#me; crying; this is what i get for being a masshole

[sleepdeprivedsimp234]

Mass and Loui both dealing with survivor's guilt. Mass doesn't really openly talk about his often, but he knows it's there.

Just. Them being there for each other when they can relate to each other.

Massachusetts walked into the kitchen and saw Louisiana sitting at the kitchen island. He felt something…. strange about Loui. He felt a bit off. Louisiana seemed to have a very…. Distant. Look in his eyes. Like he was there but not mentally. His eyes were glazed over with unshed tears, he looked incredibly tense and his breathing was a bit shaky and Mass could tell that he was trying to not cry. The older state walked over to Loui and ran a gentle hand through the Pelican State’s hair, and felt the tension in the younger’s shoulders disappear almost instantly.

"Hey kiddo?" Mass asked as gently as he could.

A few seconds later he heard a near silent "Yea sha….?" Thank god for the excellent hearing that came with being a state.

"Are ya…. Um- are ya alright…?" He got no answer, but he saw a single tear fall from Louisiana’s green eye. He pulled Louisiana into a tight hug and held his head to his chest so that hopefully his heartbeat would calm the slightly taller state. Mass could feel how much Loui was shaking and he noticed that Loui was still staring at something out the corner of his eye. He looked up and focused his eyes on where Loui seemed to be looking and he jumped a little bit when he saw it too.

There were multiple spirits dressed is 18th century French clothing. Some had bullet wounds, others stab wounds, many with burn wounds, and there were even a few missing their heads. Some were civilians, and others were soldiers. If Mass was guessing correctly, they were probably people/soldiers that died during the French Revolution. He snapped back into reality when he felt Loui’s breathing quicken even more. He hugged the younger closer and ran a gentle hand through the other’s curls.

"Why…." Loui whispered.

"Why what bud?"

"Why did they have to die sha…. Why couldn’t it just have been me instead….? Or at least why couldn’t I have died as well..?" Louisiana said, letting out a near silent sob.

Mass didn’t really know how to answer the Pelican State’s questions, so he settled for just continuing to hug the younger state and running his hand through his hair to calm him down whilst he cried. Mass turned his head slightly when he heard a teleportation ding. He eyes widened slightly in mild concern when he saw that it was Florida holding a bottle of hair spray and a blow torch.

"Hey Loui look what I ha-" Florida started to shout, pausing when he saw Mass holding Loui close and heard the younger’s quiet cries. "Holy sh*t is he okay?? Who did it?? Who do I need to maim?? Who am I gonna turn into a big bag of some good ol’ gator food??"

"Relax Swamp-For-Brains. Nobody did anything to im’. At least nobody that you can do anything to." Mass said. He proceeded to tell Florida what had happened.

"Oh…." Florida sighed. This was far from the first time that something like this had happened, so he knew exactly how to help poor Loui. "Welp sounds like somebody needs some love and cuddles and kisses from Florida-man~" he said, smirking and snorting at the blush that quickly spread across Loui’s face. He walked over to the two smaller and gently took a very flustered Loui from the Bay State’s arms and hugged him close.

"Thanks for takin’ care of him while I was gone Masshole~" Florida said, planting a few kisses on Loui’s neck/ears, making the state in his arms squeak and blush even more.

"Yea yea whateva’ it ain’t a big deal." Mass said quickly. He truly understood how Loui felt, seeing as he often dealt with survivor’s guilt. Though he had been getting better, he still often feels bad that he survived whilst all of those other people died. But a lot of reassurance and plenty of therapy helped him get better and he is now somewhat stable ("somewhat". He and CT are the only ones out of the NE brothers that went to therapy. NJ just thought that it was stupid, and NY had gone through multiple therapists but they all quit cuz THEY needed therapy after just one session with him 😭)…..

Uhhhh @simpyfrog u might enjoy this i think 👉👈

[bxckpills]

// goddddddddd so long story short i broke my pinky toe a few years back around this time of year and every so often my body likes to remind me that i didn’t keep my healing boot on for long enough and holy mcfuck !!!!!!!!!!! pain !!!!! 

[anteroom-of-death]

Life, for Dummies p8

a/n: *tyra banks voice* the master, but make it domestic. sorry all, tumblrs tags didn’t populate part 7 in the tags. but hey! lemon! romance! a little spice...

You woke with a curious yet lazy start, the smell of coffee and other breakfast-y type scents were drifting in your bedroom door. The sun was lazing in and your ceiling fan was twisting around giving you a hypnotic white noise. You dreamt the Master had returned for you, that he was genuinely sorry, it was confusing, but you shook it off and enjoyed the morning. 

Then it dawned on you: the scent of coffee? Food? How could that happen. You were in another room. You were suddenly in not such an enjoyable mood. You grabbed your screwdriver and crept out to the kitchen and found him at your table, he was reading a well-worn copy of 50 Shades of Grey.

“Morning, I thought you’d never wake! Coffee, just how you like it. I also made those things you like.” He smiled and placed it down, clearly on best behaviors. He pointed out his place setting for you, complete with daffodils and a paper towel folded like a swan.

“Is Gallifrey a hood in Boston?” You querched up and eyebrow and eyed up the coffee tentatively. He was good, remembering that you needed coffee for any basic functions to happen. You smelled it and took a few cautious half sips. His coffee was better tasting than you remembered.

“Hmm?” He asked, clearly confused. You indulged him in an elaboration. “You are certainly brown-nosing like a little Masshole.” 

“That slang for people that are from Massachusetts, yeah?” He seemed a tad more confused, but he got the gist of the sentiment.

“Finding your inner goddess?” You lightly mocked his choice of reading material.

“Oh yes! I was out of touch with her for a while...I think I might go back to my chemises and corsets…” 

You’d seen Missy from a distance once when you landed on a planet and she was looking for hats on the Planet of the Hats, you could admit, Missy was an experience from the ten seconds you saw her and the fact she vaporized a shopkeeper for having nothing that matched her favorite overcoat. 

You shook your head and gave a chuckle.

“I’d like to see it.”

“Come with me, and maybe you will…” He alluded smoothly. 

You pointed at your mug of coffee, “I haven’t finished my coffee, therefore, I’m still thinking.” You were firm. You still didn’t know exactly what to think of this all. You were still very angry and very hurt, yet exchanging pleasantries with him like it was no big deal. There was a slight tension in the air, but it wasn't an overt cloud of angst. Perfectly palatable, and doable. Enjoyable even.

“Alight.” He gave you some time and went back to his reading. 

The food was phenomenal, you had to give them that. He even drizzled a little bit of maple syrup in the corner of the plate into a smiley face. Cute.

He was begging in the only way he knew how. As much as you would enjoy him begging more, last night's awkward display of the man who has all the words choking at the idea of sentence formation had you in enough stitches for several lifetimes. 

You may be a tad bit of a sadist, but you weren’t that big of one.

You let out a sigh, “You have to promise me that you’re all in. You’re not going to pull more nonsense. You’ll also let me put in my two weeks.Maybe even go through a bit of couple’s therapy if need be. You will also not wig out if we meet her again. You. Are. All. In…” You laid out your demands in a succinct voice.

“Lasty, you are not going to take that damned collar off me again once it's on. You are in this ride for the long run. No backing out for any reason…” You forced yourself to say it with a blank face to let him know that you were dead serious. 

“All but the therapy and you got yourself a deal.” He offered his hand out as a deal signer. You took it. 

“Man’s only as good as his word.” You muttered, but meant for him to hear.

He smiled at the deal. 

“I can be domestic around here!” He clapped. 

“What?” You staggered back.

“Two weeks of work? And I can show you how good I can be…” The words played out like he was making fun of himself being at the mercy of another. 

You rolled your eyes and smiled and rubbed your temples. Your usual migraine was flaring up. You just let him bustle around as you went about your day, clearly in servicing behaviors. Just because the Master was in town didn’t give you the benefit of getting sloppy with your days.

After you got done with everything you sat down and started drafting your resignation letter, casually posing the question, “‘You and our team were a pleasure to work alongside of…’ or ‘It has been a pleasure working alongside the whole sales team…’” 

“Pardon?” He paused his tinkering on your security system. 

“My resignation letter. Have you ever heard of one?” You dragged slightly, it’s not like Time Lords has Human Resource Management. Insane bureaucrats that they were…”What sounds more diplomatic?”

“The first…” He walked over and peered over at your laptop, peering over to parse through your letter. “Yeah..that is definitely better. Sounds more chipper.” 

“Thanks.”

You went on and worked.

Monday eventually came and you printed your letter out and delivered it to the boss.

“Furthering your education?”

“Oh, yeah. Got accepted to a university in Galloway.” You said. The Master thought it would be funny for the play on words due to a Master’s Degree being something a human could earn and Galloway being a place and sounding like Gallifrey. You let him keep it in. As if it would be verified and you’d actually be here to suffer the repercussions. A funny little white lie to fraud you over until you died at the hands of some alien in another galaxy. No big deal.

“Well, congrats! Didn’t know you were looking to further your education! We’ll miss you around here…” Your heart fell a bit, the staff here were all so nice and had that small town charm but none of the artifice. You let yourself ride the wave of guilt. You hoped this would all be worth it. 

The rest of the week got tense. Sure the days were oddly peaceful and uneventful, but you two were getting handsy in ways you weren’t quite trusting of him yet. Simple brushes and hands laid on thighs. Quite scandalous, but you even shared the couch together as you watched a movie one night and shared the same snack bowls. He was still the same frighteningly attractive dunce he always was. 

What was also on your mind was he was really trying to atone for his poor behavior, your abandonment and anything else that might come to mind. It was beyond astounding that a man would and could try to correct his behavior, especially when you knew what he was capable of in times of casual cruelty. 

Your mind ached from the sheer amount of mental gymnastics and working through your thoughts and coping. 

But you did enjoy a roomie on his best behaviors. 

Soon your two weeks were up however, and you came home and shrugged off your clothes and slipped into a shower. The sweethearts treated you to sparkling wine and mini cupcakes, and even a little gift basket filled with anything a student back to school might need, even a few gag gifts.You nearly cried, but the adrenaline of traveling the stars again won out until midway through scrubbing your scalp. You were so excited for the stars and living a truly exciting life again, but damn if Earth gives her best shot at giving you a reason to stay. You finished up both your crying jag and your shower routine and walked out of the bathroom to go get dressed. 

He was drinking a cup of tea in the living room and glanced your way, his eyes grew and got covered in lust, and it happened quicker than you could fathom. The mug fell and sploshed all over the ground as he rushed over to you and pinned you to the wall, shaking your shelves a bit. His mouth found yours as he bit your top lip ferociously. He reached under your towel and slightly worked at you until your jaw went slack and a moan rattled out of you, “I’ve waited too long to touch you, pet.” He huskily moaned. You barely tried to fight it, “I’m not letting you go now, you’re all mine now.”  He pinned you to the wall with his hand and undid his belt, “Enough playtime.” He was already hard and tossed your legs up around his waist, you obliged and instinctively wrapped them around his torso, clinging for dear life. 

He thrusted up into you and took you in the most aggressive ways, if not for the shock and the thought of “Oh no! I forgot to lotion my legs!” You would have been into it more, but the dryness of your legs was distracting, as they were wrapped around each other and you could feel them sloughing against one another. 

He was claiming you in the most primal way. It was more violent as he penetrated your mind, filling you with images of all the other ways this past two weeks he wanted to have you and fill you with his cum. 

The one involving your wrought iron fire pit spade to your bare ass was avante-garde and fascinating enough to say the least. That one threw you off the stress of your lotion-less legs. 

He pulled your hair by the top and forced you to stare straight at him, “Precocious little slut thought she can forget about her Master, didn’t she?” He pressed his throbbing cock deeper still into you, “Not anymore.” He continued to use you and glare at you with a wicked glint behind rivers of lust. 

“Who do you belong to?” He asked, grunting, the question wasn’t a question at all, but demanded an answer.

You sputtered out in an almost hypnotized shout, “You! I’m yours!” It was so painful, but it felt so great to say it and own it yourself. You were minutely processing life at the moment. 

“Call me by name…” The voice was lower and less staticy.

“M-m-Master!” 

“Again!”

“Master!”

“Can’t hear you, pet…”

“Master!” You shouted as it clicked deep inside your skull and you felt him spasm inside you. Overwhelmed by this, he let you go off the wall with his hold and relaxed before petting your hair and smiling serenely. 

“You did good…” he gently whispered into your chest as he leaned in a bit, letting himself finish up and leak out of you. 

“Uh, thank you?” You were still a tad ready to go, but it seemed he was going to tease you and leave you wanting more. Not that you minded. You could deal with that later on yourself. You were throbbing and wet and your hair was still wet, you noticed. 

He got back up and slyly gave you a sideways look, “Turn around and face the wall, little pet.” 

You did it and he muttered, “Good girl.” You felt something slightly weighted go around your throat and his hands work some fabric deftly. He spun you around and marched you straight back into the bathroom by your arm pinned to your back, your towel was off and you looked shaken.

But your collar was back on, and it felt strange that it was ever off. He let your hand go as you glided towards the mirror and looked at yourself, stroking both it and your collar curiously, your thoughts flew many more miles away. 

You really had thrown yourself back into this. You trembled a bit, nearly in tears because of the simple gesture. Who would have known that a damn collar would have made you feel so many emotions at once?

You had a feeling he knew…

You looked back at his casual, yet pantsless figure looming in the back. He was standing there, as proud as can be, just marveling in the fresh chaos he’d breathed into you. He had broken through what walls you erected and won. 

“Why don’t I reclean you. You had been freshly bathed, yeah?” He offered kindly.

He drew you a bath and massaged you down and made sure there was no lasting damage done to you, he even got you a fluffy fresh towel and wrapped you in it and let you alone with your thoughts. (How dangerous!) 

You sat in there for what seemed like ten eternities and finally it dawned on you: You were his. You always were his. No amount of time or space or anything would come between  you two and the bond forged. It was bizarre to come think of, but the sheer fact that he owned you in such a way, was freeing. Of all the people in the universe, your only equal was this G-dlike being who was off in your house, doing heavens knows what.

And he was crazy about you.

You let out delirious laughter and pulled yourself off the ground and walked out of the bathroom for the second time that night. 

He was sitting on your couch with a fresh bowl of popcorn, wrapped in your couch blanket. He looked completely normal. Like he was any other guy, harmless. Pants back on.

“I thought we could finish that wild documentary about the gay redneck zookeeper an the woman who took ‘eat the rich’ a little too to the heart!” He stretched out and offered you a place at his side, you slid in and grabbed a hand of it. 

The Master was very good at making popcorn. He did something wild with coconut oil and salt and sugar that made the flavor pop into it. He also somehow managed to pop every kernel every single time. It was the most disconcerting thing about him, if you were completely honest with yourself. No one should wield that kind of power. 

“You’re still a rat bastard…” You muttered as you slightly started to drift off.

“Oh, I know.” He confirmed.

You fell asleep glued to his side as some man rode off into the sunset on a jet ski and Eye of the Tiger zagged on. 

You vaguely remember stirring gently when he lifted you up and placed you in bed, “Sweet dreams, my pet…” you heard in a sleep-drunk haze. “You have all the rest you need…” 

In your mind you heard as you finally got into a deep slumber. “You’re going to need it…”

[hy-ucks]

15 questions tag!!

tagged by @seokyomie thank u for tagging me!!

are u named after someone? for some reason my mom gave me the middle name catherine after catherine the great sdhsk

last time I cried? i haven’t cried in a while but i did cry laugh last week bc of my friends being dumbasses

any kids? lmao no im 19 and also kids are demons im never having one

Do I use sarcasm? yeah all the time

first thing I notice about a person? uhhh probably hair color?? i have the worst vision and cant see details unless u come close lol

what’s your eye color? dark brown, almost black

scary movies or happy endings? im the biggest scaredy cat so happy endings all the way (stream happy ending by seventeen)

Special talents? uhh idk im really good at doing other people’s hair nd makeup but i dont think thats a talent.. i also dance but thats not that special

birthplace? masshole since birth!!

hobbies? dancing i guess,, i also really like origami and i used to play the violin

do you / have you played any sports? lmao no

pets? i used to have a poodle/bichon frise mix but my mom put her up for adoption when i left for college :((((((

height? 5′5 ish

fave subject in school? math and economics

dream job? uhh w my major right now i would love to get a job as a data analyst which is SUCH a boring answer so i guess ill say that i would be a professional dancer or choreographer bc dancing is one of my favorite things in the world !! 

tagging @bookwan @1ove1ies @vocalhyuck @kwibu @hyuckmutual

[disrupt0r]

A Series of Complaints: Boston Driving

On June 21st of 2019 a horrific accident occurred, where a Massachusetts truck driver killed seven motorcyclists in New Hampshire after driving erratically and veering over the solid yellow lines. The case was not controversial and the driver was convicted on seven counts of manslaughter. However, during the process of the trial, it was discovered that the driver should have had his license removed earlier for another out of state incident. Digging a little deeper, it was found that the Massachusetts Registry of Motor Vehicles had as many as 10,000 people in their records who should have had their licenses removed due to out of state incidents, but did not. Everything became horrible and messy and political, with the governor blaming the Massachusetts RMV, with claims about technical issues and system rollover problems, etcetera, etcetera for months on end. Perhaps it's "too soon", but truly, when I first heard this story I thought "oh, everything makes sense now!" Driving in Massachusetts is not like all the baby boomer Facebook jokes make it out to be. It is, in fact, much worse. I know because I took a position at a company far from where I live, about a 45 minute drive, and was introduced to the chaos and hell-fire that comprises the rush hour traffic on my commute. I didn't get a license until I was 18, and I drove in Colorado, a place where you are occasionally blessed with a 70 mile speed limit and where only geese honking can be heard (until all the Coastal Elites moved in). I thought I was prepared for Massachusetts traffic already as a veteran pedestrian and biker, but no. No one prepares you for the Alewife traffic circle, or for the Sumner Tunnel. Even weekends are not safe, as I am regularly accosted by whatever demon triangle the Mystic View/Revere Beach Parkway traffic circle is, which makes entering and exiting the Costco shopping complex physically and emotionally draining. Much have I suffered for reasonably priced bulk chicken breast.

what is this abomination. 

Even without 10,000 homicidal drivers on the road, Massachusetts is such a strange and lawless place. It was clearly made for horses and not modern vehicles, given that there does not exist a single pair of parallel streets in the entire state. I'm unsure how early road makers mapped out the Greater Boston Area--perhaps they were inspired by one of Frank Gehry's ancestors or maybe a spiderweb after a windy storm. I imagine a six year old with a crayon could squiggle out some kind of roughly square or rectangular shape, whereas the road patterns of eastern Massachusetts seem almost intentionally nonsense. Manhattan is frustrating only because of density--of people, cars, everything. Boston is frustrating because if it weren't for Google Maps, after driving long enough in this city I would not know my left from my right, and would likely have completed a full circle a several times. Perhaps this was the defense mechanism of the early American colonists, that their enemies would be doomed to forever orbit them, never actually entering to attack. These are the things they don't tell you about Paul Revere's ride. The tunnels are Boston's arteries, and they cause the city constant heart palpitations, both metaphorically as in the heart of Boston and also literally as in the hearts of its residents. When entering the tunnel from John F Fitzgerald Parkway you have about 900 feet to veer across three lanes to take the Storrow Drive exit, and when trying to get to Somewhere That Isn't The Airport your GPS will conveniently disconnect on you the moment you are headed for the inescapable $8 toll exit, after which you will spend 15 minutes crying underwater while rerouting to your actual destination. 

an expressway to sadness. 

This is all before I've even gotten to talk about the people, the "Massholes" as they are fondly nicknamed, 10,000 of whom should have literally been banned from driving in public. The things I have seen have stunned me so much I forget to even use my horn. I have witnessed actual street racing in rush hour traffic--I was admittedly both appalled and partly in awe. Many people have cut me off when they were in lanes they weren't supposed to be, that's relatively normal--except for the time it was an industrial vehicle that seemed to be carrying liquid nitrogen. An entire alphabet of questionable turns, the least of which being illegal U's. The offense which scares me most is actually comparatively safer--it is when people pull up beside me to yell through my window. And scarier still is the degree to which I find my own driving behavior changing--after a certain point it becomes clear that no one will let you into their lane, even if you are merging, and so a tactic of artful nose-nudging and back-bumper-side-tailgating ensues. My mother commented on this endlessly when she came to visit me of course, lamenting how I had abandoned my simpler, more innocent Colorado ways for this big-city driving debauchery. For some reason, it never occurred to me to think about why Massachusetts is like this, other than the fact that it is old. A lightbulb was lit (for me at least, I'm sure the locals have been fully aware) by the RMV investigation, indicating that some systematic issue is at play hear--maybe transportation governance, maybe infrastructure, probably both. I've been told this is one of the wealthiest states in the country and yet the number of potholes in Medford exceeds its population of school-age children. It remains to be seen whether Massachusetts will ever be a sane place to drive--my guess is no, but I will continue to vote for work from home incentives and fund the retirement home for derailed trains.

[alamble23]

Re-watch thoughts: The Salem Witch Trials

So, this was not really a fave episode of mine; 17th Century America is not particularly my favorite time period and I thought the episode as a whole felt a little off.  I appreciate the need to shake things up, but I think this episode just proves the point that things are off without our Original Recipe Time Team in place.

Onward:

Yeah, Wyatt, where ARE you staying? And how do you have any money to pay for a hotel room?  You’re supposed to be DEAD, yo.  Does the bunker have a petty cash box that he raided? Interesting, though, that he and Jess apparently weren't living together.

Nicholas and Emma are the WORST HOUSEGUESTS EVER. And Emma is a complete and total suckup. If Keynes isn’t dead by the end of this season, I’m calling SHENANIGANS.

Jiya, darling, you do not start a conversation with “promise you won't panic” if you want someone to NOT PANIC. ESPECIALLY NOT if that someone is Rufus.

This conversation goes downhill really, really quickly. I get the disappointment in Rufus' reactions to Jiya, but I gotta tell you, I know a ton of people who react to uncomfortable conversations with inappropriately-timed humor.

Oh, Lucy, DO NOT LIE TO WYATT. I just can’t watch that conversation more than once.  Too painful.  These two idiots are too self-sacrificing for their own good, and it makes me want to reach through my TV and throttle them both.

Matt Lanter, incidentally, is really underrated on this show.

How the hell did Jiya and Mason miss a Mothership jump in the middle of a mission? What are they even doing while the Lifeboat is traveling?

“Fighting the good fight through time is kinda my wheelhouse.” WHATEVER, FLYNN.  I think murdering your way through history, no matter your motivation, is not exactly “fighting the good fight” by any stretch of the imagination. There are many, many good reasons why the US Government classified you as a domestic terrorist.  

Interesting that Christopher framed the Iranians for his escape, tho. And that her NSA higher-ups bought it.

Lucy Preston, sucking it up and GETTING SHIT DONE.

Is it me, or does the Lifeboat look a little more spacious this season?

Lucy and Rufus' exchange when he spots Abiah mirrors Lucy and Wyatt back at Darlington. Lucy's becoming more and more like Wyatt with every mission.

So, a brief pause to address the people crying about “Flynn and Lucy did the fake marriage thing! IT MUST MEAN THE WRITERS ARE PUTTING THEM TOGETHER!”  No.  Just …. NO. First, in the late 17th to mid-18th century, a woman of Lucy's age being unmarried would have aroused serious suspicion - the epithet “spinster” was NOT A COMPLIMENT – so setting them up as married makes sense because it will trigger the fewest questions.  Second, Lucy is SO NOT COOL with that little bit of improv from Flynn, but she goes with it because contradicting him at that point is nonsensical.  Sometimes, a cover story is really JUST A COVER STORY.

“Beer. Proof that God wants us to be happy.” - A paraphrasing of a quote commonly attributed to Ben Franklin, not his mother. The actual quote allegedly is: “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.”

Well, that was the shortest trial ever. And barely a  trial, at that. Colonial America sucked, y'all.

“Well, if [Jiya's} fantasizing about Puritans, you've got bigger problems, man.” - Flynn, bringing the funny.

Predestination paradoxes give me a headache, y'all.

How many different timeline versions of Wyatt has poor Jessica had to deal with, one wonders? Must have given her whiplash.

It occurs to me that this is the first time either Rufus or Wyatt has come face-to-face with Carol Preston, correct? Wyatt has, of course, met Lucy's Cahill relatives.

Wyatt, that is probably not how you wanted to let Jessica know that she's been dead for six years, I'm guessing. Lord, your timing is TERRIBLE.

Carol Preston, still not winning any Mother of the Year awards.

Oh, Rufus.  

Predestination paradoxes are a bitch and a half, and while this convo between Rufus and Jiya could have gone better, I'm inclined to side with Rufus on this one.

Emma and Nicholas are icky with a capital I-C-K-Y.  That little side trip to San Diego in 1980 had to have been Emma, because Carol couldn't go back to a period when she already existed.  The way she totally ignored Lucy's questions about why Rittenhouse brought Jessica back makes me wonder if Carol even knew about that plan before it happened. I'm guessing probably not.

Because it bears repeating: Matt Lanter is really, really underrated on this show.  I have no familiarity with Tonya Glanz whatsoever, but I really feel like he's making their scenes work, because they just don't have the same chemistry as Matt and Abby.  I recognize that is probably a deliberate choice on the part of the writing staff and director(s), but I'm not really feeling much in the way of even affection from Jess.  

And scene. These quasi-cliffhangers are kind of annoying.

Next week: Kennedys! Potentially bad Masshole accents! YAY!

[ponyregrets]

ngl i was hoping you'd reblog the reunion prompts list, “you’re famous and just got asked if you were ever in love this should be good– WAIT WHAT” au seemed super bellarke and also super your thing, slight preference for famous clarke but either way is great

under 2k it’s still good it’s still good

Bellamy would like to say he doesn’t care that his ex-girlfriend is famous. It’s not really a big deal, after all. Her fame came long after they’d stopped dating, high-school sweethearts who broke up in the natural way when they went off to different colleges. They kept in touch for a few years, saw each other on breaks and over summer vacations, but then his mother died and his sister went to live with his grandmother, and he started going home to a new state for breaks, and two years after that, Octavia told him Clarke was a singer.

So now he knows that his ex-girlfriend is still beautiful, still bright and just a little too serious and not great at being a celebrity, and if he still knew her for any reason except that she was famous, he’d probably call her up.

But it’s the fame thing, so instead he just keeps track of her as best he can without feeling like a creep. He buys her album, which is amazing, doesn’t actually follow any of her social media, but instead checks her official Twitter, which she absolutely does not run, and keeps track of all her singles and public appearances. Which is, he has on good authority, hilarious, because he’s generally the least musically aware person on the planet, and now he is an expert on exactly one pop-culture figure.

“You should absolutely call her,” his sister tells him. “Like, come on. It’s not like you’re some random creepy fan.”

“Yeah, I’m a specific creepy fan. That makes it so much better.”

“You guys dated,” she points out, not unreasonably. “Not that I want to think about this, but I assume you’ve seen her naked.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you naked is a great way to start a conversation with a celebrity, O. It just makes them think you’re threatening to release a sex tape. Which I don’t have,” he adds, quickly. “Don’t worry. Just–seriously, it would be weird. I probably don’t even have her number any more.”

“I’m just saying, actually talking to her would probably be less creepy than what you’re doing now.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”

Then again, given he’s spending his Sunday afternoon waiting for a stream of Clarke answering questions at some music festival in New York State, she might have a point. He’s already pretty creepy. Just talking to her would probably be an improvement.

Actual interviews with Clarke are pretty rare, but she’s got a couple Q&As set up while she’s at the festival, and he’s looking forward to just–seeing her talk. Finding out if the first girl he ever loved is still in there. And, okay, maybe if she is, he’ll call her up.

Like basically every livestream he’s ever watched, it starts off with technical difficulties, so by the time it’s working, the session has already started. Clarke is sitting on stage with a moderator, looking a little uncomfortable, but not in a way anyone other than him would notice, he doesn’t think. She’s always dealt with stress with a confident front, which is probably a good trait for a celebrity.

“I just started singing in college,” she says. “Which is pretty late, but I never felt like I had time before that. I tried out for an a capella group with my roommate, they said I was good, and it went from there.” She smiles. “Which I know sounds terrible. Easiest rise to fame ever! There was a lot of hard work and luck in there, but–that’s how I found out it was an option, and that I wanted it. Just random chance.”

“Next question,” says the moderator.

“Yeah, Dan, I’m from Massachusetts.”

“Cool, me too,” says Clarke.

“Yeah, I wanted to ask about that. Do you ever come home?”

“Sometimes. Most of my friends moved away, and so did my parents, so I don’t usually go to my home town, but I always love getting a chance to see Boston.”

“What’s the most stereotypical Masshole thing about you?”

She grins. “Dunkin Donuts addiction, definitely. My manager always wants to get good coffee and I’m sitting there with my extra-large iced Dunkies. It makes her want to cry. Thanks for the question. Next?”

“Hi, I’m Ally!” says a girl. She looks maybe twelve, at the oldest. “My friend says you don’t have a boyfriend or a girlfriend right now, but–have you ever been in love? Because you write the best love songs.”

Clarke is smiling, fond, and Bellamy can’t help a smile of his own. The kid is cute, and so hopeful.

“Yeah, I’ve been in love,” Clarke says. “I’m not saying you have to be in love to write a good love song, but–not to be a total cliche, there was this guy in high school. My first boyfriend.”

Suddenly, it’s not funny. Or, not ha ha funny. More the girl I never totally got over is going to discuss our relationship in front of a bunch of her fans funny. An entirely uncharted kind of funny.

“What was he like?”

“He was awesome. My best friend. I always wanted to try to make it work with him again, but–we fell out of touch. It sucks, but it happens. And I’m glad we had the time together that we did.” She wets her lips, looks down on her smile. “Anyway, yeah. Next question?”

Bellamy only half-hears the rest, his brain working overtime, unable to stop knowing that Clarke is talking about him. Writing songs about him, even.

“Are your love songs still about him?” a girl asks, right toward the end. “The guy from high school.”

“A lot of them aren’t about anyone,” she says. “Just the idea of love.” She bites her lip. “But yeah. Some of them are about him.”

He doesn’t really think about it, doesn’t weigh the pros and the cons. He just thinks–Clarke is still into him. Clarke hasn’t gotten over him. And if he’s not over her either, it just feels stupid, to not at least mention it.

And, really. New York isn’t that far away.

*

Her set the next day is great, even if he’s so far back he can barely see her. And she has another Q&A right after, so he leaves early to get a good place in line, feeling only a little anxious. He could just try to call, but, well. He’d honestly like to see her face when she sees him.

Besides, he doesn’t really want to wait.

Clarke comes out to applause, and she smiles, a little tired around the eyes, and waves. He looks away when she looks over the crowd, hiding under the brim of his hat, and when she says, “Hey, thanks so much for coming, guys! I hope you enjoyed the show!” he sees no indication she knows he’s here.

The crowd cheers, and she smiles again.

“Okay,” says the moderator. “Please keep questions short and appropriate, guys.”

The people in front of him ask a few standard questions, songwriting process, when her next album is coming, favorite artists, and he gets more and more nervous the closer he gets to the front of the line. She still doesn’t seem to have seen him, and he could just bail. Pretend he was never here and talk to her later. He could probably get to her. There isn’t a ton of security.

But then he’s at the mic, and she’s taking a drink of water, and he just leans in and says, “Hi, uh, I’m Bellamy, I’m from Northampton,” and she chokes. “Big fan,” he adds, when she meets his eye.

Her voice is a little weak, but she’s smiling. “Hi, Bellamy.” And then, when he fails to say anything either, she grins. “Did you have a question?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, uh–my favorite song of yours is "Orion’s Belt.” I was wondering if you could tell me about the inspiration.“

"That’s really your favorite?” she asks, sounding a little offended, and he laughs.

“Sorry, am I supposed to have a different favorite? They’re all good. It’s not a competition.”

“Thanks, that means a lot.” She seems to remember they’re in front of a crowd. “Um, yeah. Of course that can be your favorite. It’s about my first date with my high school boyfriend. He took me out to teach me the constellations. He was kind of a giant dork, but–it’s one of my favorite memories.”

“Sounds like a nice night,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Thanks for coming, Bellamy,” she says, and he catches her looking at him through the rest of the Q&A, quick glances to where he’s sitting. When she’s done, he goes up to the stage with a bunch of other fans, waits as they get autographs and selfies.

When she’s done, she jumps down off the stage and hugs him, warm and close.

“Seriously, is that actually your favorite song, or did you just want me to have to admit it was about you?”

“It can’t be both?” He buries his face in her hair, breathing her in, and she holds on just as tight. “Hi, Clarke.”

“Hi, Bellamy. Good to see you.”

“Yeah,” he says. “You too.”

[nancydhooper]

Due Process for Tsarnaev – Demanded by a Masshole

By Marc J. Randazza

I want a new trial for Tsarnaev – because FUCK Dzhokhar Tsarnaev!

I don’t personally know anyone who got hurt in the Tsarnaev bombing. I don’t even know anyone who was in the zone of danger. Nevertheless, when I heard about the Marathon bombing, I wanted to cry and crush something at the same time. These motherfuckers bombed my home. It is as if they burned Paul Revere’s house, or bombed Fenway Park, or sank the U.S.S. Constitution, or put tomatoes in my chowder. It wasn’t just a bomb in a crowded place. This was a “fuck you, Boston” of biblical proportions.

I got this far into writing this, and it came back to me – that quickened breath, that pounding heartbeat, that desire to put my hands around Dzhokhar Tsarnaev’s throat and bash his head into his cell wall again and again and again so that the last thing that fucking prick hears is the sound of his own skull cracking mixed with my voice screaming at him.

That is what I, personally, want. And yet, I want him to get a new trial. I would never support a government that let me, or anyone else, enjoy my desired outcome.

I want him to receive the fairest trial, the greatest due process, and the kindest punishment that we can tolerate. If that happens to be death, so be it. Let even that death be without cruelty, violence, or anger.

If you are reading this, and at any point your reaction is “he does not deserve” whatever I may advocate for, well … keep reading, you might get smarter.

I don’t give a shit what Tsarnaev deserves. He deserves to be tortured. He deserves an agonizing death. He deserves to have watched his brother die. He deserves to be strapped to a table, with his ass up in the air, and then to be put right in the prison yard in the incorrigible rapist section of a maximum security prison, with everyone in that cell block informed that every time they violate him, they get a day off their sentence.

Yet, I care more about my Constitution than I care about my desire for hideous retribution. Justice is not just giving a bad guy what he deserves. Justice is also about limiting that desire for severe retribution. Justice is who stands in between the bad guy and the good people who want to do bad bad things to him. Because if we do not give Tsarnaev a fair trial and a righteous punishment, we can do it to anyone else. They can do it to you.

You see, I want to do worse things to Tsarnaev than Tsarnaev ever did to anyone else. I feel that if I did these things, if I let loose the savage instincts inside me, I would feel the bliss of no longer restraining that brutality and that hatred, and I would likely have the cover of it being seen, by many, as somehow justified. It may be justified – but it would not be justice.

Now imagine a jury pool made up of the kind of people who wanted to declare war on the Dominican Republic because a guy there shot David Ortiz. Literally every man in New England has given his wife or girlfriend a hall pass to have sex with Tom Brady. Even the most homophobic guy in Boston would suck Tom Brady’s dick while humming Danny Boy atop a float in the St. Patricks' Day Parade if Bill Belichick told him it was necessary to the Patriots’ being able to score in the red zone. If a defendant is a Yankees fan, that defendant probably should suppress that evidence because it would mean that at least one juror would immediately pronounce him guilty.

Yet, these bastards think that someone who blew up the Boston Fucking Marathon can get a fair trial in Boston?

Not only was he tried in the very place he fouled, but even the jurors were not clean. One of them tweeted out dozens of statements after the bombings, including “Congratulations to all of the law enforcement professionals who worked so hard and went through hell to bring in that piece of garbage.” If that’s how you start off as a juror, you’re not unbiased. Could we not find a juror who hadn’t openly expressed how he felt about the defendant? Maybe not in Boston, we couldn’t.

”Juror 138, meanwhile, posted about being called to jury duty on Facebook. Friends commented on his post, and hours after he’d been instructed not to, he continued to post about jury selection and the case. Posts included friends telling him to “play the part” and “get on the jury” to send Tsarnaev “to jail where he will be taken care of.” He replied with details about jury selection and being “ten feet” from Tsarnaev.

When asked by the court about talking or posting about the case, he said he hadn’t. (source)

They might as well have put a gag ball in Lady Liberty’s mouth and fucked her up the ass on the courthouse steps.

What makes it really offensive is that there was no reason to do it this way. The case was airtight. Tsarnaev wasn’t going to walk even if you tried him in the most Boston-hating jurisdiction in America. We moved Timothy McVeigh’s trial to Denver, despite the fact that he was never going to walk free no matter where they tried him. Why? Because when he got that needle put in his arm, we wanted it to be after he got every goddamned bit of due process that our system deserves. And, to this day, there is nobody who can seriously question whether McVeigh got a fair shake.

Tsarnaev’s execution will always be tainted if he does not get a new trial.

Justice is only served by due process. Without due process, without a fair trial, without removing even the appearance of impropriety, Justice is kept out of the room, and replaced with the remorseless goddess of revenge — Nemesis.

I love Boston not just because it is my home town, but because of what it stands for – it was the cradle of American liberty, if that means anything anymore. Tsarnaev attacked a symbol of that symbol. That left a wound that Nemesis can not heal. If we fail to keep Justice in the room, if we stain even the slightest bit of due process in seeking her divine guidance, then what the fuck is the point of these symbols? What the fuck is the point of the Revolution and the Constitution if we can't hold up due process right there, steps from where the whole damn conspiracy started?

Tsarnaev needs due process not because he deserves it, but because we deserve it.

Because when that piece of shit finally goes down, I want it perfect. I do not want Tsarnaev to go to his grave with one person able to credibly say that he deserves any second guessing or sympathy. I want him utterly and completely destroyed.

I want due process for him, not because I care about what happens to him. I want due process for him because that is the ultimate "fuck you" to him. And, as an added benefit, we keep Justice right where she belongs.

Copyright 2017 by the named Popehat author. from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8247012 https://www.popehat.com/2019/12/13/randazza-tsarnaev/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[celiawickedrunnah]

“Effort is the best indicator of interest.”

 ~unknown

 After running Lighthouse Loop I was still feeling unsettled. I knew I had put my 110% effort, I knew the circumstances of the training cycle and race day were indisputable to expect better results. So why am I being so hard on myself?

We live in an environment where we tend to always asks for more and more and hardly ever pause to appreciate what we already have. We compare ourselves with other’s successes, looks, haves and have nots instead of looking deep inside ourselves to appreciate the true essence of what makes us. It’s very easy to get carried away trying to play catch up with the latest on social media and be like the people in the web world. But it’s also an inspiring tool if used to our own enrichment instead of downgrading ourselves. Again, it’s up to us to choose what is good for us or to choose what is not so productive to the body and soul.

As soon as I got home from running Lighthouse Loop, I started to feel the mental and physical drain from the race. Having already nourished my body with a yummy meal I had prepared to eat right after the race, I just went straight to bed for a long nap. After a 3-hour heavy nap, I woke up in tears. I was just feeling so emotional about it and I started to question if everything I had been doing was even worth continuing. I never hold tears back because letting it go allows me an opportunity for physical and spiritual cleansing.

Although feeling depressed, I still had the energy to approach the following day as recovery day by doing some light stretch, massaging, foam rolling my calves and update my coach on the day’s activity. I also focused on nutrition – lots of live food and chugging some beet smoothie with tons of  ginger and turmeric. I wasn’t sure what to do next other than trying to get my calf to heal, but I knew that I had no desire to run for this entire week. I was out!

My very own recipe of fresh beet juice/smoothie with plenty of ginger, turmeric, blueberries, mango, tart cherry juice, olive oil and pepper. Yummy!

The IG running community shows tremendous support to one another. Posting daily workouts serves as encouragement and ideas for other followers as well as an accountability tool for doing our own workouts. So far, I still had some motivation to post some shots in the week following the race, but at the same time I didn’t want to feel obligated to to so. On the other hand, I was very glad I did because the support I got from the IG running community was priceless and caring. By no means had I forgot how grateful I was in having finished the race and for such an experience; therefore, I made sure to express it.

My next move was to schedule an appointment to see my physical therapist. Ed is a super talented runner (who is also a member and group leader of Marathon Fest group with Track and Shack) and PT. There’s no better PT in Central Florida area better than Ed in my book. We went over the problem I was having and over my frustration. Ed gave me hope when I needed the most because I was starting to think that perhaps my body was not really made for a faster pace. However, I didn’t feel the desire to run that week, but I was slightly hopeful to restart on my terms on the following week.

The BEST physical therapist in Central Florida, Ed Dullmeyer with Pro Form PT in Maitland, FL

As the days passed, peace started to settle in. I came to the realization that I needed a time out. Unfortunately, I could not just unplug everything such as work, house chores, etc, but I unplugged from whatever I could such as from social media, checking e-mails less often, worrying less and taking the time to simply observe. Yes, call it a meditation retreat of some short. Since my running life had little sparkle, it only made sense to put a pause on my run coaching services. It was a hard decision, but it felt right until I could figure out exactly what I needed if I were to decide to keep moving forward. There was only one thing I knew for sure. If I were to continue to run and have any hope of improving my time, I had to focus on strength training, get professional help and meditate.

The desire to run started to come back by the end of a zero mile week. In the back of my mind, I knew that I should at least give it a try and see how it feels. Tuesday morning came and I had to no energy to get up for a run. I spent the day pondering if should run when I get back home from work. I finally decided to run. My motivation was to run for the first time around our new neighborhood.

The weather was a nice 73 degree and only 57% humidity. I laced up my shoes and just ran like Forrest. I ran without a purpose and without a pace in mind. I felt free from pressure to perform and I just did what my body was comfortable with. I ran around the neighborhood for a mile and headed to the middle school track’s to finish up the rest before returning back home. At mile 3’ish I cried and by then I was already picking at my Garmin (aka as MAsshole – really, who doesn’t name their running gadgets?!) in shock at my pace. My crying episode didn’t last long because it really takes a lot effort to run and cry at the same, but I was so happy that my calves were holding up well and that my quads and hammies were a little more powerful this time around. My mind was set to run just 4 miles and I was surprised with my pace. My splits were 9:24, 9:29, 9:48 and 9:35 with an average of 9:34. I had never ran this fast before.

I was in shock with this run’s performance, but I kept it low key without making such a big deal out of it. I continued the week with the scheduled PT exercises, core workout and calves stretch. I was also curious to know if my next run would be in this pace range. Due to lack of energy for an early morning run, I decided to run after work in the downtown Orlando neighborhood. Again, I was just focused on a 4-miler and I ended up with very good splits at 9:04, 10:25, 9:50 and 9:24 with an average of 9:41. The weather started at 70 degree, but by midway through my run it dropped around 68, so I’m sure it has a lot to do with a better performance.

Since I started to feel better both physically and mentally, I decided to run long on Saturday with my group. It was nice to run with them, but for this 10-miler run, it felt somewhat hard but doable at 11:05 average pace. A 10-miler in the bank without feeling crippled gave me a slight glimpse that running the OUC half marathon in three weeks might just be possible. Running the OUC half marathon has become a tradition for me and I would love to keep the running streak going for a third year in a row.

My next run was another 4-miler which I made it to be a tempo run with 8:49, 9:50, 9:08 and 8:48 splits at an average of 9:08 pace. Next run was for a friend’s wedding day 5K celebration with our running family which I took it as a relaxing run with an average of 10:51 pace and I did skip Saturday’s long run due to lack of preparation and sleep.

I was still thinking if this out-of-the-blue single-digit pace was a fluke. Strangely enough, from Monday to Tuesday morning, I woke up with some puffiness on the ball of my right foot and a strange discomfort between big and middle toe. I opted to run after work since I didn’t get enough hours of sleep. What appeared to be an inflammation was kinda of visible and the pain was noticeable when pressure was placed on the foot, but I thought that perhaps it was some phantom pain because I didn’t run in the past Saturday.

With OUC approaching in less than 1 week, I needed to run at least 5 miles. I ran this 5-miler with 1 mile worth of 40 seconds pickups without problems as my splits showed as 9:10, 10:19, 0.50 mile at 10:20; my pickups average at the 8’ish with my best being at 7:36, and a cool down mile at 8:50 to give me an average pace of 9:50. Voila! But minutes after the run, I started feeling a heartbeat on my foot and at that point, there was no ignoring or thinking this to be a phantom pain.

I asked my husband for his input on the pain and he said it had to with the way my middle toe is uneven with all the other toes, meaning, it’s elevating on top of the toe therefore creating pressure on the ball of the foot. I am like….here I go again with another injury and of course it had to happen 10 days before OUC and on Thanksgiving week.

The next day, I called Dr. Christopher Mason’s office (he’s the best podiatrist ever and a runner too) for an appointment on the same day. The only availability was for Monday after Thanksgiving so I took the spot. I was not settling for a Monday appointment as I had planned my long run on Thanksgiving Day. So I called again and asked to be seen on this same day. I’ve got the same unwilling-to-help answer. Minutes passed by and called the office for the third time and requested to speak with Kathy. I’m not sure what superpowers Kathy has, but she helped me with a same-day appointment before. She was not available so I left a voice-mail and begged for her to call me back.

In less than 30-minutes later, she called me back, I explained my urgent situation, and she booked me to see Dr. Mason at 2:30 p.m. on Thanksgiving eve! I was thrilled and so grateful. I practice gratitude every day, but during Thanksgiving week, it was even more special to feel more grateful and share the joy. I was happy to see Dr. Mason and to find out that there was no sign of stress fracture, but it was the case of Capsulitis an inflammation of a joint capsule between toes. Now that I knew what I was dealing with, cortisone shot, meds and rest for two days was on the tap. Yay!!! Seriously, YAY!!!

Thanks for Dr. Christopher Mason healing was in progress!

The worst that could happen at this point was to postpone pre OUC long run for Saturday. I proceeded with strength training, core and upper body workouts on the next day. On Friday, I focused on upper body and played some racket ball with my hubby. Saturday’s long run results at 9:45 average pace with splits of 9:49, 10:04, 9:50, 10:15, 9:59, 9;52, 9:36, 9:42, 9:28 and 9:01 was very promising that running OUC was within reach. If I a sub-2 was not possible, I certainly had the possibility on my side for a PR (anything better than 2:08:25). I couldn’t be happier with this run!

Taper week approached very quickly and I kept on doing my thing by staying calm, getting the sleep I needed and adjusting my workout according to my energy level. Tuesday’s tempo ran ended up with a 4-miler at average pace of 9:25. For Thursday, I had PT scheduled at my usual time at 6:15 a.m., so it was a 5:00 a.m. run for me which I chose to make it a 5K. I didn’t want to run the risk of getting stuck in my thoughts about pace, effort or even running the risk of a last-minute injury. I ended up with 9:30 average pace and I was happy with it. Friday before the race was my usual pre-race day routine with lots of stretch, some core workout, foam rolling and massage/stretch by my husband.

I was ready to go and I had never felt so excited and ready for a race like this one. And the IG community wished me some good positive vibes. It was up to me to bring home the negative splits.

Packet pick up at Track Shack

“Today is another day to make yourself proud.”

 ~ Unknown

Post-race blues: Is it worth the effort? “Effort is the best indicator of interest.”  ~unknown  After running Lighthouse Loop I was still feeling unsettled.