#the exhaustion these past few weeks has been absolutely atrocious but at the very least

[inkybirdy]

i have an idea or two noodling around! nothing completely set yet, but i do enjoy the idea of the boys eventually getting a kid as equally weird as they were, ahah 

here’s a link to the drabble in question, but a tumblr-formatted version is under the cut! 

"Pa sleeps a lot." 

"Mmn." The Gerudo King hums warmly but doesn't look up from where he's working with yet another ream of parchment, the cushion he's sitting on stained with ink and assorted books and papers sprawling on the floor around him. "He gets tired. Let him rest."

The boy, maybe seven, huffs a lock of orange hair out of his face and flops backward where he’s sitting, the king’s back a sturdy wall to lean against. He focuses curious, ruby eyes on the man reclined and dozing a few yards away. 

The sunroom is open with a soft breeze going through - he smells apple blossoms and melon drifting in from the rooftop gardens, watches the wind catch on the dozing man’s pale hair. 

“Sick?” “Hm?” “Is he sick?” “No.” “Why’s he tired?”

The scratching of pen to paper stops. Ganon shifts, turns just enough to raise an eyebrow at his son.  “Does - does it worry you?” He asks, tone soft despite the frown on his face. The boy shrugs. 

Both parents are scarred - the boy knows. Some are faded, others deep and startling.  Ganon keeps most of his obscured with jewels and tattoos in a language the boy can’t recognize, but Link’s aren’t so hidden. There are simply too many.  They marr gentle hands, scratch harsh up his arms and wrap tight around his throat. At the pit of his chest, another big one - like a star combusting against his sternum. Gashes on his stomach, his hips, more down around his ankles; while many of them are minor, altogether they craft an array of jagged messages across once-soft brown skin. 

Ganon has remained quiet, patient as the boy considers further, even though they are likely already on the same page.  “They’re old.”  “I know.” The boy fiddles with the hem of Ganon’s outer robe, watching the sun glint on golden thread. He’s interrupted when he’s scooped up, gathered into Ganon’s lap. 

Ganon kisses his son’s head and idly rests his chin atop it.  “Sometimes,” He offers, carefully, “Sometimes there are big stretches of a lot stuff happening, all at once. And, people stay tired for... A long time, after.” 

The kind of ‘stuff’ that makes lungs burn and bones ache too, the boy figures. Still, he burrows into the hug he’s been wrapped in, hiding securely away in soft fabric and sunbeams from whatever nightmare threatens to claw to the forefront of his memory. 

“The good part, though,” Ganon continues once the wriggling has settled, “Is that we’re all home and safe, hm? Pa can sleep when he needs to, it’s no big deal.”  The boy makes a little noise of agreement. The bubble of anxiety that had started to build in his chest from thinking too long begins to shrink. 

They’re idle, together in comfort and silence, for a few serene moments. Eventually, the boy’s fists don’t clench so firmly against Ganon’s shirt, and he eases. 

“... Maybe you’re just really boring.” The boy is muffled against Ganon’s chest, but he can feel the grin. 

Link jolts awake to the sound of Ganon breaking into a cackle, and the boy shrieking in laughter as he’s caught in an onslaught of vengeful tickling. 

[oneletteredwondered]

Uuuhhhh sanders sides mental hospital au with a bunch of cliches that literally no one asked for but it's also a soulmate au????

uhh warnings for disorder talk, suicide mention, swearing?

Polyamsanders mostly

Main story line?

When Virgil was a kid his parents were nice and all, but they did punish him for seemingly random things

They had him do chores a very specific way and if it wasn't done that way, he had to do it again and again to make sure it was proper

It resulted in him having a very high anxiety disorder, both socially and in general

He found he couldn't talk to a lot of people afraid to mess up, and over thinking how he messed up

Especially when it came to his soulmates

Had never written to them, refused to look at their notes, didn't think he would be able to keep them with how he is

Does not do well in messy environments, not necessarily OCD, but close

When he managed to move out his anxiety left his home foodless, and he couldn't talk to get food, so he went hungry

Ended up a cycle and punishment system for himself

Can't talk so can't eat, couldn't talk don't deserve to eat

Someone found him passed out in the laundry room of his apartment complex

Doctors found him extremely malnourished and unable to communicate, so they sent him to the mental hospital to get better

Virgil had the absolute worst time adjusting, had multiple panic attacks every day for like a week straight

He wouldn't talk to anyone and could barely be forced out of bed to join group sessions or meal times

Barely ate anything and almost passed out again

After two weeks of straight up anxiety and no food exhaustion, he finally got tired enough to actually talk to his therapist

Dr Picani is wonderful, says things light hearted and never tries to pry. The kind of therapist to make a small joke or reference to make sure his clients aren't having huge breakdowns

Virgil does open up to him, they decide to tackle the anorexia first

It's difficult to convince Virgil he’s worthy of eating and that food should never under any circumstances be used negatively

But they manages to get him to at least eat something and that's a start

The first time Picani asks about virgil’s soulmate, Virgil has a panic attack

And every time after as well

Come to find out the word 'soulmate' is triggering to him

Sudden flashes of hunger pains and a blinding feeling he's not worth it

They start using the word heartbound

Virgil starts trying to hang out and talk to some of the other residents

Has a panic attack before he can say hi, but the others walk him back to his room and invite him to hang out later

He does, and its good for his recovery

It takes some time to get virgil proper anxiety medication, his body rejects the first two, throwing up and feeling too tired

Virgil wants to stop feeling helpless and so scared all the time, wants to start getting better

They get him on a small dose of one kind, and it works for a while

Picani convinces Virgil that even if he wants to get better on his own, his heartbounds deserve to know he exists, that Virgil shouldn't be afraid to do so

So Virgil does, with overwhelming support from people he doesn't know

He doesn't talk to them, but he no longer hides their notes from himself

Visiting/progress update day is coming up, and with Picani there to tell him it's okay, Virgil writes the address of the hospital asking them to come

He gets confirmation and is able to calm himself out of an attack before it can really start

It's a good day

They carefully raise his dosage till he can be more personable, more himself

He's shaking visiting day, a message on his arm that his heartbounds will be wearing black, blue, and red respectively

So when three people walk in, one in a black button up with the sleeves rolled up to their elbows, another in a blue tee with a design on it that looks like it could be a grandma sweater, and another in a red shirt with white sleeves and heeled boots, Virgil almost faints

There's a lot going for him and it's hard to handle

So the one in the blue sweater is the first to notice Virgil staring bugeyed at them and just knows

So they all go over to him and Virgil stands in a daze and just falls into their arms, clinging to each of them with all he has

They whisper words of encouragement and love and someone is kissing his head and hands and gosh there's a lot going on

The actual session is good, Picani tells virgil’s heartbounds his progress (eating more, anxiety medication getting to the right spot, self confidence boosted) and they are so happy and proud!!!!

Almost a panic attack when they mention 'soulmate', Virgil manages to coax himself out of it while Picani carefully explains triggers

It's a tearful and loving goodbye and Virgil is sure he might just explode because his mind had thought about this moment before and it's never been this good and this is real and oh god hes crying and now the other ones are crying and hugging him and it's a lot

He's damn exhausted at the end of the day

But he has his heartbound now, and it's okay

Eventually he does get out, better, happier, healthier, and his heartbound are 170% so ready to have him in their lives

Other character notes

Picani and Logan are brothers, Picani is older by 6 years

Picani has cute art all over his session room, also a bunch of blankets

Always has candy

Studied psychology because of his soulmate, wanted to help them get better

Turns out you can't be your soulmates therapist so oops

He likes his job a lot anyways

Logan is a history professor

He's also on the autistic spectrum

Very sound sensitive

Doesn't understand social cues a lot, not sure how to properly small talk, and ends up leaving out information that might be important

Such as telling his brother Picani that he has another soulmate who is in therapy who finally talked to him, the day Virgil writes to his soulmates for the first time

He doesn't understand why he's being teased for this

Gets in the habit of telling Virgil "this is a comfortable silence for me" because sometimes Logan will just stop and think and its.. very quiet

He also says obvious things, because honestly, it's nice for Virgil

"I find your company an enjoyable addition to my life" "this conversation is pleasant, I am just done talking now"

Hyperfixation on space and stars and history

Stims upset but clenching and unclenching his hands, happy stims by tapping

Patton works at a daycare center

Has adhd

It's hard for him to sit still and focus, can't remember a lot of things no matter how often hes been told

Has every single fidget product ever

Works best when he has three things to do at once

When he gets into hyperfocus, it's really difficult to get him out of it

Ends up skipping meals and other daily activities because of it

Wet himself once because he knew that if he moved from his spot he would never get back into the same groove

He's very embarrassed by this fact

Hyperfixates on dog and cat breeds

Roman does a bunch of shit

Acts, dances, designs, creates, anything that involves doing and 'art' has doing it

Has manic depressive bipolar disorder

His room is atrocious and there are half finished projects everywhere

He can never seem to complete anything, and when he does he hates it

His depressive episodes come about after finishing things or having not finished something in a long time

He feels worthless and that he can't do anything

His lows are not often, but they hit hard.

He's very dead to the world in such a state, likes it when Logan reads to him

Was treated by Picani too

They have all been living together for three years before getting their first message from virgil

Patton FLIPPED OUT, Roman screamed, and Logan kind of just went 'oh' but they could tell he was happy because he kept tapping his hands to his legs

At the hospital virgil made friends with the following people:

Elliot is one of the first to welcome Virgil and always invited Virgil to hang with the rest of them, no matter how many times Virgil said no

Virgil walks past the hang out room, he calls to ask if he wants to hang out, virgil shakes his head hard and runs. every day for like a month until virgil says yes.

Got really happy when Virgil said yes

In the hospital to get over trauma from an abusive relationship, flinches a lot

Declan, is, an asshole

He's also a pathological liar

has scratches down the side of his face from when one of his parents threw a vase at him

No one knows what is real name is, said is was felio, fabian, Damien, declan, dimitri, dolos, lionel, loki, belial, cody, and on one momentous occasion, Samantha

Most of the names he give a start with d, so most just call him Dee or declan, its the name he gives out most

Sometimes hell ask to be called a certain name for a day, everyone just rolls with it

Declan learned to lie and lie well due to overly strict and picky parents, it was to protect himself from them and even protect his older brother who was a lot softer than him

older brother, who is actually called fabian, is there for him on visiting day.

Will say something, wince, take a deep breath, then say the truth with a lot of effort

Writing is so much easier for him

Has insane trust issues, his name being one of them, only his family really know it

Has only told his soulmate his name

Picani knows his name, won’t tell anyone

Remy

Is also an asshole but like in a nice way?

Fucking loud to compensate for how tired he really is

In his own words, ‘has insomnia and is depressed A-F’

Wanted to kill himself

Will claim Starbucks saved his life to be dramatic, only few people know why, declan virgil and picani know

Remy is the kind of depressed where he wouldn’t kill himself because of 'future obligation’

'My parents aren’t home I could easily do it but I told them I would feed the cats and they wont get fed if i do it now’ or 'i have so much time but I told my friend i would edit their essay and I need to do that first’

Went out with friends to just dick around, got a stupid fancy drink at Starbucks, and told his mom about it when he got home

Decided he would kill himself tomorrow, he gave his friends one last good memory, told his mom he loved her, he was ready

Next day his mom give a him a 50$ gift card to starbucks, told him it’s for him and his friends because that’s the happiest she’s seen him in so long

He fucking broke down because he can’t kill himself now, he can’t waste her money or her kindness but he’s so fucking tired and so done and he can’t do it anymore

She supports him as best she can and gets him to the hospital

During visiting day she brings his friends, all wearing matching sunglasses, and a coffee carrier with like five different drinks all for him

They all scream at each other happily and they talk about how much better he looks, how much happier

His friends are the slowmo super heroes and sun and moon

No one in the hospital knows his soulmate or if he even has one

uhh taadaa! do with this what you will

[theramblingonesie]

No More, Mr. “Nice Guy”.

My heart breaks and goes out to all of the women who have had the courage to come forward recently in the media about men in power who have violated them.  I refuse to compare traumas, and some could make the ignorant argument that what I’m about to say “DOESN’T EVEN COMPARE” to other more violent acts in Hollywood, but this particular story about Aziz hits very close to home and has left me slightly undone.

Yesterday, my little sister bravely put a post up on her social media that I hope contributes to changing the minds and hearts of Aziz’s defenders.  Years ago, she had an encounter with him that leaves no doubt in my mind that this man is a serial predator, and is in fact very aware of his behavior.  When I started seeing posts going up about him not knowing any better, it being a one-time accident, give him a chance, etc, my blood boiled over.  Because for every one story that receives light, there is almost always a painful trail of those that don’t.  We, the general public, have absolutely zero knowledge or qualification to conclude this man’s innocence.  But I’ve heard enough true stories that absolutely confirm that he is guilty, and NOT a “nice guy”.

When I first heard this news story, I became very upset about how this brave woman, Grace, is being torn apart by the media.  The criticism, the atrocious “open letter” by another woman, was deplorable enough being directed at her.  But these attacks go further than Grace.  Just like we’re unqualified to say that Aziz is innocent, criticizing and destroying Grace’s character is also insane, because nobody making these comments actually knows her.  Therefor, these words are attacks on every woman, every person, who has ever suffered at the hands of sexual assault, violation, and manipulation.  I moved through the phases of generalized rage, to rage over my sister being targeted, and eventually right over to my own miserable encounter with a different celebrity who is widely known to be a “nice guy”.

What happened between this “nice guy” celebrity and I could also be judged as just a really, really bad date.  Okay. Hm. Here are some examples of dates I’ve been on that qualify as really bad, in my opinion:

1.       Met up with a dude on OkCupid around the corner from my apartment.  He was totally different online versus in person.  He didn’t pick up on any social cues, spoke about himself the entire time without asking me any questions, begged for a kiss at the end of the night, and then attempted to make plans to see me again. It was so gross that I desperately texted another OkCupid match immediately after in an attempt to brain-bleach the experience away.  Dude #2 picked me up around midnight and took me to a diner. He was super nice, but I didn’t feel any chemistry. All in all, the night left me feeling gross, sad, lonely and exhausted.  I deleted my profile shortly thereafter.

2.       Went out with a guy who claimed that he was such a powerful wizard that he could turn invisible, and had me “watch” him do it (I…still saw him).  Later that night he somehow convinced me to go back to his place, where he proceeded to makeout with me under a crystal pyramid.  I still laugh about that one.

3.       My first super-serious boyfriend didn’t know I was 20 when he asked me on our first date. I got kinda lost and was late to meet him in Revere, realized I had forgotten my wallet with all of my money back in Rhode Island, got in the car with him while I was still on the phone with another friend, and then when I asked what we’d be doing that night, he responded that there was a bar he’d like to take me to. I had to give him the news that I was underage. I was absolutely the cause of this horrible date. We ended up being together for five years after that, but good lord was that awful. Forever in my shame file….(side note: the night ended really well, fortunately, and has remained a very sweet memory)

Those are what “bad dates” look like.  There is no sexual assault or emotional manipulation in those stories.  There was no fear for my safety, no violation, no feeling of absolute filth or the kind of humiliation that makes you completely question yourself and turn to ice, drawing up traumas from the past or activating mental illness.  As soon as those qualities enter the picture, one is no longer on a “bad date”.  It becomes a different entity; a bastard child of rape culture.

My “bad date” with this “nice guy” celebrity still haunts me to this day.  He had met me a year or so prior during a big performance I was in, and pursued me to varying degrees over time.  I was completely star-struck.  I had been a fan of this guy’s music since forever, and couldn’t believe that he was paying so much attention to me.   My friends made fun of me because he was a bit older, or at least had aged poorly from years of heavy drug use, but that didn’t matter me. He was sober now, and so devoted to his art, and so smart and funny, and sooooo nice.  After months of more intense flirtation and a solid makeout session after one of his shows, he became insistent on spending more time with me, wanting to treat me like someone he was actually seeing, rather than a casual long-distance flirtation. He begged me to come stay with him in New York for a couple weeks, telling me about all the places he would take me, the fancy dinners, and so on.  I agreed to make it happen, but shortly after saying yes, he began getting a little cold.  Energetically, I knew something was off.  I backed off of the plans, confused, and made up an excuse that I would have to check with my work to see how much time I could take off.  Ultimately I gave in and decided to go down for two nights.  That weekend ended with me going hungry and thirsty, abandoned in a hotel room, fucked twice and then completely snubbed. I felt awful.  I felt used, manipulated and lied to.  I felt cheap, pathetic and outrageously humiliated.  I hated how his coldness made me shut down, and that I felt unsafe being myself. I hated what an idiot I sounded like around him, because my brain was so dissociated from confusion and fear around not understanding the extreme shift that was occurring with him.  I hated how ugly I felt, and how stupid.  I hated that I was treated like a nameless sex worker, and STILL didn’t get paid.  At 1 or 2am on the last night, I sent a frantic text to one of my sister-wives who supported me in an incredible way, offering to buy me a different room so I could sleep before getting back on the road to Boston.  Talking to her gave me the strength to leave there and tell him to fuck off forever.  I wrote him an email while his “sober” ass was drugged up and unconscious on pills next to me, and hit send as soon as I left the hotel, because I had no desire to look at his face or hear his excuses in person.  I told him how horrible his behavior was, to which I didn’t receive any kind of response for hours.  No, the first thing I saw from him was a video on Instagram of him in the back of a cab, just staring into a camera with tears in his eyes so all of his followers could see what a sweet, sensitive man he was in that tender moment of pain.

BARF.

He finally made contact, with his first text saying “well that fucking sucked.”  I tried asking him why he did what he did, to just give me some hint or clue or anything that would help me stop feeling so awful and insane. The last text I remember receiving was, “I said I’m sorry.  I don’t owe you any explanations.”

Outside of work, I spent the next couple days in bed, mourning the experience.  There weren’t enough showers.  I exhausted my tears.  I felt such a depression that I stopped feeling anything at all.  This man continued to follow my friends online, liking their sexy pictures and making fun and flirty comments, as if there were zero consequences to his actions.  Not a drop of guilt or self-awareness.  A few months later, a song of his came on, and like women are conditioned to do, I questioned if the badness of the interaction was all my fault; that my being a desperate loser made him rightfully neglect and mistreat me; that my sensitivity and awkwardness caused me to lose a lover and friend.

SO I SENT HIM AN APOLOGY TEXT AND TOLD HIM I MISSED HIM.

He responded simply that he was glad to hear that.  And we never spoke again.

I dare you to ask me why I didn’t just leave.

I dare you to call that a “bad date”.

I dare you to bring up my age, my fragility, my anxiety or history of depression.

I dare you to ask me why I don’t just say his name, or why I haven’t spoken up sooner (one reason: he already has one autobiography out in which he shares graphic and personal details about the women he’s hooked up with, often through the lens of him being some kind of savior, unless he’s looking for sympathy because he was on drugs. On our “really bad date”, he informed me that he has a deal with a publisher and was in the middle of writing his second autobiography.  I would like to not end up in that book for the rest of time.  If I’m already in that book, I would like it if nobody bought it, so I’m not about to call attention to him. Please thank you amen).

I dare you to tell me that I put myself in that situation.

I dare you to tell me this whole thing is fake because I tried to resume contact.

I dare you to tell me to toughen up and just get over it, that I should be grateful that I don’t live in a part of the world where acid could be thrown in my face.

I dare you to tell me that I asked for it.

I dare you to tell me that it wasn’t technically rape, and that this is just how men are and it’s not his fault.

I dare you to bring up my entire history of sexual assault and dysfunctional relationships, and make an argument that I’m either lying, that I’m a magnet for this, or that I’m just attention seeking.

I dare you to tell me what a fan you are, and that he’s such a nice guy.

Just try me.

These days, I feel mostly healed from this interaction.  I’ll occasionally have a dream about it, or snarl a bit if his name or music come up. Sometimes I try to change the story in an attempt to reclaim any power from the situation, bragging to folks who aren’t close to me that I had the chance to bone a rockstar.  It’s super rare that I feel angry about this anymore. To be honest, my anger about it only flairs up when I hear other women getting trashed for having the courage to come forward about rape culture.  Which, these days, is more and more frequent.  But I think 90% of that anger is that of a collective rage for having to ask/answer these questions, doubt our worth and authenticity in the face of those who hurt us, and lay ourselves out to be slaughtered in the name of “justice”.  5% of it is still being angry at him.  The last 5% is being mad at myself for not acknowledging the red flags for what a loser he is.

While I do believe that there are people who do nice things in the world, I’m all set with “nice guys”.  Or just, “nice people” in general.  More and more, I find that many people who identify as “nice” or are described as “nice”, are simply performing niceness.  I, as with most women on the planet, have had more than my fair share of “nice guys” getting angry with me for not giving them my pussy in exchange for all of the “nice” things they’ve done for me (most of which I never asked for, I just say “oh wow, that’s nice, okay” when it’s presented).  There are countless “nice guys” out there who were my dear friends, who have miserably rejected and abandoned me now that they know I’m not going to fuck or date them. If you ask them, they’ll probably tell you a version where I was so mean or ungrateful, whatever. Find Jesus and call me in the morning.

I’ve had “nice” friends of all genders who use “niceness” like some sort of currency, that when they’re being absolute douchebags, they like to avoid personal responsibility and remind you about how you can’t be upset with them because they’ve done so many “nice” things.  Or they use “niceness” as a way to create co-dependency.  There are a lot of “nice” people in power—cops, celebrities, clergy members, girl scout leaders, teachers, family members, etc. who have done some really nasty things.  A lot of classist racists give to charity.  This is not to say that the rest of us are infallible, no no.  I by no means will try to make you think I’m any kind of angel. But there’s something manipulative and deceptive about the performance of “niceness”.  These people in power who would “never hurt a fly!” have raped, stolen, been abusive, lied, exploited, and hell—even been serial killers!

DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY “NICE GUYS” WHO ARE ACTIVE IN CHURCH AND ARE COMMUNITY LEADERS AND HAVE BEAUTIFUL FAMILIES ARE ALSO MURDERERS??????

SO I DON’T EVEN WITH ME.

Sorry, I don’t mean to contribute to mass hysteria.  No, I truly don’t believe that the average nice person is a murderer.  My point is, “nice” is not an argument toward someone’s innocence.  Nice can be a defense mechanism, like animals who pretend they’re dead so they won’t get eaten.  Underneath that is a world of emotions, thoughts, fears, motivations, experiences, and so on.  I know very, very few people who can be defined with niceness being their authentic, primary trait.  I know infinite humans who are awesome, who are incredibly kind and loving, and do very nice things.  But they also get angry.  They also tell people the truth and say no, which can be met with a lot of resistance and backlash.  They also have moments of being bitchy, and owning that bitchiness.  They can be sad, really really sad.  They can be jealous, cold, selfish, and really a vast array of things, BECAUSE THEY ARE WHOLE HUMAN BEINGS AND THAT IS REAL.

When a person tries to push their niceness on me, or insist that I see them as nice, or others argue with me “but they’re so nice” as a largely defining quality, I am immediately suspicious.  I don’t care if you’re nice.  I care about whether or not you’re mature, and if you have boundaries and empathy.  I care about your actions matching your words, and if what you do behind closed doors matches who you are on Facebook (I mean like, it’s none of my business how much you pick your nose or how many days you go without bathing, but don’t let me find out that your yogi feminist-posting ass abuses women).  I care about whether or not you have genuine love in your heart, and pure intentions. I care about your ability to be kind, and your honesty about when you’re not.  I care about whether or not you have integrity, and if you’re willing to be authentic.  I’m not interested in Nice People.  I’m interested in good people.  Just like self-deprecation is an easy go-to in comedy, how being “pretty” and “cute” are the easiest approaches to burlesque, and how using auto tuning can turn anyone’s voice to gold, the performance of “niceness” is the easiest and most classic manipulation tactic in the book.  I’m not asking you not to be nice.  I’m asking you to be real.  And if being nice in this moment for you is real, then I accept.  But if your “niceness” pushes past my wellbeing, then you are not nice, and your actions are null and void.  Please understand this point.

I am very tired of being fed “truths” based on superficial assessments.  None of you truly know Aziz Ansari.  None of you truly know this celebrity I had a negative experience with. Enjoying a person’s product or public persona is not the same as knowing them.  Destroying a vulnerable person who is suffering at the hands of the strangers you call heroes is unacceptable.  Do not create more wounds and more victims because you can’t hold the hard moral dilemma of enjoying the work or benefits of knowing a person who does bad things.  That is your own cross to bear, not theirs.  They already have enough to deal with.

Next time you say “oh but he’s really a nice guy”, you’d best be able to back that up with extensive, concrete evidence.

Next time you catch yourself huffing and crying, justifying your actions with, “hey, I’m a really nice guy”, check yo’self, because you’re probably about to wreck yo’self.

So what am I really aiming for here, in yet another rambling blog?  My hope and prayer is, whether it’s rape culture, deceptive behavior, or our society trivializing stories that make them question themselves and feel uncomfortable/inconvenienced, that I’ll be able to see a day when this bullshit doesn’t rule our lives.  We need to stop waiting for it to magically appear for us, too.  Each woman who comes out and speaks her truth is doing her part. Each person who is directly acknowledging bad behavior and holding their friends and family accountable is doing their part.  Don’t wait for change to fall in your lap.  Examine the role you play in all of this, and adjust yourself accordingly. You can drag along behind, crying and trying to stop this boat by kicking the waves, or you can jump on board and help us sail collectively to shore.  Either way, this baby is moving forward.  You decide how you want that experience to go for you.

Link here for an amazing article by Lindy West, dismantling the argument that boys and men don’t know any better, and the toxic nuances of rape culture:

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/17/opinion/aziz-ansari-metoo-sex.html

[waveswordswhispers]

Joker Game Secret Santa

@marrylissa I was your secret santa! I hope you like this ^_^

Prompts: Gender bender/Modern AU

Summary: The woes of being the girlfriend of a veterinarian technician.

Otherwise known as: in which Tazaki keeps bringing home animals from work and Kaminaga suffers

I. Spring

“It’s hatching season,” Tazaki calls hurriedly over her shoulder as Kaminaga shuts the door behind herself, hunched over a small ball of fluff she’s carefully feeding with a syringe. “The shelter is overrun at this time of year.”

“So are we,” Kaminaga murmured, eyeing the other two small birds shrieking angrily in the makeshift nest sitting beside Tazaki. It means uninterrupted screeching for weeks to come, and Kaminaga thinks she should’ve bought earplugs in preparation since in hindsight, she should’ve known Tazaki had been bound to pick up on some fosters eventually. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to be-“

“Up all night?” Tazaki finishes for her. “I mean maybe not all night but most of it? They need frequent feeding.”

“I’m going to die, and so are you,” Kaminaga tells her bluntly. She has no idea how Tazaki’s going to handle her shifts at the shelter on top of the new chicks, Kaminaga herself personally cannot function properly without a decent amount of sleep. Then again, Tazaki’s always found a way. Sometimes it’s not through entirely healthy and human ways, but she finds a way. Somehow.

“We are not going to die.”

“That’s what you always say,” Kaminaga grumbles as she strides over to drop a kiss onto Tazaki’s forehead while Tazaki gently sets the chick down next to its siblings, picking up the next one, reaching for the next syringe.

“Shush,” Tazaki murmurs, gently cradling the baby pigeon (Kaminaga calls them naked birds to annoy her), “and go check on Tatsumaki and Kage for me? Please?”

Kaminaga balks at the thought of checking on Tazaki’s two pet pigeons that she’s certain have a stupid grudge against her for no good reason.

“They’re going to poop on me. And bite my toes. And yank out my hair.” She lost at least nine strands of hair last time and she still hasn’t yet managed to scrub out the stain of poo out of her favourite sweater.

Tazaki shoots her an incredulous look.

“They wouldn’t do that. They’re angels.”

“They are not.”

Tazaki is biased and the pigeons are demons waiting for the perfect opportunities to strike.

“We’re going to die,” Tazaki rasps as she rolls out of bed, her alarm for six a.m. signalling her two hour reprieve is over. “I’m going to die.”

“Do they ever stop… Making that atrocious noise?” Kaminaga buries her head under her pillow, biting back a ‘I told you so’ as the pigeons scream for food, a migraine coming up as she realizes she’s going to have to deal with screaming kids with less than four hours of uninterrupted sleep.. “Why pigeons? You couldn’t pick anything else?”

She knows she’s made a mistake when Tazaki pauses, her grin only serving to make her look slightly insane with her tired face and dark eye bags. Maybe she is insane.

Kaminaga herself is already halfway there.

“Well I mean… I could’ve picked the skunks.”

Kaminaga chokes on air.

“What?”

“I’ll keep that in mind when we go for the next round of fosters-”

“KEEP THE PIGEONS!”

II. Summer

“I thought I told you to keep the pigeons,” Kaminaga hisses through the barely cracked open door, warily eyeing the thing in Tazaki’s hands. “That’s a rat.”

“I’ve told you, it’s an opossum,” Tazaki corrects offhandedly, using a dropper to feed the ra-opossum water. “And it’s just dehydrated. It’ll only be a few days.”

“It’s a rodent. I hate rodents.”

“You hate cats more. To think of it, there was a very nice tabby up for fostering too-”

Kaminaga throws the door open, nearly shrieking. She dislikes rodents, but she hates cats even more, thanks to Hatano’s demon cat that has left more than its fair share of scars on her. Both physically and mentally.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Tazaki laughs a bit evilly, cocking an eyebrow and goddamn, she looks hot, hair thrown carelessly into a messy bun, bright (and evil) smile dazzling but-

“I’m allergic! You know I’ll die!” Tazaki looks unconcerned, lifting a shoulder in a careless shrug.

“Psh, don’t be dramatic, that’s Miyoshi’s job. You’ll live.”

“You’re evil.” Kaminaga tries her best to look intimidating, immediately retreating when Tazaki holds the ra-opossum, up, making a move towards her.

Tazaki blows her a kiss, winking.

“I’m magical, you mean.”

Kaminaga can’t argue with that.

III. Fall

“Another… Another rat?”

“If you can’t tell the difference between a rat and squirrel, we need to book you an eye appointment as soon as possible.”

Kaminaga facepalms, taking Tazaki’s bag from her, holding the plastic bag containing Tazaki’s scrubs as far away from herself as possible. God knows what Tazaki’s gotten covered in today.

As she reaches over to ruffle Tazaki’s hair, Tazaki shifts away, ducking her head, shaking it.

“You might want to wait until after I shower, I don’t think I’ve gotten all the dog pee out yet.”

Kaminaga immediately clasps her hand back to her chest, grimacing as the scrubs brush against her pants. She’s burning those pants, she’s heard of the horrors that Tazaki often carries on her scrubs and there’s no way she’s touching clothing contaminated with anyone remotely from the inside of an animal.

“How in the name of God did you get-”

Tazaki’s smile is innocent but holds a sense of foreboding, and Kaminaga immediately cuts off her question because she’s heard more than enough horror stories.

“If you really want to-”

“I don’t. Go shower.”

As Tazaki relaxes, the squirrel (a rodent so it being called a rat isn’t far off) tucked in for the night, Kaminaga tries to braid the mess Tazaki calls her hair. The raven black locks are long and constantly tangled into each other, the knots that Kaminaga encounters enough to give her nightmares.

“Your hair is a disaster.”

Tazaki hums softly, leaning into Kaminaga’s touch, eyes shut.

“You should get a haircut. Or, you know, comb it?”

“No and no.”

“Then let me comb it.”

“Absolutely not.”

When Kaminaga makes a desperate noise, Tazaki bats her hands away from the comb.

“You posses the fineness of a turtle, actually no, that’s an insult to turtles. I will not have you yank out my hair.” Kaminaga makes another undecipherable noise that Tazaki can only interpret as offended.

“Please?” Kaminaga tries again.

“Hands away from the comb, Kaminaga.”

IV. Winter

Winter means sitting in a car at the edge of the woods in freezing cold temperature, praying that frostbite stays away while juggling cups of scalding hot coffee in an attempt to warm frozen fingers.

Kaminaga jumps and screams, nearly spilling the coffee when someone taps the window.

Tazaki snickers tiredly as she slides in, cheeks rosy red, eyes bright with exhaustion, the strands of hair that have managed to escape her hood tipped with frost.

“Fox in a trap,” she murmurs without Kaminaga prompting. “It’s pretty nasty, and it might lose a leg but it should pull through. It’s a fighter.”

Kaminaga shoves a coffee into Tazaki’s hands, starting the car while cranking up the heat. She’s still dying because it’s too cold, too cold and she needs to warm her hands or else someone is going to get into a car accident.

“That’s great but why am I here?” She curses as cold air shoots out of the vents because she forgets that the car needs to warm up first.

“Because I left my car back at the shelter and you love me.”

Kaminaga yelps as Tazaki shoves her hands down the back of her neck, ice cold hands making her squirm. By the time she’s managed to wrestle Tazaki’s hands away, Tazaki’s gloating as she flexes somewhat warmed up fingers again.

“I really wonder about that sometimes,” Kaminaga grumbles.

“You are the worse,” Kaminaga groans, shaking Tazaki weakly. “When did you replace Miyoshi to become the fox?”

Tazaki is holding two pigeons, doing her best to look innocent.

“We are not getting two more. You have seven of them already.” Kaminaga tries to be firm but Tazaki’s puppy look is really getting to her.

“But Kaminaga, Yoshi and Hinoka have been here for months.”

Kaminaga blinks.

Names.

Names.

“No,” she tries again, knowing it’s futile because if Tazaki’s already named them, the pigeons are going to end up at her house within the next week one way or another.

“Please?”

“Only if…” Kaminaga tries to get something out of this hopeless situation. “Only if you cut your hair to a more manageable length.”

Tazaki balks for a second.

“Absolutely not.”

“You can take home the other two pigeons I see hiding in your sleeves,” Kaminaga cajoles, and Tazaki snickers, the two lumps in her sleeves wriggling guiltily.

Tazaki brightens up, seeming to consider while the deal while the two pigeons that she’s been hiding in her sleeves poke their heads out, cooing softly.

She still looks unsure and Kaminaga leans forwards, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Think of the birds, Tazaki.”

A couple of Tazaki’s coworkers walk by, rolling their eyes knowingly and Kaminaga hides a smirk.

She has her weak spots, Tazaki has hers.

“Okay,” Tazaki chirps, nodding her head. “Deal.”

Kaminaga feels like she’s finally gotten a victory, however small.

“I thought. I said. Four. Pigeons. Only.”

Tazaki freezes, five pigeons tumbling from her hands, hair cut up to her chin, looking tame for once, a guilty expression pasted onto her face.

“But Kaminaga,” she starts in a pleading tone. “This one has always been bullied and I couldn’t just leave her.”

“You see her everyday,” Kaminaga deadpans, already knowing the pigeon is staying. What comes in doesn’t go out. A thing she’s learned after a couple hard lessons.

“She’s so small. And cute. She holds my heart in her cute little feet.”

Kaminaga resists the urge to facepalm. “You say that every time,” she shoots back desperately, eyeing the little black pigeon with splashes of white hopping around at her feet. It is kind of pretty. And cute.

“Please?”

Tazaki pulls another puppy face and Kaminaga feels like she’s been suckerpunched because the short hair makes it ten times as effective-

“I suppose, you’ve already signed the adoption papers. And you’ve bought the necessary supplies. And you’ve also spent months bonding with her already,” she sighs defeatedly. Tazaki nods so Kaminaga deflates, running a hand through her hair tiredly.

“Fine. What’s her name?”

Tazaki shakes her head, bending down to scoop the pigeon up, holding it up to Kaminaga’s eye level.

“I was hoping you would name her.” Tazaki sounds hopeful and gleeful, nearly bouncing up and down with excitement.

Kaminaga grins. There’s no way she’s going to let such an opportunity go to waste.

“Then… Tsundere.”

Tazaki chokes on air.

“I ta-”

“No take backs,” Kaminaga teases, ruffling Tazaki’s hair. “I’M JOKING, I’M JOKING!” she quickly amends as Tazaki’s left hand slams into her ribs, delivering a painful jab.

“Another name,” Tazaki demands.

Kaminaga clutches her side, shooting Tazaki a dirty look before looking at the pigeon again.

“Well, you are a very pretty girl, just like the woman who brought you back,” she winks at Tazaki as Tazaki rolls her eyes. “How about… Miyoshi?”

Tazaki chokes again and nearly drops the pigeon.

-

V. Aftermath

Sakuma is shaking with laughter as Miyoshi puffs up, eyes narrowed into slits.

“I am better than a bird.”

“Actually, I think the bird is smarter than you,” Tazaki shoots back, petting pigeon Miyoshi. “Aren’t you,” she coos, and pigeon Miyoshi bobs her head up and down.

“She’s married to the pigeons, not me,” Kaminaga complains, scratching pigeon Miyoshi’s back gently. “She talks with them more than she does with me.”

“Jealous?” Tazaki taunts, placing a kiss on pigeon Miyoshi’s beak.

“Where’s my kiss?” Kaminaga bypasses the question completely, Tazaki ignoring him in favour of placing a kiss on Yoshi’s head. “Tazakiiiiiii.”

Fukumoto and Odagiri look up from where they’re feeding the other pigeons as Hatano and Jitsui struggle to keep a hold of their cat.

“I hope you’re not getting any more birds,” Fukumoto comments offhandedly, eyeing the half empty coop. “These are quite a handful already.”

“We’re not!” Kaminaga announces confidently. “Right, Tazaki?”

Tazaki refuses to look at Kaminaga.

“Right?” Kaminaga presses. “Right???” Her voice gets higher and more desperate as Tazaki shifts, suddenly very interested in pigeon Miyoshi’s feathers.

“Um… Right,” Tazaki answers unconvincingly.

“TAZAKI!”

-

VI. Epilogue

“This. Makes. Thirty. Five. Pigeons.” Kaminaga eyes the gray pigeons Tazaki has in a firm grip, shaking her head resignedly.

Kaminaga doesn’t even bother complaining too much anymore. It’s a cycle that’s bound to happen.

“This one is a little sadist. Takes pleasure hopping onto people’s head to yank out hair. Loves biting until you bleed.”

“I’m calling this one Jitsui.”

[thisaintascenereviews]

Album Review by Bradley Christensen Cobra Starship – Viva La Cobra Record Label: Fueled By Ramen Release Date: October 23 2007

I was browsing Amazon earlier this week (well, the week that I’m writing this, anyway), looking for other nostalgic albums to listen to, and I came across Cobra Starship’s sophomore LP, 2007’s Viva La Cobra, which was an album that I used to listen to quite a lot in my freshman year of high school. Here’s the funny thing, though – I never listened to any of Cobra Starship’s other albums, although to be fair, most people haven’t listened to their last couple of albums, either. After this LP, they signed to a major label, and they turned into a generic, lame, and forgettable pop / dance band, eventually breaking up a couple of years ago. Most fans remember their first two albums, though – 2005’s While The City Sleeps, We Rule The Streets and 2007’s Viva La Cobra, the latter of which I’ve heard, and that I’ll be talking about today. I’ve never heard While The City Sleeps, however, but even then, the album was essentially a solo record for frontman Gabe Saporta, who came to prominence in the early 00s with the pop-punk / emo band Midtown. I haven’t listened to them, either, but I need to do that sometime. I didn’t realize that Viva La Cobra came out in 2007, though, otherwise I would have revisited this LP first, because I loved this album during my freshman year of high school, like I said. I’m not sure if I picked this up when it came out, or sometime after, but I do remember listening to this in the winter of 2008, so I’m sure I picked it up shortly after it came out. Similarly to the last album I reviewed, Travie McCoy’s debut solo LP, 2010’s Lazarus, I don’t have my original copy of the album, but I haven’t listened to the album in years, so I’ve never been sure if the album would hold up. Throughout my nostalgic kick that I’ve been on, I’ve told myself one thing: even if the album itself doesn’t hold up, or that I don’t love it as much as I used to, not only is that to be expected, but it’s still been a lot of fun listening to these albums that are ten-plus years old.

Reactions have been mixed on a lot of albums that I’ve been into lately, but I have to be honest, Viva La Cobra has held up quite well, and it’s definitely one of my favorite albums that I’ve been “catching up with,” so to speak. Lazarus was a decent pop-rap album that had some good songs on it, but for the most part, the album was forgettable, generic, and lackluster. It wasn’t outright bad, but nothing that made me want to go back to it. Luckily, it was only about 35 minutes, but by the end, I was still exhausted from it, because of how generic it was. Viva La Cobra is the complete opposite of that LP in every single way, although this LP is just as short, only around 36 minutes. I’m surprised, though, because I didn’t think this album would hold up as well as it does. If I had listened to this just a few days sooner, I would have put this album on my list of ten underrated albums from 2007, but I could always make a part two. At the same time, though, this LP isn’t perfect. It’s got a few problems, but they’re nothing consistent, let alone run through the entire album. Cobra Starship was always a very unique band, because they mixed pop, rock, and dance music into a weird, unique, and odd sound that was never just one thing. I’d categorize them as a pop-rock band, just for the sake of simplicity, but they were more than that, though. Songs like “My Moves Are White (White Hot, That Is),” and “Pleasure Ryland” are very electronic-oriented, but songs like “Smile For The Paparazzi,” “Guilty Pleasure,” and “The City Is At War” have a harder-edged, guitar-driven sound to them, so they’re very hard to get a grasp on. I really like that, though, because every song has its own sound to it. Every song on this LP is very, very memorable, catchy, and unique. Its sound is probably my favorite part, because of how interesting, unique, and awesome it is. I can’t say that I’ve ever heard an album like this, whether it was ten years ago or today.

Saporta is also a very good aspect of this album, because he’s one hell of a frontman. He’s not amazing, per se, because he’s no Patrick Stump. His voice isn’t that good, but it’s still very good, nonetheless. He pulls off the hooks quite nicely, and his voice is very versatile, especially on how diverse the album’s sound is. Saporta’s just not the songbird of our generation, or anything close to that, but his voice is still good. I enjoyed it back then, and I still enjoy it now. He’s got a lot of charisma, range, and power to his voice that I enjoy greatly, but I wouldn’t call him one of my favorite vocalists. I also wouldn’t call him one of my favorite lyricists, because this LP’s lyrics are the one aspect of this album that I’m very mixed on. I don’t know how I feel about the lyrics on this album, because they range from being very clever, well-written, and funny to being awkward, weird, and awful. From what I’ve read, Saporta started Cobra Starship to let loose a bit, as well as approach music from a more joking perspective. The lyrics on their records aren’t meant to be taken too seriously, and that’s totally fine, because I don’t take anything on these albums seriously. Well, there are a couple of songs with more “serious” lyrics, and go figure, they’re probably the best. “The World Has Its Shine (But I Would Drop It On A Dime)” and “One Day Robots Will Cry” are the two songs on this album with a more “serious” set of lyrics, and they’re written very, very well, so I’m kind of shocked that more songs aren’t in a serious vein. The funny thing about these songs, though, is that they don’t distract from the joking and humorous tone of the rest of the album. I think it’s that the sound of the songs are what you’d expect from the rest of the album, ultimately sounding like they’d still fit on the album.

The humorous lyrics definitely range from quite funny to quite awful. Songs like “My Moves Are White (White Hot, That Is),” “The City Is At War,” “Kiss My Sass,” which features Travie McCoy, actually, and “Pleasure Ryland,” just to name a few, are the songs that have funnier, sillier, and more enjoyable lyrics, but this LP gets really weird, awkward, and just plain bad a few times. The one song that I don’t like, at least in terms of its lyrics, are “Damn You Look Good And I’m Drunk (Scandalous).” The song itself isn’t bad, and it’s got a solid hook, but the lyrics are atrocious. It’s not meant to be taken seriously, but the song is about how someone is sexually attractive when the narrator is drunk, and how that person is so trashy, he wouldn’t take them home to his mother unless she were dead. Yikes, talk about a bad and unfunny lyric, but it gets worse. Some random rappers show up to deliver an incredibly unpleasant and terrible verse about how this woman is very unattractive, nasty, and possibly a man. It’s an awfully transphobic and disgusting lyric. Even 13-year-old me thought that lyric was really gross, but I wasn’t sure why. I sure as hell didn’t think it was funny. There’s also another song about prostitution, and how it’s absolutely amazing. That one’s not offensive, it’s just super awkward, because I can’t say that I’ve ever heard another song that has a song about that, but whatever. The lyrics are very much a mixed bag, but the album itself is great. If you can get past the lyrics, and I could understand if you can’t, you’ll find a diverse, unique, and interesting pop-rock / dance-pop album to get into. The songs are catchy, fun, and energetic, as well as diverse as all hell, and Gabe Saporta is good vocalist that works well with the sound that he’s trying to create. I think he pulls it off well, and the album holds up relatively well ten years later. It’s definitely not the most underrated album of 2007, but it’s a bit underrated, nonetheless, especially because they got a lot worse on their next couple of albums, ultimately disappearing before breaking up.