focus here,” you said as poked your head in his room.

He was intent on killing the enemy on the screen, and it took him a couple of seconds to respond to your request. He paused the game and flashed you an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that, I’ll just lower the volume. I like playing games with the sound on, it gets me more in the mood.”

You rolled your eyes at his answer and closed the door. You hoped that he would do what he said since even your noise-canceling headphones weren’t strong enough to block the noises of his game.

Maybe it’s about time that you replace that Bose hand-me-down from your sister.

\\\

You were surprised to see two shirts, a pair of joggers, and a hoodie that wasn't yours in your hamper.

You examined the tags and realized that these clothes belonged to Jaehyun. Your rooms were just beside each other, with your hamper placed outside your room.

Since it was just outside, it was convenient for you to dump your laundry there. And maybe he thought the same since he also did with his clothes on your hamper.

“Jay…” You started as you poked your head in his room again. He was lying on his bed scrolling through his phone. He wore his headband, a black shirt, and a pair of shorts. He looked comfortable in his position – a bit of his torso showed as the shirt had risen.

“Yeah?” He said without turning around. When you squinted your eyes to look at what he was doing, you chuckled. He was responding to tweets from friends and fans.

“May I ask why you put some of your laundries in my basket?”

This got him to stand up immediately and rush to the hamper outside your rooms. “Sorry about that, Essie,” he said, plucking out his clothes that you have now carefully folded on top of yours. “It’s just easier to dump them there than put them in my hamper inside the room.”

“Then why not just put your hamper outside then? I’m sure ours don’t look the same,” you said, peeking into his room for his basket.

Shoot, it looked like yours as well – a wicker basket with a lid and linen lining inside.

“No wonder you’ve been putting your clothes in mine,” you groaned as you dragged the basket outside. “I’ll just put a label on which one’s yours and mine, okay?”

The guy nodded, opening the lid of his hamper and dumping his laundry in. “I’m sorry, Essie. This won’t happen again.”

But of course, it still happened again even if you have put labels on your baskets. Maybe that’s just the way it is with Jaehyun – you’ll always have to segregate what’s yours and his in your respective hampers.

If you only knew that he liked to put his clothes in your basket so it could mingle with the scent of yours. It’s a little bit creepy and sweet at the same time – who knew that the heartthrob has a side like this, eh?

\\\

“I can’t sleep again.”

You said, hoping your voice was loud enough for him through the wall.

“Well, we can talk if you want. Do you want to come here?”

Jaehyun answered, his voice loud enough to penetrate through the wall.

“I’m too tired to move, dude. My legs feel like jelly from bowling, which I haven’t played in ages.” You rubbed your thighs in hopes that they feel a bit better.

You heard him chuckle first before he responded to your comment. “Well, I suppose you didn’t stretch first?”

“Ugh, I forgot about that! I’ll take note of that next time. Anyway, what’s up with you?”

“I’m trying to compose something. I’m talking to you as I sit in front of my keyboard right now.”

“Do you have any chords in mind to start it off?”

“Well, here it goes,” he said, pressing a couple of chords that sounded melancholic. “That seems fitting for an emotional song,” you commented. “Have you thought about the lyrics?”

Your conversation continued even if there was a wall separating you two. Taeil wasn’t at the apartment right now as he went home to his parents. Lately, it’s always you and Jaehyun who hung out. You missed Taeil since only the two of you loved cats, and he brought Ying and Yang home.

As you and your housemate worked on a song together, you couldn’t help but feel warm inside. The AC in your room was on, but the warmth blooming inside you rendered it almost useless. It was nice talking to Jaehyun like this. You were able to collaborate on a song together even if you didn’t have to see each other’s faces.

Before you knew it, sunlight peeked in through your curtains. “Wow, dude. We’ve been talking for what, four to five hours straight? It’s now 5 in the morning.”

“Yeah, Essie. I can’t believe it as well,” he chortled. You heard the sound of a chair being moved and took it as a cue to wrap things up.

“Thanks for talking to me, Jay. And I’m glad that I was able to help you out with your composition.” You said, now lying on your bed instead of sitting on it.

“Sure thing, anything for you. Like I always say, right?” He never seemed to stop chuckling at his words, but you didn’t let it get to you for now.

“Good night, Jaehyun.”

“Good morning, Essie.”

–––

FIN

If you guessed that having warm calamansi juice while being sick is inspired by real life, then you are correct. I miss it though! 

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Friends can break your heart too pt. 2

Warnings: angst, swearing (enjoy!)

Word count: ~ 3.6k+

Part 1

Where was my fault in all this? All I did is love him with all my heart, but it went to waste. A part of me expected him to run after me the very instant I turned the first corner, slowing down my steps to give him a chance to catch up if he needed it.

Once I realized he wasn't coming, I felt swelling rage push tears even faster to fill my eyes. My vision blurred and chest heaved with the undeniable pressure building up so quickly I'm terrified it would burst. It's funny how people call it a broken heart, but I hurt all over. My brain is in shambles and my body aches like I've been hit by a train and the darkness growing inside is becoming too much to bear.

I remember calling an Uber, praying I'll keep my breakdown in, just a while longer...just until I'm behind closed doors and people with phones and annoying habits of filming everything they see can't get to me.

The last thing I need right now is someone posting a video of me that would go viral. I don't want to give him the satisfaction. I don't want him to see me cry.

Finally alone and inside my home, I find myself unable to shed a tear making it much worse. If you can't release the pain inside, the pain destroys you. It's one of my worst qualities, having few rare moments of release and bottling up everything else until I explode and take everything out in my vicinity.

Deciding not to dwell on it, I grab a bucket of ice cream from the fridge, DAIRY one and sit on my couch in silence and darkness, just getting that lactose in and smiling like a maniac. I've been sick and tired of their newfound dairy free diet and doing it as well to serve as a support system. I guess somewhere deep inside my tired, still firing neurons, eating a tub of dairy and sugar seems like vengeance of sorts.

This is how far I've fallen.

My phone keeps ringing, messages from James and Ethan coming through as I try my best to ignore them and stuff my face.

„Why are you not with them?! I'm losing my fucking shit here! Who is that girl frolicking with Gray and why aren't you answering?!“ James is freaking out, probably watching the awards on TV, worrying, and I'm not sure if it's justified or not.

I'm okay, aren't I? No one deals with these things normally, right?

„Y/N, I'm so sorry. I wish you stayed with me because I'm so bored. Call me back and let me know if you're okay? A text at least?“ Ethan called too and I know I bailed on him. I know he's basically the third wheel since Marina didn't come with him and Grayson's probably wrapped around that woman the entire time.

My dress is constricting my airways, shoes already kicked off my feet and I'm sure my make up is still spotless. I look like I walked out of a Disney movie and Grayson barely noticed me at all. I know I'm not usually the most good looking person out there. I'm aware that most people tend to completely overlook me, not notice I'm even around. I'm the girl no one sees, I don't light up the room when I walk in and people don't stand up to talk to me or go out of their way to make me feel wanted.

No one ever did that for me, but Ethan and Grayson did.

Maybe that's why I fell for him so hard? I craved the attention he gave me? I needed to feel wanted and like I mattered? Because he made me feel like that.

He did.

I never felt invisible around either of them.

I mattered.

Until I didn't.

„Step away from the ice cream!“ Ethan shouts and I snap my head up and to the right where I heard his voice come from, my heart pounding frantically and my mouth opening to let out a small shriek in fear.

„Why are you in my house?!“ I shout back, sitting properly and looking to my phone for the time.

„The awards are over.“ Ethan says in a 'duh' tone and I furrow my brows, rubbing my right temple when I see my ice cream all but melted. I must have dozed off in the inferno of my 'Reasons why I'm not good enough' special held in Grayson's honor.

„Oh.“ I mutter, hearing his footsteps approaching fast. He takes the ice cream from my hands, leaving it on the table in front of me while I stare blankly at my manicured nails and a golden butterfly ring on my right middle finger Ethan bought for my last birthday.

„Wanna talk about it, Princess?“ Ethan asks softly, siting beside me, his right arm pressed against my left one. It's a small couch and my dress is taking up the most of it.

„'Bout what?“ I look to him and swallow thickly, hoping my facade holds up.

„You being in love with my brother and him being undeserving of that.“ Ethan states and I cough violently, choking on my own spit.

„W-what?!“ My voice is high-pitched and my mouth is open like a fish gasping for air. I've believed my feelings were mine alone, hidden from the world and if they weren't...If Ethan knew of all people, did Grayson know?

Does he know?

„Oh, c'mon! It's not like you're being slick with all the starin' you do. I mean, I literally measured the time once I realized you do that and the longest has been ten minutes and twenty three seconds. You look at him like he walks on water!“ Ethan exclaims and I find my mind change speed and the panic overwhelming me like there's ice swimming inside my veins.

„I – uh, you're wrong.“ I try to rectify my past mistakes now, but it's in vain.

Ethan knows.

He knows.

„Am I? You're never speechless unless he's complimenting you. You have a permanent smile around him and I swear you turn into actual sunshine in his proximity. It's like you want to give him all the warmth and love and support this world has to offer. You also gravitate toward him like he's your moon. When he moves, you move. If you can be close to him, you are. Don't even get me started on the way you giggle at his stupid dad jokes or your encouragement of his nutcracker and plant obsession. I know you. You love him and...I'm sorry that you do.“ Ethan ends his rant by putting a hand over mine, making the speed chase inside my head stop and it's as if I'm crashing through the windshield with that gesture. Ethan putting a hand on mine like that meant something else. He's not a touchy feely guy, but he's here and he's holding my hand and it can only mean one thing.

He knows Gray doesn't feel the same way I do.

„So, he – uh, really doesn't love me then. Does he?“ My voice cracks, but I'm still too stubborn to cry. I'm strong, I don't cry for men.

„I can't say anything for sure because we never spoke about you in that way, but he's with Sara now and I don't know why he never mentioned her to you. I was under the impression he did.“ Ethan runs his thumb across my knuckles and I remember how Grayson did that before.

He'd always take my hand in his, no matter where we are and just hold it for hours. He'd run his thumb over each of my knuckles and intertwine our fingers, bringing my hand to his lips to kiss and looking back at him doing that on daily bases doesn't make me feel so insane for thinking he might have loved me too.

„He never said a thing about her. Not even hinted they met. And I really...I really thought he'd be here tonight, you know? Like, he'd come to at least apologize and bring me my favorite milkshake as a peace offering as we once promised to do whenever we fought. But he didn't and I hate that I'm a wreck about it all.“ I feel myself slipping down the emotional swirl-hole again, wondering how long will it take me to claw my way back again.

He didn't even bring the fucking milkshake.

Back when we first had a fight after becoming friends, Grayson bought me my favorite milkshake every day for a week and stood in front of my door until dark, leaving the shake whenever he left. And I'd drink it and leave the cup outside for him to find. I watched him smirk every time he found it empty through the peephole, realizing right then and there I wasn't really angry with him anymore, I just wanted to see that self-satisfied smile on his face whenever he saw I drank the milkshake. So, we made a pact. Whenever we fought in any way, the one who messed up will bring a milkshake the other one favors and you have to accept it and talk.

Guess he didn't find this ordeal milkshake worthy.

„I'm sorry to do this to you, but you have to face this. Grayson is – well, he's basically fucking Sara right now instead of being here and comforting you. He's not into you like that. Not as far as I know and I think he'd tell me, Y/N. I'm not trying to be cruel, I'm just trying to help you move on. Realize he's not all that and find a guy who treats you like a princess you are. Cause you fucking look like one even without wearing that dress.“ Ethan's words surprise me; shock me even. His breath seemed to stutter in his lungs before he let it go, the tension draining from his body. His breathing returned to normal and his lips parted, opening his mouth as if he could face the problem.

„Yeah. I did. I did love you for some time...it's how I know you're in love with Grayson. I watched you while you watched him and once I knew I had no way of winning you over, I did the only thing I could; I moved on. It was hard and messy and I still get in that head-space, but I never acted upon any of it. This is why I'm advising you to the same. Just, let him go.“ Ethan takes a deep breath, patiently awaiting for me to say anything.

I saw something flicker in his eyes that I never wanted to die. It's selfish, but right now, I crave his affection; the same he kept hidden from me for so long. I can't, but I want to. I want to kiss him and let whatever is left of my soul burn in hell. I find myself leaning forward, Ethan's eyes moving from my eyes to my lips and remaining there, just lingering.

„Such a bad idea.“ He says quietly and I can't help but agree with him. It's probably the worst idea I've ever had, but Grayson's fucking some other girl and I'm just trying to get through the night. I'm just trying to piece myself together.

But then I remember why I can't do this.

If Grayson ever did this to me, I'd be a hollow shell of a girl, unable to find someone that can give me the love I know I deserve. I can't ruin Ethan like that. I can't drag him in a mess that he just barely escaped from. He has Marina now and I'll be damned if I ruin it.

„I really want to kiss you right now. I do.“ I lick my lips and continue.

„But Marina...she's good for you and I'm not sure what I feel or what tomorrow will bring. It's not fair to you. I should know, not guess...especially when it’s you. You, one of my favorite people in this whole universe and any alternative ones that exist.“ I place my forehead on his lips, leaning on them for their warmth and keeping him quiet for a moment longer all the while ignoring how his hands on my waist feel inviting.

I'm just looking for a physical comfort, a rebound.

I can't make him one.

I won't.

„This is exactly what I'm saying. You're too good for him. For either of us.“ Ethan whispers against my forehead, pulling me into his chest and holding me.

And I hate myself for thinking about how Grayson never just holds me against him, but crushes me with his bear hugs until I'm fighting for air. He melts into me and always stands up just to make sure he can twirl us before collapsing on the floor, still holding me tightly enough to feel the beat of his heart against his rib cage.

It’s strange, frightening even, how you can go from someone being a complete stranger, to then being completely infatuated by them and wondering how it ever was that you were able to live without them, because you sure as hell couldn’t imagine being without them now. I know I'm still young, and most people would consider me to be foolish and naive, but it’s true when I say that I love him more than I could ever love myself. He’s my best friend and, as cheesy as it sounds, he’s my anchor. My one stability in this world filled with chaos. Grayson's always been my anchor and knowing I have to leave that is a big part of why tears slip down my cheeks as Ethan moves me to my bed, covers my body with a blanket, unaware I'm still awake.

I hear the light switch go off and feel an arm wrap around me, face burying in my hair and breath giving me goosebumps. I hear Ethan's phone go off, muffled voice coming from the speaker, but neither of us move to get it.

Whatever it is, it can wait till the morning.

„Hey, bro! I'm going to grab a milkshake and stay at Y/N's tonight. Sara and I had a fight about...me being too taken with Y/N to perform if you get what I mean. Ugh, why did I just tell you this?! Either way, don't worry about me. I'll be home around noon maybe. You better fucking delete this voicemail or I swear I'll post that photo of your pineapple tattoo! Don't test me, bitchass!“

That was a mistake.

The next thing I know, I'm being awaken to a hushed fight between Ethan and Grayson, still in my dress and a little dazed.

„You didn't tell me!“ „I have nothing to tell!“ „You're unbelievable!“  They keep exchanging words, but I know I'm not up for Grayson's shit right now.

„What is happening?“ I say through gritted teeth, both of them turning to face me.

„Just congratulating you on your relationship. Didn't expect to find out because I found you in bed together. Definitely didn't see it coming.“ Grayson's eyes pierce through me, looking to hurt me more, demanding explanations that didn't exist.

„We just fell asleep, you idiot. Now get out. Both of you. I need some time alone and away from you.“ I gesture vaguely toward them, pointing at Grayson after. „Mainly you, but since you're a package deal. Leave me alone!“

„I'm not leaving.“ Grayson steps forward, shoving a milkshake in my face and I'm forced to fight a smile from showing on my face. I can't just let it go. I can't just ignore our pact.

So, I turn to Ethan.

„E. please?“ He just nods knowingly, understanding exactly what I mean.

I need closure.

I sit on my bed, folding my hands in my lap and not taking the milkshake.

„You really not going to take this? It's banana! Your favorite!“ Grayson exclaims, plopping on the bed, dipping the mattress and leaning me to his side a little.

„Not in the mood. Say what you need to say and go.“ I say firmly, looking ahead and he sighs, moving so he's on his knees and in front of me, in my line of sight.

„I forgot to tell you and yes, I'm an ass for ditching you. You ARE more important, but she was already there and I couldn't leave her either. Thought you'd be okay with staying and being Ethan's date. I just...I have no idea why I forgot to let you know about it all.“ There's a pause in his speech, one he uses to look me over again and I keep my eyes on his, refusing to look away. He won't win. Not now.

„You look like a dream. So unreal and unearthly and I'm sorry it wasn't seen.“

„I spent the past two months working overtime. Every day. I used up all my savings. I...I did so much just to get into this dress and to be there with you and I just...it meant nothing to you when it meant everything to me. You were so careless tonight, Gray. I didn't even recognize you.“ My words pack a powerful punch, I can tell by the way that twinkle in his eye goes out and anguish takes over. Shame takes over his mind and guilt takes over his heart.

„All that so I could tell you I'm so fucking in love with you.“ I finally say those words, just release them into the world like they didn't weigh me down for so long.

His eyes snap back to me, wide and his eyebrows raise. His breathing almost halting in the moment.

„I am as much in love with you today as I ever was, perhaps even more so, but I'm tired...Tired of watching you choose the wrong girl every time while I'm here all the while, just waiting for you to take one look and realize that I'm the one for you. Because I am. But you lost me too. You've lost all we could have been because you destroyed that innocent part of me that yearned for you, all of you. You've ruined me, so deal with the wreckage you left in your wake. You're the perfect example why hurricanes are named after people. You're a hurricane, Grayson and I need to get away from this storm before it swallows me whole.“ I'm aware my words sound forced and pained, fully aware he's trying to get a word in as well but my monologue stops him because there is so much I want to tell him and so little time as I've made my decision.

I need to let him go. Both of them. At least for a while.

„Don't I get a say in it?“ He questions and I chuckle dryly.

„You want a say in this? Okay, fine! Do you love me, Grayson?“ My words are rushed and those stubborn tears of mine are preparing to burst forth like a river from a dam.

„Of course I love you, Y/N.“ He places his hands on mine, quickly interlocking our fingers so I can't pull away and I purse my lips.

„I don't mean do you love me. I mean are you in love with me.“

Silence. He doesn’t even blink, seemingly stunned by my inquiry.

„Or even like me? Because if you do, only then do you have any say in this.“ I hate how weak my voice is, how wobbly and each break in it mirrors a break inside. I feel as if my lungs are slowly filling with water, as if there's just less space in them for the air.

Why was it so hard with him? Why does it always have to be so hard? It shouldn't be like this.

Not if it's right.

I stand, startling him enough to let go of my hands and move quickly to avoid him wrapping his arms around me. He moves after me, reaching out to grab my arm, but I slap his hands away.

„Wait, please!“ Grayson croaks out, something inside him turning but not fast enough. He shouldn't have to think about it. He's supposed to know. Love isn't thinking you want someone to hold, but wanting that all the time.

„For what, huh? How many ways are there for you to break my heart tonight? Just...give me enough respect and leave. Let me keep what pride I have left.“ I'm shaking, not only on the outside, but inside as well.

Before I met Grayson my heart was soft, with him it became strong and vibrant, now it is simply broken.

And he listened. He left. He left even though I wanted him to stay and say the words I needed him to say. That he loves me, that he cares. Anything, everything...just not leave when I need him.

I pack my things and wipe away angry tears I am so tired of already. Writing a note for the boys if they come back, texting James, I finally leave my apartment and head back home in a need of a proper rest.

They say people who are meant to be always find their way back to each other. They say friends don't make you hurt. They say life is full of surprises and now I know they, whoever they are, are very wrong.

People who are meant to be together don't always end up together and friends can break your heart too which is actually the biggest surprise of all. Heart break is a funny thing. We all know it's going to happen, yet we're never prepared for it. We underestimate it's power. Why are we never ready for it? Because we're in denial. We believe it won't happen. We believe if we give him our hearts he will not crush it. Hearts shouldn't be crushed. They should be cherished and protected. I wish he would have cherished and protected my heart.

Tags: @xalayx @heeydolan @accalialionheart @fallinginlove-16  @rosegoldquintis @nefelibata-diamond @blackdesires-blog @me-a-hopeless-romantic @wannabeactress @mckeeee-1 @godlydolans @daddygraysonsbitch @killmonger-dolan @emy-is-cooler-than-you @5sausefandom  @thatoneperson5000 @the-evolution-of-stupidity @mercy-love18-love @graydolan12 @flowercrowns3438 @trumpettay @skurtdolans @nowheredolan @shadowsndaisies @heartbelongstodolans @gvldenskie

[1nn32dem0n5]

another day in gradschool

I am bored and sick. I have a viral infection that makes my head feel very large, so I blow the rest of the day off and go to the gym. I punch the bag, do my pushups, do my pull-ups and then run on the treadmill, in between these two young, gorgeous, red-cheeked undergrads. One is thick, like a sack of potatoes, but she is still shapely. She runs sprints. The other is small and much more aesthetically pleasing than her counterpart. They both smell nice. She runs at a constant pace, not sprints. I realize both are going faster than me, and I spend a few minutes trying to figure out if this is emasculating. I decide I don’t care since a more pressing issue takes precedence: a smell. The smell is me. Its as foul as it comes since I was wearing already dirty clothes, I was at the end of the workout, and earlier I didn’t wipe with quite enough toilet paper.  

I forced myself to not give a fuck. It was not easy. Im sure both of them had assholes and at one time birthed a molten stew of diarrhea. Not to mention the fact that every month their pussies drip with blood for days at a time. Who are they to judge me and my body odor? It's as natural as it gets. The more I thought about it the more I grew to love my foulness and be proud of it. Men aren't meant to be clean creatures, or at least I wasn’t meant to be. Human kind as a whole is dirty. We have to struggle every day with showers, clean clothes, brushing our teeth, makeup, hair and so on and so forth. And for what, just to be clean? Maybe we aren't meant to be clean. It's not natural to struggle so hard to maintain something. If it's natural it should be easy. Like fucking fat chicks.

Who the fuck knows? My thoughts drift often when I run, which is good because it keeps me distracted from how much I hate running. Body odor is one thing, but if I'm going down on a girl and I can smell shit, my cock will instantaneously wilt.

I come to, realize I am still running, and it's barely been 5 minutes. I look outside the window, and it hits me again. I have no clue where I am and how I got here. The fog sets in and for a brief moment I feel as thought my legs will become spaghetti that’s been cooked too long. Im worried that if I fall the two girls will laugh at me, or even worse, be concerned about me and gasp in shock, their faces twisted in horror, as my limp body is thrown backwards by the treadmill, and my face somehow is pinned in between the moving sandpaper-like part and the floor. I wonder if this will make them want to fuck me more or less. I wonder if they will keep contact with me after my face will be all deformed, spend months in the hospital to fix it, then fuck me out of pity, before I marry one of them because clearly I cannot ever do better with my fucked up face. I'll spend the rest of my life fighting off stares from strangers wondering how in the hell did I get that girl.

I wonder if they even notice my presence, or my smell? Maybe they don’t even realize I am here; that I am running next to them.

Who am I kidding? Of course they do. How could anyone not notice me?

ME!

I convince myself that passing out would play to my advantage, and as father Joe Riley once said it, I say it too: "fuck it!". I said it not aloud but in my mind, and I keep running without barely any flinch. If i pass out I'll pass out. If my heart, which was beating roughly 3 times a second, decides to explode in my chest then so fucking be it. I'll die here on this fucking treadmill, next to these young potato faced hoosierettes. Fuck the hoosiers truly. At least the last thing I'll smell is this cute one on the left as she freaks out. Hopefully she touches my face and in the process her boob grazes my body. That would be a good way to go. Maybe she will even give mouth to mouth. Imagine that, having a heart attack with a raging hard on, tenting up proudly, in the middle of a crowded gym. I hope I don’t shit myself. Statistically I will.  

A song I love comes on, and it reminds me of something pleasant. I start smiling to myself and I shadow box because i feel like it would give me a more mysterious look; the man bun and torn wife-beater had slipped my mind. I ran and ran like an idiot, bobbing around as the sonorous beats of black widow baby hammered away at my already unhinged eardrum. I almost passed out again when it was time to stop. It took a full 5 minutes to get my heart rate down from 180 to a more regular 100. Then the best thing happened on my way out of the gym. The gods blessed me, since at that exact moment this long-legged tall-girl with the shortest shorts and the most top-shelf ass walks in front of me. I will forever never take another elevator again. The spandex stretched with every step and you could almost make out the patterns on her panties. I knew in this moment that there was a God. I just wasn’t sure why he was being kind to me.

How does one get a girl like that? Just look at her. Her skin was so fair, and those legs stretched far beyond the heights I dared to raise my eyes to out of shame that someone is watching me and sees my uncontrollable lust. I could lay my face on that ass and all my trouble would dissolve away, because what do I care? It's hard to care about anything else when your face is pressed up against an ass as beautiful as this one. The stairs were my personal eternity. As we exited the gym I walked faster to get a side view of her. She was not pretty at all and I don’t even know why I expected otherwise. I've learned that if you want a truly pretty girl, the midwest is not the ideal place to look for them. They do have bodies chiseled out of marble and cornmeal, but almost none have the faces to go with em. NYC is far superior in this category, since rarely have I gone on a night of drinking in downtown and not fallen in love. How could you not? There is so much beauty in new york. And so much hideousness too. In the middle west they hope the tightness and stretchiness of the spandex will be enough to distract you from their potato faces. And they often do. More than once a day I see an ass I'd like to bury myself in, and spend my entire life there. Here was one moment.

I never understood this about myself. The extreme desires and attraction I feel for a woman's ass. Theres so little one can do to it: you can slap it, bite it, grope it, squeeze it and fuck it. There are second order processes like eat off it, draw it, take pictures of it, watch it jiggle, make it jiggle, watch it walk away, or run, or twerk, sneak, squat. And there are so many varieties: the flat ones you can power fuck into Odin, the fat ones you need to manually spread in order to touch cunt with cock, and all the infinity of sizes and angles in between. There is just so much you can do with an ass. Yet somehow, it just doesn’t feel like its enough. The desire is much too strong, almost as if I want to envelop myself in the squishy goodness of a well fed ass and cum all over it until its glistening with ounces and ounces of hot human cum. I want to bite into an ass and eat it. I want to be one with it. How sad it must be for men who are not ass men. The full womaninity of any woman is held up by a tiny piece of flimsy, cute patterned fabric, often embroidered with Victoria logo.  

I got home and I facebook stalked this one chick I went to high-school with who made a repulsive post about how she hates working full time because she cant spent enough time with her child. Here she is in a million pictures with her and what I can assume is her offspring, and her husband, and all I can think of is that night we snuck into the food court, blotto - when she was begging me to fuck her. I walked her home and got in bed with her that night. But I didn’t fuck her. Never understood why. Its like sometimes I am a complete fucking idiot. Who gets offered free, nice and young pussy, with legs akimbo, panting, begging for cock and who says says NO? Apparently 18 year old me does. What a broken child I was.

I think about the fat chick I was running next to, because the image of her sturdy thighs and ass is still burned into my lustful mind. I imagine what her pussy must have tasted like while she was crouching on my face. Would her ass cover my entire field of vision? Most likely yes. How horrible it would be if she just decided to hold me down, and shit on my face? I would be less powerless if a horse tried to ass fuck me. Yet still I wonder what her pussy would taste like. Would it be tight? Do thick females have tight pussies? Or is it just fat ones? I contemplate this as I drink the rest of the day, and do nothing else of substance. I write a few pages which I'm pretty sure are shit. People come by and I get stoned with them, but refuse their offer to go to the bars. There is nothing that brings me pleasure anymore. I just want to lay on my couch and die. I want a great big ass to park on my mouth, nose in pussy, as I gasp for air, dying, lungs filled with farts and grool.

Oh what a way to go.  

[alifeenrouteblog]

i want this bitch's life: my obsession with lifestyle bloggers

Full disclosure: I took this title from The Cut's series, I Like This Bitch's Life.

My high school was all-girls and Catholic. Throughout my freshman year, I was fixated on a group of senior girls. People called them The Barbies or The Tan Clan. Most of them were blonde. But they were all tan and beautiful. Even in school uniforms, they were fashion forward. They had UGG boots before I knew what they were. On free dress days, they sported Juicy Couture sweat suits before anyone else. They were so beautiful. They didn’t wear make up and their hair was always in a perfect messy bun. All of which just impressed upon me how much more beautiful they were.

I loved them. Quietly and from afar. I could not tell my friends because a lot of them were their sisters or knew them from grade school. They did not share my infatuation. I found out their screen names and looked at their AIM profile. I stared at them when I passed them down the hall, taking note of their new handbags. They were so perfect. I wanted to be them.

Flash forward to 2015. I joined Instagram, late to the game, and did not really understand how to use it until late 2016. This is when I found lifestyle bloggers. It took me awhile to understand who these women were. I started following them because one of their beautiful photos was recommended to me.

At first, I didn’t get it. But I slowly started to realize these women were a part of an elusive club, much like my Tan Clan. But instead of seeing them in the cafeteria, I watch their lives through a series of high quality photos of their perfect kids, gorgeous homes, exquisite outfits, and an unbelievable amount of beautiful travel. Supplemented with the periodic #ad post.

I follow about two dozen women, who identify as lifestyle bloggers. The term lifestyle blogger is ambiguous and almost anyone with a blog can identify as one. But who I am talking about today are the women with followers amounting somewhere between half a million to over one million. They post perfectly curated photos of their daily life: their families, vacations, outfits, and other things that are mostly mundane from anyone else.

They are all different and I’m not here to make any generalizations about all women bloggers or lifestyle bloggers. For the most part, they grew their strong following by starting as something more specific, i.e. hairstyle tips, mommy life, or photos of their toddler take naps with their new puppy went viral. But they’ve all evolved.

When I’m in bed late at night, I stare at their gorgeous photos on Instagram, long after I’ve double tapped. Most often their posts feature themselves. The women are always white, beautiful, thin, and have perfect skin. When they show off a new outfit, it always looks good on them and I always like it – even if it is not my style. I find myself admiring their fit bodies in bikinis, then I look to my right at my night stand and see my glass of wine and the clean plate from whatever I just binge ate.

They are always married. The younger ones are engaged. Their husbands are always very handsome. If I have found out their husband’s profession, it is always a professional and prestigious job, like finance or doctor. When I find this out, I take a big gulp of my wine thinking about how the only men who seem interested in me quit college because he “makes so much money at his serving job/selling weed”.

Usually they have kids, if not, they will soon. And their kids are gorgeous. Blonde and tan babies in diapers at the beach. I don’t even want kids but this shit is freaking cute. The aesthetic is too much to hate.

Something else they all have in common: they travel a lot. Weekend trips to Hawaii with their husband and three kids. Two weeks in Australia with the whole fam. Couples getaway to Paris. Japan. Europe. Jamaica. They can afford to go anywhere. I have traveled a lot the past couple years, so I don’t know want to sound like I am bitter and jealous because I’m not. I want them to travel – travel more, please! I want to see more photos. I love gazing at their family photos, they look so happy. The scenery is beautiful and she looks great in a bikini or a beach maxi dress, holding a baby on her hip, all of them ankle deep in the ocean.

The women I’m talking about are not posting photos of anything resembling my life. They aren’t posting day drinking pics, or making jokes about being broke, or mention anything about their love life other than their “perfect hubby”. I can’t relate to their family life, and I only aspire to pieces of it, but I love looking at it.

All of the photos, the babies, the beaches, the hairstyles, along with strategic branding, creates beautiful imagery. This is why I love these women so much. Most of the time they are not selling me anything. They don’t do “unboxing” or “hauls”. They might have started out blogging about organization or makeup tricks, but they don’t do that anymore. Their content is purely for my eyeball’s pleasure. Their #ad or #partner posts are sparse and always done well. I can never tell it’s an advertisement unless I read the whole caption. They are legitimately showing me their beautiful lives.

Only 2% of the time do I stop to think, who took this photo? This type of thinking pulls me out of the fantasy I fall into when I look at their feeds. Their lives are magical and I don’t want to know how they pull it off.

While I appreciate the veil they provide for me, I know these photos and captions are their jobs. They work hard. I am often impressed with a women’s hustle, strategic vision, and passion. They started with a simple blog, years ago, and grew it. Like the blogger who got her start doing hairstyles on YouTube, after six years, she has launched her own hair extension line, which I know is doing very well because the product line expands every month. She is crushing it. And of course, I look at her Instagram stories updating me on the new stuff she’s launching, with no intention of buying her extensions.

Other times, I’m confused at how/why they make money doing what they do. Their pics are fine. But they don’t post much on their blog anymore. And it wasn’t anything super interesting. Generic takes on food, family, fun. I’m hating a little. Don’t get me wrong though, I thought a lot about this. Some of these blogs are just not interesting enough to deserve the kind of partnerships they are getting, in my opinion.

Most of the lady lifestyle bloggers I stumble upon are truly impressive to me. Yes, their photographs and seemingly perfect lives are great. They also just have a hustle and entrepreneurial spirit I don’t see in a lot of women I know. They work hard to expand their brand.

And they make a lot of money. This is not hard to figure out based on their lifestyle. Companies pay handsomely to #partner with. They don’t worry about money like I do. I know they don’t share the same anxiety I have when I hand over the gas station attendant my credit card to buy cigarettes. One because I know they don’t smoke (their skin is too good) and two, because they don’t worry about their credit limit when buying a $7 product.

 Either way, I look with some envy. But the envy does not come from hate or anger. At least not focused on her. It’s on me. I’m mad at myself for not having a successful business. I’m mad at myself for not getting into this game earlier. For jumping around careers. For not being successful at all. Luckily, I shut that part of me off and continue to scroll, getting to more pics of floral bouquets on top of a Pottery Barn dining room table that costs as much as one year of my grad school tuition.

I envy everything I see that they have. Except the kids. But I envy the joy and stability they find in having kids and how it adds to the image of the perfect life. I want that. I want their bodies. I want their husbands. I want their outfits and make-up. I want their houses. I want their vacations. Yes, I travel, but I want their trips. I want their photographs of the trips. I want their money! I want their lives. More than I’d like to admit.

Why though? I so clearly don’t fit that life. I’m kind of a mess. Clearly, I can’t land a dude like they can. I definitely don’t have their bodies. I don’t want kids. I blog about depression and figuring out what I am supposed to do with my life. I drink too much. Their lives are so clearly not me.

Sometimes, I wonder if I torture myself going on deep dives into their lives. Why am I so obsessed with them? Do I secretly want that life? Do I secretly believe deep down I don’t deserve it? Do I just like to see that life like the other one million people who follow them?

I don’t know. I don’t have the answer. Just like I can’t answer why I was obsessed with the Tan Clan 15 years ago. Except back then, I can probably attribute most of it to teenage pressure to conform to beauty and popularity. But maybe now I’m facing the same thing. I am still aspiring to be thin, beautiful, rich, and perfect. Don’t get me wrong. I love myself and my life. But I am realistic about feeling self-doubt and not always feeling confident compared to our society’s standards.

I know that these women are problematic and can perpetuate racial/gender stereotypes that are not helpful/terrible. I also know that they can be kind and loving, to their families and the world, and advocates for humanitarian causes. I know that their images can tell women all sorts of shitty things, (be skinnier, richer, a mom, more successful and a mom). But I also know that they can be inspiring to women aspiring to be entrepreneurs or working moms. I could go on and on.

Am I going to continue to follow these women’s lives? No. Do I like their pictures? Yes. Do I want to be mindful of how it impacts me? Yes.

Like anything else in life, it’s not black and white.

[mint-kook]

I tagged along (wherever you are)

Hey! So I am a very new writer who decided to create a sideblog (elsearwrites) for writing. I really enjoy your fics so I would appreciate it and be honored if you took the time to read something I’ve been writing for Hoseok x Reader! It’s called I tagged along (wherever you are), and is a social media and college au where Hoseok is an instagram famous dancer and the reader is a famous youtuber. The first part is a prologue of how the reader actually became to be a youtuber, and features best friend! and frat boy!Jungkook who broke her heart. It does mention sex and alcohol, but just once and is not explicit. Word count for pt.1 is 2.4k, at least for now because it is unedited and very rough. I just wanted to show a person before I upload it to my own blog. Sorry if it’s long, you don’t have to read it all lol.

So here’s part 1/prologue: A Role Model

You ran.

All you could think about doing is running.

You didn’t really know where you were going, because your visions were blurred by your tears and your brain blurred by shattered pieces of your heart. But whatever your legs remember, took you back to your room.

And you enclosed your whole world in the bleak dark room you returned to.

Just 25 minutes ago you walked into your best friend Jungkook and a girl he was chasing after for some time having sex.

You have been hopelessly in love with him for a good decade, ever since you met each other on a playground, but knew he didn’t feel the same way about you when you watched him fall for someone else all those years. Because you were too scared to break what you already had, the strong friendship that protected you from bullies and protected him from giving up on his dreams. That tight bond you had made you hope. Hope that somewhere along those years, maybe he felt at least a possibility that something more could develop between you two. So you tried hard to be the ideal person Jungkook dreamed about. You were even a model because Jungkook half-heartedly stated that he wanted to date a model once. But when you saw his eyes soften at someone that wasn’t you, your heart betrayed you.

“Y/N! Look, you know Somin right? She’s the one in your Chem class. I think she’s cute and I used the time I waited for you to talk to her.”

“Y/N, Y/N…She’s different from all the other girls I dated. Something about her…is special. I feel like she may be the one…Pfft I sound so cheesy, this isn’t me.”

And so, you got desperate. Before he made things official, maybe you can change something. And even if chances were bleak, you couldn’t take the bottled up feelings inside you anymore. Or, that was what you thought.

“Y-Y/N!”

He panicked to cover both him and the girl, both confused and shocked at your presence, clearly someone that did not belong in the almost perfect picture.

“Uh…I-I’m so sorry.”

Ah. So they did make it official. Was in the middle of making it official.

And so you ran.

You only convinced yourself you would be okay if you were rejected.

But when you were rejected without you even saying anything, every resolve and every cell you managed to convinced screamed otherwise.

You weren’t okay.

For a couple of days, you were holed up in your room. You had no midterms, and you were that honor student that passed all her classes, and no class you had this semester were attendance mandatory. You managed to avoid the hell out of Jungkook somehow thanks to your roommate’s extremely kind cooperation (Raeun was now your new best friend, screw ex-best friend). You turned off notifications from Jungkook, effectively ignoring every message and call from him. But honestly, you couldn’t turn off your phone. It was the one thing you couldn’t do, because while you were holed up in your room, Raeun and your phone were the only things that connected you to the outside world.

And before you were to head bang on the wall regretting to even think about trying to confess to him, you decide that you need time to yourself. Time to think about you. Distract yourself from whatever may happen to something you tried hopelessly to protect.

And you find yourself in more deeper than ever in the world of social media.

Unhealthy? A little, yes. Successful in distracting you? Also, a little, yes.

That “little” comes from the frequent posts Jungkook updates on his Instagram and Snapchat and sometimes on Twitter, where he seemingly has a blast at parties his frat hosts. You had to admit, even if you told yourself you didn’t care, you were a little, well maybe a lot angry that nothing seemed to change in his carefree alcohol induced world. Were all the messages and missed calls a lie? Even if they stopped all together after a long while, you still had hoped he cared. It wasn’t until Raeun told you that he posts a severely lessened amount ever since that day, and that it’s most likely people of his fraternity controlling what he posts, that your anger subsided.

Even if you told her and yourself that you didn’t care.

“Y/N? There is some food in the fridge for you. Just in case, I’m leaving the door locked. Don’t open the door for anyone just in case, unless it’s the RA, kay?” Raeun said before leaving to take her Calculus exam.

God, why was your roommate and now-best friend such an angel? The mom friend? She even cared for you while she had a very important exam the next day. She was the guard that made sure Jungkook wasn’t going to be near you, hiding you in the closet or threatening to call the RA back when he knocked on your door and called for you for what seemed like an endless period of time.

You didn’t know how you were going to thank her for her hospitality, her generosity, and her existence. But knowing how vulnerable you feel, she just smiles and pats your back.

“Girl, I know how you feel. One thing you shouldn’t do is apologize. Thank me later but there’s absolutely nothing you should apologize for.” She gives you a wink.

Now alone, you felt your nerves kick in as you try to register that Raeun cannot protect you when she’s gone for classes. You hated feeling dependent on her and you hated feeling weak, but you know what?

You felt like you deserved a break. You studied so hard, you tried so hard to grab Jungkook’s attention, and you tried so hard dealing with emotions strong enough to break you down and you were just done. You were tired. So what if you rest for a couple of days? No one will be mad. Raeun was right. You can thank her later, but surely you don’t have to apologize for feeling this way.

So you kicked yourself onto your bed, and dived straight to watch some funny videos. And as you scrolled through your Instagram feed, something happened.

Yes, something magical happened.

It wasn’t Jungkook acting all stupid at a party again, hell no.

It was something entirely different.

You saw the swift arm movements, the smooth lines and fluid form, the music created using the human body. Was that even possible?

You saw sunshine.

“J…J-Hope?”

That was his name. J-Hope. The boy who shone his sunny yet fierce facial expression dancing a routine to 24K Magic.

And that was your entrance to something new. You became a fan of him in a split second. One moment you are replaying the video for about 25 times and the next moment you are exploring his page. The next moment you are following him. And the next moment and for the next few following moments you were drowning yourself in this newfound excitement.

Raeun came back to you giggling and sighing happily.

She frowned for a few seconds, wondering if she should take you to the school psychiatrist, but she later understood when you told her that you recently found out about J-Hope.

“Oh, Yeah. He’s like…super popular lately. It’s said that he’s one of the best young dancers and he’s getting a lot of media attention lately. Well, he is hot after all, he has sooo many followers.”

“…He’s…he’s soooo talented. Like, really talented. Not just because he is hot though. His dancing is just so passionate.”

Raeun smiled a little, glad at least something simple like this (to her) was able to get you to laugh a little.

But to you, it wasn’t something simple. For the next few days, all you did was stalk his Instagram, liked all of his oh-so-aesthetic pictures, watch literally all of his videos, and as if that wasn’t enough, rewatched them all over again. You learned a lot about him. About how his real name was Jung Hoseok. How he is currently a street dancer who slowly gained exponential fame through social media and went viral. How even if he danced so passionately he always found time to appreciate his other hobbies such as photography and singing. How he dreamed of becoming a professional dancer and opening his own dance school one day. How for now, he loved to meet new dancers, collaborate with them, and show them off to the world like the world doesn’t have enough sunshine. How even if he seemed all badass, there were cute things about him too, like being afraid of snakes and rollercoasters. Your world shined through this man who didn’t even know you.

And Raeun may not understand you. I mean, all you have been doing was either catching up on notes you missed or watch J-Hope. But soon, she started to leave you be, and started to even watch him with you. It was crazy to think that something like this served as distraction away from Jungkook, but you surprised Raeun by entertaining a crazier idea.

“Hey. Y’know what? How bout, I try this?”

Raeun turned away from the phone screen a little belatedly.

“Try what.”

You pointed to the screen.

“This.”

“What, dancing?”

“Well, not exactly. But you know how I modelled a little before? And how I sing sometimes?”

Raeun rolled her eyes and chuckled.

“You make it sound like you just touched both hobbies. Your mom and I both know how prolific you are, with both singing and modelling.”

It was true. Even if you became a model for the sake of catching Jungkook’s attention, you were naturally talented at it. And singing was something you were so often praised for, even by Jungkook. But you had no confidence in both, and that was ultimately something that made you quit modelling or drop out of your high school honors choir. Perhaps your confidence was dropped to an infinitesimal level due to failing to be with Jungkook, but during the past few days, that confidence level surged to the northern skies. And who made that confidence soar? J-Hope. Someone who doesn’t even know you. And because of this certain Jung Hoseok, you were willing to do something that always lingered your mind. Jung Hoseok inspired you.

And so you made up your mind. You didn’t care if no one will notice you at first. You were finally breaking out of your shell into becoming someone you should have become so long ago.

But you were never too late.

You weren’t going to let one guy ruin your life like that.

You were going to be someone like J-Hope.

——————

After a little while, you picked yourself up your feet. You weren’t holed up in your room, and you learned to be a little bit more independent. More confident. More you. Yes, you still made efforts to avoid Jungkook, but still. An improvement.

And now, you were about to make more.

“Kay, Y/N, let’s try this one more time.” Raeun called out to you behind the camera amidst your trance.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. It’s just…I haven’t done this in a long time, y’know?”

“Of course I know. Take your time, okay? Remember. Just be you. Don’t worry about what other people have to say. You are freakishly talented enough.”

You and Raeun smiled at each other and as you shut your eyes you took another deep breath. Your hands were sweaty, both your feet and voice were shaking, but after a while, you envisioned the sun. You had the same anxiety during the first modelling job where your parents, Jungkook, and Jungkook’s parents were watching, but now, you had that same adrenaline-fused feeling of excitement that you discovered with J-Hope. You. You were going to do this.

And you open your eyes, and sing.

And as you thought, it was difficult.

Your first video was a self introduction.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. And I have a story to tell. But y’know, it’d be a little boring to suddenly open myself up like a book, so I wanna take my time. So please, listen to me.”

You utilize whatever you learned in modelling to keep a straight face, strict but fluid posture, and beauty tips. You recalled the times where you enjoyed singing, back when your parents would attend your childhood talent shows and you personified a loud, clear voice.

Since when was all of that convoluted? When did you start being so shy with your own voice? Was it when little boy Jungkook bragged to his friends on the playground that you were the best singer he knew? Was it the pressure? But at that moment, you didn’t blame anyone. No, not Jeon Jungkook. When you sang, you just remembered how happy you were, singing. You lost that joy but you found it back. That’s all that it mattered.

You try a number of different songs, from Boa’s Every Heart to Audrey Hepburn’s Moon River, and though Raeun praised you with hugs and tears you were never sure enough that you were good.

But, it happened.

At first, responses toward your uploads were slow. You thought you were fine with that, because even letting out what you wanted to let out was cathartic to you. But during the first few months, you became more and more dejected over low views and lack of response. However, Raeun’s networking connections and incredible signal boosting as well as your busking and frequent gigs at school events or small coffee shops, your name spread like wildfire through the entire school. And although it was a little towards the future, you went viral on YouTube.

  Somewhere in between though, you think you see Jungkook across campus. He was with the girl he was with that one time-Somin, you think her name was. You would be lying if you said you were completely over him. But with Raeun’s now utter determination to get you “out there” and your busy schedules balancing school work, recording, and finding times to at least breathe, you become more invested in yourself than thinking about him. And so, you smile. You don’t say “Hi” or anything awkward. Maybe one day you’ll have the courage to talk to him, or, well, stop avoiding him first. After all, you completely shut him out without his say in anything. But for now, you think that him being out of your life was not something that was losing light. If Jeon Jungkook was someone you wanted to please, then J-Hope, Jung Hoseok was your role model. You don’t have to please someone in order to admire them. That was it.

[snapadoodlez]

Doctor Who Series 10 Playlist

So I make a lot of playlists as a hobby and, par for the course, I wound up making one for Series 10 of Doctor Who. I’m quite happy with how it turned out, so I’m sharing it here on the off-chance you’ll enjoy it as well!

Here’s the Spotify link (will prob. post an embedded version later):   https://open.spotify.com/user/sirenssongs/playlist/0lvaeVUc8YcjG7QVUb1qiA

In this playlist, the songs/events are organized chronologically (versus by episode order): it starts off at the execution planet scene in Extremis ( “See I’m Smiling”) and picks up later at the university with The Pilot and the introduction of Bill (”Dear Old Shiz”/ “See Her Smile”).  Along with the Twissy/Bill emotional arcs, it fills in some of the (*cough*vault-shaped*cough*) gaps.  It is long: but if you need something to listen to and feel like revisiting the story while you work/study/etc., hopefully this’ll do the trick!

I’ve included the track-list and guide below (full-list below “Keep Reading” line). I hope you enjoy it, and I’d  love to hear if you do!  If you don’t listen to the whole thing, maybe you’ll find a new song or two.   I’ve made some other DW playlists for previous series’, so if you like this, I may go back and post those as well.

Track-list & Guide:

1. See I’m Smiling – The Last Five Years

“Oh… Doctor… I didn’t expect to see you.  Thought you’d retired… domestic bliss on Darillium, that’s the word among the Daleks…”

“Please, teach me… teach me how to be… good.” “Without Hope? Without Witness?  Without Reward?”

2. Say No To This – Hamilton

“I am your friend.” “Makes no difference.” “… I have to say it, the truth.  Without hope.  Without witness.  Without reward.  I am your friend.”

“You swore an oath! “I swore an oath I’d look after her body for a thousand years.  Nobody mentioned dead.”

The Doctor is conflicted.

3. Hey #1 – Next to Normal Uncertain early days in the vault.

4. Do You Want to Build a Snowman? – Frozen *vault* Missy doesn’t want to build a snowman.

5. I Won’t Say I’m in Love – Hercules *vault* Missy wrangles with her feelings.

6. Back to Me – Marian Hill & Lauren Jauregui *vault* Missy sets to schemin’ on Twelve.

7. Dear Old Shiz – Wicked Professor Twelve.

8. See Her Smile – tick, tick…BOOM!

“My mum always said, ‘With some people you can smell the wind in their clothes.’” “Oh.  She sounds nice.” “She died when I was a baby.” “If she died when you were a baby, when did she say that?” “In my head…There’s hardly any photographs…But if someone’s gone, do pictures really help?”

9. You’re Welcome – Moana

“Time And Relative Dimension in Space.  TARDIS for short.”

10. What’s This? – Nightmare Before Christmas Bill has a lot of questions

11. Sally Ride – Janelle Monáe

“The last thing she said to me.  She promised she wouldn’t leave without me.” “Her last conscious thought, driving her across the universe.  Never underestimate a crush.”

12. You’ll Be In My Heart – Tarzan (Phil Collins)

“What changed your mind?” “Time.” “Time?” “And Relative Dimension In Space. It means, what the hell?”

13. Everything Else – Next to Normal

“A piano?  You’ve put a piano in there?  You don’t learn, do you, sir.”

14. Light My Candle – Rent *vault* Missy gets bolder. The Doctor is flustered.

15. No Angel – Beyoncé *vault* Missy makes a move.

16. Wondaland – Janelle Monáe

“I’m smelling home twenty lightyears from home.  Thanks for bringing me! This is a great day out.”

Bill and the Doctor venture out in Time and Space.

17. Champagne – In the Heights

“Hey!  Do you want dinner?  I’ve got Mexican.”

18. Heaven’s Light/Hellfire – The Hunchback of Notre Dame The Doctor has conflicting feelings about his oldest friend.

19. Partition – Beyoncé Quality *vault* time

20. Take Care (feat. Rihanna) – Drake *vault* Twissy angst.

21. Malibu – Miley Cyrus *vault* Twissy fluff.

22. Go To The Mirror Boy! – The Who (Tommy)

“Nardole, I can’t… I can’t look at anything ever again.  I’m still blind.”

23. Handlebars – Flobots

“If you do not ask for help, then see the days to come.  These are the threads that lead to one year in your future.  Take them as proof.”

“I’m asking you for help.  I’m giving my consent.”

The Monks invade.

24. Tango: Maureen – Rent

“God, the way you and Nardole have been carrying on, I thought you had some kind of monster in here, or something!” ���I do.”

25. Many Moons – Janelle Monáe

“Our mission is to interrupt their broadcast and replace it with the true history of Earth.”

“Oh, you clever, brilliant, ridiculous girl… The lie is breaking.  Bill’s mum, you just went viral!”

26. Life Support – Rent

“I keep remembering all the people I’ve killed.  Every day I think of more… I didn’t know I even knew their names.  You didn’t tell me about this bit.”

27. Every Single Night – Fiona Apple

“I’m sorry… but this is good.” “Okay.”

28. Life on Mars? – David Bowie

“I need to get back to Mars.. and I was wondering if you could tell me how to fix…” “Of course I can. It’s probably easier if I just show you.”

29. Haunted – Beyoncé

“This can’t happen.  This is not what we agreed to.  I’m going to have to put you back in the Vault.  You know that.” “Sure.  That’s fine.  But Doctor, please tell me.  Really.  Are you all right?”

30. Training Wheels – Melanie Martinez

“ The alternative is that this is for real, and it’s time for us to become friends again.” “ Do you think so?” “I don’t know. That’s the trouble with hope. It’s hard to resist.”

31. I’ve Grown Accustomed To Her Face – My Fair Lady (Rex Harrison) The Doctor realizes he’s been catching feelings.

32. Satisfied – Hamilton

“ She was my first friend, always so brilliant, from the first day at the Academy. So fast, so funny. She was my man crush.”

“ She’s the only person that I’ve ever met who’s even remotely like me.”

33. Bonfire Heart – James Blunt

“ We had a pact, me and him. Every star in the universe, we were going to see them all. But he was too busy burning them. I don’t think she ever saw anything.” “And you think that if she did, she’d change?” “I know she would.”

34. Moonrise Kingdom – Angel Haze

“She scares me. Like, she really scares me…So promise me one thing, yeah? Just promise you won’t get me killed.”

35. It’s Gonna Be Good – Next to Normal Missy joins Team TARDIS.  What could possibly go wrong?

36. There’s a World – Next to Normal

“Would you like some tea?”

“They are the cure. They are the future. To survive, they are what we must all become.”

37. Sincerely, Jane – Janelle Monáe

“This was a good place once… But this ship is old, everything is dying… You see, my dear. You must be strong to leave the hospital. And you will be. Soon. Very soon.”

“This won’t stop you feeling pain, but it will stop you caring about it. It fits over your head.”

38. I’m Alive (Reprise) – Next to Normal

“ He’ll never forgive you, you know, He’ll never set you free. Not when he discovers what you did to his little friend.” “I haven’t done anything to his silly little friend.” “ Oh, but I’m afraid you did. But a long time ago.”

“Hello, Missy. I’m the Master, and I’m very worried about my future.”

39. The Break – Next to Normal Try as she might, Missy can’t outrun her past.

40. The Master Vainglorious – Murray Gold (Doctor Who Series 3)

“You’ve met the ex?”

41. You Don’t Own Me (feat. G-Eazy) [Candyland Remix] – Grace

“Oh, am I a woman now?” “Well, kind of, yeah.” “Hold me!” “ Kiss Me!”   “Make Me!”

“The whole city is a machine to turn people into Cybermen.  What do you think? Exciting, isn’t it?”

42. Make Up Your Mind/Catch Me I’m Falling (Reprise) – Next to Normal

“I was secretly on your side all along, you silly sausage.” “Is that true?” “It’s hard to say, I’m in two minds…”

43. Skyscraper – Demi Lovato

“I can feel it.  In my head…It’s like I’m hanging on in a hurricane. And I can’t hang on forever.  I want you to know… as my friend…I don’t wanna live if I can’t be me anymore.  Do you understand?…Then it’s not possible, is it?”

“I tell you what else isn’t possible.  A cyberman crying.  Where there’s tears, there’s hope.”

44. This Woman’s Work– Greg Laswell (Kate Bush cover)

“You are so strong. You’re amazing. Your mind has rebelled against the programming. It’s built a wall around itself. A castle made of you, and you’re standing on the battlements, saying, ‘No! No, not me.’”

45. Louder Than Words – tick, tick…BOOM!

“Winning? Is that what you think it’s about? I’m not trying to win. I’m not doing this because I want to beat someone, because I hate someone, or because I want to blame someone. It’s not because it’s fun. God knows it’s not because it’s easy. It’s not even because it works because it hardly ever does. I do what I do because it’s right! Because it’s decent! And above all, it’s kind! It’s just that… Just kind.”

46. I Am the One – Next to Normal

“Stand with me…Why not?  Just to the end?  Just be kind.”

“See this face? Take a good long look. This is the face that didn’t listen to a word you just said.”

“Missy.  You’ve changed.  I know you have.  And I know what you’re capable of.  Stand with me.  It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” “Me too…  But no.  Sorry.  Just… no.  But thanks for trying.”

47. Tomorrow Will Be Kinder – The Secret Sisters (Hunger Games) The calm before the storm.

48. Blackout – In the Heights

“Who I am is where I stand. Where I stand is where I fall.”

49. The Rains of Castamere – The National (Game of Thrones)

“I loved being you. Every second of it. Oh, the way you burned like a sun, like a whole screaming world on fire. I remember that feeling. And I always will. And I will always miss it.”

50. The World Was Wide Enough – Hamilton

“Missy, seriously, why?” “Oh, because he’s right.  Because it’s time to stand with him.  It is where we’ve always been going, and it’s happening now.  Today. It’s time to stand with the Doctor.”

“I will never stand with the Doctor.  You see, Missy, this is where we’ve always been going.  This is our perfect ending. We shoot ourselves in the back.”

“Pity… no stars… I hoped there’d be stars…”

51. Whispering – Spring Awakening (Lea Michele)

“Without hope, without witness, without reward.”

52. Across the Universe – The Beatles

“I can put you back home, you can make your chips, live your life, or you can come with me.”

“It’s a big universe.  I hope I see you again.”

53. A Good Man? (Twelve’s Theme) – Murray Gold

“I don’t want to change again. Never again.  I can’t keep on being somebody else. Whatever it is, I’m staying.”

54. Doctor Who (Original Theme) – Ron Grainer

“Who is that?” “I’m the Doctor.” “The Doctor? No.. I don’t think so. No…dear me, no.  You may be a Doctor, but I am the Doctor.  The original, you might say.”

Bonus: This is Gallifrey: Our Childhood Home – Murray Gold (Doctor Who Series 3)

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Modern Animorphs AU (part 2)

@jollysunflora : The second half of my complete list of modern AU Animorphs headcanons, approximately one per book.  

28. “Ax,” Marco says, “How come you can roll out ‘venti dulce de leche dark-chocolate frappuchino extra whip’ without batting an eye, but you giggle every time you have to say the word ‘soy’?”

“It has so many vowel—owl?—sounds, in so little space,” Ax says.  “That long sssssssssss, so pleasant on the tongue, but then that odd oooyyy ooy-yah?  All in the back of the mouth.  Very strange.  Sssoooy.  Ssususs-oooyaaa.”

“Also, he’s moved on from the frappuchinos,” Tobias adds.  “Now he keeps spending all our hard-stolen bitcoins on espresso mack... mach...”

“Espresso macchiato con panna,” Ax explains.  “Doppio.”

29. Cassie feels herself sweating as she props the laptop across the room from her, tools laid out and Ax unconscious on the table.  She never expected to find a YouTube video on how to perform brain surgery—and to be honest, it’s actually about “how neurosurgeons perform an orbitozygomatic craniotomy,” not intended to be a how-to manual—but it’s the best she can do under the circumstances, and so she’ll follow along for now.  

MM3.  “That’s the kind of strong leadership we need.”  Jake gestures to the full-color television (this year’s latest model) where a program of their current leader plays on a loop.  “Keeping the wrong kind of people out of this country, saving America for the right kind of Americans.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Rachel says.  She and Tobias and Jake are the only three Animorphs, except when Melissa joins them sometimes, and listening to their “Supreme Leader” blather on gets old sometimes.  “All I want to know is whether it’s true that within a few years people will really have phones that plug into their cars.  That’d be cool.”

Tobias rubs his eyes against the silk of his wing feathers.  They itch constantly, since he doesn’t have a gas mask to wear every time he goes out into the pollution-opaque air outside the way that his human friends do.  Jake and Rachel take bets sometimes, idly, brutally, about whether he’s the last raptor left on the face of the planet.

“Magnificent!”  Drode appears in their midst, and both the Berensons immediately point guns at his head.

30. Marco is lying on his bed the day after watching Eva fall, staring at a patch of wall above his dresser, when he registers that his phone has been buzzing for a while now.  It goes off so many times he assumes he has to be getting a call, but when he checks his notifications he just discovers he’s gotten seventeen text messages in the last hour.  

The first is from “Smurfette,” and says “Did you know that there is a type of food that involves baking a cinnamon bun inside of a donut?  We must secure as many of these as it is possible for a human to consume, as soon as possible!”

The next one, from “Hawkgirl,” reads: “found out recently that apparently ax still thinks you invented flea powder.  i told him that if youd invented flea powder wed all be a lot richer right now.”

“Team Dad” (not to be confused with “Real Dad,” which is how Marco lists Peter) sent along several invitations to team missions on League of Legends this afternoon, along with a threat to have Cassie play Marco’s avatar if Marco doesn’t join in.  “we both know that by the time you get back you’ll have only healing attacks and she’ll have trained it to apologize automatically for stabbing people,” Jake adds.

One of the many texts from “Julia Butterfly Hill” suggests that Jake has underestimated Cassie’s diabolical streak, because it’s a screenshot of a clone of his account which has had its name changed to HarambeWasFramed.

The real surprise, however, is the single text from “Xena: Warrior Princess.”  It’s a link to an article about a disaster in the local national park and the efforts to clean up the wreckage of an as-yet-unidentified craft which went down in the canyon.  Marco has to read it a few times to understand the point she’s making, because it’s all about what’s not there: the article makes no mention of any human bodies being found among the wreckage.  

Marco gets halfway through typing a reply to them all which informs them in no uncertain terms that he sees through their transparent attempts to cheer him up and doesn’t appreciate it, but he deletes without sending.  He can practically hear his mom’s voice saying it: he can focus on the fact that he’s still surrounded by people who love him, or he can focus on the negative side of everything.  And being constantly negative is no way to live.  

31. “Sharing this again, because its been 3 months,” Jake’s cousin Brooke posts on Facebook.  “Anyone who has any news at all about Saddler, no matter what it is, PLEASE contact my family.  Big brother, I dont know if youre still out there, but I miss you.  I miss you like crazy.”

Jake turns up his Spotify’s Offspring channel a little louder to drown out the sounds of Tom and his dad shouting at each other downstairs.  His eyes flinch past Brooke’s post, but they can’t move fast enough to prevent the thought that flashes across the surface of his mind: Is this going to be me a year from now?

32. Tobias texts Rachel and Jake an article from Audubon.Org, where several birdwatchers are going into ecstasies of scientific fascination at the bald eagle and peregrine falcon seen flying in close formation in a cell-phone video taken near a highway overpass downtown.  His only comment is, “Told you so.”

33.  In the aftermath, Rachel does a Google search: “PTSD treatment symptoms outcomes.”  She reads through the WebMD site, the NIMH page, the Wikipedia link to a DSM-5 entry.  She thinks of Tobias’s withdrawn silences, his antipathy toward so much they used to enjoy, but she thinks of other things as well.  How exhausted Jake seems any time they’re not on-mission.  How badly Cassie flinches when the school bell rings and doors slam.  How Ax seems to be gradually losing interest in the things—cooking shows, new condiments, human history trivia, These Messages—that once drew his fascination.  How last week Marco flicked an ant off the back of his hand and then went white like he’d just kicked a puppy.  How good it had felt when she’d hurt David, spreading the pain around, giving it back.

She catches an Uber to the clinic downtown, filling out forms in the waiting room based on the checklist written on her phone for “how to get tobias an ssri”: Yes, she often feels tense and worried.  Yes, her heart often races for no reason.  No, she hasn’t thought of ending her life.  No, she doesn’t feel out of control when she eats.  

She gets as far as developing a cover story—it’s about how she’s never felt the same since her parents’ divorce—but in the hallway to the office she panics and calls Cassie.  “Am I doing the right thing?” she asks, after she’s explained.

Cassie is silent for a long time, never a good sign.  “I’m not sure an SSRI would work on a bird,” she says at last, “and that’s even if we could figure out a dose that would work without killing him.  I know you want to help, and I think you should, but...”

Rachel hears what she’s not saying: but what if her mom asks too many questions?  But is this risk really worth it?  But what if the psychiatrist (the receptionist, the pharmacist) is a controller?  But isn’t it them, and only them, against the world, and isn’t that just how it has to be?

“The war won’t last forever,” Cassie says weakly, and Rachel hates her a little for it.  “When it’s over, when we get to tell everyone what’s happening...”

Rachel hangs up.  She goes home, morphs, and flies out to the woods.  

«You know I love you, right?» she asks Tobias later that evening.

«Of course I do.»  He sounds exhausted.  She’s never felt more helpless in her life.

34. The Yeerk Peace Movement, as it comes out, has a Twitter feed.  It is rather painfully obvious that it has been set up and run entirely by aliens who are doing their very best to communicate with humans, and not quite succeeding. Most of the posts are couplets, for some reason that none of the Animorphs can fathom.  

“Want to be On Fleek? When you see someone’s rights threatened, speak!”

“Don’t be a Belieber anymore - end slavery and even the score.”

“#tbt: Remember when we were symbiotes?  Give taxxon freedom your sympathy votes!”

“Nickelback is super lame, and keeping involuntary hosts is just the same.”

“Respect your host’s rights today, and make your human into your bae!”

35. It’s Marco who comes up with the idea for how to take down William Roger Tennant.  This is a guy, after all, whose cockatiels have their own Instagram account: he runs his fame on the internet.  

“It's simple,” Marco explains. “We start a hashtag—#notsonicetennant—and we make it go viral.  All we have to do is film this guy everywhere he goes, and eventually the yeerk will slip up.”

It proves not to be simple after all.  Their gif of Tennant twitching madly mid-EPA speech gets overshadowed by the news story about One Direction nearly getting poisoned with spiders at the same banquet. Ax does not understand the concept of hashtag, and keeps adding #notsonicetennant to his retweets of what Marco calls “food porn.” They train one of Tobias’s repurposed GoPros to follow poodle-Marco, but that becomes a meme mocking the world's most obnoxious stray dog rather than Tennant himself.

The plan finally, finally comes off when they pull out all the stops and just confront him in morph.  The smartphones that Rachel rigged up in the surrounding buildings don't pick up the thought speak, but the audio of Tennant screaming at the aliens to leave him alone comes through just fine.

When the scandal breaks, the internet (in truly predictable fashion) drops #notsonicetennant and starts using #tennantgate instead.  

Ax reposts an old photo of Tennant eating a quinoa salad—zoomed in on the salad—and tags it #tennantgate.  All of his teammates assure him they appreciate the attempt.

36. “All right, that’s just weird,” Marco says, looking at the final entry in the underwater creepshow they’ve been walking through for the past hour.  “All the other ships have been getting more modern as we’ve gone, but this one?  Looks like it was made in the sixties, at the latest.”

«The world’s creepiest museum curators are getting sloppy with the placement of bodies as well,» Tobias points out.  «There’s no way that many people could fit on a boat that small.  They’re practically falling over the sides.»

Jake and Cassie look at each other, seeing the same realization reflected in each other’s eyes.  Neither one of them wants to say it out loud.

Jake becomes the one to bite the bullet.  “Don’t you get it?”  He points to the ragged clothes, the emaciated bodies, the modern smartphone tucked in among the antiquated radio equipment.  “They were refugees.”

37. Rachel shuts the window on the library computer as soon as she hears someone walk into the room, but she can tell she was too late by the look on Jake’s face when she turns around.  

“Roy Ludvig, huh?” Jake says.  “Heck of a name.”

“He was at the T.V. studio when we attacked.”  Rachel looks down, picking at her nail polish.  “No civilians were supposed to be in danger.”

Jake’s expression softens, as much as it ever does.  “And now you’re scrolling through his Facebook, looking for something that’ll let you sleep at night.”  

“He’s got a grandson,” Rachel blurts.  “Jordan’s age.  He...”  She shrugs.  He’s dead, and it’s more or less her fault.

“Shouldn’t be looking on Facebook.”  Jake sets his phone on the library table next to her, taps the screen to bring up an official-looking report.  “You should be, say, borrowing my dad’s computer.  Sending an email from his account to ask for the guy’s medical records.  If you had, you’d know that Mr. Roy Ludvig had a heart condition.  That he had maybe a year to live, at most, and doctors said he might die at any old time.”

Rachel looks down at the report for a long time, and eventually looks up at Jake.  “Doesn’t make it okay, what I did,” she says.  “He’s still dead.”

Jake shrugs.  “You don’t have to forget it ever happened, but you do have to live with it.  Live, and fight another day.”

38. In the aftermath of Estrid's visit, Tobias is flying over the boardwalk when he sees a henna artist who clearly smokes way too much pot to be a Yeerk. He gets Ax, they morph human, and both get henna tattoos of Elfangor's name. (Ax had previously expressed an admiration for the human tradition of commemorating a lost loved one by making markings on one's body.) They know the tats will disappear when they demorph, but they're both glad they did it. The artist asks how long they've been together, and Tobias says in a scandalized voice, “he's my UNCLE!” Thus, Tobias succeeds in both of his goals: making Ax laugh, and reminding him he has family here on Earth. Honestly, the reminder doesn't hurt Tobias either.

39. “You know, not all squirrels are like that,” Marco is fond of saying after a morph goes wrong.  “Not all termites are horrifying worker drones.”  Sometimes it’s, “You know, some of my best friends are fleas.”

It’s Cassie, however, who gets the last laugh out of that one.  «You know, Marco,» she says as they swim away from the wreckage of the helicopter, «Not all ants are like that, right?  I shouldn’t say that all ants are killers, right?»

Marco stares at her in silence while the others snicker, watching him war between the two impulses: to keep the joke going forever, and to express his honest hatred of ants.  

«Come on.»  And now Rachel has joined in on the teasing.  «You’re just going to let that kind of besmirching of the ant community stand?»  

«Okay, okay!»  Marco gives in.  «Ants suck.  Yes, all ants!»

40. “Our experts have examined the video extensively, and near as we can conclude, this footage is genuine and unedited,” the newscaster says.  “Given how viral this video has proven to be, with over two million views since it was posted to YouTube on Wednesday, everyone wants to know: is this footage proof that aliens exist?  Is this a publicity stunt for the upcoming Fantastic Beasts sequel?  Or, as one YouTube commenter asks, did a Smurf just have sex with a centaur?”

«Potential new ally?» Tobias suggests.  He’s already tapping out a search for the original video in his modified tablet.

Ax laughs.  «Of course not.  He’s crippled.  A vecol.  Useless.  We must respect the privacy of his isolation.»

“You know what?  Fuck that,” Marco snaps.  He shoves to his feet, posture tight with anger.  “Just... Fuck that,” he tells Ax.  “I have ADHD.  Attention Deficit whateverthefuck.  I take a pill every morning to help me function because my brain isn’t good enough to filter stimuli all by itself.  I got a fucking 135 on the world’s most boring IQ test and I’m still failing half my classes.  I’m a vecol.  You think I’m useless, huh?  You gonna start refusing to talk to me because of some bullshit about ‘respecting’ my ‘privacy’?  Huh?”

«That’s different,» Ax says.  «You’re not...»  He doesn’t seem to know how to finish that sentence.  

«If he’s an exception, I hope I am too,» Tobias says more gently.  «I got screened for anxiety disorders as a kid, and I guess we’ll never know if I qualify or not, ‘cause my aunt decided that doctors cost money and if the test said I needed one then she didn’t want to know about it.»

Ax doesn’t answer for a long time.  He doesn’t seem to know where to look.  

«Let’s go tell the others what we found.»  Tobias taps a button to send the video to himself.  «We can talk more about this later.»

MM4. Tobias flinches when his phone makes the small ping sound that means he has an alert.  The new kid is the easy target in every school on the planet.  He wonders what it’ll be this time: another Facebook post where the semi-anonymous account Toby IsALoser tags him in another meme about how he has to pay people for sex because the sight of his body would make any normal girl run away screaming, another unnamed Instagram ping telling him he should kill himself so that no one has to look at his stupid fat face anymore, another Snapchat image of a puddle of vomit with the caption “me when I think of you,” an email with the most disgusting gif anyone could find after a quick search...

It’s not, though.  It’s an invite to join a private Facebook group, called The Sharing, with several hundred local members.  Most of the names Tobias recognizes are cool older kids from the high school.  Intrigued, willing to trust for the moment that this isn’t some ridiculously elaborate prank, Tobias clicks “join.”  

41. Jake looks around at the enormous open field, concrete pitted with openings and low hovels of corrugated steel and rebar.  He can see for nearly half a mile in every direction before the smog makes it impossible, and the tallest things around are the hunched hork-bajir.  “Where are we?” he asks.

Cassie frowns.  “This?  Jake, this is downtown Manhattan.”

He gapes at her.  “What happened to it?”

“Tall buildings are targets for drone strikes,” she says casually, turning away.  “The only way to be safe was to go underground.”

42. Marco doesn’t bother going to the house of the guy who photographed them, nor does he try to catch the kid before he uploads the video anywhere.  Instead he waits for the image to appear on YouTube, then becomes the first commenter.  “Sweet manip!” he says.  “Is that Photoshop, or can you do that in free programs like Gimp?”

43.  “EarthIsOurs-dot-tumblr-dot-com?” Marco says incredulously.  “What does Taylor do there, post pictures of her pet taxxon?  Reblog plans for planetary domination?”

«Judging from her archive history, she’s had this blog for many years,» Ax says.  «She recently changed the domain name, but some of the content on here is from as early as 2008.»

Jake and Marco get caught up in debating with Cassie about what exactly to send to her, but Tobias just scrolls quietly through Taylor’s old posts.  She didn’t lie about being beautiful, he realizes, or about being popular.  There’s a long blank period in her tumblr account in mid-2014.  And then she posted one selfie—just one—after the fire.  

He can’t bring himself to read the names that the trolls call her, or the discussions about how much money they’d have to be paid to have sex with her.  But there’s no overlooking the suggestions that she kill herself.  The posts are too numerous, too vitriolic.  

“Every chick ever to wander onto the internet has gotten that crap,” Rachel says; clearly she’s been reading over his shoulder.  “She should’ve developed thick skin, not joined the Sharing.”

Tobias thinks of the Facebook page made at his old school just to discuss the fact that he’s a chubby zit-face, of the posts which eventually overwhelmed his Instagram with death threats.  «Yeah, I guess,» he says.

44.  It takes a long time for Cassie to get home from Australia, but at least they’re not too worried for most of that time; she texts them her location and a brief description of the insanity that landed her in the Outback as soon as she gets in contact with Yami’s family.

45.  “None of this makes any sense,” Peter says.  “I’m hallucinating, or you’re delusional, or else—”

Marco sets his phone in Peter’s lap. “Check the timestamp, Dad.  I took that six months ago.”

Peter stares at the phone for a long minute, and then slowly looks up at Marco.  At a clear loss for words, he tilts his head back toward the screen.

“I know.”  Marco laughs, the sound wet with tears.  “That blond wig looks terrible on her.  But it’s really her, Dad.  I swear.”

46. “So they’re going to get the U.S. embroiled in another war,” Marco says.  “And this one with a country that can actually fight back.”

«Seems like,» Tobias says.  «Only why bother with all the secrecy and political wrangling?  Why not just send a couple mean tweets to Donald Trump and Kim Jong-Un?  That’d probably do the job just as well.»

“No, it wouldn’t.”  Jake runs a hand through his hair, looking around at them all.  “The yeerks need a total war.  Everything the U.S. and its allies can pull out, against everything China and its allies can muster.  Our military has gotten too used to sending drones to fight its wars, to ‘tactical strikes’ against insurgents.  If the yeerks want half the species annihilated, they have to do a lot more than poke a couple of egos.”

47. “News flash,” Marco says.  “Your average suburbanite ain’t gonna accept a seven-foot-tall alien for a neighbor.  You know the number of times my mom’s been asked for proof of citizenship before she was allowed to vote or cash a paycheck or buy a car?  How many times she’s been pulled over by cops while driving the speed limit with her seatbelt on?  And she’s a regular old human being.  Toby’s right—the hork-bajir have a whole other fight coming if we ever win the war.”  

48. Rachel feels the blood drain from her face when she opens the Facebook message and sees the name attached.  David’s Facebook account has been defunct for almost two years now; there’s no one left who would want or even be able to access it from the outside.  Should be no one.

Miss me? the message from David’s account says.

Who are you? she types with shaking fingers.  What do you want?

I know what you did.  I’m coming for you.  I’ve got friends all over the place and they’ll find you.  They’ll kill you.  Amazing the allies you can get, when you know where the bodies are kept.  On the internet, no one knows you’re a—

Rachel hits “block.”  She tells herself that the screaming nightmares she has all that night and into the next are the product of having a stressful life, she’s an Animorph for pete’s sake.

She doesn’t stop shuddering every time she gets a message for the next two weeks, but she never hears from whoever (It wasn’t David. It couldn’t have been.) it was ever again.

49.  They stagger away from yet another hopeless fight, all of them injured, half of them missing limbs or bleeding to death.  Dragging their damaged bodies behind the first dumpster they find, they demorph, remorph, and force their minds to focus long enough for the long flight home.  It’s only when Rachel is in owl morph, staring around the dimly lit alleyway, that she sees the security camera pointed directly at their location.  

«They must not check it that often,» Marco says without much hope.  «Or else they’d be out here already to come looking for us.»

«Doesn’t matter,» Tobias says harshly.  «It had a perfectly clear view of all your human faces.  And that building is owned by the yeerks.»

They all stare at each other in dull shock as the realization sinks in.  They always knew this moment was coming—they could only be so careful for so long—and yet, on some level each of them hoped it never would.  

«Take one more night to be with your families,» Jake says at last.  «We evacuate everyone in the morning.»

Jake loses his phone, again, somewhere amidst all the chaos.  This time around he doesn’t bother to replace it.  It’s not like his mom is going to be wondering where he is, not anymore.  

50.  “So,” Jake says, “this is going to sound crazy, but—”

“Aliens are invading the planet, and you’re the only kid terrorist who can stop them?” James suggests.  “We do have wifi up here, you know.  You’re Jake Berenson, right?  You’re all over the conspiracy theorists’ forums right now.”

“Um.”  Jake runs a hand through his hair, starts again.  “Yeah, pretty much.”

James nods.  “In that case, you’ve got thirty seconds to convince me your story’s not a load of crap before I call security.”  

51. Ax secures their wifi in something a billion times better-hidden than Tor.  With that reassurance, they all end up starting blogs.

Marco’s is a rambling string of wry comments about everything from the invasion to his parents’ science projects.  Sample post: “Insider source (aka my mom): Visser Three has morphed human and eaten AN ENTIRE BAG OF MARSHMALLOWS in one sitting, ON MORE THAN ONE OCCASION.  Pass it on!”

Jake’s is the place that people go to find out how they can help, and to get his reassurance that the help means something.  Sample post: “As Barack Obama says, ‘We the people recognize that we have responsibilities as well as rights; that our destinies are bound together; that a freedom without a commitment to others is unworthy of our founding ideals, and those who died in their defense.’  This fight will never be over just as long as we keep supporting each other.  I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you all for the KickStarter donations.”

Rachel’s has beauty tips for the American girl on the run, light and self-deprecating enough that you often don’t notice the undercurrent of desperation.  Sample post: “If you want to be able to look at yourself in the mirror, try fixing your hair using reflective surfaces such as pots, ponds, or pieces of Bug fighter wreckage.  Alternately, just say ‘fuck it’ and never look at yourself again.”

Cassie’s tells people how to stay safe, and how to keep their environments safe as well.  Sample post: “Everyone please remember, it’s important to stock enough food and water for family pets as well as humans when retreating to an apocalypse bunker!”

Tobias’s has a lot of good-natured grumbling about everyday life in the valley.  Sample post: “In other news, my girlfriend’s mom is currently arguing with the smartest being on the face of the planet about where to put the new latrine facilities.  Sorry Naomi, but my money’s on Toby.”

Ax’s has a lot of food reviews, of course, but again there’s that undercurrent of desperation, almost like he’s trying to convince someone else (or maybe even himself) that humans are worth saving.  Sample post: “Marco assures me that there are no less than 23 distinct flavors contained within every sip of Dr. Pepper.  Just think of the years of experimentation and innovation it must have required to produce a drink which can inspire 23 different reactions from human taste buds, all at the same time.  Truly inspired genius.”

52. They run drills upon drills for what to do in case of a drone strike.  Using any morphs they have that can dig or build—mole, taxxon, elephant, beaver—the Animorphs create an extensive network of tunnels and shelters, posting guards at all times to keep their eyes on the sky.  The hork-bajir valley doesn’t show up on satellite imagery, which they only know thanks to Peter’s definitely-illegal fact-gathering missions on the darkweb, but they don’t know for sure whether an overhead camera would be subject to the same strange perceptual distortions they all experience when flying there as birds.  They nearly lose their precious secrecy when Naomi sends several emails from her work account, claiming she’s being held hostage and asking anyone who will listen to come rescue her.  Eva generates a hasty follow-up from the same account asking people to ignore “the prank that I now realize was in poor taste,” but none of them are sure it worked for the next several days.  

53. Rachel makes one last post on her nearly-extinct Instagram account.  This time the scrap of paper she uses appears to be torn from the back of a food label, but the penciled script is as intricate as ever.  It reads “Who wants to live forever? —Freddie Mercury, 1986”  

54. After it’s all over, Tobias retreats, he hides, but he keeps a thread of communication open.  Cassie shoots him an email with the subject line “Hawk patient with intermittent aggression and lethargy—any idea what could be causing it?”  Marco sends him idiotic memes that now feature the Animorphs’ names and faces.  Ax asks for constant updates on the new wing of Taco Bell being built downtown, and repays the favor by leaking confidential information about the search for the Blade ship.

And then he gets one of the stranger emails he’s ever received.  It’s an offer of a full legacy scholarship to Harvard University (which has just found the means to explain some inconsistencies in the records of one “Alan Fangor,” who graduated in the ‘80s) in exchange for Tobias teaching one class per semester on any subject of his choice.  He agrees, with the stipulation that all his classes be online.

The resultant course (Ornithology 442: An Insider’s Perspective) is like nothing the students who participate have ever seen before.  Tobias will write out rambling treatises on Why Blue Jays Suck or All the Ways Hawks Are Superior to Eagles with a thought-speak-to-text recorder.  He’ll deliver online lectures from a shaky webcam pointed into a nonspecific tree, occasionally wandering off for hours at a time to go hunting.  Students who ask him personal questions about Rachel get regurgitated mouse skeletons Fed-Exed to their campus mailboxes.  Essays that don’t demonstrate much effort get feedback such as “even I can tell this sucks and I have a seventh-grade education” or “my grandmother could make better sentences than this AND SHE’S AN ANDALITE WHO DOESN’T SPEAK ENGLISH.”  Assignments include “find one bird fact in a textbook and explain why it’s a load of crap” or “go film a Boston pigeon until it does something interesting, I dare you.”

Nevertheless, enrollment is so popular that Harvard has a three-year waiting list and charges students an extra $500 just to sign up.  When Tobias finds out about the extra fee, he promptly video-calls the Intrepid, gives Ax remote access to his computer, and explains why he needs Ax to convert the course illegally to a MOOC.  Harvard University fires him for breach of contract; Yale hires him on that very same afternoon.  

part 1 here 

[junker-town]

Who is the best 1-on-1 player in the NBA? Fill out this bracket to decide

Wouldn’t it be great if we could figure out the best one-on-one player in the world? Now you can!

Since the dawn of basketball, people have been drawn to one-on-one matchups. Whether you’re a coach, general manager, player, or weirdo discerning fan who pours over hours of game tape in your spare time: nobody can resist the primal thrill of two players locked in a mano a mano duel.

That’s why it’s a shame there’s no sanctioned one-on-one competition for NBA pros. Imagine a one-on-one event during All-Star Weekend, or a special tournament at Summer League. Mix the pride of the league’s greats with a made-for-TV event, provide fans a pay-per-view version with microphones on the players, lay a boatload of cash for the charity of players’ choice on the line, and presto! Everyone wins.

Sadly, we at SB Nation can’t provide all that. But we can at least allow you to imagine it. Behold: the third edition of the custom NBA March Madness one-on-one bracket.

(If you want to print it and fill it out, do so here).

The rules:

I tried to make this as true to the actual NCAA selection process as possible. That means all 30 teams have at least one representative (the conference champ, if you will), and the other 34 spots are filled via at-large selections.

I was the Selection Committee, so yell at me if your favorite player was snubbed. Just remember that players were selected based on their hypothetical ability to win a one-on-one contest, not their actual five-on-five skill. (Remember, too, that one-on-one games go both ways, so don’t flinch if you see a defensive specialist in there).

Games are to 11, using ones and twos. Make it, take it. Players must clear on rebounds that hit the rim, but not on air balls.

Anyone who is currently injured or recovering from a serious injury was ruled ineligible. That’s why you don’t see John Wall, Kristaps Porzingis, or Victor Oladipo. I also ruled out Kevin Love even though he’s technically back. That was in part so I could say “Jordan Clarkson won the Cavaliers’ automatic bid.”

No region has more than one player from the same team, except for one matchup I found too much fun to resist.

Dwyane Wade and Dirk Nowitzki were legacy picks, just like at the actual All-Star Game. Zion Williamson was a wild card, because it’s my bracket and I can make up the rules.

(New to this? Here’s the 2018 version, and here’s the 2017 version).

Let’s run through the matchups.

Erik Williams-USA TODAY Sports

The Whistle Region

1. James Harden vs. 16. Dirk Nowitzki

On second thought, maybe it would have been better for Dirk’s sake to leave him out.

8. D’Angelo Russell vs. 9. Mike Conley

The emerging crafty lefty point guard vs. the established crafty lefty point guard.

5. Devin Booker vs. 12. Buddy Hield

Some might think this is an over-seed for Booker, but he’s free of the Suns’ stench in this matchup. On the other hand, there’s no way Hield would have qualified for this last year.

4. Kemba Walker vs. 13. Brook Lopez

By far the most lopsided size matchup in the tournament. I feel bad for both guys.

6. Luka Doncic vs. 11. Brandon Ingram

Love Luka, but I’m feeling an upset here. Ingram’s game is more suited to one-on-one, and Doncic’s is better for five-on-five.

3. Paul George vs. 14. Bojan Bogdanovic

The former Pacer vs. the dude they signed for way less money to play his role.

7. Donovan Mitchell vs. 10. DeMarcus Cousins

Another small vs. big showdown! Cousins is a scary wild card in this field, but I think he’d fare better against an opponent who was his size.

2. Joel Embiid vs. 15. Al Horford

Is this a cruel joke? Yup.

Tom Szczerbowski-USA TODAY Sports

The Unicorn Region

1. Kevin Durant vs. 16. Bogdan Bogdanovic

Bogdan is a strong No. 16 seed, but he’s not beating KD.

8. Ben Simmons vs. 9. Danilo Gallinari

What kind of one-on-one player is Ben Simmons? The committee had no idea, so they slotted him here. You could argue he should be five seeds higher or five seeds lower, and I’d hear you out. Regardless, this is a tough first-round matchup against the Clippers’ walking mismatch.

5. LaMarcus Aldridge vs. 12. Spencer Dinwiddie

If you think Dinwiddie is over-seeded, watch a Nets game sometime. He’s the team’s best scorer against switches, and a matchup against a big guy like Aldridge gives him a chance to advance.

4. Russell Westbrook vs. 13. Eric Bledsoe

A potential KD-Russ matchup in the Sweet 16? Yes sir, provided Russ doesn’t fight Bledsoe first.

6. Nikola Jokic vs. 11. Zach LaVine

After settling on these seeds, I quickly realized that Jokic was criminally under-seeded. He can eat space by the hoop on defense and roast anyone in the post on offense. Sorry, Zach!

3. Kawhi Leonard vs. 14. Lauri Markkanen

Speaking of under-seeded, Kawhi Leonard as a No. 3 seems criminal. The selection committee really screwed up.

7. C.J. McCollum vs. 10. Nikola Vucevic

What is with the committee’s obsession with small vs. big matchups?

2. Karl-Anthony Towns vs. 15. DeAndre Ayton

Towns, Leonard, and Jokic on one side of the bracket, with KD and Russ on the other? This is definitely the region of death.

Gary A. Vasquez-USA TODAY Sports

The Tampering Region

1. LeBron James vs. 16. Jordan Clarkson

The committee thought long and hard about punishing LeBron for this season, but decided not to because, well, he’s LeBron. A matchup against the “automatic bid” from a ruined Cleveland team is our apology to him.

8. Zion Williamson vs. 9. Dwyane Wade

The best matchup of the first round, by miles and miles and miles. Also sets LeBron up to either play the biggest viral sensation since himself, or his best friend.

5. Bradley Beal vs. 12. Kyle Lowry

Lowry is the lower seed everyone wanted to avoid, because ugh, what a pain in the ass. But I think Beal has enough to advance.

4. DeMar DeRozan vs. 13. Eric Gordon

On second thought, not sure Gordon belongs in this field anymore. Alas.

6. Jimmy Butler vs. 11. Jamal Murray

I’m feeling an upset here.

3. Anthony Davis vs. 14. Julius Randle

The Pelicans’ actual best player against the guy happily sucking up the scoring vacuum created by the actual best player’s limited time on the court.

7. Klay Thompson vs. 10. Khris Middleton

Is Klay over-seeded or under-seeded? I have no idea. Regardless, this is a tough matchup against a strong No. 10 seed.

2. Kyrie Irving vs. 15. Dion Waiters

This was too good not to script. I can’t wait to see how seriously Waiters takes this matchup.

Kyle Terada-USA TODAY Sports

The Happy Region

1. Giannis Antetokounmpo vs. 16. Allonzo Trier

No, Knicks fans: Zion isn’t your automatic qualifier.

8. Jayson Tatum vs. 9. Pascal Siakam

I have a feeling Siakam completely dominates this matchup.

5. Chris Paul vs. 12. De’Aaron Fox

Paul is the classic No. 5 seed paper tiger at this stage of his career. This feels like when C.J. McCollum lit up Duke.

4. Blake Griffin vs. 13. Caris LeVert

That’s right: three Nets made the field! Also, if CP3 does manage to beat Fox, a Blake vs. CP3 second-round matchup is a must watch.

6. Lou Williams vs. 11. Trae Young

Lou is my darkhorse to win the whole thing.

3. Damian Lillard vs. 14. Kyle Kuzma

This might be the only shutout of the first round.

7. Jrue Holiday vs. 10. Tobias Harris

The #NBATwitter battle to end all battles.

2. Stephen Curry vs. 15. Rudy Gobert

Brutal draw for the two-time MVP. The DPOY in Round 1, a chance for Jrue Holiday to put the clamps on him in Round 2, either Lillard or Lou matching him shot for shot in the Sweet 16, and Giannis in the regional final if he survives all that.

Who do you have winning? Print out the bracket and share your picks.

[iplaywithstring]

7 years

When I first got sick, I posted about it on facebook. That’s how I know for sure it was 7 years ago. We (myself, my husband, my doctor) thought it was a simple case of anemia, easy enough to fix and the fatigue would go away. I had been sick with a stomach bug in March, and after I recovered I had started going to the gym. Only I couldn’t work out, every time I went I felt worse and was able to do less before I felt like I’d pass out. I started feeling dizzy and exhausted at home. I would space out. I had trouble staying focused. I had trouble carrying the kids. I felt weak, almost like I had the flu, but without any other symptoms - no headache, no fever etc. 

At the time, my daughter was 3.5 and my son was on his way to 2. It was normal for me to feel tired (the girl wasn’t sleeping through the night consistently yet). The fatigue wasn’t a big deal, it was the dizzyness and weakness that drove me crazy. I posted on facebook about it as a way to explain why I was changing plans, why I needed to carpool, why I was having trouble keeping on top of the housework. 

At the time, I was taking antidepressants because I had gone through PPD and wasn’t ready to try going off them yet, just in case. At the time, I was attributing the pelvic pain to SPD. At the time, I really thought all I needed was some iron pills and I’d be fixed. 

Except I wasn’t. My iron went up, but my symptoms got worse. I had other tests, and then more tests, and then more again. I saw a different doctor, and had even more tests. I went on a new antidepressant, then weaned off them completely. There were theories and more tests and still I was sleeping 18 hrs a day and hardly functional when I was awake. 

And then in November, for some reason, things got better. I was given a 4 day run of steroids to see how I reacted, and most of my symptoms went away. The dizzyness and weakness were gone, the fatigue wasn’t nearly as strong, and over time it got better. I got stronger. My doctor told me he wasn’t sure what it was, if it came back it was likely autoimmune, if it didn’t, it must have been viral. 

I went back to the gym, I got a job. I told everyone I was recovered. I had been sick but now I wasn’t. I had gastro issues, I still had pelvic pain, but I was better, I wasn’t sick anymore. I managed the gastro problems through diet, I used light exercise to help deal with the pelvic pain (which I still assumed was from the SPD, even years later). I went on with life. Things were really good for a while. I kept getting blood draws every 6 months or so to check on the anemia - my levels were still generally low even though I was feeling so much better. 

It would come back in spells and I’d blame it on being stressed or not sleeping well, or on eating poorly and dealing with the consequences. The pelvic pain was getting worse and that was my main concern - 3 years ago I was wondering if maybe it was cancer - either my uterus or ovaries - because it would have explained all my symptoms, including the fatigue. I wasn’t working again, and sometimes the pain was so bad I couldn’t function. More doctors appointments, more tests, more waiting, a lot of fighting with my doctor because he wasn’t taking me seriously. I thought the fatigue was a result of the pain and the meds. I thought if I could get the pain under control I’d be well again. 

Last November I finally got my GP to send me to a gynecologist for the pelvic pain. It took her about 10 minutes to diagnose me with endometriosis and discuss treatment options. About 3 weeks into treatment and things were much better. I could walk, sleep, move, function, focus on a conversation and not be distracted by pain. Life was good again. 

But the fatigue is still there, and now there was nothing to blame it on. Now there’s a new doctor, more tests, more waiting. I’m not going out so much in the evenings, I avoid driving, I schedule naps into my day. I adjust my schedule and my expectations and my plans. Just like 7 years ago. I miss things - events, conversations, laughter, moments with friends and family. 

I don’t post on facebook anymore about being sick. A few close friends know, but a lot of people don’t. They only see me on good days, or just after a nap, or for short enough periods of time that I can fake it. Those that do know don’t really get it - they joke about how nice it would be to get a scheduled nap time every day, make helpful comments about this supplement or that exercise. I feel isolated. I feel like I’m failing. My kids are now 10.5 and almost 9. They know on bad days we can’t do some things - friends can’t come over, there can’t be too much noise, that I’m trying to listen and I don’t mean to space out. 

I knit and I spin and I weave because it gives me something to focus on, something to do, something that makes me feel productive without taking too much out of me. It gives me a way to feel like I’m still doing something, but on my worst days I can’t even manage that. I love teaching knitting classes, but it’s getting harder and harder because classes are in the evenings. I love designing, but lately keeping track of numbers and ideas has been really tough. I haven’t even dressed my loom since my last project, because it’s an all day job and I don’t have the energy to spare. 

I don’t post about my illness on facebook anymore, because I don’t want people to think I’m just looking for attention. I know there are lots of people sicker than I am, who have lived with it for longer, who have lost more and suffered more than I have. I don’t talk about it outside of a few people because I don’t want to have to defend myself, because I know I don’t look sick. I don’t share with people because sometimes I really want to be able to pretend I’m normal, even though at the same time i really wish more people understood. The fatigue is isolating, but I’ve also isolated myself. 

This started because of a facebook memory. I wish I could post this there - that I could be honest and open about how things are going, but I can’t. I don’t feel safe making it public, so I’ll just keep it here where people understand, finish my coffee and try to get some chores done before naptime. 

[confessions-of-a-former-fat-guy]

Confession 21: A boy, the Open, and that weird spinny feeling.

So that’s it. The 2017 CrossFit Open is over. I feel like I speak for most of us when I say, whew. A big sigh of relief is necessary for many this year, it seems. I don’t know if it was that all of the workouts (aside from 17.3 if you sucked like me) were long or if it was just that they were insanely hard (as they’re supposed to be), but I am beat up today. I’m proud of myself, as all of us should be, but I am beat up. I had a number of goals this year. The first was to do every workout as prescribed. Last year I only did two of the workouts Rx because there were so many movements I hadn’t figured out yet and weights I knew I couldn’t lift. It’s a year later and I’ve figured out most of the movements well enough to do at WOD speed. I’m stronger, so most of the weights are manageable. This goal I achieved and I’m really, really proud of myself for that. That in itself shows I’ve made a ton of progress. These are super hard workouts designed to test the fittest people on the planet. Now, I was nowhere even remotely close to performing the workouts at the level of a Games athlete. I don’t care. It has never been and never will be my goal to be a Games competitor. But the fact that I can complete these workouts that the fittest people on Earth are doing makes me feel pretty damn good. Whether you qualified for Regionals, did every workout Rx for the first time, or did every workout scaled, completing these workouts in any capacity is an achievement in itself. It’s impressive. And if you’re reading this and just finished your first Open or your tenth, be proud of yourself. You are impressive and strong and fit and a goddamn force to be reckoned with. You’re amazing. Give yourself all the credit in the world. These are tests and we passed and we came out on the other side better than we were. Go you. Go me. 17.1 was a burner. The introduction of the dumbbell to the CrossFit Open. I’m really glad they dropped the hints leading up to the Open (even if it was to sell out Rogue’s inventory) and our coaches had the wherewithal to program the dumbbell snatch in a WOD before it showed up in this workout. I did this workout twice because I was so close to finishing the 225 reps under the time cap that I just had to. I was 19 reps short my first try and 7 reps short my second try. Close, but not quite there. I was super bummed that I couldn’t get it done, but it was a new movement with a new piece of equipment and I wasn’t sure what to expect in the first place. Oddly enough the dumbbell snatches weren’t the problem. It was those goddamn burpee box jumps that blew my soul to pieces and left them scattered across the gym floor. F those things. Zortmans are not jumpers. When colossal d-bag Dave Castro announced 17.2 I was both excited and terrified. Dumbbells showed up again in the 100 lbs in the front rack walking lunge. Gross. Who thinks this is a good idea? I guess the guy who spent 7 days with corn rows at the Games last year, that’s who. But, the saving grace, the thing I was excited for, was bar muscle-ups. I just somewhat recently got my first muscle-up and was really happy to see them show up in an Open workout. Getting to them was another story. Those stupid lunges wrecked me and took far longer for me than they did for just about anyone else, it seemed. I struggled hard to get through the three sets of those before I could tackle the muscle-ups. I did, though, and I ended up getting 6 muscle-ups in that workout. My goal was 5, so I beat that. Yay! Gluten/sugar/frosting/taste free cupcakes all around. Through two workouts I was still feeling strong, excited, and confident about what I’d done so far in the Open. I was in the top third in the world and state for men. Much improved on my top 60% (or bottom 40% if you’re a dick) from last year. I felt really good about that. Another goal of mine was to be in the top 50% in the world, so to see myself in the top 33% felt really satisfying and kept my spirits up after two really hard workouts. Then, 17.3 happened. Strangely, this is the workout I did best on in terms of where I stood compared to the rest of the world, but it is the one that broke me. Chest to bar pull-ups, fine. Squat snatches? Not so fine. Probably the most technical Olympic lift and the one that haunts my dreams and leaves me waking up in a pool of sweat. My shoulders and groin hurt just thinking about them (and after 17.3, my pride). I knew going into this workout that if I got to the round with 185 lb snatches I was screwed. The heaviest I’ve ever done is 165 and that was as ugly as any snatch has ever been (I’ll leave that alone). I felt OK about the rounds of 95 lbs and 135 lbs, though. How disgustingly optimistic of me. I got through the rounds of 95 lbs fine enough, then struggled and failed on my first two or three attempts at 135, a weight I know I can do without many issues. I finally settled in and got through one round at 135 before my time ran out. This was the shortest workout for me since I didn’t get through the three rounds at 135 in under 8 minutes, but that’s all the time it took to crack my confidence. I fell apart after that workout. I came back the next day to try again and couldn’t get 135 as high as my waist. I struggled and failed for four minutes and stomped out of the gym ready to never come back. I wrote a long post about how I wasn’t sure I want to do this CrossFit stuff anymore. That I’ve lost my motivation and my love for it (see two posts ago). A lot of people stepped in and set me straight and I saw the light. I do still love CrossFit, but I needed rest, which isn’t something I had been able to admit to myself before. I’d also been having some issues with dizzy spells for a couple weeks, but they were very brief and weren’t causing me any issues, so I sort of just ignored it and went about my business. Leading up to 17.4 they had started to get a little worse. They were lasting minutes instead of seconds and were becoming much more frequent. So, at the urging of my girlfriend and many at the gym, I took a couple days off before I came in for 17.4, which I was excited about because it was a repeat from a workout in the 2016 Open that I knew I could improve on. My head wasn’t feeling great when I got to the gym that day, but I went ahead with the workout anyway. And I did better than last year. A lot better. But not as well as I know I could have. 55 deadlifts at 225 lbs, 55 wall balls, 55 calories on the rower, and 55 handstand pushups in 13 minutes. Last year I got through 27 calories on the rower before I hit the time cut off. This year I got through the entire row with a minute to spare. Awesome! 28 reps better in a full minute less. I’d have 60 seconds to work on handstand pushups, which I’ve never done in a workout before. Not so much. The second I stepped off the rower I almost passed out. I could hardly stand. Everything was spinning and my vision was going in and out. Instead of trying for a couple handstand pushups, I spent that minute (and about 15 after) trying to stay upright and conscious. Not good. I’d never felt that way after a workout. Not when I weighed 315 lbs. Not any time between then and now. It scared the crap out of me, so I took the weekend to rest. I had been feeling better and hadn’t had any issues all weekend, so I went in for the normal workout on Monday, which was fine. I didn’t have any issues before, during, or after the workout. Then, at work the next day the dizziness hit and never went away. I spent the whole day (and the next three) sitting at my desk in a fog trying to focus on my work and not falling to the ground. Something was pretty obviously wrong. I was, admittedly, terrified. So much so that I sped home in the middle of the day one day, woke up my girlfriend who was in the middle of working 6 out of 7 overnights (learned a lesson there), and told her I was pretty sure I was dying. I took the rest of the week off training because I wasn’t sure I could get through a workout or if it was even healthy for me to be out there. I went to everyone’s favorite chiropractor and felt much better. I didn’t have any issues with dizziness for almost three days, so I decided it should be OK for me to go in and do 17.5. As luck would have it, the dizziness came back about an hour before the workout, but wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been. I had made it this far and was committed to finishing the Open and doing this workout as prescribed. 90 thrusters and 350 double unders…yeah, all that up and down should be fine for someone dealing with dizziness issues…totally fine. OK, not so much. Somewhere in round three the dizziness kicked in HARD. My vision was going in and out and focusing on what I was doing was becoming seemingly impossible. I gutted it out and finished the workout, which I’m proud of. It took me probably 6-7 minutes longer than it should have since I spent so much time trying to rein my eyesight in, but I finished it and there it was, my goal of doing every workout as prescribed this year. Today as I write this I’m not sure where I stand in the world, state, or inter-gym rankings. I don’t care, honestly. I imagine I fell after 17.5, but it doesn’t matter because I hit every goal I had for this year’s Open. My body hurts and my head is still cloudy (which I’m being treated for), but I feel really good about what I was able to achieve. My body is truly capable of things I never thought possible, even when I’m not feeling anywhere near 100%. The improvement in what I can do over what I did last year is evident, obvious, and pretty freaking amazing. I did not qualify for Regionals. I did not finish in the top 10 in my gym (we have amazing athletes at Viral – you guys are animals). I probably fell out of the top 33% in the world. Whatever. I really do not care. This Open was hard. Much harder than I remember last year being. That may be credited to the fact that I did all the workouts Rx or cool guy Dave Castro upping the ante. I don’t know the exact reason, but it was freaking hard for everybody (except maybe Matt Fraser, but he’s a psycho – I mean that with the utmost respect). It was hard for me. I went through some stuff during this Open. A major blow to my confidence and self-esteem. Questioning if this is all right for me. Questioning myself as an athlete. Fighting through what, to me, has been a really scary health issue. It was hard. But as hard as it was, it was worth it. I proved some things to myself. I can overcome setbacks. I can push through pain and fatigue. I can take some rest when I need to. Hopefully others can relate or celebrate other successes. Maybe you PR’d your squat snatch. Maybe you got your first muscle-up. Maybe you were top in your gym of all scaled athletes. Maybe you showed up and did your best for all five workouts. Whatever it was, you did it. You should be proud. I know I am. I’m also very ready to get back to regular programming and training to do even better next year. Here’s to another Open season and to a clear head going forward.

[marcdouffet]

COVID-19: My family’s experience

On Sunday March 15, my younger sister called me crying. She had temperature of 101OF and a blinding headache, but it was an important day at her job, and she knew her supervisor really needed her help. “Stay home,” I said. “Tell him you’re sick, he’ll understand. Even if there wasn’t an emerging global pandemic, you’re legitimately sick. He’s understanding, this won’t affect your job at all. And call your doctor if the fever sticks around… If it was COVID-19, I would tell you just stay home, but it doesn’t sound like it, maybe you have something bacterial.” The next morning, things were about the same, so she called her doctor’s office and was advised to come in. A nurse wearing a gown, mask, and gloves took throat and nasal swabs. When the doctor came into the exam room, he was dressed similar, and stood at the farthest corner from her. “Well, rapid strep and flu are negative. We don’t test for it, but assume you have COVID-19. Go home and quarantine.” 

At that point, believe it or not just three weeks ago, we only believed COVID-19 as a respiratory infection. She called me scared, suddenly afraid she might have a life-threatening illness. “Why would they say, just assume? What does this mean for me?” She lives with my 60-year-old mother, who had been dropping off groceries at her 85-year-old mother since the first reported case. Everyone had been doing their part at social distancing, but was it enough? I reached out to the New York State Department of Health for guidance. “That’s ridiculous,” they told me. “She has no respiratory symptoms, without coughing she can’t spread droplets, and if they considered her a Person Under Investigation, they should have referred her for testing.” Within a week, we would find that every single one of those instructions had become obsolete or been proven incorrect. As the days progressed, she began to vomit excessively, unable to even keep water down. The fever continued. By that point, I began to hear reports from friends and colleagues on the front lines about younger patients presenting with GI or other atypical symptoms, and the daily reports I received from my mother had me more and more concerned. Friday the 20th, I contacted the DOH again. The hold time was 100 minutes. I described her symptoms, and this time they took down her information so they could contact her with a testing site and time, advising that she must come alone so as not to expose anyone else. Saturday evening, my mother called me frantic. After vomiting all day, my sister was too weak to sit up and while she wasn’t disoriented, she was acting euphoric- that’s medical speak for “she knew who she was and where she was but sounded high as a kite”. My concerns about dehydration, lurking in the back of my mind when the vomiting began, started creeping to the forefront. I contacted several urgent cares in her neighborhood, looking for someone who could administer IV fluids and do bloodwork. The answers were all the same: urgent cares aren’t designed for isolation; they aren’t seeing anyone who is suspected COVID-19. Desperate, I reached out to friends who are active EMTs and live closer to her to see if anyone could evaluate her. In full isolation gear, a friend went over to see her. “Look, she’s sick. She’s really sick,” he told me. “Any other time, any other virus, she probably would be hospitalized. But this time, she won’t be. I’ve been in the EDs, they’re overflowing. She’ll wait, and ultimately, she probably won’t get a bed. There’s just too many people sicker than her.”

Nobody slept that night. The next morning, the DOH called to give her an appointment slot the following day at a public park 18 miles away. Going alone wasn’t an option anymore, she could barely sit up let alone drive. So, Monday morning my mother packed her, a blanket, and a bottle of Powerade, into the car and made the trip up to what I now refer to as their “black ops testing experience”. At the entrance to the park, they were stopped by the National Guard, in uniform, with yellow safety vests and surgical masks. “Hold your ID up to the window- DO NOT OPEN YOUR WINDOWS,” the soldier shouted at them. Their appointment was verified, and they were directed to drive up to a testing tent. The nurse at the tent shouted through her mask and the sealed window. “Since you’re here and exposed, you’re getting tested too,” she called out to my mother. “Tilt your heads back, open the window and please, please, don’t cough or sneeze on me.” They had their noses swabbed and were cleared to leave. That was when it started to snow. Can’t make this stuff up. Twice, they pulled over for her to kneel in the slush on the side of the highway and vomit.

Then came the long anxious wait for results. With the amount of testing done daily, I wasn’t surprised at all that the timeline they gave us was behind by a day or two. On Thursday, my mother’s temperature creeped just above normal and she started complaining about ear pain. She called her primary doctor’s office, who gave her a mask and saw her in a tent in their parking lot. Once again, rapid strep and flu are negative. They prescribed antibiotics “just in case.” She asked me what I thought. Well, it’s been three days, maybe give it one more day to see how your viral culture comes back? On Friday afternoon, March 27, the DOH called, they both tested positive. Two weeks of quarantine from the date of testing for anyone in the house, and anyone sick must be symptom free for 72 hours, even if that’s longer than 14 days. Now my brother, the last man standing in the house, who had been picking up the groceries, dropping food off on my grandmother’s doorstep, has become Typhoid Mary (I educated my entire extended family on her life story, side bar, a very relevant reference to the asymptomatic carriers of this virus. Although she probably didn’t wash her hands…. I digress).

By that point, I think I would have been more surprised if they tested negative instead of positive. But my anxiety about my mother skyrocketed. I fretted and checked in with her daily. By sometime around the 30th, my sister was strong enough to care for herself, and by the end of that week she was feeling well. My mother’s temperature climbed, she developed a cough, but luckily, surprisingly, she bounced back faster than my young healthy sister, and seems well on her way to recovery as well. I hear my brother built a firepit in the backyard and repainted the dining room ceiling.

As this global health emergency evolves, I’ve developed a mantra: “We don’t know yet.” As my family’s token healthcare provider, with experience as an EMT as well as laboratory, in the scramble to gather information and understand this health crisis, I’ve repeated to them more times than I can count, “we just don’t know yet.” And perhaps for me that’s the biggest emotional challenge. I’m a healthcare provider, I’m a doer, I’m used to jumping in and caring for my family when they’re in need, and in this era, there’s nothing I can do but monitor and advise from a distance. I’m avidly reading studies as they get published, I’ve given my family crash courses in interpreting data and checking sources to try and make sense of the information overload. (For those interested, if you hear about a “miracle solution”, read the information carefully. Was the study published by a credible medical site/journal, or was it “published” to YouTube or the media? What was the sample size- how many people were in the study? Who was excluded and why? If people got better, what’s the likelihood that they would have recovered without intervention?)

A Note from Michael Werner, MD, Medical Director at Maze Health

In this time of fear and uncertainty, it’s important to share information such as this so we can all better understand the severity of this pandemic and its effects on individuals and our communities. At Maze, we are diligently practicing social distancing by remaining open on a very limited basis.  We are seeing existing patients with only a practitioner and one patient in the office at a time and our laboratory remains open for emergency sperm cryopreservation (for patients about to undergo chemotherapy etc.).  Simultaneously, we are doing our best to serve our patients via telehealth services. If you need assistance, please contact us. We’re here to help.

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