#not everything has to be comfortable and palatable some things are SUPPOSED to be uncomfortable to hear/read/see | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thepringlesofblood · 4 years ago

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on the nature of kids and fatphobia

so there’s this phenomenon that has happened to me several times

I’ll be sharing funny kid stories in social setting (I worked at a daycare for a while, kids age 6-8 ish), and I’ll get to one of my favorites to tell.

Multiple kids have said to me (in complete earnestness and sincerity) “I love your belly, Miss [name]! It looks like you are having a baby!”

which is hilarious and adorable! I respond w something like “Thank you! I am not having a baby! This is just what I look like” and then the kid is like ‘oh ok’ and moves on to some new topic

anyway

after I tell this story, without fail, there’s always an initial nervous laugh, and then either a subject change or something along the lines of “i’m sure they didn’t mean it” or “kids say the darnedest things” but always with this undertone of pity, like they feel like they have to apologize and excuse what the kid said and push it to the side.

And like. I would get it if this was at the moment that the kid said it. It’d make sense that an adult hearing that would want to make sure it didn’t hurt my feelings or anything. Still kinda sucks, but totally understandable

But when I tell the story, I specifically choose to bring this past event up, (that none of them were even there for!) as something I enjoy and find funny, and people get incredibly uncomfortable even when I am the one presenting it in a positive light.

I wasn’t before when telling the story, but after this pitying reaction I do feel uncomfortable. Because by sidestepping and excusing and pushing it under the rug, the other people in the conversation are saying “we don’t want to look at this part of you” and “we don’t want to think about your fatness”

and I know that’s not what they mean. they’re acting on everything society has told them about how a woman’s body is supposed to be shaped and what values are attached to that. (and I’m not even 100% a woman!)

but it does hurt, in a weird way, to be dismissed like that.

because here’s the thing. when the kid says it, they really mean it in a completely positive light.

they’re at the age when a lot of their friends’ parents are having second or third children, so they’re exposed to pregnancy on a regular basis, in a positive light. They see parents excited and happy to announce pregnancies, and are told all these positive things about the process, and how great it is that mommy’s* having another baby.

so it’s natural to them that anything related to being pregnant is a compliment.

and like, I know what I look like. It’s no grand shock to me when kids say things like this. tbh it’s kind of refreshing, since the vast majority of my interactions with people perceiving me involve them trying to overlook my fatness or overcome it somehow.

but kids don’t have all these rules built up yet around weight and body size, so they just see it as a compliment, same as “I like your shoes” or “you have pretty hair” - things that we do encourage them to say!

I don’t know what this post is, really, but I just had to put it out there because I always hate it when I express something that I’ve worked really hard to like about myself and get all these platitudes and pity. it’s like no, actually it took a lot of fucking work to feel good about my fatness, so don’t try to dismiss it to make it more palatable or comfortable for you!

tl;dr it kind of feels nice to have kids compliment you on something people see as a flaw (e.g. my rounder than average belly), but then adults make it weird when you try to talk about it, and that sucks.

P.S. if i get any comments that are like “but its just good manners” i’ll kick you off the burj khalifa. it’s not good manners to bring up someone’s weight on its own, but if that person brings it up themselves and presents it positively, it’s super not good manners to try and dismiss what they’re saying about their own damn body

*i know not all pregnant people are mommies but this daycare is pretty mom-centric, v white liberal-but-not-that-liberal

#cw: fatphobia

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hannah-deserved-better · 5 years ago

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Leah

Title:‌ Leah

Link‌:‌ ‌https://archiveofourown.org/works/24327541

Square‌ ‌Filled:‌ ‌‌Wearing a dead meat suit

Ship:‌ Mehanstiel

Rating:‌ ‌‌T

Tags:‌ Implied abuse, assault, mentions of past rape, sexual abuse, prostitution, gangs, and drug abuse

Summary‌:‌ Meg learns about the tragic background of her vessel

Word‌ ‌Count‌:‌ ‌‌ 1392

Created‌ ‌for‌: @heavenandhellbingo

It was date night for Castiel, Hannah, and Meg. Meg stopped by the apartment they shared to get the mail before meeting the angels at their favorite restaurant. It was the mail that was the unexpected source of apprehension as she came into the restaurant and found the angels waiting at their usual table.

Meg held the letter in her hand as she greeted them with a stoic look on her face that advertised the feelings she had- strange feelings of regret she had never had before.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asked as she leaned in to kiss her before letting her slide into the booth with Hannah, who also greeted her with a kiss.

Meg hesitated to show him, looking at Castiel, trying to decide whether it was a good idea. This could change things in their relationship, and Meg had a hard time comprehending the fact that she even cared. She was a demon; she wasn’t supposed to have these feelings.

But, with an unsettled pause, she handed the letter over. Castiel took it, glancing at Meg with concern.

“Lindsay Greese? Who is she?” He pulled out the picture of the smiling red-haired girl. Meg took the picture and let Hannah peer over her shoulder.

“She’s my daughter,” Meg confessed. “You know… my vessel.”

Castiel sighed. “You never talked about her,” he pointed out. “Who she was, what happened to her.”

Meg lowered her gaze to the table as the waitress brought them drinks. She wasn’t sure she was ready to talk about this. All this time, she’d become intimately acquainted with the woman whose body she inhabited. As a demon, she hadn’t hesitated to put the woman’s body through literal hell. She’d been burned, stabbed, cut, and tortured in unimaginable ways.

“She’s dead,” Meg replied, truthfully. “Didn’t really think it was a big deal.” And at first, it wasn’t. Meg never thought twice about possessing the woman, taking her from her life, and taking her along for all the things she as a demon had been through.

The woman was dead now, but she was alive for the longest time. She was there when Crowley tortured Meg, and it was the woman who received the worst of it. Meg took comfort in hiding behind her meat suit and let the woman take the pain. Everything that happened to Meg, happened to this woman. Until finally, Meg let her die.

“It’s important to you now,” Hannah surmised as she sat close to Meg, slipping a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Remorse. Guilt. They’re unpleasant, aren’t they?”

Meg didn’t want to admit that. She didn’t want to admit that she was developing these emotions. They weren’t emotions that demons should have. But she knew the angels understood. Whatever a demon could do to a human was dwarfed compared to what an angel could put their vessel through.

“Tell us about her,” Hannah encouraged. Meg turned to her, looking into her eyes. Recently, Hannah had come to terms with her own experiences with her vessel, Caroline. She had taken her from her husband, and how much she regretted everything she had put Caroline through.

“She didn’t come from a good situation,” Meg began. “It wasn’t like what Jimmy or Caroline went through. In some ways, her life before me was way worse.”

“What was her name?” Castiel asked softly from across the table. Meg glanced at him, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as she recalled her vessel’s memories.

“Leah Greese,” she began slowly, leaning into Hannah for support. “She was from Cheboygan, Michigan. She came to Los Angeles with hopes of being an actress. And to get away from her father. He was abusive; he used to beat her. She thought Los Angeles was her escape, but it only got worse there.”

Hannah and Castiel exchanged looks as they both paid close attention to Meg’s story. Hannah had recently revealed how her own vessel had been neglected, how she had longed for love, and of course, Castiel had been upfront about what Jimmy Novak had gone through. Between the three of them, only Caroline was still alive.

Meg envied Hannah for that connection she had with her vessel. She and Caroline had established a mutual understanding, and the intimacy between the angel and her vessel was apparent. But Meg didn’t have that. Her vessel hated her until the day she died.

“She had hopes of becoming a famous actress,” Meg continued. “Until she met a man who claimed to be an agent. He promised to make her famous. But it didn’t turn out that way. This man was involved with gangs, and Leah soon found herself in a situation she couldn’t get out of. He forced her to sell drugs for him and to prostitute herself. She lived her life on the streets of Los Angeles. He told her she had to work for her fame and that this was just part of the process. She was young, and she believed him… but before she realized what was happening, she couldn’t get out.”

“That’s terrible,” Castiel commented with a sigh. “She was taken advantage of and used.”

“Her life was a mess,” Meg agreed with a shrug as she took a reluctant sip of her wine. “But back then, I really didn’t care. I felt her rattling around in the background, all the time, but she was more like a pest to me than anything else. But now…”

“Being on Earth,” Hannah explained, slowly, as she pondered her own words. “Living here, learning about… human things. Like art and hope and love. Emotions, feelings…”

“I’m a demon,” Meg reminded her, somewhat disingenuous. As if she was trying to convince herself. “I’m not supposed to care.”

“Angels don’t typically care either,” Castiel pointed out with a shrug. “When I first possessed Jimmy Novak, I had no thoughts about how it would affect him or his family. But I devastated them all. And for the longest time, it didn’t bother me. But what happened to Jimmy, to Amelia, to Claire…”

Meg was silent for a moment while she thought about that as she thought about Leah. The woman whose body she walked around in. She glanced down at the photo of the little girl as she put it on the table for all of them to look at.

“Tell me about Lucy,” Hannah prompted after a long time. They had long since gotten their meals by now, but Meg had hardly touched hers. She had been looking forward to it. That was the nice thing about not being human. It was being able to indulge in human activities without much consequence. Meg had ordered a sizeable rare steak, and the fact that the meal was thousands of calories for each of them mattered little. It was something the three of them had taken to since they’d been living together. Indulgence.

“Lucy is the daughter of Leah and the man who enslaved her,” Meg explained. “He used her for more than just profit. And when she got pregnant, the abuse increased. When Lucy was born, Leah left her at a firehouse… she didn’t want this man to get his hands on her.”

“Well, somehow she’s found you,” Castiel surmised. “I don’t know how, but this child is reaching out to you. Maybe you have a chance.”

Meg swallowed as she thought about that. “I’m not the mothering type,” she insisted, the very idea of what Castiel was implying not very palatable to her. “And I’m not her mother.”

“Maybe you aren’t,” Castiel continued. “But you’re all she has. If I could have the change to start over with Claire, I would have… maybe this is your chance. And you won’t have to do this alone.”

“Castiel and I will be here for you and Lucy,” Hannah added.

This enormous undertaking of taking this child, who was Leah’s child, was overwhelming. But it was an undertaking that Castiel and Hannah were willing to take on, and if they were there too, then maybe Meg could do this. She glanced at the faces of her two lovers and nodded. “Okay,” she agreed. “Let’s go get her.”

And with that, Meg was determined. She’d give this girl what she should have given her. What Leah was unable to provide her with. A home, a family, and three loving parents.

#heavenandhellbingo #wearing a dead meat suit #Castiel/Hannah/Meg #Meg's vessel

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taevren-blog · 6 years ago

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Intermission

“You glance at the lit up screen, visibly wincing at the sight of Jungkook’s triple chin behind a contact name littered with a bunch of emojis. JGAY, it says, with an unsettling number of pink hearts next to it.”

➤ The producer in charge of mixing the track for your team in the upcoming dance competition turns out to be Hot Stranger who saved you in a dingy bathroom. No thanks to your sorry excuse for best friends and Jimin’s intolerable dependence on alcohol.

• pairing: yoongi / reader

• genre: teeth rotting fluff, eventual smut, 80% crack

• count: 3.5K

• tags: dancer!reader, producer!yoongi, established jikook, pining taejin

• note: this is my first ever attempt at writing so do let me know if this is your cup of tea

prologue >

There is a familiar sense of dread and an inkling of impending doom that settles in the pit of your stomach when you hear and physically feel the kitchen counter shake with the vibrations of your phone.

You glance at the lit up screen, visibly wincing at the sight of Jungkook’s triple chin behind a contact name littered with a bunch of emojis. JGAY, it says, with an unsettling number of pink hearts next to it.

It takes the shrill beeping of your digital kitchen timer for you to press on the glaring red button to reject the call, and you press it with a lot more pressure than required. No one is going to ruin your one day off. Not when you just purchased the most expensive – and pretentious – of ingredients to satisfy your cravings for a nice dinner and some alone time.

You move to unwrap the steak you bought, letting out a satisfied sigh as you place it on the cutting board. The R&B playlist you put on shuffles to play one of your all-time favourites, and you’re just about to break out into a horrible rendition of the first verse when the front door swings open.

“I LOVE THIS FUCKING SONG!”

Jungkook comes barrelling into the apartment, skidding to a halt to kick his shoes off to the side before resuming his Naruto run to the kitchen. A dissatisfied groan leaves your lips when you see that he has company.

“Wow.” Taehyung rounds the counter, peering at the boiling pot of vegetables. “Having an expensive dinner all by yourself and you didn’t even think about inviting us?”

You’re about to tell him to screw off when Jimin nudges you aside with his hip, opening the freezer and pulling out a tub of ice cream. Your tub of chocolate cookie dough ice cream.

“May I ask who invited the three of you?” There is a loud bang as you shut the overhead cupboard. “Last time I checked, I rejected the call.”

“Aw, don’t be so grumpy, we know you secretly want us here,” Jimin coos with a gentle pinch of your cheek before shoving a spoon into the tub of untouched ice cream.

Jungkook pokes at the piece of steak you were about to attend to.

“We’re like… Your best friends.”

“Don’t fucking touch the meat with your filthy hands!”

“I swear I washed them before I touched it-“

You whirl around and menacingly point the kitchen tool at him. “Before I swing this meat tenderiser mallet into your disgustingly proportionate face, you better get the hell out of my kitchen, Jeon.”

He raises both hands up in an act of surrender before darting behind a chuckling Jimin, who is now almost half done with your ice cream thanks to the help of Taehyung.

It’s not as if you didn’t enjoy their company. The thing is that you rarely give yourself day offs, and the last time you invited them over to one, it was an absolute nightmare.

“I know you’re thinking about the disaster that was movie night but I swear we’ll behave this time,” Jungkook promises, waving his pinky finger in the air.

You send him a pointed glare before turning to look at a gigantic hole in the wall where your clock is hung, the ever so present piece of evidence that reminds you of what went down that night.

An iron blade gets ripped out of its former place in the armour – the distinctive sound of metal slicing through the room – before stabbing into flesh at the same time clammy hands grip the leather of your jacket.

“You have my respect, Stark.”

There is a dramatic gasp and a ‘no! not iron man!’ to your right as you slam the glass of wine in your hand onto the coffee table. You then squirm in your seat, a hand raised up to push a sobbing Jimin away from your shoulder. It works for a wondrous two seconds before he lets out a loud sniffle and plops his head back down on it again.

“Fuck this.” You lean forward in your seat and shove a hand in the popcorn bucket sitting on the floor, still filled with the caramel coated treats abandoned halfway through the movie. Carelessly picking up a handful of what is left, you aim the popcorn in the direction of Jimin’s useless boyfriend and let them fly. “Can you please, for the love of God, get Jimin off my damn shoulder.”

Jungkook’s eyes are trained on the screen and he is so deeply engrossed in the movie that he doesn’t even look away when he pulls on Jimin’s arm to get the older man lying against him instead.

You stretch your neck towards the left to relieve yourself of the strain that came with holding it at an uncomfortable angle for so long before settling back into your seat. It is then, however, that the peace is shattered again by the last of three idiots.

“Don’t hate me,” a voice on your left mumbles, “but can you please hold my hand?”

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips and you turn to look at Taehyung, whose lips are pulled down in a pout, eyes glistening with unshed tears. You then lightly pat his head in an act of comfort before reaching down to take his hand in yours.

You grumble under your breath just as the final scene starts to play, “Never watching a movie with any of you idiots again.”

“That was too much, I need a drink,” Jimin sniffles, shifting from his compromising position on Jungkook’s lap to grab the cheap vodka Taehyung bought at the nearby mart, downing it in one shot.

Needless to say, that was the start of what became a gigantic hole in your wall and one of many noise complaint letters found at your doorstep the next day.

“Alright, so maybe we are a mess,” Taehyung begins, but you’re already turned away from the three of them and rubbing kosher salt into your steak that should have been seared and plated half an hour ago, “but we came here to take you out!”

“Do you not see the kitchen apron that I am wearing and the uncooked meal that I am supposed to be having before the three of you so rudely interrupted me?”

A pregnant pause.

“Well, we just want to have a night out,” Jimin tries. He seals the empty tub now devoid of ice cream with the lid and slides it to the side. “You haven’t been out in weeks, Y/N. You’re always in the studio doing the same routines over and over again. It’s time to take a break, don’t you think?”

Jungkook takes the opportunity to chip in with a meaningless comment, “Yeah, and you seriously need to get laid- Oof!”

He almost slides off his seat after Jimin elbows him in the ribs but quickly grips onto the edge of the counter to pull himself back, a petulant pout on his lips.

“Kook’s not wrong-“ Taehyung laughs only to be cut off by thunderous bangs as you hammer the meat with your tenderiser mallet.

“Come out with us, please-“

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Jungkook pulls off one of his socks and throws them in your direction, aiming for the back of your head.

He misses.

A look of sheer terror and unmitigated fear takes over his face and he’s out of his seat in an instant the moment he sees his iron man sock land onto the stove.

“Oh my fucking- Kook!” Jimin yells, when he sees the sock catch fire.

You’re still aggressively pounding the meat, meat that now looks way too deformed to even look mildly palatable.

“Y/N, there’s a problem!”

“Maybe the three of you are the- OH MY GOD!”

You pause mid-whirl, almost dropping the metal hammer in your hands when you see the still burning sock get waved around in the air by a screaming Taehyung. He tries to hit it against the side of the table and panics when the fire still doesn’t go out.

“Sink!” Jimin grabs Taehyung’s arm and shoves it towards the tap. Water rushes out and Jungkook makes himself useful by manically smacking the sock with your dishwashing sponge.

It takes a full minute for everyone to register the fact that the sock is no longer on fire, and another thirty seconds before you rip your apron off and pounce for the muscled pig, who squeaks in surprise and takes off in the opposite direction.

Jimin plops down on the couch in exhaustion.

“At least dinner can no longer be used as an excuse?”

“I guess.” Taehyung reaches up to wipe at his forehead. “We’re still getting our asses beat but it’ll be worth it. What else can go wrong?”

Apparently everything else can.

This is a bad idea, you repeat to yourself each time you down a shot, every single one a different colour of the rainbow, and every single time you slam the empty glass on the bar counter, a chorus of cheers erupt around you.

To be fair, it’s not as if you wanted to come, but Jungkook promised to pay for two weeks’ worth of lunches and you can never say no to free food. Not to mention Jimin repeatedly whined about how he wanted to get so drunk he forgets the burning sock saga. Which is what brought the four of you to Trick Shots, the new bar that opened ten minutes away from your apartment.

“I can’t believe you made alcohol your go-to coping mechanism,” Taehyung laughs, slapping Jimin on the back.

The smaller man swats his hand away, turning to Jungkook with reddened cheeks and crescent moon eyes. “This is why I only love you,” he sings, cupping the younger man’s cheeks and squishing them, before whisking him away from the counter and you assume, the dance floor.

You shut your eyes to get away from the coloured lights flashing every second, leaving you feeling not only disoriented, but also contributing to the dizzying headache that came with the endless shots of alcohol.

“Here.” A hand on your shoulder gently shakes you. “Drink some water. You look like you need it.”

With an eye half open to slowly get used to the obnoxiously glaring neon lights, you thank Taehyung with a smile and a raise of your glass before downing it like someone who hasn’t had a sip of water in days.

As you slowly begin to sober up, you glance around the bar in search of Jimin and Jungkook, slightly panicking when they are nowhere to be found. That is, until you hear a familiar screech from the other side of the room, and you whip your head around to spot a wobbly Jimin on one of the pool tables with an incredibly frustrated Jungkook helplessly grabbing at his sleeves to get him to come down.

Your eyes widen and you slide the now empty glass you were holding across the counter, muttering a quick thank you to the bartender before pushing past the crowd in order to save your best friends from any more trouble – also to prevent severe second hand embarrassment on your end.

With a speed you never knew you possessed, you reach the pool table in no time, of which a small crowd has started to form around it. Random requests are shouted at an intoxicated Jimin, who is now body rolling to a remixed song you can’t remember the title of, and you can see the visible plea for help in Jungkook’s eyes as he gets pushed against the side of the table by everyone else.

“Alright! Show’s over!” You squeeze through the gaps between sticky and relentless human beings, climbing onto the pool table and grabbing Jimin by the collar of his shirt.

He giggles and a stream of unidentified words leave his mouth but you smack him on the back of his head, voice taking on a murderous tone, “One more word from you and I will personally toss you into a pit of flames and then you will disintegrate into ashes, you hear me?”

You tug him down towards Taehyung and Jungkook, both looking stressed beyond belief. Everything goes perfectly fine until Jimin steps into one of the holes at the corner of the pool table and falls forward, sending him flying straight into the two men.

Jungkook grabs him by the waist just in time to prevent him from falling right onto the floor but he stumbles backwards due to the impact and bumps into a neighbouring table. You watch as beer gets spilled onto a group of men and if you thought it was chaotic before, this whole new situation makes you want to crawl into a hole and bury yourself alive.

“What the fuck!” One of them slams his hand on the table, the growling face of a tattooed tiger head staring right at you, and before you can even try to make amends, the man punches Jungkook across the face.

He crashes to the floor with Jimin being additional weight, and the latter starts to yell at the man. “You fucking – ngh – buffoon! How dare you!”

You rush forward and wedge yourself between them, Taehyung pulling your two other friends to their feet. Apology after apology tumbles out of your mouth and you nudge Jungkook once he gains his footing, using your head to gesture at an unplanned escape route.

“Sorry,’ you nervously glance around the table, “kind gentlemen! I’m sure you’re all very nice people, but my friend here is both drunk and extremely stupid because we all collectively share one brain cell so please accept my sincere apologies and spare us from your wrath?” The last part of your sentence comes out as a question, the whole thing rushed out in one breath.

The man snarls and you squeak out a quick ‘bye’ before scrambling away from the table, anxiously pushing all of your friends away from it. You vaguely register the angry shouts behind you over the ridiculously loud music but you steer your friends into the direction of what looks like a narrow hallway.

A neon pink toilet sign hammered into a wall catches your attention and you don’t even bother to check which one you’re going into before you’re running into the safety of the bathroom.

When you successfully slip inside, you turn to close the door after your friends only to realise that they’re nowhere to be found. You’re just about to head out to look for them until the voices of the men after the four of you increase in volume, sounding like they’re just around the corner.

Immediately slamming the bathroom door shut, you spin around before an unidentifiable noise of surprise tears from your throat and you slap a hand across your mouth to silence it.

The bathroom is empty save for the man standing in front of you, donning a loose, midnight dress shirt half tucked into a pair of jeans ripped at the knees. If this was any other situation and you were as intoxicated as before, you’d be making mental notes of how his collar bones peak out from behind the almost sheer fabric and how soft his hair looks, but you are an escapee about to be slaughtered by angry men.

A muffled shout to check the bathroom immediately snaps you back to reality and a stream of muttered apologies leave your mouth as you dart into the only empty stall. You barely get the door shut and you’re still fumbling with the lock when the door to the bathroom swings open, revealing the worst of the lot; tiger tattoo guy.

“Did you see anyone come in?” He gruffly asks, and you’re clambering onto the toilet seat with your heart pounding against your chest at an alarming rate.

There’s a slight crack in the door due to your previous failure to lock it and you have your head in your hands when Hot Stranger you caught mid-piss responds.

“I just came in so I wouldn’t know.”

You physically give yourself a good pinch when you find yourself thinking about how nice his voice sounds.

“Fucking twats ruined my night. I’ll be damned if I let them leave unscathed.”

A part of you tells yourself that the best thing to do now is to attempt to shut the door even though it might risk catching Tiger Guy’s attention, but the fearful part of you keeps you squatting on the toilet seat mouthing prayers to yourself.

“I’ll leave you to it, man. Sounds rough.” Hot Stranger clears his throat. “You can check the bathroom stalls if you want, I need to take a shit.”

You’re angrily deducting points from your imaginary scoreboard when the door to your cubicle opens slightly, and then Hot Stranger slips in. He turns to lock the door and puts a finger to his lips before shuffling closer to you.

The creaking coming from the cubicle next to yours signalling the opening of its door and Tiger Guy grunting in acknowledgement keeps the both of you silent for a short while. You think about shooting him a thumbs up but decide against it, nervously running a hand through your hair instead.

“You know, this is the men’s bathroom,” Hot Stranger whispers, lips pulling into a mind-blowingly attractive smile as he shuffles closer to you.

With a roll of your eyes, you whisper back, “I am aware. Thank you for your pointless input, Hot Stranger.”

This earns you a raise of his brow and he tilts his head to the side in interest. You watch as his tongue darts out to wet his lips before he’s leaning in close to you.

“Giving pet names to someone you just met… Interesting.” He fingers the collar of his shirt, and you purposefully look down to stare at your shoes in an attempt to not think about how perfect his hands are and how they would feel on you.

“Then what the fuck am I supposed to call you, oh kind sir,” you snap back as best as you can in a whispered voice, hoping you look a lot more menacing than you actually sound.

His eyes light up in amusement. “Got quite a mouth on you, huh.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you respond, a hint of a smile threatening to pull at your lips.

There’s a few seconds of the both of you just staring at each other. You’re trying to keep up the unwavering gaze but your eyes betray you and they flicker down to his lips. He seems to notice that, and takes another step into your space, shaking his head in faux disapproval.

It’s when he tucks a stray hair behind your ear and you unconsciously lean into his touch that you hear a familiar voice calling out your name in the bathroom.

“Y/N? Are you here?” Jimin’s voice is easily recognisable.

A throat clears and Hot Stranger steps aside so you can hop down from the toilet seat.

You cautiously swing the door open. “Hey Chim, glad to see that you’re… Alive.”

“Christ, I’m glad you’re not dead. I almost- Who’s that?”

Shoes scuffle against the floor and you’re about to answer with ‘hot stranger’ when the man in question shrugs and goes, “Yoongi.”

Jimin’s eyes narrow in suspicion before they widen to the size of saucers.

“Did you seriously get some in this… This dingy toilet in a shady bar? I thought you had standards! Not that this,” he gestures at Yoongi, “guy isn’t hot but what the fuck? We almost died and you went to hop on a dick?”

The only reason why you took so long to cut Jimin off is because your mind is a constant repeat of the name you just learnt. Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi, playing like a broken record in your head.

“Chim, for God’s sake. He saved my ass from that demonic, tiger tattoo bearing, meathead.” You settle for that explanation, mind still reeling from the events that happened just minutes ago. “That you are to blame for, by the way. Now that you’re sober, I hope you’re ready for the ass whooping of a lifetime.”

“Kinky,” Yoongi chuckles next to you.

You feel heat rise up to your cheeks and ears at his close proximity and immediately step away so you can formulate a proper sentence.

“Thanks for helping me out back there, I really owe you one,” you tell him, hands smoothing down the sides of your shorts. A nervous habit.

He hums in acknowledgement and moves to exit the bathroom, but not before patting the top of your head and ruffling your hair. “Guess this is a debt you’ll have to repay someday.”

Jimin elbows you when you just stand there, frozen in place, so you recover as best as you can and try to emulate the face of a confident individual who did not just reach a whole new level of embarrassment in front of a ridiculously attractive man.

“We’ll see.” You give him a playful salute. “Thanks again, Yoongi.”

He’s one foot out of the door when he turns back, gummy smile back on that beautiful, beautiful face.

“The pleasure is mine, sweetheart.”

#bts #bts scenarios #bts reactions #yoongi scenarios #bts smut

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emmelfish · 6 years ago

Photo

Sorry folks, sadly it was a short but sweet sojourn in Viper Canyon with Cass and we’re BACK IN INTERMINABLE PLEASANTVIEW again (I realize Lothario Towers was also something of a... palate cleanser? No wait what’s the opposite of that?). But there’s light at the end of the tunnel! Anyways, there’s been plenty happening at Goth Mansion to keep us entertained.

Alex rolled the LTW to reach the top of the Natural Science career (because of course he’s Knowledge, when doesn’t that ever happen). I could not be happier with this given Goths like Science AND he’s a Nature sim, it’s perfect. So I stuck him in the teen Science career track to start skillin’ and get a scholarship and by gar he did well, the lad.

Goneril Capp still turns up in Pleasantview every two minutes; maybe I should have her move here once she yells DIVORCIO at Albany.

Incredibly Pregnant and Extremely Randy Dina is now the norm, and she’s jumping Mort’s bones around once an hour. If I didn’t know better I’d think she was trying to kill him, as per traditional early noughties depictions of dear Diggy.

And last but not least, Asimov has fallen in love with townie Adult Ivy Copur.

Ivy: Here’s a free sample –

Asimov: IS IT A SAMPLE OF YOU??????

Ivy: – for you to mess around with.

Asimov: Can I mess around with YOU??????

Ivy: Those are just... noises.

You uh, need recharging Asimov? You’re catching on a tad late.

Massive surprise, Serdar continues to be ludicrously adorable. He’s a tinkerer like big sis Cass! He fits in so well with this family. Cass’s room has become the least Gothy place in the house with all the bright colors and kid toys but it’s good for their sensory development (I know... stuff?) so we’ll let them have it.

I think we must have invited Gon in at some stage – I’m guessing I thought she and Dina would get along, both being Fortune sims. Anyway I’ve forgotten to sell the damn DJ booth and now everyone who turns up on the lot uses it all night and makes terrible sound.

Whatcha spinning there Gon? Some Sleater Kinney? A little Le Tigre? Some Tegan and Sara maybe? I could go on. I won’t, but I could.

She may have no creativity points but she’s attracted at least one fan – this loyal doggo here.

Doggo: I like it. The excessive use of bass makes my ears twitch. It’s a good thing.

Ghost: Well I think it’s a crappy thing!

Watch out Gon! His mustache inexplicably has a dark shadow beneath it which makes the whole visage infinitely creepier.

Urgh, too late. Well, if anything’s going to put you off working the decks in the Goth garden, it’s that. Let’s send her inside where it’s safer.

Dina: Adoption’s great! I mean they say you pick them yourselves, and you don’t really... one randomly shows up on your doorstep the next day and it’s a total surprise what they’ll look like and their gender and stuff... you might end up with a Face 18... but hey, having kids is a gamble anyway.

Goneril: Would you consider taking a couple of mine? I have too many, and they tend to disappoint me.

They were getting along swimmingly until the subject of make-up came up. Well, just because you’re both Fortune sims doesn’t mean you’ll be BFFs.

Hey I’ve just noticed something about that painting. The people in it look familiar. A strong-willed bun-headed lady and a ginger bearded dude standing around uselessly?

Mary-Sue: And why do I drink this much?

Daniel: Because I’m such a disappointment.

Mary-Sue: Exactly.

Diggy finally snags an invite to Peerless Park and it’s only now I’ve realized that if I skim across Nature dude’s dialogue too quick, it sounds like it’s a park for nudists. Which is fine, I could totally see Dina wandering nekkid through a park with wanton abandon, boobies blowing in the wind.

Oh god. Have I forgotten about houseguests again? How long have these two been here?

Kristen: Your sister’s hot.

Vidcund: Why do you think it’s a good idea to broach that topic of conversation with me?

Now we play the waiting game, as Dina’s due to pop a Goth Surprise any minute.

Dina: Yeah yeah, I’m happy we’re best friends and everything, but I’m getting pretty uncomfortable. Can somebody get this baby out of me?

Look if you’re irritable just send Serdar to his toybox, that keeps him entertained for hours...

... just don’t let him disappear into it.

What the... see? This is the work of Incredibly Pregnant and Extremely Randy Dina, but also she’s clearly very comfortable in her nakedness.

Man that happened fast! We’ve barely had time to enjoy Serdar as a toddler! I hope he grows up well and doesn’t have a broken face template or something.

Family Servos – built for patiently babysitting.

Alexander: Why is homework so hard? I’m a Goth, I’m supposed to just be able to do this shit. I know, I’ll distract myself by distracting the baby.

Alexander: Hey, you wanna –

Serdar: You’re not playing with me for the right reasons!

Dina: I can take it from here Alex, I have his favorite bedtime story all set up. Gnomes, When in Rome! In this one Gnome Chomsky visits the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Dina: But hark, said Gnome Chomsky, a castle such as this should have such solid foundations –

Serdar: Maybe a bear pushed it over.

Alexander: HEY IS IT BATHTIME BUDDY?

Mortimer: Alex, I don’t even need to look at him to know his hygiene bar is full.

Alexander: Yeah but bathtime is FUN, right tiny dude?

Serdar: You’ve done this 18 times today.

Oh oh! Here we go! We’ve caught Dina looking ever so elegant giving birth.

ISSA GIRL! Say hello to Ms. Matilda Caliente-Goth, who was swiftly changed into Goth-appropriate babywear. Also, fabulous eyebrows.

#emmelfishuberhood

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patrickmmeaney · 7 years ago

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Twin Peaks: The Return Ends

The ending of Twin Peaks: The Return was undeniably divisive, for the world and for me. Reading about it, I find myself in the strange position of disagreeing with people criticizing it and people praising it. It's not the “perfect ending,” it's not “radically innovative,” but nor is it a middle finger to the fans or a terrible conclusion.

#1. What Happened in the Finale

The finale is simultaneously by far my favorite episode of the series, and frustrating because I think it reveals how ultimately hollow everything that came before is. The show ended up being about not much of anything beyond its own existence.

But, that fact was conveyed in an episode that was amazing, and while narratively looping, felt stylistically different. This wasn't the same jumbled aesthetic we'd seen before, it was a bit more classical, and haunting.

The Sopranos was famously influenced by Twin Peaks, and here it felt like Lynch walking down the same path as The Sopranos' Kevin Finnerty dream episodes, or Mad Men's California episodes. It's a reality slightly askew, where identity shifts subtly and we're not quite sure what it all means, but it feels right.

From a mythology point of view, my read of what happened is this. Cooper came out of the Lodge knowing he had to be at a certain place at a certain time to defeat BOB. He fulfilled this, but he also knew that he was involved in a higher battle with JUDY, the force of evil, and planned to defeat “two birds with one stone” by taking her out and rescuing Laura.

He traveled back in time to do this, and succeeded, altering reality such that Laura never died. However, JUDY, who had possessed Sarah Palmer, didn't like this, and did some dark magic that prevented Cooper from saving Laura.

He decided he had to go further, and pass through some kind of risky dimension jump to go save her. He crossed through with Diane, and during a (conscious or not) sex magic ritual that echoes Lost Highway's dimension hopping sex in the desert, crosses to another realm.

My read on this, which may be slightly suited to giving an ending I find satisfying, is that in the moment before Agent Cooper was to take her, Laura built an alternate world in which she was a different person living in Odessa, Texas, and working as a waitress. Much like Deer Meadow functions like a cold, evil version of Twin Peaks in FWWM, Odessa's diner is filled with hooligans and danger, rather than the warm comfort of the Double R. It's a shadow world built out of what she knew in her old life.

Cooper finds her and brings her back to Twin Peaks, where she drives past the real Double R, which is dark and goes to her house, which owned by the Tremonds/Chalfonts, the same name of the people who owned a trailer in the trailer park with Teresa Banks in FWWM. They are connected to the Black Lodge in some way, and their presence indicates Laura's house as a site for something evil.

Throughout the entire sequence, Cooper seems different, acting in the halting manner of Bad Coop, but not evil in the way he is. He just seems like a different person. But, when he says “What year is this,” it would indicate that perhaps this is the first we're seeing of the true Cooper, one not masquerading as his old self after stopping being Dougie, or lost in the haze of Dougie. It struck me as odd that Cooper comes out of the Lodge without any damage, so perhaps you could read it as Cooper playing different parts required by the Fireman.

He stays as Dougie to help do good in Vegas, gets awakened when the time is right to go to Twin Peaks, then goes through the Lodge to help Laura. He never seems in control of his own actions, which is frustrating from a narrative point of view, but makes sense in this context as Cooper never actually being aware of what happened to him until the last shot. He asks what year it is because he's been in the Lodge so long, he doesn't know.

Meanwhile, Laura is waking up to the falseness of her reality. It's a holding world not unlike where Naomi Watts spends the first section of Mulholland Dr. While Naomi Watts and Bill Pullman in Lost Highway, built a more idealized escape from their own death, it seems like for Laura Palmer, the only escape is to totally disassociate from her old identity.

In the end, she can't. The harrowing scream of her mother returns, Laura herself screams, the house blinks out of existence, and presumably Laura returns to the path to her own death.

My optimistic read of this scenario is that this whole sequence happens during Fire Walk With Me, and after she sees what could be, she still chooses death, and after death Cooper is there to usher her into the White Lodge or emotional peace in the last shot of Fire Walk With Me.

In that sense, all of this is still leading up to that final image of Fire Walk With Me, and it just took a long while to get there. Cooper consciously never escapes the Black Lodge, and only awakens at the end before the world collapses around him and Laura.

I have two major issues with the conclusion, even though on the whole I liked it, at least my interpretation of it. The issues are...

#2. It Doesn't Match The Show We Just Saw

People are writing articles saying how the show was always about Laura, and this conclusion elegantly brings it back. But we just watched 18 hours of content, of which maybe one hour at most was about Laura. The last episode and a half doesn't really do much with the previous sixteen hours. And in fact, you could probably hop straight from Fire Walk With Me to the scene of Cooper in the Red room mid Episode 17 and watch through to the end and get the same experience/themes conveyed.

The bulk of The Return was concerned with characters flitting in and out of the story, seemingly at random. There were great scenes, there were boring scenes. There was wonderful atmosphere, and there was a distance from the emotions happening. The original show, and FWWM, are very heated, full of outsize emotion that is almost uncomfortable to watch.

The new show keeps the viewer at arm's distance. We don't know most of the characters, and particularly with the new ones, don't care much about them. What emotion there is comes from our understanding of the characters relative to the original series. Bobby being a police officer who cries when seeing Laura's picture is effective only because of our knowledge of the character's past.

So, to people who say that the show is radically innovative or a rebuke to people looking for nostalgia, I'd argue the show depends entirely on nostalgia to be palatable to a mainstream audience. Dougie's antics are powerful because of the gap between our memory of Cooper and who we see, or our residual affection for cherry pie and coffee. The show, while on the surface quite radical, leans heavily on memory and nostalgia to fuel what emotion there is.

But, the bulk of the content is new characters or the search for Cooper. Laura is alluded to in Episode 8, and mentioned from time to time, but if this was supposed to be all about Laura, why was the vast majority of the show about the Bad Coop/Good Coop struggle, which amounted to not much of anything, or about random characters popping in and out of the story?

#3. The Conclusion Undermines Laura's Humanity

Lynch famously said that he chose to make Fire Walk With Me because he wanted to see Laura Palmer alive. In the original series, Laura Palmer is a mirror who reflects the darkness and beauty of the town in which she died. We first meet all the characters through their relationships with Laura and she provides our entry point to the town. But, she is not a character, she's the object of investigation for Cooper and the others.

In Fire Walk With Me, she becomes a vivid, ferociously alive character, and we spend most of the film immersed deeply in her crumbling world. It's a film that is so emotionally raw, a lot of people find it hard to engage with. They have to distance themselves from her.

For me, doing work that distances the audiences from the characters, as The Return does most of the time, is the safest form of filmmaking. A scene like Laura telling James she's “gone, like a turkey in the corn,” is very bold and potentially laugh worthy. But, if it works, it's incredibly powerful. But, forsaking conventional character arcs and keeping the viewers at a distance from what's going on is an easy way to make a movie. There's no risk. It forces the audience to do the work of finding the connections, rather than making them feel it. It's head rather than heart filmmaking.

Now, obviously most Lynch has a lot of intellectual stuff to ponder, but what most of The Return lacked was the raw emotion that powers his best works. The emotion that was there was due to nostalgia, and the oblique storytelling served to make the entire thing an enigmatic mystery, but also a challenge to engage with.

You were always quite aware of being a viewer watching the show because we knew more than the characters. We knew that Dougie was Cooper, and we spent most of the show waiting for Coop to wake up, or Gordon Cole's group or the Twin Peaks' sheriff group to finally figure it out so the story could move forward. It wasn't a great mystery since the mystery was not what is going on, it was more, when are the characters going to learn what we already know?

Again, none of this would be a problem if the show was doing stuff on an emotional level. There were scenes that were incredibly powerful: even just James walking into the Road House as the Chromatics played in Episode 2 was phenomenal. Cooper as Dougie eating pie with the Mitchum Brothers was as great a scene as I've seen all year. But, it was based on nostalgia, and our longing to feel that old Twin Peaks feeling.

In that sense, perhaps the show's greatest achievement was in making us long for the old Twin Peaks even as we frustratingly realized we'd never get there. Audrey can dance like she used to, but then we find out she's in a coma or mental hospital or something and will never know. The past remains just out of reach, and even if Cooper can return, he'll go away just as soon. He will live years in the Black Lodge between shows, just like Audrey will wait somewhere in our minds while we long to see her on screen again.

This is an elegant and powerful thing from a thematic point of view, but it's not as satisfying emotionally as Lynch at his best. I don't love meta stuff because I think it's safe, and it feels like the safest statement you can make with the new Twin Peaks is to say you'll never have the old Twin Peaks again. With that as the parameter, the show can't fail.

But, this is all a long road to saying that I find it frustrating to return to Laura Palmer at the end because it's not about Laura Palmer, the character, it's about Laura Palmer the object. Her story is over, it was told. But, Cooper finds himself unable to let go, and in this case, you get the sense that Lynch does as well. He is pulled to revisit the past, to save Laura, so pulled that we literally go back into a movie that already told its story well.

In FWWM, we see Laura accept death because she knows that it's the only way to resist BOB. Her death is sad, but it's also a triumph over the force of evil. And it's her choice. Here, we see Cooper trying to save her, and succeeding, in the process creating a forked reality where she never dies.

This all gains greater significance thanks to our knowledge that Laura “is the one,” the golden ball anti-BOB who will battle the forces of evil. I don't love this interpretation because I think it takes away from her humanity. Perhaps the intention is that all our lives are really battles between forces of good and evil, and that Laura's individual struggle is just as powerful as a cosmic battle between good and evil.

But in practice, it winds up making you feel like she is less important as a person than as a celestial force, and I find that inconsistent with what I saw in Fire Walk With Me.

And in general, I didn't want to watch Twin Peaks to rehash the same conflict we already saw dramatized. I loved the idea of Good Coop vs. Bad Coop because there's so many potential layers and emotions there. Coop would have to reckon with the fact that a dark version of him raped Audrey and birthed a terrible son, or raped his best friend/ally Diane. That might be more rape than I want to see, but it would be fascinating to see the character we loved deal with that, particularly since the series finale sets up a scenario where his failings let Bad Coop into the world.

There's a lot to reckon with, but we never do. We never see Coop have to deal with any of this, in fact he's not much of a character at all, perhaps never appearing as himself until the final shot. When he's Dougie, he's braindead and seemingly haunted, but Good Coop seems as chipper and jolly as he ever was. He never has to reckon with the changed world he enters, and I think that's more exciting territory than revisiting Laura Palmer's death through a Mulholland Dr./Lost Highway/INLAND EMPIRE framework again.

If anything is frustrating to me about The Return, it's that so much of it feels like Lynch doing his greatest hits. It's the same unhinged id driven maniac (Richard Horne via Mr. Eddy, Frank Booth, Leo Johnson), the notion of shifting realities and identities in the last episode, or literally choosing to go back into a movie we already saw rather than engage with something new and uncertain. INLAND EMPIRE already made me feel like Lynch was saying the same thing one too many times, but this felt the same.

While Dougie was at times frustrating, by the end I was enjoying his antics because they felt fresh. Too much of the show was just hitting the same beats we've already seen from Lynch again and again and again. The hints at something new ultimately didn't really lead anywhere, and in the end we returned right were we began.

In the future, I might choose to ignore most of The Return's tangled journey and focus on this last episode and a half, which the more I think about it, the more I love. Whereas the rest of the series, the more I think about it, the more I find ultimately hollow.

In the end, I might be harsh on The Return, but only because I know how strong and powerful Lynch's work can be. For me, the emotion of a story is the most important thing, and I don't like being distanced. So, this wasn't necessarily the ideal show for me.

That said, it was still an incredible ride and so much fun to discuss and watch over the summer. I'd love to see more, even if I don't expect it to match the heights of Lynch's best work.

And in the end, I hope it's more the haunting great moments that stick with me than the often bumpy journey to get there.

#twin peaks #Twin Peaks The Return

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the-7thlegion · 5 years ago

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AFTER A LIFE

If I were to die today, I cannot help but wonder where I'd end up. Some people say that I am a reasonably good person, while others might maintain that a person I am not, let alone reasonably good. My life over I have tried to understand myself, and have yet to conclude anything worth saving. People might read, or hear what I am writing now, and think to themselves that I am stukk in a depressive state, caused by all the things that have been going on in my life lately, and on some level, I can say that it is so, but in actuality I have felt this way since early childhood. A boy concieved through an act of deciete, (so I've been told) and one might suggest that it would be a burn scar imprinted on my personality trait through out the progression of my life. I cannot say at all that this is not so, nor that it is what it may be, and I can't even say much else to add to that point of discussion, but my own feelings at heart.... I am that what has made me. For what seems to me, a lifetime of heartache ago, I thought to know a life of goodness, but I was masked and clouded through the confusion of heavy substance abuse, and in turn pushed everything that was pure in my life aside to indulge in my habitual "journeys," if I may use the term. I have been to beautiful places within the poluted confines of my weary mind. Places of colour, beauty, and sound. I was content in losing myself there, and at times hoped to not return to this drab world of falsified reality, and when the real beauty finally vacated my life, I finally saw that it was all that I really wanted, and my ventures to far off imaginations within, were only a waste of the true pulchritude that I had finally achieved. I have loved for the loveless, and lain with the impure, thinking all the while that I knew life as it was supposed to be known. I have grown, and in turn have became corruption, and so thought that these were the ways of humanity. Violence, anger, and distrust were my comforts, and as uncomfortable as it was to travel with them, I pledged an allegance to their purpose, vowing to walk in the shadows of what they did stand for.... and I never did stand on my own, or at all for myself. I have waisted all that is good in my life in doing so. My daughter is 9yrs. old, and does not know me for that which I am, and in some ways I think that it might be for the best, because of who I have become. I have impregnated another girl, and seperately we await the arrival of this wonderfull little person, and as the time continues in this darkness I have created, I find that my grip is loosening, and do so worry if in the event that I slip, to what measures will I fall?! They say that rokk bottom will be your salvation to change if you recognize it, but here I stand looking up at rokk bottom, thinking, "Oh how I wish I were there with those so lost." I once thought that the worst thing that I have done my entire life, was bring innocence into this world of disgust, and I pleaded through verse for forgiveness from my daughter. I do so much enjoy the moments I get to spend with her, as few and far between as it may be, but knowing the life I have been introduced to, I fear she will succumb to a cycle that I continue to walk in, and now that fear has doubled. They will say, "change," and I will retort that, "that is another great fear of mine." Maybe that's my problem. My love is lost, seeming to never be found again, and I'll admit to feeling broken, and discarded. I'll admit that, though I know it is untrue, I feel wronged by her departure, and tell myself that I am what she, and our child need in their lives. I understand where the real fault is held, and realise that there is an undesirable shade that darkens a demeanor, already clouded with neglect, and contempt. I continue to dispose of those who profess their cares to me, venturing furthure into the obscure corner of my own social circles, wondering of my lonliness when everyone around me has grown exhausted of my "attitude." This though, is the one bond broken that I deeply regret, and pain deeply for its return. To think only means to allow confusion to a puzzle best left for someone befitting of its task, and I fear that I am a great distance from able. To speak is only a far off hope that seems to break me more each day it is unmet, and I lose myself to the silence she lends me. I am unforgiven today, and tomorow I know that still. I have great troubles in coping with this loss, and it consumes my every waking thought, driving me deeper into this well of despair. Failure has often met me through out my life, and so I have grown accustum to the lowly feeling that follows after its passing, and yet here, still I cannot think to continue on my walk, because of who I once strolled along side of. Simone. Unkept promises, unmet needs. Unfullfilling breaths, taken too short for any sort of reliefe. A lost cause, violent and ready for destruction, warned against at every angle. A failure to bring down all that allow his company, to hinder any hope of growth and purity. Savage to taste the name on your palate, this monster carries his beast on his bakk, proud to be all that is accused. Nothing to speak of, this is nobody.... no one of any good. What have I allowed to consume my whole entiriety?! L.... O.... P.... X.... Yes, I am not the most desirable man. I have less than nothing to offer. I am without moral and remorse in most acts I commit. I have lost my way many times in my own mind, and forever will I find difficulty in returning to sanity. Limitless in error, and yet I will maintain that I am free of any culpability. Though this is many, only a few of my iniquities to mention, and through all this, I can see clearly why I am left alone at the end of my road. So then, if all I can do is provide ample reason for what has become of our relationship, perhaps a better query is what can be said to change such? I am a child in mind, and action. Not to speak by means of innocence, but rather in behaviour and psychological definition. I am lost and astray, desperately needing guidance by the hand through consistancy. I cannot function on my own behalf, lest we give in to the ways of the inner beast. I am helpless without that love I seek, from the woman I strive to hold once again. Because love is what has braught us this far, and thus love shall overcome any differances there may be between us, and finally.... because of one promise made. So, I'll ask again, where I might fall to on the day of my passing? If I may once again know the love of my loss, I will lie rested for knowing that I wasn't alone when I left. After that, the question deems frivolous in itself. Written By: Jec Geurough Trhelle-Jul.2011 First Posted: September 05th. 2011 6:03pm.AFTER A LIFE WRITTEN BY: J.G. Trhelle If I were to die today, I cannot help but wonder where I'd end up. Some people say that I am a reasonably good person, while others might maintain that a person I am not, let alone reasonably good. My life over I have tried to understand myself, and have yet to conclude anything worth saving. People might read, or hear what I am writing now, and think to themselves that I am stukk in a depressive state, caused by all the things that have been going on in my life lately, and on some level, I can say that it is so, but in actuality I have felt this way since early childhood. A boy concieved through an act of deciete, (so I've been told) and one might suggest that it would be a burn scar imprinted on my personality trait through out the progression of my life. I cannot say at all that this is not so, nor that it is what it may be, and I can't even say much else to add to that point of discussion, but my own feelings at heart.... I am that what has made me. For what seems to me, a lifetime of heartache ago, I thought to know a life of goodness, but I was masked and clouded through the confusion of heavy substance abuse, and in turn pushed everything that was pure in my life aside to indulge in my habitual "journeys," if I may use the term. I have been to beautiful places within the poluted confines of my weary mind. Places of colour, beauty, and sound. I was content in losing myself there, and at times hoped to not return to this drab world of falsified reality, and when the real beauty finally vacated my life, I finally saw that it was all that I really wanted, and my ventures to far off imaginations within, were only a waste of the true pulchritude that I had finally achieved. I have loved for the loveless, and lain with the impure, thinking all the while that I knew life as it was supposed to be known. I have grown, and in turn have became corruption, and so thought that these were the ways of humanity. Violence, anger, and distrust were my comforts, and as uncomfortable as it was to travel with them, I pledged an allegance to their purpose, vowing to walk in the shadows of what they did stand for.... and I never did stand on my own, or at all for myself. I have waisted all that is good in my life in doing so. My daughter is 9yrs. old, and does not know me for that which I am, and in some ways I think that it might be for the best, because of who I have become. I have impregnated another girl, and seperately we await the arrival of this wonderfull little person, and as the time continues in this darkness I have created, I find that my grip is loosening, and do so worry if in the event that I slip, to what measures will I fall?! They say that rokk bottom will be your salvation to change if you recognize it, but here I stand looking up at rokk bottom, thinking, "Oh how I wish I were there with those so lost." I once thought that the worst thing that I have done my entire life, was bring innocence into this world of disgust, and I pleaded through verse for forgiveness from my daughter. I do so much enjoy the moments I get to spend with her, as few and far between as it may be, but knowing the life I have been introduced to, I fear she will succumb to a cycle that I continue to walk in, and now that fear has doubled. They will say, "change," and I will retort that, "that is another great fear of mine." Maybe that's my problem. My love is lost, seeming to never be found again, and I'll admit to feeling broken, and discarded. I'll admit that, though I know it is untrue, I feel wronged by her departure, and tell myself that I am what she, and our child need in their lives. I understand where the real fault is held, and realise that there is an undesirable shade that darkens a demeanor, already clouded with neglect, and contempt. I continue to dispose of those who profess their cares to me, venturing furthure into the obscure corner of my own social circles, wondering of my lonliness when everyone around me has grown exhausted of my "attitude." This though, is the one bond broken that I deeply regret, and pain deeply for its return. To think only means to allow confusion to a puzzle best left for someone befitting of its task, and I fear that I am a great distance from able. To speak is only a far off hope that seems to break me more each day it is unmet, and I lose myself to the silence she lends me. I am unforgiven today, and tomorow I know that still. I have great troubles in coping with this loss, and it consumes my every waking thought, driving me deeper into this well of despair. Failure has often met me through out my life, and so I have grown accustum to the lowly feeling that follows after its passing, and yet here, still I cannot think to continue on my walk, because of who I once strolled along side of. Simone. Unkept promises, unmet needs. Unfullfilling breaths, taken too short for any sort of reliefe. A lost cause, violent and ready for destruction, warned against at every angle. A failure to bring down all that allow his company, to hinder any hope of growth and purity. Savage to taste the name on your palate, this monster carries his beast on his bakk, proud to be all that is accused. Nothing to speak of, this is nobody.... no one of any good. What have I allowed to consume my whole entiriety?! L.... O.... P.... X.... Yes, I am not the most desirable man. I have less than nothing to offer. I am without moral and remorse in most acts I commit. I have lost my way many times in my own mind, and forever will I find difficulty in returning to sanity. Limitless in error, and yet I will maintain that I am free of any culpability. Though this is many, only a few of my iniquities to mention, and through all this, I can see clearly why I am left alone at the end of my road. So then, if all I can do is provide ample reason for what has become of our relationship, perhaps a better query is what can be said to change such? I am a child in mind, and action. Not to speak by means of innocence, but rather in behaviour and psychological definition. I am lost and astray, desperately needing guidance by the hand through consistancy. I cannot function on my own behalf, lest we give in to the ways of the inner beast. I am helpless without that love I seek, from the woman I strive to hold once again. Because love is what has braught us this far, and thus love shall overcome any differances there may be between us, and finally.... because of one promise made. So, I'll ask again, where I might fall to on the day of my passing? If I may once again know the love of my loss, I will lie rested for knowing that I wasn't alone when I left. After that, the question deems frivolous in itself.

Written By: Jec Geurough Trhelle-Jul.2011

First Posted: September 05th. 2011 6:03pm.

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rilenerocks · 5 years ago

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The other day I exchanged messages with a friend I’ve never seen. We met in an online Merkel Cell cancer support group. Her husband was a decade younger than Michael when he was diagnosed with Merkel, in his early fifties. The course of his disease was short, less than a year and a half from discovery to death. I got banned from that support group after being in it for a little over a week. I was bringing up questions about emotional issues rather than just talking about the nuts and bolts of the disease and its possible treatments. After I was kicked out, this friend begged the administrators for my email address and we’ve been corresponding ever since. The anniversary of her husband’s death was last week and I always check in with her on that day. I expressed my hope that she was getting along well and had found some space for small joys in her life. When she answered, I felt like she was troubled by her current emotional state. She wrote that we’d both had wonderful experiences in our marriages but that now we had to learn how to live again in real time. That caught me up short.

Live in real time? I’ve been living about as hard in real time as a person can, in my opinion. Since Michael’s death, I’ve traveled alone several times, organized my 50th high school reunion and seen my favorite tennis player, Roger Federer, twice in real life tournaments for the very first time. I’ve been to half a dozen music concerts from John Prine to Pete Yorn to Janis Ian and Paul McCartney, among others.

I swim five days a week. I go to movies and have joined a book club. I’m going to serve on my city’s historic preservation committee. I’ve taken a number of classes, had both my knees replaced and knocked many items off my to-do list. Isn’t this living in real time? I think what she meant was that my constant emotional engagement with Michael means I’m living in the past. But that’s simply not true for me. Our long and deep emotional connection is still alive in me. He’s only been gone a tiny percentage of the time we were together. And he’s not going anywhere, not out of my head or my heart or my soul.

But that seems to be a point of contention in regard to how people are “supposed” to be after a death. Michael isn’t in my way in terms of daily life. I am. He doesn’t interfere with what I do. He didn’t when he was alive either. And that’s the way it is. I thought to myself, this exchange is another case of more and less, the story of my life. I am always talking about the things which are “more” while many around me could do with a little “less.”

I certainly know more now about lots of things than I ever have in my life. And that “knowing” is not yet close to its endpoint. I’m learning every day. I’ve always been learning. I’m motivated. As long as my brain is healthy I expect I’ll continue increasing my stash of both useful and useless facts and ideas. I retain volumes of it, stuffed in the corners of my mind. And I like to talk about it all. In traditional terms that seems ok. Certain areas of my conversation are acceptable. For example there are topics which are nice and neutral. There’s gardening. Sometimes there’s politics, although I can’t say I’m exactly neutral in that regard. But there’s school. This fall I’m taking three classes. One is about current affairs in the Horn of Africa about which I know very little. Another focuses on Persia and Rome and will feature readings from Herodotus. I’ve always wanted to read Herodotus, especially after watching the smolderingly sexy Ralph Fiennes carrying around a battered leather copy of his histories in the film The English Patient. The third is about early Scottish history. I know a little bit about that, but after watching the Outlander television series with the equally smoldering Sam Heughan, (who just happens to look like my husband when he was young,) I figured it couldn’t hurt to learn more. I’m a curious mixture of intellectual and pop culture knowledge – I can disappear into the classics world and pop back into current entertainment pretty seamlessly.

I was taking biology classes for a time during the past couple of years. Another socially acceptable conversation topic. But the science class offerings this fall weren’t that interesting to me this semester and frankly, I’ve got enough cancer stuff happening in real life without exploring more theory right now. Fucking cancer. I know several people who are actively engaged in their cancers, some of which are new and others which are old pals that lay dormant for a long time before reappearing in new places to create havoc. Now I’m moving into the “more” arena. This is where things get uncomfortable in my world. For example, I think that the majority of people who live for a long while will get cancer. We actually have it every day, mutations that crop up at the genetic level but are squashed and eliminated by healthy immune systems. That is, until the mutations get tougher or the immune system gets weaker. After all my years of reading, that’s what I’ve concluded. Some treatments buy time. Others are still primitive. You don’t get to know whose body will react poorly or positively to what is attempted. Until there are wholly individual treatments that’s the way it’ll be. So where does that take me? I try to be a helper and do what I can for those I know.

I think about myself too. I have no idea when my turn might come. I think a lot about the advocacy I was able to provide for my family and most especially my husband. Will I be able to advocate well for myself if necessary? That’s one question I have no answers for at this point. I think about this stuff a lot and I try talking about it but my kids don’t like it and some friends are taken aback. They say what I know they intend to be nice, defusing comments that move rapidly away from the morbid topics. I guess that having thought about death for all the years during Michael’s illness, coupled with my longheld death anxiety from my childhood, as I watched my mom go in and out of hospitals, has locked me into what some think is the morbid side of life. To me it’s more practical than morbid. But it’s one of “those” topics that I tend to bring up that is off-putting to a lot of people. When I talk about it I’m not sad or scared or maudlin. I’m just wondering. Death is something that will happen to everyone and pondering it doesn’t stop me from living a reasonably positive daily life. But the death arena fits into the “too much” category.

The issue of my feeling Michael’s presence so often is another “more” topic. I guess it makes some people uncomfortable. Maybe they think I’m nuts. Maybe they think I’m not living a healthy life. I don’t view other people’s opinions as my problem. I’m open to sharing but am also aware that red flags pop up when I start waxing eloquent about my “ghost.” I can feel that it’s time to move on to something else, a subject more palatable for whomever is the listener. It seems that I’ve always brought up issues that no one wants to talk about. Michael used to say that if I would only be quiet about certain topics life would be perfect. But I never believed anything was really perfect. Rather, I thought that if you kept working on problems or disturbing ideas like death, or basically anything that caused people psychological discomfort, that the process itself was almost more important than the end goal. I really enjoy thinking and discussing and sorting through virtually everything. I always thought that the more I knew about any issue, the better off I’d be. Michael, more reserved and less prone to the deep inward dives I do, loved me enough to go outside his comfort zone, sometimes kicking and screaming, into places he’d rather have ignored. In the end these explorations brought us incredibly close and gave us the stamina to go through our personal challenge that ended with his death. But what’s perfectly clear to me is that a lot of people prefer doing with less of these internal explorations into what I think are life’s and death’s fascinating mysteries. So when I bluntly bring up one of the off-limits topics, I’ll often feel the invisible hand up in my face and I know I’m supposed to be quiet. Despite the fact that I think we humans share a considerable amount of commonality in life’s essential business, talking about those things out loud just doesn’t happen enough for my taste.

There are all kinds of self-help books and advice websites about virtually everything. But say I decide to open up a sex conversation? Lots of people cut me off fast. I want to talk about how dreadful it feels for me to acknowledge that this most essential part of my life is over. I know that because I’m completely uninterested in being with anyone but Michael. But my drive isn’t dead. I’m going to miss intimacy and kissing and being touched in the way you build with bonds with another person for as long as I remain cognitive. But that’s a “less” conversation. I often wonder what other people feel and if they’re still sexually engaged but I rarely talk about this stuff because it feels like I’m crossing a social boundary line. Maybe I am.

I just think there’s comfort in sharing information and feelings that to me, must be widespread across our species. Am I outrageous? I guess some people might think that. But to me, I’m just myself. I’m still struggling with the separateness that I feel when shut down by the unwritten rules of social exchange. I just can’t stand all these implicit boundaries. Still, I have to live in the culture I occupy so I mostly abide them. More and less. Death and illness and sex are apparently for my private ruminations except for a very few people who accept me for who I am. With the others I guess I can talk about taxes and the weather. I’m glad I still feel Michael so strongly inside me. I can still talk to him about anything and he knows I’m living in real time. With a vengeance. Another thing he always told me was that he thought I was very polite to ask him his opinion on an issue when we both knew I would do exactly what I wanted to no matter what he thought. Still valid. Ultimately, I really don’t care what anyone thinks about my choices. But I’m pretty sure they’d like them if they gave me a chance to say more.

More and Less The other day I exchanged messages with a friend I’ve never seen. We met in an online Merkel Cell cancer support group.

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ostrich-on-a-rampage-blog · 8 years ago

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could you write something about Crutchie getting super bad nightmares but doesn't tell anyone and they get so bad he shops feeling safe at the lodge so one night he tries to sneak away but Jack catches him and is super worried and not even angry like Crutchie thought he would be if he was caught sneaking out. Finally Crutchie tell him what's wrong and then lots of snuggles and soft forehead kisses occur in comfort

Ooohhh, I really like this one. So, here goes.

A loud thump across the room jolts Crutchie out of his sleep. He lays there, for a moment, blankets bunched up between his legs, fingers grasping at the mattress beneath him, clinging to reality. His breaths continue to come as short gasps that he fought to keep as silent as humanly possible. Don’t wake anyone up. Don’t. Not here. If he woke them up, Crutchie isn’t sure how they would react.

If Crutchie had woken to a nightmare only a month earlier, he would have immediately turned to one of the other boys for help. He had trusted them to help him. But, he can’t. Not anymore.

The dream keeps coming back to him. Crutchie had thought he could distinguish reality from fiction, but now…

It always started the same: the strike. Everything was going well. They hadn’t backed down to the Delancey brothers. But, then the cops and strikebreakers showed up and what had started out strong and defiant faltered, before bowing, crumpling beneath the weight of defeat. The strike shifted and suddenly all was fearful chaos. Then, the Delanceys would start advancing towards Crutchie and he knew he needed to run and he tried, he tried, but then someone would push him into the Delancey’s arms and he couldn’t escape, no matter how much he fought and kicked and struggled.

Crutchie tried to catch a glimpse of who had pushed him, but each time he closed his eyes, it was a different face. Specs. Race. Mush. Buttons. Romeo. Finch. Jack.

Jack. They had all betrayed him, but it was Jack’s betrayal that stung the most. Crutchie could never quite forget Jack’s words only a couple days before: Would I let you down? No way. And then his hands would shove roughly against Crutchie’s shoulders and he’d be captured by the Delancey brothers.

Crutchie hadn’t thought it was real, refused to believe that someone had actually pushed him towards the Delanceys. But, as the dreams continued, Crutchie was forced to admit that maybe, maybe, he was just now remembering correctly. His family has betrayed him and Crutchie just doesn’t feel safe around a group of boys that wouldn’t hesitate to leave him behind to take the fall.

Throughout the room, Crutchie can hear the other newsboys shifting in their sleep, snoring, mumbling. For a moment, he thinks that he can just fall back asleep and ignore the dream, ignore those awful implications. But, the room feels too suffocating and Crutchie isn’t sure that he can stay much longer. He can’t stand it. He has to leave and he has to leave now.

As quietly as he can manage, Crutchie slips his vest on over his night shirt and pulls his pants on. He ties his shoes, his fingers shaking. For years, these newsboys have been the only family in his life and now… Crutchie had never imagined that he would leave them, but he can’t stay among them. Who knows if something else will fall apart and they’ll leave him to take the punishment? Crutchie can’t handle another trip to a Refuge-esque boy’s home; he won’t make it.

Which only leaves one option, really.

Taking one last quick glance around the room, Crutchie grabs his crutch and a small bag of his belongings and starts out of the room. He is extra careful with the clicking of the wooden crutch against the ground, moving as slowly and silently as possible. Once he is out of the room, he breathes out a soft sigh. He’s fine. He made it out. It’s just a short walk to the Lodging House door and then he’ll be free.

Except, Crutchie knows that he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. All he has are the newsboys. He knows that he can probably try finding a spot with newsies of a different borough, but Crutchie worries that Jack or the other Manhattan boys will find him if he stays so close by. Crutchie isn’t stupid and he knows just how angry Jack will be that Crutchie ran. Maybe he could scrounge up enough money to take a train far away? Not to Santa Fe. Crutchie could never go there. But, maybe there was some other small city he could call his own, find his own family, like Jack used to describe.

First things first, though, Crutchie knows that he needs to find somewhere to spend the night. There’s no way to make money in the shadows of the night. At least, no ways that are even remotely palatable to Crutchie.

He eases the Lodging House door closed and starts toward the street. Maybe he can find an alley that will protect him from the sharp winds that cut through the street. It will just be one night, and then he’ll be able to find somewhere more permanent.

“Hey!” The call stiffens Crutchie’s shoulders immediately. No. No, he was supposed get away safely. No one was supposed to be up. Crutchie can feel his chest tightening. He can feel those hands on his shoulders, roughly shoving–

“Hey, Crutch, what are you doing?” Crutchie hesitates, before turning and facing Jack, who jumps down from the bottom rung of the fire escape. “It’s late, you should be sleeping,” Jack says, before truly looking at Crutchie. Slower, more careful, he asks, “Where are you going with your stuff?”

Crutchie shrugs. “Just taking a walk,” he tries, afraid that Jack will call his bluff.

He does. “With everything?”

“Look, Jack, I just need some fresh air. You can understand that.”

“Yeah, I do. You wanna come up to my roof?”

“Nah, I gotta clear my mind. Walk around a bit.”

“I’ll come with,” Jack offers.

Crutchie shakes his head much too quickly. “N-no, I’ll go by myself.”

Jack looks hurt and confused, and he doesn’t speak for a moment. When he does, his voice is shaking. “Are ya… Are ya running?”

Crutchie glances at the ground, before meeting Jack’s eyes again. He had always had trouble lying to Jack. “Yes,” he whispers. “I gotta get outta this place.”

Jack’s shoulders deflate. “Can I ask why? Is it… Is it because of the Refuge?”

“I don’t know… Kinda,” Crutchie admits. “But it’s…” He doesn’t know how to tell Jack this. Jack will be mad. He’ll sputter indignantly that none of the Manhattan boys would ever do anything bad to Crutchie. He’ll mock Crutchie for even thinking such a thing. Or, worse, he’ll confirm the truth of Crutchie’s dreams.

“You can tell me, yeah?”

“I just… You remember the strike?” Crutchie asks, figuring that if he is running anyway, nothing harmful could possibly come from the truth. Jack nods slowly at Crutchie’s question. “Yeah, well, I keep dreaming–and, I’m scared it’s not a dream, that it’s real–but, I keep dreaming that one of you guys pushed me into the Delanceys and I-I can’t stay around people that are going to keep betraying me and I just gotta go somewhere where I can be safe.”

Crutchie lowers his eyes, unwilling to watch Jack’s reaction. As the silence stretches long and uncomfortable between the friends, Crutchie begins to back away. Jack’s hand shoots out, grabbing Crutchie’s arm, causing the younger boy to flinch. “No, sorry,” Jack apologizes, hastily withdrawing his hand. “I just… Don’t leave, okay? I… That ain’t what happened, Crutchie. I just want you to know that…” Jack falters, watching as Crutchie seems to deflate at his words. “W-what’s wrong?” He had thought that he was saying everything correctly.

“I just knew you’d defend those boys,” Crutchie whispers, his voice small with self-degradation.

This time, Jack doesn’t hesitate, pulling Crutchie into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs into Crutchie’s hair. “I’m so sorry, Crutch. If I’d’ve known… I didn’t mean for ya to be taken to the Refuge, you know. I’d’a made you stay home if I thought you’d’ve been in trouble. I swear,” he finishes, squeezing Crutchie tightly. Crutchie doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t try to break out of the hug, either. “And I know,” Jack continues, “that words can’t help all that much. Or at least they don’t feel like they do. But, you mean everything to me. Everything, Crutch. I can’t do this without you.” Jack pulls out of the hug, holding Crutchie slightly away from him so that he can look into the younger boy’s eyes. “So, if you’re going, then you just gotta wait a minute while I pack up my stuff so that I can come, too.”

“Why?” Crutchie asks.

Jack stammers out a soft, “I… I love ya, Crutch. And I can’t be without you.”

Crutchie glances to the ground once more, his fingers tightening anxiously around his crutch. “You… you would tell me if someone had… I mean, if someone did… If anyone pushed me? During the strike?” Crutchie bites his lip. “I just wanna know. I can’t stand not knowing if it’s real or not. I just need truth.”

“No one pushed ya,” Jack whispers. “And if I find out someone did, I’ll show them what it really feels like to be pushed ‘round.”

Crutchie cracks a hesitant smile. “Th-thanks, Jack. It means a lot.”

“You wanna go up to the roof?” Jack asks, unsure if Crutchie still intends to leave the Lodging House.

“If that’s okay…?”

“Of course, come on up.” Jack helps Crutchie up the fire escape and Crutchie carefully sets his bag of personal belongings down beside him. The younger boy lays down, stretching his bad leg out, barely suppressing a wince. “You okay?”

“Fine. Just tired.”

Jack nods. He lays beside Crutchie, where the younger boy is within arm’s reach. He doesn’t expect to sleep at all this night, and plans to stay awake and make sure his best friend doesn’t have to fight anymore nightmares. “Okay, good night, Crutch.”

Crutchie doesn’t immediately wish Jack a good night. Instead, he stares pensively at the stars above him. When he does speak up, his voice is timid. “Jack, earlier you said… Well, you said you loved me. What does that mean?”

“It means that you’re my best friend in the whole world,” Jack quickly replied, ignoring the blush that creeps, burning, to the tips of his ears.

“That’s it?”

“Um,” Jack hesitates. He had promised Crutchie the truth; he can’t remain silent now. “No, that wasn’t it. I… When I said I loved ya, I meant more than just a friend, but it don’t mean nothing. It’s just… I…” Jack doesn’t know what to say next, doesn’t know if there’s anything he can say.

“Oh.” Crutchie turns away from Jack and Jack’s heart sinks. Softly, Crutchie continues, “I think I love ya, too, Jack.”

“What kind of love?” Jack asks, pressing down the eagerness that flares up at the admission.

Crutchie half-shrugs. “The same kind as you?” He turns back over to face Jack. “Is that okay?”

Jack smiles. “Of course, it’s okay. Whatever you do, is okay. Except running off, that’s not okay.”

Crutchie grins at that. “I’m sorry, Jack. I was just… afraid.”

Hesitantly, Jack scoots closer to Crutchie, wrapping his arms around the younger boy. Crutchie leans his head against Jack’s chest, sighing. “Hey. Hey, you don’t got any need to be afraid ever again, yeah? I’se always gonna be here for you.”

“I know. Thanks, Jack.”

Jack tenderly kissed Crutchie’s forehead. “I got ya, Crutch, and I ain’t ever letting go.”

#newsies #jackcrutchie #my fanficiton #my writing #I really like this one

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neureaux · 6 years ago

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it was nice to finally talk the situation through with somebody that knows me and knows about us. as much as the therapists were helpful in trying to unpick all those chunkier, tough and tangled feelings in the moment, i think that the way i feel about the situation is finally clear and i get why i feel the way i do.

essentially, i had a bunch of really shitty things happen to and around me over the winter, i had an inevitable (but reasonably quiet tbh) breakdown, and he moved his trip forwards as soon as he could and left me as soon as i went into a crisis wellness retreat, which was a gentler, more palatable adjacent to going into hospital to go to Thailand and ‘find himself’, all the while trying to avoid asking too many questions and treating me awkwardly as if holding me away from himself, and expecting me to be okay with it when it was realistically, unheard of in a relationship this long, thoughtless and completely poorly handled - and then expecting to proceed with things as if this were totally normal, as if the conduct would be exactly the same as a situation that’s actually regular, sending me photos of his excursions and telling me stories of his yoga retreats, treating me as if i has done something untoward/wrong/was just being difficult if i didn’t respond in the way he expected, as if responses of excitement and joy were the only appropriate ones from the bed of my treatment room, alone weeks earlier than agreed, pressing me for details about things he agreed to be here to support me through(like the verdict.), between my therapies and revelations and genuine hard work trying to pick up the pieces that 2018 had left me in. i think there were many missteps in the handling of this situation, and it’s been reaffirmed to me that i do actually have a right to ask questions. him trying to force acting like this is normal and pretending to what appears to be me AND himself that this situation and handling it this way is normal doesn’t actually make it normal to the rest of the world. how could you knowingly leave me here by myself even though you knew i was being absolutely smothered and crushed by pressure without so much as a second thought and expect me to have to beg you to stay or make me the bad guy for explaining why that would be strange at the very least(and if i would have, what a total bitch, right? how needy. but if she doesn’t truly press me, no guilt for me!), and just expect that to be okay when it’s such a grand display of disconnection and a lack of consideration for someone that tries so hard to be mindful of you, perfect or not? how could you display so boldly to me how separate our lives actually are at such a critical time, and think that returning briefly for a concert is some sort of consolation for this wildly public dismissal of me as a person? you’re waiting until we have at least one perfect year? do you realise that that means never, because we’re actual human beings and life brings couples ups and downs and it’s normal for literally everyone? how could you even look me in my tearstained face and say that to me? how could you let me pour my heart out, sob into your shoulder, drop me back to the door of a crisis retreat and then get on a plane the next morning? why have you never even considered asking me to visit knowing that i’m hurting like this and am actually able to financially support myself? what actual part of me is so inherently unappealing to you? am i enjoying being at home? what do you think, genius? have you ever even heard a word i’ve ever said? i think the timing was the biggest misstep, but it’s indicative of a bigger issue that needs gradually addressing.

the fact that any person would feel comfortable crossing the globe for months whilst their significant other of many years is in any sort of significant disrepair is bizarre to me, and it’s bizarre to everyone - especially when you witness things coming to a peak and they are at their lowest. no threat to you, just a quiet, broken girl. functionally, people don’t really do that. i would never think of doing this to anyone i love, and many around me share the sentiment but i believe there is a deeply rooted barrier of understanding that exists here, an example of a genuine lack of emotional depth born from becoming accustomed to avoiding ones own emotions and it becoming this thick, obtuse barrier that sucks the empathy and thoughtfulness from a person that becomes most noticeable at crucial times.

i’ve heard all sorts of things in the heat of the moment, that i suspect were used as some strange form of rationale to conclude this course of action to be the right one. many of them untrue, but bourne of a lack of comprehension of what being with a person regularly navigating and managing triggers every day really is. ‘you’re never fine’, ‘you’re always stressed’ etc - so i wonder if his thinking was, ‘she’s always stressed, so what’s the difference if i leave now?’ while still backwards, i don’t think it comes particularly from malice - especially if deep down, he really believed those things to be true. yes, a lot of things have happened, life is stressful sometimes. does that mean i don’t laugh and look for happiness in between? no, lol! even day to day, some days i might manage 5 triggers, some days i’ll have to quietly work through 50. however many, it doesn’t mean i don’t fight for peace and happiness in between and even during, and it doesn’t mean i don’t smile, laugh and share tenderness through pain. if dealing with a person in recovery from trauma is too much, that’s fine - but you don’t get to make their symptoms and their whole recovery journey their fault, especially when they’re an active participant in their recovery and actually work hard at adapting and utilising tools to progress and improve on their recovery process every day. and this winter? this winter, was by all means an enormous anomaly. so many things happened to me back to back, that even i was in shock. i naturally reacted to them eventually as they wore me down, and even then i found time to smile and try to do my best to keep on top of productive things and functions, make arrangements, make and answer the important calls and did my best to cope. so regardless of whether or not it was truly the internal belief that my recovery wasn’t a recovery at all or it wasn’t fast or consistent enough for him, there isn’t a way to rationalise the incredulousness of these actions, and furthermore expressing shock or confusion if i express that i disagree is also bizarre in itself. the long and short of it was that he knew what was going on, could have offered spousal comfort and support and potentially delayed for a while, or even just for the amount of time he originally agreed to, but he decided to do this instead, and leave me heartbroken, embarrassed and emotionally confused, wanting to be held and loved but instead receiving this excruciatingly public, awkward and uncomfortable rejection, nothing to show romantically for the better part of a decade of my romantic life, whilst telling me he loves me. but, i suppose that when you can’t handle your emotions properly, maybe the answer is run from overwhelming situations, even if that situation is a whole human person that would give you her world even as it crumbles.

still, though i have good understanding of the situation at the moment, it doesn’t make it hurt less but it makes it easier to work with. over the next couple of months, i have some space to figure out whether or not this is something i have the capacity and patience to work through, or if this is something that i need to direct my time towards getting over. i think that the part of me that holds on is a very soft, quiet but consistent part of me inside, one full of love that remembers tenderness and knows that it’s not entirely a conscious chain of events as much as a poorly thought out one in a time where the situation was simply too precarious and crucial for poor management to have been an option, a time where i needed a grown man, steadfast, supportive and patient, able to support me not by joining me in poor coping mechanisms and bouncing off my pain to excuse poor behaviour but by being truly present and keeping me responsible and accountable and received something else and i know and understand that part of me. but i don’t yet know if that part will be enough to allow me to continue giving myself to somebody that refuses to learn until the very last minute if ever, that doesn’t really understand me and that i’m sometimes unsure is able to love me in the way that i need to be loved. somebody that expects and expects, but violently rejects expectations in return. part of me wants to try therapy for him like he promised, to wait to see if i can move on from this pain and seek out the person i love to be with, the person i want to actually age with me but i’ve never seen so clearly how stuck he really is emotionally until now. he said for the first time ever recently that he now sees it too, and it gave me a boost of hope. that maybe, him coming to the first step of acceptance will be the road to him trying to regain himself and access to his emotions without them frightening him, even if it’s not with me. but part of me wonders if it was just more empty words to placate me, him figuring out what i want to hear again to get me off his back and in turn, subconsciously make me easier to ignore. i think sometimes i’m a reminder of his issues, because everyone else in his life barely pulls him up on them for some reason despite, from speaking to them, them actually knowing that they’re there. but they don’t see what enabling him does to his life increasingly, and they definitely don’t see what it does to me. and i would be aging with him, not them. i’m really wrestling with it and the way i feel, as the force and magnetism of the love has always kept me coming back, dropping everything to come back to him and dreaming, yearning to be swept off my feet and held tight, safe in love, romance, adventure and secure, steadfast partnership. i often feel like i’m still waiting.

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animeindoblog-blog · 7 years ago

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Two Car [Best Review]

New Post has been published on https://animeindo.org/blog/2018/02/04/two-car-best-review/

Two Car [Best Review]

Matt Knodle

Two Girls, One Bike

Episodes : 12

Genre : Sports

Airing Date : October 2017 – December 2017

Studios : Silver Link

Contains Spoilers

Miyata Yuri and Meguro Megumi have a dream: to win their island’s kneeler racing tournament for the eligibility to enter the Isle of Man international competition in the UK! Why? Because they’re both in love with their former coach, Tanahashi. Unfortunately, if they want to compete for his affection, they’ll have to work together temporarily. Kneeler racing requires two riders: a driver to steer and a passenger to distribute balance, and they happen to work well together. Can they succeed in putting their differences aside for the chance to be with their beloved Tanahashi?

While the above is the overall plot, Two Car bounces around from story to story, focusing on the trials and tribulations of Yuri and Megumi’s opponents. You’ll learn about the friendship between Nagai Misaki and Shiohara Chiyuki that transcends social positions, the dominant and submissive bond between Murata Izumi and Suzuki Nagisa, the inseparable twins Yuria and Maria, and even a quick story about kneeler racing’s favorite announcers, Makita Ai and Itagaki Nene. Interspliced between these stories are quick asides about Two Car’s favorite couple, Katakura Mao and Iseki Hitomi, and how they learn about their perfect relationship, which may not be as ideal as it seems.

Two Car ends with Yuri and Megumi attempting to break up Tanahashi and his fiancée Betty Birtual, Yuri and Megumi’s former hero. During a time trial race, Megumi falls off the kneeler and breaks her leg, forcing Yuri and Megumi to switch positions in the determining race. While initially they do quite poorly, a freak storm forces the rest of their opponents to slow down while Yuri and Megumi are able to catch up and win. Betty then confronts Tanahashi after realizing Yuri and Megumi were right about Tanahashi being wrong for her, leaving Yuri and Megumi free to pursue Tanahashi.

The few races that are sprinkled throughout Two Car are well animated. There are some notable, off-putting instances of CGI mixed in during a few episodes, but for the most part, the races are suitably zippy and can be enjoyable to watch. It forgoes a lot of lengthy explanations of techniques used and largely keeps its focus on the pure adrenaline rush of an explosive race. Kneelers blast through the rain, slice around corners with cutting precision, and it captures a sense of momentum and speed through the quick camera work. At the very least, you won’t be disappointed whenever a race comes up.

Two Car is a strange, confusing show. The overall focus of the show is pretty clear: it’s about following the relationships between the different sets of girls as a thinly veiled excuse to ogle them. Every pairing follows a common framing device for just about every kind of yuri fetish you can think of: there’s the wealthy girl/working class duo in Chiyuki and Mizuki, the twins who obsess over being similar in Yuria and Maria, the sadomasochist pairing of Izumi and Nagisa, and so forth. Two Car tries to give everyone some screen time so that anyone who just happened to like a pairing will be happy to see them get their due… except around episode 9, where Two Car dumps its own formula and refocuses on Yuri and Megumi’s desire to score with Tanahashi.

Maybe this dilly dallying with the main plot would be more palatable if the time spent leading up to it were used to build up its central characters throughout each of these stories, but ultimately, each new story passes by only to be completely forgotten by the next set of episodes. There’s no sense of growth to any of the characters because everything resolves by stating that the status quo before was fine. This seems like it’s due less to a sincere message of stating that you’re fine as you are and more that the writers seem afraid of pushing the viewers out of their comfort zones. The girls are there for your enjoyment, so why should they evolve as people? You only like them because you have a kink for twins or dominant-submissive relationships. Why challenge that?

Why You Should Watch Two Car

1. Okay Art Design

第1話では、決勝本選の前の開催記念のお披露目のデモンストレーションが描かれています。…とするとつまり…？時系列にも少し注目してみてくださいね。【振り返り一挙】つうかあ #1〜4 @AbemaTV で視聴中 https://t.co/LFDIMJFzhN #2car pic.twitter.com/rM0Q10TByE

— つうかあ🏎オリジナルTVアニメ公式 (@twocartv) November 6, 2017

The characters are not unattractive. There’s nothing particularly offensive or off-putting about any of the cast that would turn anyone off, so if you haven’t had your fill of cheesecake, by all means. You’ll be rewarded with copious shots of shapely butts in bodysuits. If you’re not a butt guy, then you still have an average of one hot springs sequence per episode to look forward to(this is not an exaggeration). If that’s your thing, then enjoy.

And at least it doesn’t get in the way of the races too much. You’ll get your rear view camera angles during the races, but honestly, if you don’t generally pay attention to pandering, then it won’t be that distracting, as the camera frames their figures off to the side more often than not so it’s not immediately obvious what Two Car is up to. Kneeler racing is at least a unique sport that no anime has made its subject matter, so you might glean something from watching the competitions.

Why You Should Skip Two Car

1. Yuri and Megumi

Watching these two bicker with one another isn’t a charming insight into the struggles of maintaining a partnership as a youth. It’s more of a reminder of the sheer pettiness of adolescence. In episode 11, they tell Betty Birtuall that Tanahashi is an awful person and that she should break up with him. You think that this is going to be the moment where the girls are finally put in their place and realize how much their obsession with Tanahashi is stealing their focus away from their true passion. And, to Two Car’s credit, the show almost does this up until the last few minutes where Betty breaks up with Tanahashi for almost no reason. Yuri and Megumi are rewarded for their moment of blatant sociopathy without any consequence. This is not a reflection of the innocence of a youthful, naïve crush on an elder; this is idolizing and fetishizing a completely unhealthy relationship. They make Two Car as a whole uncomfortable to watch.

But it’s not as if Yuri and Megumi were particularly likeable before this. Most of their squabbles are frustrating because of how needlessly contentious they are. It’s not really funny that Megumi and Yuri are passive-aggressively getting back at one another by eating the other’s snacks because nothing is ever established for either one to make them at all sympathetic. Our sole insight into both characters is their shared love for Tanahashi in the first episode, and that is it. That is a detail of their history, not a character trait, and yet Two Car wants us to accept that as both girls’ defining feature.

2. Needlessly Confusing and Drawn Out Timeline

Around episode 9, there’s a revelation that the first episode was in the future and places a renewed focus on Yuri and Megumi. It’s revealed that reason the two were so particularly contentious in this one race is because Coach Tanahashi had come to watch them. This might have been an interesting twist, but there’s no connection between anything we saw up until this point and how the events of the first episode play out. It’s not like in these first episodes we saw Yuri and Megumi work together as friends, or we saw their deteriorating relationship due to their competing with one another over Tanahashi. We know about their entire backstory right from the first episode.

Which leads to the question of why even spend any time on these other racers if their stories didn’t add up to anything? It defies its own formula and we never get a story about the Osaka pair or, even more shockingly, the goth Lolita pair. It’s as if the writers of the show only had a vague plot in mind for Yuri and Megumi that was only worth about three episodes of content, and in order to stall for time, they used the twist of the first episode more as a weak crutch to justify wasting so much time on all these other characters. There was nothing we gained from revisiting why, for example, Chiyuki was afraid of taking a sharp turn, which helped Yuri and Megumi take the lead. It’s the animation equivalent of a student rushing to get a school report finished by the due date and slightly increasing the margins and font size to hit an arbitrary page limit; they clearly didn’t know what they wanted to do, so this framing gave them an excuse to draw out the length by reusing animation.

3. Poor Messaging

【コミカライズ情報】本日、無料コミック ComicWalkerにて好評連載中の　しのはらしのめ氏による「つうかあ①」本編コミカライズが、ついに待望のコミック第1巻として発売です📗！

各種、店舗特典もございますので各店舗情報をご確認ください！https://t.co/0RT9EGWxmX#2car pic.twitter.com/wsSqzf57BB

— つうかあ🏎オリジナルTVアニメ公式 (@twocartv) December 13, 2017

Let’s just forget for a moment about our heroines getting away with breaking up a perfectly healthy and normal relationship completely scot-free. Can we point out that Tanahashi is in his 20s while Yuri and Megumi are still in high school? There’s something insidious about how, after all the terrible actions that the heroes have taken throughout the course of the show, we’re seriously supposed to still be rooting for them by the end. Tanahashi’s adult break-up is their reward for realizing that they had become too focused on trying to woo a grown man. Since most of the show is spent ogling its female cast, Tanahashi seems to be the stand-in for its assumed male demographic. We cheer for these two because we’re supposed to desire them, and look, we know they’re cartoons, so no harm, no foul, but there’s something gross wanting us to root for the successful seduction of an adult by two girls who are still mastering algebra.

4. Lack of Character Growth

Yuria and Maria decide they want to distinguish themselves from one another, only to find that once they develop their own independence, the duo can no longer function as a kneeler racing team. So, to correct this… they have to revert back to being the same person. Or how about Izumi and Nagisa, where Izumi goes so far as punching Nagisa for even daring to question the healthiness of their relationship, only to freak out about how she could have died on the race track without Nagisa’s input. Only to… go back to being Nagisa’s overly dominant master, and so forth.

These are not stories that are interesting because they are not stories about people. These characters feel like they were designed by a committee, all for the sole function of selling cheap merchandise quickly to people who might just have happened to have latched onto the series because they saw a character design they liked. They’re less like characters and more like mascots who have to stay within their pre-defined personality trait, lest they devalue the brand and potentially turn off a customer who might want a Yuria or Izumi keychain.

Two Car is like clicking on a random recommended YouTube video based on a sexy thumbnail image and a lack of judgement. You tell yourself you’re watching because, hey, the concept of the video sounded interesting and there might be something more going on, but you know deep in your heart why you clicked. Like that random YouTube video, Two Car was designed to fill space in an endless void of content that the creators justify as an attempt to make a name for themselves. Don’t be fooled; there is nothing of value to be gleaned from Two Car. There’s no plot, no focus, no drive to anything that’s actually happening. It’s all a façade to trap the occasional man based on their primal instinct to look at boobs.

Disagree? Please, let us know in the comments below!

Author: Matt Knodle

I come from Indiana, where I grew up near a video rental shop that proudly stated “The widest selection of anime in the state”, setting me on a course to enjoy as much anime as possible. I’ve devoted myself to over-analyzing various sports anime and video games probably more than they were ever intended. I currently co-host a weekly sports anime fan podcast called KoshienCast with my good friend, Matt.

Top 5 Anime by Matt Knodle

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7 Problems That Every Single Writer Faces Before Becoming Successful

Unsplash / Brad Neathery

Starting out as a freelance writer can be scary, confusing, and leave you feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

There is so much information out there it’s hard to know where you fit into the bigger picture.

There is good news though: you’re not the first freelance writer to ever have to deal with these problems.

Every writer who came before you, and all of the ones who come after you, has to contend with the same problems in order to be successful.

1. Having no idea where to start.

Every new freelance writer finds themselves staring blankly at their computer screen with what they need to do to get started.

Do you perfect your portfolio? Do you start a blog? Do you look for jobs on content mills? Do you look for jobs because a guru said you shouldn’t use content mills? Do you create a LinkedIn profile? Do you start guest blogging? Do you try and do of it?

It’s easy to see why the default response is closing your laptop, heading to the couch, and losing yourself in a new Netflix series. Trying to make sense of it all is a full time job in and of itself. No wonder Elon Musk likened starting a new business to chewing glass whilst staring into the abyss.

Dealing with this problem isn’t as hard as you might think, though.

All you have to do is choose one item from your List and commit to doing it until completion. It doesn’t matter if it’s the right action to take, it just matters that you do it. Why?

Because when you take action you’re not scared anymore. You’re lost in the moment, free from resistance, and able to tackle whatever might be thrown at you.

Once it’s completed you can take a step back and think, “Did that help me achieve what I set out this morning to do?” If the results are positive, do more of that. If they’re negative, choose a different option and try that one instead.

Wash, rinse, and repeat.

2. Feeling like you’re a sellout.

Writing purists will tell you that you’re not a real writer if you don’t make your money through publishing books or having a huge online following.

If you’re writing anything that they don’t consider to be true to the sacred art of writing, you’re a sellout. A hack. A word-based prostitute selling your soul.

…and it’s all bullshit.

As Jeff Goins points out in his book of the same title, “ Some of the greatest works of art have been made upon commission.

Neil Gaiman, Ernest Hemingway, Kurt Vonnegut, and Terry Pratchett all spent time writing for newspapers. It was a way to how to write, build a following, and get paid to learn to write. Were they sellouts too?

The modern day equivalent to taking a job at a newspaper is freelance writing. Finding niches that you love and writing about them because you’re interested, you want to learn, and you want to feed your family.

You’re not a sellout. You’ve just found a way to get paid to do what you love.

If there’s one thing I’ve noticed about these writing purists it’s that many of them don’t make any money writing. They preach their values at you from the comfort of their mother’s spare room, or after a hard day at a job they hate.

I’d rather use my skills to help people, master my craft, and pay my bills whilst I’m alive than hope my book sells when I’m dead.

3. Thinking your writing just isn’t good enough.

Each new freelance writer asks themselves the same question, “Is my writing good enough?”

It’s a sadistic question we all have to ask ourselves. And, in business, it makes sense. If you can’t string together a sentence you probably be a freelance writer.

But good writers being overcome by the fear that their writing isn’t quite good enough is what kills most careers before they ever began.

Every time I submit an article – even after four years of writing online – I’m worried is going to turn around to me and say, “Your writing is

I still toy with the fear that all of my clients are going to realize that I’m making this up as I go along and my writing is terrible and cancel their contracts and leave me to go back to my job in a shoe shop selling sneakers for seven bucks an hour.

But despite all of this, I’ve come to learn that this fear is a blessing. It’s what keeps you alive as a writer.

It you edit your writing. Try new techniques. Read books. Absorb feedback (even if it feels like a knife to the heart when an editor tears apart your piece). Then use it all to go on and become a better writer.

The writer who is comfortable, who has decided their writing is good enough, is the one whose writing will become truly awful.

If you ever feel like this problem will get the better of you, take the time to read this passage from Neil Gaiman and how he feels about his writing after publishing at least 37 books and having a net worth of around $18 million:

You have to have a level of confidence in your writing to sit down and have the audacity to write an article that someone will spend their time reading. But you also need to have a little self doubt to keep you from becoming stagnant.

4. Feeling like getting hired is impossible.

When you first start out it feels as though every client wants you to have published portfolio pieces to get hired. But in order to get those published portfolio pieces you need to get hired in the first place.

It feels like a never-ending cycle that you can’t see a way out of. And, it’s enough to turn your away from freelance writing altogether.

When I’d open my emails to find rejections letters saying that I didn’t have enough portfolio pieces I’d want to scream, “How the hell am I supposed to get them if you don’t bloody hire me!?” at the screen.

But when I took a step back I realized that there were lots of opportunities to get portfolio pieces that didn’t involve me getting paid. And when you realize this for yourself your entire business begins to change. Think:

Do you have any friends who need a website? Do you know someone with a blog? Can you contact a local business and offer to write for them for free? Can you contact someone on a job board and offer to write in exchange for a testimonial?

The cruel world of freelancing is that if you’re stuck it’s your job to get yourself . Nobody is going to come along and fix the problem for you.

5. Dealing with rejection.

Every new freelancer has to face rejection and every time it feels like a dagger plunged straight to the heart of your self-worth. (It doesn’t get much better with experience, either).

In my early days I’d get rejected for articles, throw my arms in the air, walk away from my laptop, and proclaim that I was going to make a success of this. You’ve probably felt like doing (or have done) something similar.

But there is a way to reframe rejection to make it work for, and help you actually feel good about getting rejected.

It all starts with a simple question you need to ask yourself you start any interaction:

This question allows you to focus on and not the (read: you getting paid).

When you look at it this way everything that happens is to help the client get the results they need.

You can help them by not working with them because it’s not what they need right now.

You can help them by giving them a few tips on how to improve their blog and then leaving them to do it on their own.

You can help them by recommending another freelancer because you’re not the right person for the job.

You’re also able to decide if you’re the person to help them. Perhaps the best way to help this person is to let them find another freelancer to do the work instead.

There is probably some self-help, spiritual term for this. I just call it putting the client’s needs first. And it helps rejection much more palatable by showing you it was the right decision at this time.

So, the next time you write a pitch, go into a meeting, or jump on the phone, ask yourself this question and watch the fear of rejection melt away.

6. Feeling like you can’t charge what you’re worth.

At the start of your career money is the most topic of conversation.

You never know what to charge and it can be uncomfortable to name a price.

You’re met with this horrible fear that the potential client – who you’ve got on the hook – is going to turn you down and leave you with nothing if you charge what you really want.

How often has someone asked you for your price and you’ve written, deleted, re-written, and done some quick maths on your phone calculator before you finally replied to their email?

If you’re anything like I was, quite a lot. I remember once I wrote for $300 just to avoid mentioning the rate I wanted to charge.

This is completely normal and it’s not your fault that you feel that way.

But there comes a time when every freelance writer has to sit back and think, “I’m damn good at what I do. Why am I not charging what I’m worth?”

When you realize clients need you as much as you need them and that you’re equal in this relationship. You’re not to your potential client. You’re not negotiating a contract so you work for them.

You’re working on a contract so that you’re able to create something incredible together.

7. Your friends and family don’t understand what you do.

When I first started out I had a group of friends who could not wrap their head around what I did.

They told me it was a hobby, not a job. That I’d never get paid for writing. That I should go back and get a proper job with a pension plan and dental and stop trying to get paid for something I enjoyed doing.

My Mum thought it was a risky decision. There was no guaranteed income, so how would I pay bills? Surely there wasn’t money to be made until you were in the top flight of authors. You could see the worry on her face the minute I told her I’d quit my job to be a freelancer.

After four years of writing and a successful business later people still say to me, “I don’t get it, how do you make money?”

When I work from home people still come in and talk to me and ask me mundane questions and invite me to go to the shops. Despite the fact I’m clearly working. (They should be used to me still being in my pajamas at 2pm by now, right?).

The truth is that the majority of people you know won’t understand what you do. They’ll be confused – or scared – by it. They’ll try and talk you away from it because it doesn’t fit in with view of the world and how it should work. They’ll distract you because the concept of making money whilst sitting in your slippers is alien to them. And it’s not their fault.

No matter what, you have to stay strong against their pull. Their arguments are convincing and their intentions are good.

But the reason wanted to be a freelance writer is because you see the world, and your skills, in a different way. You want something else for yourself.

You have to learn how to say no, or that you don’t agree, or that you’re working right now and you’ll sadly have to decline. That the risks, once you realize someone pay you for your work, are really worth it.