#they like to admit being left leaning mostly atheist these days

[ontologic-catgirl]

Did actually end up buying signals during the steam sale so that should be fun.

[solasan]

28 for june/adam úwù

#28: one person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss

2.7k, set in early book 3, ao3 link if you’d rather read it there

Over the years, Adam has often heard it said that history has a habit of repeating itself. Be that in small ways or larger ones, it would seem that some souls simply find themselves walking the same paths without forethought or awareness; that some events cling too strongly to the earth to be entirely washed away, no matter how hard the world around them might try.

Adam puts little stock in most belief systems. Perhaps the closest label he might ascribe to would be ‘atheist’, but even that is a mere afterthought; he is not Nate, and he has had plenty of time to grow bored with philosophy and religion.

And yet. Even he must admit that, in this one small analysis, the world is not wrong; history does repeat itself.

The Unit have not been so relegated to protection detail since their first arrival in Wayhaven. It has been only a matter of months since those days — barely a blink of an eye, compared to his lifespan — and yet the return to such a routine is… galling. Incongruent. Bizarre.

So much has changed. Murphy. The Maa-alused. The carnival itself.

June.

The detective, he means. She has — they have all — changed.

Still. Cycles. The world has only one way to turn. The enemy has come, as they always do, and once more he and his team are left to protect the thing their foe wants most.

The Trappers are not Murphy, perhaps, but in the end, the result is the same.

Farah and Nate have spent the most time guarding the detective as of late. Morgan’s senses are too invaluable to spare when she could be patrolling the town for threats, after all, and Adam—

Well. He has had his own work. His own patrols. And he has always been better suited to working from a distance, these past few months notwithstanding.

Still, Adam du Mortain has never been a man to shirk his duty. And, whatever efforts the others might make on her behalf, he knows that the detective will never be as well protected as she will be with him.

By which, of course, he means that he is the strongest of their team. He means that he is capable of feats that the others simply are not. He does not mean— It is not—

You understand.

It’s a brisk morning, for all that they’re cresting summer now, and the detective spends the entire walk to Haley’s Bakery with her hands in her pockets, huffing out misty breaths and dancing on her feet for warmth. 

She’s replaced her much-beloved denim jacket with something thicker, puffier, something that rustles every time she moves, and it makes her look somehow smaller than she already does. As though her usual oversized hoodies do not complete the job well enough.

They do not talk. They have not talked, not properly, not since—

Well. Since the carnival, perhaps. And to look at her, you would not know it; she still smiles at him, still jokes and laughs and shines like the sun made flesh, but there is something… wooden to it, now. As though she is waiting, every moment, for it to fall apart.

Her pulse still skips to look at him. Not as much as it had that night, their palms brushing, her radiating warmth at his side, but— but it happens.

And he is a fool for encouraging it.

They pass through the door to the bakery as Adam is still flagellating himself, the bell ringing somewhere above their heads and the scent of pastry and coffee filling the air. And under these fluorescent lights, the detective blooms.

“Honey, I’m home!”

The baker is behind the counter, fussing with a display of cakes, but she straightens up when she sees them, turning a grin on the detective that is almost as bright as June’s own. “June! How’re you doing today?”

“I’m good. How’s my absolute favourite baker-slash-coffee-dealer on this cruel cold morning?”

The baker snorts. “You don’t have to butter me up, y’know.”

Detective Lovelace drapes herself over the counter as though it were a pillar of fine marble and not merely a sickly-smelling construction of glass and pine, batting those big brown eyes at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her grin — in a feat Adam would previously have thought impossible had he not known her these past months — widens.

The baker rolls her eyes with a good-natured smile, darting a curious look Adam’s way that is soon redirected by his stony silence. “Right.”  

Then, wiping her hands off on the striped apron across her front, she says, “your usual?”

“Fuck yeah. You’re an angel, a light in the darkness. A goddess among women. A Titaness.”

Her nose wrinkles as she heads for the coffee machine. “Titan— are you calling me fat?”

“I’m calling you beautiful, Hales, don’t get it twisted.”

The baker snorts again, shaking her head.

And then there’s a pause. Adam does very well with pauses, generally; he learned remarkably quickly how easily they could be ignored, favouring silence above small-talk even in his youth.

But this is— this is different. He cannot quite pin down why.

The detective clears her throat, then nudges him with an elbow. “Want anything, big guy? I’m buying.”

Adam takes a moment to reply, because the proximity, brief as it was, has her scent catching in his nostrils, drowning out vanilla and cinnamon with strawberries and cotton. He is used to the smell of nicotine and smoke by now, after so long with Morgan, but perhaps the detective smokes a different brand, because for a moment he finds himself dizzy.

The moment passes. He clears his throat, shakes his head, then says stiffly, “I’m fine.”

The detective’s brows rise. “You sure? Nate loves the blueberry muffins here.”

“I am sure.”

“Hm. Is that a Nate thing, then? Or, like— no wait, Farah loves junk food. Is this an Adam thing, then?”

He blinks at her for one very long moment.

Eventually, she rolls her eyes and clarifies quietly, leaning close again: “Y’know. Human food. Not liking it, or whatever?”

They are the only people in the bakery this early in the morning, and the baker is still preoccupied with the coffee machine, which is whirring loudly. If it had been otherwise, perhaps Adam would reprimand the detective, but she is… careful, here, as she so rarely is with anything else.

And so he allows himself to respond, “Nate and Farah are… different. For the rest of us, it is— unappetising, shall I say.”

The detective hums thoughtfully, eyes narrowing. Then her nose wrinkles. “Shit, dude. Sucks to be you, I guess. The four-cheese from Giuseppe’s is to die for.”

Adam’s lips twitch. “I shall have to take your word on that.”

“Yeah, guess you will. So, wait, why is it so unappetising? Is it just, like, by comparison? Is a good ole’ cup of O-neg just totally orgasmic, or something?”

Did— she cannot have just said what he thinks she has just said. Can she?

Of course she can, he thinks, meeting her dancing eyes. She’s June.

Adam shakes his head, aiming for chiding and falling short. “That…  is not the word that I would use.”

The detective purses her lips. “You’re dodging the question, Agent du Mortain.”

“You ask poor questions, Detective Lovelace.” 

She laughs and it is a startled sound, like a bird pushed from the nest, but it’s— goodness, it’s lovely. He has not made another person laugh in so very long. He had… forgotten, quite, just how thrilling it could be.

“Answer it anyway?”

Sighing as though he were greatly put-upon, he acquiesces, “our senses are— too refined for most foods that you would consume. It can be overwhelming.”

She processes this for a moment or two, her brows furrowing. Then: “Wow. And here I thought nothing could overwhelm you.” 

June’s grin is cheeky, yes, but in a warm kind of way. A wonder. She is a wonder.

“Now, we both know that cannot be true.”

Her smile turns surprised, confused and just-slightly lopsided, and she blinks at him rapidly for a moment, her brow beginning to furrow. 

Why would you say such a thing, you imbecile?

June’s mouth opens as though she were about to reply, and Adam is both dreading and waiting with bated breath for it—

“Here ya go.” 

Adam flinches. The baker has set down a thickly-scented to-go cup of coffee, and she’s looking between them with the beginnings of a smile lurking at the corners of her lips, brow cocked.

His fists clench. He affixes his gaze to a spot over the baker’s shoulder, a part of the chalkboard where an old offer has been only-mostly scrubbed away, and very carefully thinks of nothing.

After a moment, the detective clears her throat. “Uh, yeah. Thanks, Hales. Purveyor of the precious bean juice.”

A huff masquerading as a laugh. “Anytime, June. You want anything else? Maybe something for your man here?”

Her man. What— what foolishness, what absolute madness. He is— Adam is no one’s man, and he is most certainly not the detective’s, whatever anyone else may think, however she might make him feel.

Not that she makes him feel anything in particular, of course, however much Nate might argue to the contrary. Not that his chest had jerked at the very idea of them being— of her and him— of the baker being correct in her utterly outlandish supposition.

The detective laughs, too loud and just an octave off-kilter. “You should do stand-up, Hales, you’d kill.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Adam won’t have anything. And I— just the coffee, you know me. I live off this shit. Like, uh— like zombies, only it’s caffeine instead of brains. The Walking Dead, Lovelace style.”

“Right.”

The baker rattles off a price and Detective Lovelace passes the cash over, and then they pause briefly at the condiments for her to spoon in one, two, three, four sugars.

“I can feel you judging me from here,” the detective comments on their way out the door, and Adam frowns.

“I am not judging you.”

“No, you totally are. You get this tiny little crease between your eyebrows when you’re judging something. And I should know, man, I’ve seen it, like, a gazillion times.”

His lips purse, and he makes a conscious effort to relax his forehead and smooth out his brow.

The detective snorts. Then, in sing-song: “I still saw it.”

He shakes his head. “I was merely thinking that things… make a great deal more sense now.”

“Hey, I am a grown-ass woman, du Mortain, and grown-ass women can have as many sugars in their coffees as they want.” And then, as if to prove her point, she takes a sip.

The urge to smile is one he only-barely manages to tamp down on. “So it would seem.”

“Glad we agree.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpses her smile. All teeth and pink lips and dancing eyes. The early-morning sunlight is slanting over her face, seizing her bronze hair and setting her aflame. She really is just—

His foot catches on a cobblestone. It takes only a matter of milliseconds to right himself, but still. Adam has not tripped in— in decades. Centuries, perhaps.

“Woah there, old man,” the detective teases, knocking her side into his. “Don’t go breaking a hip there.”

He grumbles something unintelligible, shoulders tensing when she laughs.

“I am not going to break a hip.”

“No? Could’ve been quite the fall, man. And you’ve gotta be careful, y’know, in your twilight years. Ooh, double joke. Those are rare.”

Adam scowls. “I am hardly as breakable as your kind.”

She whistles lowly. “Damn, the human jabs are coming out. Must’ve been a nasty fall. Gonna tell me to get off your lawn next?”

“I should never have told you my age.”

The detective grins. “But’cha did.” And then, elbowing him again, she adds: “It was kinda funny, admit it.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“Oh, c’mon.” She steps into his path, grinning up at him without a care in the world. “Just a tiny bit? A little? A smidge?”

Despite himself, he feels his lips beginning to jerk. And he can hardly have that, so his scowl darkens and he shakes his head. “Detective.”

“Adam?” She bats her lashes.

And in the face of those big brown eyes and that sunshine-smile, his resolve crumbles. “Fine.”

“Fiiiiiine— what?”

“Fine.” He gives her a stern look, because perhaps he is willing to unbend for her, but only so far.

June pouts just slightly, and it is then that he becomes aware of the smudge of coffee at the corner of her mouth. Tiny, barely noticeable in fact, just a stain of deep brown lapping over part of her lip and some of the pale skin around it, but suddenly the only thing that he can see.

He clears his throat. “Ah. You have—”

“What?”

He gestures vaguely to his own mouth, and June blinks at him, wide-eyed, for a moment, as though he has done something truly obscene, before realisation hits and she laughs.

“Ah, shit. Thanks.” She tugs the sleeve of her hoodie out from her jacket and uses it to rub her lips roughly. “Gone?”

“No.” He points to the approximate spot on his own face again, and again she misses.

And then, easy as breathing, his hand is reaching out to catch her chin and he is wiping it away.

Her lips are— they’re soft. Warm. He can feel her breath against the pad of his thumb, and that is warm too. And she is wonderfully yielding under his touch, her teeth faintly solid through the meat of her lip on his up-swipe, mouth all pink and plush and lovely.

She smells like coffee now. Would she taste like it? It would be so easy to just lean forward and find out. To learn just how abominably sweet those four sugars really are. They would be bearable, he thinks, on these lips. DMB would be bearable on these lips.

Of its own accord, his thumb begins to trace the rest of her. The pretty swell of her lower lip, right in the middle; the other corner, her teeth flashing white behind it when he peels it down slightly; the fine curve of her cupid’s bow, sturdier than any archer’s. She is so soft. Almost fragile. Like china, only— only warmer.

Her throat bobs when she swallows.

Would she let him kiss her? Would she welcome him? 

Would she kiss him back?

He cannot bear to meet her gaze just yet, but her breathing is a little uneven, and when he listens— yes, there it is. The stutter in her pulse that he has become so accustomed to, that he treasures so dearly. Her ears are pinking, too, a flush beginning to spread across the ripe apples of her cheeks.

Perhaps— perhaps she would?

When he has finally gathered his courage, he lets himself look her in the eye. And such splendid eyes they are too, darker than usual but so big, like a doe’s perhaps, her lashes all soft and wispy.

June blinks, pupils blacker than anything and so much bigger than he’s ever seen them. By God, they are so close now, she and he. Her breath just-barely brushes his chin with every exhale. He wants to feel that breath all over him, wants it against his lips, wants to taste it and commit it to memory so thoroughly that he will remember it a hundred years from now. A thousand. 

His thumb has stilled, index and middle finger cradling her chin, and oh, it really would be hardly anything at all to tilt her head up. Just a little bit. Just enough that he would not need to stoop in half to meet her.

She swallows again, blinking rapidly, and her tongue darts out to wet the side of her mouth that he is not touching. Adam finds himself following it with his eyes, his need sitting so heavily in his chest that he can scarcely breathe. 

And then she clears her throat; a creaky, hoarse sound, as though it were full of rocks. “Did, uh— did you get it?”

“Yes,” Adam croaks, snapping his hand back as though it had been burned. “I— yes.”

June nods as the world tidies itself into its proper perspective around her. “Right. Right. Cool. Uh— tha— yeah, thanks.”

“You are welcome,” he acknowledges roughly, not looking at her, rubbing his thumb over his fingers to make sure he does not forget her skin. 

He cannot forget her skin.

[ila9182]

Anything For You - A Battlestar Galactica one-shot

Hey everyone! I'm back, this time with a Battlestar Galactica one-shot!

I didn't think I would have been able to write something about the show, but during my rewatch, when I reached episode 4x02 and watched the Roslin/Adama scene that breaks my heart every time, I had to write something.

I hope you will like it! This is my first BSG fic, so I hope it's not too bad.

! TRIGGER WARNING: cancer, hair loss. !

I don't own the show or its characters.

The complete story after the gif or you can read it here!

ANYTHING FOR YOU

Bill knew the moment the words had left his lips that he had fucked up. He knew it, and yet he hadn't seemed able to stop them from coming out of his mouth. When Laura had pointed out to him with her usual pragmatic reasoning his fear of losing the people he cared about and his fear of living alone, he had gotten defensive. The alcohol surely didn't help him to realize what he was about to say.

"And you're afraid to die that way."

He should have stopped there, but somehow the words kept coming out of his mouth and he was making no effort in stopping them. He wasn't thinking straight, it was his frustration, his anger speaking. He was angry, angry with her for thinking that – as always – she knew best, for messing with his head and for trying to reason with him. He was angry at the truth she had spoken, because yes, she was right. Once again. She was right about his fears. Unlike him, she was fully aware she was dying, something that he would never accept. He was angry for the truth she had blurted out in his face, forcing him to confront the thoughts and worries he had always tried to keep at bay.

More than anything Bill was angry with himself. He was angry with himself for not having been able to protect Laura. Kara could have shot her and there wouldn't have been a single thing he could have done to save her.

Bill was angry with himself for letting his feelings cloud his judgment. He, the atheist Admiral – as Laura had called him earlier – was putting the entire fleet at risk for a woman he had come to think of as a daughter, but who could turn out to be a cylon wanting nothing else than destroy humanity. He had never let his feelings take over his – mostly military – decisions, and yet somehow he did this time. The fact that it was Laura who had called him to order had annoyed him even more. It had hurt his pride that he had to be called in order by a woman – yes, she was the President of the Colonies, but still – who knew little, even if she had learned with time, about the military and its decisions.

Bill was also angry with himself for not being able to save her from her inevitable destiny. Watching her waste away with each passing day, the cancer eating her alive and depriving her from her strength was an unbearable sight for him. He felt powerless, useless and he hated that feeling. He hated feeling that, with each passing day, he was getting closer to the moment he would lose her.

Anger and alcohol didn't go well together and Bill knew it by experience. He hadn't even bothered to look at her as he went on, his words as sharp as swords.

"You're afraid that you may not be the dying leader you thought you were…" 

Laura was turning her back to him, not allowing him to see her face. The fact that, when he had glanced at her, he hadn't apparently gotten a reaction – a headshake, a sigh, a tremor – from her bothered him. He had been staring at her with a challenging look when he had spat out his coup de grace.

"Or that your death may be as meaningless as everyone else's…"

Bill hadn't waited for a reaction this time. He had cowardly turned his back and walked away, fearing he might see on her face the pain he had caused her. Cowardly was the appropriate word to use in this case. When you drop a bomb, you either have the gut to stay and watch the consequences unfold, or you leave. He, the brave and fearless Admiral, the one who never surrendered in a battle had chosen the easy way out, as he knew he wouldn't have been able to face the consequences. Had he stayed he would have noticed how her brave face had started crumbling down, her lips turning down and her eyes pooling with tears. But he had left, closing the hatch behind him, as if it would protect him from the chaos he had caused.

Bill had royally fucked up. He closed his eyes and sighed. Ten minutes after their harsh conversation, he was still standing outside his quarters, leaning against the door. His mind was preventing him from going anywhere, he felt as if he was glued to the spot. His guilt was gluing him to the spot. Bill could definitely walk away and let his pride win, or he could go back to her and apologize. He could try to make things right again, he knew it would be the best decision. He couldn't grant himself and his pride the luxury of being pissed at her and ignoring her, not when he had no clue for how long she would still be there with him. He couldn't grant himself the luxury of walking away, ignoring the fact that tomorrow might never come and that those hurtful and harsh words could be the very last ones she would hear from him. He couldn't allow this, he knew it.

It took Bill another few seconds before he opened the hatch of his quarters again. It was silent inside. He slowly closed the hatch behind him and was about to walk back to where he had left Laura a couple of minutes ago when a muffled sob froze him to the spot. Bill listened carefully and heard another sob and a couple of small stutter breaths. He followed the sound of crying and found her, still sitting at the table, her shoulders slumped, her back to him. She was shaking uncontrollably, her fragile body racked by sobs. Bill's heart broke at the sight, aching for each stifled sob and shaky breath she let out. He felt sick knowing he had caused her so much additional pain, as if the one she was already carrying in her weakened body and soul wasn't enough.

Bill closed the distance between them and gently held her against him, her head resting against his stomach. He awkwardly hugged Laura, him standing, leaning slightly against her chair while she was sitting. Laura jumped under his touch and he reassuringly started stroking her hair. She didn't react at first. It took her a few second before she jolted and started struggling against him. Laura tried to break his embrace, as she muttered, "Don't touch me."

Bill knew she was angry. Laura had every right to be angry with him after the hurtful words he had blurted out to her, but he wasn't going to let her win this time. He wasn't going to let her push him away. Bill kept stroking her hair when he whispered, "I'm sorry, Laura. It was unfair and…"

"Don't touch me!" Laura yelled this time, trying to move away from him. His arms were strong around her and she went on, her voice raising with each time she repeated, "Don't touch me!" She tried to push him away, frantically struggling against him and looking on the verge of a panic attack.

"Laura, no. Please listen to me." Bill requested, his voice firm but gentle.

"Don't touch me…" Laura's voice trailed off as another sob escaped her lips, "Go away, Bill, please. Don't touch me."

Bill suddenly realized that Laura pushing him away wasn't only because of what he had told her. His soothing touch came to a stop when he felt strands of hair coming away. He stared at the locks in his hand and then noticed another few on the table. His heart twitched, as he understood why she was looking so distressed. Just as much as him, she had her own stubborn pride and she wouldn't allow him to see her that weak, that sick, that fragile. She was losing her femininity, she was starting to see the most obvious effect the treatment had on her. Bill looked down at Laura and was surprised when he found her staring at him, tears silently streaming down her face.

"It's okay…" Bill whispered reassuringly to her, his hand reaching for her cheek, wiping away her tears.

"It's not." Laura replied, her voice abnormally firm despite the tears. "It's starting all over again…" She moved away from his embrace this time and stood from the chair, "But don't worry, I'll go back to Colonial One. Last thing you need is to wake up in a bed full of my hair." She waved a hand in the air before drying her tears, "This way I'll stay not only out of your head, but also out of your quarters." She added coldly, echoing his previous words.

Bill closed his eyes and sighed. He caught her hand before she passed by him and stopped her. "No, you're not going anywhere, Laura. You're staying here, with me."

"I'm pretty sure it was the last thing you wanted about twenty minutes ago." She harshly replied.

"I was angry and you know that alcohol fraks with my mind." Bill admitted. "I'm sorry, I should have never said those things to you. I've been an asshole with you."

"I don't need your pity, Admiral." Laura replied, shaking her head at him.

"You won't have mine, Madam President. Now don't force me to kick your ass to convince you to stay." Bill offered her a faint smile before adding in a serious tone, "You don't have to face it on your own, not anymore. I'm here for you, Laura."

Laura hesitantly looked at him, new tears threatening to fall at any moment. Bill gave her hand a little tug and pulled her against him. She wrapped her arms around him and he secured her fragile body in his arms. His hand soothingly stroked her back and it was all it took for Laura to break down. She cried silently against him, her tears soaking his uniform, as he simply held her and left from time to time kisses on the top of her head.

Laura calmed down after a few minutes. She stroked his chest gently before whispering, "Bill?"

"Yes?" Bill asked, looking down at her.

"Can I ask you something?" Laura went on hesitantly.

"Anything, Laura." Bill replied with a soft smile.

"Cottle told me it's apparently better to shave my head when my hair starts to fall down. He said something about being less traumatic than waiting for all my hair to come away." Laura scoffed sadly, "Less traumatic, yeah let's say so." She paused and tilted her head a little so she could meet his eyes before asking, "Could you help me shave my head when I'm ready?"

"Anything for you, Laura." Bill agreed with a slightly shaking voice. He tried to ignore the lump in his throat, as he dropped a kiss to her forehead. "I'll be here for you."

------------------------------------

Laura was sitting on his rack in her nightgown, her robe wrapped tightly around her. She looked like she was ready to go to sleep and Bill was about to join her when she met his gaze and whispered, "I think it's time."

Only a couple of days went by after Laura asked for Bill's help. He didn't need any further explanation; he already knew what to do. He took her by the hand and gently led her to his bathroom. Laura silently took her robe off and stared at herself in the mirror. She sighed as she ran a hand through her fragile hair. Her hair. She had always been proud of how it looked. Her thick red mane, her soft curls. This would have been the last time she would see herself with hair. She knew it too well.

Laura noticed Bill handing her the hair clippers and she briefly closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "We don't have to do this tonight…" Bill whispered to her, sensing her hesitation.

"Yes, I have to." Laura firmly replied. "I can't bear the fact of new strands of hair falling every day, I can't watch my life slip away with each passing day. I want to be in control, I need to be in control, Bill. The hair must go."

Bill nodded and Laura covered the hair clippers with a hand. She met his gaze and told him, "I want you to do it."

"Laura, I…" Bill hesitantly started.

"I trust you with my life, Bill." Laura cut him short. "And beside, you should be used to that thing, I'm not and I would like to avoid cutting my scalp. Cottle won't be happy if I end up in sickbay before my next appointment." She added with a smirk.

Bill scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Fine, Madam President."

Bill turned on the hair clippers and looked at her reflection in the mirror. He could see she was trying her best not to break down and he waited patiently for her to give him a sign he could go on. Laura met his gaze and forced a faint smile as she nodded, "I'm ready."

Bill nodded and started shaving her head. When her first locks hit the floor, the tears that had pooled in Laura's eyes and threatened to fall during the whole time started escaping her eyelids. A sob racked her body and Bill stopped, worriedly glancing at her in the mirror.

"It's okay, Bill." Laura reassured him with a shaky voice. "Go ahead, please."

Bill soothingly stroked her bare shoulder before dropping a kiss on it. He then kept shaving her head. With every lock that fell to the ground, he left a gentle kiss on her shoulder. A brush of his lips on her skin to let her know that he was feeling her pain and that he wished he could take it all away. A brush of his lips on her skin to let her know that to him she was still the most beautiful woman in the entire universe. A brush of his lips on her skin to let all the love he still hadn't had the gut to confess to her show. A brush of his lips on her skin as a promise that he would always be there for her at the end of the day. No matter what.

Bill turned the hair clippers off and gently swiped away the remaining hair from her bare shoulders. Laura had closed her eyes at some point when the sight of her beautiful locks piling up on the floor had become unbearable. She hadn't seen the final result yet and Bill knew she would need some time on her own to process what had just happened. He delicately stroked her upper arm and leaned in to whisper in her ear, "I'm going to take your pills and your glass of water."

It was the only excuse Bill could come up with and he was fully aware it sounded ridiculous. In a different situation, Laura would have argued that she could do it on her own, but she had sensed he was giving her some time alone. She nodded, still not opening her eyes, nor trusting her voice. Bill dropped a kiss to her temple and it took all of Laura's strength not to break down, not to shatter in millions pieces under his gentle touch. She heard the bathroom door close and let out a shaky breath.

Laura slowly swiped a hand over her bald head, feeling the roughness of the hair that was still there, but shaved. She opened her eyes and noticed her locks of hair piled up on the floor. Tears gathered in her eyes, as she hesitantly lifted her head to look at herself in the mirror. When she saw her reflection, her stomach lurched and a sob escaped her lips. She covered her mouth to muffle it, as she closed her eyes again.

She was bald. This was the image of herself she would see every time she would look at herself in the mirror. This was going to be how she would look like until the day she died. Laura felt sick, nausea coming over her, and she was sure it wasn't one of the many effects of the treatment.

Laura shivered. She put her robe on again and wrapped it tightly around her, but it didn't seem to help. Her head was cold. She realized how sensitive her scalp was. She had spent all her life with long hair and now that she didn't have any left, she was feeling cold. She was feeling as if something important was missing. You bet, Laura, you've lost your hair, she told herself.

Laura had to get used to that new image of her. She felt a familiar feeling take over her. Grief. She scoffed at how ridiculous it sounded. She couldn't possibly feel grief for her hair loss, not when she did have a pretty good taste in her life at how devastating grief was. That feeling had been a life companion for a countless years now. She had lost her mother to cancer. Her father, her sisters, her unborn niece or nephew – she hadn't had the gut to ask the medical examiner about this detail – had been killed by a drunk driver. Elosha had stepped on a mine and died while she was going along with Laura on her prophetic trip on Kobol. Billy had been gunned down after he had been held hostage in a bar. Laura had mourned every person of the fleet they had lost after the attack on Caprica. So yes, Laura knew grief all too well. That was why she couldn't allow herself – she found it utterly ridiculous – to feel grief for something as meaningless as hair.

Tears silently streamed down her face as she stared at her reflection. And yet, she did feel grief. It felt to her that a part of her had died with her hair loss, it felt to her that she was just getting a step closer to her own death. It felt to her as if it was the beginning of the end. Laura took a deep breath in an attempt to stop her tears, but failed. Another sob racked her body and she supported herself against the sink.

"Now, Laura, get a grip for the Gods' sake." She muttered to herself before splashing water over her face. She took the towel to dry her face and looked at herself in the mirror again.

Laura heard the bathroom door open again and she knew Bill had come back. She expected him to come closer to her, but he didn't. He must have been standing on the threshold, silently wondering about what to do next. Laura didn't turn to face him. She wasn't sure she was ready to see him again. She wasn't sure she was ready for him to see her that way. She had lost her femininity, she was nothing more than a worn-out body and she doubted he would ever looked at her the same way. She was different now, her bald head being a constant reminder of her precarious condition. How could he look at her now and not think every damn second that she might slip away at any time? How could he bear looking at her sick body? How could he even still like such a repulsive sight?

"Will it be?" Laura asked, her voice numb and hoarse from the crying. She kept staring at her reflection in the mirror as she specified, "Meaningless, I mean…" She finally slowly turned to face Bill and her sorrowful and reddened eyes met his, "Will it be meaningless, Bill?"

His blood instantly froze in his veins. Bill thought she had understood when he had apologized to her that he didn't mean any of the words he had blurted out to her face. He couldn't believe that she had been keeping this question in her mind for days. He couldn't believe that she was even considering he might have said the truth.

Bill didn't waste another second and crossed the room to stand behind her. He slid his arms around her tiny waist and hugged her from behind. His serious gaze met hers in the mirror as he replied, emphasizing every word, "No. Never." He dropped a kiss to her shoulder, as he added, "Not to me. Not to this fleet." He paused, his thumb delicately stroking the skin of her arm, "If it hadn't been for you, we would have been all dead when the Cylons attacked. You convinced me to leave the Colonies. You gave to all of us the most precious gift in the universe. Life, Laura, you've saved us that day. We will always be grateful to you for that, I will always be grateful to you for that gift."

Laura closed her eyes and took a deep breath. A tear escaped her right eyelid, rolled silently down her cheek and died in the crook of her neck.

"You look great." Bill whispered to her after a few seconds of silence, a faint smile appearing on his face.

Laura scoffed and rolled her eyes before replying, "For someone who's dying."

"No one's dying, Laura." Bill firmly stated, shaking his head.

"Bill…" Laura let out an exhausted sigh. She didn't know for how long he would keep denying the obvious, but she knew for sure that she didn't want to have that conversation again. She didn't want to go there again, memories of their discussion of a few days ago coming to her mind again. She was too tired – both emotionally and physically – to fight with him about this.

Bill ignored her annoyed tone and repeated to her reassuringly, "You are beautiful."

"And you're a liar, Bill." Laura calmly replied, her eyes glued to her reflection. She didn't seem to be able to divert her gaze from her head. Beautiful, she smirked sadly. This was the last word that came to her mind to describe herself right now.

"Now you listen to me, Roslin." Bill ordered her, in a tone half serious, half teasing, as he gently turned her so she could face him. His voice softened as he added, "You are still the beautiful woman I met right after the Cylons' attack. You've lost your hair, yes, but you are way more than your hair, Laura. You're brilliant, smart… you're unbelievably strong…" He paused and a smile crossed his face, as he reached for her cheek and told her, "and you've got the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen." He stroked her cheek and Laura smiled shyly, looking down. "If you think I would think less of you because of all this, you're so damn wrong, Madam President. You're a frakkin fighter and you have all my admiration and respect."

Laura slowly raised her head. When she met Bill's gaze, she read in his eyes nothing else but admiration and respect, and even love – if she dared to think that way. "What did I do to deserve you?" She asked, her voice above a whisper.

"You went through hell and you survived. I'm not sure I did that much to deserve someone as extraordinary as you."

The sincerity in his voice took her by surprise. Once again. Laura shook her head and replied, "This is not a contest about who had the shittiest life, Bill. You deserve to be happy just as much as me. We just have to give happiness a shot before…" Her voice trailed off and she cleared her throat before adding, "…before it is too late."

Bill nodded and offered her a faint smile, his hand still on her cheek. They silently stared at each other for a few seconds before he leaned in. His lips were nearly brushing hers when Laura arched an eyebrow and whispered, "What are you doing?"

Bill smirked and muttered to her, "I'm giving it a shot."

Before Laura had the chance to say something, Bill caught her lips in a gentle, but lingering kiss. When he broke the kiss off, he stared at her and offered her a soft smile. Laura opened her mouth to say something, but quickly closed it again. She smiled at him instead.

"Come with me, I have something for you." Bill told her before she had the chance to find something to say. He took her by the hand, his fingers naturally interlacing with hers, as he walked her out of the bathroom. He gently made her settle in on his rack before sitting next to her. He turned around and grabbed a paper bag from the floor. He handed it to Laura who was staring at him with curiosity. She took the bag and arched an eyebrow at Bill. He nodded to her, encouraging her to take a look inside.

"I know it's not as beautiful as your hair, but…" Bill started, looking down at his fidgeting hands.

"Bill…" Laura whispered, her voice filled with emotion.

"I had Tory looking for it in the fleet and she found a woman who had a shop on Picon and she is still making wigs now." He explained to her.

Laura felt pressure build against her eyelids as she choked back a sob. She held the wig in her hands, delicately running a hand through it and stayed silent.

"I figured…" Bill paused and rectified, "we figured you would be more at ease if you use this in your public appearances… and when you want to feel more comfortable – the woman told Tory it could get a little itchy – well, this could work too." He added with a bright smile as he handed her a neatly folded green silk scarf.

Laura stared at Bill and said nothing. She was at loss for words and felt a lump in her throat. She put the wig down on her knees. Her eyes were filling up with fresh tears as she extended a trembling hand and took the scarf from Bill's hand. She opened it and gazed at it with a smile. She then rubbed her face against the soft fabric, humming contentedly.

"As soon as I saw it, I thought of you. It matches your eyes." Bill told her softly.

This time she wasn't able to hold back a sob. "Oh Bill…" Laura whispered as tears streamed down her cheeks. It took her a few seconds to find her voice back and tell him, "Thank you." She waved a hand in the air and looked up, hoping this would help to blink back the tears. "Thank you so much for all this." She repeated, this time in a more confident and firmer tone. "I can't find the words to tell you how much I appreciate everything you've done and you're doing for me."

"You're welcome, Laura." Bill simply replied, a warm smile on his lips.

Laura stared at the wig on her knees for a while longer and chuckled. When she looked up and found Bill looking at her with an arched eyebrow, she smirked and told him, "It's not blond."

Bill let out a small laugh before replying, "Told you, I couldn't see you as a blonde…" His smile grew wider when he heard her giggle even more. "Moreover I wouldn't risk the President being confused with a Cylon."

And just like that, Laura started laughing. A hearty laugh that lit her face and had her eyes sparkling again. Bill felt his heart fill with joy at the sight. She looked in that brief moment cheerful and it brought back happy memories to his mind. Gods, how much he had missed her infectious laughter. Laura covered her mouth with a hand, trying to suppress another giggle as she replied, "Oh no, you wouldn't… That's the last thing we need right now."

[sacrilvgious]

basic information

full name:  ashley dario itzan. nickname(s):  ash. age:  one hundred and three years old. date of birth:  august tenth, nineteen seventeen. hometown:  ávila, spain. current location:  parish. ethnicity:  caucasian. nationality:  spanish. gender:  cis male. pronouns:   he / him. orientation:  homoromantic / homosexual. religion:  atheist. political affiliation:  n / a. occupation:  dancer. living arrangements:  wherever he passes out. language(s) spoken:  spanish,  english. accent:  mild spanish 

physical appearance

face claim:  aron piper. hair colour:  brown. eye colour:  hazel. height:  five foot, eleven inches. weight:  one hundred and fifty pounds. build:  very lean and slender. tattoos: minimalist, small tattoos scattered over his torso & arms, easy to miss at first glance. piercings: left earlobe.  drug use:  more than he will admit to,  cocaine being his go to. alcohol use:  yes.

lore / history

abilities: elevated strength, speed, supernatural level of beauty, some magical abilities, mostly dealing with illusions & mental manipulation (incubi charm), flying (when his wings are exposed), immortality, healing. weaknesses: holy objects / icons, starvation, exorcisms, angelic beings, demonic beings more powerful than him. physical changes: ( when not using a glamour, which ash always has up ) fangs, claws, pointed tail and wings.   itzan family history: incubi must be born from two demons, whereas if a demon and a human birth a demonic child, that would be a cambion. 

story

this gonna be shorter and just basics, like no detail because why 

grew up just outside of madrid until he was around twelve years old, which is when he was found (gay gasp) fondling another boy, and back in them days, that was a big no.

he was kicked onto the streets and treated as scum by his family and neighbours.

his parents kept what they were a secret from the public, except for his mother who used her charms to make money for the family. his father was a drunk who couldn’t care less about being supernatural and shit it away drinking. 

ash kind of... turned into both, shocking.  

now out on the street, he was kind of screwed. when he reached his late teens (this is young and gross i know but the boy knew no better) around like 16/17, he started following in his mother’s footsteps to try and find places to crash. sometimes for one or two nights or sometimes for like a week or longer. depending on the man.

he travels around and finally found his way to the parrish, where he still . . . sort of leans on his old ways, never having settled down in a place of his own. why would he ? pay bills and be responsible for a whole ass building when he could just . . . be what he is and get laid and have a place to stay. much easier to him. ( can u tell he doesn’t do commitment? l o l )

now he’s a stripper at Seven Sins. he’s trouble. he’s a hoe. likes drugs ( not at maisie’s level but still he is an addict’s son )

[thatssomental-blog]

Too Coward for the "Coward's Way Out": Living with Passive Suicidal Ideation

TW: This article may be hard for some to read, but is intended to assist others who may be dealing with passive, or active, suicidal ideations. The following text contains details of suicidal thoughts (without intent) and mentions self harm (briefly, and without detail), in addition to depression and it’s relationship with suicidal thoughts. 

So many people label suicide as the “coward’s way out”. If that’s true, then why is it that I feel like a coward because I could never follow through? Passive suicidal ideation is defined as wishing you were dead or that you could die, but having no intention to take your own life. Whereas, active suicidal ideation means one is not only struggling with these thoughts, but may have full intention, or a plan already in place, to take their own life. Passive suicidal ideation is still a risk factor among patients with depression and suicidal thoughts, and just because you are not planning your great escape from this world now, doesn’t mean you should skip out on your therapy sessions. All that being said, it is very real, your thoughts are just as valid, and you are not alone in feeling the way that you do.

Before I continue, I would like to specify that “wishing you were dead or that you could die” isn’t a reference to how you feel waking up in the morning, before you reluctantly drag yourself to work/school, it is in reference to a very real, deep desire to stop living, that may come or go, or may stay with you incessantly, even on your best days when everything seems hunky-dory. I am specifying this, because as someone who suffers from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, the mental illnesses that myself and others suffer through daily are not meant to be #relatable, just because you like things neatly organized or hate your job/school.

My own struggle with suicidal thoughts is a plague that I can't seem to get rid of. I suffered from them long before I even knew what suicide truly was. I was about 14 when the first thought came along, and I clearly remember it. I was putting away the clean dishes and took a knife from the dishwasher. I stood there for about five minutes straight, just staring at it, and thinking that I could just slash my wrist open and the numbness I’d been feeling for weeks would all go away. I scared myself with that thought, put the knife away, and didn’t do it; I couldn’t do it, and I wouldn’t have done it. I can’t remember any other thoughts as vividly as that single instance, but sometimes they were there, and sometimes they weren’t, and every time I had them I could never bring myself to act on them.

Health care is necessary for a healthy life. In the US healthcare is expensive, whether you have coverage or not. Health Insurance, especially with Mental Health included, is hard to come by. Even if you’re one of the “lucky” ones that manages to land a job that provides it, a good plan for yourself, not to mention a whole family, can easily eat up what little bit of wages you work for, and have to live off of. In the past several years, life has been difficult for me, though it was mostly adjusting to living the independent life, learning how to pay bills, and learning how to take care of myself. Despite all of the challenges and obstacles I’ve faced in that time, I was doing pretty well. Even through the trauma of sudden death, which my family is not equipped to handle, I managed. Within the past eight months, I attempted to better my situation by leaving a toxic work environment and moving on to something new. Unfortunately, by choosing to leave that job I also left what little health coverage I had, and since have had to move on to even worse challenges and obstacles, all with untreated, depression, anxiety, body and gender dysphoria, and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. If you’ve never been through that, I’ll tell you right now that it is hell, and as petty as I am, I wouldn’t wish anything I’ve been through on my worst enemies.

Factoring in all of the above, with the soul crushing feeling that your whole life and all of your freedom is crashing down around you, like an imploding dumpster fire, it really adds up. In my last few months before moving back home with Mom and Dad, something none of us want to do even if we love our parents with a fiery passion, I was at rock bottom. I couldn’t bring myself to do anything but the bare minimum, which made moving day tougher than it already was, and left me feeling hopeless and drained of life. I would lay on my couch for hours, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the wall with an empty mind and heavy heart, it was the worst I had ever been, and I allowed myself to wallow in it, only making it worse.

Even now that I am home, and surrounded by the love of my family, I frequently wish I was dead. I don’t think such things only when everything is going wrong in my life, but the harder times get the more I just want all the pain to go away. I think of scenarios in which I could put myself out of my misery. I own a gun, I have access to others, and medications, not to mention every knife in the block or kitchen drawer that could easily end all of my suffering. But, why is it that despite my desires to no longer deal with life's stresses, my battle with my seemingly, ever changing, gender identity, and my unbridled hatred for the world we live in and the multitude or horrible people in it, do I refrain? Why, when it seems like the only option for peace of mind and escape from the emotions I can’t control, can I not do it? Why, when I wish for the calming embrace of death, do I fear strangers who could kill me in cold blood? Why, if I want to die, did I seek medical attention, without any health coverage, and go to the ER when I legitimately thought I was dying?

Fear of the unknown. I was raised in the Christian faith from a very young age, and was even baptized twice. My mother was raised within that same faith, and my father is an atheist. Despite my current pagan-leaning/agnostic dogma, there is a fear bread into me from childhood that I will burn in hell. Since becoming “woke”, so to say, I have completely denounced the Christian god for what he is. Despite my genuine certainty that this god does not exist, and if he does, he’s actually quite a terrible deity, because of how I was raised, I will more than likely carry that fear of denouncing him and burning in hell with me, for the rest of my life. Religion aside, and taking things from an atheistic perspective, maybe I’m just going into a hole in the ground when I die, but the thought of everything being black forever is also terrifying for me. Even though I am aware that, in this scenario, I will literally not be conscious of my own death, it is almost impossible for me to wrap my head around it, and as someone who has exhibited a very present case of FOMO all of their life, that just doesn’t fly with me. Regardless of whether we go to sit at Odin’s table in Valhalla, or up to a magic golden kingdom in the clouds where everyone is happy and wants for nothing, or we just literally kill over like a toy with dead batteries, no one actually knows until they actually die.

Fear of failure. I have had a very hard time succeeding at pretty much everything I’ve tried in life. No matter what I do, I never feel like the product is good enough. I am my own worst critic, and, on top of that, I am a rage-quitter. If I am not instantly or naturally good at something, I get bent out of shape when I mess it up, maybe I cry, then I quit, and I move on. (Though that statement doesn’t apply to absolutely everything, it applies to a pretty big chunk of things.) One of the greatest fears that keeps me from “attempting” is knowing that if I mess up, I may not recover. Some people are saved at the last minute, and depending on what you’ve done to yourself, sometimes the wounds or the manner in which you’ve attempted will mend. However, if some things are done incorrectly, i.e. putting a bullet in your brain, or a fall that just wasn’t quite big enough to kill you, you may still survive, but there could be permanent consequences such as brain damage, loss of mobility, etc. I’m sure you catch my drift. I suppose this also technically falls under fear of the unknown, because you never truly know what’s going to happen until it does. Sometimes you just have to stop and ask yourself, would you rather be depressed and fully functional to the best of your capabilities? Or depresses and handicapped, and therefore, with your anxious/depressed brain, if it works anything like mine, an even heavier burden on those around you?

Forcing others to suffer. I am very lucky to have an amazing family that is full of love. Even for those of us living a life that others may not agree with, disowning and/or not loving one another is not in our vocabulary. I am very close to my mother and my grandmother, and it would devastate them beyond comprehension. That used to be my only line of thinking, however things have happened and times have changed. Less than two years ago, we buried my grandmother’s youngest child, my mother’s youngest sister, and one of my best friends, who was more like my sister than my aunt, along with her unborn son. Even if I intended to follow through on my own suicidal thoughts, and even excluding the above reasons, I could never force my mother to bury her only child, or my grandmother to bury another grandchild. I also have an amazing SO and friends who would at least be a little devastated, as well.

I just can’t. Ignoring every other reason I have included, I just can’t do it. Despite my fear of death, failure, and hurting those I love most, I just don’t have it in me. It’s not the pain that I worry about, one could easily swallow a bunch of sleeping pills and hope to not wake up, and as much as I hate to admit it, I have physically self harmed before, way back in my teen years. I don’t know how else to explain it, other than I just can’t. I have a huge fear of missing out, if I don’t know all the details of something it will drive me nuts, and I hate surprises. Despite how great it would be to just not have to worry, and despite how hopeless I feel, there is a part of me that knows something better is coming. If I were to take my own life, there are countless things I would miss out on, things I’ve always wanted and things that I may not even know that I want yet. The future is a mystery, and I’ll never find out what it holds if I don’t have one.

Do those things make my suicidal thoughts invalid? No, and though your reasons behind your lack/full intent may differ from mine, they do not make yours any less valid, either.

I am by no means encouraging suicide, though if you ever lose your battle just know that I will never call you a coward when you’re gone. Suicide is the final side-effect of losing your battle with a very real illness, one that may not be visible to even those closest to you.

My parting wisdom is this: Whether you intend to follow through on your suicidal ideations or not, if you take your own life, you will never be around to see it get better. I know it seems hopeless, I personally feel hopeless about 95% of the time, and I know that sometimes it seems like the only escape from not only the world, but your own mind. I really do. I know it hurts, and even if I don’t know what you’re going through, or how you feel, perseverance is the answer, not death. If you are strong enough to make it this far, through all the grief and torment and suffering, then you are strong enough to build your own future. Please don’t take that away from yourself, no matter how much you may want to.

If you, or someone you love is feeling suicidal, please check thatssomental.tumblr.com/resources for a list of suicide and mental help phone lines, chats, and websites.

©thatssomental.tumblr.com 2019

[jacksauvage-blog]

tw: mental illness, drug use, addiction

Basic Information

Full Name: Jean Baptiste Sauvage

Nickname(s): Jack

Age: 36

Date of Birth: August 13th

Hometown: Paris, France

Current Location: Paris, France

Ethnicity: Malaysian

Nationality: French

Gender: Cis-Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Orientation: In modern terms, Jack is the type of person who would simply call himself “queer” and be done with it. For the purposes of this, though, he is demi- to aromantic and bisexual.

Religion: Atheist with some fringe interests in the occult.

Political Affiliation: General disinterest. He grew up in that world and has no desire to rejoin it.

Occupation: Film writer and director. Formerly (and occasionally still, a stage actor).

Living Arrangements: He lives in a small second story apartment. The neighborhood is rough but rent is cheap and no one bothers him. 

Language(s) Spoken: French and English, fluently. His Spanish is conversational but broken and largely forgotten and most of the phrases he remembers are elicit and sexual. He speaks key phrases in several other European languages and can ask for a drink and a cigarette anywhere in the world.

Accent: Jack’s accent can be hard to place and depends largely what language he’s speaking in. Typically, his accent has a heavy upper-class London influence, especially when he’s speaking English. His French accent is also a bit watered down by the time he spent in London and America.

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Henry Golding

Hair Colour: Black

Eye Colour: Dark Brown

Height: 6′2″

Weight: 210

Build: Average build. He is in shape and has built strength over the years by carrying heavy filming equipment around. His muscles, though, are generally toned but not overly defined.

Tattoos: TBD

Piercings: None

Clothing Style: It is rare to see Jack dressed down. At most he is wearing a full tailored suit. At the least he’s wearing slacks and a crisp button down shirt with a suit vest.

Usual Expression: Jack’s default expression can be described as either “vacant” or “hyper-focused” depending on the angle. When he is by himself, he tends to get lost in his own thoughts and his people watching. In groups, especially after a few drinks, he finds himself much more at ease and wears the subtle hints of a relaxed smile.

Distinguishing Characteristics: Jack has a faint scar across the bridge of his nose--the result of getting mugged during his first few weeks in Brooklyn.

Health

Physical Ailments: Jack is relatively healthy with no chronic physical issues.

Neurological Conditions: Though none of this will ever be addressed, diagnosed, or treated, Jack probably has Persistent Depressive Disorder as well as a mild form of Psychosis or a mild Dissociation Disorder. This presents in infrequent but extended periods of time in which Jack disconnects from reality entirely. He tends to self-medicate and withdraw from all of his social obligations. These episodes are characterized by mild auditory and visual hallucinations, though whether this is caused by his disorder or his drug use is undetermined. Jack, however, just views these episodes as a natural part of his creative process and will never seek any type of medical or psychological intervention.

Allergies: None.

Sleeping Habits: Jack is in an almost constant state of sleep deprivation. He has trouble putting himself to bed and turning his brain off in a timely manner. This could either be a symptom or a cause of his aforementioned dissociative episodes, though it will remain unclear which. Combined with his frequent late nights out on the town, social engagements that last until well in the morning, and late night bursts if artistic inspiration, Jack’s sleeping patterns are as erratic as they are infrequent. He is always late to bed but early to rise and on a normal night he can expect to get around 3-5 hours of sleep with an hour-long nap or two somewhere in the day.

Eating Habits: Jack is not an overly picky eater, but he does tend to lean towards a healthy diet by default. He doesn’t cook in his hope (he doesn’t know how) so most of his meals are from restaurants, bars, and markets in the city. He keeps a sparse amount of food in his home, mostly alcohol and bread.

Exercise Habits: A lot of Jack’s physical exercise comes from things he does on a regular basis, rather than time set aside to devote to his fitness. He frequently moves heavy film equipment, sets up shots, hangs his own set pieces, etc. So, he gets a lot of physical exercise from what he does on a normal day. Additionally, Jack walks almost everywhere he goes.

Emotional Stability: Publicly, Jack is as stable as they come. It’s rare for anyone to see the cracks in his facade, but if people looked closely enough they’re definitely there. On a scale of 1 to 10, Jack would put himself firmly as a 9, ignoring how devastating his dissociative episodes can be for himself and anyone who happens to make contact with him during those times. Realistically, he’s probably a firm 5.

Sociability: Jack is a rather social creature by default. He enjoys spending time with others, but is highly selective of the people he chooses to surround himself with. He does not enjoy being part of a large crowd and will frequently find space to be alone if he is in a crowded venue. His personality doesn’t lend itself well to being the center of attention and he is normally fairly quick to shift that attention on to someone else. His interactions with people one-on-one take the form of in depth conversations with intensely probing questions. Jack takes an interest in people in a way that can make them feel as if he genuinely wants to know them. What they don’t know is that Jack has a bad habit of viewing people as source material rather than actual human beings.

Body Temperature: Cold-Natured.

Addictions: Yes?

Drug Use: Jack’s drug use is as erratic as his sleeping habits. He is a heavy smoker, both of cigarettes and marijuana, though these are so widely available and frequently used he would hardly consider them drugs. His vice of choice is cocaine, of which he is almost a daily user. During episodes, however, he can extend into more dangerous and illicit narcotics including heroin and mescaline. 

Alcohol Use: Jack is a social drinker. He always has a well stocked bar in his apartment but rarely drinks when he’s alone.

Personality

Label: The Cinephile

Positive Traits: Charming, creative, eccentric, intellectual, passionate, diligent, curious.

Negative Traits: Arrogant, careless, detached, dishonest, unstable, unreliable, messy.

Goals/Desires: Jack’s goals tend to be career oriented. Right now, his primary focus is making his next film. Everything outside of that is secondary. He doesn’t have many goals for his personal life, his love life, his family life, etc. His short term, daily goals all revolve around stimulation of some kind. Be it intellectual, emotional, physical. He’s always looking for something to inspire and motivate him.

Fears: Jack’s primary fears are failure and, by extension, fading into obscurity. He is on top of the world right now. His most recent film was a critical success but that was nearly two years ago. His ideas for his next film are fragmented and vague, he fears that he will never be able to piece them together. He also fears loneliness. Jack is a man who, despite his efforts to get to know people, only ever emerges with surface level relationships. He has hundreds of acquaintances whom he knows very well but feels little to no emotional connection to. This is, in part, because Jack has a tendency to view people as subjects and source material rather than emotional beings with wants and needs. This is also because he feels deeply uncomfortable letting other people into his life for fear of rejection. Jack doesn’t see himself as someone who is capable of having a meaningful connection with another person. And, though he’ll never admit it, this is something that makes him very sad. 

Hobbies: Aside from the obvious acting, writing, filming, Jack enjoys a number of solitary hobbies. He is a voracious reader. His favorite author is HG Wells but his favorite book is Dracula. He is also a frequent people watcher. It is not at all uncommon to find him at a back table in a crowded night club either reading or jotting down notes about the individuals around him. Additionally, Jack has a tentative interest in the occult. He is not a practitioner by any means, nor is he completely sure he believes in the whole concept. But, he owns a few books on the subject and can occasionally be found to dabble in the rituals and research of it all.

Habits: In addition to the more destructive habits mentioned in the health section, Jack’s most noticeable tick is popping his knuckles. It’s a small thing, but in a man with such a tight fist around his public image, anything that seems compulsive is noteworthy.

Favourites

Weather: Rain.

Colour: Black.

Music: I don’t think Jack has a preference for any type of music. It’s all background noise to him and not something he actively seeks out.

Movies: His own, obviously. Aside from that, he is inspired by French and German techniques as well as the rising Spanish surrealist movement.

Sport: Any sport where dashing young men break a sweat.

Beverage: Alcoholic--Scotch. Non-Alcoholic: Earl Grey Tea.

Food: Jack acquired a taste for traditional Spanish cooking and there is nothing quite like it in Paris. He is always sad.

Animal: There is a fat orange cat who has recently taken up residence on his balcony. He feeds it scraps and calls it Kit (short for Kitten because? sure why not?). Gun to his head, that dumb cat is his favorite animal.

Family

Father: Rene Sauvage (d.)

Mother: Sylvie Sauvage, 61.

Sibling(s): None

Children: None

Pet(s): None.

Family’s Financial Status: Upper-class, incredibly wealthy. Jack was cut off from the family fortune through most of his life. Recently, however, his father left him a significant sum of money in his will as an effort to make amends with his estranged son.

Extra

Zodiac Sign: Leo

MBTI: INFP

Enneagram: Type 3: The Performer 

Temperament: Melancholic 

Hogwarts House: Slytherine

Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Primary Vice: Pride

Primary Virtue: Diligence 

Element: Fire

[urfavmurtad]

I feel like I am constantly battling an inner voice. Thanks to ramadan my cognitive dissonance has escalated and I am really struggling. Some days I think it is convenient being the ideal muslimah, aspire to marriage and live a simple life THEN some days I don't believe in Islam that strongly and I just want to go away from it. Whenever I envision myself as an ExMuslim I feel that's not my true identity and I am trying hard to be someone else. Indoctrination is messing with my brain, HELP !

Aw anon I’ve had so many of these thoughts over the years. The thought of coming out to my family–either in the sense of being non-religious or in the sense of my sexuality–genuinely gives me anxiety. Like I think of myself as a fairly mentally stable person, but just envisioning that is enough to make me want to panic, because I know it’d end poorly. Life would be so much easier for me if I just pretended. Even if I don’t believe in a damn word of the religion and even if I genuinely dislike it, sometimes I think–wouldn’t I be happier if I just went along with it? I wouldn’t have to worry about my family refusing to speak to me ever again, or being totally isolated from my community, or being The Family Shame.

It’s a hard subject, and I don’t think there’s one right answer. Ever since I made this account, I’ve talked to a bunch of people who are secretly non-religious. A few are open about it within their families, just not towards anyone else. Those from liberal families are mostly okay; others have been totally cut off. Most are still hiding their beliefs every day in order to avoid family drama if not outright harm, depending on where they live and what their communities are like. Some have left home despite being very young because they can’t take it anymore, others are in their thirties and married to religious spouses and feel like they can never admit it at this point. I know two people who are gay (one woman, one man) who managed to meet and marry secretly atheist spouses. One of them is a lesbian in a marriage with a gay man. No one knows that either is even slightly non-religious or less than fully hetero. Everyone has their own situation in life, and the “right thing” that will make you happy is going to depend upon a lot of different circumstances.

So all I can tell you is how I’ve handled this issue and hope that it’s helpful.

Just a few years ago, I was genuinely leaning towards a marriage of convenience myself and just living like this forever–outwardly pious, inwardly hating this stupid goddamn religion. I planned on never coming out and just somehow finding some gay semi-liberal Sudani or otherwise Acceptably Arab guy, getting married, popping out a couple kids, and just… never telling anyone else about any of it. I don’t hate my parents or my siblings and I don’t want them to hate me, and when I think about everything I’ve heard them say about both gay people and people who leave Islam… it just depresses me to imagine them acting that way towards me. I couldn’t imagine myself happy like that, even if I’m “free”. I felt like I’d end up feeling miserable for making them miserable, even if I objectively didn’t do anything wrong. Because I know that no matter how successful I am in life, if they know that either I’m a lesbian or an atheist–or both–they won’t care. They’ll see me as a failure and they’ll see themselves as failures for raising me “wrong”.

That’s changed a lot since I’ve been in college. My parents thankfully allowed me to live on-campus, away from home, which is not a privilege granted to every Arab immigrant girl. And I’ve had time to sort of figure out my own identity separate from my religious background and separate from my family. I’ve made non-Muslim friends, I’ve found hobbies that get me away from the damn MSA, I no longer feel the need to police every aspect of my life to make sure I’m not doing anything haram. (I mean, I still do that in public, but that’s different. I even somehow managed to find myself a girlfriend (literally one of only two ppl irl who know I’m not straight wanted to date me which must make me the luckiest lesbian alive I think??).

And so I no longer feel like my primary identity is 1) Muslim 2) Arab 3) member of my family 4) member of my extended family 5) member of my tribe 6) Sudani 7) actually me as a person. I think I’ve bumped myself up on that list quite a few positions. For the first time in my life, I can envision a life for myself where, well, maybe my parents never speak to me again and most of my siblings won’t either. And with that possible future in mind, it’s real-ass hard for me to think of myself as yet another Muslimah who’s married with a kid by age 25, with a promising career put on hold to take care of the kids while the husband’s out living his life, posting Instagram pics of her kids, the Quran open next to coffee and a plate with dessert on it, the back of her hijab-clad head, and pretends she’s happy. Like I straight-up don’t want that for myself, even if it keeps the family peace.

Maybe I’ll never be invited back to any of my extended family’s homes in Sudan or the UAE or KSA. But you know what? Fuck it. If I come out to them and they don’t want anything to do with me after that, that’s on them, not me. I’ll gladly take advantage of the fact that they’re paying for my education at the moment. But when I’m done with grad school and I feel like I’m in a good mental place and ready to start actually living my life? I’m okay with giving them the choice between accepting me and leaving me. And I’ve learned to accept that it won’t be the end of the world if they choose the second option, which they certainly will. It’ll hurt but I’ll be okay.

So how about you, anon? Have you had a chance to actually explore yourself and find a place beyond Islam yet? Is the reason why you feel like you’re trying to be someone else because you’ve never been given the chance to have an identity other than your religion, because you’ve been raised to feel like it defines absolutely every aspect of your life and you’ll be empty without it? If so, have you ever tried to fill that supposed “emptiness” that we’ve been told so much about? Would your parents accept you if they knew your beliefs, and if they would never do it, could you ever be okay with that? There’s a lot to think about and I don’t have the answers for you, but I hope whatever you choose ends up making you happy. Even if you pretend to be pious forever and secretly whisper “that Umar tho… he a bitch” in your sleep.

[oneeyedscarecrow]

Scarebat, things you said when you were scared (It's a guilty pleasure of mine...)

Here you go! (And here’s a link to AO3 for those who’d prefer to read it there). Ft. Jon being a creeper, mostly lowkey tension. someday I’ll write fic for these characters where they manage to DO something

One of his greatest frustrations is that he’s never had the Bat in his hands for a full session. FT was useful as a weapon, delightful even, but it reached its full potential when Jonathan could use it as a tool of therapy. Take someone into its influence, through it down to their deepest fears; bring them into the light and let them run their course. Done properly it was an atheist’s exorcism; painful and ugly but a thing of beauty, where he played God and drew out the demons.

He has no doubt the Bat could use that.

The scraps he’s gotten so far have been fascinating enough. The first time he managed to sneak some FT past Batman’s paranoid defenses (powder form, dusted onto Nightmare’s wings before she flew into Batman’s face) the Bat had fallen back a step, arms raising a little, mouth falling open. Jonathan had approached, backed him into a corner, watched with breathless satisfaction as the Bat sank to his knees.

“Scary, isn’t it?” he asked gently. He liked how much smaller men like this looked when they were afraid. How the Bat looked far more human. “Tell me what’s scaring you.”

Batman hadn’t replied, for a long enough moment Jonathan wondered if he could. Then he reached out, and Jonathan had flinched back; but he was only clutching at Jonathan’s hand, like a kid on a dark street reaching for his mother’s hand. His eyes, momentarily visible behind the odd lenses of his mask, flickered unseeing around the room. He said, in a voice not quite his usual one, “It’s not safe…”

But police sirens had cut through the silence, then, and Jonathan had to break his grip and run.

The Bat was more careful after that. Nose filters, gas masks, sometimes wearing a mask that covered his whole face—Jonathan disliked that, for reasons he couldn’t quite articulate. Handling everything Jonathan might have touched as a hazardous material. But he couldn’t always be prepared. Once, he stepped into the room and looked surprised—he must have been after Jack, who Jonathan had been meeting with, and not heard that the Joker and Scarecrow had been sighted together. Jonathan had yanked his own mask into place so quickly it left a scrape on his jaw that ached for days, but it was worth it; he caught the Bat in a thick cloud of FT.

It had been a stronger solution. Batman was on his knees when the faint fog dissipated, frozen for a moment; then he scurried into the corner like a frightened animal. “Tendency to put your back to walls,” Jonathan observed out loud, following him. “Expected, in a victim of trauma such as I assume you to be.”

Jack had been in the background laughing quietly to himself (FT took him in an odd way, causing rapid mood swings and occasional bouts of impulsive behaviour; doing little more than speeding him up, essentially). Jonathan ignored him, adjusting his mask as he stood over Batman. “Scared?” he asked him. Obvious, leading questions were your best bet with FT victims. A little fear could keep you sharp, but a lot made you stupid. Jonathan knew that from experience. “Are you scared?”

Part of him just wanted to hear the Bat admit it, just once. Confess a night horror, maybe cry a little. Just seeing him crouched with his back to the wall, gloved hands shaking, was a small satisfaction, but Jonathan needed more. The Bat had seen him screaming; it was only fair. He leaned in closer, fishing for the needle of FT he had stowed in his bag somewhere; the injectable form worked quicker and with more intensity.

Batman reached out, hand landing awkwardly on Jonathan’s arm, and clutched again. “No—”

Pleased at the response, Jonathan kept his hand in the bag. “What is it? What am I going to take out?”

“Gun,” Batman muttered. “Don’t.” Then he said something that might have been, someone could get hurt, but it was cut off by the smashing window. The Boy Wonder had ruined that session.

The third time had been the briefest, and the most strange. The air vents in the Wayne Tower had been pumped full of FT, so much so Jonathan could only suppose Batman couldn’t avoid breathing a whiff in, despite the gas mask he was wearing when he appeared. He was brittle, tense in a way he usually wasn’t, and when he slammed Jonathan against the wall Jonathan read the shiver in his hands and the wideness of his barely visible eyes and choked out a laugh.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked, not expecting an answer; the Bat hadn’t breathed in nearly enough to make him suggestible.

“Stop this,” Batman had said, and that was nothing new; but the follow-up was. “Someone—someone is going to get hurt. Jonathan, you could get hurt.”

He’d preached that line of thinking before, all that I’m just trying to save you from yourselves idiocy, but the shudder in his voice was new. Made it seem genuine. The Jonathan was odd too, so much more intimate than the usual Crane, occasionally graced by Professor.

But Jonathan lost his own mask shortly after that, and anything else that might have happened was lost in the sweet, painful haze of FT.

Tonight, neither of them are under the influence. The Bat’s mask held secure, and he shut down the tanks of FT Jonathan was planning to feed into the water supply at the source, ensuring that Jonathan wouldn’t get a secondary lungful (If Jonathan had possessed his backup doses, he might have availed himself of one; as painful as returning to Arkham in the middle of a panic attack was, the advantage of avoiding a long, awkward car ride with Batman beforehand made a little ‘accident’ seem appealing. Alas, he had used it up earlier that day).

“It would have helped, in the long run,” Jonathan says, just to break the silence.

“It would have destroyed the city.”

“Destroyed some of it. What was left would be stronger than before. And the benefit to science—”

“Would mean nothing, compared to the number of lives lost.”

Jonathan scoffs faintly, turning his gaze out the window. “You can never see the bigger picture.”

“I don’t think I want to see things the way you do, Professor Crane.”

“Why?” Jonathan glances over at him, the shadow behind the wheel; somehow managing to be a thing of fear and darkness even in a confined space, with his clawed hands on the wheel of a car. It’s an enviable ability. “What are you afraid of?”

The Bat is quiet, for a long moment. Then he says, “Those under my protection suffering.”

The words are oddly heavy, enough so that Jonathan feels the need to dismiss them. “Those under your protection? Am I included on that doubtless exclusive list?”

The Bat looks at him, light from the streets shining off the lenses of his mask. Jonathan doesn’t know whether he wants to shrink back or lean forward in his seat, afraid but hungry for the sheer intensity the Bat radiates in this moment.

“Yes,” he says. Flat and simple. He looks away, leaving Jonathan shaking slightly.

Few things feel sacred to him, but that confession does, and he doesn’t know what to make of it; how to proceed. All he can think, at last, is that when he next has Batman in his power he might try saying some things differently.

[shakeyourbewdy]

Mobile - About Kaiba

About Seto Kaiba

TL;DR the most important sections are GENERAL INFORMATION and HISTORY sections.

General Information

Name: Seto Kaiba

Age: Varies depending on universe, typically between 18 and 25.

Date of birth: October 25th.

Race: Japanese - Not entirely sure of other possible heritages.

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual - in general tends to prefer men.

Current residence: Domino, Japan

Relationship status: Depends on universe, but typically single.

Social status: Well-known heir of Kaiba corporation and Kaiba corporation side ventures.

Traits of Voice

Accent (if any): Depends on location - in Domino no noticable accent for residents.

Languages spoken: Japanese, English (Fluent), German (Fluent), some other various languages at moderate to low fluency.

Style of speaking: Well spoken but very disrespectful.

Volume of voice: Moderated - tends to raise his voice when excited or irritated.

Physical Appearence

Height: 6'1" or 186 cm

Weight: 143 lbs or 65 kg

Eye colour: Blue

Skin colour: Ivory

Shape of face: Triangle

Distinguishing features: So far as visible features, there’s not many. He has a pronounced nose but not many scars. He has a few moles that are not particularly outstanding. Insofar as the rest of his body, he has some scarring on his back and arms from Gozaburo’s abuse. He has some faint scarring on his neck, and tends to wear high collared shirts to hide them from view.

Build of body: Mostly lean but has some muscle definition.

Hair colour: Auburn Brown

Hair style: Between Medium and short - generally well maintained and brushed but can get messy, especially when he’s on his blimp.

Complexion: Fair and well maintained.

Posture: Good Posture. Carries himself confidently and keeps his spine straight.

Tattoos: None.

Piercings: None.

Typical clothing: High collared dress shirts or sweaters, dark or cool colors, slacks or leather pants, depending on how extra he feels that day. Loves trench coats, and tends to decorate outfits with as much punk flair as he’s able to while still looking professional. Everything is very well fitted to him.

Is seen by others as: Generally smartly dressed and well maintained.

Personality

Dislikes: That namby pamby magic bullshit.

Education: Home schooled until the age of 15 by Gozaburo Kaiba, but he has always had an aptitude toward logic puzzles and puzzle solving. He’s a child prodigy, and has often been lauded for his intelligence. He tested out of highschool as soon as he was legally able to.

Fears: Hates having his neck touched without warning, seeing children come to harm, seeing his brother injured, feeling empty or lost.

Personal goals: Grow Kaiba corp to provide entertainment for children and to help introduce games to more underprivledged children - also becoming the king of games.

General attitude: Perfectionist and snobby.

Religious values: Atheist.

General intelligence: Incredibly intelligent

General sociability: Generally pretty asocial.

Health

Sleeping habits: Poor - tends to sleep as little as possible.

Energy level: Moderately energetic.

Eating habits: Balanced - with the money to have access to some of the best nutritionists in the world he utilizes it.

Memory: Splotchy in places, in particular around the areas of trauma or the time he spent in the hospital.

Any unhealthy habits: Many - loses sleep, lives high stress all the time, doesn’t drink often but when he does he goes until he blacks out.

History (This section contains mentions of past child abuse)

Birth country: Japan

Briefly explain life story:

Seto’s parents passed away while he was still young, his morther dying when Mokuba was born and his father following fairly shortly after when Kaiba was around eight. His father and his mother had been the image of love that to Kaiba seemed ideal, and he noticed after her passing that his father never seemed entirely whole. After being sent to the orphanage and realizing that he was the only person that Mokuba had left in the world to rely on, he decided to step up as a protector, deciding that he would do everything in his power to help protect his brother because he was (and is still) the most important person in his life. He was generally a happy child in spite of the tragedy that seemed to mar his childhood. He found a lot of joy in playing board and card games with his younger brother. In his late childhood is when Gozaburo arrived at the orphanage when he was around the age of 10. After winning chess against Gozaburo he has hoped to improve the life of him and his brother, however he wasn’t aware of the trauma that would ensue at the hands of the millionaire. He was groomed to be a perfect heir, which would mean regular beatings and cruel and unusual punishments when he would show resistance of any kind.

It wasn’t until Kaiba’s early teen years that Mokuba showed any real knowledge of the abuse that Kaiba faced. Mokuba was a great comfort to his brother, but that didn’t stop the effects of extended trauma setting in for Kaiba. He would often have nightmares, severe anxiety as well as going through periods of extreme irritability, hostility, and isolation. Kaiba carried these behaviours with him well past his adoptive father’s death and in general refused to let anyone in close enough to hurt him aside from Mokuba. His exhibition of PTSD symptomns were extreme, but he didn’t seek help for them, not realizing that there was a problem. In his late teens he was extremely volatile, and would lash out wontonly at people around him, especially anyone who tried to worm their way into his heart.

Kaiba’s adult life had a rough start, feeling extremely lost and at a period of near self-destruction. He hit a massive rut between his late teens and early twenties and would regularly seek out comfort in alcohol. His nightmares, anxiety and depression were extremely intense. At this point in his life Mokuba voiced concerns and urged him to seek professional help, which he finally did around the age of 21. With help he functions better, but still struggles with it for many years, though he does progress and become less liable to snap and lock people out entirely.

Relationships

Parents: Parents are deceased. Doesn’t remember his mother well, but had a fairly good relationship with his father. On the other hand, he hates having his adoptive father, Gozaburo Kaiba, brought up to him, and will shut down or become aggressive if he is.

Siblings: Mokuba - Kaiba’s relationship with Mokuba is generally very positive. As with all brothers, they do argue sometimes, but since Kaiba woke up from his coma and got some priorities straight, he has realized that his brother is the most important person in the whole world to him, and he would do anything to see his brother happy and safe.

Any enemies (and why): Kaiba has many professional enemies, both inside and outside of his company. Outside of professional situations, he doesn’t tend to make an enemy of most people – rather he considers them rivals such as Yugi and Joey/Jounouchi. (He will never admit to the ladder if he can help it.)

Friends: Kaiba doesn’t really have “friends” in the traditional sense. He would consider Mokuba his closest friend, and more reluctantly he would consider Yugi a friend perhaps three arm lengths removed.

Combat

Peaceful or violent: Generally nonviolent but is quick to defend himself or use cruel indirect means to get people out of his way or out of his life. Has definitely eased up some in his older years.

Others

Occupation: Kaiba Corporation CEO

Current home: Kaiba Mansion, Domino, Japan

Pets: Kaiba generally doesn’t keep pets. He prefers more the more “intelligent” and “quiet” animals, so animals like Cats or Birds are more up his alley, though he doesn’t go out of his way to adopt them.

[nicemango-feed]

Not Oppressed Enough : Being the Wrong kind of Ex-Muslim

For those asking over the past few days, wtf happened to start these mob attacks on me: Well...I'm not entirely sure, because they sort of came out of the blue. There's a general rift in left-leaning atheists and right-leaning atheists. And 'right-leaning' is seen as some sort of slur, when it's just an observation based on the politics coming from some of these types. If you're anti-left on everything, and rarely ever anti-right...it says something. Especially today.  This split continues to become more pronounced in these times of the rise of the far right. While lefties are looking to focus some of their criticism there, others are trying to resist and silence that criticism. 

Basically a few days ago, some dude I had never heard of, called @FuriousFossa was upset that I tweeted about not knowing what Taqiya was till I got on twitter. Despite growing up in Saudi. Because this didn't confirm his previously held beliefs, what good are ex-muslims if they can't confirm your bullshit views?!  Then, someone upset him further by saying that people using that term while criticizing Islam are usually bigots. OMFG the B word!! We have to be extra PC with that word, so as not to upset the delicate sensibilities of the anti-PC, anti-sjw crowd, why can't everyone know that!! 

And I'd agree, people insisting on using that word are usually pretty loony...(as was proven in this case).  I've got news, Muslims can lie without any special religious permission. Just like any other theist.  This isn't a widespread muslim conspiracy to deceive people. It's a niche concept that most aren't even aware of. And I mean, there's just so much actual terrible stuff that is commonly practiced  in Islam (polygyny for one) to criticize anyway, there's little reason to cling defensively to obscure things like Taqiya.  Here's another ex-muslim perspective on this: 

Fossa was also upset I wrote something (to someone else, not him) about how pointing to ISIS is a great whataboutery tactic for apologists of the western right. Just point to ISIS, it'll always be worse, and you're off the hook. 

That's it two strikes for me, and he decided he wanted to disprove my entire background and lived experience. This way, you know, once I was totally discredited...at least he'd know I was wrong about the concept of Taqiya, and he was right!  Trying to prove me dishonest, after being upset I didn't confirm his views on a dishonesty concept in Islam....almost like...trying to prove me a taqiya-er. How taqiya-esque.  

It got me accusations of deflecting away from the obvious point that ISIS is worse (which i'm sure I've said myself roughly about 9465 times. I just don't feel the need to utter it every time... with literally any other criticism of anything other than Islam. 

It also got me accusations of trying to deflect from criticism of Islam. Lol. 

Yeah. I'm sure it does take a little more than a bio, maybe like years and years of work of criticizing Islam, that are useless now apparently because I also criticize the Western right. These criticisms can't get any less intelligent, honestly. 

*** Then...of course, Lalo - always on the lookout for jumping on any criticism of me, Joined in and helped to float the conspiracy theories to a larger audience (who knows why - I've barely interacted with the guy in ages...he's still always infuriated with me). And then Yasmine, who, it seems, had it out for me since we had a private falling out during Gad's last unhinged meltdown at me. 

#TheTriggering of @gadsaad http://pic.twitter.com/F2ifbm3UcB

— Armchair Critic (@JoelRDodd) December 2, 2016

Because she, as my friend, publicly tweeted how those attacking me, and me were equally 'embarrassing' or something. I tried to privately discuss it with her, she deleted her tweet I believe, but it was clear she wasn't too sympathetic to the attacks on me because, she tweeted I was equally at fault..and because I criticized Gad/Rubin's far-right associations in the first place. People she clearly considered allies. I was pretty disappointed and put off, but my reaction was not to go out and slander her. I just silently disengaged and went about doing my own thing, which still included criticizing Gad and Rubin's shady associations.  Of course, silly me. I didn't learn or keep my mouth shut after the last round of baseless attacks. Lalo even tried circulating the 'she's not a real ex-muslim' thing that time, but I think it got lost in Gad's endless stream of hate.

Then months later, this happened. This time Lalo got more traction.  *** The Nitty Gritty Gather round peeps, I’m gonna share a really absurd tale about supposed ex-muslim allies, supposed critics of sjw style 'oppression olympics' and sjw ideological purity tests…but who are now furious because an ex-muslim they disagree with ideologically/politically in their minds was not oppressed ENOUGH. 

A fellow ex-muslim, that I have personally promoted, jumped in happily to weigh-in on the drama and attempt to negate my lived experience by claiming I just *dabbled in oppression*, haven’t truly experienced it or anything… My life was like a 5 star resort apparently...and everyone else seems to be a good judge on what kind of life I had in sharia-land.

I wasn’t oppressed enough in Saudi fucking Arabia…This is a *real* objection raised by some, including a fellow ex-Muslim. 

Let that sink in.

It's not even by people I actively debate or disagree with…but people I have little to no interaction with. They don’t understand the first thing about life in Saudi, none of them have lived there.. but are telling others far and wide what my life experience was like. They are giddy from having ‘exposed’ me, caught me out in some lie about the duality of life in Saudi Arabia as an expat. They've been working hard for this one. 

Oh my. 

Whatever will I do now. They’re on to me.  

Not like I’ve podcasted about the duality of life in Saudi here, here, here, or here….and not like i’ve specifically addressed this strange juxtaposition in articles myself or anything. I have never claimed to be the most oppressed person in Saudi Arabia, quite the opposite in fact. I have always talked about being lucky to have the kind of life I did there. But, despite that...my life certainly wasn't free from the application of Sharia law, from standard Islamic theocracy regulations, that were just absorbed into my life as 'normal' because I knew little else. 

Yet - They have clipped some audio, from *my own show*…that I do *publicly*…to demonstrate how ‘dishonest’ and contradictory i’ve been. 

Great question indeed. Maybe try checking out the work of the person you're accusing, your question might be addressed in the very episode you're clipping. 

(let me come out and say now that I’ve lived in both Saudi and Pakistan, lest they do some other genius clip about my ‘contradictions’ ..sometimes you will hear me talking about going to school in Saudi, sometimes you will hear me talking about going to school in Pakistan. It’s because both are true… not because I’m a secret spy or Taqiyya-er who can’t keep her lies straight) 

This is almost too easy to mock and ridicule, I feel embarrassed for them, I do, and I’d normally just ignore insignificant people.. but they keep going on and on. They keep being told how wrong they are at each turn too. Brutal. But they’ve backed themselves into a corner now… the only thing they can do is double down and lash out at me…Not admit they made a mistake or something, and were wrong to accuse me based on zero evidence. That would be the decent thing to do.  

A lovely summary from the detached-from-reality point of view, calling me an insult to women and ex-muslims suffering under sharia, this was posted on lalo's public thread. 

I imagine this will only get crazier as their rage grows…because they cannot discredit me based on things I’ve been entirely honest about. Since I'm the wrong kind of ex-muslim, I do not get the charitableness anonymous ex-muslim accounts they don’t have issues with get. 

Mostly, people on both ends have an issue with me because I refuse to pick a team. I think criticizing both Islamic far right and western far right is important. And I think in Trumpian times, Its vital to focus *some* of my critique on the western right and its apologists. When that toxic stuff overlaps with criticism of Islam, it does nothing but muddy the waters, and hold back valid criticisms from resonating with the mainstream. ***

Know this:

I do not exist to confirm any narratives. 

I occasionally deviate from my appointed role as provider of anti-Islam masturbatory material. 

I exist simultaneously as an ex-muslim woman who grew up under Shariah (that’s right I said it again), who will harshly criticize Islam when relevant, as an expat from Saudi who will tell you that in some bubbles life in Saudi was pretty secular at times, and as a *Western* liberal feminist. So I will have critiques of western sexism and misogyny too. And I will speak up against anyone pitting different aspects of my identity against one another. Do not use sharia to silence western feminists, and do not use western perspectives to silence women who speak up about hijab, etc. This is whataboutery. Women everywhere should want to better their situation. We are far from perfect equality even in the west.

I am happy to criticize feminism when it goes off the rails, but I do not buy into the “feminists are the real sexists” bullshit, or the western feminists should stfu because they aren’t getting stoned to death. 

Anyway, I will have happy memories of my childhood in a secular compound in saudi…I will have tales of women bathing topless at my compound pool…and I will also have tales of being forced into a black bag against my will because of the ‘Muttawas' or morality police as we called them. I will have tales of having a great secular education, and I will have tales of horror where I, only a child, saw my mom’s ankles hit by a muttawa’s cane because her headscarf slipped in the market. I will have tales of being shepherded quite literally with sticks by morality police in Mecca who herd the women hastily into a segregated prayer area for women. I will have tales of being pushed to the ground and almost trampled because of the morality police forcefully segregating us in Mecca. I will have a story or two about running…being chased by muttawas as they yell behind me for my headscarf slipping…of narrowly making it into a car that was driven for me (because I did not have the right to drive)…and of the muttawas catching up, and grabbing on in vain to a little bit of black fabric as our car sped off and it slipped through their hands. I will have such stories of escaping the morality police in the street.. and of feeling fear, and… of feeling comfort ...that for some hours I had a compound to go home to…and to shed the black cloaks that I wasn’t given a choice on. A reverse amish compound as I’ve literally referred to it before. 

I encompass all those identities and I’ve repeatedly, honestly explored them with my audience…I’ve pointed to the absurd duality. Yet the savage internet mobs who hate me (which only used to consist of islamists at one point..but now they are fewer than the rabid western right wing apologists) have portrayed this as some great shady conspiracy. Some incredible contradictory set of stories that simply cannot be consolidated. 

It must be that I’m lying about one or the other. 

“Either you grew up on a compound, or either you grew up in sharia - which is it” — heaven forbid they put some thought into it and realize, well… oh…it can actually be both! Imagine that. 

Cue fellow ex Muslim, previous guest of my show Yasmine to jump in and cast further doubt. She posts an ad for the most extravagant compound in the entire country, and projects that onto my experience. My compound was nothing like Aramco, it was incredibly small and modest in comparison, but thats irrelevant, even if it were Aramco I'd have to experience Sharia every time I left. My life was not better than the life of most Canadians because I was still forced into a black bag against my will, pretty much every day. Morality police and their canes were a regular sight, I had few rights as a woman. But sure, please go out of your way to discredit my lived experience. Why they did this appalling thing, and insisted on it even after being told how it could be both...is beyond me.

Real classy. 

Lol, cuz growing up in Saudi in a compound is TOTALLY like vacationing in the nicest hotel in Havana for a few months. 

 Cue random person who just isn't satisfied:

Not good enough apparently.

Still not good enough.

"I don't like what Ali had to say so I'm going to fill in my own details despite never having lived in Saudi or knowing anything about life there." "Eiynah barely left the compound, went to school on the compound" Umm, No. Actually I left the compound every day, to go *to* school. I just love that details about my life are authoritatively being discussed, without any actual knowledge, ffs. Yes I barely ever had a real conversation with a Saudi, I've talked about this several times. It doesn't mean I didn't speak to Saudis on a daily basis in the markets, and shops, etc. It just means I never actually had the chance to know a Saudi national closely and have a proper conversation with them because we were kept segregated. Something I have discussed repeatedly. 

Not even multiple corroborations of this reality are convincing enough. No no, everyone who says this is lying, but these random internet people who know nothing about life in Saudi, are here to 'non-Saudi-splain' to me that my experience is inauthentic, that I’m an embarrassment to women who *really* live under sharia. I'm just an imposter, who lived under sharia but also had access to a community pool. So you know, discrediting my story is fair game. I also had air-conditioning. The luxuries I’ve been hiding from you all. 

This is the same group of people mind you, that get upset when people try to discredit Ayaan Hirsi Ali's lived experience of being a victim of FGM. But because I don't fit the mould they'd like me to, and also will criticize people within the islam-critical scene. You can make comics to mock and laugh at my life experience. 

Minus the *face* covering, both those pictures were my reality actually.

No amount of refutations of the lies put out there about me are enough. Surely anyone with a shred of principle would object to random false accusations being used to smear someone. I mean these ‘principled' types are out in droves when  someone slightly misrepresents Richard Spencer the nazi or Milo. “I don’t agree with their ideas but” just doesn’t extend over to ‘the wrong kind of ex muslim’ I guess. 

----Worse still…Yasmine, once a friend…someone who’s had a terrible experience under Islam no doubt.. I would never discredit her experience despite her vicious attacks on me, She’s someone I empathized with, with all my heart.. But somehow she has it out for me because I’m, you know,  a shit disturber who derails from *only* criticism of islam, by having a problem with fellow atheists when they promote rape apologists or… white genociders… why can’t i just keep my head down and perform the role that is laid out for me as an ex muslim? Criticize islam, thats it. ----

This is especially funny because the example of loony he uses is someone normalized, legitimized and promoted by..none other than the person he's defending. Also what is up with the weird mentions of "loyalty", like if you've disagreed with me on Rubin, no need to be "loyal", just be honest. I won't respect that view, but it's better than dishonesty.  

Yeah its totally mental and a delusion of grandeur to expect someone like Rubin who claims they are liberal to not promote rape apologists, like they've done nothing wrong...or white genociders. This is a convenient strawman of my position on Rubin, used repeatedly. I don't care if he aligns with me on every single thing, I enjoy some of Sam Harris' work, I don't agree with him on everything (as you might have noticed on my episode with him). I enjoy some of Maajid Nawaz's work...I don't agree with him on a lot, since he is an adherent of religion and I'm not. Heck, I don't think I agree with anyone on everything. But I do expect people to at least not look the other way on *rape* apologetics, White Genocide, Islamism...important values like that matter to me. they aren't some tiny, nitpicky details. For some people , I guess opposing *only* Islamism is important. (Oh, and not like I'm currently being targeted for a difference of opinion).   Ah, the lack of self-awareness. 

pic: via @vinikako

@NiceMangos @AkiMuthali It struck me as I was writing it that the people who've been going after you lately seem to want to establish an orthodoxy for ex muslims.

— Lefty Conspirator (@NoKnownFuture) March 31, 2017

Whatever mine and Yasmine's differences on Rubin were...was no reason to jump on the Lalo bandwagon to openly try to discredit my entire existence with no evidence. To post tasteless memes about me trying on some oppression, just dabbling in it for fun. 

A) "Dabbling in oppression." What kind of person do you have to be to say that sort of thing- and without any intimate knowledge of the person who's life you're talking about. B) It's not all about passports, but yes to a great degree, people in Saudi are valued more in the workplace depending on their passport - another thing I've talked about on my podcast. However, when living in Saudi I had a total, bottom-rung, treated like garbage Pakistani passport, not a Canadian one. Wrong again on all counts. C) I hope you don't ever criticize concepts of white privilege or PoC being romanticized, because that doesn't come close to this level of "oppression olympics".  It's just so so callous, can't wrap my head around this.

I’m at a loss for words, honestly. I wouldn't have expected stooping to this level. Though, things got a bit weird with her after Trump won, she was overly defensive about criticism of Trump voters. Since then, I’ve seen her compare DNC/Keith Ellison situation to Nazi Germany… in this TRUMP ERA

 … I’ve seen her rejoice at the GOP winning….

I'm sorry but "I'm so glad GOP won" isn't a liberal sentiment, even if in response to Linda Sarsour, who's basically the flip-side of the problem to Rubin. Another sanitizer, downplayer, legitmizer of another far-right. But somehow calling out this version of far-right apologist is ok!

 … I’ve seen her downplay the inhumane 'Muslim ban' that separated families. That could have potentially prevented people like her, from escaping the ME when they needed to. The idea that people around the world could be upset at the principle, despite a lack of their personal involvement... why is that so hard to grasp? 

  I'm happy to call out Linda Sarsour for this. But this is the same issue I take with Dave Rubin, he is masquerading as a liberal or at least pushing / doing apologetics for right wing conservativism, imo - And some people obviously prefer if you call out only *one* side of this. But sadly not only do they prefer it, they go after you in mobs, and try to discredit your entire being for speaking up on both.

My concerns of the easy slide to the right are pretty self evident. This is something ex-muslims are particularly vulnerable to, I myself have been courted by the right. But actively resisting it in the face of rising popularity isn’t something everyone can do. It's why I'm not too bothered about popularity. I'll happily take being less popular and more consistent. 

Anyhow, she’s used this whole dumping on me process to tag Rubin in a tweet…and whaddaya know… get a spot on the Rubin Report, as I had predicted! Prove me right, that’ll show me!

***

I guess it means that there’s not many of my views that they can effectively argue against if my critics have to resort to weird conspiracy bullshit about me not really being who I say I am. 

Imagine how stupid and risky it would be to make claims about being an ex-muslim from Saudi growing up under sharia and then to do a podcast series talking with people who lived there for real (unlike me)… about the details of life there. Why would I put myself in that situation? And if I wanted to make up my story, why not make up full oppression to the worst degree. Why this better compound life? 

@NiceMangos @AkiMuthali @SurlyCripple @StrictlySid unless you've lived under locally-sourced artisanal sharia, I don't want to hear from you

— Martin Mannion (@NataliasDad) March 30, 2017

Lalo know’s that I’ve seen my mother hit by morality police, he knows these experiences but still wants to question and delegitimize. These are the same people so disgusted (rightfully so) when Greenwald misrepresents Sam Harris. How are these guys any better I ask? If we cannot have standards simply because someone is Islam-critical, then we are no better than the Greenwald's we so love to criticize.

#NotShariahEnough 

Lets remember what’s really important here though... I am not oppressed enough. I am just pretending to be because it’s hip.

Thanks Yasmine! 

So being forced to wear a hijab can be oppressive even in Canada (I agree). But being forced to do so by the state in Saudi is just 'dabbling in oppression'...like life in a 5 star resort! 

It's baffling, it is.

But the only ongoing beef this crew has with me is over a difference of opinion on someone like Rubin or Douglas murray. Inevitably, if you probe their criticisms of me they end up around the fact that I don’t like Douglas Murray, that I had the audacity to have Sam on my show and do something other than talk about what we already agree on (yes, Islam sucks), that I had the audacity to ask Sam his views on or make him aware of what other prominent atheists are doing, that I shouldn’t criticize Rubin (no matter how much evidence I have) - It’s petty to go after bad actors on this side apparently. But its incredibly noble to go after Werleman, or Reza Aslan or Linda Sarsour or Glenn Greenwald. 

Opposing bad ideas& apologists for people with bad ideas consistently is ‘tribal’ & ‘petty’. Picking a side and avoiding self-criticism is truly rational. Heck if I thought that way, I’d never have left Islam.  (But have I really? how will we ever know?)

Yup, its the left that can’t tolerate dissenting views. Meanwhile Lalo blocked me long ago for having a conversation on MY podcast, with someone entirely unrelated.. whom he claimed to not even know… sure never mind it was known anti-muslim conspiracist who thinks Maajid Nawaz behaves like an Islamist. And Obama may have been a secret muslim. My questioning Robert Spencer so deeply offended Lalo, the champion of tolerance and rationality… 

lol.

And remember, I'm the one supposedly with 'mental' 'delusions of grandeur' about people having to align 100% to my views for me to like them.

Now we’re at a point where the desperation to discredit me for wrongthink is so evident… my criticism of Rubin, Gad and co is based only on what they actually say or do, observable facts, I am happy to provide proof for any allegations of them promoting far-righters or even to talk to them, but none of these Classical Liberals wish to engage with the actual criticism, and none of them want to talk to me.… So - in retaliation for my evidence based criticism I get smears based on nothing…and some onlookers think this is a tit for tat. It’s being framed absurdly, as an equivalence. Which I will object to every time.

Lol, I'm the monster for objecting to what Rubin does. Not Rubin, for promoting rape apologists.

And, this is the passionate defense Rubin gets..that doesn't even engage with the criticism of him. It's not who he has on, but how he talks to them.

Yes, my cunt-like overreaction after days of being dragged through the mud, consisted of me simply saying its 'bullshit' to equate me with the people smearing me. And not to tag me in such tweets again.

Imagine if someone you considered a friend and ally suddenly interjected themselves into a public smear campaign about you, simply to put out a false equivalence to tens of thousands of followers.And basically say, 'its not my problem'...so they're all cool. Well, I guess it'll be #NotYourBeef next time someone is slandering Ayaan, as well. I mean of course, if someone finds themselves caught in an awkward position, theres the option of just steering clear and not involving yourself. Which I'd totally respect. But if you're going to publicly say they're A-Ok after what they did to me, then I will always object. #WhatACunt, couldn't even graciously accept a respectful equation between people lying about me, and me.

I'll say this again, I’m criticizing someone who is promoting far-righters in an environment ripe with hate crimes (very much the flip of what Linda Sarsour does with Sharia/Saudi Arabia, etc.)…There’s a legitimate reason to do this… this is not about hating someone personally. It's as necessary imo, as this very group of people think their criticisms of Cenk, Reza, Linda, CJ Werleman are.

The attacks on me are however are just pure hate…disagree with my actual views any time. I'd welcome honest disagreement, but don’t lie about me ffs. As Lalo says:

The Irony. 

If I respond and defend myself against such baseless accusations I’m accused of being the petty one who just won’t shut up and let people spread lies about me. Ugh Eiynah….why so petty? Why can’t you just let people say hateful ridiculous stuff about you? The other 'petty fight' she's referring to below, is the previous Gad meltdown. Which consisted of days of him bashing me as an 'anonymous troll', 'Queen of anti-semites', 'plumpy pineapples'...because Jerry Coyne posted a pretty mild (evidence-based) comment of mine about Gad and Rubin promoting far right people like Tommy Robinson, PJW of Infowars. His meltdown is documented in this thread.

Anyhoo, I wanted to make note of this instance for just how crazy hypocritical it has been. Who knows where we’ll go from here…this is the ‘community' that supposedly values evidence but has few issues with the guy who legitimizes Infowars while crying that mainstream media are fake. This is the community that is constantly, (rightfully) upset at Ayaan being silenced for her harshly critical views on Islam, but won't really care if some from within are trying to silence ex-muslim views on the internal problem of legitimizing western far-righters. If you care about ex-muslims and muslim women's rights so much...you should technically care if the people potentially mistreating them are muslims or western far righters.

On paper many will have the correct answer to opposing the right wing hijack of criticism of Islam, but putting that into practice, gets met with resistance and character assassinations as you can see. 

They call themselves ex-muslim allies. Nope… just when ex-muslims stick to criticism of Islam, and serve a purpose… 

They are bothered by my anonymity now.. but had no issues with it for years when I mostly just criticized Islam. (They have no issues with more agreeable ex muslim accounts either). Now, I'm this 'divisive' person who won’t stfu about the Western right, when hitler salutes are in existence again. Let's stick to the important facts though, it's the left that's always at fault.  Misrepresenting even people like Richard Spencer. He's not a white supremacist, silly lefties, he's a white nationalist.

Rubin and Lauren Southern talk about how Spencer isn't really a white supremacist and no one knows the arguments against white nationalism http://pic.twitter.com/h0y06Uur4T

— Tom Bloke (@21logician) March 2, 2017

***

There are many offshoots to this attack on me too… so many ppl with all this rage uniting against me … its really rather sweet that everyone came together like this to pile on total lies, false equivalences between me and my smearers.

Right, I'd LOVE to see evidence of this. I once long ago said that mocking muslims as dirty for eating with their hands, is not a legitimate criticism of Islam. This borders on some real weird bigoted territory. And this woman has obsessively stalked my twitter ever since, despite being blocked.

I'm sure she has no troubling views or anything.

Lol, in this instance its not her, but others are clearly using it to get her on yet another wonderful, totally liberal show with no history of far right support.

Staunch A (from above screenshot) has residual anger for me, because I wrote a blogpost calling out an anti-migrant publication she worked for. Run by the guy who tweets this stuff:

According to Yasmine I smear everyone, even though she participated in smearing and discrediting *me* completely uninstigated. To them smearing is simply when other people object to their lies. When people defend themselves... its an attack. Ok then.

This is truly some detached-from-reality, totally lacking self-awareness stuff. A) Smear someone, sling mud. B) Post tasteless memes negating their lived experience, because u don't like their views C) Accuse them of being intolerant of differing opinions D) Accuse them of smearing *everyone* & mud-slinging, when they defend themselves. E) Say you're the victim in all this. F) yes the only reason i'm speaking up about her now in the middle of a smear campaign is because she's more popular than me. That must be it.

***

If I emotionally distance myself from this cyber-flogging for my crime of blaspheming against Gad/Rubin/Murray its actually a fascinating case study of in-group out-group politics... and hardcore tribalism from people who are claiming to reject tribalism. 

All they can do is think critically about pre-approved opponents Reza or CJ werleman, Cenk, Greenwald, Sarsour… if someone in their perceived in-group has the exact same tactics they’ll go out of their way to demonize anyone calling that out...

Charges against me

I said Yasmine was pandering to the Right and said she was an opportunist for using this specific instance to get airtime on Rubin. - provable through her own tweets, fb posts. Like seriously…she can go around discrediting my entire existence, post memes about me dabbling in oppression to be cool or something, and I can’t even in response point to actual behaviour I’ve observed, that might explain why out of the blue she chose to do this? As someone who promoted her, I think I can safely say she used me and my platform and publicly discarded me when she had no more use for me. I can’t even begin to fathom what kind of ex-muslim would say ‘she dabbled in oppression’ about another. 

I criticize Rubin, Gad and Douglas Murray - only ever based on what they actually say/endorse..not on personal attacks. Though Dave and Gad have tried to retaliate via personal attacks. I welcome disagreement with my views, and have offered to speak to them many times. But they avoid engaging with my actual criticisms and avoid discussion.

I say Dave and Gad pander to the right - how is this even controversial? "Mr. Why I left the left, let me work with Dennis Prager on how shitty the left is", and "Mr. 'Trump has the superior position on Islam', and 'let me get Geert Wilders on my show to piss of Eiynah'"

I’m divisive - sure only as divisive as anyone pointing out Islamism is bad and apologists for it are bad. 

I deflect from criticism of Islam - um.. nope? Have u seen my work? I just object to people using Islam to deflect from criticism of the western right. 

I haven’t been oppressed enough. - Lol 

I have not had as hard a life as people who didn’t live in a compound in Saudi - agreed. Never claimed that I did, in fact always have made this distinction, if u only took the time to look into my work, listen to my conversations with Saudi women.

My claim of growing up under sharia is untrue - Nope. 

I once said to someone in a Tweet i’ve only personally *met* about 3 niqabis - so i must not know much about oppression/Sharia. Er, no. Having personally *met* and sat down with very few niqabis doesn’t mean i didn’t grow up around them, go on the bus with them every day, see them in the market all around me, see them in every waiting room, community gathering etc, etc. I personally don’t have such a religious family, and we don’t personally know such extreme religious people. I’ve met a handful, and its really uncomfortable talking to people in a black mask. I’ve lived around them my whole life though, and probably had many insignificant interactions with them. But no, I just don’t *know* many is all. 

My ex muslim story is so dubious that even EXMNA had to reject me - Nope. Refuted. But not retracted, by Mr. Honesty himself. 

It was mean of me not to graciously accept Michael Sherlock’s public false equivalence of people who smear me and me, right in the eye of that storm. I said that’s bullshit, so its understandable he jumped to “You are the monster u revile” “You are a crazy cernovich conspiracist about Rubin” (yeah ok if u think cernovich is crazy, then u should have no problem with the fact that i think Rubin normalizing cernovich’s craziness, is crazy) and then “cunt” x 2. - I’ll say it again…what an asshole thing to do to a friend…I have not known Michael to be like this, so I’m wondering if he was abducted by aliens or something ? Or if my criticism of Rubin had been building up as some sort of anger towards me? I don't know.

I’ve said before that in Saudi many of us weren’t aware of the extent of how barbaric some of the punishments were - like of course we heard about public beheadings and those rumours circulated, they weren’t publicly discussed or acknowledged in detail because…as any idiot would know, life in Saudi Arabia is a heavily censored in many ways. One of the most censored and silenced topics is the violation of human rights in Saudi. This doesn’t mean I have no experience living under sharia, it means this is one of the effects of living under sharia ffs. Information is kept from you in an Orwellian way. #NotShariaEnough indeed. Where else do you live under fear of morality police, think sneaking around with alcohol (moonshine) as a teenager could lead to death or deportation, where else are you forced into black bags without your consent? Where else do you live life as a woman knowing you are a second class citizen. That if you are potentially raped, there is no real recourse. Where else could you  experience morality police canes? 

I once said this to a guy in very frustrating conversation, where not even this was as bad as sjws to him.   

which is presented by my critics as me saying all people who like or have been on Dave's show are fans of white supremacy and rape apologetics. Now if you actually read what I said, it says…”if you don’t have a problem with the promotion of those things” , clearly.. you’d be a Rubin fan… this is pretty self explanatory I think. But by now you’ve seen my critics aren’t very smart at all. Dave Rubin demonstrably promotes white genociders (a white supremacist conspiracy theory that builds fear about interracial 'breeding') and rape apologists unchallenged, laughed Mike Cernovich's rape apologetics off as 'Rattling Cages' ffs. This is one of the main criticisms against him. If thats fine with someone, or they are happy to look the other way because he serves some other agenda of crushing the evil SJWs who run the world…. then why would they NOT be a Dave Rubin fan? If you can overlook these things, yeah you'd be a Rubin fan. Im sure many people are Rubin fans just out of ignorance though, who aren't aware of the bigger picture or details of the kinds of people he's promoting, because he doesn't present these troubling guests accurately. In fact he presents them in the best light possible, as allies. But if you know, and don't find it to be a problem that's troubling. 

I hate that Dave Rubin talks to controversial people - No. I’d be fine with his exact same guest list if he simply challenged these guests on some of their disturbing views, or if he at least made his audience aware of why these people are controversial in the first place. Instead it’s a nodfest. This is very harmful, especially in this political climate. And has visibly made the atheist scene toxic and overlap hugely with infowars /alt-lite/alt-right audiences. I actually really enjoyed David Pakman's interview with Richard Spencer. He did what Rubin pretends to. 

I am somehow upset with Yasmine because she's more popular than me..haha. It certainly couldn't be that I decided I will no longer be silent about things I've observed about her, only *after* she contributed to negating my entire life story. Because those things might help to explain why she went after me like this. Also, last I checked I had quite a lot more followers, undoubtedly she'll get more if she goes the Rubin/Gad/Lalo route..but it hasn't happened just yet...so that too, is just false. I also said she was pandering to the soft right, not that she is right wing. 

Ok but with Brilliant arguments like this, they definitely got me here:  

Clearly this is a contest between Abu Bakr al Baghdadi and Dave Rubin. Because Jihadis will always be the worst, undoubtedly (and we come full circle from how this started with Fossa being angry 'I deflect from Islam')…I guess worrying about the rise of far right hate and extremism in the West where many of us critics of Islam live, is just silly and frivolous. Not like the US has stepped few decades back in the past months or anything. Nothing to see here. Promoting white genociders and anti-feminists should proceed as normal. 

Sadly this is the state of self proclaimed liberal twitter atheists, they resort to fox news tactics. And I'm not supposed to notice there's a problem. 

Why can’t I just pick a team and stfu with all this inconvenient in-group criticism. It’s tribal *not* to. Such a smeary cunt-monster cuck, Eiynah. And I bet you haven't learned your lesson yet, about staying silent on these things. I bet you think the resistance to this shows just how important this topic is to discuss. No ideas above scrutiny, freedom of speech, etc.

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How about now? Will you be quiet now? --- Nope. ----------------- Thanks to those who stuck by me during the smear campaign. Thanks to those who are real friends, and thanks to those who support my work. New Patrons and old. Much love to you all. If you'd like to support my work you can do so here

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