#shit from homeless tents while the person living in it is at work TRYING to stop being homeless.

[bleuberrygliscor]

Truly we can do both, we can acknowledge that this kid made a selfless choice while also condemning the same system that even allowed him to make it. if hearing that a child decided to help others when they should have been given the grace to be selfish makes you uncomfortable, great! it should! whats more, you should be upset that this young man is still working this table, and has a gofundme to assist with the costs, with updates as recent as last september and the homeless population where he is continues to rise.

if you want real actionable steps, contact your local politicians, not federal, im talking city officials, county officials, your school board. if you have the moxie, get in there and run, and if you dont- loudly support someone who can. donations and mutual aid can only work as a temporary measure, dont toss a dollar the same way you toss a ballot in and wipe your hands clean.

[pixieungerstories]

Quarantine - 4

Nick had changed his tactics.  Now, instead of growling, howling and creepy laughter, he whispered.  It was like living in an ASMR app.  Somehow the lights were always dim and Nick was occasionally purring sweet nothings in my ear.

Someone came to inspect the wine.  They had questions I could not answer, I parroted back the approved line that Nick was the one selling and they would need to call or email him.

A week later, someone came and took away a box that Nick had packed and there was a hell of a lot of money in my bank account.

Which was just as well, I had my hours further reduced.

I lay in bed that night staring at the ceiling and listening to Nick whispering about how he was planning how to spend the wine money on the house.

I was dancing around asking if I could use some of it to cover my living expenses.   He wasn’t getting the hint.  I realized that was very nearly fair.  He had been very clear he was here for the house not for me.  It had been his wine.  Of course, I was the one who had the income from the wine sale to claim on my taxes.

“Nick?  Would you pay me to paint the place?”

That made him stop.

“And why would I do that?” he breathed against my cheek, making me shiver.

“I have no idea how long I will be without work and I’m afraid of running out of money,” I admitted.  “And of having strangers coming in, possibly bringing the infection with them.  We don’t know if people can get Covid twice.”

He didn’t reply.  In fact, there was no sign of him for the better part of a week.  That was a whole other level of creepy.  The house just felt empty.  There was no one to talk to and I hadn’t realized how often Nick would brush past me until that stopped.

I was soaking in the tub on Saturday night, wishing for a glass or wine or a beer.  There was still wine in the basement, but it was all the stuff Nick was saving for a special collector.  It had come as a surprise when the wine appraiser said that I had drunk a twelve hundred dollar bottle of wine out of my coffee cup the last time I had cracked one open.

No, the wine was wasted on me and deliveries from the liquor stores were booked for weeks if I wanted to schedule a delivery.

The lights flickered.

“Nick?” I asked.  There wasn’t any reply.  I pulled the plug with my toes and climbed out of the tub.  I had been avoiding the second floor of the house as much as I could but it was where the tub and shower were.  The lights flickered again.   There was a huge crash of thunder signaling the start of a summer storm, then the lights went out and the rain started.

“Shit.”  OK, I told myself, no need to panic.  It’s just a storm. I am just trapped in pitch blackness, in a storm, while naked and I have to not trip over my clothes and make it safely down steep and narrow steps by memory.  The thunder rolled again, a huge almost double crash that had to be really close.  My feet were wet and the tile was slippery.

“Nick?”  I tried.  “I could use a little help here.”  I bit back a scream as the bathroom door creaked open.  “Nick?”  I whispered.

I shrieked when something brushed my hand then tried to relax as I realized it was a towel.  I wrapped up and tried to feel ahead of me with my feet as I inched my way towards the door.

That familiar low voice growled in my ear, “it would be safer if I carried you down the stairs.”

I swallowed, then nodded.  I was scooped up and cradled.  There was no real sensation of movement until I was placed on my feet and he guided my hand to what turned out to be my bed.  Then he was gone.  The room was briefly lit by lightning and I swore for a moment I could see him standing in the doorway to the kitchen.  The thunder followed in an instant rattling the whole house.  I was glad I had gotten the roof fixed.  

Looking toward the front window, it looked like the street lights were out too.

I hate storms.  Objectively, I know that I don’t have to be afraid, but storms completely bypass the objective part of my brain and reach right into my fear response.  I sat on the bed, shaking with fear in a way that I hadn’t felt since Nick tried to lock me in the bedroom.

“Lift up your hand,” he whispered, near enough to make me jump.  “I can’t turn on your hedgehog night light but I can hand it to you.”

I tentatively held up my hand and he didn’t so much pass me the light as drop it into my hand.  I fumbled for a moment before finding the right place to press to make it light up.  It didn’t really help, but I slid back across the bed until I bumped into the wall and sat clutching it anyway.

“You are very afraid,” he observed calmly from somewhere to my left.

“I’m trapped in a haunted house, during a storm and I am only wearing a towel.  This is where the sound track plays the creepy music and the audience tenses up in anticipation of my imminent death.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, so that when he did speak, I made an undignified squeak and jumped.

“You can’t see me bring you clothes.”

“What?”

“I can’t bring you your clothes unless you turn off the light.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t see me.”

I thought about arguing about whether it was that I physically couldn’t see him or if he just didn’t want to be seen.  Still, I had trusted him to carry me down the stairs.

I turned off the light and fought not to hyperventilate.  My robe was placed in my lap a moment later.  That raised more questions.  If I turned on the light to get dressed did that make it easier or harder for him to see me.  Was the dinky little nightlight really going to keep him away in the storm?

I turned it back on and looked wildly around the room as it cast strange shadows.

“I used to like that,” he murmured.  “The taste of fear.  Its smell.  All the little noise that humans make when they are afraid and trying to be quiet.”  He paused and there was a moment of uncomfortable lack of talking filled with the sound of howling wind and driving rain.  “I have never lived with one of you this long before.  Your fear is different.  You become afraid at times when I am unable to see the threat.”

“Like now,” I mumbled, as I scrambled into my clothes.

“No.  This fear I can understand.  Primal fear is very familiar to me.  It’s my bread and butter, so to speak.  You are afraid of when I am here and when I don’t answer and you are afraid of your job.”

I stopped for a moment and tried to understand that last one. “I am afraid for my job,” I countered.  “If I can’t work, I don’t earn money.  Without money, I can’t pay my bills.  If I fall behind in my payments, the bank repossesses the house and this is an even more shitty time to be homeless than usual.”

“Hmmm.”

I shivered and tried to pull the blankets around me.

“You can lay down,” he suggested.  “You would be warmer and more comfortable.”

“It would be easier if I could see you,” I muttered.

Nick snorted, “No it wouldn’t.”  The wall where his voice was coming from got darker, then a swirling shadow detached itself from the wall and drifted towards me.  It was vaguely humanoid but with soft wavering edges like ink dropped into water.  His eyes still shone in the darkness.  

“That’s a little scary,” I whispered “but I could get used to it.”  Then he grinned showing entirely too many teeth and I started to doubt my words.   The way he stalked towards me wasn’t entirely comforting either.  The bed dipped under his weight and I found myself pulled into his lap.  It was the first physical contact I had since he left.  It was weird to realize that he was the only other person to have touched me in months.  I tried to relax against him, he was warm and dry. 

I couldn’t hear a heartbeat.  It was weird.  “You could rub my back, if you want.  It was nice the last time you did that.”

Nick gave a low chuckle, then he began stroking me.  We sat like that in the storm until the wind died down and I drifted off to the sound of the rain.

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

TUA AU, this time for season 2 Tommy and Sam!

So. Tommy just got yeeted into the future after having a rather fiery breakdown. That happened.

And he doesn't remember much. He doesn't know where he is, how he got there, or why he feels so alone, like there's somebody - multiple sombodies - who should be here but aren't and it's freaking him out. All he remembers is burning, everything burning, before somebody else is there, telling him everything is going to be okay. He doesn't know who they are, but he thinks it was someone he loved.

(He also remembers a man in green and a mask that makes his breath go shaky, but not exactly why.)

And then you've got Sam. Sam, who lives alone with his dog Fran, is probably driving home after work, when he sees this kid on the side of the road, no adult in sight, nothing but his clothes on his back, probably homeless or a runaway, looks about two seconds away from a panic attack, and- well, what is Sam supposed to do? Just leave him there?

So he goes up to the kid, who nearly jumps out his skin, and after about two minutes of conversation it becomes clear that oh yeah, this kid is definitely not okay. Sam manages to catch his name, before his concern skyrockets as Tommy promptly collapses into his arms because he's had a long fucking day, alright?

Well. It's good thing Sam has that guest room he never uses.

So he brings Tommy home, waits for him to wake up, asks him some questions over breakfast, like where are your parents? What happened to you? Do you have anywhere to go? It's when Tommy gives a quiet no or I don't know that Sam promptly decides "okay, you're staying with me"

It's rough going for the first few weeks. Tommy isn't about to dash out the door like he first did when he woke up, but he doesn't exactly trust Sam either. Meanwhile Sam may not know about the superpowers, or the apocalypse or time travel, but he does manage to gather that this kid must have been through some serious shit. And a lot of his reactions and comments point towards having a not-so-good caregiver in the past, so he does his best to be patient, understanding, give Tommy his space and make sure he knows he doesn't owe Sam anything.

Things slowly get better. Tommy gets acquainted with Fran, who is good at calming him down when Sam can't, especially after nightmares. As the weeks go on, more and more of Tommy's memories trickle in, and Sam helps him deal with that. Tommy tells him he thinks he did some bad things in the past, and Sam tells him he doesn't think Tommy is a bad person, and that it's what he does now that matters, not the past.

A couple of weeks turn into a couple of months, and things are good. Tommy smiles more easily, trusts more easily, is less tense and wary, and Sam will admit that it's nice to have such a vibrant presence in the previously empty house. Maybe Tommy tentatively starts to experiment with his powers in private, getting better control, learning exactly what he can do. Maybe he even remembers that he had a family, that maybe they're out there somewhere. Things are good.

Except one day, things are not so good. Tommy's walking home from doing some errands, when he gets held up by this weird cat-like guy, who keeps asking him questions and is in general getting way too close for comfort. Tommy manages to lose him, and brushes it off. Guy was probably just a conman, or high, or a really creepy salesman. Then he gets home, and Sam is worried, tells him that earlier two guys came by - white hoodie and a guy who refuses to swear - asking a bunch of questions, trying to invite themselves in, and most concerning - they were asking for Tommy specifically.

That is... unnerving, but not necessarily cause for alarm. What harm could they really do? Then next day, the guys come by again, and they're a lot more persistent, keep trying to convince Tommy to come with them, that they can help him, they can bring him to his fanily, and Sam is really not liking the vibe he gets from these guys, and long story short a scuffle breaks out. Tommy uses his powers to scare the guys off, but not before Sam gets injured. Not majorly, but still.

Sam is understandably spooked, especially as it slowly dawns on him he might have bitten off more than he can chew- but no, he's not going to leave Tommy, he promised, he can't. They go to a hotel to stay the night, just in case.

Tommy, meanwhile, is spiraling hard. Because there are people after him, who apparently know about him and what he can do, about his family, and he may not know exactly what they want but it can't be anything good. And they're coming after him, after Sam, and Sam got hurt, Sam got hurt trying to protect him, Sam got hurt because of him, just like everyone else-

Tommy refuses to let people get hurt because of him anymore.

So, quietly in the middle of the night, he writes a note, telling Sam he's sorry, he shouldn't have to deal with, with Tommy, he shouldn't have to get hurt because there are more people out there who want to use Tommy's powers, that it's not his job to protect him. He tells Sam thank you, for everything, for the past few months that have been the best his life, that he doesn't know how to repay him and he'll never forget, and he tells Sam not to look for him, to stay away, for his safety and Tommy's peace of mind. He tells Sam goodbye, then he quietly slips outside, jumps on bus or a train, and walks away from the only stable caregiver he's had in years.

Sam wakes up, reads the note, and promptly decides fuck that, Tommy is a kid, he's Sam's kid, and Sam will be damned before he lets him be alone, because he made a promise to keep Tommy safe and he is damn well going to keep it. So him and Fran jump in the car, and set off for the nearest town.

(And maybe while he's there, he meets a blonde man who also seems to be worried about his kids, so...

Sam: Hey, have you seen a tall, skittish blonde teenager? Curses a lot, about 6' 1", kind of a smart-ass?

Phil:

Phil: Tell me everything you know right now.)

Meanwhile, Tommy is walking down the street of some unknown city, oblivious to the pink-haired vigilante that does a double take when he sees him, disbelief all across his face.

It’s found family your honor. It’s Sam and Tommy bonding and becoming a family and oh god that’s giving me so many feelings and then Tommy leaves because he thinks he’s a danger to Sam and oh man. This hurts.

On the bright side though, we have everything coming together and we have the plot just slowly converge together and that’s great.

[caribooed]

[cha cha slide voice] reverse!

Freeze! Everybody clap your hands!

Ok so Catwoman Guardian of Gotham was a disaster so I'm taking it into my own hands. Only Bruce and Selina are swapped and Alfred still exists, not. The weird maid lady and Bruce is Not a bloodthirsty murderer

This got Very long so it's under a cut

Selina's parents were murdered by Joe Chill and she vowed to never let anyone feel the same pain she did, hence why she later became Catwoman

Bruce grew up on the streets with his big brother Thomas taking care of them both, but Thomas ended up killing a guy in a mugging and got sent to prison and left Bruce on his own

Catwoman hears about a number of high-profile thefts (museums, aristocrats) springing up and starts trying to track down the cat burglar and ends up interrupting a burglarly from a wealthy woman's penthouse

She chases the burglar down and they have a fight on the rooftops where they kick the everloving shit out of eachother but the burglar throws her off the roof and when she gets back up he's gone

Next night, she attends a charity event and meets an activist and fundraiser by the name of Bruce Wayne and they have a nice chat and hit it off

In the middle of it, a waiter bumps Selina in the side right over where her ribs got cracked from the other night and she doubles over so Bruce helps her out of sight and asks what happened

She tells him she tripped down the stairs of her house but he does Not believe it and ends up sticking by her the rest of the night, at the end of which Selina is like. "He's nice I think" and invites him out for lunch soon

Jump a day or two and Selina runs into the burglar again but this time he's got full body armor and a bat motif and she is Not Happy With This Development

Bruce stole a ton of armor and weaponry from the GCPD and made his own suit because Selina rly messed him up the last time they met

So they fight and Bruce hits her in the side and it floors her and he is like. Wait A Minute, but she recovers and he's forced to run

And then over a period of a month or two, Bruce starts hanging out with Selina in the day (lowkey stalking her to see if his wild theory is right) and while over at her manor he spots a bloodstain on her shirtsleeve from a wound that bled through the bandages she was wearing and when he questions her she says she cut her arm open on a nail accidentally and it's not a big deal but he's just. Hm

Also during this period, Catwoman keeps showing up to stop all of Batman's robberies and he's really getting sick of it because he's been using the money from his stolen goods both to like, feed himself but also to support a gang of homeless kids in the neighborhood he lives in and to help provide food for the local orphanage and it's getting Really Hard To Do That When He Can't Steal Stuff

So basically he knows she's Catwoman and Selina is his friend and he's just. I Have An Idea

Batman starts going out more often just to taunt Catwoman while she's on patrol and he starts going to other rogues like Two-Face and Cobblepit to egg them on and he actively breaks Bane out of prison and the Riddler out of Arkham just to set them loose

He's basically manufacturing a crime wave to try and wear Catwoman out and it's working

She's really exhausted because of all this and every time she has to make an appearance in public she's all tired and struggling to keep it together and Bruce makes a point to be there and to cover for her whenever she's too overwhelmed

Eventually Catwoman gets severely injured during a fight and she's too far from the Cave so, not really having another option, she shows up passed out in Bruce's apartment bleeding out and he's all surprised and helps her and gives her impromptu medical care but never pulls off her mask

Selina wakes up on his couch and he's asleep in a chair he pulled up next to her and she's like :] and leaves him a thank you note before going

So Batman has basically become priority one but he keeps causing so many new problems to spring up that she can't actually go after him while he commits a robbery spree, and every tine she deals with everything else he goes to ground for weeks on end

All the while Bruce is there being Supportive Friend Of The Year and they keep going out to eat and they spend events together and it's Grand

Eventually Bruce asks her out! And she's like. Oh No because while she likes him, she genuinely doesn't know if she can handle being in a relationship at the moment but she doesn't want to say no so she gives a tentative yes and so they're dating

Luckily he is a very understanding man and whenever she has to dip out to be Catwoman or when she's too tired to go out he's all "oh it's fine, I can reschedule" and it's a Very Big Relief

Batman goed to ground after another round of Mess With Catwoman and he stays that way for like three months and she puts all her rogues away so for the first time in a While she has proper free time to spend with Bruce and it's lovely! And shes like. "If this is how our relationship is, I don't want it to end" but because she's Catwoman and she doesn't know that she could hide it from Bruce if they were married and so one night she shows up in his apartment as Catwoman and shows him that she's Selina and he's just "!!!!! Oh that explains a lot, that's really awesome"

He swears he'd never tell anyone about her identity and makes a joke about how because Selina makes herself seem so ditzy at parties, nobody would believe him anyway and so Selina proposes to him the next night and they end up getting married and Bruce moves into the manor ❤️

Unfortunately Batman comes back and he pulls a pro gamer move which involves releasing every inmate from Arkham and Blackgate, including but not limited to her entire rogues gallery

So she's having a Time and literally just can't handle everything and every time she does well against a rogue Batman swoops in out of nowhere to divert her and really it's exhausting and she's working herself to the bone

Eventually she manages to wrangle most of them but the Joker is still on the loose and Batman keeps evading her and she Has Not Slept For Four Nights

While she's in the Cave, Alfred makes a comment about how at night it always gets so nerve wracking, especially since Bruce tends to leave after she does and Alfred is worried he might get caught up in something dangerous considering Batman and the crime wave and Selina is like

"He leaves the house at night??? [wh]" And Alfred gets confused tells her how he can never find Bruce in the manor from around eleven pm to two in the morning so he assumes Bruce goes out to visit friends or to deal with personal business and he tells her abt how he asked Bruce about it and he told Alfred that he and Selina had already talked about it

And Selina is just. "He was lying to you, I had no idea he was going out" which makes her Very Suspicious

She can't Do anything about it because she's trying to track down supercriminals but she checks the manor security feeds and she can't find any trace of Bruce leaving which is Concerning

Basically she ends up finding the Joker and stopping him from bombing the city and he gets sent back to Arkham, but before she can go home Batman shows up and they facedown on the roof

Batman goes all "I really didn't want to do this but you gave me no choice" and then starts trying to kill Selina

He gets a bunch of good stabs in but Selina seems to get the better of him and so he runs and she follows him into an apartment building but loses him in the hallways

She spots a bomb behind one of the doors and realizes the building is about to explode so she gets out of there just before it does and Batman corners her with a gun on a nearby roof

He tries to kill her again but Selina manages to get close and hits the gun away

Batman tries to run but she grabs him by the cape and yanks him back and manages to rip his cowl off before he gets away, at which point she sees that it's Bruce and she's Horrified

And it finally clicks that Batman has been trying to get every other criminal in Gotham to either kill her for him or wear her out so that he can do it himself, which would Also be killing Selina Kyle, and since she doesn't have any other heir, Bruce would get her fortune

And she's all "why would you do all this" and he gets really angry and starts telling her all about the people that aren't as privileged as her and he basically tells her that he wants her money so he can use it to help the people living in the East End and the Narrows, since Selina and the other aristocrats of her stature didn't know the problem like he did and refused to help

So Selina is just baffled that he'd go this far and he apologizes to her genuinely before he tries to kill her one last time because now that she Knows, this is his last chance to get away with the plan

It doesn't work, Selina fights him off and manages to get cuffs on him but he gets away and Selina goes home and Divorces That Man Immediately but also realizes that while he was living with her he'd been stealing things like jewelry she never wore or fancy paintings from rooms nobody ever went into and she is just Not Pleased

But she also allocates a ton of money towards charity projects focused in the more rundown areas of Gotham and actively starts funding all sorts of orphanages, soup kitchens, clinics, etc

She tries to track Bruce down but he's just Gone and so she lets it go even though she's very heartbroken and sad that he tried so hard to kill her

[thewebcomicsreview]

Seeing as I don’t have a job right now (one week furlough), I managed to get a lot of writing for Saffron and Sage done today. Now I feel good! Time to ruin that with a Homestuck 2 Liveblog! Last time: Jade kidnapped “Yiffy”, much to Jane’s distress! No time for that, though, as we’re back with the Candyland Kids. 

HARRY: vrissy, i know this is a stressful predicament but i think that's going too far. HARRY: my dad believes in us. HARRY: and if he thinks there's something we can do, then there has to be a way!

Kind of interesting that Harry holds his dad’s opinion in such high esteem, considering that his dad has been AWOL pretty much his whole life.

TAVROS: Uncle john isn't to blame for this,,, HARRY: yeah, no shit tav. HARRY: this whole situation is because of YOUR insane hitlermom.

How the hell does Harry Anderson know who Hitler is? When did that conversation come up? This is a completely different universe! 

TAVROS: Is less sincere,,, than it is,,, an attempt to weaponize something difficult for me, TAVROS: In order that you can win an argument,,, with harry anderson,,,,, VRISKA: GRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! VRISKA: WILL YOU ALL JUST VRISKA: SHUT!!!!!!!! VRISKA: UP!!!!!!!!

A good example of why characters like John, Jade, Vriska, and sometimes Karkat are important in Homestuck or in stories generally. They actually do shit. 

VRISKA: Neither you nor your friends have anything really important going on. VRISKA: Your lives and your planet are a total 8ore! VRISKA: 8ut somehow John loves you anyway. VRISKA: Try and be fucking gr8ful for that every once in a while. VRISKA: Not everyone is so lucky.

Vriska please do not be pining for middle-aged John Egbert. You have literally half a dozen semi-official love interests (John, Terezi, Eridan, Tavros, Meenah and Kanaya), please don’t pick the one old enough to be your dad. It was already weird enough when Adult John got hot and bothered by teen Roxy in the epilogues, to say nothing of you fucking a middle-aged homeless clown in a bush.  

thespiansGlamor [TG] began pestering adamantGriftress [AG]

Oh, fuck you, Homestuck. It’s bad enough that Harry and Dave are both going to be referred to as “TG” in chatlogs, but now Vrissy and Vriska are both AG and have the same font color! 

TG: i've allocated the strife specibus with the scissorkind abstratus? TG: hm. TG: using this weird vocab and stuff feels... well, weird. TG: i'm not sure why, but it seems as though everything that's about to happen is that much more important now. TG: or maybe it already was, but i just didn't understand just how important until this moment.

One issue with wearing your metaphor on your sleeve as much as Homestuck 2 does is that thematically important lines become really obvious. 

I like how the triangle-shaped panel around Vriska escaping the crowd by simply walking into it is reminiscent of a magic 8-ball. That’s clever! 

VRISKA: Your society... no, your whole planet... it deserves to 8urn str8 to MEGAhell, and I'm gonna 8e the one to fly it there! VRISKA: I'm gonna shatter your paradise into pieces with my 8are hands and SHIT IN ITS GRAVE!!!!!!!! VRISKA: HOW'S THAT FOR A FUCKING ST8MENT! VRISKA: YOU GOT ALL THAT, JANE CROCKER? VRISKA: DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT'S COMING FOR YOU???????? VRISKA: YOU'VE MESSED WITH VRISKA: ********VRISKA******** VRISKA: ****FUUUUUUUUCKING**** VRISKA: ********SERK8T********

There’s some extreme Dungeons and Dragons energy here, where Vriska’s plan to escape a mob of reporters working for a totalitarian dictatorship run by literal gods is to simply walk outside and publicly declare her intent to destroy the world as punishment for its sins. 

And yeah, this is how that plan usually works in DnD, too.

Man, the next page is a wall of text, whereas in old Homestuck this’d be an animation. I get “fair wages” and “small budget”, but is still feels weird to see a big Strife scene merely get described with boring-ass words.

Fearing gunfire, the few paparazzi who aren't currently getting their asses handed to them by the world's angriest traffic cone start to trip over each other, diving for cover.

The world’s angriest traffic cone.

Far away, in her lair, Jane Crocker grabs the two sides of her computer monitor with enough strength to snap it in two. She can't believe what she's watching. Behind her, from a shadowy corner of the room, there is an agitated growling noise and the rattle of chains.

Is that Yiffy? Is Yiffy an animal? Please tell me Yiffy is not a person that Jade named Yiffy. 

....Actually, please tell me that Yiffy isn’t an animal Jade named Yiffy that is Jade’s child via sex with another animal that might be my breaking point.

Vriska alights on the ground, rakes her throat, quietly spits out a little wad of blue, and wipes her mouth unceremoniously. Tavros pats Harry Anderson tentatively on the arm. Vrissy tries to be badass and cough up something too but she doesn't really make it work.  

Vrissy::Vriska Vriska::Mindfang

It’s weird that John’s sprite is the same even though he’s middle aged now, but I like that his God Tier outfit doesn’t fit any more. Isn’t it magical? Ahh, who cares.

JOHN: this old thing is pretty uncomfortable in a lot of ways. JOHN: hm... JOHN: when we get a moment, maybe the two of us could brainstorm a redesign? JOHN: no pressure though. HARRY: !!!

Oh, that’s why! That’s cute. 

JADE: theres something i need to tell you

don’thavefuckedadogdon’thavefuckedadogdon’thavefuckedadog

JADE: john... i have a daughter JADE: shes almost harry andersons age JOHN: ... JOHN: ... JOHN: you have a daughter.

Named Yiffy?

ROSE: It was at this point that Jade came to me. ROSE: I could understand her pain quite acutely, and so... ROSE: I agreed to carry a child on her behalf. KANAYA: . ROSE: ... Without telling Kanaya.

Without-

Kanaya is your WIFE. You LIVE WITH HER. Even ignoring the question of why you’d keep 9 months of pregnancy from your wife, how? Kanaya would have been living with humans for years at that point and she’s literally in charge of reproduction don’t tell me she thought Rose just got fat for a while and then lost the weight really fast. 

ROSE: I'm... not sure why I made that decision. ROSE: I regret not telling Kanaya, of course. ROSE: But I can't say that I regret going through with it. ROSE: At the time, it didn't feel as though the deception was even all that prolonged. The whole affair was... short. ROSE: Purely physical, and nothing more.

ROSE: John, there isn't a father. ROSE: Jade and I are the sole parents of this child. JOHN: oh. JOHN: ... JOHN: OH. JOHN: oh i'm so sorry, i didn't th- ROSE: That's quite alright John, although you might like to direct that apology more towards your sister. ROSE: All I will say is that if you would like to take up the particulars with us, ROSE: Some *other* time, 

Actually, if John doesn’t know that Jade has a male dog’s genitals due to a fusion accident, I’d love to know what that all-caps OH means. What does he think happened, that Jade and Rose managed to have a baby? 

JOHN: so... how did you hide the pregnancy? ROSE: Oh, that was simple. ROSE: Jade's genes being, as they are, part canine, the gestation period was substantially reduced.

OH NO 

Yiffy is literally a furry, isn’t she? Moreso that Jade, she’s a full-on “Can be naked onscreen and it’s okay because she’s covered in fur” dog girl.

JOHN: i think i understand everything so f VRISSY: WAIT!!!!!!!! VRISSY: YOU MEAN TO TELL ME VRISSY: NOT ONLY DO I H8VE A SISTER VRISSY: 8UT YOU NAMED VRISSY: YOUR ****SECRET CHILD**** VRISSY: ********YIFFY********????????

Vrissy makes an excellent point. 

ROSE: We didn't call her Yiffy. ROSE: That would be a quite ridiculous thing with which to burden a child. ROSE: Her full name is Yiffany Longstocking Lalonde Harley.

Vrissy looks as though she is about to shit the belltower they are standing in, brick by brick.

ROSE: It was, in hindsight, a monumentally terrible decision acting as the final chapter in a long series of novels, each one full of progressively more terrible decisions than the last. ROSE: But that is the name that we decided upon.

Oh, wait a second. Vriska changed Vriska Maryam-Lalonde to Vrissy, and changed Harry Anderson to just Harry. So obviously she’s going to rename Yiffy to literally anything else, then rename Tavros, and then we’ve got a new set of four kids as Vriska leaves to do something else. That’s what going to happen, right? Right? Please? 

ROSE: You have to understand... this whole situation ended up playing out a bit like an ironic game of chicken between the two of us. ROSE: Something that far outstripped anything that the Strider fraternity could have produced in their wildest, most jpegged creative wet dreams. ROSE: But in the end that triumph of irony came back to bite us in the fucking ass, as irony is wont to do. ROSE: There was absolutely no possibility of us casually letting you all know that, by the way, we had had a secret daughter named Yiffany Longstocking. ROSE: At least, not right away. ROSE: But carapacian change-of-name paperwork is so complex and circuitous that, eventually, keeping quiet forever just seemed like the more reasonable option.

This is, even for Homestuck, monumentally stupid. You named your daughter Yiffany Longstocking as a joke and then kept the child secret because you were embarrassed. You two are awful fucking parents. You are the worst parents in the entire series, and that includes Bro Strider and the spider that made Vriska feed it children. 

And we’re literally at the point where the writing is bad and the joke is how bad the writing is. This isn’t enjoyable to read; you can’t make a bad B-movie My Immortal fanfic on purpose.  

Even now, Yiffy is likely being held at spoonpoint

I feel like “Jade and Rose have a secret daughter named Yiffany Longstocking” can be a joke or it can be drama but maybe not both at the same time. 

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - Rapunzel Day One

This is decent episode, and one of the few that isn’t filler in season two, but because there are problems with the over all character acs, there’s problems here with episode too. 

Summary:  Rapunzel and Cassandra come across an abandoned magic stall while searching for parts of their destroyed caravan. The stall contains a wand of forgetting. Cassandra impulsively wishes that Rapunzel would "just forget about everything" when she was tired of her trying to patch things up between them, which results in Rapunzel regressing to when she was still in her tower with Gothel.

The Episode Order is Confusing 

So this and The Brothers Hook aired on the same day. Now in the production order listing, Rapunzel Day One is suppose to come before The Brothers Hook and that’s how it’s ordered on Disney Plus. Which is where I’m watching this marathon and getting all my screen caps.

However The Brothers Hook did air before this episode according to Wikipedia. Also Hook Foot is nowhere to be seen with nary a word. So placing The Brothers Hook before would indeed make more sense in that regard. 

Yet Raps and Cass aren’t fighting in The Brothers Hook, so I don’t understand how this was supposed to originally work. What’s the correct viewing order here? Is Hook Foot just off screen with Fidella this episode, or is Cass and Raps ignoring their big fight in The Brother’s Hook? 

For Someone With a Disability Now, It Doesn’t Seem To Affect Things

Ok, to be fair, they do show Cassandra practicing here and later in Mirror, Mirror trying to relearn how to use her hand, and indeed physical therapy for injuries is a thing. Yet, two scenes isn’t enough to establish that. She regains usage of her hand really quickly and far too easily, given the type of injury it was. 

Disabilities, even unseen ones, still impact your everyday life. Yes, they don't ruin your life; you can still do things. But they don't just go away and you have to deal with it. 

Finding that balance between not making a character useless, while still recognizing that there are things that they struggle with when writing disabilities is a line that writers have trouble with. But if you’re not going to put in that effort needed to pull it off tastefully then don't introduce the concept. 

One Step Forward; Two Steps Back

Rapunzel recognizing that there is a problem, and wanting to fix it before it gets worse, can be viewed as progress. After all, avoiding the issue is why things got so bad between her and Varian. But, she’s still failing to see why Cassandra is upset and so goes about things the wrong way. 

And keep in mind, Rapunzel does have every right to be mad at Cassandra, just the same that Cass has a right to be mad at Rapunzel. Both girls screwed up.  

Yet, it’s only Rapunzel’s side of things that Rapunzel cares about, and therefore nothing actually gets resolved. 

This could have been a decent conflict for season three, but that’s not where the writers take things so we’re just spinning our wheels here. 

It’s also kind of shitty that Cass is the only person that Rapunzel is willing to put effort into righting things with. She still doesn’t give a crap about Varian, nor any other villain in the show. 

Well I Guess This Has to Come Before The Brothers Hook

They have the caravan in Brothers Hook, don’t they? I mean how else did they meet up with Hook Hand? But if that is the case then where is Hook Foot now? I don’t know.  

Cassandra’s Hurt Hand Only Matters When It Concerns Her Relationship With Rapunzel and Not How It Affects Her Character as a Whole 

An extension of what I was saying before, but it shows the fundamental problem with the writing for Cassandra. The writers only think of her as a conflict for Rapunzel and not as a person with like her own life and shit. 

Long Time, No See Owl

As soon as Hook Foot goes unceremoniously missing, then Owl shows up. I don’t think he’s been seen since season one, yet they act like he’s always been here with the group. 

Why is continuity and consistency so hard for this show? 

The Saporians Are Indeed Homeless, But Don't Expect That to Ever Be Brought Up

So things to note. 

This isn’t a village. It’s an encampment. What we see here are destroyed tents and caravans. The only permanent structure is a short stone wall. 

Secondly, the magic book they find has the Saporian symbol on it, and indeed the Saporians use the wand of oblivium to take over Corona in S3.  

What we can gather from this is that the Saporians were driven out of Corona after the first war. They’ve been living as nomads for centuries without their homeland.Yet their most recent settlement was destroyed by the black rocks sometime before season one started, along with most of their possessions and means of living. 

All of this would explain their motivations, goals, and why they picked now to try and take over and not just any other time.  

But don't expect any of that to be brought up or remembered by anyone come season three. We can’t have any po the bad guys, save for Cass, being sympathetic now can we. 

Also, just a side note. It’s funny how apothecary is treated as magic and alchemy as a science in this world, when in reality it should be the opposite way around. 

This is Not an Apology 

If you gotta throw a ‘but’ in there, then you haven’t really apologized. 

Rapunzel’s not sorry for Cass getting hurt. She doesn’t recognize nor understands why Cassandra feels the way she does, and she’s even attempting to try to. All Rapunzel cares about is how Cass being upset makes herself feel. She’s putting in this effort to ‘talk about it’ because Cass being outwardly angry at her is inconvenient to herself and nothing more. 

Rapunzel Still Hasn't Learned Boundaries 

Didn’t we already have this conversation back in season one? 

And like, yes, it’s not good for Cassandra to ignore her feelings, but what Rapunzel does here by pushing isn’t a good thing either. 

What's most frustrating though is that neither learn anything from this. Just like they didn’t learn anything in Under Raps or Goodbye and Goodwill. 

It’s aggravating to see the writers give us an actual conflict that’s worth having the mains fight over, only to be undermined by previous episodes and then thrown away altogether. 

So How Come the Wand Only Erases Part of Rapunzel’s Memory and Not All?

Like, this is suppose to be set for season three with Frederic and Arianna losing their memories. Yet despite Clementine using a similar wand, it doesn’t have the same effect on them as it does on Rapunzel here. They lose all their memories and sense of identity, while Raps just forgets a few years. 

Speaking Forgetting How Things Work 

Where did this handy dandy book with the cure go when Frederic and Arinna lost their memories? Why didn’t Raps go looking for it then, or force the Saparoians to give her the cure while they were in her custody? 

So This Plot Point Kind of Back Fires, and Winds Up Undermining Everyone’s Relationship with Rapunzel

First off, just repeating New Dream scenes from the movie, but with Cass in Eugene’s place is ill advised given the direction that the show went in. Whether you ship Casspunzel or not, it’s important to recognize that ‘sisters’ is what they are intended to be in canon. That’s the direction that Chris went with them, whether we like it or not. So either no one on the show knows how to write platonic female relationships, or this is gay baiting. Take your pick. 

It’s also lazy. 

But most damaging is that this only shows that Cassandra only liked Rapunzel when she was naive and stupid, and not the Rapunzel we have now. Tie in how her friendship with Rapunzel is based off of validation to begin with and we got a very unhealthy relationship, and not one that should be rooted for, despite the show wanting you to do just that.  

They even go so far to repeat the lines from the flashback in the last episode, as if this was a positive thing in their dynamic, instead of recognizing it for the really mess up thing that it. 

Then there’s the Eugene side of things that this calls into question. 

We know Eugene loves Rapunzel through thick and thin, but how much of their relationship is based off their first adventure together and not about how they work together in the here in now? 

Did Rapunzel just simply latch on to Eugene because he’s the first person that she met who wasn’t her mother and wound up being nice to her? If anyone else found her, would she be in a relationship with them instead? Is it healthy for her to never look for anything else? How much does Rapunzel actually like Eugene, for himself? 

Then throw in Eugene’s over idealization of Rapunzel in season three, they’re lack of communication issues, and Rapunzel’s crippling need to always be right, and I can’t say if New Dream should be what we’re rooting for either. 

This isn’t a Casspunzel vs New Dream thing, nor is it a personal dislike of Rapunzel herself. Rather, it’s a very serious question about the nature of Rapunzel’s interpersonal relationships vs her character development, and how that has to change things on some level, and if it’s still worth having those relationships now that she herself has changed so drastically. 

Is everyone being fulfilled? Is everyone getting what they need still? No? Then, why are any of these people still together? 

That needs to be addressed by the narrative now, and it never is. 

So Why Would You Say That Cass?

Rapunzel doesn’t know where she is and therefore has no idea what direction the tower lies in. If you’re heading south back to the camp then just say the tower is south. In fact it actually is south because you’ve been traveling northeast to the Dark Kingdom for months now, according to the map in Rapunzel’s Return. So what was the point in lying about that? 

In in effort make Rapunzel look smart, they had to make Cass look dumb and that’s not good writing. If you needed Rapunzel to suddenly not trust Cass then there were other better ways. The drawing she placed in her pocket should be enough on its own to tip her off, and all she has to do is reach into her pocket to put like a rock she found in there and then find it that way.

 So When Did Rapunzel Have Time to Build This Elaborate Mousetrap?

This would have taken hours, it’s not even been minutes. 

There’s making Raps competent and then there’s turning her into an overpowered invincible heroine. 

Now Pascal Is Missing

Oh is he with fucking Hook Foot now? 

He was right on your shoulder Eugene. 

If you’re going to have characters conveniently missing then establish that first, preferably in a visual way and not with exposition.  

So Rapunzel is Treat As In the Right Even When She’s Not

So Cassandra opening up about her feelings is treated as the solution to the problem, but it’s really not, or it shouldn’t be anyways. She can recognize she lied about the wand without having to doing something she finds uncomfortable, and it’s not like Rapunzel right now has any frame of reference for what Cass is talking about. 

All this amounts to is giving Rapunzel a free pass on her earlier bullshit.

Also if Cass repeating a phrase Rapunzel said earlier was all that was needed to jog her memory enough to trust her, then why couldn’t Eugene done the same? He was right there.  

This Doesn’t Resolve Anything

Ok first off that’s not what friends do. Friends actually work through shit. Friends make sincere apologies. Friends forgive each when they do. 

If you’re not doing that then you’re not friends and you should just leave. 

No one, not Raps, not Cass, ever apologizes for what happened in the Great Tree. They never try to understand what either of them did wrong, nor do they put effort into fixing themselves or addressing their issues and flaws. 

And you know what? That would be a valid reason for their falling out in season three. But it’s not used as such, so any resolution to their conflict there winds up feeling hollow. 

Conclusion

This episode, like with the Great Tree, gave me hope that this was all leading somewhere. Now it’s just a bitter reminder of how screwed up the writers’ morals are in this show, and how poorly planned everything was. 

[flowerfan2]

One Night in Milwaukee

David/Patrick, 4700 words, A03

A little angsty-with-a-happy-ending, h/c one-shot.  Happy Friday!

Summary:  Being stuck in the Milwaukee airport is bad enough.  Then David realizes that the man who broke his heart is sitting right next to him.

*****

The announcement at the gate is almost impossible to understand, but David gets the gist anyway.  His flight to Toronto is cancelled, and no further flights will be leaving until at least tomorrow morning.

He immediately starts searching on his phone for a nearby hotel, wishing he had bitten the bullet and done so hours ago.  It’s nearly midnight and he’s exhausted, having spent the best part of six hours in the Milwaukee airport as his connecting flight got delayed again and again.  He’s just about to reserve a room when a nearby airline employee is accosted by an impatient couple.  David stands up and drifts close enough to listen in – at least her words are clearer than those coming over the PA system.

Apparently due to the blizzard many roads are impassable, and passengers are being encouraged not to leave the airport.  Even if they make it to a hotel, the airline employee explains, they will almost certainly have trouble returning in the morning.  She encourages the couple to stay at the airport overnight if getting out on a flight tomorrow morning is their goal.  

David sighs, grabs his bag, and makes his way over to the long line of passengers hoping to rebook their flights for the next day.  He’s reached that state of tiredness when he can’t even focus on things around him.  He doesn’t even bother scrolling through his phone, he just tunes out and shuffles forward until his turn comes.

It’s not as if it even matters if he gets to Toronto tonight, or tomorrow.  There’s no one waiting at home for him, no one who will care if when he gets home.  It’s been more than three years since he’s had anyone like that.  Three years since he lost the best thing that ever happened to him.

David’s done the best he can to keep busy, now that the initial period of paralyzing depression is in his rear view.  He works out, and keeps up with current events, and stays out of bars.  He lives in Toronto, someplace familiar enough to be comfortable, yet completely bare of memories of Patrick.

For the past few weeks he’s been hanging out with Alexis at her condo in Brooklyn.  She had decided to throw a party for American Thanksgiving, which David thought was actually in poor taste but somehow didn’t manage to convey to Alexis until the day before.  In the end they cooked a bunch of food and donated it to a homeless shelter so he figures they did okay.  It had been good to spend time with his sister, but she is busy with her job and her friends and eventually David had to head back home, which brought him to this endless stopover in Milwaukee.  

David tries his best to be civil as he is tentatively booked onto an 8:35 a.m. flight the next morning.

“Thanks for flying with us,” the perky gate attendant says as she hands him his new ticket.  “Please make your way to the lobby.  This area will be closing soon.”

David blinks at her, confused.  “Excuse me?”

“Please make your way to the lobby, sir.  Passengers can’t remain by the gates overnight.”

David shakes his head and steps away as the next impatient customer pushes forward, and the woman’s instruction soon becomes clear.  Everyone at the gates is being herded away, back out past security and to the much smaller lobby area.  So not only does he have to spend the night in the Milwaukee airport, he’s got to fight for a chair again.  Fantastic.

Miraculously David manages to find an empty spot at the end of a row, near a chilly expanse of glass with a view of the storm outside.  He flops down with his bag next to him and stares for a while, not able to see much except swirling flakes illuminated by the flood lights on the tarmac.  

After a while David drapes his leather jacket over his head to block out the evil florescent overheads and leans back, trying to doze off.  He knows it’s going to be next to impossible to sleep like this, but he’s got nothing better to do.  He vaguely notices someone approaching him, looking for a place to sit, and he tugs his bag off the empty seat next to him so the man can sit down.  David may not be a nice person, but he’s not a complete asshole.  

<i>A nice person.</i>  Once upon a time, there was someone nice who cared about David, and who David cared about more than he ever thought possible.  It was like something out of a fairy tale, right up until the end.  David’s still not sure what happened, but the outcome was clear enough – Patrick was tired of him, and so that was that.  No fiancé, no wedding, no happy ending in Schitt’s Creek.  Rosebud Motel Group bought out Patrick’s share of Rose Apothecary, and David moved the store closer to Toronto, where it slowly became just a source for toiletries for the motel chain.  Eventually the physical location closed, and David’s role dwindled to almost nothing.

It’s been more than three years, but his heart still aches when he thinks about Patrick.  He can still hear his voice in his head, giving him shit or whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

Bizarrely, it’s at that very moment when he hears Patrick’s voice again, and it’s most decidedly not in his head.

“Thanks, that would be great.”

David sits up, his jacket sliding on to his lap, and his jaw drops.  Sitting right next to him, taking an orange polyester blanket from an airline employee, is Patrick.  He’s got a hoodie pulled up on his head over a ball cap, but it’s obviously him.

“Oh my god,” David breathes out, feeling his stomach fall.  This can’t be happening.

“David?”  Patrick turns to him.  “Oh.  Wow.  What are the odds?”

“What – what are you doing here?”

Patrick is in the Milwaukee airport, backpack on the floor by his legs.  It’s no mystery what he’s doing here.  But David’s brain refuses to process this.

“My flight was cancelled.”  Patrick fidgets with his hat, not really looking at David.  

“But why are you sitting here?”

Again, not a mystery.  The whole lobby is packed.  David needs to get a grip and stop asking stupid questions.  But he’ll need to work himself up to something more on point.  He still can’t get over the fact that Patrick Brewer is sitting next to him.

“Um, right.  I’m sorry.”  Patrick leans forward to grab his bag.  “I’ll, um, go somewhere else.”  

Patrick stands up, and a nearby man spots him, vulture-like and poised to take his chair if he moves away. There’s not another free seat in sight.

“No,” David chokes out.  “No, stay.  It’s all right.”

“Yeah?”  Patrick glances quickly at David and then away again, his shoulders practically up by his ears.  “Okay.  Thanks.”

David focuses on his breathing and presses his face into his hands, hoping Patrick doesn’t notice how close he is to freaking out.  It’s unlikely, but you never know.  If he does notice, at least he probably won’t call him out on it.

“I’m sorry, David.  I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Or maybe he will.

“I’m fine.”

“I really can leave, there’s a spot against the wall over there-”

“Patrick, for fuck’s sake, it’s fine.  I’m fine.”

“Can I get you something?  I’ve got some water…”

Unbelievable.  “I’m sorry, you can sit here, but if you think there’s anything you can do to make this better, you’re out of your mind.”  David can hear how shrill he is, but he can’t help it.

“Whatever.  It’s not as if I ever knew how to fix us in the first place.”

“It’s not like you tried.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”  Patrick says, nearly shouting.

“Um, excuse me, but some people are trying to sleep, man,” a kid in a beanie sitting across the aisle from them interjects.  “You should try it.”

“Eat dirt,” David hisses, and Patrick, that bastard, laughs.

“What?”

“You’re a riot, David.  Sue me.”

David huffs and twists his body away.  He’s not sure how to do this, have an ordinary conversation with Patrick in an airport.  All the anger and hurt he thought he had handled is suddenly back, as painful as ever.

A few minutes later there’s a crinkling sound.  “Want some?”

Patrick is holding a piece of red licorice in front of his face.  

David blinks, disbelieving.  Patrick wiggles the licorice.  “Fine.”  David accepts it and takes a bite, hoping he’s chewing in a sufficiently dignified way.  

“Did you have a nice visit with Alexis?”

David frowns.  “How do you know I was visiting Alexis?”  Alexis had closed ranks against Patrick when it all went down.  David had thought it appropriate at the time, but something in Patrick’s voice tweaks a pang of regret.

“You smell like her.”

“Ew, what?”

“Her perfume.”  Patrick shrugs.  “I recognize it.  Or maybe you’re dating someone who wears it, I don’t know.”

“I’m not.”  As if.  “Guess I spent too long on Alexis’ couch.”  He brushes at the leather jacket on his lap, as if little bits of Alexis would be clinging to it.

“How is she?”

Again, that pang.  “Good.  She’s good.  She’s happy in New York.  She’s got friends – real friends.  Not that she didn’t before, you know, back in-” David can hardly say it, but Patrick nods.  “But now she’s got real friends in New York, so.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Patrick says.

“What about you?  How long have you been away?  Work or pleasure?”

Something comes over Patrick’s face that David can’t describe.  “Well, it definitely wasn’t pleasure.”

The conversation comes to an expectedly awkward end, both of them falling silent.  There’s a group of people behind them who keep arguing over whether they should rent a car and drive to what seems to be a college reunion of some sort.  David wishes they’d just go already.

“Want some more?”  Patrick offers up another piece of licorice, and suddenly making nice isn’t working for David anymore.

“You can’t fix this with candy, Patrick.  Bribes don’t make up for cheating.”

David can feel Patrick bristling next to him.  “I didn’t cheat, David,” he hisses.  “I told you, you just wouldn’t listen.  If you want to keep believing it that’s on you, but I absolutely did not cheat.  I would never do that to you.”

“You wanted to.”

“I did not!”

“Shhhh,” the woman on the other side of Patrick entreats.  “We don’t care.”

David angrily bites off another piece of licorice.  “You told me Mark was just a guy you met at the community center, and then all of a sudden he’s in the store when I’m not there.”

“We needed someone else to work on busy days when you had vendor visits – we agreed on that.  I was training him!”

“You never told me.  And when I came in-”

“He was just helping me put some boxes away.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this discussion again,” David says, tears welling in his eyes.  He remembers the moment like it was yesterday, coming into the back room and finding Patrick with a tall, slim, dark-haired stranger, the man reaching up around Patrick, pressing him into the shelves.

“What do you mean again?  We never had it in the first place.  You came in, screamed at me, and left.  You never let me explain.”

“What kind of explanation would you have given me?  What could you possibly say?  You’d been out every night that week with lame excuses, you kept finding reasons to avoid me, and then I find you with someone else.”

“David…” Patrick takes in a long, deep breath, and lets it out again.  “David.  I was out so much because I was planning your birthday party.”

David stares at him.  “That’s impossible.  Stevie would have told me.  Or Alexis.”

“I didn’t tell Stevie, or anyone in Schitt’s Creek.  I didn’t want them to give it away.  Mark was actually helping me.  His family has an orchard out near Elm Valley, with an outdoor pavilion that was really pretty nice.  I was thinking about having it there so I drove over to see it after work.  Unfortunately, the first time I went, it started raining, so I went back the next night.  Mark said there was a spectacular sunset view, but I wanted to see it for myself.”

“That’s… that’s only two nights.  What about the others?”

“It <i>was</i> only two nights, David.  Maybe my excuses weren’t that great, but it was only two nights.  The rest of them we spent together just like always.”

David lets himself really look at Patrick, who is looking right back at him.  He seems, possibly, just as hurt and miserable as David feels.  Maybe more.

“It seemed like more than two,” David says pathetically.  “Why, um, why didn’t you tell me that sooner?”

“You blocked my number.”

It’s true.  Not his most mature moment. “Oh.”

“I would have thought,” Patrick starts, and then shakes his head and presses his fingers to his mouth.

“What?”

“No, forget it.  It’s history now, right?”  Patrick tugs his ball cap down, shading his eyes.  

“What were you going to say?”

Patrick wrings his hands together, then glances up at David and then back at his hands.  “Just that, you know, in the context of everything we meant to each other, given that we were <i>in love,</i> and <i>engaged,</i> that you might have cut me a break and listened to me instead of jumping to such a ridiculous conclusion.”

“Ridiculous?” David scoffs, trying not to let Patrick’s all too valid words sink in.  “Hardly.  It’s no different than how every relationship I’ve been in has ended.  I’m always left behind.  Too much.  I’m surprised we lasted as long as we did.”

“David.”  Patrick grabs his hands, and David stiffens.  “You were never too much for me.  I’m not everyone else.  And I didn’t leave you behind.  You left me.”

David feels a rush of shame, and Patrick just squeezes his hands tighter.  It’s not as if he’s never wondered if he hadn’t screwed up, leaving the way he did.  He knows he probably did.  It’s just that it’s striking him now how very likely it is that his misery has been almost entirely of his own making.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you don’t deserve to believe that I would do that to you.”

David tugs his hands out of Patrick’s.  “Well, I’m sure you’re better off now anyway.”

“Not even a little.”  Patrick’s voice is soft and sad, and David can’t help meeting his eyes.  What he sees is devastating.  “Sure, I dated for a while, once I was able to get out of bed, but I gave it up after a few disasters.  You spoiled me for anyone else.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Maybe it’s just that my heart was so thoroughly broken, no ordinary guy had a chance.”  The silence stretches, and then Patrick says, his voice thready, “How about you?”

There’s a catch in his voice, but something in his tone makes David’s heart skip a beat.  It’s an opening he never expected.

“I never met anyone else either.  Didn’t even try.”  David clears his throat and looks up, catching Patrick’s gaze.  For all the fear he’s shown in the past, for all that his insecurities ruined them, David feels like he owes Patrick a moment of bravery.  “There was no point, not when I’m still in love with you.”

Patrick stares at him, eyes wide, and then abruptly stands up.  “Save my seat,” he says, and strides away, hands clenched in fists at his sides.

“Well, maybe now I get can some sleep,” the rude kid with the beanie grumbles, and David barely restrains himself from throwing something at him.

“We’re having a moment, here,” David says.

“Might go better if you fucking apologized,” the kid replies, pulling his orange airline blanket up over his head.

“He’s got a point.”  The woman on the other side of Patrick’s seat gives David a pointed look that would put Ronnie Lee to shame.  “Sounds like you really messed up.”

“Who are you, anyway?” David snaps.

“Audrey.  Nice to meet you, David,” the woman sasses back, tossing her short black hair.  

“Oh my god.”  David stands up, arms wrapped tight around his body, and scans the lobby for Patrick.  “He probably just went to the bathroom.  I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“I hope for your sake you’re right,” Audrey replies.  “But if you want to go look for him, I’ll keep an eye on your stuff.  There’s no way I’m falling asleep in this place.  Too noisy.”

David looks her up and down, and then decides he doesn’t care whether she steals his bag.  There’s more at stake here than an aging laptop.  “Thanks.”

He weaves his way through the seating area, stepping around families sleeping on the floor and people stretched out in every available space.  He shudders to think about putting his face anywhere near the carpet and the plethora of germs that must live there.  He’ll never be that tired.

There’s a food court around the corner, all the restaurants closed with metal gates drawn down.   It’s darker here, and quiet.  The scattered tables and chairs are mostly empty, the metal furniture not particularly conducive to sleeping.

Patrick’s standing in front of the Cinnabon.

“They open at 5,” he says, not looking at David.  “Only four hours to go.”

“Good to know.”  David moves closer, trying to see Patrick’s face, but between the dim lighting and the way Patrick keeps ducking his head, he can’t see much.  

“Look, Patrick.  I, um, I know it’s probably too late, but.”  David leans his head back and blinks up at the ceiling.  “I’m sorry. Truly sorry.  I should have trusted you.”

Patrick shrugs.  “Yeah.  You should have.”

David sucks on his lip, not sure where to go from here.  “Maybe we could talk about it?”  This sounds like torture, but he doesn’t see too many other options, and they’re already in hell.

Patrick nods, and David tries to tell himself that this is a good sign.  He spots a nearby open table and reaches to pull Patrick towards it, but he has barely grasped Patrick’s arm when he flinches and pulls away.  

“Patrick?” David moves closer.  Patrick’s eyes are squeezed together in pain.

“Patrick, wait, are you hurt?  What’s wrong?”  David’s hands flutter towards Patrick’s shoulders, afraid to cause further distress.

“No, sorry, I’m fine, it’s nothing,” Patrick turns away, but now David sees how stiffy he’s holding himself, how the puffiness in his face probably isn’t just due to airport overheating.  All of David’s anger and hurt flow out of him, replaced by an urgent concern.  Something isn’t right.

“Patrick,” David says, as calmly as he can.  “Come sit down with me?”

Patrick glances at him and nods, and lets David lead them over to a table.

They sit next to each other, Patrick’s whole body radiating discomfort.  David forces himself to wait, to breathe.  To give Patrick a moment.  “Sweetheart,” he says finally, the endearment purposeful and honest, “what happened?”

Patrick takes in a long breath and lets it out.  “I was attacked.”  He’s speaking softly but steadily, his gaze fixed straight ahead.  “Three nights ago, coming out of a bar with my cousin Jamie.  He’s only nineteen-” Patrick’s voice breaks and he sucks in air, then goes on.  “He wasn’t hurt, thank god.  He got away.  But I-” Patrick huffs a bitter laugh.  “I got a little banged up.”

Patrick turns towards David, sliding his hoodie off of his head and removing his hat.  There’s a dark purple bruise on his temple, and a bandage running from the top right corner of his forehead back to his ear.  

“Oh my god, Patrick,” David reaches for him, then stops himself.  “Where – where else, I don’t want to hurt you-”

“Couple of broken ribs, bruises,” Patrick indicates his right side and upper arm.  “Eight stitches my on head.”

“Come here, come here,” David can’t help himself, he walks his fingers onto Patrick’s shoulders and eases him in.  Patrick sags into the embrace, his face nestling into that space against David’s neck that used to belong only to him.  “I’m so sorry, Patrick, I’m so sorry.”  David holds him gently, rubbing his back with careful strokes.  He feels like his heart is going to burst.  Patrick sniffles into David’s neck, trying not to cry, and David circles his arms around him.  “I’ve got you,” David soothes.  “You’re okay.”

David doesn’t ever want to let Patrick go, but after a minute or so Patrick starts to pull back, and David has no choice. He lets his fingers skim down Patrick’s arms as he straightens up.

“Thank you, David,” Patrick says into the awkward silence.  

“Yeah, well.  After screwing everything else up, seems like the least I can do.”  David looks around and stands up, rubbing his hands on his thighs.  “Shall we go back and make sure Audrey hasn’t stolen our bags?”

“Who’s Audrey?”

David can’t help but stay near Patrick as they make their way to their seats, his hand on the small of his back.  Patrick lets him, leaning into his side, a hundred and eighty degree reversal from where they were an hour ago.

He can’t imagine what Patrick is feeling.  Despite all the crap David has gone through in his life, he’s never been the victim of a what he assumes was a hate crime.  And the fact that Patrick is traveling by himself… where was he when he got assaulted?  Who was there for him?

<i>You should have been there,</i> David’s guilty mind supplies.  If David hadn’t ruined their lives with his self-doubt, he would have been there for Patrick.  For better or for worse.  Of course, if they were still together, nothing like this would have happened to Patrick in the first place, because they would have been safe in Schitt’s Creek where they belonged.

They arrange themselves in their miraculously still empty seats, David pulling the orange blanket up over them both.  He holds out his arm and Patrick leans into him, resting his head on his shoulder. Patrick’s seated to his right, so it’s his uninjured left side up against David.

The feel of Patrick’s body against his is so familiar and yet it’s been so long, it makes David want to cry.  Instead he gently curls himself protectively around Patrick’s body and closes his eyes.

Patrick turns into him, his arm going around David’s waist and his face pressing against his neck.  “Missed you,” he whispers into David’s skin.

“You too,” David sighs into Patrick’s hair.  “So much, Patrick.  So much.”

David dozes for a while and eventually falls asleep, waking only when the PA system starts making incomprehensible flight announcements.  Patrick is already awake, leaning forward and digging around in his backpack.  

David blinks blearily at him as he remembers the events of the night before.  It seems like a dream, but Patrick is right there in front of him, solid and real.  He glances up at the clock on the wall. Five-fifteen.  “Wanna get a Cinnabon?” he asks, his voice scratchy.  It’s not the best line he could have come up with, but he figures Patrick must be hungry too.

“No, sorry, they said my flight’s here.  I have to go to the gate.”

David suddenly feels faint.  “What – no – that’s impossible.  The first flight to Toronto isn’t until eight something, they put me on the earliest one, that’s what they told me at the desk-”

“David.”  Patrick’s eyes are heavy and sad.  “I’m not going to Toronto.”

“But you said-” He didn’t say, David realizes.  He just assumed they were both on their way back home.

“It happened in Toronto,” Patrick says, not needing to identify what “it” he’s referring to as he tugs the hood of his sweatshirt over his ball cap.  “I decided I needed to get away for a while.  Put some distance between me and all that.”

David’s heart is pounding hard in his chest.  It’s a wonder Patrick can’t hear it.  “Where are you going?”  

“Florida.  My parents bought a little house there, they use it in the winter but not until after Christmas, so it’s empty now.”  Patrick sighs and hoists his backpack up, wincing.  “It’s been really good to see you, David.”

Patrick gives David a sad little smile, and starts walking away.

There’s a moment when David actually imagines letting Patrick go, and he wants to slap himself silly.

“Patrick, wait.”  He scrambles to grab his bag and jogs after him.  “Let me come with you.”

Patrick looks puzzled as they join the line of bleary-eyed people waiting to take off their shoes and slide their belongings through the scanner.  “Okay, but once you go through you won’t be able to get to the food court.”

“No, Patrick – I mean to Florida.”

“You hate Florida,” Patrick replies automatically.

“That is entirely besides the point.”

“You can’t come with me.  You have a life, David.”

“Patrick, I don’t.  Not one I want.  Not without you.”

This gets Patrick’s attention, and he steps out of the line.  “What are you talking about?

David moves towards him, his whole body trembling.  “I am so, so sorry I messed things up between us.  I know how badly I hurt you. I have changed, though, I’ve been in therapy for real, and I’ll do whatever it takes…” He sucks in a breath and races on before Patrick can interrupt.  “I will regret it forever, what I did to you, and it’s probably unforgivable.  But if – if you think it’s not, if you think maybe you could give me another chance, please, let me come with you.”

“David…”

“I won’t give up on us again.  And I don’t… I don’t want to say goodbye.  Not yet.”  David can feel his throat tightening up.  “Not if there’s any possibility… Let’s try.  On whatever terms you want, for however long.  Please.”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”  But Patrick’s eyes are saying what his words aren’t, and David holds his gaze, hope building in his chest.

“I think it’s the only decent idea I’ve had in years.”  David reaches out and twines his index finger around Patrick’s, a single point of contact holding them together.  “I bet we can find someplace to go hiking in Florida.  With lots of bugs, and, um, maybe alligators?”

Patrick’s eyes flicker down to their hands, and back up to David.  “You’d face alligators for me?”

“Yes.”

“And bugs too?”

David feels his heart leap, and he struggles not to smile.  “Yes.  I will face a reasonable number of bugs for you.”  He takes a deep breath.  “It doesn’t have to mean we’re together, you don’t have to commit to anything-”

“What if I want to?”

David pulls Patrick’s hand up and presses it tight against his chest.  “Then I’m not going to argue with you,” David says breathlessly.  

“That would be a first,” Patrick says, and David chokes out a laugh.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

They crash together lips first, David’s arms going around Patrick’s shoulders and Patrick’s hands grabbing at David’s hips.  David can’t get enough, and apparently neither can Patrick, mouths open and tongues tasting in a mad rush.  It’s sloppy and ridiculous and David is going to remember it for the rest of his life.  When they finally come up for air, they realize that everyone in the security line is cheering and clapping, and David rests his forehead against Patrick’s.

“They’re taking video, aren’t they,” David says.

“Hashtag ‘one night in Milwaukee,’” Audrey hoots at them as she takes off her boots and sets them in a plastic bin.  “Glad you got your head out of your ass, David.”

“Me too,” says Patrick, herding David back towards the screening line.  “Just promise me one thing.”

David searches Patrick’s face, but he’s smiling, and he can’t help a matching smile from stretching his own cheeks.  “Anything.”

“Pretty sure our flight’s going to be packed.  I get the window seat.”

[bondsmagii]

2, 8, 26, 37, 38, 57, 72, 91, 94, 100

> questions to ask at 4:02am meme 🌕🌃

thank you! 

2: Do you mourn for a place or person you’ve never known?

yes 😩 I can’t even adequately describe what’s going on here, but there’s a lot of people and a lot of places that feel familiar even if I don’t know them, if that makes sense? and there’s also a lot of people I could have become, and a lot of places I could have been, and I do have moments where I kind of mourn them even though I have no proof that they would have even existed in that specific way. I do think this is normal to an extent, but also I do this a lot, lol.

on a slightly less philosophical level, I of course mourn my older brother, who’s quite literally a person I never got the chance to know.

8: Do you think you can put love into categories (family, platonic, romantic, etc.) or is it just one general sensation?

oh man definitely. the love you feel for your friends isn’t the same love you feel for your spouse or your parents, and so on and so forth. there’s lots of different kinds of love, and lots of different levels within those types, and you’re also more than capable of feeling several different types and levels towards the same person, in my opinion. I don’t know if I would try and categorise everything, because something like love doesn’t really suit being shoved into boxes, but there are different types of love and I find it’s constantly shifting and changing along with you and the object of your love, which is cool.

I should add that I don’t find any one type of love more or less important than the others. seriously, destroy the idea that romantic love is the One True Love, and all other forms are somehow lesser. that’s just garbage.

26: What’s the most life-changing choice you’ve made so far?

this is kind of embarrassing but the truth often is: almost eight years ago I decided to make a sideblog on here that has... something to do with writing, let’s say, and something to do with... a certain character... and anyway that decision led to me meeting a certain person and going from awkward messages on Tumblr to awkward messages on Skype, to eighteen hour conversations and constant texting, to living in a car together for three months on a roadtrip and then living in a car together for many more months while homeless (and a million other places in between), to moving in together and then holy shit we got married.

so I guess that one impulsive decision to make a shitpost sideblog at stupid o’clock in the morning when I was bored one summer has been the single most life-changing choice I’ve ever made.

37: Do opposites attract?

eh. I mean, yeah, sometimes? but similarities attract, too. I think for any kind of relationship to be successful you’ve kind of got to have an element of both, and I think that “opposites” usually refers to something very specific. for example, I don’t mind cleaning the bathroom and you hate it. that’s a useful kind of opposite, because it means a compromise neither of us feel cheated by. you’re unshakable when it comes to slogging through bureaucratic minutiae, and I’m a beast in high-stress quick-thinking scenarios. together we make a pretty unstoppable team, for being opposites in that regard. I think that’s kind of what’s meant by this saying, but unfortunately it seems to have been appropriated to mean “yes honey, I know you work 10 hour shifts and come home to find your partner hasn’t cleaned the house or done anything to help, but opposites attract!” or “my partner supports Trump and genuinely believes that vaccines and masks are a government conspiracy to control us all, and I am a normal human being, but opposites attract so I guess I’ll have to put up with it”. like no, kings and queens. that isn’t what it means. dump them.

38: Is your life what you expected it would be five years ago?

lmao no. not in the slightest. five years ago it would have been... just into 2016, and yeah, no. there is not a single thing about me right now that I would have predicted, aside from the general stuff that’s never changed about me. I had different ideas about what I would be doing for work, about what I’d be working towards; I had completely different levels of commitment and discipline to various tasks, and I certainly wasn’t planning an international move. I can at least say that I’m happier with my current plan than the one I used to have (it wasn’t a bad plan, it just no longer suits me) but there’s no way I would have expected this.

and of course, there’s the whole issue with the pandemic. five years ago I had no idea I would be living through a global natural disaster, and if you’d told me, I would have thought it would be something like a supervolcano eruption or a nuclear winter. like, I’m glad it’s not, but also “you have to stay in your house for over a year” still kind of sucks.

57: Do you thinks humans are obsessed with escapism (books, video games, movies, etc.)? Are you looking for an escape? Do you think that’s a bad thing?

I think we are sometimes, when things are tough and there’s a need to wish to escape (see how many books I read over quarantine in March, for example). most of the time, however, I think humans just like stories. I don’t think it’s any deeper than the fact that humans love stories, we’ve always loved stories, we’ve always loved telling and hearing stories, before we had books and archives we passed our stories down orally and we drew them on cave walls with our own fingers, and this love for the story has never changed or altered in the hundreds of thousands of years since. I think that’s the major driving force here.

right now I’m looking for an escape 24/7, because I’m sick to death of the real world. I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all. without books, without the fictional things I love, without reading and writing and music, I would have gone absolutely bonkers in 2020. being able to fall into a book or play around in the worlds I’ve created, both my own and things I’ve co-written with you, has literally saved my ass over the past eight months. escapism is never a bad thing. like anything, it only becomes troubling when it starts creating problems. but I do not think there’s any shame in occasionally saying “fuck it” and going to worry about someone else’s fictional problems for a while. 

72: Should people be prosecuted for crimes that weren’t considered crimes at the time?

this is a tough one. on the one hand I want to say no, because it could easily be abused. some asshole could get into power and make something illegal, and then round up all the people who have committed that now-crime and lock them up, and oh, would you look at that! all the people who have committed the now-crime just so happen to be the dictator’s biggest critics and threats, how convenient. 

at the same time, dictators are going to wipe out their enemies no matter how legal it is, and I also have to consider the fact that before WWII, for example, words like “genocide” and “crimes against humanity” didn’t exist. how could we decide that these things are crimes, but then not try those who literally gave cause for the crime to be acknowledged? we can hardly say “alright, genocide is now a crime against humanity, but because these guys did it before this was law they can’t be tried”. that’s just... not really a great precedent to set, you know?

so I suppose a tentative yes? I think it would probably depend entirely on the severity of the crime. for example, if they found out that... I don’t know, some normal everyday substance was something that people could suddenly get high off, and they declared it a drug, I don’t think everyone who’s ever sold it or used it should be rounded up and jailed. but like, if the act of cannibalism itself became a crime (and not just murder or desecration of a corpse, which is what “cannibalism” usually falls under in terms of legality) we should probably go round up all the people who are stealing human legs to eat, yanno?

91: Is hate as strong as love? Who do you hate?

sick totheark reference bro. anyway yeah, hate is as strong as love, though it appears and reacts in different ways. hate and love are two sides of the same coin, if you ask me. the deeper you love somebody, the harder you hate them if things go wrong. hate is betrayed love. something something, a tree’s branches cannot reach to heaven unless its roots reach to hell, and all that. something so powerful is going to leave a lot of damage if it goes wrong.

I hate a few people. I don’t want to go into detail as to their specific identities, because I’m sure that if you know me well, you’ll know who they are. both of them were people whom I loved very deeply, and who betrayed that love in ferociously cruel ways. both people taught me very difficult lessons about the nature of love, and how sometimes it really cannot conquer everything, but while this would be a nasty lesson to learn it’s compounded by the fact that I learned this not out of any kind of extraneous circumstance, but rather through their cruelty and their refusal to work with me, listen to me, or love me in the way I deserved to be loved. my hatred for these people will never go away, even though it certainly doesn’t dominate my life. it is there, though, and I can easily draw on it whenever I need it. should I get the opportunity, I have no doubt in my mind that I have the capacity to be very cruel to these people in my own right, and I won’t feel bad about it.

94: How would you describe yourself when you love? Do you love forcefully, unconditionally, gently, quietly, desperately?

oh damn. forcefully, conditionally, stubbornly, and probably slightly possessively.

I don’t show love in conventional means. I’m one of those stereotypes, I guess. I don’t like declarations of love, I don’t really go in for physical affection, and I’m not sappy at all. my love language is more subtle, but it’s there. I like to do things for people, I like to create things for/with people, I like to have adventures with people. that’s how I love, and I can be pretty forceful about it. I also want people to improve themselves as much as possible -- I think the greatest thing I can witness someone I love doing is becoming the best version of themselves, and I will support them 100% in this effort -- also very forcefully. I don’t think there are many people who could put up with that level of intensity for so long, if I’m honest. I demand a lot of the ones I love, but I also like to think I give a lot, too.

my love is never unconditional. while I believe unconditional love exists, I have never seen it. my love always comes with conditions -- conditions about how I expect to be treated, about ideology, about worldview. these are all huge deal breakers, of course -- my conditions aren’t vague, or petty, or small in any way. but there is nobody on earth, nor will there ever be, who I will not walk away from if I feel the relationship is harmful in any way. I might not stop loving them, but I sure as hell will not assume that my love for them will protect me from them.

at the same time I’m a very stubborn person when it comes to love. people will do things they think must break one of my conditions, but I’ll see something else in it and I’ll stick around even if we both think it’s useless. I’m never wrong, so I suppose I have that going for me. but I am very, very stubborn when it comes to love. I have a high level of endurance and I know how to nurture love; how to stop pessimism from setting in. I’m also slightly possessive, so I don’t let go of anything easily -- and this includes the people I love. I’ll never stifle a person, but I’ll definitely fight for them, and something something everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.

100: What belief do you have that isn’t logically grounded, but you still firmly believe in?

I suppose something like this could never be logically grounded because there’s no logical proof at all, and “I Just Know” is apparently not a scientific argument (it should be), but I know I’ve had past lives. I just do. I have no solid proof for this, only gut feelings and Just Knowing and weird memories and some crazy shit that I can’t explain -- like being able to find my way around a strange city because I remembered it from a past life, for example -- but I just know I’ve had many different lives before and I will have many more to come. this is just an unshakable belief and it always has been.

[mylifenarratedbydrugs]

The Best Gift I Didn’t Know I Wanted

I recently celebrated a year and a half of sobriety and haven’t had a hospitalization in 13 months (The longest amount of time for both since I was 15.)  If someone would have told me two years ago I would be where I am today; living with my family, planning my daughters birthday, sober, in a new state, with a sober boyfriend who I swear is my soulmate, working a great job, and making amazing new friends, finishing up my bachelors degree in less than a year, and having healthy new hobbies...I would have said yeah whatever, that’s never going to happen for me and I don’t care.... but secretly I wanted to know what I would need to do to make the pain stop, to make the hallucinations and paranoia go away, be able to wake up without crippling anxiety and self-loathing.  I had been trying unsuccessfully for ten years to get sober and It just wasn’t clicking for me.  the longest amount of time I could string together was just about 90 days.  I didn’t think I was going to make it past 35.  I sure as hell didn’t know how I had gotten past 25, 26, 27 and it still appeared that I had my life together... On the outside.

Trigger warning: I’m going to graphically talk about the last months before I went to long term treatment.  I had multiple suicide attempts and wasn’t treating my mental illness (I have schizoaffective bipolar) From Nov 2018-January 2019 I was experiencing mania and psychotic episodes with daily drinking and cocaine use... 

The pills, drugs, alcohol, sex, shopping, lying, the hiding.... everything I used to disconnect was no longer working.  It was fine and manageable for years and then one day it wasn’t and everything fell apart in less than six months.  That was the best gift I ever received.  Losing everything. I was suffering from paranoia and hallucinations regularly, the local EMTs probably knew my home by heart at this point.  The last wellness check they showed up to I was in psychosis and had cut my arms, legs, and face to “get the demons out of me”  My suicide attempts were getting more frequent and I was looking for ways to “accidentally” die on a daily basis.  Walking into traffic intoxicated, drinking and doing as many drugs as possible with the intention of not waking up, passing out drunk in the garage until my cars O2 censor was triggered and shut itself off, I attempted to pull an officers gun out of his holster while yelling, “SHOOT ME” when they showed up to do a wellness check because someone called stating there was a distressed-looking girl on the side of the road in the dead of winter wearing just rain boots and a sweater.  I hadn’t planned that, I had just attempted to hang myself off the side of a steep hill after chugging both the pints of fireball I had left.  The rope slipped, I rolled down about fifty yards of a steep incline where I found the road and was attempting to find my way back so I could do it correctly.  I was hospitalized for my safety.  I was let out the night before Thanksgiving because it was important to me that I made our traditional Thanksgiving dinner for my family (priorities?).... I told the doctors I would take my meds and avoid substances.  I really did mean it when I said it....I was hospitalized again within two weeks.  

Then I lost all of what was left of my sanity.  I lost my job.  I lost my partner who was also my close friend for ten years.  I signed custody of my daughter over to my parents because I couldn’t even pretend things were okay anymore and I sent her to live with them out of state.

I think that’s when it really hit me.  I was going to die alone, unloved, on the street somewhere because I couldn’t stop.  I could no longer be a good mom to the one person who loved me REGARDLESS of all of my flaws.  That really broke me.  Having to admit I couldn’t take care of my precious little girl... I couldn’t even take care of ME.  That broke me.  It hit me a few days after she was gone.  I was alone in the house packing my things, drinking fireball out of a pint and doing coke off the desk near one of the packed boxes in the basement.  I noticed the box was her baby things.  I opened the box and held her little beanie... the ones they give you the day they’re born with the blue and pink stripes.  I remembered how happy I was that day.  I realized I didn’t want to die but I was afraid and I had failed so many times.  I was so afraid to fail again.  I was just gong to end up dead and everyone was gong to be disappointed in how I wasted my life and ruined my daughter’s.  Fortunately for me pain is a GOOD MOTIVATOR and I didn’t have shit to lose.

I had to make a lot of hard decisions and accept things that I had done.  Things I was so ashamed of. Things that I was in complete denial about.  I also had to accept that I have a mental illness and I cannot live a quality life unless I make an effort to actually follow my treatment plan. I had two options... and when I say I really wanted to take option 1, I mean I had my car half packed... Option 1. Run away. somewhere warm.  Pack a tent, some blankets, clothes, and whatever I could pawn into my car.  Drive as far away as I could get and just get fucked up.  Who would care? I had already ruined my life... not much loss there.  I figured if I needed to I could probably do some odd jobs or find a job dancing in another town... LOL i seriously thought that was a viable option... Or Option 2.  (Which I thought was the harder option at the time) I was going to go to long term rehab.  How? I wasn’t too sure, I had no job, no savings, no insurance, no permanent address, all of my family was 800 miles away and I had alienated all of my friends (except for my best girlfriend, and a guy who I met at the first rehab I went to 800 miles away)... I had nothing.  I had the thought... wtf am I going to do after rehab?  I had already been to a very expensive, highly rated, rehab that specialized in dual diagnosis... and when I came home I quit taking my medications and relapsed within three months.  Now I’m gong to go to a state funded rehab on a homelessness grant and have nowhere to go afterwards... And you know what, that’s exactly what I did.

My only hope in sharing some intimate details of this journey is that someone will feel that maybe there is hope, or feel less alone, or maybe get the courage to try just one more time.  

I don’t know why I’m still here.  I’m so glad I am though.  I get to experience love, true love.  When I used to get really drunk I would cry a lot.  Something I used to say was, “I just want to experience the world, I want to feel everything, why cant I feel”  I was convinced I needed to travel the world and do new and exciting things in order to feel happiness.  What I was really longing for was to have genuine feelings, uninterrupted by substances or compulsive behaviors.  Some of the most exciting things in life are as simple as laying on the couch with my daughter listening to her tell me how her day was....I get to be a good mom again.  

[this-is-where-i-put-my-dark-shit]

Your Savior is Here! Ch 1

I don’t know if anyone is going to read this but I wanted to write it so here it is.

Natasha was fine where she was, squatting in an abandoned building, barely sobering up from drugs and living day to day. She does not want anyone to save her, but the most unlikely hero does not care what she wants.

Homelander has been lied to by the person he depended on most and is more alone than he has ever been. Everyone is trying to control him and in a unhealthy attempt to reclaim a small amount of control he decides to go against orders and help a random girl, but she doesn’t want him to. Too bad for her, he does not care.

Or Homelander picks up a random homeless girl and brings her home to make up for the things he lost. And finds out he’s over his mommy kink but may have developed a daddy kink

Spoilers for the boys if you haven’t finished the season! In this Homelander doesn’t kill Madelyn and Becca and the baby actually did die.

Now you may read

.......

Natasha’s POV

“Please don’t! We’re sorry! Please! I have a family!” Someone is begging. Then someone is screaming before going silent. It barely registers in my head in my sleepy haze but my body is already moving. I stumble to stand, needing to find a hiding place or an easy exit. The voice was slightly muffled, they must be in another room. As I get my bearings I look out the window for a swat van or a suspicious amount of black SUVs but find nothing other than the usual few cars that belong to the dealers that have been messing around on the lower floor of the abandoned building I’ve been squatting in.

Another voice, this one coming from the stairway to my left, sends a shiver down my spine, “Maybe you should have thought of your family before you joined this little ‘gang’.” I can imagine the creepy grin on his face as he speaks.

Homelander. That’s just fucking great.

Supes are nothing but fucking trouble. What the hell have those guys been doing to gain his attention? It’s none of my fucking business but I need to get the fuck out of here. The last thing I need to be is on a supes raider, I’ve got enough things going on. I glance down the stair way, hoping and praying that they would be far enough away I could at least go down to the first floor. I find a man, pressed against the wall at the bottom of the staircase, Homelander is holding him by the throat with that fucking smirk that is plastered everywhere. Not a single thing is out of place on him, his blond hair is combed out of his face, his uniform is as neat as could be. He looks like the perfect super hero. The body sliced to pieces on the stairs tells a different story.

“Please don’t do this! I won’t tell anyone about this! I swear!” The Latin man against the wall pleads helplessly, just like the other man had done. I’m sure it will work out just as well, I roll my eyes.

I walk back to the window, sure I would be fine if I jumped but I would also catch the man is stars’ attention. Fuck. I might as well just wait it out and hope he doesn’t search the place. On quiet feet, I make my way back to my makeshift tent and hide inside. I sit up against the wall, pulling my ratty blanket over me I close my eyes and pretend to sleep. The whole time the man is begging for his pathetic life until suddenly he just stops.

Homelander sighs, “If I let you go will you become a better person? Will you leave this kind of life behind and focus on your relationship with God and your family?”

“Yes! I promise I will!” The man responds immediately.

“Okay than, I’ll give you one more chance at life. You are free to go.”

Then there a rushed foot steps retreating away from the stairs followed quickly by a wet thunk and a shrill scream. Yea, that went well.

I sigh. He should have known not to trust a supe. I sit and wait.

The tarp hiding me is suddenly ripped away and I am face to face with that fucking smirk. I don’t know what he was expecting to be hiding here but from the way his brows raise, I’m assuming he didn’t think it would be me. He stares, eyes scanning over me and the shit surrounding me before landing on my face. I know I look disgusting and probably don’t smell the greatest but the way his nose crinkles is just rude. He looks upset the more he stares, his face scrunches and his mouth curves into a tight frown. That is until he realizes I’m staring back, all emotion seems to fall away, leaving just his perfect fucking face.

I’m not scared. I’m annoyed more than anything that my nap had been interrupted, I raise my brows back at him, “Can I help you?”

He chuckles casually, “Not the usual reaction I get. I’m here cleaning up the cartel that has been running drugs through this building. Are you involved with them?”

“Nope. Do I look like a fucking gang member?”

“You look like a fucking junky.”

I sneer at him as I attempt to calm the massive mess of curls on my head, “well you aren’t wrong. I was.”

“Let me guess, you are clean and trying to get back on your feet.”

“Clean? Yes. But I ain’t getting back on my feet, I’m just fine where I am. Now if you could throw that back on so can I can get back to my nap, that would be great.”

“Trash like you disgusts me. You homeless are just pathetic.” Those perfect blue eyes just stare at me, so cold for a hero.

I roll my eyes at him, “Do I have to listen to you insult me or can I fall back asleep while you are talking?”

“And you are fucking rude at that.”

“Am I supposed to be praising you right now? Bowing down? You murdered a bunch of criminals, great job! Happy?”

His chest puffs up, his lip curls up into a snarl, “You should be begging for your pathetic life!”

“That worked out great for those guys downstairs and considering how you’ve been looking at me I’m assuming I’d have even worse chances. If I’m such an eyesore just fucking kill me.”

His eyes start to glow a warning red, “Do you have a death wish?”

“No!” I snap, “I just want to go back to sleep but you felt the need to be all high and mighty and destroy my tent!” He huffs and mumbles under his breath as he struggles to explain himself.

“You saw me down stairs!” He accuses, “I heard you moving around.”

“Yes, cause I thought you were the Feds or something. Why does I matter that I saw you? Don’t you want people to see you being a hero?”

Homelander stiffens a bit.

I raise a brow at him, “Unless you aren’t supposed to be here? Is America’s greatest hero becoming a vigilante?” The irritation on his face has me chuckling. “You are! I’m not judging, just surprised that Vought is letting it slide but whatever, it isn’t my business. I won’t tell anyone if that is what you are worried about.”

“How could I believe a single word out of your mouth? You are a dirty, probably on some kind of drugs, fucking rude, and completely helpless.”

“Fuck off! If you need to take care of loose ends just do it. But if you are just going to continue to judge me and stare we are done here.” I rip the tarp out of his hand and half assly fix my tent before curling up underneath, fully expecting him to laser me to pieces too. But he doesn’t. When a few minutes pass of nothing but silence I open my eyes. He’s gone.

…..

Homelander’s POV

“Where have you been?” Madelyn snaps the moment she sees me, clicking her way down the hall after me. “I have been looking for you everywhere!”

I roll my eyes as I turn to face her, “I was out patrolling.” She stops in front of me with a exaggerated sigh as if I made her run to reach me when we both know I was the jumping through hoops for years for this old blonde witch.

I want to bang my head against the wall for being such an idiot for her. After years of her manipulation, her sweet words and gentle touches, I was able to break away after her lies came crumbling down around her. After I found out that they had killed the woman who was carrying my child they have the balls to pretend that nothing happened and continued on with business as usual. As if I’m not a person with feelings, I never thought I would want child but knowing it was going to happen only to find out I didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Madelyn places a hand on my trembling arm, I pull away, the look on her face is more than a little surprised, “Is everything okay?”

I laugh, forcing myself to smile, “I’m fine! I’m just tired of the lies that pour out of your mouth. So, if you don’t mind I have things to do and people to save.” It takes all of myself control not to rip her to pieces when she reaches for me again.

“You don’t actually. I cleared your schedule for the next few days, you had a stressful week and I think it would be best if you stayed quiet for a little while.”

“Excuse me?” I scoff, “I’m fucking Homelander! You can’t ground me.”

She puts her hands on her hips and gives me this look, “You need to focus on yourself. Go for a quick trip somewhere, stay in and catch up on TV, get a fucking pet! I don’t care, just do not cause trouble. I know you are upset about the baby but I need you to listen and,” she pauses as she glances up and down the empty hall before coming into my space, “and to be good for me. Can you be good for me like you used to?” Her hand caress my cheek like she’s done a million times before, though this time it lacks the same warmth, if there was ever any warmth to begin with.

“Fuck off.” I spit the words into her ear with a smile, enjoying the pissed off look on her face when I pull away.

The witch huffs, “I swear Homelander, no trouble!”

“I already got into a bit this morning.”

“What did you do?”

I shrug, “Destroyed millions of dollars worth of coke and killed a few cartel members, no big deal.”

“Did anyone see you while you were out saving the world?”

“Some junky but that’s it.” I do my best to sound casual about, as if that junkie’s green eyes aren’t engraved into my brain. Before this harpy pulled me out of my own head that junkie has been on my mind. Her ‘fuck off’ attitude was refreshing compared to every single person who is either blinded by my achievements or too terrified to do anything but smile. I’ve been fighting the urge to go find her again just to talk to someone who doesn’t want something from me. A fucking selfie or for me to behave. She just wanted me to leave.

I find myself smirking at the memory of her harsh words, our playful banter has been on repeat in my head. That along with her matter curls, dirty skin, and ratty clothes. She could have asked for money after what she saw but she didn’t she just wanted to sleep. She looked so tired so I let her continue with her nap as if there aren’t half a dozen bodies the floor below her. She looked so helpless, I’m sure she has no where else to go. No one to take care of her. I feel a unfamiliar pang of guilt in my chest that I left such a mess there. Even in the cold weather of the late fall it shouldn’t take long for that stuff to start smelling. Where will she go then? How will I be able to find her is she moves? That is if she hasn’t moved already.

“Homelander!” Madelyn screeches, I look down at her with my brows raised. “Have you been listening to me at all? You need to find that junkie and take care of them! I’m going to call a few people, get the media and swat there. We’ll say you had to leave the scene to chase another lead but that person can’t be interviewed. We don’t need them saying you were on a rampage just out of spite.”

“You want me to take care of her?” I repeat, nodding at the idea. I mean the girl obviously needs someone to do it, she can’t. I don’t fully understand my sudden interest in a normal person but for the first time in a long time I want something other than to impress this woman next to me. I nod again, “I’ll take care of her. I just need to grab a few things first and then I will!”

She says something else but I’m already rushing down the hall in search of some intern. I find one two floors down and shaking in their boots at the sight of me. By that time I have a list in my head of things I should need to do the job right. I ramble off what I need, tell them to charge it on some expense account and head off to find this girl, my girl.

There are police on the scene, the media is rambling off behind the yellow tape around the building. I sneak through the back side of the second floor away from the cameras and weave my way around the floor to where the girl was hiding last time. Her tent is ripped down. There is the same garage on the floor but a water bottle, the blanket and the tarp are missing which means she packed her stuff up and ran.

Fuck!

There is still a chance the police found her too. I rush out the way I came in to do my usual dramatic entrance on the street. I wave to the usual on lookers before finding the closest police officer who didn’t look like a fucking dumbass.

“Homelander!” The officer greets enthusiastically, beaming at me through all of this gear. “Did your lead get you any extra information?”

I nod, “Yes sir. Thank you so much for your work. I passed that information up to my headquarters so they should be getting it to you soon. I just have a question for you, did you happen to have seen a young homeless woman around here? I saw her earlier and did not get the chance to make sure she was okay.”

“Yes! We interviewed her and she said she slept through it all. She didn’t even know you were here!” He chuckles.

I nod casually, doing my best to pretend that panic is bubbling uncomfortably under my skin. “Do you still have her in custody?”

“No, they released her.”

“You guys continue your good work, I’m going to do a quick check over the area to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”

We salute each other before I take off into the sky in search of my girl. I get above most of the buildings, using my X-ray vision I scan over the area nearby, spotting a few homeless people here and there. My girl is tucked behind a dumpster half a block down. I’m less dramatic with this landing, doing my best to go unnoticed so she can’t run, not that I couldn’t catch her. She is sleeping again, curled up tight using both her blanket and tarp to cover her.

Poor thing.

I crouch down in front of her. She’s much prettier up close. I can’t wait to have her all cleaned up so I can see her in her fully glory.

“Are you back to insult me?” She hums without even opening her eyes.

I smile at her teasing tone, “How did you know it was me?”

Her golden green eyes open to me, glimmering beautifully in the natural light. “I didn’t tell the police if that’s why you are back.”

“I know. Why didn’t you?”

“It’s none of my business.”

“You are such a good girl,” I beam at her. “But I almost couldn’t find you, why did you move?”

“Because the police came busting in and kicked me out.”

“It’s fine, I found you anyway! Now let’s go.”

She raises a brow at me, “Go where?”

“With me. I’m going to take care of you.”

“Can’t you just do it here? I mean I guess it wouldn’t look good for the police to find me dead nearby when you already asked about me.”

I can’t help but chuckle, “I’m not going to kill you silly girl. I’m taking you back to Vought to take care of you, feed you and bathe you and all that Jazz.”

“Why?” She questions, more hesitant about me taking care of than killing her. It makes sense I guess, she’s obviously never had someone take care of her and since she wasn’t lucky enough to be chosen like me, no one cared to even look at her. I will take care of her better than any normal person could, I’m Homelander! I can give her all the things I never had, all the things I can never give my child, this girl can have it all. The structure, love and affection we all deserved but never received. And it will be genuine, unlike that shit Madelyn gave me.

“Because! Now get up,” I offer her my hand but she refuses to take it.

Her glare is set, “Fuck off.”

I resist the urge to just grab her, this is a perfect time to show her some tough love. “Very funny but enough of the swearing. The attitude is fine for now but the swearing has got to go.”

She just scoffs as she gathers her things and stand up, but instead of stepping into my arms she heads farther into the alley.

“Where do you think you are going?”

“Away from you!”

I shake my head at her, “I’m giving you to the count of 5 to come back here and apologize.”

She stops, “or what? Are you going to threaten to kill me again? I’m not scared of you.”

“Oh sweet girl, there are a lot of bad things I can do to you without killing you,” I give her my best smile. “Like for each second you make me wait past the five, I will break one finger. It’s really cute that you think you have an option with this, and you kind of do I guess. You can do this the hard way or the easy way.’’ She just stares at me dumbstruck, god her eyes are just so beautiful. The dark circles around them are less charming, we will have to work on those. But first I need to get her back to my apartment at Vought.

She takes one step backwards, her eyes on me to see if I notice.

“One,” I start.

“This is a fucking joke right?”

“Drop the swearing and I would like an apology for the attitude. Two.”

To my surprise she stomps her foot like an actual child, “why should I go anywhere with you?”

“Three.”

“Stop!” Her internal battle is obvious on her face.

“Four.”

“I’m sorry!” She blurts out.

I smile , “Come here and apologize like you actually mean it.”

She listens. In her dirty boots shuffle towards me, her head hanging low with shame. With her in front of me I can barely breath, the helpless thing is at my chest. She looks up at me with those bright green eyes, “I’m sorry for the attitude.”

My heart is racing.

There is fire dancing behind her eyes, she’s a strong one for a normal human. But I can’t let her know how just a little look can effect me, I need to keep a brave face.

“Lets go.”

She continues to stare at me expectantly.

“Oh yes, come here,” I open my arms to her.

The girl blanches, “We are flying?”

[this-lioness]

Another bullshit update on life in general

Work has kept me busy, and I’ve been trying to get more done creatively and around the house, as well.

This was the first weekend in awhile I didn’t do any (or much) meal prep, since we had enough in the freezer to last us for all the dinners this week, and even a few lunches for Marc.  I made a dozen eggs, cut up and roasted almost 5 lbs of potatoes, and called it a day.

I cancelled the physical therapist, because between work, gym, housekeeping and trying to do something other than being a machine I did not have time for an additional two rounds of exercises every single day.  We were getting up at 5 AM, leaving for work at 6:30 AM, leaving work for home at 5 PM, getting home from the gym around 7, then eating for a half hour.  It was not going to happen.

We ended up cancelling the gym membership, because -- as much as we want to go -- we are just too tired and hungry after an hour-long commute to be like, “Yay, let’s do something tedious and exhausting for a half hour!”

The long term goal was to cancel the membership anyway, however.  I told Marc I want us to concentrate on finishing the sheetrock in the former “cat room” this coming weekend so that we actually use it for its intended purpose, which was exercise.  I have that barre I bought last year that I haven’t had time or room to use even once, and the treadmill and hand weights is just sitting and collecting dust.  So anyway, that’s the plan for next weekend.

We will also be fostering two cats in the next couple weeks, and trying to find them a home.  Long story short we met an artist at one of the galleries downtown, very nice guy, and his friend or nephew or I forget has recently knocked up his girlfriend and decided, “Well, we need to move and get rid of the cats I guess!”

So they’re two year-old sisters, and he wants them to stay together, which is fine.  Like Rosie, they actually look very young, like maybe only 5 months old.  They have never been to the vet in their life, so no shots, and neither of them are fixed, which means it will be on us to take care of all that before they get adopted out.  I’m sure he’s going to be a great Dad [/sarcasm].

When Marc found out that the cats needed a full vet workup, including spay, he was initially resistant due to the cost.  I said okay, if you’re not comfortable with it you’re not comfortable with it, and went upstairs to investigate our options.  The Walmart just opened up a “Vet IQ” clinic that does basic veterinary care, and we can utilize a local spay clinic for about $50 per cat, so on that end alone we’d be shelling out less than $300 (there’s always food and litter, of course).

After awhile Marc came up and was like, “I think I was a little hasty, I’m sure we can make it work.” After I told him the anticipated costs he was much more into it, so that’s good.  Hopefully we won’t have any trouble finding a home for them.

Rosie is doing well at feeding time in her crate!  It has not stopped her from being an absolute maniac spaz about food, but there is almost no growling at all while she eats now.  She goes in her crate, Marc covers it up with a towel, and she eats with seemingly less hysterical anxiety.  I’ll call it a tentative win.

Rosie, by the way, loves Bones. Bones can usually take her or leave her, although his tolerance level is much higher when she’s not acting the spaz, although you see moments of affection for her as well.  She greets him with a nice long body rub when they cross paths, and yesterday Marc caught him grooming her head.  It does my heart good.

At the risk of jinxing myself, I’ve been doing much better at bowling for the past few weeks!  I did decently at league on Friday, and when we went for our Sunday practice I had a series of something like 145, 106 and 140.  Considering I was lucky to break 100 a couple months ago I’m feeling very encouraged.

What has worked for me, honestly, is throwing out a lot of convention wisdom.  Marc has always been very patient with me, explaining game theory and approach and all that, but no matter how much I tried to put it all together it just wasn’t working.  And I was really, really trying.

Then, a few weeks ago, I was chatting with someone about Dyscalculia, and did a bit more casual reading about it.  I was reminded that it often causes issues with spatial awareness, something I can absolutely vouch for (I actually suspect it’s part of what’s caused me to have such persistent problems with perspective and anatomy over the years, although that’s a discussion for another time.)

So I started keeping that in mind when we play: I used the techniques that I knew were helpful, but in any aspect where I was supposed to do one thing, but consistently got unexpected and problematic results, I tried to go more by “feel”.

It’s hard to explain why this works, but it has so far.  Basically, I had to throw out the notion of bowling at “angles”, and became more of a straight-shooter, keeping in mind that my ball does have a tendency to hook left.  I got something like 3 or 4 strikes in one game on Friday!

Which is not to say that I’m suddenly a good bowler, because I’m not, but I’m better, which is what I wanted.  What’s annoying is when (admittedly well-meaning) people are like, “Here’s what you’re doing wrong!” and try to teach me about techniques which I already know, but which just don’t work for me.

This happened two weeks ago I think, and I’m sure the lady meant well, but she also was ignoring me when I said multiple fucking times, “I understand, but I have spatial awareness problems, that doesn’t work for me.”

Like, repeating something at me over and over is not going to make it any more true.  I hear what you’re saying, you’re just wrong.

So in other news I finished two more of the Mori Girl Cats, and that dumb little werewolf thing that was strictly for my own amusement.  (Someone was like, “That would make a great t-shirt,” and haha, I’m not fucking falling for that one again.)  I also organized the office / computer area of the Geek Room, we stashed away the last of the convention stuff, and it feels much more clean and open and neat.  A place I actually want to hang out, and not anxiously work while avoiding the pile of shit sitting behind me!

Last night I also installed Sims 3 and treated myself to a handful of expansion and “stuff” packs.  I only had enough time to create one Sim last night, but I already look forward to giving him a cold.

…*cough*...

Unrelated, but I meant to talk about something that happened last Wednesday, when I was out running my Mom around to her appointments and whatnot.

So… for anyone who didn’t follow me on Facebook or my old Tumblr, the short version is that my Mom and I have a very long and complicated history. She was not a very good mother, she is a textbook covert narcissist.  She was an alcoholic for many, many years which caused serious and life-altering problems for me as a teenager and young adult, and after she got sober she transitioned to a prescription drug addiction which further deteriorated our already tenuous and fraught relationship, and landed both her and my stepfather in financial ruin.

About a year and a half ago, to help save them from the road to homelessness, we helped them sell their old house and moved them to Bucks County to live about 10 minutes from us, in a mobile home park.  We helped them get it fixed up, we help with maintenance, running errands, etc.  It’s a very cute little house, and although it took some time I think they see that now, and that their lives are better off.

When they first moved up here my mother was still on prescription drugs, but she very quickly found that it was impossible to find a new doctor to continue prescribing her the same pharmaceutical cocktails she wanted.  And boy did she fucking try. She’s already changed doctors at least three or four times since moving here, whipping out her favorite refrain of “I don’t think this doctor knows what they’re talking about!” every time they’re like, “Yeah, you don’t need to be on a steady stream of opiates.”

Eventually the lack of drugs caught up with her, the withdrawal passed, and for the past year or so she and I have actually gotten along okay.  She is still, and always will be, a difficult person, and I worry about whether or not she’ll find a doctor to start filling prescriptions again, but until then things are… okayish.

Anyway, that’s the long back story.

Back when they were still living at their old house, Marc and I would periodically go to visit them.  My Mom was always drugged out of her gourd, so I fucking hated going, but I had to do my duty, and she made every excuse imagineable for why she couldn’t come visit us.  So once a month we’d pack up, trek over to her house, order take-out, hang out for a while, then go back home again.

Except my Mother would do this thing where, after the food arrived, she would put the plates out, and then she would continue to gather plates and reorganize the kitchen while everyone was sitting down, serving themselves and eating.  

Like, the food would be on the table, we’d all be halfway through our meals and well on our way to being done, and my Mom would still be in the kitchen sorting around in the drawers for a mystery spoon or bowl that she needed, then finding it, washing it out, drying it, realizing it was the wrong one, putting it away, etc.

Eventually she would come out while everyone else was finishing up, serve herself a tablespoon of food, eat half, and then talk about how full she was.

For a while we would be like, “Mom… everyone is eating. We have everything we need. We literally don’t need anything else. Just come in and eat,” and she would ignore us.  Eventually I just stopped caring, and let her do her thing while the rest of us ate.  The sooner we finished the sooner we could leave.

I don’t know how else to describe her behavior apart from manic.  Like, when it was time to order, if I asked her for a menu, she would bring me the menu, and for fifteen minutes after I had called to place the order she would still be rooting through the drawers looking for more / other menus.  She would get herself so worked up that sometimes while we were sitting downstairs hanging out she’d have to go up and be sick.

All this just to give you a sense of what she used to be like.

Anyway.  I’m driving her home from an appointment on Wednesday, and she’s commenting how all of us just naturally turn into their mothers as we get older, even though we don’t want to.  In that I stayed dead silent through this observation I think she recognized that I disagreed.  So then she moved on to how different some daughters are from their mothers, especially in the kitchen.

And she said to me, “Like when I cook, I have to clean as I go along, I can’t just put everything in the sink until later.  Remember when you used to come over to eat, and you’d say to me, ‘Mom, come and eat, the food is ready!’ and I’d be so busy cleaning up that I wouldn’t even realize!”

And I’m like, “....”

Because that’s not what happened.  That’s not even fucking remotely what happened.  So she has spun the reality where she is an out-of-control manic drug addict and spun it into a funny story about how she’s such a neat freak that she doesn’t realize it’s time to eat.

I was sorely tempted to correct her, but at the last second realized it wouldn’t make a difference either way.  She is never going to look back on her behavior with any kind of clarity, and trying to force her to do so would just make the day end on a sour note.  If she wants to live in delusion, that’s on her.  I can tolerate it, but I’m certainly not going to feed into it by saying something like, “Yes, that’s precisely how it happened.”

She’ll have to learn to interpret the silence on her own.

Anyway, I guess that’s it.  Greatly looking forward to getting home and having a nice night on the couch, or maybe playing Sims some more.  I may even make some tea.

I hope all of you are doing well <3

[hollands-poppet]

Dancing with Our Hands Tied // Part 8 ( Last Part..) // Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: Tom Holland is your best friend and your roommate, but you both have undisclosed feelings for each other.

Word count: 3K💛

A/N: HELLLOO BABIES!! AMY IS BACK FROM THE DEAD. HAHA jk, well kind of. I really wanted to finish this story because I just kind of want to move on from this phase of my life, as far as my fan fictions go. I still want to write, I just want to move on from this story. I love you guys, hope it was worth the wait!!!  💛 💛 💛

Warnings:  cussing, I didn’t proofread at all lmao.. I’m just gonna copy and past all my warnings now hahaha y’all get so butthurt on here (like fake fucking homecomings like wtf), its just a fucking story. anyway, this shit ain’t real..if you don’t want to read what people want to put out then maybe fan fictions aren’t for ya.. y’all are super sensitive on here lmao k thanks for coming to my ted talk bye and I kind of proofread but not really

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7

-

-

“You what?!” Zendaya yells at Tom who is zipping up his spidey suit.

“I broke up with her.” And he says it with such anger in himself, he would admit that he had a short temper but he knew he fucked up. He didn’t mean to break up with her but the heat of the moment brought up all these emotions and he wanted to hurt her in that short second. It had been a day since he had about seen y/n but it felt like a lifetime.

In that short second, he wanted to hurt her because she had hurt him. But had he waited another second, none of this would have happened if he had just listened to what she had to say..but he didn’t. He brought breaking up first, and he knew it was fault.

“Tom, you realize that you screwed this up right? I really don’t know what else to tell you.” Zendaya says as she waits for her co-star to get ready to shoot.

He wouldn’t admit it but the truth burned, “I know! I know! But- I just..I didn’t think about what I was saying..I just wanted her to come back with me, y’know?” He finishes zipping up the side of the suit and faces Z in the face and away from the mirror in his trailer, “I fucked up..and that’s that.”

Zendaya gives a sarcastic smile as she begins to slow clap, “Royally, my friend.”

Tom rolls his eyes and flips off his friend whose only laying out the plain truth, and only a few seconds later Harrison walks in with a cup of coffee.

“Is that my coffee?” Tom asks as he walks towards his friend/assistant but finds that the cup of joe moves over his hand.

“No mate, sorry.” Haz takes a sip, “Honestly, you don’t want to kiss Zendaya with coffee breath though.:

Z and Tom’s heads both snap at the exact moment in shock and at same time speak, “that’s today?!”

Haz gulps down another sip of his coffee, “Yeah, talk about bad timing. Break up with your girlfriend and kiss another girl right in front of her. What a time to be an actor!” The blonde says exaggeratingly to annoy his best friend.

Tom sighs as she walks towards the exit of his trailer, “Is y/n on set yet?”

Haz shrugs as he looks at himself in the vanity, “Not sure, maybe.” Z lightly smacks the back of his head, “You’re literally no help.”

-

Everyone on set was ready, it had taken about two hours to prep and all the crew was waiting for was the talent. y/n was along one of the crew to wait around to touch up Z, she wore barely to any makeup for the role of MJ. Her job for this specific film was to make sure her hair looked consistent and to pat away any shiny-ness on Z’s face.

She waited for Tom and Zendaya along with everyone and she didn’t know how she really felt about that, she wasn’t sure what they were filming today to be honest. She did notice some harnesses, so she figured that her ex was probably going to be filming some stunts. Even though they were no longer an item, to even refer to Tom as in ex in her mind really hurt.

She didn’t understand why he would do that to her, and for such a stupid reason too, well in her opinion at least. She knew Tom was going to feel some type of way about her not moving to Kingston, but she didn’t think the worst. She didn’t know it was going to be his deal breaker.

y/n clears her throat as away to get back in focus because the talent is finally arriving on set, and from the distance there she spots him. She sees Tom and Z walk on set, and his mask is already on. The only visible part of his face were his eyes, he couldn’t put on the spidey eyes until they were ready to film for safety reasons.

Z breaks off from Tom and makes her towards y/n to get touched up before they start filming. Tom makes his way towards the stunt coordinator and towards the harnesses to discuss what’s about to go down.

y/n hears her name and immediately focuses back on her task, this was not the time and place to be thinking about this. She pulls a powder puff and brush so that she can begin touching up Zendaya.

“How you feeling?” Z asks as she looks into her friends eyes, y/n sighs as she pats down her forehead and completely avoids eye contact.

She almost whispers her response because she doesn’t want to even think about it, “Just leave it alone, please.”

Y/N puts away her brush and powder in her belt and re-adjusts Z’s hair just to make sure it’s been consistent since the last time they shot. “Don’t worry about me today.”

And for the most part, Y/N was zoned out until she was called to fix Zendaya’s hair or touch up her shine. A lot ran through her mind as she stand behind the tents and cameras, and a lot was about her and Tom and if all these fighting was worth it anymore.

When y/n wasn’t zoned out, she would catch glimpses of Zendaya and Tom laughing and talking. It almost stung because he was so nonchalant about everything but he also had a job to do, and so did y/n.

y/n and tom started off as roommates and nothing more but this nothing turned into something. She knew what she was getting herself into and now she just wanted a way out of it.

All she needed was time and he couldn’t give that to her… well that’s what it seemed like. People in love say ‘home is where the heart is’ and if that’s what Tom was then why couldn’t she let go of the rest.. right?

More bitterness began to hit as the day was closer to ending. This was the last day of filming and she couldn’t believe that these past few months had gone by so quickly. It also hit her that she hasn’t gotten help for her trauma that she hadn’t taken care of.

She knew it was a reason that caused her and Tom break up.

As Tom and Zendaya swing down from the air and onto the pavement, y/n watches from the distance as the two lock eyes and the film is still rolling. He pulls of his mask and immediately locks his lips with Zendaya, and it’s almost a stab to the heart.

And they didn’t just shoot this scene once, they shot it enough that y/n had to move away from the main set while she hung out at the food table.

This was all fake and she knew that, and she was going to be fine. It was a little annoying to see but she knew that he loved her whether he had to kiss her best friend or not. And this was one of the last of her problems because she had nowhere to live and also had ptsd.

“cut! and that’s a wrap!”

y/n sighs and lets out a fake smile as the rest of the crew who claps out of excitement because quite literally this was the last scene. She claps from the food table as she watches her friends from the distance. Spiderman:far from home was done and so were her and Tom?

-

-

y/n had began packing for a couple of hours now, shooting was wrapped and she had no other reason to be in new york anymore. z was on her way back home to vacation with her family and y/n literally had nowhere to go. She wasn’t sure what Tom had done with their apartment back in LA but she as hell didn’t want to back there.

Her ptsd from that awful situation still haunts her and being alone in that place would trigger her so bad. This was truly one of those moments that she didn’t know if she could escape from, she had to face her fears whether that meant being homeless for a couple of days or facing Tom. She didn’t know if she could do either of them but she had to choose.

It was like in that moment the energy had brought up the knock on your hotel room door, “Who is it?” She asks as she continues shoving some of her toiletries in her luggage. The person’s voice at the door was too faint to hear so she decided to look and there stood her tall friend, Zendaya. y/n wasn’t too excited about company at the moment but she decided to open the door for her friend, “ Hey..”

Z smiles awkwardly, her snaggle tooth making an appearance, “Can I come in?”

y/n purses her lips in thought and nods almost hesitantly but let’s her friend into her room, “What’s up?” She asks as she closes her room door.

“I just wanted to check up on you, you’ve been pretty distant since we filmed last..” Zendaya turns around to face y/n who is still close to the door, “Like right now, your energy feels so off.”

y/n sighs, rubs her eyes in frustration and completely forgets she has mascara on, “I mean, Tom and I are done. I’m kind of upset about that.”

Z crosses her arms, she believed y/n but something felt different. “Okay, I get that but did I do something?” Her arms unfold and she rest her to hands on her chest, “Did I do something personally to upset you?”

And in fact, y/n wasn’t upset with her good friend at all but just bitter because she was freely being intimate with Tom on set. It was work though, Tom and Z’s job is romantic at the moment and y/n had no say in that but it also wasn’t her friend’s fault. In truth, y/n couldn’t bare the sight of them together but she had no right to be upset at her friend.

Although y/n wanted to tell Z the truth, right now wasn’t the time. “I- I just have a lot on my mind, I’m kind of homeless right now so I’m trying to figure out where I should even book a flight to.”

Z walks up to her friend and holds both of her elbows, she is super confused. “What do you mean..homeless? Your apartment..?”

y/n nods her head in defeat, even bowing her head because she can’t look her friend in the eyes, “I can’t go back there..it’s just too much.” Just thinking about the break in makes her so nauseous, the tears in her eyes beginning to overflow.

“Is it because of Tom?” Z asks, and y/n’s head immediately shoots up, “How dare you ask that.”

y/n’s tone becomes serious, her two tears flow down her cheeks as her eyes dry up, “I have more important things to deal with than him. I think I fucking need therapy for that fucking break in because I’m so fucked up and I can’t be alone.”

“Then don’t be, y/n.”

y/n nods her head, her throat burning because she is triggered that her friend is hitting the spots that she has been avoiding.

“For fucksakes, he literally wants to move to a different country with you..please help me understand.” Zendaya’s voice is in between frustrated but also understanding, she wants nothing but the best for her friend.

“That’s the thing... I need to be alone.” y/n moves past her friend and sits next to her luggage, “I need to be okay to be alone again. I love him so much..I just can’t be alone and what if-”

“What if?” Z asks before she can even finish her sentence. She makes her way next to y/n and moves her hair behind her ears, desperate to try and help her friend find an answer.

“What if I let my trauma take over my life?” She sighs as she lets out a few more tears, “I just know that I have to take care of this.”

-

-

Even though filming was done, Tom was going to stay in the big apple for a couple of more days. He was going to make an appearance at jimmy kimmel the next night so he was resting up. He lay on his bed in his pajamas and phone in hand just scrolling through his instagram when he gets a call.

Her name reads across the screen as he sits up quickly and blinks a couple of more times to make sure this was real.

“Hello?” He says into the phone, waiting to hear her voice on the other side.

“Hey...uhm, I’m outside your door.”

He keeps the phone to his ear as he gets up from his bed and makes his way to the hotel door, removing all the extra locks and there she was.

There is awkward tension but the energy flowing between them also feels safe. She brings her phone to her jean pocket and clears her throat, “Can I…?” She doesn’t even finish her question, it doesn’t give Tom more than a second to move out of the way.

He finally removes the phone from his ear, “I didn’t think you would still be here.”

She shrugs her shoulders as she stands in the middle of his room, “There were still things I needed to take care of.”

“Like us?” Tom bluntly asks, he needed to know and she needed to know that he fucked up. y/n looks to the ground and bites her bottom lip and makes eye contact with him, “There is no us..not anymore and I just wanted to-”

“No,no,no,” He repeatedly says as he drops

his phone to the floor and makes his way to her, “Listen, I fucked up so badly and I just wanted you to know that we don’t have to move anywhere you don’t want to.”

y/n purses her lips in thought, not even directly making eye contact with him. “I just- I need help.”

Tom shrugs his neck back a bit in confusion, “What?”

Tears begin to flow down her cheeks as she lets out a sigh in between an awkward laugh, “I need to be able to be alone..whether we’re together or not. I need to be able to be independent and not afraid.”

Before he can even respond, she continues. “And trust me, moving to a different country with you has nothing to do with it. And the old me would’ve went in a heartbeat...I need to find her again.”

Tom is still slightly unaware at what she is hinting it, he understands that the break in still has her a bit paranoid. “So, what are you saying?”

“I’m going to start going to therapy.” She lets out as she stands in the front of his bed, she meddles with her fingers as she finally releases her truth.

“And that’s okay, darling. I’m literally going to be here with you every step of the way.” Tom remarks as he finally makes his way to her, his hands interlocking with hers. Her hands weren’t as warm as they usually were but there he was to make her feel safe again. His hands move from her hands and up her arms, she still isn’t making eye contact with him.

“We can’t, Tom.” She doesn’t move, not even an inch because the warmth feels nice and familiar. She’s weary of even giving into a hug or a kiss, she doesn’t want to regret her decision.

He notices her not wanting to give into him but he also knows that this is what she has wanted for a long time..actually what they both have wanted for the longest time.

“Come on, love...aren’t you tired of dancing with our hands tied?” He asks as his hands rest on her neck, and her hands slowly come up his.

Her head comes closer to his, their noses touching at this point, “I am tired..but I need to work on myself first.”

Their lips touch and it felt like nothing has ever went wrong between the two. They were just two young kids who wanted only this and this moment to last forever.

She pulls away and her sighs, she needs to express a bit more before any of this goes further, “Tom..I just want you to know that I can’t move to Kingston…”

He nods in agreement as their noses are still intact, “That’s okay, love. You don’t-”

“But, I do. I really do want to move there and be with you.” She bites her bottom lip as her hands hold onto arms tightly, “I just need to make sure I’m okay..And I don’t know if that’ll be tomorrow, a week, a month, a year.” There is a pause between the two, she’s nervous. All she wanted was this to work and whether that meant they had to work on themselves separately or together.

All y/n wanted to make sure was that he made her heart feel safe, and that if this wasn’t okay that he needed to tell her that. All she wanted to hear was that it was going to be okay, and his response was only a few moments away. She hoped he didn’t run away this time.

-

A/N: SO DON’T FREAK OUT. THERE IS GOING TO BE AN EPILOGUE. UNTIL THEN...HIT MY MESSAGES..SEND ME THEORIES, THOUGHTS ANYHTING! LOVE YOU GUYS.  -Amy 💛

[unitedwearestoned]

2

When I’ve thought about writing a book before, it always included some thought of an epic tale of love and happiness and joy and shit right? Well, I hate to disappoint, so I can indeed tell you there is an epic tale of love in this book, you just haven’t made it there yet.

WARNING this is gonna get a little adorable.

At the ripe and lovely age of 19, I was a meth addict. I threw away every bit of what I had going for me away for drugs. I looked gross, too honestly. I had greasy nasty hair, I never showered (too busy playing cards). I was disgusting. I had a son, who I loved dearly and I lost him because of my choice to use drugs.

I lost my sweet boy and met my husband to be in the same week. I had also managed to get pregnant again. (I did warn you this was going to be a roller coaster of emotions with me.

I downloaded an app on my phone in my old best friends room. Meetme. This is the beginning of our love story and it’s also the beginning of a very, very long hard road. Just as I’d joined, there were plenty of boys trying to meet up and hookup. I was looking for something to drown the sorrow of losing my son.

Oh, I forgot to mention, I quit using drugs right about at this point.

Back to my husband to be...

I wish all those years ago I saved our first conversation. It was so cute. I’ll try to quote it to the best of my memory for you.

T- “Hey cutie, how are you?”

Me- “not too bad, homeless isn’t the worst position I’ve ever been in”

T-“Do you have somewhere to sleep tonight?”

Me- “My car counts right?”

T- “No, why don’t you come over you can have the bed I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Me- “I’m not gonna take your bed from you.”

T- “We can figure that out when you get here”

Mind you, all of this happened at like 3AM, and he had to work the next day. So I get in my Nissan and roll on down to his apartment, where I stayed for about a week.

T- “Wow, you’re even more beautiful in person than I expected.”

Me- *Blushing so hard I literally can’t speak*

That very night, I knew I loved him. A week after my arrival, T knew I was pregnant and knew he loved me, too. There is one small problem that I forgot to mention. He was just previously engaged.

I know, GASP. What have I gotten myself into?! He was betrothed to be MARRIED, for God’s sake!

On the first day I was there, we laughed and talked until about 4:30AM and finally we both passed out, sideways on his bed.

The second day wasn’t so casual. He admitted being engaged previously to my arrival and we sat on the couch and talked about everything that has happened to him and this girl previously. I guess I’m a love counselor as long as it wasn’t for myself back then. Then, later that evening, we were talking more and he broke. He was just telling me something and I saw his eyes begin to tear up. I embraced him tightly and held him for what seemed like the rest of our lives. In this 24 hour period, I fell in love with a broken man who was as kind and sweet as could be.

The third day I was there, my insecurities overrode me and I, at 2am, was going through his phone. I read how he missed her and wanted her back and plenty of things I DID NOT need to see. I was infuriated. I actually didn’t bother confronting him about it because I knew he was already broken inside. I didn’t need to help that. I left it alone and pretended like I never saw the messages. That afternoon, we sat on the couch and listened to music and talked about our past. When we’d finally exhausted everything we had to say, I began to sing. I will never forget how his eyes lit up. I’ll never forget how he almost teared up when I sang for him.

The rest of the week was a rollercoaster of ups and downs, but eventually, he let her manipulate him into letting her come back and destroy him again. I went to his mothers house and they basically adopted me. T didn’t come over for a while with his fiancée back in his life. A couple times they actually did come over, I was a bit of a bitch. Still not sorry for that one.

Until one day, the fat witch finally messed up. She struck him. Smacked him clean across the face. At the time, I laughed and shook my head because I knew T was more than capable of handling the situation. He proved to be very brave that night, and called the police to come and arrest her for domestic assault.

BOOM. This is my chance.

I, of course, showed up at his house with his mother and sister, if I’m not mistaken. And he came outside and told me I shouldn’t be there blah, blah, blah. I didn’t care, all I wanted was one more day with him. I could figure everything else out later. This day, I just wanted him. The police escorted her out and to jail and I happily stayed to comfort my love. His mom has loved me since day one.

Just like that, she was gone. She never came back, either. Just like that, she was a memory. Well, at the time she was. You’ll see what I mean, later.

We slept on the floor of his newly rented trailer and listened to music all night while he cried about losing the woman he thought he knew he loved. The truth was, he’d fallen in love with me that second day, too. He was confused and overwhelmed because he loved her, too. She’d been there for almost 3 years of his life.

We eventually ended up moving in with his mom because $900 a month for a trailer in 2015 was a laughing joke. We couldn’t afford that. By this time, I’m around

six months pregnant with my daughter. When that got to be too much to handle, I called my mom up and begged for her help. She let us set up a tent outside her house and slept in it for a week before it got cold outside. Then my mom put us in their box truck. With a space heater. It’s at least October at this point. Temps are dropping and I’m six months pregnant. We made it through it, of course. It was not easy or fun.

T and I made the best out of a bad situation and struggled financially, emotionally, and mentally for four years before we finally are on track today. We stuck it out together and reprogrammed each other’s destructive thinking and actions to be the better people we are today. Well, mostly better.

I did mention we sell weed, right? I don’t recommend you go out and try to repeat what we are doing. I’m writing this from my bed in D.C. happily fixing to bag another 8th for some tourist that doesnt give a damn how much it costs-only that it’s the best.

[bastardtravel]

August 11, 2018. Manchester, New Hampshire.

After seven hours on the road, pausing only to explore an Old Ones cult site, storm a terrible castle, and eat distressingly dry corned beef at a Greek diner that still advertised one of their menu items as “Michael Jackson’s favorite grinder”, we were in dire need of respite.

Establishing a forward operating base was our first priority. For my part, I can sleep anywhere. My bonfire days in the Frozen North frequently necessitated pitching a $10 K-Mart tent over gravel, then drinking bottom-shelf whiskey until you didn’t realize you were sleeping in a puddle of rainwater and broken glass. That’s not a knack you lose. It’s like riding a bike. The Girl was always more discerning, and became doubly so after our experience in Phoenix with the inept criminal front halfway house hotel. We agreed that she can veto any of the lodgings I book. Sometimes, late at night, I’ll hold a flashlight under my chin and tell her spoOoOoky stories about hostels in Ireland.

She insisted on the airport Super 8. I was hoping to stay in a quaint deep woods motel called “Unsmiling Jed’s Sleepaway”, attached to sister business “Unsmiling Jed’s Discount Plastic Surgery Silo and Chili Kitchen”.

If I can’t protect it, I don’t deserve to have it. That goes double for life.

A friendly foreign woman checked us in at the Super 8, then proceeded into utter bafflement when I asked for a first aid kid. I chewed myself up pretty good climbing Bancroft’s Castle, and I’d spent the last half hour bleeding into an oily dog blanket to avoid ruining my upholstery. I’m pretty sure that’s how plagues start.

There were no band-aids here, or antiseptics, or possibly medicine as a concept. There was a three gallon tub of hand sanitizer. I thanked her for the offer but gently declined.

We went up to the third floor. The hallways were lined with people sitting on the carpet outside their rooms, shouting and smoking cigarettes. The room itself was clean and the air conditioning worked. All my boxes were checked. The bathroom reeked of weed, which some would interpret as a bonus. I scrubbed my wounds raw in the sink, tucked away the precious cargo of wine and peaches, and set out to investigate downtown Manchester.

Streetlight technology has not yet made its way to Manchester, so we spent twenty minutes missing exits in ocean-floor darkness. It looked worryingly like Wilkes-Barre, which is not where one would choose to vacation, were one sane.

Downtown erupted from nowhere like graphic pop-in on a video game running at its lowest resolution. One second you’re in leatherface country, with nothing breaking the abyssal darkness but the occasional half-broken Jiffy Lube sign. The next, you’re on vibrant neon market strip, replete with hipsters and the homeless.

We knew we had hit downtown proper when we passed by the “craft grilled cheese bistro”.

only programmers will understand!!!! like and reblog if u get it

Since I am an adult man, grilled cheese cannot be dinner. Both “gastropubs” we tried, despite their bitchin Greek mythology names, offered generic terrible burgers and a draft list that consisted of Coors Light.

“I’m so hungry,” the Girl told me. “I’m gonna die.”

“We all will,” I assured her. “Soon.”

Yelp claimed there was a brewery five blocks away. We walked off the only lit street, into absolute, encompassing blackness. It would’ve been spooky if I didn’t always kind of hope some Putty Patrol mook would lunge at me from the dark while I’m far away from home, having told no one where I’m going and left no paper trail.

There were no incidents. No one was murdered in self-defense. No one knows what we did last summer. The Stark Brewing Company was in the basement of a grim looking office complex, and it was vacant save for two other wanderers.

We sat at the bar and ordered a flight and an imperial stout. I was pushing for finding an actual restaurant, but the Girl ordered “Penne with vodka sauce”, which was not the right color, flavor, or texture to be anything but penne bolognese. The Girl didn’t seem to mind. I ate a pulled pork sandwich.

The beers were warm, but I didn’t care. It didn’t matter what the beers were, so long as they were beers. And not Coors Light. The brewery themed all of their beers off of dogs, for some reason, which I believe to be the ideal business model. According to the bartenders, the brewery had been open for 25 years, but hadn’t yet received their big boom. I was outraged. The beers were excellent, and would probably be even better if they weren’t room temperature, and the taps were not only named for specific dogs, but also provided pictures.

To say nothing of the bathroom, which was covered in sharpie beer lore.

The bartender and waitresses swore a lot more than you would normally expect in this context. The Girl maintains they were swearing at us. I disagreed.

“They were swearing <i>with</i> us,” I mansplained.

“We weren’t swearing,” she countered.

“But if we HAD been.”

As I’ve grown larger and more sinuous, I’ve tried to cut back on how often I cuss at strangers. Cultural relativism is the understanding that not everyone grew up among the coalcrackers, and good-natured oaths like “how the hell are you” or using the fuck-word as a conversational placeholder, while subjectively soothing, can set off fight-or-flight in the small, soft, and bourgeoisie.

I try to maintain direct proportionality between my barbarism and my well-heeledness. Neither the wait staff nor the other two customers shared my bond, and the middle-aged guy on my right proceeded to tell me how his hometown of Denver, Colorado is the greatest fuckin’ city in America, next to maybe Southern California. Which is not a city.

We talked about our homes and travels for a while, then I got my pulled pork sandwich and they left. The sandwich was slightly warmer than the beer, which beat the alternative.

An armada of children came into the bar.

“Oh, shit,” the woman tending bar said. They were visibly teenagers, and on the wrong side of it. They had that gangly awkwardness you get around fourteen or fifteen, and if they were trying to play it off, they were woefully bad at it. There were also nearly twenty of them. It looked like a field trip.

People in their twenties don’t travel in packs of more than six. It’s hard to transport a throng, unless you have a party bus, and why do you have a party bus when you’re twenty-eight? You’re twenty-eight and party buses have always been sad. Get a job. Also, it’s hard to get that many adults to agree on something.

It can be done. You can say, “Hey, adults, you want to do some drugs?” And in a sufficiently sized crowd, you’ll manage to pull twenty or so who will follow you to your house or whatever. This is called an “afterparty”. It doesn’t go to bars at 9pm.

Have you felt out the social zeitgeist recently? Look at a random handful of current memes and it’ll be pretty clear that most adults consider socialization to be a required burden, like paying emotional taxes. “Going out” is the price of living in a civilized society. You’re not going to scare up twenty people, then put them in a party bus, then take them to an abandoned bar half a mile outside of where the actual nightlife is.

“Hey, we’re just about to close,” the bartender said.

A reedy blonde in a top that seemed to consist mostly of straps screeched, “But your WEBSITE said you were open til ONE!”

Screeched.

The bar fell silent. Well, more silent. The Girl and I traded looks, her horror for my delight.

“Uhhhhhh,” the bartender said, but with excellent elocution, as though that were the word she had deliberately chosen. “Okay.”

They sat the itinerant mall food court in an enormous corner table, whereupon they requested shots.

The waitress who had sworn at/with us the least came back to the bar and said, “You guys said you were from Pennsylvania, right?”

We nodded.

“Can I see one of your licenses quick?”

She compared mine against the obviously fake ID one of the tweens had given her. After a moment she said, “Yeah, you can see, the font is different. And the picture looks like it’s photoshopped.”

“Yeah, no one’s license picture ever looks this good,” the Girl said, studying the fake ID.

“Except mine,” I added. They ignored me. I didn’t take it personally.

The waitresses disappeared into the back. Five minutes later, the only dude working at the place was gendered into being the bad cop. He sulked over to the teens.

“You guys gotta leave,” he said. “We know your ID’s fake. We’re not trying to get fined. You gotta go.”

For maximum accuracy, imagine this said in Toby’s voice from the Office. Shamefaced, the flash mob of children dispersed.

We paid for our room temperature beers and left the poor, foul-mouthed brewery to close at 9:30 on a Friday. The Girl and I accidentally stalked the battalion of teens through the street, but only because we were all moving back toward the only lights in the city, not unlike moths. They turned a corner and vanished, presumably to find an arcade or laser tag or some sort of large carousel.

The Girl and I followed the sounds of some obnoxious bros announcing, “It’s like a fahkin sketchy ally, dewd”.

It was, in fact, the least sketchy alley I’d ever been in. Cat Alley was the best lit venue in all of New Hampshire. It was clean and well-maintained, and it was covered less in graffiti and more in an outdoor art gallery dedicated to cats.

There were more, but they didn’t all warrant a picture.

Portland Pie Co loomed from the endless darkness like a beacon in the night, hearkening back to those days lost in Maine during the Great Lobster Drought of 2017. We split a bourbon barrel ale which did me in. It was bedtime.

On the way back, toward the end of the main drag, a man made of pure light rode by blasting EZ-Listenin from his Tron bicycle, also made of pure light.

I can’t prove he wasn’t Jesus.

Heartened, we returned to the hotel, where no one was smoking or yelling in the hallway anymore. Excellent.

Next stop, Portsmouth.

Love,

The Bastard

Into the Abyss August 11, 2018. Manchester, New Hampshire. After seven hours on the road, pausing only to explore an Old Ones cult site, storm a terrible castle, and eat distressingly dry corned beef at a Greek diner that still advertised one of their menu items as "Michael Jackson's favorite grinder", we were in dire need of respite.

[human-resourccs]

He Just Likes The Rush - Ch. 7

In which things finally settle down a little and Jon gets put through the wringer.

previous chapter

~2000 words

Jonathan was lucky that he hadn't killed him right then and there, stood at his complete mercy in one of his own traps. Yes, it was definitely luck and nothing more. Another whim of his good mood, and his sense of fair play. Not the look of embarrassment on his face nor his pathetically dishevelled appearance which suggested he hadn't had a good night's sleep since Edward made his escape that first time - the implication of the latter made him swallow dryly. He would not be so quick to forgive, however; if he thought an endearingly sentimental apology note was going to cut it, Jonathan had another thing coming. But… he'd hear him out. This once. the last thing he needed was people thinking he'd gone soft, after all!

He wondered why Jonathan hadn't simply tried to contact him through the regular channels. Making meaningful gestures was Edward's thing. Frowning lightly, he reached blindly across his workbench for his phone; it used an incredibly secure network of his own making. He punched in the numbers - Yes, he had gone out of his way to find out Jonathan's contact details; so he could make a point of not using them, to prove… to prove something to himself - and dialled it in. The startled look that briefly crossed Jon's face made him smirk; there was a sort of audible smile to his tone when the other dropped the scrap of paper and fumbled for the ringing phone in his pocket - startled, but not at all surprised by it.

"Jonathan."

It hung quiet for a moment.

"Edward. I appreciate your not gassing me immediately upon entry."

"Don't thank me yet, I haven't made my mind up."

Jonathan paused, measuring his words. He… wasn't really expecting to actually face Edward so soon already. Ed spoke up again first.

"Not very good at this, are you? One would think one would try harder when their life quite literally lays on the line. Or perhaps you're just getting a kick out of it, who knows? I certainly-"

Jon gathered his breath.

"I'm sorry, Edward. I've no good excuse for what happened. I was simply acting like a complete fool."

He heard Edward huff quietly over the line.

"Yes, you were. Acting like a total idiot. When I was attempting to show concern for you, of all times!"

He had prepared so many speeches in his head to cut Jonathan down in the coldest, most efficient way possible, but this was so… blunt. Utterly honest. Jonathan had put himself at his complete mercy in this way; he had cameras and traps at his disposal. It had thrown him completely off-kilter, honestly. He wasn't expecting this. He was trying to be angry with him, damn it!

He saw Jon glance briefly up to the camera, then away again. If it weren't for the poor monitor quality, he'd have staked a bet that he actually looked guilty. Now that must have been a trick of the light. That was not fair.

"As I said, I've no excuse. And no good excuse for my continued absence after my escape, either."

"Oh, I'm quite aware of what you were up to after Dent's ham-fisted half-assed breakout. Information and intelligence are my most valued commodities. I'm sure it simply slipped your mind during your toxin-induced months-long bender. It's honestly amazing that your addiction to mortal danger hasn't killed you yet."

"…Of course. It had never been my intention-"

"You look like garbage, by the way. You look like you've been sleeping homeless for a month."

He saw Jonathan's mouth hang open, taken aback slightly. Edward bit his lip, trying not to let his sly grin be too audible through his tone.

"I think I can smell you through the camera. If they decide to re-make Castaway I'm putting you at the top of the casting list."

Jon frowned indignantly.

"Edward-"

"No, no. I'm still pissed off at you. You deserve this."

Jonathan sighed an indescribably tired sigh.

He did.

"…I do."

"Good! We're in agreement."

This continued on for approximately twenty minutes before Edward was suitably smugly satisfied with the thorough verbal dressing-down he'd given his friend. More importantly, he had the entire ordeal on disc, which left him with a larger measure of control than Jon could be entirely comfortable with. But this was the exchange for their continued interaction; Jonathan had been equal parts exhausted and impressed by the vulgar creativity he was capable of when he set his haughtiness aside; decidedly dragged through the mud, things were… more or less forgiven. It was a shaky, tentative re-alliance. Edward did not trust easily, he'd discovered.

Following the methodical verbal dissection, Jonathan bid his farewells, went home, and was promptly overcome by the exhaustion he'd accrued over the past couple weeks - he'd actually left to speak with Edward the moment the impulse had taken him; which had been mere moments after waking up from the previous day's escapade. It was a measurably more restful sleep than he'd had in quite some time.

It wasn't until a day or few later that Edward started breaking into his home again; proclaiming rather loudly as Jon came home that if he was going to continue visiting him then the place was going to have to measure up to the barest standards of cleanliness he had! Which, incidentally, was still absurdly high by Jon's standards. This was probably also a passive-aggressive extension of Edward's ire. He wasn't really complaining, despite the resulting misplacement of a fair number of his instruments.

"I mean really, Jonathan. Did you just grow fond of the abject squalor at Arkham? Decide to keep the aesthetic?"

"Been busy, that's all."

"No no no. I've been busy. You've been-"

Edward's sentence broke off with a strangled squeak as he turned and caught sight of movement in Jonathan's hair and his stomach seemed to drop through the floor, then puffed up angrily.

"Is this a joke? "

Jonathan had no clue what he was talking about until he felt the newly-familiar tickling across his hairline.

Oh.

Shit.

He'd forgotten.

Jon's eyes widened a little bit, stiffening in an attempt to quickly correct the situation.

"Now just hold on-"

"Seriously?? Did you really go through all of this just to-"

"Edward."

Something about Jonathan's expression interrupted his thought process- he'd never seen the man look so openly visibly distressed since he'd met him, and an amount of colour had gathered at his cheeks. Edward inhaled, slowly, and relaxed his shoulders.

Fine, fine.

"I am expecting a very good explanation for this."

Jonathan frowned a little indignantly.

"I. Uh... Became quite fond of her. After you left."

"You… got attached. To a spider."

Scarecrow. Self-proclaimed Master of Fear. Had become attached to a small spider. Was letting it nest in his hair. He needed a second to process the catastrophic mental shutdown this information had caused.

There was a long pause.

"...Yeah."

The anger and indignation had more or less evaporated by this point. He clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. Jonathan frowned harder - the arachnid came to rest hanging just above his eyebrow. It was too much; he doubled over laughing.

Jonathan was absolutely baffled by Edward's uncanny ability to switch moods at the drop of a coin. His laughter was sweet, though; compared to the hearty fake stage laugh he employed in his criminal performances. Giggling, even. It made that warm sickly sweet feeling swallow up his heart in the way it always does; he was starting to enjoy the sensation. In that brief instant he could've told you with total conviction that he'd make a fool of himself a hundred times to see Edward collapsing into uncontrollable fits of giggles and snorts like this. At least he could attribute the burning in his cheeks to embarrassment; his face had remained the picture of indignation while he worked through the emotional short-circuit he'd just suffered.

Edward lifted his mask ever-so-slightly in order to wipe the tears out of his eyes.

"I can't believe you- you- replaced me with a spider! I suppose now I'm going to have to compete with it for your attention like some sort of trashy rom-com, aren't I?"

Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

--

Gotham (particularly the GCPD) was incredibly grateful of the re-alliance that they were never really even aware had occurred. From the city's point of view, the Riddler and the Scarecrow simply finally toned down their frantic activity a little and everyone could rest a tad easier for it.

They settled back into the rhythm of before; enjoying one another's company. Edward abjectly refused to get within 5 feet of Jon for a while so long as his companion - lovingly dubbed 'Aria' by Edward, who flatly refused to let Jonathan choose a name with the argument that he would undoubtedly pick something so embarrassing she would run away from home - remained on Jon’s person.

They'd settled into a comfortable silence in Jon's living room, it had passed quite late into the evening and they were content to remain in each other's presence while Jonathan scribbled horribly untidy notes of theories and formulae into his worn old notebook and Edward overthought things that he knew didn't really matter.

the journal wasn't even old, Edward mused, watching the other's hands work quickly down the pages. Things just seem to look weathered when they stay in proximity to him too long. It's like he has an area of effect that just causes furniture to age. Fascinating.

He rested his head in one hand. Drew a long breath. Something about the atmosphere, the bizarrely intimate silence finally caused a welling up in his chest that made Edward speak up.

"…I'm colourblind."

The quiet scratching of pencil against paper came to an instant stop, but Jonathan didn't look up. Edward paused, heartbeat quickening. Why did he admit that? He'd never revealed this weakness to any of the others. This… mistake in his biology. A defect he could never truly fix. He'd nothing to gain from it. But then, nobody had spared the fraction of time it took to even ask before Jon had. Whether it was because he was simply curious or because he cared; it didn't matter. He'd paid attention and after all was that not all he demanded people do in order to become more intelligent?

"You asked why I never take this mask off. I'm severely colourblind. Short-sighted, to top it off."

Jonathan set the pencil down quietly. Ed swallowed.

"I'm telling you because I trust you won't abuse this."

There was an unspoken threat behind his tone.

"Completely deuteranopic. Greens, reds, and purples. I always did enjoy taking things I was told I couldn't have. These-"

He pressed a finger to the edge of his mask.

"Are corrective. I created the tech with my own two hands. I detest having them removed and being reminded of the irritating imperfection. Amongst other things. That's all there is to it. Trivial, really."

As he spoke, Jonathan had turned to face him - an obvious question resting on his features. He wasn't really capable of grasping just how difficult the admission was for Edward, but… he had a sense of it. The notion of being trusted with such information made it feel as though his chest might crack open with the effort of trying to contain the rogue emotion.

"Thank you, Edward." Was all he could muster in response; hoping that the emotion in his voice could put across what he didn't have the words to convey.

Edward held his gaze for a few impossibly long seconds more before the intimacy of the moment became more than Ed could comfortably tolerate without babbling anxiously.

"Seriously. If - If you tell anyone about that, I'll tear you and your stupid little spidery companion apart, you hear me?"

Jonathan laughed.

[violetsystems]

#personal

It’s been getting hard to keep track of all the misfortune lately on a microscopic level.  This isn’t to say there’s some miniature secret world plotting against me or something.  Maybe it is really the muons at work.  Maybe it’s just people being collectively disrespectful.  If anything is for sure, people out here in America act in groups more often than not.  In Chicago, it’s easier to paint the picture because of a little known characteristic of my city called “corruption.”  You are made to think you are the problem.  That you aren’t following the rules.  These rules aren’t things you can actually follow like tax law or anything.  If anything my taxes this year extended my time to wait all of this out.  But I’ve been waiting all this out for over two decades essentially.  I was reminded of this yesterday shopping downtown when I wandered past my ex girlfriend.  I haven’t spoken to this person for years.  Never would speak to this person.  I’ve run into my car in the neighborhood when I’m on the wrong side of it.  The car I gave up to walk away and never look back over a decade ago.  I’ve been suggested her as a connection on LinkedIn more than once.  Sometimes through an email at 4:20 in the morning from the service.  For whatever reason the Earth’s magnetic poles lead sharks like me around the city with no plan, I sure run into a lot of people.  This is while spending about 11 months completely alone aside from run ins with goods and services.  I occasionally nod to my neighbors.  The landlord installed a new lock on the front gate which is left unlocked most of the time.  I had a package stolen again a couple of weeks ago.  We didn’t talk about it.  It just seems coincidental that now we have a lock.  It’s not the first time I’ve had my packages disappear.  It’s not the first time for anything in this city.  And again it’s not the first time I’ve seen my ex in passing scowling back at me.  She wasn’t wearing a mask.  Thankfully I was.  I’ve given up trying to explain this to anybody but the internet.  And even in that, this site is theoretically dead to most people in mainstream society much like me.  Gaslighting is tied to a myriad of behaviors that people use to exert control.  Think of all the shitty men out there who neg women to groom, shape and mold them into liking them.  Think of this done in collective way.  Like a mob.  Or a commune.  Whatever you call it, it’s not something you can actively fight against yourself.  Sure I have this online outlet.  But most of us get at this point that I’m not looking to connect with mainstream society after being exiled from it like it was a cult.  Typical cult behavior is to alienate and isolate the victim.  Kind of like the army.  You break down someone’s resolve to the point where they have no choice to give up and accept the way.  That this is your home.  This is your path.  This is your destiny.  That this is all you are worth.  That you are being unreasonable thinking there’s anything wrong.  That you should just give up and assimilate to the group.  Except in my case, there’s no option or way forward.  If my self confidence were lower or my bank account far less liquid I’d be on the ropes by now.  And yet things just keep getting worse when it comes to what this city projects at me.  It’s completely full of shit and not even remotely concerned in hiding it.  I could never prove any of this behavior towards me is organized.  So I don’t.  I don’t waste my time other than writing it out on the internet to show I’m not crazy.  But the city is against me at every step outside my locked gate.  Inside my rent is paid and I have a silent agreement at best.  At least I can be trusted to keep a secret.

Trust is something that can’t be recovered with mere words.  I’ve known for awhile I’ve been held to a completely different standard.  It’s hard to quantify.  As much as I’d like to think this is a dead site, I know those very same people stalk every word I say.  It’s a fucked up situation that just keeps getting deeper into a hole no one can crawl out of.  I’ve spent my time being vague and cautious.  I’ve focused more on my fiscal health through this which is better than it has ever been.  Sans identity theft ever few weeks.  This is a reality that I live that has gone way beyond a line of normalcy.  I’m supposed to just sit here mothballed, exiled and benched.  I’m supposed to sit here and take it while people watch on some scary collective level.  I’m not too paranoid about anything.  Honestly I’m the least paranoid I’ve ever been.  I’m just simply bored with the inefficiency of it all.  You really want to sit here and tell me that it’s my fault.  That it’s about me “getting out there” and getting “out of my comfort zone” when I spent years travelling by myself to Asia, New York and as far as New Zealand.  These are journeys I’ve written about at the level of a fifth grade writing teacher.  And still nobody can bother to accept that I’ve been around the block more than once.  It’s as if I don’t matter unless I reach out to someone.  Which I have for years on this platform.  I’m comfortable with that.  To be this invisible after all the shit I talk is a mindfuck.  I wonder why I even talk shit at all anymore.  I wonder why I don’t just wall myself up in my apartment and never see the light of day.  I wonder a lot of things.  I wonder how deep this pain will get over time.  I wonder why people think this is completely normal to put a person through what I’ve been through.  What does this prove exactly?  To me it proves that I am worth it.  And self confidence in this situation is the biggest mother fucker there is.  Because everyone would rather resort to chipping away at your defenses than getting to know who you really are.  I’d be more bothered if I cared about it.  But we are in the middle of a crisis.  I have been quarantined and isolated from everything alone.  I have been followed, gossiped about, threatened, and intimidated most every day of the week for over a year.  I don’t really care.  I have reached a limit in which I constantly feel like telling the world to fuck off.  I have spent years rattling away paragraphs that are harvested by some future algorithm to mine for some tortured sitcom version of Tenet.  What the fuck is really going on here?  I couldn’t ever tell you.  None of how this has played out for me makes any bit of sense.  I have nowhere to go.  I have nothing to do.  I have skills that are invisible.  I have a professional network that pretends I’m not alive.  I get winks and secret stares like I’m not in on some joke.  That I’m outside whatever privileged simulation the rest of this city enjoys.  I’ve given up trying to explain it.  I never want to explain it.  I never want to look back at all these sorry ass glances.  I live in a city that plays by its own lawless rules and expects you to bow down and kiss it’s scrubby ass feet.  While walking back to the train the other day I took the long way under the metra tracks.  There’s a ton of homeless people living in tents.  I walked past and an arm stuck out from one with a needle in the other hand.  This tattooed motherfucker literally just shot up in front of me.  Like it was some sick expression of freedom.  This country is fucked up.  This city is even worse.  And people think like I’m living some charmed, bargain basement life.  Like it’s cool to be poor.  Like it’s divine to suffer and struggle so that the rest of these people can pretend it never happened.  This is real life in Chicago.  Home of the free and land of the gaslighted.

I don’t know what to say or do anymore.  I know this is some sort of epilogue.  That it really doesn’t matter.  I’m going to spend an entire summer alone again.  Just to prove a point.  Then come September I’m going to have to make the decision to leave.  There are no answers.  No opportunities.  Nobody who wants to see this all happen to me and point a finger back at society.  I’m not tortured enough.  I’m not part of some community other than a dead website people make fun of.  I don’t have a fucking future here.  I get scammed.  I get conned.  I get catfished looking for jobs.  I get sidelined.  I get benched.  I get picked over.  And I get it.  If we really look at the way the entertainment industry and the media work everyone pays attention to two week cycles.  In the last two weeks, people have copied every single idea and claimed it their own.  Just like the two weeks before that.  People make it all about them and forget what inspired them.  And people move on to the next thing to consume.  They have no focus.  They churn around trying to be like everyone else and become more the same.  I’ve been a musician.  I’ve been a rapper.  I’ve been host.  I’ve been a commentator.  I’ve been a writer.  I’ve been a lot of things.  And I’m still completely invisible except even more so.  It’s like a joke to some people.  They get off on cucking me in front of my face.  Like they’re so much better at expressing their freedom than me.  These people are toxic and inefficient as fuck.  You can’t express freedom in one breath at the expense of somebody else’s.  You cannot do that in an organized mob like fashion on the internet.  If you do, the DOJ will find you.  And you will need a fucking lawyer.  And this is what I tell myself when I get really mad.  That I will have the last laugh.  That I will be able to wait it out.  That things will have changed after July 4th when the city reopens.  We can all laugh and dance the pain away.  We can all conveniently ignore the shady bullshit that I experienced up front and center.  This is a dangerous reality.  That after July it will be a year since I was let go.  A year of being invisible taking care of my own shit.  A year of me telling you I told you so only to be gossiped behind my back like I’m crazy.  I’m ok with walking away from all this shit and starting over.  I already did that.  It’s a fucking insult I live every day people thinking they know everything about me and never even asking my fucking name.  And yet I don’t really care.  It’s not worth my fucking time to care anymore.  I don’t exactly know the way forward.  I’m trapped in a situation that would make normal people’s eyes bleed.  I write here out of frustration knowing full well it’s not something I control.  I can’t do anything about this.  So I figure out ways to pass the time like I’m in some sort of jail.  Does it matter?  On a small level yes.  I do understand that there are people out there that care about me equally as much.  This is why I stay down here.  A joke.  Anonymous proof that everyone is pretty much full of shit when they talk about me behind my back.  And yet it gets worse.  Who did I piss off?  I don’t mind that I did.  I’m kind of proud actually.  Because if I pissed you off being me it means I got under your skin.  It means ultimately I’m better than you can ever be.  And you’ll tear your own skin off trying to live in the shadow of mine.  Nobody can ever be me.  Nobody can ever copy my shit and be authentic.  This is what we need to focus on.  Authenticity.  For all the shit people talk about me, I don’t need to say a word.  You can make fun of me in front of your coworkers or friends at the bar.  Somebody will always be in the shadows listening to your bullshit.  And your bullshit is so obvious these days.  I have no choice but to wait it out and watch you eat the shit you’ve been shoveling for decades.  How I’m going to do that should be obvious by now.  Nothing has changed.  Everything else is a secret.  <3 Tim