#twitter deserves to die just for inflicting that on the world

[hedgehog-moss]

I’ve been thinking about that twitter thread about how DNI lists are becoming a norm on social media especially among young people, and also becoming more and more performative... It feels like people are longing for the boundaries of the old internet, back when it was mainly forums and personal websites (or old school blogs). Boundaries between “private” and public areas were clearer—sure your blog was public, but it wasn’t public in the sense that all of its content was easily and freely circulated outside of your realm of control; it was hosted some place where you were in charge of who interacted and in what way, by having a comment moderation policy (which effectively worked as a “DNI if you’re [xyz] or disagree with me”), or deleting guestbook entries, etc. You could also delete a webpage or blog entry and it wasn’t still available on thousands of strangers’ pages.

Meanwhile forums (I’m talking in the past tense though obvs they still exist) were understood to be public spaces where this personal control wasn’t a thing because the very point of them was to allow people to interact; normal users couldn’t delete their own posts let alone other people’s reactions to them, and people would have been laughed at for putting DNIs in their forum signature. So you’d often choose to share different things or express yourself differently on a personal blog vs. forum, or at least you’d know exactly what to expect / the limitations of each space.

Social media / microblogging platforms feel like blogs while being forums which blurs the boundaries and makes people want to control who interacts with their opinions / art / etc because they’re sharing things on a public forum that people used to keep to the relative safety and sovereignty of personal websites. And since DNIs aren’t a very effective interaction-control tool, they are repurposed as a performative image-control tool. The ultimate promise of social media after all is “if i can’t control anything else I can at least control how I’m perceived.”

[cosmicjoke]

Ah, jeeze, okay, just when I thought  Saezuru Tori wa Habatakanai (Twittering Birds Never Fly) couldn’t get any more intense or heartbreaking... I just finished chapters 34 and 35, and I’m a mess.  God, I really don’t even know what to say.  Well, if you haven’t read through to this point, I’m going to mention spoilers here, so stop reading if so.  But just the fact that Yashiro went into that confrontation with Hirata, with the intention to let Hirata kill him, my God, the revelation that Yashiro wanted to die, I nearly burst into tears.  His internal monologue about how he ruined everything good, how he wanted to hurt hose he held dear, how he wanted to sully everything beautiful and destroy any chance at happiness, just, seeing the profound self-loathing in him during these moments, how much he hates himself, and in the same instant, how profoundly he misjudges himself, was truly one of the most tragic, heartbreaking things I’ve ever come across in any piece of literature and/or art.  

I know this has likely already been discussed through and through by fans who have been following this story since the beginning, but I have to talk about it.  The overarching reality of who Yashiro is, that we see throughout the entire story up to this point, is that he’s exactly the opposite of what he sees himself as.  Someone who destroys beautiful things, someone who hurts those he loves, etc... and yet every action Yashiro takes throughout the story is almost entirely to the benefit of others, and almost always at an often massive expense to himself.  The very reason he was dragged into the world of the Yakuza to begin with was to help Kageyama, to ensure he kept his practice as a doctor, and got to realize his own dreams, the person he was so in love with, but who never returned those feelings in kind.  That self-sacrifice, which Kageyama never even knew about, doing it purely for Kageyama’s benefit.  And then of course we see him do the same with Nanahara, and Ryuuzzaki and Musimi and Doumeki.  He just gives and gives and gives of himself, without ever asking for anything in return.  And yet he hates himself so deeply, and thinks so viciously, tragically lowly of himself, and it all roots back to the abuse he suffered as a child.  It’s such a deep and meaningful examination of the impact of child abuse on a person’s life, and the way it refuses to sugarcoat that, or undermine it, really forcing the reader to see the devastation it’s wrought on the life of a person with a genuinely good and kind heart, it’s just beyond words in how moving that is.  

The big moment when this becomes more obvious than ever (even though it was plain as day before) of course is when Yashiro fights back against Hirata after he shoots Doumeki.  When just moments before he was willingly allowing himself to be beaten and then choked to death by Hirata, ready to accept his own death, thinking it was what he deserved, was the only logical path for someone like him, but then, the instant Doumeki is hurt, that’s when we finally see Yashiro fight back.  He regards his own life a completely valueless, and feigns at indifference towards those he loves and cares for, but his actions here tell the truth of it.  The line that broke my heart so completely was when he referred to his own life as a “worn out life”.  He could see no reason any longer for him to continue on, saw no purpose or value in it.  

I think what also really struck me during this scene was how, even when he finally fights back against Hirata, he doesn’t kill him.  He doesn’t even hit him with that rock hard enough to incapacitate him, and that really reflects back on another detail you notice about Yashiro throughout the story, which is that he never actually kills anybody.  He never really, seriously hurts anybody.  Despite living in a world of incredible violence, and despite having his entire life been treated as an object to be used, he doesn’t ever really abuse anyone himself.  He thinks he does, but his own perception of himself is so warped by years upon years of mistreatment by others.  And again, that’s such a horrifically tragic aspect to his character.  A self-loathing born of the abuse inflicted upon him by others, and not of anything he himself actually is.  He reminds me incredibly of Ash from Banana Fish in that regard.  

It also reflects back on what Ryuuzaki says of Yashiro, that he was never cut out to be a Yakuza, and his own frustrations and confusion about how he’s the only one who seems to see that about Yashiro.  He could always see Yashiro was, in his heart, actually such a gentle, and kind person, not at all made for the cut-throat cruelty of that world he was living in.  And yet Yashiro can’t see that about himself at all either.  He thinks that world is the only one where he could belong, or keep on living.  It’s so, so sad.

The other thing too, of course, is that ALL of these people care deeply about Yashiro, and are deeply loyal to him, because they can see that he’s actually this incredibly good person.  Like Nanahara says to Kageyama, he’s actually “really cool”.  There’s people all around Yashiro who care about and loves him immensely, but he can’t see that, because he thinks so little about himself, once more because of the abuse he’s suffered.  Again, that’s the definition of tragic.

Anyway, I have about a million thoughts regarding all of this, and I still haven’t caught up entirely on the series, so I’m gonna have to go do that now.  But Jesus, this manga has moved me to an unbelievable degree, and stirred my heart so much.  It’s genuinely poignant and beautiful and meaningful.  Ugh, I can’t recommend it enough.

[technobladetimestamps]

Nov 16 Stream Timestamps

Timestamps from Technoblade’s “THE REVOLUTION (dream SMP)”

Link to my youtube comment with all of the timestamps x

Timestamps with hyperlinks below

02:13  “This is a surprise tool which will help us later” / thumbnail isn’t foreshadowing / video thumbnails have to be big / stream thumbnails can be detailed 05:17  “The traitor is actually Jschlatt” / firework crafting 09:50  “The ratio is impeccable” 13:23  “Dream’s in the game! My audience retention rate” / vc with Tubbo & Quackity / traitor Jschlatt theory / “Are you high?” “A little” 14:47  “You’re a bit of a wildcard” “I am the most consistent character on the entire server” / “What’s this about getting into power” / “We’ll burn this bridge when we get to it” 15:54  “You really are such an English major” / “You’re an idiom” / malaphor / “I’m actually speaking twice as much English as you guys” 18:07  “I think Thunder is overcompensating in the chat” / “Where can you see me” “In my heart” (Karl & Quackity) / Karl not leaving vc 20:33  vc with Niki / “Did Tubbo just leave me? I spaced out for 2 seconds” / “You can’t call everyone the traitor” “I can & will” 22:45  “You know it’s an event when Skeppy’s here” / “You know it’s a big deal when Georgenotfound wakes up” / “Everyone leaves me” 23:31  explaining the traitor thing to Niki / “Maybe I’m a sleeper agent” / had to kill Tubbo 25:03  nothing happened with that creeper / Fundy interrogating Niki / “Why did I train her for MCC” 25:54  “Even YOU’RE leaving me” / sad music / “I’m sitting here with 203k viewers & it’s not enough for any of these streamers to bear talking to me for more than 60 seconds” / Skeppy joins vc to immediately leave 28:50  Karl has a gift for Techno / Karl is just here for the animatic 32:21  “At least the chat won’t leave me” / pays for his music 35:01  “I’m going to destroy the government so bad” / “I hate all of the farming updates on skyblock” 37:45  joining a vc / “I just got stood up in like 4...conversations in rapid succession” / “My new years resolution was to make friends & it’s november & I’ve made zero headway” / Eret switches sides 41:53  Ender chest setup / worried about hotbar management / potions > shields   43:13  vc with allies / “Karl you are literally the biggest third wheel I have ever seen” 45:03  angering the dogs / trident combo 47:13  “D!ck with one ball” (Tubbo) 50:25  “Let’s hope Wil overslept like [George]” 53:09  recruiting Eret / “If you fight on our side we’ll make you the King of Burger King” / “He’ll be an executive citizen” / “I’m surrounded by idiots” 54:58  putting Schlatt on the allies list / “Schlatt is an alcoholic high on protein power” (Fundy) 56:47  can’t trust Eret / “I hate it when you’re right” (Tubbo) / Wilbur joins vc 59:50  having a moment with Hubert / “Not even the mobs like me” / sad music / “I just gained 8k subscribers the sadness is gone” / cow pit exp farm 1:02:57  vc with Niki / “I’m going to join the other vc AHHHHH” 1:05:02  “Once everyone meets up...I have something prepared” / “Technoblade when are you not ready?” “When I joined the server” 1:09:38  “Who do you take me for? Of course I’ve read the Art of War. It’s written by Mozart” / battle planning 1:12:18  “This is the betrayal...happening very slowly” 1:13:35  Pan1 / “This revolution is so doomed” 1:15:29  Dream attack / Quackity dies 1:18:07  “Agree Retweet” / “Violence is the only universal language” / “i have a supply” / “Why do you talk in upwards inflections constantly?” 1:19:57  Techno not getting to talk / “He took it all by force didn’t he” / “Fear into Ear” 1:23:50  Techno telling everyone he has a stash twice / distributing blue / mushroom the fox 1:26:49  Tommy talking over Techno again / “Stop going off on your tangents” “We have food at home” 1:29:30  vault reveal / Tubbo stealing emeralds / secret chest 1:32:40  “Shut up bro you are green as shit” (Tommy) / “Everyone give me back my stuff you don’t deserve it” 1:34:41  no netherite swords / “Who’s the traitor” “Promise we won’t be mad” 1:36:31  battle / Technoblade trident maneuvering / giving rocket launchers to Tubbo & Tommy 1:40:27  killing Karl / Dream bringing out the end crystals / fighting invis Dream / purpled switches sides 1:43:57  Dream wants to talk / 309k / group photos 1:46:08  vc with Dream / “But only if my enemy insists” / in the van with Schlatt / “What are you doing in my drug van? It better not be drugs” / Tommy preparing to shoot Schlatt 1:54:42  “We won” / “We killed an old man with heart problems! It only took 20 of us!” / President Innit / subscribe to Technoblade sign 1:55:57  Dream & Techno talk in chat / Tommy speech / “It was meant to be” / “I don’t think anyone is bowing to Tommyinnit” / “Karl don’t be weird” / Skeppy has a disc 1:59:06  Techno being apprehensive on mute / Tommy makes Wilbur President / “I’ll be the president” “I’m gonna veto that” / “Techno...you’ve taught me that government is not the way to go” / Wilbur makes Tubbo president 2:03:20  “I’m not sure I like where this is going x2” / “I’m not sure this is a good ending” / “Team chaos” “Perhaps” 2:06:20  Techno shoots Tubbo / Philza joins / “You think Schlatt was the cause of your problems? No. It was government” / speech gets interrupted / “The government ends here, I’ll kill it myself!” 2:09:23  Phil kills Wilbur / techno yelling for silence / “Tommy you just did a coup...& instilled yourself as president” 2:12:11  “If you want to be a hero THAN DIE LIKE ONE” / wither spawning / killing his former allies 2:15:09  post fight talks / “There will be no new government today. It will be over my dead body” / “Techno was not the traitor” 2:18:50  “I need to increase the crater that is L’Manberg so that no country can rise in its place” / “Mom says it’s my turn on the flame bow” 2:23:51  “What I’m doing right now is small scale. This is the work of an individual. This is nothing compared to the cruelty governments all around the world [inflict]...systematically” / “Llamas are the primary victims of war” / “I just wanna be apart of the explosion” (George) 2:27:06  Techno joins vc / connor joins the server / “I hope you’re proud of yourself Techno” “I kinda am” / Jack Manifold (Thunder) being broke / netherite armor 2:32:30  “Beach episode” / Techno accidentally joins the L’Manberg vc 2:35:16  the base is compromised / “There’s no way Technoblade would put a clock there if it didn’t mean anything” / got robbed 2:37:37  “If you’re going to ask me how I got all these emerald & arrows that’s a story for another day” / explaining the bedrock / “I can give everyone stuff & it’ll be such a flex” 2:40:24  Greek mythology 2:41:45  The Golden Apple / “They didn’t use discord back then they used skype, so can’t invite Eris” / “Zeus the god of feminism” 2:46:02  Eret recruiting Techno to kill George / joining vc / “Let’s stop him before he gets land” / Awesamdude proposing a fight 2:49:08  “No one can kill me I’m invincible” (logs out) / Dream literally names the turtle potions Sam thinks he hasn’t heard of / “I’m at soup” / “It’s not smack talk he just has that many items” 2:53:06  “Stab him Dream, I’ll shout encouraging words” / Techno fighting Bad & Ant 2:56:23  Dream wins / “I think there was this Dream guy attacking you with some sort of weapon” 3:00:11  turtle potions / Dream hyping up Techno about fighting BBH / Badlands negotiating with George 3:04:34  vc with Philza 3:07:00  spider farm afk’ing / lagging Quackity’s computer 3:09:06  smp earth / Phil only logged on to back Techno up 3:10:32  killing George / “I’m gonna drop his armor off don’t jump me” / not fighting Dream 3:13:00  vc with Karl & Phil / Karl definitely not starting a government / “Chat that was the boring part, don’t leave” / 320k / “Why do we keep scheduling these on Monday?” 3:16:18  “I don’t even want to think about how famous Tommy will be in the future” / “I get a tad bitter” / covid is good for youtubers but obviously bad / “I’m so good at socially distancing” 3:19:51  “Aren’t you tired of being nice Philza? Don’t you just wanna go crazy” / “You should be wary of the old in a profession where people die young” / vc with Eret 3:21:47  “What if you built a slightly larger throne next to it?” /  “How are they paranoid of a mole but the guy with a track record of being a traitor gets no questions asked” 3:25:47  “I’m gonna place a block at the bottom & kill you instantly” / reverse mlg /  emerald rich even with Tubbo’s theft 3:27:57  “I’ll allow it” / upstairs chests robbed / Eret disconnects with the book 3:32:04  armor sabotage bc he thought it’d be 1v5 / crystals are mutually assured destruction / Wilbur afraid of tnt getting blown up early 3:34:11  the diary was actually Eret’s / “He’s gonna tell everyone who I have a crush on. Nooo” / reading the 100 page book / “Can I not win here?” “No” 3:40:14  “This stream has released more serotonin in my brain than the last 6 months combined” / revolution was overcrowded / could improve the crater 2:43:09  “Awkward ten minute period where I’m just sitting there watching them set up a new government but I can’t kill them yet” / Carl is missing 3:44:34  “The one time Technoblade is gonna roleplay & they talk over him” / “CARL” / “As long as Sapnap isn’t the one that took him there’ll still be hope” 3:46:10  “Once you start using end crystals it’s the only pvp that matters & end crystal pvp is so lame” / Webtoons 3:49:10  “What’s going to happen to you & WIlbur now?” “I don’t know, I think I’m chill with Wilbur” / “The only thing that changed is my voice. Zero personal growth” / lines from the first speech that got interrupted / “King George is trending booo” 3:52:00  1 million twitter followers / “O god it’s been four hours...I am not built for this” / did a 13 hour stream once / sub growth goals 3:56:30  “What the heck is Phil watching”

[theexistentiallyqueer]

It’s been a while, what with me being being more active on Twitter these days, but I had some thoughts churning around in my brain and this felt like a better place to post them rather than threading them over there.

This is a post about Persona 5 and restorative justice. Before I go any further, though, a note: this is meta about restorative justice and prison abolition as ethical philosophies only, how it can be expressed/structured in works of fiction, i.e., Persona 5 and Persona 5 Royal, and what the importance of doing so is.

I should also note that I am not a philosopher, a legal scholar, or an activist, I just like to read, and I strongly encourage you to look into the topics I’m discussing in this essay. If you want specific recommendations you can DM me; again, this being meta about a video game, I think linking those titles here would diminish their importance regarding what they’re actually about.

Ready? Okay. Let’s get started.

what is restorative justice?

‘Restorative justice’ is a concept in ethical and legal philosophy that holds itself in contrast to two other kinds of justice: punitive and carceral. Punitive justice is justice as punishment, i.e., an eye for an eye, while carceral justice involves justice as the confinement of criminal offenders. While both have heavy overlaps with one another, they’re distinct in the generality vs the specificity of their outcome: punitive justice can involve the death penalty, property seizure, permanent loss of rights, etc., carceral justice refers strictly just to the incarceration of criminal offenders in institutional facilities (jails, prisons, etc.).

Restorative justice, in contrast, roots itself in the understanding of closing a circle: the best and most holistic way to heal harm one person inflicts on another is to have the person who inflicted the harm make reparations to the person they hurt in a tangible and meaningful way. This can take many forms, and if you’re passingly familiar with restorative justice already, you may have heard about it involving the offender and the victim meeting face-to-face. This does happen sometimes. Personal acknowledgement of the harm you’ve inflicted on someone is important, and direct apologies are important, but these need to also be coupled with actions. The person behind a drunk hit-and-run of a parent could help put their orphaned child through school, or a domestic abuser could be made to take counseling and go on to help deter domestic violence in other households, and so on. 

The vast majority of states across the world use punitive/carceral models, though small-scale community trials of restorative justice have been attempted, to varying degrees of success. No one is going to argue that it would be easy to implement, but it is important. Restorative justice is about recognizing that crime, specifically crimes against other people, are fundamentally still about two people: the perpetrator and the victim. And we have to look beyond the words perpetrator and victim to recognize that they are both human beings and challenge ourselves to build a society where our concept of justice means healing hurts instead of retaliation.

It’s not easy, but it is possible. It requires changing your own perceptions of justice and humanity and society and the big wide entire world to have the kind of mindset that allows it to be possible. But it is possible, and I know that from personal experience, because it’s my own mindset and I’ve been through trauma too.

prison abolition and the god of control

Persona 5 has an authority problem. By which I mean, Persona 5 has a problem challenging authority in any way that functionally matters.

The game is drenched in heavy-handed prison imagery, from jail cells to wardens to striped jumpsuits to cuffs and chains to an electric chair. Throughout the long build-up of the main storyline we’re treated to a confectionery delight of punitive justice, stick-it-to-the-man justice: the Thieves find a bad guy who coincidentally has personally hurt or is actively hurting one of their members, and they take it upon themselves to make the bad guy miserable and then send him off to jail. By the end of the arc you’re meant to feel like you accomplished something heroic, that by locking someone up you’re balancing the scales of justice. In the Kamoshida arc Ann even frames this in restorative justice terms, telling him he doesn’t deserve the easy way out of ending his own life and needs to live with his mistakes and repent, but he’s still sent off to jail regardless and Ann and Shiho are left to struggle through the trauma he put them through without anyone to really support them. This repeats itself, over and over: Madarame, Kaneshiro, Okumura, Shido--expose the bad guy, bring him low, publicly shame him, and then send him away (or, in Okumura’s case, watch him die on live TV to riotous cheers from the public).

And what does this all accomplish, in the end? You get to the Depths of Mementos on Christmas Eve to find the souls of humanity locked away in apathy, surrendered willingly to the control of the state, and your targets right there with them, thanking you for helping them return to a place where they don’t have to think of other people as people any more than they did before. In prison, they can forget that they are human beings and that all of the rest of the people in the world are too. The Phantom Thieves march upstairs and defeat the Gnostic manifestation of social control, that being that masquerades itself with lies as the true Biblical god. And then you go back home and the adults tell you that everything is okay now, the system itself isn’t rotten, and you just have to sit back, stop actively participating in the world, and let them take the reins.

It’s one of Persona 5′s most ironic conceits. “Prison abolition....good?” the player asks, and Atlus swats you on the hand and says, “Silly kids, prison abolition completely unnecessary because you can trust the state to not fuck up anyone’s lives anymore ever.” All while using prison imagery to present prisons as institutions inherently divorced from what might constitute actual justice.

Prisons exist because hierarchies exist, and so long as hierarchies exist, inequality will exist and people will commit harm who otherwise likely would not. But you can’t have your cake and eat it too, Atlus. You can’t frame prisons as an inherently unjust institution used to control people because you didn’t do anything to get rid of the hierarchy. You just gave the hydra a few new heads.

restorative justice and rehabilitation

Rehabilitation is Persona 5′s favorite buzz word, and for all that it’s used the game never really clearly defines what it’s supposed to mean. Yaldabaoth uses it as a euphemism to describe the process by which he creates his ideal puppet, but Yaldabaoth bad, and by the end of the game, Yaldabaoth dead. We get barely any time with Igor after that for Igor to define rehabilitation properly on his terms, which is notable in that Igor is the one who’s supposed to be the spiritual mentor of the wild card within the Persona universe. 

We can only infer from that that it’s the player who’s meant to define what rehabilitation is by the end of the game, but because the game fails to take any concrete stance on its themes that could in any way undermine the idea that society isn’t functionally broken, it’s hard to figure out what conclusion we’re supposed to draw. As I stated above, the game immediately walks back any insinuations that it’s the institutions themselves that are rotten by having Sae and Sojiro step in and assume responsibility for making the world just by continuing to operate within the rules society itself has created. If you can’t beat them....join them?

If anything the closest we can get to coming up with a definitive understanding of what the game wants us to understand rehabilitation as is when the protagonist is in juvie. During those months we’re treated to an extended cutscene of all of your maxed out confidants taking action to get you out of jail, but because you can trigger this scene even if you haven’t maxed out all of your confidants, and because the outcome (getting out of juvie) is the same even if you haven’t maxed out any besides Sae, then we’re right back where we started.

But that cutscene still has a sliver of meaning to it despite it being largely window-dressing, because the game does push, over and over, the argument that it’s through your bonds with others, through building a community, that you’ll rehabilitate yourself and find true justice.

And that’s what restorative justice is about: community.

the truth: uncovering it vs deciding it

I can’t find enough words to convey how infuriating it is that Atlus comes so close to telling a restorative justice narrative and then completely drops the ball on displaying it at all in Goro’s character arc.

Goro’s concept of justice is fundamentally punitive, the textbook “you hurt me so I’m going to hurt you back.” In doing so he goes on to hurt a whole bunch of other people: orphaning Futaba, orphaning Haru, triggering a mental shutdown in Ohya’s partner Kayo, and also killing countless millions other instances of mental shutdowns, psychotic breakdowns, bribery, and scandal that caused people material harm and, in a handful of cases, killed them.

Yes, Shido gave him the gun, but Goro pulled the trigger. And in a restorative justice framework, you don’t bypass that fact: you actively interrogate it.

There’s been a lot of really great meta about what the circumstances of Goro’s life were like, including the Japanese foster care system, the social stigma of bastardy in Japan and the impact it has on an illegitimate child’s outcomes, and the ways in which Shido groomed and manipulated Goro into being the tool of violence he made him into. These things aren’t excuses for what Goro does, however: they’re explanations for it. They are the complex social issues that create a situation where a child feels his best choice, indeed maybe his only choice, is to take the gun being offered to him and use it on other people. If you want to prevent more kids from slipping through cracks into those kinds of situations, you need to understand the social ills that made those cracks appear in the first place and you need to fix them. Otherwise there will always be another kid, and another recruiter, and another bad choice, and another gun. Systemic problems require systemic solutions.

Even so, none of that bypasses the fact that it was Goro’s hand on that gun, that it was Goro who performed the physical action of killing Wakaba’s and Okumura’s shadows, and that, as a result of Goro’s direct actions, Wakaba and Okumura died. You can say Okumura deserved it all you like, but Haru doesn’t deserve to be an orphan. Haru deserved to repair her relationship with her father. Okumura deserved the chance to learn and make direct, material amends to the employees he hurt and the families of those who died on his watch, and they deserved to have him give them a better way to heal.

But this isn’t about the loss of Okumura making amends to his family or his victims: this is about Goro Akechi, and the fact that even in Royal his fraught relationship with Haru and Futaba is never explored, barely even addressed. There’s not even any personal, direct acknowledgement from him of the pain he put them through.

You can say he doesn’t care, and that’s fine that he doesn’t care. And it is. He’s a fictional character, this is a video game, they are anime characters.

But Persona 5 flirts with the idea of restorative justice and never fully explores it, and it’s a weaker game for that.

the thin place, the veil between worlds, the line in the sand

This is the last part, I promise, and I’ll be short and brief here, because the truth is that none of this matters, at least not in the way that you think. Persona 5 is a story. It’s a lie that we buy. It’s all zeroes and ones and electrical signals and optical images on a blank black screen.

But art can be powerful. Art is like magic, the deepest magic, the oldest kind. We human beings are creatures of art and poetry, of images and patterns, of music and words. Good art, really good art, can allow us to explore new ideas and critique our internal assumptions about how the world works.

No, fiction doesn’t affect reality, not the way that you think it does.

But if you’ve gotten this far, I just got you to read an essay on restorative justice and prison abolition in regards to a Japanese role-playing game, and that is something to think about.

How do you define rehabilitation? What kind of justice do you believe in? Is the way you conceive those things really the best way?

And how much more interesting could a story that challenges those concepts be?

[mimiplaysgames]

save it for the morning after, pt. 2

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: E (Explicit) Word Count: 7,384

Summary: Terra learns to trust his body to another.

Read on AO3

A/N: HAPPY TERRAQUA DAY!!! I posted what would’ve been a one-shot last year... then came the messages asking me to expand on that. Considering what kind of writer I am, I don’t know if y’all understood what you asked for: I pick on Terra savagely - it’s dangerous to be my favorite. This piece goes to @lyssala who requested a piece that featured Character C interrupting Characters A and B during moments when they wanted to be alone, when I wanted to celebrate 100 followers on Twitter! I had to split this chapter in two cuz it got too long, so CONGRATS. You get two gifts. <33

~*~*~*~*~

Waking up is a nightmare.

Terra doesn’t remember his dream when he opens his eyes - only the sensation that he’s about to stare into a cloaked face, grinning with sharp canines and bright yellow eyes. His jaws clench badly enough that his teeth grind. His lips feel like they have been sewn shut. He can’t move anything, not his head cemented against the pillow, not his sagging arms or legs, as though the strings he’s used to move them have been cut. 

Not again. 

He takes in oxygen with short, desperate inhales through his nostrils. His fingers claw into the bed sheets as he tries to take back control.

As pleasant as this bright sunny morning, something presses on his chest, crushing his breath.

Yet, the only thing greeting him is an off-white ceiling.

Falling asleep is usually just as bad. It’s not the act of dreaming that puts him in danger - it’s the transition between consciousness and not that he fights every morning and every night. It’s the feeling of slipping out of fear that he’ll never speak again. If he didn’t have to rely on sleep to stay alive, he would just never close his eyes again. 

She shifts next to him, murmuring before quieting.

Terra thanks himself for not moaning or yelling this time. The last thing he needs is to disturb her with his fits.

Aqua rolls over, readjusting her body before nestling into her pillow. She looks so serene like this, bedsheets wrapped tightly around her hips and her breasts exposed, creamy and still.

It’s bright for an early morning - the snow outside reflects the sunlight, painting the entire room in a brilliant glow that illuminates the entire room, including just how pink her nipples really are.

She’s like a mermaid. Precious and rare, something he doesn’t deserve, and he’s the stupidest, luckiest bastard in this world, who has done absolutely nothing to have her in bed with him.

He’s more unworthy than that - he’s in her bed.

Terra lets go of the sheet finger by finger, his breath eventually losing its deathgrip over his throat and settling still, letting his muscles relax and giving his shoulders back some control. Rolling over to his side to watch her, he leans on an elbow. The butterflies in his stomach flurry worse than ever, more excitable than even last night.

Last night… Wow. He can’t believe it all happened. Lying together undressed, touching her, sharing kisses that he dreamt of for years, feeling her on his skin, being inside her, how they exchanged breaths to keep going… now she’s sleeping soundly like she’s in the safest place in the world.

She’s told him before that she has the worst trouble sleeping, but last night, she fell under quite quickly in his arms, taking a spot in the crook of his neck. He’s glad he could help her in any way.

The Realm of Darkness has done an impressive job in preserving her. While Aqua doesn’t smile like she used to, her face is still everything he remembers. Face untouched by marks or lines. Lips pillowy and hair the same color. For her, sleep is peace, very much like the way she used to look when she napped on top of her open books in the library, halfway through an anxious night studying.

She’s been given a second chance at life - they all have, let’s be honest. A rare grace that most will never see. People grow old, they separate from their loved ones, they die. Here two of them rest in a soft bed, keeping their youth, grasping at something like childhood dreams and excitement about their future - but the truth is they’ll never have it again. He’s sorry about that.

And Aqua, she does have scars even if they don’t live on her face. There are scruffs crisscrossing down her arms, two on her collarbone - mostly unnoticeable to anyone who doesn’t know their history. There is one, faded and white on her bicep, that he inflicted on her one nasty afternoon when he wanted to prove that his brand new Keyblade was stronger than hers.

He paid for that afternoon with a severe lecture and a fifty-page essay.

Then there are others - nastier, some braided, others like craters. One on her ribcage right under her breast that curls and splays. There’s a slash across her entire back, and he’s scared of asking where it came from.

Really scared.

Of course, he has to account for all the scars he can’t see: the ones that make her flinch at night, like Ven walking in on her unannounced, taking her by surprise.

She pays for her second chance at life in plenty of ways.

Despite it all, she’s beautiful. She has always been. And when she’s gray and cranky, she still will be.

Her nose wrinkles and she sniffs - some of her hair strands have fallen in front of her face, tickling her.

When he takes the opportunity to brush her hair - gently, gently - off of her face, Terra lingers in the feeling of silk strands as he collects them behind her ear. He’s always wanted to do this. 

Aqua hums, her arms stretching outward. Her chest arches with breath. He jerks his hand away, hoping against hope that he didn’t ruin it.

“Sorry,” he whispers, almost shushing her back to slumber.

Wiggling her eyelids open, the first thing she notices is him. Aqua smirks and immediately covers her mouth with her hand to giggle. 

So seeing him struck memories of last night for her, too.

“Good morning,” he says, trying to sound cocky but his voice is rougher than he wants. 

She brings the bed sheet up to her nose. Her cheeks are as red as a tomato. This isn’t really her usual self, Aqua has always had too much dignity for giggling. But he likes this sudden melting of her defenses - a flustered Aqua is a cute Aqua. 

“Good morning,” she says, almost like she’s about to ask what he’s doing there. Despite covering herself, her smile reaches her eyes, and every time she glances at him, she beams even more.

“Looks like you’ve slept well,” he says with a distinct flavor, like he’s witnessing a scandal.

She narrows her eyes. “What are you insinuating?”

“Nothing.” He clears his throat. “You’re…” Naked. I’m naked. “The proof is under the sheets.”

Aqua composes herself, lowering the sheet to her collarbone, and confidently calms her nerves, her eyes whittling away all that childlike excitement from earlier.

But he knows she knows what he’s talking about, though there’s not a hint of shame in her eyes either. She rolls over to meet him face to face.

“I did sleep well,” she says softly, inching closer, looking up at him.

Her intense blue eyes glimmer, especially in sunlight. Drinking in the sight before her, they find solace somewhere on Terra, even though he doesn’t have the capability to give it to her. 

Terra’s heart thumps and it’s the loudest thing in the room. His fingers strum the surface of the bed, so close to her face. He could tap her nose and make her laugh. Cup her cheek and let her sigh. Stroke her jaw and finally embrace her.

These are all just fantasies, but he indulges in them. Aqua’s quicker to act. She lifts her head up, closing the gap and taking his lips onto hers.

While the ones they had last night were hungry, maybe even desperate, this one is patient, feeling him slowly, taking him in different angles, exploring the sorts of ways she can invite his tongue to do more. 

She gathers her arms around his neck, pulling him as she falls back. When she skates her hands over his shoulders - his biceps and back up to his pecs - his skin electrifies, shooting goose flesh down his spine. 

Aqua lets one hand go to fuss with the sheets wrapped around her chest, letting nothing stand between his bare skin and her creamy softness. 

The contact shocks him and he has to breathe deeper, taking it in like he’s drowning. It helps him feel her all the more.

More. Everything in his twitching groin needs more.

Gripping her waist in a moment of panic - the kind where he’d never feel her again if they let go - Aqua responds by pushing with her weight, rolling him onto his back, pulling them together with her hands on his jaw, her messy kisses pulling hard on his lips (they still need to practice). 

Terra in the meantime glides his fingers up and down her back. Her scar is as long as the list of consequences that could all be traced back to his mistakes. Longer than that - as long as a trail that would lead out the bedroom.

The one under her breast splays like a mess of bare branches in the dead of winter, and he holds his palm there firmly, like he’s trying to keep them from ripping more.

How does he tell her with anything but words that he didn’t quite understand the extent of pain, of how far it could go, until he was possessed? 

Is there such a thing as a hug comforting enough or a held hand loving enough to measure that? 

His hands go to her hips, and squeeze what plumpness she has. He lets her make the decision to rock against his pelvis. Only then does he apply the pressure, make her pant against him.

Terra becomes more impatient, and he kneads her with both hands, starting with her ass before climbing up, taking notice of how her nipples harden under his palms.

The kiss breaks with her smile. 

“What?” 

Aqua is already red from the flush, but now she’s worse for wear and she’s trying to hide it. “Your hands are so big.”

“They are?” He doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Her breasts fit his palms just fine, supple and round. Letting one go, he tests the size by comparing it to her face; it covers everything, from his wrist on her chin to the fingers digging into her hairline, his palm taking up the entire space across her cheeks that he can only see dashes of her eyebrows. “They are.”

She chuckles into his hand, giving it a quick peck before caressing it. Her breath composes itself, and her smile is content. Her gaze is full of light, welcoming him in, and it makes him feel protected. Safe enough to surrender. Maybe even forgiven. She’s about to come back down, and they can continue. He can let her shine on him, let himself go and forget all about this horrible morning-

A knock on the door. “Aqua?”

Aqua sits straight up. Immediately clamps down on Terra’s mouth with her hand. 

Everything suddenly… slams to a stop, and Terra’s erection writhes, begging. 

Worst timing, Ven. 

“Y-yes?” Aqua calls.

Terra stares at her with bulging eyes. Please don’t leave me like this.

She smirks.

“Terra’s not in his room,” Ven says through the door. “And I’m hungry.”

“Okay-”

Terra bucks up against her, gnawing at her toned thigh. It makes her gasp and wrestle with a smile.

“I’ll be right out, Ven,” she says, trying so hard not to choke on a laugh. She gives Terra a sympathetic smile, and quickly, silently pecks his lips before peeling off of him and pulling him out of bed.

His sternum grows stones and they all sink to his stomach. 

Pushing him into her bathroom, she scrambles to pick up all of his items of clothing: his pants, shirt, briefs… is that everything? Yes. She throws them in a heap against his body before quietly turning the knob and closing it.

Her bathroom is chillier than the bedroom, and Terra rests his back against her closed door, grimacing.

Rustling behind him - she hurries to get dressed, calling out a You can come in, Ven, before turning her attention to her bed sheets. 

“Sorry,” she says as footsteps approach her.

Terra keeps his breath steady and inaudible - but it’s so hard. Really. He’s still ready to go, the throbbing in his groin becoming agonizing. It tingles like an interrupted sneeze - worse than that, like a desperate itch with an uncomfortable squeeze - and he pushes and stretches his shaft to make it uncomfortable, just so it would calm down. 

It doesn’t calm down. Why.

“I overslept,” Aqua continues.

Without a pause, Ven says, “So you must have really slept well, that’s great news!”

Terra swallows a groan.

Aqua rustles some more. He imagines she’s nodding, trying to find the right words. “It does feel good.”

“Do you know where Terra is?” the twerp says.

Terra will tell him where Terra is. Terra flips the shower on, only the cold knob. His erection needs it.

There’s an uncomfortable pause from the other side of the door, and Aqua has stopped making her bed.

“Is that him using your shower?” Ven asks.

“His isn’t working.” She sounds so confident.

There’s another pause - something about it, maybe the way Aqua finishes her words so trepidly, that makes the silence seem longer even though it isn’t.

“It smells weird in here,” Ven says, slowly.

“Terra is filthy,” Aqua says, like it’s the most obvious answer. “Ven, when I finish getting ready, I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Terra is sure she’s probably throwing daggers with her eyes through the door and he grins at the thought. Most of his pranks are usually thought-out and have some figment of imagination, but this has to be his new favorite. 

Cold water stabs at his skin - it’s terrible enough to make him forget every mood he’s experienced since waking up. He picks up her lavender bar of soap. It smells so different than on her skin, and it invigorates all of his senses. He never thought he’d get the chance to. But here he is, in her shower, covered by a turquoise curtain and seeing how neatly her toiletries line up. 

Ven must have left by now, because Aqua knocks on the door, telling him where she’ll be… after breakfast they’ll all be outside to shovel snow from the lower windows and pathways… have a snow fight, that will be fun… and maybe she’ll see him later? There’s hope in her voice, shyness even. 

~*~*~*~*~

Outside, he can’t help but stare at the way the sun gleams off of the snow. He has to shield his eyes from the way it blinds him, and yet it makes him grin from ear to ear. 

Consider how much better it is than a decade of nothingness.

They were absolutely buried last night, but they all survived.

Snow blocks the front and back entrances of the castle, tall enough to reach Terra’s hips. The trees all sag from the weight, and the fields have hills on them now that don’t exist in the spring. 

What a chore though - his friends don’t understand what it takes out of him anymore, now that he’s back in a body he’s lost touch with for years (to the point that he used to forget he ever had one). Shoveling is a skill that demands all the power in his biceps and triceps, his shoulders, his rhomboids, all the way down to the lower back, straining to the point that it feels like a heavy ball is chained into his skin, pulling down. 

At the same time, he sweats profusely underneath all those layers, like he’s trapped in an oven, baking for two hours past the point of well-burnt. It makes him want to strip naked and run down the woods. 

If Aqua and Ven are enjoying the cold in their faces from the exposure, or finding comfort in the heat of their snug clothes… they’re lucky because they can’t compare. They don’t feel as strongly as he does.

Terra hunches over the terrace, staring at the snow gathered along the stone railing. 

He’s on fire.

Freeing his fingers from his gloves and throwing his knit hat off, Terra plants his bare hands into the snow. It stings. Then it burns in a different way, quick to sear. 

“Doesn’t that hurt, Terra?” he hears Ven ask, skipping over to him.

Terra groans. It’s too much - too much cold, too much heat, yes, even from this morning, lingering and gnawing and asking for release… But he can’t think about that or Aqua right now, it will make it worse. It’s all Ven’s fault.

“It’s actually nice,” he mutters, grabbing fistfuls, nearly wanting to plant his face into it. 

“I guess…” Ven means well. He doesn’t understand what it feels like to be a maniac (his words, not Terra’s). “Making a snowman?”

Terra continues to collect the snow into a ball - it’s massive now, definitely fit for a base.

He grins, and the sight of it strikes nervousness into his best friend.

“What are you-”

Whump.

Ven pummels backward, slammed in the face by a mound of snow. It was so large and heavy that Terra had to carry it in both hands, and it buries Ven when he lands.

Spitting snow out of his mouth, Ven’s nose is now red from the cold. “That’s not fair, we aren’t supposed to have a snowball fight yet!”

Not fair was the interruption this morning.

“Better now than never,” Terra says, lightly stomping the ground with his foot. The earth beneath layers of frozen water hears his call. It vibrates, radiating upward, and a wave of snow bursts outward and covers Ven from head to toe.

“You’re crazy!”

Ven crawls out of his frigid entrapment, and Terra prepares another massive heap. Something about this is very gratifying. He should pick on Ven more often. 

“Heads up!” Ven yells.

A tiny snowball that Ven grabbed in a second - inconsequential, honestly, in comparison to the boulder Terra has now - strikes Terra on the neck.

It’s just the thing to take the beast down.

Snow runs down his inner coat, like a million needles pricking all those sore muscles that got a beating earlier from shoveling. They tense up until they’re hard as bone. It’s cold. Shit.

Terra falls on his knees, beating his shoulder to warm it up as much as possible, but it only gives the snow momentum to scuffle into his pants.

“Aaaaaaaaand,” Ven boasts, “he’s down.”

Terra staggers, the snow burning his hip and trickling down his thigh. He manages to stay on his feet, his skin getting numb. Then he lunges forward.

Ven shrieks and laughs, taking off, running as fast as he can from big, bad Terra. He’s much faster than either of them, yet they sometimes forget. 

Terra underestimates Ven all the time, who is now disappearing into a thicket, but he doesn’t care. Running pumps blood into the right head. The wind brushes through his hair and it chills him all the more, overwhelming with the smell of fresh air, the sting of the light reverberating off of the whiteness, the unresolved frustration, the bead of sweat which has frozen itself on his forehead.

But more than the fact that Terra feels too much is that he’s tired. Sprinting can only get him so far (or so near, compared to how fit he used to be before the fall). He’s quick to lose stamina, and his foot sinks deep into a pot of loose snow. He trips, landing face first. 

It’s cold and it burns, but Terra is relieved from all other sensations just the same.

~*~*~*~*~

Now he can’t shake off the shivers.

Aqua sets a hearth ablaze in the fireplace, a haven within the library on the first floor, close to the doorway which would eventually lead to the dining room. Everything about the bottom floor is situated like a home fit for a family. It’s expansive, where all the hallways interconnect so no one can get lost. It’s where all the pleasant memories live. 

This isn’t the place where they had their first kiss, though. Nothing on the first floor can hide. 

Terra rests on the lounge chair, a massive thing that swallows anyone smaller than him in a dark forest green. It looks black now that the sun has dipped behind the mountains so early today.

It’s a deep enough color to hide all the torture that three rambunctious children have whipped on the poor thing. Terra has a faint memory of where the stains might be, but he can’t find any.

The fire isn’t enough. Terra has an ocean blue blanket to boot, wrapped around his shoulders. Aqua’s. She’s always been the neatest of the three, so he can’t imagine this would have any evidence of foul play.

The door behind him creaks and he hears soft, bare footsteps approaching him. Unlike her, sound doesn’t really make him nervous. 

But having her near him does. Always has, and maybe always will. 

“Doing better?” She puts a warm hand on his forehead for the fifth time that evening to check for a fever. She was the one to find him slumped and groggy in the snow outside. Of course. “You’re still cold,” she mumbles.

At her touch, his heart beats obnoxiously for his attention, like a shrill child being purposefully ignored. Look, look, she’s touching us!

He groans. 

“No, you’re not okay?”

“I am,” he says. “I just hate how I’m feeling.” 

Aqua grins, taking a seat on his armrest, bringing one bare leg to her chest. She’s wearing shorts, and Terra takes a quick glance over. A baggy sweater covers most of her body, and his heart is now thrashing, knowing exactly what it looks like underneath. 

But it’s her eyes that hold him still.

“You’ll get used to it,” she reassures him, nodding into her knee.

That’s usually her answer, and she’s right: the day he came back, the minty taste of mouthwash burned a hole through his jaw, and he had yelled from the pounding in his ears. You’ll get used to it. 

Now, it just gives him a tense headache. See? 

It’s her confidence that he finds so comforting - like she knows all these hyper-feelings will sort themselves out if he gives it another day (or week, or month). After all, she has said before, he’s been out of commission for so long.

Terra wonders if she’s ever said that to herself, night after night in the Realm of Darkness. It’s okay to be alone right now, I’ll get used to it. 

Aqua does such a fantastic job holding it together, even late in the night, when he almost expects her break. She never does. How does she do that?

Love is such a strong word to use, but it’s the truth. 

Terra knew it as a child. Aqua had begged him to play a tea party with her, under very specific conditions: she was the lady knight and he was the princess. She made him wear an apron and a paper tiara to play the part. As much as he begrudged the idea, the moment she told him he was holding the teacup wrong, he knew - he was going to marry her. 

Adults would say that children wouldn’t know any better, but child-Terra knew his heart, and he knew it would never change.

He loves her now, as vibrant as the forest becomes the moment the rain hits. One day, he’ll get used to the feeling and won’t feel the need to cry at the thought.

He thinks about telling her what his last thoughts were, right at the moment he lost it all: her cerulean eyes. How there is the faintest sliver of amethyst in them if they reflect off the sun at just the right angle if he was close enough to see, like a secret jewel nestled in the shallow water of a beach...

“You’re right, I will,” he mutters.

“No more knocking yourself out in the wild?” She chuckles. “Please don’t worry me like that again.”

“I won’t, I’m sorry.”

She hums. “It’s nothing to be sorry about.”

There’s a lot to be sorry for. 

Terra’s eyes fall for just a second. He can’t kick the habit of struggling with his own existence sometimes, but she finds reason after reason inside that insane mind of hers to smile when she looks at him. She forgives him way too many times, and it makes that small girl who barked at him for sipping his tea too loudly at a dainty party seem so distant.

Aqua brushes the tips of her fingers on his knuckles, leaning forward. “I’m…” Stopping herself, she searches the carpet for something to say, anxiety creeping into her face. Try as she might to say more, she can’t bring herself to. She’s chipping. 

Terra turns his palm over to take her hand in his. She’s the one to thread their fingers together.

He doesn’t know why everything knots in his throat either, too apprehensive to come out. Love is a strong word to say after years apart. He’ll let her say it first, lest he scares her more.

If she ever does. Though he’s not scared of it himself. 

The sound of footsteps approach from the hallway, and Aqua releases him before straightening herself out.

Terra’s heart sinks at the silence that crashed between them, uninvited. It drowns when it gets to his stomach, but it will breathe eventually. 

“Chicken soup for the big loser,” Ven announces, rolling a cart with a boiling pot behind him. There’s a stack with three bowls, and spoons. 

Terra and Aqua don’t say anything back, readjusting their posture and pretending that nothing has occurred this moment, this day, or last night. Terra brings his fingers - the ones she held - to his lips. They’ve made contact for so little that he can’t smell her scent on them, but her warmth lingers.

Ven’s about to tease some more when he glances at each of them. “Am I… interrupting something?”

“Not at all, Ven,” Aqua says sweetly, composed. She approaches his work, all the pieces that have crumbled away coming back to her. “It smells delicious.”

Ven tosses a pout at Terra, who’s uncharacteristically quiet in the vicinity of savory food, but Terra gives back a reassuring smile. It’s dimmer than he wants it to be, and Ven’s smart enough to notice it, but he says nothing. 

The rest of the evening passes with pleasant conversations, as it goes:

They have never found a good enough reason to talk about anything else. Why bring the darkness back inside when they make a habit of lighting all the lamps at night?

In every case when one of them is ready to talk, they lock up. Swallow. Cough. Next question.

Pleasantness has its tremendous advantages, as it reminds them the worth of being alive: the warmth of drinking this wonderful soup together, the joy of sharing a joke, the thrill of panicking over the thought that Ven could catch Terra and Aqua in the middle of a compromising position. 

They belong together, the three of them. Wayfinders were specifically made for that pact, and that’s something Terra would never trade anything for... he just wants something more from Aqua, and that shouldn’t break the delicate balance between the three. It shouldn’t, and maybe he’s still naive to think that way.

When the evening sweeps into night, Terra falls into a slightly different dance with Aqua. Lingering looks across the hall, right over Ven’s head, followed by nervous chuckles, with the grand finale of never whispering about what they would do before bed (if they’re going to bed together at all).

And when Ven finally retires to sleep, it’s just the two of them, with nothing left except to improvise. 

Nothing in their timid conversations gives Terra the right opening to bring the subject up. 

He’s ready to expect it’s just him and his hand tonight when Aqua holds his wrist to keep him from returning to his room alone. 

“Do you want to…” Aqua hushes. She brings her hand up to brush her hair out of her face but it stops right before contact, like she’s lost the way. “Um…”

“Sleep with you?” Terra blurts out.

A shocked grin stretches across her face.

He stammers, running a hand through his hair.

There’s nothing wrong with sleeping with her - in fact, the night they came home, they all slept in the same bed, just so they didn’t have to be separated.

Terra’s being dumb - of course sleeping has a different connotation now, even between best friends. Why is it so awkward to bring it up in conversation? It was so much easier this morning when they woke up naked and could do what was natural from there.

Leaning on her door frame, bringing himself closer to her body, Terra braves what’s really on his mind. 

“I- I’ve been thinking about it all day… I want to kiss you again.”

Aqua considers him for a moment. She stands on her toes and brings her mouth to his for a small peck, for a second, for a third, longer one. 

She eyes Ven’s closed bedroom door nervously - it’d be a hell of an explanation if he catches them now. 

So Terra steps into her bedroom, barely illuminated by a single desk lamp that’s living its final days, and she closes it behind him. 

Whipping around, Aqua throws her arms around Terra’s neck, aching for a fourth kiss and so many more that neither of them can keep count. Terra squeezes her waist to his body, bending over to meld her to him while she digs into his hair.

Somehow, holding her this closely isn’t close enough. 

When Terra massages the small of her back, it rustles her sweater so that his fingers make contact with her skin. 

Aqua takes this as her cue, tugging at his shirt. She breaks contact (for an excruciating second) to pull it over his head and he responds in kind by undressing her sweater and tossing it. 

With her bare, soft, springy breasts against his chest, he tastes her lips, her tongue… They have to pant for breath in between but they can’t take the hint to pause. And yet - 

They still aren’t close enough.

Terra picks her up by her thighs, wrapping her legs around his hips to carry her. She buries her face in his shoulder to muffle a laugh, and she yelps when they fall together, bouncing on her bed.

With her head against her mattress, he can now kiss her deeper. His pajamas are so thin he can feel her pelvis in every way when he thrusts and he’s dying to take them off but he doesn’t want to part from her mouth either.

They’re running fast, desperate to finish what they couldn’t from this morning, and he doesn’t know what he should do next - if he should be focusing on some area on her body, or if she’d like him to do something and he’s not understanding what she needs. 

So Terra slows down, savoring her bottom lip, bringing the whirlwind to a breeze, letting them both breathe easier. 

He grazes her jawline and she trembles when he gets to her ear, lingering at a spot he discovers really makes her shiver. She squirms like she finds his lack of speed unbearable, grinding her hips up onto his. He groans. 

She still makes a point to whisper. “On your back.”

So bossy. Terra stops to snort. “Those are fighting words.”

“I want to make you feel good.”

“You first,” he says, his voice rough.

“I mean it.” 

Aqua’s hands push against his shoulders, massaging every curve in his pecs, and her legs wrap around his as she makes the first attempt to roll him over.

“Terra.” Her breaths deepen when he stays in place.

“I insist.” 

He isn’t going to let her make him the focus of all her attention just yet - and they both know she’s always lost at wrestling with him. 

She tries her game anyway, lifting herself to reunite his lips with hers while they sit up.

Both options are tempting. Terra can surrender to her, melt under her touch so she can have her way, and let her think she’s won. That’s a nice fantasy… but he doesn’t like losing either.

He laughs into her smile, grabbing her wrists and bringing them over her head. He holds them together in between the thick fingers of one giant hand, and brings her weight down with his. He’s won, easily.

Then he takes his other hand to brush his fingers across one nipple, from top to bottom, while his lips find a good spot on her neck that makes her whimper. She rocks her hips with his, coaxing him into a slow, intoxicating rhythm. Her shorts are also thin, and she’s wet through the fabric. It sets him on fire, sparking from his pelvis and burning up to his chest. It’s so hard to resist her. 

“What are you doing,” he murmurs, and he feels her giggle from underneath her pulse. 

“Playing a strategy.” She gasps and tenses from his nibbling. “I think I’m winning.”

Traveling down her collarbone, Terra finds himself at her breasts, taking his first taste for the night while rolling circles on the other, eliciting a moan from her - one she keeps stifled, so she’s not too loud.

“Not yet,” he says.

“Give it time,” she says, bringing one leg to hook around Terra’s hips.

Terra growls into her skin. She’s making it difficult.

She’s winning.

“Dammit, Aqua,” he whispers into her chest before standing up, taking her shorts and panties with him before fumbling with his pants. 

Pleased with herself, Aqua rises to meet him, a hand snaking down his abdomen, playing with the tuft of hair before going lower. 

He’s weak when she strokes him, when she grabs him, when she rubs the entire length, twisting her hold. She’s a quick study, and the gooseflesh crawling all over his back slips him into a stupor. He tumbles over the bed. His pants bind him by the knees still, but they’re forgotten. 

Straddling him, Aqua settles. Slowly, too - she’s adjusting herself to him before taking him fully, and if he didn’t know any better, it feels like the sweetest, sickest comeback for teasing her so bad.

A shiver strikes through his spine when he gets warm and she gets tight. He has to bite his lip to keep himself from moaning out loud. 

Meanwhile, Aqua experiments with her movement, her angles, her speed, whether she should rock her hips back and forth. She looks good on top of him, naked and bouncing and enjoying herself, running her palms across his carved abs, feeling the ripples where his skin dips. Something about the way she leans her head back sends Terra on a high. 

His hands feel everything. He measures how her waist curves inward before following the trail out to her hips. The muscles on her thighs buck with every thrust she makes.

It doesn’t matter how she looks: with or without clothes, in bright light or in poor light, even with shadows chiseling her amazing form, none of it does her any justice. 

She’s beautiful. He’s lucky. 

The more she moves, the more he comes closer to that brink, and he’s too drunk to find the words to tell her. The best he can do is moan her name, and when she gently shushes him, it turns him on even more.

But then his heart beats too hard. It stings as sharp as a cut.

The monster with the sharp canines smiles. Snaps its jaws.

The brink will make him fall over (and never get back up again). He’ll die. No. He’ll lose control. Go to sleep. Lose her forever, all over again. 

Terra grips her hips and lifts her off of him. “No no no no,” he says, lurching up, leaning over the edge of the bed. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“Terra?”

He shudders from the heat rising to the top of his head. His hands tremble violently, and he rubs the pads of his fingers against his palms to make sure he can still feel. Gritting his teeth together, Terra takes all he has to stop himself from yelling - no need for Ven to spring out of bed and burst in here to save the day - and the effort withers Terra to exhaustion. 

Aqua holds the back of his hand - very gently, brushing her fingers first to test if he’d have a strong reaction. He realizes that he never responded to her. 

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Terra holds her face, stroking the worries off of her cheek with his thumb. “You were,” he swallows. Even in such dim light, her eyes keep their rich brightness. “You’re perfect.”

She doesn’t look like she believes him. A dark thought trickles in his mind, and suddenly he can’t look at her anymore - she must be so disappointed with his awful performance.

“I’m just a basket case, I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t say that.” She gifts him the most generous smile, one he doesn’t understand. But that’s Aqua, never asking for something in return. 

She hugs him warmly, giving his shoulders a steady hold as if to keep him up. 

Despite how big of a man Terra is, now he is fragile, wilting into her strength. He wants to be more like her, to keep himself together. Silent tears stroll down his cheeks until they land on her bare shoulders and continue on their way.

With his palm, Terra rubs their existence off of her skin. 

A much-needed chill comes down his spine - she’s cooling him off with her magic, letting the Blizzard gently wisp off of her fingers. 

“Can you talk about it?” Letting him go, Aqua throws her feet over the edge of the bed to join him, side by side. 

Terra cannot. He stares at his knees, throwing glances at her to create words out of thin air. 

Aqua threads her hand under his arm to interlace their fingers together, resting them on his thigh. Her hand is so small in comparison, but in Terra’s opinion, it’s a perfect fit. 

“I think I have an idea of what happened,” she says when she’s waited long enough. “Even when we spar, you don’t let yourself go all the way.”

Feeling like he’s finally seen, Terra unravels. “What if I lose it and go crazy? What if I hurt you?”

She eyes him for a moment. At first she’s full of concern, but she’s the type that when she faces anything that intimidates her, she’ll find a reason to stay brave. “Then I retaliate. I’m good at that.”

It sounds like such a simple and logical answer that Terra can’t help but feel silly for never considering that she’s stronger than he is. 

Yet there’s plenty to worry about - she deserves a better lover that wouldn’t have fits in the worst of times, or threaten to kill her in the best.

“I know,” she continues when he says nothing. “It’s weird to have good things.”

Terra huffs. Drawing his voice low, he says, “Aren’t we supposed to tell ourselves that we deserve them?” She shifts uncomfortably against his arm, and he chuckles cynically. “Maybe we can hope.”

“No,” she drawls, rubbing circles on his knuckles with her thumb. “Hoping is dangerous.”

The scar on his chest is rough under the touch of his palm. Those have been the truest words he’s heard in years, and they worry him. If they continue to try again, he’ll continue to dissatisfy her, with no guarantee he could give her what she wants. 

“It feels like,” he says, “willingly jumping off a mountain.”

Aqua leans her head on his shoulder, watching the stillness of her carpet with him. It’s as dark as the deep sea. 

“It does. We’re supposed to stay optimistic, and the letdown destroys us until it numbs. And then there’s nothing left.”

“And then there’s nothing left,” Terra whispers back.

“Wishing is a little safer.” He feels her smile into his bicep. 

“That’s more like willingly drowning yourself.”

“Taking one swallow isn’t too bad by comparison,” she says, squeezing his hand harder. Her cheek trembles, and her eyes dart back and forth across the room. She’s chipping again. “Can I make one wish?”

“Of course.”

It takes quite a moment before she speaks again, and all he hears is her ragged breathing. It almost sounds like she’s about to cry, but she doesn’t. She’s a miracle.

“I wish for a good night’s sleep. I wish you’d stay in bed with me. I wish for more time with you, and… I wish you’d come back tomorrow night. Or maybe I could go to your room. Either way, I don’t want us to stop.”

Since he’s been expecting her to wish him away, Terra chokes on a sob. He wants the same, and he wants to say it, and he wants to kiss her again but he’s shocked. If he slips one word, he’ll fall apart and she’ll have to carry him all over again.  

He squeezes her hand back, and all the tears wanting to pour out of his eyes find their place in the strength of his grip, and they stay dry. 

As though she understands what he’s not saying, she smiles. “It’s a journey, just like everything else, right? I think there’s every reason to step off that cliff, and I want to be there with you when we do.”

Terra sits with her words, comfortable in the quiet. It’s not like they had a teacher to coax them in the right direction about the art of tumbling in bed. In the privacy of his mind, he can pretend the reason she’s willing to be patient is because she loves him, too. 

“I needed to hear that,” he says, his pajamas slipping off of his ankles. He’s completely exposed but his skin is just the outer shell. The fact his soul has been heard is the most naked he’s ever been. “I’m impressed.” 

Aqua holds her breath. “You’re impressed? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He stifles his snickering but it only makes it harder not to laugh. 

“Nevermind, don’t answer that,” she says, giving him a playful shove. “I know I put my foot in my mouth, sometimes.” 

“Sometimes.” 

“Which means I’m sensible other times.” She holds up a finger to make a point.

Terra lifts the hand he’s holding and kisses the back of it. She’s still so much like the girl who glared at him when he slurped his tea. “Whatever you say, I’ll play along.”

She shoves him harder and finds herself in his clutches, under threat of unbearable tickling. She locks her laughter up so hard that it slips out in squeaks. Without her magic, she’s completely futile against his ferociously giant hands. She admits defeat when they fall on their backs. 

Now they rest, and she’s finally close enough, their bodies locking warmth in between.

They whisper good night through soft, innocent kisses. Aqua finds refuge on his shoulder while her arms go limp on his thick waist, one leg tucked in between his, burrowing her body into his. Every time she drifts in and out and remembers that he’s with her, she inches closer.

How she wants to be near him this much blows his mind. He tells himself he’ll get used to it. 

Her breathing slows as he rubs circles on her back, and soon enough, she’s asleep, like she knows nothing except a world without nightmares or shadows. 

It’s been a long time since he’s thought about when they first started sparring - how they paused before striking, how they confused a cue for another and hit each other when they weren’t supposed to, how they bickered and teased when the course of the game adjusted to their skill level. They didn’t know what they were doing then.

Last night, she gave him the benefit of the doubt, too, telling him all they need is practice. 

Now’s the perfect time than ever - Terra whispers into her hair until he finds it easier to say, knowing she won’t hear him until he’s ready to face her.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

~*~*~*~*~

A/N: I SWEAR this will end happily. I swear it. To be continued.

[ruffiorocks]

LONG post in regards to whats being said about Lena.

Man, every time the CW post something about Supergirl on Instagram or Twitter people really lose their s**t for literally no reason.  

People saying that Lena is awful, they wouldn't watch a show with Lena in it, someone went as far to say they would rather die that watch a show with Lena in it??? OK.... Dramatic much? Yet here you are following the Supergirl page and knowing exactly what has been going on in the show because you use it for your arguments. Seriously sort your s**t out!

Also, I may get hate for this and I DO NOT CARE but im totally fine with Lena punching Kara in the face. Personally i think she’s asked for it. You can argue until the end of time that she doesn't deserve the punch for keeping her identity a secret, debatable BUT she absolutely deserves a punch in the face for being an arsehole to Lena and calling her a Luthor and then going to her best friends boyfriend and talking him into betraying her trust! Oh and then letting Lena vent to her about how this meant she would never trust Supergirl again, that was disturbing behavior, played off as an ‘oopsie’ moment. Personally Kara’s Jeckell and Hyde act with Lena has always been a bit disturbing to me, its not always funny. Just like in season 2 when she landed at L Corp with Superman and basically looked her nose down at Lena (re watch it). But a punch in the face is warranted. Punching someone in the face isnt akin to becoming evil!

Also why are people saying ‘I knew she would turn Evil!’ ‘Look what Lena is doing!’ erm... Lena hasnt actually done anything yet. A punch doesn't mean full on evil. Lena said she wants to inflict the same pain on Supergirl that she has caused her, now that’s interesting to me, because Kara hasn't actually inflicted any ‘physical’ pain on Lena and Lena even said she doesn't want to kill Supergirl. Now save for a much deserved punch in the face which looks like it takes place in a virtual world anyway, perhaps Lena is going to go down another route and inflict emotional pain on Kara just like Kara has inflicted it on her. Maybe this is why we saw BTS of Alex and Kara fighting, maybe this world is set up so Kara can experience everyone she loves betraying her in some way? The same way Lena feels she’s been betrayed? Im not saying that’s a healthy way to deal with things but the show would be boring if Lena was like ‘nah its cool’.Plus this is how Lena will see it, something she wouldn't be thinking if Kara had taken the time to explain things to her from the off set. to late now. 

Now i know what people will say ‘Kara has suffered so much and doesn't deserve more pain’ yeah... well Kara should have thought about that before inflicting pain on Lena who has also suffered enough pain in her life to. Kara having suffered doesn't mean she has a free pass to treat others poorly, who haven't actually done anything to hurt her or intended to hurt her at all. If Lena had been a nob and out to get her from day one then fair enough, but Lena has saved Kara’s ass/life many times and has never intended to hurt her, but s3 kara (who i wish i could forget) decided being an ass to Lena was OK. Yes Kara thought she was protecting Lena, but that excuse became null and void the moment she started revealing her identity to every Tom, Dick and Nia that she met! Kara is NOT a space puppy! Sure she has her cute adorkable moments but dont mix fan fic with reality. Kara is actually a very serious person who doesnt have all the answers, and doesn't always have a clear view of things. Remember it was Kara who basically told Jonn that there was no more alien hate anymore because SHE didnt receive it, the blonde haired, blue eyed hero of the city who looks human didnt receive hate so therefore it no longer existed. Now this isnt having a go at Kara, its to show that Kara isnt always right and doesn't always have a clear view of things.

Now, people are saying that Kara’s other friends didnt have a bad reaction to Kara admitting she was Supergirl so how dare Lena? OK, you guys are reaching pretty far now and you’re conveniently forgetting what has happened on the show because you’re too busy hating on Lena, so:

1. Winn didnt hate Kara the moment he learned she was Supergirl. OK, well first off, she wasnt really Supergirl yet, just an alien. Winn thought it was cool and wasnt upset she had lied to him? Well Kara keeping her identity from Winn didnt effect Winn in any way at all. There was no Luthor/Super history involved in Winn and Kara’s friendship.

2. James already knew, Clark took that decision away from Kara because he felt she needed a man to keep an eye on her. But this aside, James already knew Superman and was his best friend, he didnt ‘already’ know Kara. He knew who she was before she knew who he was! Again, him knowing her secret had no Luthor/Super implications.

3. Alex already knew and grew up with her. There was no ‘secret’ identity, she came to the Danvers as an alien and anyway Alex was NOT cool with her to begin with.

4. Mon El was also an alien, he wasnt a massive fan of Kara anymore than she was a fan of him. In fact Kara was the ass to Mon El rather than the other way around. It was Kara who referred to him as a ‘Daxamite’ more than once. Now, you could say they did have a history like the Luthor/Super one. Only it was Kryptonian/Daxamite, but the difference is Kara immediately told Mon El who she was, there was no pretending to be an alien from somewhere else or someone entirely different like she did with Lena. Kara knew Mon El was a Daxamite because of the beacon he sent, he didnt deny being one either. No his lie was being the Prince because he knew Kara would NOT have been OK with that. So he got involved with Kara whilst pretending to be something he wasn't. I seem to remember Kara being pretty miffed when she found out he was actually the Prince, only the end of the world was happening and she didnt really get a chance to deal with those feelings because she had to send him away. But later when he came back Kara had had time to process her thoughts on him, but she still told him EXACTLY what she thought of him. Mon El deceived Kara so he could pursue a relationship with her, Kara deceived Lena so she could pursue a friendship with her. Kara and Lena should have a choice in these scenarios because the respective ‘secret identities’ would have made them take pause. 

5. Jonn. already knew, nothing to argue here. 

6. Nia, Kara told Nia in a moment of solidarity because she to had ‘lost’ her sister, and apparently this was an OK reason to tell the girl you knew for 5 minutes who you are. Do you know who else had ‘lost’ a sibling and Kara has had many a solidarity moment with and who has saved her ass more than once and who she has known for longer than five minutes??? oh yeah LENA!! Anyway.... again, Nia had no reason to be miffed at Kara, she hasnt spent 3 years lying to her or pretending to be someone she wasnt and not fully trusting her. No Luthor/Super family drama or anything. 

7. The Legion already knew

8. Cat, Cat was Kara’s mentor and although Kara absolutely lied and deceived Cat, she NEVER treated her crap (save for the red K thing) like Kara did to Lena. Plus once again no Luthor/Super drama. Plus she wasnt Kara's best friend. 

Lena is completely different, have a think about what would be going through Lena’s head. ‘Supergirl’ suddenly turns up at her office the moment she arrives in National City in disguise? Supergirl using this secret identity keeps coming back to Lena, using Lena to track down Roulette, to try and get info from her about her mother. Lena mean while keeps saving the lives of the aliens of National City (including Supergirl). Mon El leaves and Kara suddenly cuts Lena from her life until she once again needs her for something? Come season 3 and ‘Supergirl’ suddenly turns on her? All for having a substance she wasn't using to hurt her but to protect her friend Sam? Supergirl calls her a ‘Luthor’ and gets pissed at her for GIVING her the Kryptonite? Supergirl starts telling Lena what to do as though she can? Supergirl then uses Lena’s boyfriend to spy on her? Then suddenly  Kara is back and being her best friend again listening to all her vent about Supergirl? Lena goes out of her way to make sure Argo City survives and Supergirl is still later an ass to her because she decided to work with the substance SHE created because Supergirl doesn't approve? Supergirl is an ass to her when they are with Alex and its Alex who puts her in place, but Kara is still coming back to her as her bestie? Kara Joins her in trying to track down Lex and even lets Lena think that she’s been blown up? Lena then has the pleasure of being told by Lex of all people that Kara has been lying since day one and he even has footage?? Lena’s new ‘family’ all knew except for her, doesn't say much for Kara’s trust in Lena. If she hadnt already dumped James’ ass i hope she would now! She would probably be thinking ‘why did James pursue me? Was he sent told to keep an eye on me? Was Kara just sent by Superman to watch me? Did the gang befriend me for the same reason? Keep the Luthor close? This woman has been betrayed and deceived her whole life, not second guessing any of this would be the bizarre thing. 

But anyway, i agree that both Kara and Lena are right to feel the way they do. But i am more on Lena’s side. I get Kara’s reasoning up to a point, to begin with she wanted to protect Lena., but then she should never have become so involved with her if she truly wanted to keep her safe. Her reasons become null and void when she tells people she’s known for 5 minutes who she is without thought to their safety (Nia). She made the decision to be an arsehole to Lena and then use Lena’s relationships against her and called her the only thing she knew would hurt Lena the most. She then kept saying she wanted to tell Lena but allowed others (Mon El, Alex) to keep her from doing so to the point where it was to late. Kara’s reasons started out noble, but they went beyond to far. Especially since Lex and Lillian knew and Kara STILL didnt see a point in telling Lena, Lex got the opportunity to tell Lena because Kara couldn't step up. The moment she knew Lillian knew she should have had Jonn erase her mind or tell Lena herself. Kara doesnt ‘owe’ her identity to anyone, but she should think twice about how much she gets involved with or treats the people close to her that dont know. 

Also, it is a betrayal, the writers have said so and even Melissa has agreed she totally understands it. Not telling Lena her secret isnt the betrayal, its everything that came along with it, everything Kara did along the way. (though she could be talking to Eve)

They say the season is a ‘fight for Lena’s soul’ , personally i think being betrayed by Kara is a poor reason for Lena’s soul to be in danger, it doesn't say much for her. But that very statement implies that Lena hasnt gone full Luthor, Otherwise it would be ‘Lena’s soul is lost’. 

It will be interesting to see how Lena reacts to the rest of the super friends since back in season 3 she understood secrets that weren't hers to tell and to keep people safe. She knew Alex was DEO but kept it to herself and wasnt arsed abut it and she didnt on Sam to keep her safe. But knowing the writers they’ll forget this part of Lena’s personality and make her miffed at everyone. 

Lastly Kara may be the main character but that doesnt mean everything she does is right and she DOESNT have to be your favorite character. 

Anyway thats enough. Dont send hate as always will go unanswered and deleted. 

[abdifarah]

Snake Charmer

I grabbed my sneakers and ball from the backseat of my car. As I stepped onto the basketball court, the palm of a stranger’s hand suddenly hit my chest before my foot crossed the threshold of the out-of-bounds line, as if to protect me from stepping into molten lava. It was in fact hallowed ground he was preparing me to enter. “I don’t want to mess up your day, but Kobe Bryant died.” The words did not register. He must have meant to say Bill Russell or Magic Johnson or some other retired player, up in years or immunocompromised. My heart sank as the words did. Seemingly coordinated with the stranger’s preparatory address, my phone began to shriek. I shared basketball, above most else, with my closest friends, and for those of my friends “not into sports,” they knew I was and that I was probably the one person in their lives that could explain why their instagram and twitter timelines had been commandeered by the news of Bryant’s death. I sat on the court and texted friends I hadn’t spoken with in years. I mentally ran through all of the Lakers fans in my life, like someone tallying loved ones near the epicenter of an earthquake or tsunami. 

The surprises continued. My uncle Kenny called me. Kenny, like most of the men in my life, does not make calls. When I see Kenny during the holidays we do not hug or catch up with small talk. Me and Kenny speak solely in sports. “How are the Cowboys doing?” translates to how are you doing? On this occasion Kenny did not resort to code. “Are you okay?” Kenny asked with a tone of genuine concern in his voice. Strangely, I was not. Stepping out of my body momentarily, I watched myself frantically text friends and scour the internet for updates with large tears welling up in my eyes. Importantly, next to me, five or so other guys on the basketball court were doing the exact same thing. I was dumbfounded, and even a little amused that it was Kobe Bryant, of all people, that elicited this reaction from me. As a basketball fan I loved Kobe Bryant as a player, but I didn’t love him. I loved Kobe the way the world loves the Dalai Lama. Kobe was that inhuman child/god/king we watched grow up, do great exploits, and whose often trite proverbs of ostensible wisdom we warily entertained. His sudden and violent death brought into swift focus that, while famous for almost my entire life, I took Kobe for granted.

Kobe Bryant was the first of us to realize: the camera is always on. In the days and weeks following Kobe’s death I found myself pulling up old games on youtube and having them on in the background while I worked. I was surprised how many of the beats–a certain sequence of plays, a specific call by an announcer–I remembered, like I was watching reruns or listening to a throwback radio station. As much as The Fresh Prince or Martin or Seinfeld, Kobe Bryant was TV. Mostly to my frustration, as someone who ineffectually rooted against the Lakers, Kobe Bryant was always on my screen. Undoubtedly, a cloud hangs over everything related to Bryant now in light of his death, but rewatching games from the 2000 finals, in which Bryant’s Lakers bested the Reggie Miller/Jalen Rose led Pacers, I was reminded of how much uneasiness and sadness I felt for Kobe Bryant watching him even as a teenage admirer. After every exceptional defensive play, flashy pass, or difficult made shot, Bryant made sure the camera saw the fiery glint in his eyes, the licking of his lips, the exaggerated clinching of his jaw. 

Even more so than the NBA’s previous generation of celebrities–Bird, Magic, Jordan–Kobe Bryant seemed to be the first superstar to internalize that basketball was a performance: a movie backed by a John Tesh score, or more specifically, a loosely scripted 24-7 reality show complete with story arcs, heroes, villains, close-ups, and backstabbing confessions. Bryant perpetually signalled: to the camera, to the fans, to his haters, to his teammates, that he possessed the most passion, that he outworked everyone, and that he would stop at nothing to be the best. By all accounts this was all true. But we knew it less because it was true and more because Kobe wanted us to know. Even as a youngster I found his thirst obnoxious. 

Kobe was desperate, but he was also just ahead of the curve. Kobe Bryant proudly admitted to not having a social life, and almost a decade before Russell Westbrook said it, Bryant proclaimed that “Spalding was his only friend;” a both sad and sobering admission for any would-be competitors tasked with defeating Bryant on the court. Bryant’s performative work, that now permeates and characterizes most of millennial culture, predated social media. The author Touré in his book, I Would Die 4U, contends that despite being a baby boomer, Prince was the quintessential GenX celebrity, whose music perfectly tapped into that younger generation’s disaffected, countercultural ethos. Born in 1978, Bryant technically resides in GenX. The intense outpouring from all corners of the digital world over Bryant’s death stems from the fact that he was truly the first millennial celebrity. 

For Bryant, fame came before success. As the photogenic rookie for the Lakers, Bryant had cameos on sitcoms, graced the cover of every teen magazine, took Brandy to the prom, put out a rap album, and pitched every soda and sneaker Madison Avenue could throw at him. But like an inflated college application, Bryant’s extracurriculars read as contrivances. Bryant was named a starter in the 1998 All-Star game, an honor voted on by the fans, meanwhile he wasn’t even a starter on his own team. To suspicious observers, Bryant was an industry plant; the antidote to the fearful influx of hyper-black, hip hop culture embodied in players like Allen Iverson or Latrell Spreewell; a basketball and marketing robot with a pearly white smile, that spoke multiple languages, and would pick up where Michael Jordan left off; ushering the NBA to unprecedented commercial heights.

Despite his superficial charm, Kobe Bryant’s lack of genuine personality proved off-putting, almost creepy. Although possessing a similarly shimmering smile, everyone knew that the real Michael Jordan chomped on cigars, pounded tequila, gambled through the night, and did not actually hang out with Bugs Bunny while wearing Hanes tighty-whities. We acknowledged humanity, healthiness even, in this contradiction. For Bryant’s generation of sports superstars, the public and private arrived flattened. A sports prodigy, a la Tiger Woods, Bryant’s lone-gun, misanthropic persona emerged as a defense against the alienation he felt from his teammates and colleagues around the league, those that did not share his cloistered upbringing. Bryant’s longtime teammate and consummate foil, Shaquille O’Neal, had the nickname, Superman. Despite his titanic presence and supernatural physical gifts, O’Neal epitomized the terrestrial; always joking, dancing; embedded in pop culture; a true man of the people. The true Kryptonian was always Bryant.

As an ignorant seventeen year-old, my initial reaction in 2004 to the accusations of rape against Bryant was amused shock. “Kobe Bryant has sex?!” In 2004, I, like many, put Kobe on the shelf. Less out of a desire to proactively make any bold gestures on behalf of women, but more out of petty schadenfreude. As stated before, I respected the talent, but I was not really a Kobe fan. I always rooted for the underdog, and Bryant was anything but. To the contrary, everything about Bryant was an assault on the concept of the underdog, the diamond in the rough, the idea that anyone, despite their humble or downright degraded beginnings, could rise to excellence. Bryant was born and bread to be great. Sadly, I took grim pleasure in seeing the NBA’s posterboy–the prototype of black celebrity respectability–revealed as the actual embodiment of the entitled, toxically masculine, and sexually predatory stereotype of the black athlete. 

Bryant lost endorsements. Nike released the Huarache 2K4, an all-time great basketball shoe originally designed to be Bryant’s first signature release with the brand, as simply a stand-alone product. The Lakers shopped Bryant around for possible trades. Like Sampson sheared and stripped of his powers, Bryant’s hairline appeared to recede, he cut off his signature fro, and he began shaving his head closer and closer. Bryant changed his number from 8 to 24 as one now changes their Instagram or Twitter handle to represent a break from the past. Like a biblical character after a traumatic or transformative event, like Abram becoming Abraham, or Saul becoming Paul, Bryant adopted the moniker of the Black Mamba. He resigned to allow the sorting hat to place him in his rightful house of Slytherin, and embraced the duplicitous snake that many already viewed him to be. Somewhat strangely, the Black Mamba was the assassin code name of the main character in Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill, who in the film is left for dead, and out for revenge. Did Bryant see himself as this woman wronged, or as the titular character, Bill, contently awaiting his deserved day of judgement. Knowing Bryant, he probably saw himself as both.    

In the myth of Hercules (not the Disney version) the famous god-man kills his wife and kids in a fit of hysteria inflicted by a vengeful Hera. If we imagine that the mythical figures of today were really just the celebrities and aristocrats of past millennia who had control over the pen of history and whose carnal tales swelled into sacred gospel; the fits of rage and mania brought on by the devil or hades or a poison arrow, were really the Chappaquiddicks, Vegas hotel rooms, and dog fighting compounds of their time; times when our heroes unequivocally and inexcusably committed evil. If Hercules was in fact a real man of some importance to his time–the son of a dignitary–that unfathomably killed his wife and kids, it follows that instead of being sentenced to death or some other fate reserved for the criminal commoner, that he would be given some lesser sentence and a chance–albeit slim–of redemption. Hercules is banished by the gods to serve an insignificant king and accomplish the arduous good works assigned to him as a means of atonement; the great works–slaying the nine-headed hydra, retrieving cerberus –that ultimately generate his immortal legend.  

Bryant’s post rape case/post Shaquille O’Neal years with the Lakers mirror this herculean restitution. Despite years on center stage, the Lakers, like Bryant, were similarly in their nadir, and would spend the middle of the aughts in basketball purgatory. Bryant was no longer primetime television. What happens to a pop-star when no one is watching? Surprisingly, Kobe Bryant kept performing, and at higher heights. Bryant was doing his best work while no one was watching. I remember walking through the door of my college dorm on a non-descript spring day. My roommate, Bryun, yelled at me with no context, “8 1  P O I N T S !” Kobe Bryant’s 81 point game may lay claim as the first social media sports moment. Less because no other great sports moments had occurred between 2004, when facebook emerged, and his scoring explosion in 2006, but because very few people watched that midseason contest between two mediocre teams live. It arrived to everyone, like myself, after the fact.

During a recent lecture, artist Dave McKenzie, when answering a very banal question during a post lecture q&a, about his long term goals as an artist, answered soberingly, “I’m just trying to get through this life and do the least amount of harm.” While we all hope to navigate this life without hurting others, most, if not all of us, will in some way. While we can and must continue to  interrogate why powerful (or at least useful to the actual powerful) men like Kobe Bryant seemingly evade the full reckoning of their actions, we must acknowledge that Bryant became something of a patron saint to those who for whatever reason found themselves on the wrong side of right. Maybe they were the underprivileged black and brown boys and girls in over-policed neighborhoods of LA where Bryant played for 20 years. Perhaps they were not pure victims but made some questionable choices and found themselves caught in the system. Or maybe it was the newly divorced father attempting to win back the respect of his kids after breaking apart his family due to his own indiscretions. Kobe Bryant in this second half of his career, culminating in back to back championships, provided a picture of how one climbs back from the depths of hell, even if they were the one that put themself there. This explains the irrationality of Kobe fans, who defended him in everything, and straight-faced spoke his name in the same breath as Michael Jordan, despite honestly being in a class below. For them, Kobe was bigger than basketball, and while many fans share a vicarious relationship with their sports heroes or teams, Bryant’s winning was more profoundly linked to his fans’ sense of self-worth.

Precocity embodied, Bryant arrived in the NBA a generation too soon. As the son of a former player, singularly focused on professionalizing at a young age, even foregoing college at a time when that was still a rarity, Bryant was an alien compared to most players of his generation. The trajectory of players today more resembles Bryant’s. Gone are the days of Dennis Rodman or Scottie Pippen or Steve Nash picking up basketball late, or being undiscovered and surreptitiously landing on a small college team, eventually catching the eye of the larger basketball world. Now, professional basketball starts disturbingly early. Prospects like Zion Williamson have millions of Instagram followers in high school. Second generation pros are commonplace – Steph, Klay, Kyrie, Devin Booker, Andrew Wiggins, Domantas Sabonis, Austin Rivers, Tim Hardaway Jr., Glenn Robinson III, and so on. Bryant was the cautionary tale, a sage mentor, and ultimately an icon to the generation of players succeeding Bryant, who like him, entered the spotlight and scrutiny of an increasingly voracious sports machine as children. Thanks in part to witnessing the triumphs and travails of Bryant, today’s young superstars arrive to the league encoded with the understanding that the fans, the media, the sports industry writ large, wait with baited breath for them to fuck up off the court as much as they do a spectacular play in the game. To these various stakeholders, it’s all good entertainment.

[A bit of a tangent] As the coronavirus began to ravage New Orleans, in particular the homeless and already vulnerable of the city, I had a group of friends, more acquaintances, who took it upon themselves to collect donations, buy groceries, prepare and ultimately hand out meals to the large number of homeless people mostly living under the I-10 overpass downtown. As a naturally cynical person, I immediately questioned the motivations. All of those same homeless people were living under the overpass before coronavirus, where was this energy then? One friend involved with this effort confided that she was incredibly anxiety stricken in all of this, and that this “project” was taking her mind off things. I chafed at the phrasing of feeding the homeless as a “project.” Additionally, daily I would scroll through the Instagram feeds of those helping and see pics of cute hipsters in masks and gloves and in grungy, rugged, but still impossibly chic outfits posing in Power Ranger formations in front of their rusted Ford Ranger filled with grocery bags to distribute. A masterclass in virtue signalling, the narcissism of it all polluted the entire endeavor for me. When I asked a trusted voice why this all rubbed me the wrong way, this person replied curtly, “What does it matter why or how they do it? They’re doing a good thing.” 

Kobe did not simply embrace this role of elder-statesman to the succeeding generation, he courted it, campaigned for this mantle as aggressively as he once sought championships. Lacking confidence in the intellect of the public to make their own conjectures of how Bryant resurrected his career, he rebranded himself a self-improvement life-couch, and proselytized his “Mamba Mentality,” even staging a parody Tony Robbins style conference as a Nike commercial. He collected young promising players to mentor like Leonardo DiCaprio collects young blonde models to date. Gossipy whispers swirled every offseason, “Kobes working with Kawhi.” or “Watch out for Jason Tatum this year; he spent the summer training with Kobe.” All of Kobe’s newfound openhandedness seemed spiked with self-aggrandizement. Opting to be the mentor of the next generation ensured that the success of future stars led back to him, and that he would be relevant and sought after long after his retirement. 

Whatever the subconscious or even conscious motivations behind Bryant’s mentorship, his movie Dear Basketball, or his show Detail–in which he broke down the games of basketball players across levels and leagues, treating women’s college basketball standout Sabrina Ionescu with the same care and reverence as NBA star James Harden–the result was education, service, stewardship, and love for the game of basketball. 

I started writing this soon after Bryant’s death but struggled to synthesize an ultimate point. In the end I am not sure I have one, just that Kobe Bryant, much to my surprise was a figure of enough complexity and enduring relevance to require re-interrogation. In hindsight, I needed to watch The Last Dance; the 10 part Michael Jordan re-coronation. In 2009 newly elected President Barack Obama, after stumbling over the oath of office during the freezing January inauguration, retook the oath the next day in a private ceremony just in case any of his political enemies, or the fomenting alt right with its myriad factions–from the conspiratorial to the downright racist–tried to invalidate his presidency. While trivial in comparison, Jordan, with The Last Dance is attempting desperately to reconfirm that he is the greatest basketball player of all-time, something only a few lunatics question. While the actual game footage is a wonder and leaves no doubt of Jordan’s basketball supremacy, the final tally of this hagiographic enterprise may result in a net loss for Jordan. Jordan, like a 19th century robber baron, seems to genuinely believe that his misanthropy, arrogance, condescension, usury, brutality, workaholism, and myopic focus on basketball, and consummate self-centeredness were all justified, required even, to win. To win what? Championships? With sports leagues and public officials debating when and if sports can and should come back amidst a virus with devastating life or death stakes, sports and success within them feel quite trivial and quaint at the moment. 

Having won at everything in life, sitting in his palatial mansion, sipping impossibly overpriced scotch, Jordan does not seem fulfilled. He is Ebenezer Scrooge. Unfortunately, it is not Christmas, and no ghosts of introspection are visiting Jordan, only a camera crew determined to retell the gospel of Jordan with a few non-canonical details sprinkled in for flavor. I am reminded of a line in Pat Conroy’s My Losing Season, an autobiographical account of his college basketball days at The Citadel. After a storied career, Conroy’s senior season is a disaster (hence the title). In it he says no one ever learned anything by winning. The inference is that, while winning is great, the actual growth occurs before, in the losing. Jordan in The Last Dance is the ghastly personification of “never losing. Like Bane before breaking Batman’s back, “Victory has defeated you.” With an unimpeachable resumé, Jordan was never required to question his actions or behaviors towards his teammates and competitors. Worshiped unwaveringly by all, Jordan never felt the need to give anything back to the game or to the communities that supported him. 

While never verbally conceding, Bryant seemed to embrace being the loser. Bryant realized early, perhaps as early as Colorado, that he was never going to be as beloved as Jordan. He began planning early for a life outside of basketball. He started a production company. He braved eye-rolls for the n-teenth time when he proclaimed that he was going to be a “storyteller.” Beyond a cliché adage, Bryant became a “family man,” and focused on this part of his life with the same ferocity that he once attacked the basket. Despite braving turmoil very publicly as a young couple, the bond between Bryant and his wife Vanesa appeared, at least on the outside, genuine. They welcomed their newest daughter, Capri, just 7 months before his death. While no less ambitious or busy in retirement, the Bryant who once wore his insecurity and desperation on his sweaty armband, strangely appeared content, happy. The guy who once proudly proclaimed “Spalding his only friend” relented to a verdant life with others.

While undoubtedly compounded by the tragic and sudden nature of his death, the truly astounding outpouring for Kobe–murals the world over, calf-length tattoos, millions of twitter handle re-namings–stands as an accomplishment, or better said, an acknowledgement that “better” athletes like Jordan or LeBron or Tiger or Brady will probably never receive. He wasn’t the best of us, and in many ways we loved him even more because of that. Before The Last Dance we got a preview of the more candid Michael Jordan during Kobe Bryant’s memorial, where Michael, who unbeknownst to us all was a confidant of Bryant’s, admitted that Kobe made him want to be a better father, a better person. In the end even the GOAT was a disciple of the Mamba. It’s only right that the first millennial superstar gained the biggest following.  

[sunflowerspectre]

Commission Piece | Fire Emblem

This is a mult-chapter commission piece from an anon.

Title: Love in The Mundane Fandom: Fire Emblem (between Blazing Sword and Binding Blade) Summary: After the war, Eliwood and Fiora confess their love before continuing their life together. Pairing: Eliwood/Fiora Rating: Eventual character death Warning: General / PG at most

Commission Me | Tip A Writer | Twitter

Read it on Archive Of Our Own | Next Chapter >> 

Love in the Mundane | Chapter One| Word Count: 1550

A heavy weight grows in Fiora’s chest, each step is harder to take than the last as she drags herself through the aftermath of war, through a beaten and used battlefield that smells of blood and conflict. It’s all she can smell, only she can really feel. Death. It had crept in slowly before the battle had begun, like a warning urging them of what is to come, but like a fool they had ignored its heed and charged. Then Death had swept over them like a dark angel, sweeping lives away like they are nothing, sucking the life out of comrades and enemies, grasping them in a way that she wouldn’t know to make it lose its grip. Now it lingers still, settling over them in a thick air that strains her lungs. With every soul that leaves a struggling body, every light that dims, the air grows thicker.

She is a Pegasus Knight and Death is every knight’s wings, spinning this air into the world like a horrific nightmare,  so she has come to know it well. This air is familiar - it is like greeting the master who has taught you how to kill, how to drive a knife into a heart without feeling for their life. Because of death, because of limited choices and the need to have money, she knows the way that life drains from someone’s eyes. What the last breath sounds like when it slips through cold lips. How blood pools around a wound. How to get the stains out of light clothes. She knows which points to hit with her weapon if she wants her enemy to die - and she knows what to do if she wants them to die quickly or slowly drift away with screams. She usually prefers the former, but the later has to be used when she has to draw information out from less than trustworthy people.

She breathes in deeply and knows the smell of rot and dead flesh. The faint hint of medicine, burning herbs and blood soaked bandages. The metallic taste of burned armor.  She knows too much, she thinks sometimes, and yet she doesn’t know enough.

But Death is not her friend. Death is a shadow that she’s hid in, a darkness that brushes at her skin, a monster that she tends to. It is many things, but it is not a friend. Death had nearly stolen the life of her sister, Florina, and had run its cold fingers through her pride. It is not a friend now as she watches bodies of people she used to know being carried off. Young faces with the color drained from their skin and hair soaked by their blood. Weak hands that reach for her when she passes, begging her to end their life now in mercy - or they plead for her to heal them, help them. She helps the ones that she can, even the ones that don’t want it. 

She feels torn between crying and screaming. She wonders if she cries if it will fade into her sweat in a way that the others won’t see it. She wants to let out the dreadful howl that is building in her lungs, but she swallows it down as she leans her weight onto her weapon and continues to walk with her head high. 

She tries to ignore the blood of her own wounds, but that gets harder with each step that she takes. Pain shoots down her side like lightning, tingling against her skin. She can feel the familiar warmth and wetness of blood soaking beneath her armor and a few joints of her bones creak more than they should when she moves. Where her armor is dented is where she thinks that it’s the worst - the metal bends to her skin unnaturally and it is where she feels the most pain, but she doesn’t feel the blood yet. But she knows that she is lucky - that her armor is why she is still able to walk through the aftermath of the battlefield instead of being carted off by a mortuary trolley. 

Her breath catches when she finally sees him, relief flooding over her that he still stands. Eliwood. It almost makes her knees too weak to stand, knowing that he is still there to lead his people through this. Seeing him makes the reality set in as she realizes that it really is over. She can see the tufts of his auburn hair, the power in his stance as he advises the people around him. His head is held high, proud and strong, but his eyes are humble, his voice even and firm, laced with concern and understanding. His armor catches in the light, making him shine like a beacon, gleaming like the rising sun itself after a dark night. He looks every bit the ruler that he will - and should - be. It is a scene that she will always remember - she will hold it close to her heart. She can see this being the scene that gets carefully recreated on his tapestries in a cold castle. This is the scene that gets beautifully drawn in everyone’s mind when the bards string songs about his glory and strength. The people will call him Marquess. A Duke. But to her, he is a king. Her king.

She basks in his warmth and selfishly, she lets it breathe more life into her. She wonders if it makes his light dim any less when she steals the wisps of it that stray from him - a moon reflecting the sun. It lessens the weight in her heart, and makes her steps feel a bit lighter. She goes to him - her body moving on autopilot, ignoring the pain that shoots through her veins and the burn of her injured skin. But each step comes easily knowing that it makes her one step closer to him. 

She can see his eyes now - kind, honest eyes that beam with concern against a young face. He does not seem to be injured, at least not that she can tell, but his clothes and armor are stained so deeply from the wounds inflicted on their enemy that it will be hard to tell. Maybe a few small cuts here and there, but nothing major. But he could be like her for all she knows - trying his best to let others notice how injured he is. No - not like her, he’s stronger. Better. 

Against the odds, she smiles. 

“Fiora.”

Her name is a whispered relief on his lips as he spots her, his feet moving toward her to meet her. He takes her in his arms carefully, gently and she collapses into his grasp as the last bit of strength that she had in her muscles finally leaves her.

He whispers his thanks to the higher power that she stands and grasps her tightly when he softly declares that he wouldn’t know what to do with himself should she have perished. She admits, with raspy breath, that she isn’t sure what she would have done if she didn’t see him standing there, alive, come the end of this either. But it is an alternative possibility that she refuses to think about too hard.

“I’ll need you by my side,” Eliwood admits, “Should I have my coronation, where I would stand without the one I want as my duchess?”

His love laces every word as he looks into her eyes, unflinching at the bruises that have swollen her face and the blood that stains her skin. It is one of the things that had first attracted her to him - he was the only one to never judge her, never command her or reprimand her for her misgivings. He had called her his equal and it is still a title that she grasps tightly with every bit of her being. 

She had never been an equal before - her sisters were below her, or at least Florina thought that Fiora saw herself as above them and therefore had placed herself beneath her. Their parents were above all of them and their masters when they apprenticed were so beyond them that they couldn’t hope to grasp just one foot beneath them. Her buyers - clients - were above her. Or at least they always acted like they were and she saw them as her source of income. Her enemies are always beneath her blade.

No one - not even any of her party members - had stood beside her before. Grasped her hand and guarded her blind spots, protected her back from attacks and betrayal while she guarded his. Invited her to the fire and shared stories with her like they were old friends. Shared secrets like they were lovers. Kissed her like she was his world. Held her like he would never want to let her go unless she had asked him to. 

She didn’t want him to let go. As long as his arms would be open, she would accept them. As long as she was greeted with kind words and open palms that helped her back up when she fell, she would be there.

“My love.”

Eliwood whispers to her like their love is a secret that others didn’t deserve to know and presses a quick fleeting kiss to her temple.

[pochqmqri]

Despite everything, I’m still alive.

At the moment, that is.

After last Thursday, I’d thought about drowning myself, but I never acted upon it because I’m a coward. All I could really do was try to self-harm, but even I wasn’t good at that.

I had a couple friends reach out to me over the weekend, of which I was very greatful for, but I don’t deserve their kindness at all. I’m a horrible person who deserves to die alone in a gutter.

I’ve treated them like shit, as well as other friends in the past who’ve left me. I’m a toxic person to be around, inflicting my negativity and insecurities on others.

I have the unhealthy mindset of trying to compete with others in life, whether it be art, academically, clout in fandoms/hobbies, or looks/transitioning (of which I’m still in the closet), and my inferiority complex just adds salt to the wound. I don’t feel like I’m “good enough” to continue living, since I don’t fill a “niche” or really have a special quality. I’m just, average.

I accidentally caused skin irration on my face after trying some wax strips, because I wanted to at least slow the annoying growth of my facial hair. I hate my hormonal balance so much, how it gets in the way of wanting to feminize myself. I’ll never “look” like a girl, nor will I ever be accepted as one by society, excluded from women’s spaces.

I feel so alone in this world. As a trans person, I always feel invisible whenever the LGBTQ+ community is brought up, because people really only see the first two letters of the acronym. Whenever people bring up a “win” for the community, like gay and lesbian representation in media, I can’t really relate too much, especially when that same media steps all over trans people, and those same “allies” don’t care/overlook it. Being brown-skinned, I don’t know where I really belong either. I’m Asian, but I don’t really “see myself” when people usually bring up the Asian community, of which the face is generally more paler complexions than mine. I’m obviously not Black, and I do not claim that community as mine, because I do not face the struggles they do. I just can’t find any room for a brown trans girl like me, or much of any similar voices so that I could be stronger in numbers.

I get so worked up over things out of my control, such as my brother’s laziness, my dad’s alcoholism, and cost of my cat’s pet care. I still blame myself for them, because my mom does it to me first.

I’ve been feeding of the toxicity and negativity of drama and discourse online, especially on Twitter, where I subject myself to gross people who justify the shittiest beliefs and etc. It’s making me jaded and pessimistic.

This is all my fault, how things are, how I was born and grew up. I’m too scared of dying, but I also don’t want to prolong my misfortune. So here I am, the suicide-baiter who caused a “false alarm” again.

[kabutone]

mad again

ok listen perhaps twitter is full of crazies perhaps twitter is bad for me or whatever PERHAPS twitter attracts all the anti vaxxers but like literally everything is so hopeless. it feels like nobody cares about covid anymore, even though its still a MASSIVE problem, arguably even worse than it was in 2020 since the virus has gotten MORE contagious and still has the potential to do EXTREME amounts of damage. like i know people still do, all of my friends do (anyone that doesn’t care anymore i no longer consider a friend), but we are just a handful of people in a world of 7 billion. and its just like, why do people not understand or care anymore?? like YES we are all tired of covid, but why does everyone think we can just wish it away if we throw enough pennies in the metaphorical wishing well??? and im so scared that eventually, the few friends i have left will give up too. i know thats unlikely cause my friends are good people, but ive lost a lot of friends that i thought were good people already in the last few years, so im still worried.

but like, why is human life worthless now? why is it okay for people to die? do people realize THEY TOO are part of the group that has been deemed “disposable”? imagine any event of mass death, any war, any shooting, anything where lots of people died, and imagine that the overall response was “if they weren’t good enough to survive then good riddance”. thats horribly offensive, right? so why do people act like covid deaths, (which are preventable, always have been) are worthless? why are disabled people, high risk people, or anyone else that suffers from severe symptoms or death, treated like they are not worth protecting?

its even more heartbreaking coming from someone in hawaii, especially if they’re someone that claims to fight for native hawaiians, hawaii culture, just hawaii itself. we are DYING!!! this is not the first time that we have been killed off by disease!! why don’t you care?? just because its “been long enough”?? why don’t people realize that a virus is not an evil bad man that the government can hunt down and arrest?? why is everyone just laying down and letting everyone else die?? why doesn’t anyone know how to use their brains anymore??

anyway i know everyone’s traumatized or whatever cause the pandemic is like a group mass trauma or whatever its called. but if the general consensus right now is that “covid isnt a big deal and if it affects you in any way you were just too weak and not meant to make it in the first place” then i will flip that right back around, if you cannot survive a traumatic ordeal without becoming an awful piece of shit person then you’re not a strong enough person and didn’t deserve to make it. oh boo boo youre traumatized from quarantine and isolation and now you choose not to mask and attend super spreader events bc youre just so sick of staying home? so am i, but instead of killing other people i chose to continue to mask and keep people safe. if you gave up cause it was just “too hard” then idk tough shit, so either face reality and wear your mask, or hang yourself if you think the real world is too fucking hard i mean it. a lot of serial killers were victims of abuse growing up, but we don’t feel sympathy for them bc they chose to cope by killing people right? a lot of abusers were also abused but we don’t feel sympathy for them when they continue the cycle right?

and im literally always the last one to try to make trauma a pissing contest cause i hate that shit, but at the same time it is YOUR responsibility to heal from trauma and not fucking inflict it in other people. i have even less sympathy for people that have the same trauma as me that act shitty about it cause like, hey i never took it out on other people, so why are you!!! everyone is fucking tired of covid, but some people have absolutely had it worse than others like DYING or LOSING SOMEONE. you have NO RIGHT to make the world a more hostile and dangerous place just because YOU are tired of caring. OR alternatively if you were so stupid that you never cared at all. idk. either be a good person or fucking die. maybe there ARE people that aren’t worth having in the world, but it sure as hell isnt the disabled, elderly or high risk. people that CHOOSE to be selfish and make the world worse have no purpose being here. stupid shitty people should just drop dead, at least they can be useful that way

[paulbenedictblog]

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Bbc news Fight Talk: Tyson Fury, Mike Tyson, Dereck Chisora, Floyd Mayweather y Tommy Fury

Bbc news

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Translating...

In this week's Combat Talk we see at heavyweights who simply could presumably maybe simply no longer let a contention die, and label how a fight between Mike Tyson and Tyson Fury could presumably maybe simply no longer be total fantasy. There is additionally an American middleweight going by means of some heat and data on how Floyd Mayweather's work as a coach is inflicting a rift in Las Vegas.

Deciding on fantasy fights between greats from any expertise has confirmed a favored ability to pass time for fans exact by means of the boxing shutdown, but presumably a one-off assembly between Tyson Fury and Mike Tyson in reality has legs.

Issues are getting pretty outlandish, usually are no longer they?

Fury, who was once named after 'Iron Mike', has spoken about strikes being made by Tyson and Evander Holyfield to return to the game in bouts that can elevate money for correct causes.

"I had a phone name announcing 'would you grasp to fight Mike Tyson in an exhibition fight?'" Fury told BT Sport.

"I acknowledged 'hell yeah', but I produce no longer contemplate something else's materialised out of it.

"I'd no longer strive and assassinate anyone's objectives of doing something else they need. If they're both medically match to fight then allow them to attain what they've purchased to attain."

Holyfield has been posting the form of motivational practicing videos that belong in a Rocky film and worn world heavyweight champion Wladimir Klitschko has even turned out.

So if Klitschko says age is solely a quantity for 57-three hundred and sixty five days-venerable Holyfield, then Tyson's return to the ring could presumably maybe simply quiet be a cakewalk given he is finest 53.

"If he's reduction in the ring, I'd grasp to see it," unified world heavyweight champion Anthony Joshua told British GQ. "I'd undoubtedly be one in every of the viewers, that is no longer reasonable to claim."

Others, in conjunction with British fighter Shannon Courtenay, are no longer so eager.

If nothing else, Tyson's work has sparked an admirable physique transformation. These Joe Wicks exercises are clearly beginning to label.

'Del Boy' answers Russian name

As Britain turned its consideration in direction of Monday's narrate from Dominic Cummings - the dear adviser to High Minister Boris Johnson who drove 250 miles or so that you just should maybe self-isolate - one promoter felt those screening the tournament can also appreciate made some money.

One of many first pay-per-peep exhibits the nation could presumably maybe sight when boxing does resume is on the full Dillian Whyte's heavyweight bout with Russia's Alexander Povetkin.

In unpatriotic but odd boxing vogue, Whyte's rival Dereck Chisora could presumably maybe no longer withstand the probability to enviornment against the man who has overwhelmed him twice in contemporary years.

"I've already acknowledged to Povetkin that, if he needs me, I may reach and back him. I may cruise to Russia," Chisora told Sky Sports actions.

"He acknowledged that he'd win me a non-public jet to reach reduction. Povetkin is my boy."

Sparring, bullying and name calling

Whereas British boxers wait to be allowed to spar all all over again, about a appreciate turned on unbeaten American middleweight Austin 'Ammo' Williams.

The 24-three hundred and sixty five days-venerable posted footage of him hammering a sparring partner, prompting an excited reaction from Britain's Billy Joe Saunders.

"That unhappy man clearly cannot abet his fingers up successfully. After I'm in US I may transfer you round and we can sight what occurs then," Saunders wrote on Twitter.

In the foundation, Williams replied by bringing up he could presumably maybe sight why the footage will be "frowned upon".

However the Texas-basically based fighter mercurial hit reduction at Saunders after which shared conceal shots of conversations with British gentle-middleweight Anthony Fowler which consist of him calling the Liverpudlian a "washed up bum". That was once one in every of the extra tame references by the ability.

Floyd causes rift with the pads

A small bit less controversial gym work has viewed Floyd Mayweather plan praise for the functional pad drills he has been doing with 21-three hundred and sixty five days-venerable world lightweight champion Devin Haney.

Now no longer all and sundry was once in terror of the programs even though. Gervonta Davis - who additionally holds a portion of a world lightweight title and who Mayweather has helped recordsdata in the past - has it sounds as if scrapped his Vegas camp as a outcomes of the Floyd-Haney union.

So that you just'd also't please all and sundry. We would repeat Floyd he "cannot fetch them all" but at 50-0, he could presumably maybe simply disagree.

Fury earns unanimous birthday fetch

Tommy Fury pulled out the stops for the 21st birthday of partner Molly-Mae Hague.

The British gentle-heavyweight no longer finest offered a pet for his fellow Worship Island superstar but by hook or by crook managed to win the younger pup to jot down a label.

"Mummy, I cannot wait to meet you in about a days, except then appreciate the correct birthday and I'm positive daddy will be spoiling you noxious," the label learn.

That is one talented dog.

A stinker with no fans anyone?

And at closing in boxing's world of brash talk, Billy Joe Saunders offered a marginally of humility in his stride of a shot at Mexican belt collector and darling of Las Vegas Saul 'Canelo' Alvarez.

Hardly ever ever has a fighter used his incapacity to beget a venue as a skill plus point. The joke was once form of misplaced on Saunders' British rival Chris Eubank Jr even though.

"He doesn't deserve the fight and if he gets the fight he is going to lose," Eubank Jr told IFL TV. "Saunders will plod in there to outlive, dance exact by means of the ring and stink the world out. No-one needs to see that."

Given now we appreciate waited since March for some UK boxing and appreciate resorted to an obsession with the return of heavyweights in their fifties a stinker of a bout could presumably maybe well attain pretty successfully.

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[dreampvck-archived]

Hey uh do you by change have like a recs list for any of your favourite fics? Or any fics you think would be good to read?

u bet i do !!!

i tried to keep this list small by only reccing completed works but uhh.. it’s still super long lmao + in no particular order

Nu ABO: A Memoir by Park Jimin by decompositionbooks[Non-AU, ABO, Jikook, 34k]

The world didn’t think it was necessary to give him a guide when it shoved all of these omega hormones at him, so here it is, Park Jimin’s handbook on dealing with heats, unrequited love, and Jeon Jungkook.

Craigslist Date by springrain21[Fake Dating, Yoonmin, 48k]

Min Yoongi’s family are judgmental and unsupportive of his lifestyle and his mother won’t stop nagging him about how he’s still single. When he finds Park Jimin on Craigslist offering to pose as someone’s fake date to mess with their family, Yoongi can’t help himself. What starts as a prank on Yoongi’s family turns into something more when the two of them quickly develop feelings for each other. Will Yoongi, who doesn’t know how to handle feelings, let his chance at love slip away, or will he go after the silver-haired boy and hold onto him forever?

Inspired by that tumblr post about the guy on Craigslist who you can hire to be your date for Thanksgiving to screw with your family because that post makes me cry laughing every time I see it.

it’s your heart i wanna live (& sleep) in by knth[College AU, Vmin, 22k]

The first time Jimin sleeps over at Taehyung’s, it’s an emergency. The other times after? That’s a different story.

i’ve been drinking, i’ve been drinking by decompositionbooks[Bartender AU, Jikook, 12k]

Jungkook tries to figure Jimin out with Yoongi’s trademarked “What Your Drink Says About You” alcohol psychoanalysis.

All he knows is that Jimin likes fruity little drinks.

love in the time of social media by abillionstars[Non-AU, Taekook, 23k]

“You want me, an internationally famous celebrity living in a restrictive society that would tear apart any news of me dating, to set up a very public Tinder account under a fake name?” Taehyung cocked an eyebrow. “Just thought I ought to clarify.”

“Yes,” said Seokjin, looking strangely determined.

“Well, shit,” Taehyung said, exiting out of the Words With Friends game. “I’m in.”

In which Taehyung doesn’t swipe right on anybody at all (except in his heart), goes on absolutely no wild adventures, but ends up falling in love anyway.

honest you do by mnsg

[’We Got Married’ AU, Jikook, 26k]

“Do you think you’ll be a good husband?”Jimin smiles. “I’ll really, really try.”

Korea’s darling, Park Jimin, gets married.

pull me closer in the backseat of your rover by moonsuns[College fwb!au, Yoonmin, 14k]

Jimin had just wanted to get off. He didn’t think he’d end up with a boyfriend at the end of it all.

Or, another friends with benefits AU.

light me up (i’ll keep you warm) by kaythebest[College AU, Yoonmin, 13k]

He’s already taking a deep breath when he hears someone twisting the doorknob. “Jung Hoseok, I have a bone to pick with you, you absolute asshole,” he starts.

It is not Jung Hoseok.

Definitely not.

Min Yoongi.

Jimin coughs awkwardly into his fist. “Hello,” he finishes.

(In which Jimin has a crush, yells a lot, and maybe falls into like.)

The Emotional Journey of Park Jimin: Token Straight Guy[College AU, Yoonmin, 9k]

…Okay.Okay, so that was, uh. A thing that. That happened that was a thing that happened and everything is fine. Everything is fine! Perfectly normal! The prank they played on Hoseok went over swimmingly, because of course it did, and everything was fine.Except this one thing.Park Jimin can’t sleep.

Requite by wickedqriosity[Minjoon, Taekook, lil bit of Vmin, 74k]

requite (verb) 1 a : to make return for; repay. b : to make retaliation for; avenge. 2 : to make suitable return to for a benefit or service or for an injury.

Jimin, a soft-hearted retail supervisor, moonlights as a professional cuddler to buy a new loft.

When the object of his workplace obsession offers to help him move, and subsequently moves himself in, Jimin hopes that his lonely daydreams are coming true. Until, the silver-tongued squatter begins to demolish Jimin’s ‘happy place’ and inflict fresh wounds over old scars.

Devastated and frustrated, Jimin soon meets a new cuddle-client who encourages him to question—and ask for—what he really wants.

Kickstart series by Error401[Hitmen AU, Yoonmin, 35k]

“I-I don’t understand…” Jimin said, eyes watering as he focused on Yoongi. “I thought…you were going to kill me…in the bathroom.”

“Yeah, well so did I,” Yoongi said wryly, and Jimin flinched, trying to make himself impossibly smaller.

AKA It is a truth universally acknowledged, that Min Yoongi in possession of a heart will be in want of sleep.

Snapshot Vigilante by Error401[Superhero AU, Yoonmin, 58k]

Jimin knew that life in the big city would be different, but dealing with super powered mishaps and one piece of bad luck after another was a bit much.

Lucky him that the vigilante Suga was watching his back.

En Passant by Error401[Jikook, Criminal!Jimin and Cop!Jungkook, 10k]

“Hey,” Jungkook said, voice low, “whatever he did, he didn’t deserve that.”

“Oh?” Choi said, mouth twisting in amusement. “Did you know his boyfriend likes to sever heads and preserve them? I hear he’s got quite the collection.”

Jungkook felt his eye twitch. “That’s disgusting, and also not funny.” He glanced at the crying boy, who’d now curled his legs up to fit on the chair, his feet bare and as tiny as the rest of him. Lines of red were spilling from under the cuffs, dripping onto the table. “I’m going to find a first aid kit and treat those.”

“I wasn’t joking,” Choi said, as Jungkook slipped out of the room.

Conflicting Arrangement by PrettyBoyKiller[Fake Dating, Yoonmin, 162k]

“Absolutely not,” Yoongi deadpanned. “Namjoon-ah. I value you as a friend, and I think I’d even go as far as to say that you’re my best friend, but absolutely fucking not.”

“You owe me,” Namjoon pleaded. “Come on, Yoongi, it’s not a big deal.”

“Your boyfriend’s best friend’s best friend needs a fake boyfriend to come out to his family this Chuseok, all the way in fucking Busan.” Yoongi repeated drily without pause, making Namjoon wince. He flipped a page of his textbook, picking up his highlighter. “Not a big deal, Namjoon. Amazing.”

refrigerator humming, chewing gum and instant karma by locks[Mafia AU, Taekook, 61k]

Taehyung sets the flowers down on the dining table, plucking the card off the little holder. “Dearest Taehyung, just wanted you to know that I’m thinking about you. I hope you’re thinking about me too. Love–” he pauses and squints before cocking an eyebrow and pursing his lips. “Hyung, why is the boss of your little boy band gang professing his love for me?”

Yoongi drops the noodles on the floor with a loud curse as he burns his hand.

Or, Taehyung’s been trying his hardest to avoid Yoongi’s criminal life for a long ass time, but a cute kid and his infuriating father keep pulling him deeper into the mix.

Barbershop SUGA series by MissterMaia[Hairdresser AU, Yoonmin, 35k]

Jimin’s impromptu visit to a salon called SUGA turns out to be more interesting than he expected. Way more interesting.

Hey, Piano Man by MissterMaia[Bartender AU, Yoonmin, 15k]

In which Yoongi, after having his evening completely ruined by a drunk asshole on his way home from a rough day at the studio, decides he himself needs to get drunk and wanders into an old-fashioned pub. He may or may not find his bad mood washed away by the cute bartender, and he may or may not end up completely and utterly smitten when said bartender gets on the small stage and starts singing in the most angelic, beautiful, seductive voice he’s ever heard in all his life.

“You play the piano?”

“I… yeah, I do, actually. How’d you know?”

The bartender’s smile is shy and confident all at once, and Yoongi’s heart lurches in confusion. “Just a feeling,” Jimin says softly, busying himself with drying a glass. “Your hands are beautiful. They look like they were made to play an instrument.”

in your eyes (it’s where i wanna be) by bonnia[Coffee Shop AU, Yoonmin, 5k]

Jimin pauses with his marker inches away from the cup, because — is he really going to do this? Isn’t it a bit old-fashioned to write something flirty on a coffee cup? But no matter what his churning gut says about danger and what the hell are you doing do you want to die, this guy is — with no better way to put it — totally Jimin’s Type with a capital T.

(Or: Jimin accidentally starts a nickname war with the cute blonde who likes his coffee way too bitter.)

Hit The Lights by lethallergic[College AU, Taekook, 7k]

1-800-HOTLINEBLING

You’re My Genie, Lamborghini (You’re My Teenie Weenie Meenie) by mindheist[Youtuber AU, Jikook, 7k]

You know those people who say technology is driving people apart? Yeah, fuck them.

Out of My System by xxdevillishxx[College AU, One Night Stand AU, Yoonmin, 101k]

Yoongi likes one night stands and he understands how they work. What he doesn’t understand, however, is how he ended up in bed with a probably-not-legal kid crying in his arms about his broken heart, because he’s pretty sure (and correct him if he’s wrong) that a babysitting job was not what he was looking for when he went to the opening of his friend’s new club.

when you’re in love all the lines get blurred by jflawless[Fake Dating AU, Yoonmin, 36k]

Jimin isn’t sure what possessed him to lie to his mother and tell her that he had a boyfriend, but now that he’s opened the position, he has no choice but to fill it. Yoongi is, apparently, his only option.

dating for dummies by sugasus[High School AU, Taekook, 12k]

in which twitter is evil, jeon jeongguk is a bit tsundere, park jimin is satan and kim taehyung may or may not have a boyfriend.

those are a bunch of my faves, lemme know if you want more of a specific pairing !! 💖💐

[quakerjoe]

The Alt Right Is Celebrating John McCain’s Cancer Diagnosis

John McCain was diagnosed with brain cancer earlier this week, and while most of the conversation – even from Democrats – has been civil, there is a staggering amount of vitriol coming from the Alt Right.  All over social media, the hardcore, alt right Trump supporters are claiming that this diagnosis is punishment from God for McCain not being a blind Trump supporter.

As most people are aware, John McCain earlier this week, announced that he had been diagnosed with brain cancer. He does intend to go back to the Senate. We don't know if he's going to continue his term, what's gonna happen with his diagnosis. To an extent, depending on when they caught it and how developed it is, it could be treatable, could be curable. I think there's only about a 4% chance of that, a 4% success rate for treating this particular type cancer. None the less, the response overall, from both Republicans and Democrats has been civil, as it should be. In this particular instance, whether you like him or you dislike him, it's inappropriate and uncalled for to attack John McCain or celebrate the fact that he was diagnosed with what could potentially be terminal cancer. But there is one group in the United States that seems to think that this is punishment for John McCain not being a blind loyalist to Donald Trump, and that group is the alt-right. On social media sites 4chan, Twitter, Reddit, hard alt-right Donald Trump supporters are saying that this was Godly justice that John McCain got this potentially terminal diagnosis. They're celebrating it. Saying, "That's what you get for not blindly supporting Donald Trump. You deserve this." Those are just a few of the comments and to be honest, those are some of the nicer comments that some of these idiots are out there making online. They go on to further call him some pretty grotesque names. Some of the names that were thrown around a lot during the campaign, but none the less, John McCain doesn't deserve any of that. If you want to go after John McCain, you go after his record. His cancer is neither punishment for anything that he's done in his life or God's way of inflicting justice upon him. It happens to good people, it happens to bad people, it happens to everyone in between. John McCain got brain cancer because John McCain got brain cancer. Not because he didn't support Trump, not because he unleashed Sarah Palin on the world, and not because of his voting record. It certainly because of his time in Vietnam or his time as a prisoner of war. It wasn't because he was tortured. It was just because John McCain developed brain cancer. It could happen to anyone. There is no reason to make this uncivil. If you don't like John McCain, go after his policies, go after his voting record. That's fine, but the cancer thing, the fact that this man is likely gonna die and leave behind his wife and his daughter, people who do love him and support him and respect him, that is sad. That is the only response that any of us should have to this particular diagnosis. I think a lot of Democrats understand that. They try to be civil at these times, but when you have a part of the Republican party, the alt-right, out there celebrating this because he wouldn't blindly support Donald Trump, that is absolutely disgusting. There is nothing admirable about the alt-right. There is no redeeming quality about those human beings that consider themselves a part of this. They are disgusting, atrocious, troll-like individuals that do not deserve any kind of platform on which to spew their hate. They seem to have found it online. They seem to be flourishing under Donald Trump and they love him because he is exactly like them. That's only one more reason why we need to get that man out of office as soon as possible.

[akalittlevoice]

Queer Kids VS. The World

Photo: AKA Little Voice

Let’s talk about books. I just picked up Jodie Patterson’s book, The Bold World. I first saw a recommendation by Girlfriends and Being Mary Jane screenwriter and producer Mara Brock Akil, and then listened to Touré interview Jodie on his podcast. It was a very enlightening interview about raising a trans child, full of love and care. I can’t wait to start reading. I also hope that it becomes clear, that a priority of the parents of LGBTQ+ kids is to protect them from harm just like any other parent. I especially hope, with this book and examples set by Dwyane Wade, Magic Johnson, and their extended families, that a frank conversation begins within the Black community about how to support and uplift LGBTQ+ children.

Photo: SNL

When I first moved to my West Village neighborhood, I saw lots of young Black kids congregating on Christopher Street near the PATH train to New Jersey, every Friday and Saturday night. I was so curious about how and why they landed in this particular area which was and still remains uber white and suburban, even in the middle of a metropolis. Yoga pants, leashed dogs, and double-wide strollers abound, but I digress. I finally realized that these kids came to the Village to be free. Free from the judgment of neighbors and family who didn’t accept them as they were, even to the extreme of threatening or inflicting violence.

I guessed that they probably stayed close to the train so that after their momentary freedom, they could conveniently hop back on a train to a place they may have begrudgingly called home. I also realized that some of these kids had already been thrown away by their family and were likely living hand to mouth. The Village was where they could meet up with their chosen family, and maybe feel just a bit of safety in numbers.

Photo: Twitter @ BridgetEileen

On the opposite end of the spectrum, I read a recent Twitter thread of LGBTQ+ kids sharing how their parents kept them under virtual house arrest to deter them from fraternizing with “ bad influences.”  (https://twitter.com/TravelingNun/status/1116659042234064896). This included tutors who provided LGBTQ+ resources to kids who were struggling not only academically, but with identity, and the trauma their parents were inflicting upon them. The mind boggles that keeping one’s child under house arrest is the best response to dealing with their sexuality and gender identity.

Photo: Viceland/”My House”

These days I miss seeing the kids down at the pier practicing their routines for the balls. If I do nothing else in life, I will dance and be entranced by dance until the day I die. I dream of experiencing a ball, and one day I will master the “dip” (not a death drop), without the fear of dislocating my entire middle-aged ankle, knee, and hip. Until then I’ll live vicariously through viewings of Paris Is Burning and Pose. And I’ ll pray for and support the kids because they don’t deserve to be thrown away or locked up. They deserve to live their biggest dreams just like everybody else. They are enough.

Photo: Jojo Whilden/FX from “Pose”

[wickedbabesblog]

Cover Reveal for Warrant (A Vindicator Novel Book 2) by Kathy Coopmans

#OnTour with @HEAPRMore @AuthorKCoopmans | #HEAPR ∙ 🔥 ∙ #CoverReveal ∙ 🔥 ∙ #WARRANT, a #Dark #RomanticThriller by #USATodayBestseller #KathyCoopmans releases Dec. 11th! #CoverPhotographer: Golden Czermak #CoverModel: Dylan Horsch #CoverDesigner: Ellie McLove 🔥 Pre-Order Today! 🔥 Amazon- https://amzn.to/2SP65Qt Amazon UK- https://amzn.to/2Dq1tMm Amazon CA- https://amzn.to/2D8LaTd Amazon AU- https://amzn.to/2PhG5PJ B&N- https://bit.ly/2DtBYcW ibooks- https://apple.co/2RBhIJs Kobo- https://bit.ly/2SS1InG Every wrongdoing warrants a consequence. In my case, I've decided to settle the score with death. Especially when, what brought this on, what stirred up my crazy, was the vicious attack on an innocent young girl. Worse, one that ended in her death. Years, I've been plotting to take out the men I used to call my brothers. The men who double-crossed me by brutally murdering my sister. I want revenge. I need it. Crave it. It's in my blood. I planned to stop at nothing. No matter, if I conflicted pain on another woman. After all, it was her brother who killed my sister. I figured, why not make him suffer the same way I have. One tiny glimpse of her changes everything. Or does it? Maybe, just maybe, the little siren I wanted to harm is going to single-handedly slaughter me instead. Lies. Deceit. Manipulation. Gotta love a tangled web of warranted deception. 🔥 TBR: http://bit.ly/WarrantTBR 🔥 Pre-Order Today! 🔥 Amazon- https://amzn.to/2SP65Qt Amazon UK- https://amzn.to/2Dq1tMm Amazon CA- https://amzn.to/2D8LaTd Amazon AU- https://amzn.to/2PhG5PJ B&N- https://bit.ly/2DtBYcW ibooks- https://apple.co/2RBhIJs Kobo- https://bit.ly/2SS1InG 🔥 Text KCoop to 21000 for sales and release notifications! ∙ 🔥 ∙ HUGE SALE! ∙ 🔥 ∙ VENGEANCE is $.99 this week only! It won't be this low again! *All books in The Vindicator Series can be read as a standalone.* Normal price is 3.99, on sale NOW for 99 cents! VENGEANCE Amazon US: https://amzn.to/2wf9eyq Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/2vQteZ2 Amazon CA: https://amzn.to/2MDqF6k Amazon AU- https://amzn.to/2nLYeF1 PAPERBACK-https://amzn.to/2wcwFbR B&N- https://bit.ly/2BuwLiH iBooks- https://apple.co/2QkZWwZ Kobo- https://bit.ly/2KADtXC I often wondered if Vengeance came with a price. I never cared, not after the torture I've endured. For me, Vengeance is best served through the eyes of my scope. The twitch of my finger. The pull of a trigger. The death of someone who deserves to die. Revenge, retribution, and retaliation are all that comes to mind. Cruel and brutal punishment for the hell inflicted on my family is all I've ever been able to think about. The betrayal fresh in mind years later, reminding me of the day my world came crashing down. I lost everything. The woman I loved. My sister. My parents. Myself. You know what else I say about Vengeance? It's best served frozen. No side dish of compassion. No extra helping of warning. No dessert called a second chance. The price I want for it. Is written in blood. 🔥 #MeetTheAuthor 🔥 USA Today Best Selling and multiple Amazon top 100 Author Kathy Coopmans is a Michigan native where she lives with her husband, Tony. They have two sons Aaron and Shane. She is a sports nut. Her favorite sports include NASCAR, Baseball, and Football. She has recently retired from her day job to become a full-time writer. She has always been an avid reader and at the young age of 50 decided she wanted to write. She claims she can do several things at once and still stay on task. Her favorite quote is "I got this." Subscribe to receive #releasenotifications from Kathy: http://bit.ly/2yzrffs AUTHOR NEWSLETTER >> http://bit.ly/KathyCoopmansNL Amazon: http://amzn.to/2EQu7DV Website: https://authorkathycoopmans.com/ Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2E3d6VR Facebook: http://bit.ly/2AivLud Twitter: http://bit.ly/2CwOeIT Reader Group: http://bit.ly/2CNPTY9 HOSTED BY: @HEAPRMore http://heapr.blogspot.com

WARRANT by USA Today Bestselling Author Kathy Coopmans releases December 11th!

Pre-Order Today! Amazon- https://amzn.to/2SP65Qt Amazon UK- https://amzn.to/2Dq1tMm Amazon CA- https://amzn.to/2D8LaTd Amazon AU- https://amzn.to/2PhG5PJ B&N- https://bit.ly/2DtBYcW ibooks- https://apple.co/2RBhIJs Kobo- https://bit.ly/2SS1InG

Cover Photographer: Golden Czermak Cover Model: Dylan Horsch Cover Designer:

[the-christian-walk]

NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART

Can I pray for you in any way? Send any prayer requests to OurChristianWalk.com. In Christ, Mark

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

** Follow The Christian Walk on Twitter @ThChristianWalk

** Like posts and send friend requests to the author of The Christian Walk, Mark Cummings on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/mark.cummings.733?ref=tn_tnmn

** Become a Follower of The Christian Walk at http://the-christian-walk.blogspot.com

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The scriptures. May God bless the reading of His holy word.

"Whatever town or village you enter, search for some worthy person there and stay at his house until you leave. As you enter the home, give it your greeting. If the home is deserving, let your peace rest on it; if it is not, let your peace return to you. If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, shake the dust off your feet when you leave that home or town. I tell you the truth, it will be more bearable for Sodom and Gomorrah on the day of judgment than for that town. I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves.” "Be on your guard against men; they will hand you over to the local councils and flog you in their synagogues. On My account you will be brought before governors and kings as witnesses to them and to the Gentiles.”

Matthew 10:11-18 “Whenever you enter a house, stay there until you leave that town. And if any place will not welcome you or listen to you, leave that place and shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them.”

 Mark 6:10-11

 “Whatever house you enter, stay there until you leave that town. If people do not welcome you, leave their town and shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them.”

 Luke 9:4-5 This ends this reading from God's holy word. Thanks be to God. There is one thing the disciples of Jesus learned both in their time with Him and in their time of carrying on the gospel after His crucifixion and resurrection. Doing the work of Christ was not for the faint of heart.

 In fact, it was downright dangerous. As we look at our passage today and through the rest of the scriptures in Matthew, Mark, and Luke over the next few days, we see that Jesus did not try and hide the fact that challenges awaited those who chose to serve and follow Him. And while the disciples had for the most part witnessed those who accepted, believed, and trusted in Jesus and the power He possessed up to this point, they hadn’t yet experienced those who weren’t so receptive.

 You see, the message that “the kingdom is near” wasn’t just to be taken to those who wanted to receive it. Rather, it was to be brought to everyone who then in turn could either receive it or reject it.

Let’s take a moment now to look at Matthew’s account as Jesus continues to give guidance to His chosen twelve before sending them off to carry out His tasking:

 "Whatever town or village you enter, search for some worthy person there and stay at his house until you leave. As you enter the home, give it your greeting. If the home is deserving, let your peace rest on it; if it is not, let your peace return to you. If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, shake the dust off your feet when you leave that home or town. I tell you the truth, it will be more bearable for Sodom and Gomorrah on the day of judgment than for that town. I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves.” "Be on your guard against men; they will hand you over to the local councils and flog you in their synagogues. On My account you will be brought before governors and kings as witnesses to them and to the Gentiles.”  Matthew 10:11-18 For Jesus - who had instructed His disciples to travel without gold, silver, or copper as well as sans bag, extra tunic, sandals, or staff (Matthew 10:9-10) - was sending them to towns and villages where they were to “search for some worthy person” and “stay at his house until you leave”. The assumption was that there would be someone who would at least extend some form of hospitality but note that Jesus didn’t guarantee it.

 In fact, He prepared His disciples for the occasion when they wouldn’t be welcomed, instructing them to “shake the dust off” their feet when they would “leave that home or town”, a clear sign of rejection. Any home or town who would turn away the disciples Jesus Himself had sent would be akin to rejecting Him and that would not come without consequence. Indeed, Jesus said “it will be more bearable for Sodom and Gomorrah on the day of judgment” than for any home or town that snubbed Him and we know what happened to Sodom and Gomorrah: mass destruction and annihilation.

 Back to the scriptures where we find Jesus letting His disciples know there were greater concerns in play than just rejection. For He warned the twelve to "be on your guard against men” who would hand them “over to the local councils” and then inflict punishment by flogging them in the synagogues.

 Those who boldly go forth to unknown lands and among unknown people can and will experience persecution. From this point forward, not only the disciples but Jesus Himself would come face to face with harassment and persecution first hand - ridiculed, arrested, beaten, and even killed for the cause of God’s gift of salvation through His Son. Indeed, there would often be a heavy price paid for stepping forth to do the work of Jesus and the twelve were definitely being sent out by Him “like sheep among wolves”. Now you might think to yourself, that was pretty bad and I’m sure glad things are different today. But the truth of the matter is that things haven’t changed and Christ’s disciples today continue to suffer and even die for the cause of sharing the gospel and representing their Savior. Consider these recent headlines all taken from the International Christian Concern website, “persecution.org”: Friday, October 20th, 2017: A masked gunman stormed the mission house of the Christ Apostolic Church in Ondo State. When he entered late Monday night, he was looking for Rev. Oluwarotimi Akinroyeje, a clergyman with the Church. He then shot the Pastor, and according to one witness, waited until he died to leave.

 Thursday, October 19th, 2017: A number of Christians in India's Chhattisgarh State have been hospitalized following a mob attack on a church service last Sunday. According to local reports, members of the mob dragged Christians out of the church and demanded they renounce their faith. When they refused, the mob beat them. Attacks on Christians and their places of worship in India have dramatically escalated under the current BJP-led government. In 2016, Christians were attacked a total of 441 times. In the first six months of 2017, Christians had already endured 410 attacks.

 Tuesday, October 17th, 2017: An overwhelming majority, or around 75 percent of religious persecution in the world, is aimed Christian minorities. Due to the state backed persecution of Christians, North Korea is one of the most dangerous places for Christians to practice their faith. Persecuted Christians are hung on crosses over an open fire, starved, and crushed by steamroller in North Korea. Unfortunately, the extent of Christian persecution in the world is largely ignored by the mainstream media.

 I could go on and on but it’s easy to see that fulfilling the Great Commission today is still not for the faint of heart. The maltreatment of Christians around the world is happening every day with the threat of injury, arrest, or death looming constantly. The truth of the matter is that we still live in a world where people are being harassed, abused, attacked, and killed for the cause of the gospel. We can’t afford to close our eyes to this truth and need to be in constant prayer for those who are brave enough to stare death in the face for the cause of Christ Jesus. Friends, Jesus called us to make disciples of all nations, to baptize in His name, and to teach obedience to all He commanded but He never said that work would be easy. He ended up hated enough that people wanted to kill Him although He had done nothing but heal and teach and love and save.

 And all along, He knew that it was His destiny. As for us, we already know our destiny. For through Jesus, our salvation is secure (John 3:16) and our eternal fate is to live with Him and God the Father forever. Because of Christ and because of Him alone, death will not be the end for us but rather the start of a glorious life eternal, a life free from pain and sin and suffering. Yes, through Jesus, our future is set. But until that time when this life is over and we enter into the promised glory, we need to prepared to risk everything for the cause of Jesus and His gospel, just as He did, no matter how dangerous things may get. He never said following Him would be easy but He did promise an eternal reward that will be the best life ever. It’s a life worth risking this life for to help others find their own salvation.

 Just ask any of your brothers and sisters in other nations who are doing just that this very day.

  Author’s Note: I encourage you to visit Persecution.org (International Christian Concern) and Persecution.com (Voice of the Martyrs) where you have opportunities to communicate with, pray for, and financially support the persecuted church all over the world.

Amen.

In Christ,

Mark

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