#(so much so that when rick can take out everything he considers toxic from inside of him he gets rid of his love for morty too)

[ambreiiigns]

btw rick and morty makes me insane bc no one Gets it people who don't wanna watch it (like me! before my brother made me watch it in exchange of him watching sk8 the infinity w me!) are like ugh problematique bad #edgy dark humor adult cartoon for reddit bros 🙄 but then the reddit bros who watch it & became the main representatives for its audience are like haha pickle rick wooo you need high iq I Relate To Rick Sanchez Deeply and he's like the joker to them and he's a king and an icon of alpha males somehow???? but like. neither of those people understand that rick and morty is actually about Nobody Exists On Purpose. Nobody Belongs Anywhere. Everybody's Gonna Die. Come Watch TV?

[sanzoumon]

FREE RICKORTY+ PROMPTS!:

Seriously, if you wanna write any of these just go for it and then let me know. Spoilers for S5E10. Some are more gen but could also be shippy, smut encouraged but optional. All of these are definitely bottom!Morty btw. Others are straight up smut.

Non-rickorty prompts (really just Morty x Summer) are are the bottom.

PROMPTS:

Trapped on what remains of the Citadel, Rick confesses that he recently realized he’s in love with Morty and that he wants to be by Morty’s side forever - in whatever way Morty wants (as in be it romantic, familial, platonic, whatever, it’s Morty’s choice). How does Morty feel and what will he decide?

After the whole Planetina thing Morty gets much needed comfort from Beth. Tho he feels better after that, Morty feels the overwhelming need to be with Rick. As it happens, after that whole ordeal with Daphne, Rick feels an overwhelming need to be with Morty. Bedsharing and comfort ensue.

Morty notices that ever since the Citadel was destroyed, Rick’s been way more physically affectionate. Little touches, petting his hair, hugging, casually rubbing soothing circles on him when they relax, wanting to cuddle, affectionate kisses, handholding, even nuzzling him. Morty likes it. A LOT.

In a rare moment of relaxation, Rick and Morty snuggling up together, they share a kiss. Both are shocked but then immediately begin an intense make-out session.

Rick wants to make up for his prior mistreatment of Morty. Morty asks for something be never expected: A kiss. And Morty means a full on kiss - tongue included. Who is Rick to deny him?

Rick and Morty have a rather intense incest kink. Lots of dirty talk.

Morty finds out that Rick has feelings for him. Rick freaks out, feels like a piece of shit, and tries to run away. Morty stops him, clings to him, begs Rick to calm down and to not leave him. Rick is practically hysterical, Morty gets him to shut up and calm down the only way he can - a kiss.

Morty preys on Rick’s guilt for having mistreated Morty in the past by guilting him into having sex. Morty knows Rick doesn’t want it, but he’ll do anything Morty wants. Morty feels like shit doing this but he can’t get about of how good Rick feels inside him.

Morty royally screws up on an adventure, almost getting himself killed, and Rick opts for a good ol fashioned punishment - a bare bottom spanking. Aftercare happens because Rick was terrified for Morty and needs him to understand this is why he spanked him.

Rick suffers from Domdrop after a really emotionally intense session with Morty. Morty provides Rick with the aftercare he needs.

The family finds out about Rick and Morty’s relationship. Shocking everyone, it’s Beth who attacks Rick square in a blind rage. The whole time Morty is begging her to stop hurting Rick, who doesn’t even try to defend himself, and it’s Jerry and Summer who have to hold her back so she’ll actually listen to Morty.

Rick and Morty get married at the alien equivalent of Las Vegas. Summer was a witness and recorded the whole thing.

In another dimension it’s considered a rite of passage for a boy to have sex with the household patriarch when he turns 14. Morty never felt the need to do that but then Rick comes along and says that’s because Jerry wasn’t man enough to do it, so Rick takes it upon himself to do so.

Morty is attracted to Rick specifically because Rick is a dirty old man.

On the Citadel, some Morty’s are bred purely to be sex slaves for Rick’s. Bred to be more compliant, submissive, and who love Rick’s unconditionally no matter how badly they mistreat them.

Rick and Morty have an emotionally incestuous relationship. Basically: “when a parent or caregiver relies on a child for the support that an adult partner would usually provide. They may also treat the child like a romantic partner.”

Morty deliberately gets himself into trouble on adventures because Rick will, out of worry and adrenaline pumping through him, fuck Morty afterward like an animal. Like a twisted version of “glad to be alive sex”.

Rick and Morty have to hide in a tight fitting enclosed space while facing each other. Awkward boners and grinding / dry humping ensue.

Omegavese. Morty goes into heat and Rick knocks him up. It wouldn’t be so bad if Rick wasn’t seriously turned on by Morty being pregnant with his baby.

Omegaverse. Unclaimed Omega’s have it rough and are constant targets for harassment. One day Morty gets assaulted by some Alpha’s at school and before they’re able to violate and claim him, Rick shows up and makes them wish they were never born. Morty knew right then that Rick was his Alpha and begs for Rick to claim him.

Rookie Cop Rick x Cop Morty. Rick likes how chubby Morty is.

Toxic Rick x Toxic Morty. They’re both made up of the irrational attachments they have for each other. Without their healthier selves to reign them in they can’t keep their hands off each other. Basically, in between all the science, Toxic Rick fucks Toxic Morty and Toxic Morty can’t get enough of just how much Rick loves him.

Evil Rick x Evil Morty. Sometimes Morty lets Rick have control of himself again just so Rick will rape him like he used to before Morty took control.

Morty’s fantasy is for Rick to fuck him against his will while Morty cries and begs Rick to stop. Rick can’t deny Morty his perverted fantasy.

Rick goes on a rampage to save Morty and, by the time all is said and done, Rick is mildly wounded and is practically drenched in the blood of his enemy. And it’s the hottest thing Morty has ever seen in his life. Morty wants Rick to fuck him right then and there, raw and primal, using the blood as lube.

Morty’s just so small and cute. Rick loves it a little too much.

Rick loves to degrade and humiliate Morty in bed. Morty loves it too.

Breeding kink. They like to pretend Morty can actually get pregnant when they have sex.

OTHER:

Summer asks Rick to shrink her giant space incest baby down to normal baby size. Everyone tries to talk her out of it because she’s young and not ready to raise a baby, but she knows she can’t live without him and that she wants this.

Morty x Summer. It may have been under very weird circumstances but fact is they have a baby together. Summer says she doesn’t expect anything from Morty and is cool with it, but Morty wants to be involved. Raising a kid together can make you feel things you never expected to feel.

Morty x Summer. Morty liked attractive redheads and Summer is no exception.

Morty x Summer. After everything they’ve seen and done, sex with each other to relieve stress isn’t that noteworthy.

Morty x Summer. Summer is humiliated that she actually enjoys being fucked by her little brother. Worse yet, Morty knows it and taunts her with it while fucking her. Worst of all, him doing that makes it even better for her.

Morty x Summer. Set during the time Rick was in prison. They’re always fighting lately, sometimes to the point of physical aggression. One thing leads to another.

Morty & Summer. After the whole Morty Jr. thing, Morty isn’t sure he wants to be a dad again. But Summer is worn ragged with school, taking care of their recently-shrunk-to-normal-size space baby, and their family giving her crap for raising him instead of leaving him in space. And, well, he is responsible for the kid existing in the first place. Basically they raise their baby together.

Summer sees Morty getting picked on at school and she ends up beating up his bully half to death.

Morty x Summer. Something happens and they end up bound together face to face with Morty’s head buried in Summer’s boobs. They’re so big and soft that he gets aroused in spite of himself. Summer feels it, insults him like expected, but tells him just to hurry up and get rid of it by grinding against her thigh so they can start pretending this whole thing never happened sooner.

————

And that’s all I got for now, folks! I know it’s a long list and it’s all over the place but I have so many ideas in my head and the S5 finale just sent my imagination into overdrive.

So please, if you’re a writer, I hope these prompts inspire you. Let me know if you write anything, please!

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[embracethecringeside]

OK, here's one: do you think that there's any genuine good in Rick? I can't make up my mind about that one. I don't think he's evil or a sociopath (a lot of fans called him that in the early days, that term is so misused), but his intense self-hatred seems to be the only redeeming thing about him. He must have some sense of morality because he knows he's done horrible things, but he makes zero effort to stop doing horrible things unless it benefits him somehow.

My short answer is yes, Rick has genuine good wrapped up in there but my full answer is a bunch of examples from the show that I would like to call Soft Sanchez moments, where Rick either does something good/says something real and genuine/or his goodness is talked about in some fashion.

Meeseeks and Destroy 

Morty: Look, I want to leave now. You win the bet, okay? (Searches Rick's lab coat for the portal gun) Just give me the portal gun and let's go, please!

(Rick sees the badly beaten Mr. Jelly Bean walk out of the bathroom and pieces together what happened)

Morty: Please, I just want to... go h-home. (Tears up and holds onto Rick)

Rick: Okay. Listen, Morty. I just won a bunch of shmeckels. Why don't we use 25 of them to pay slippery stair here for a ride back to the village, and then we'll give the rest of the shmeckels to the villagers, huh?

Morty: Really?

Rick: Sure, Morty. Yeah. You know, a good adventure needs a good ending.

Rick: Good job, Morty. Looks like you won the bet.

Morty: Thanks, Rick, but I don't know if I should. You know, you were right about the universe. It's a crazy and chaotic place.

Rick: Well, you know, maybe that's why it could use a little cleaning up every now and then, you know. This one's wrapped up neat and clean because we did it Morty style.

(They portal away, but Rick makes another portal back and sticks an energy pistol through it and shoots Mr. Jelly Bean, splattering him all over the screaming villagers)

A Rickle In Time

(Puts his own collar on Morty, who disappears) 

Rick: I'm okay with this. Be good Morty. Be better than me. Holy shit, the other collar! I'm not okay with this! I am not okay with this! Oh, sweet Jesus please let me live. Oh, my God I—I've gotta fix this thing, please God in Heaven, please, God, oh Lord, hear my prayers. Yes! Fuck you God! Not today, bitch.

Mortynight Run

Rick: Screw this. I’m out.

(Rick forms a portal and leaves through it. Morty tries to start the car as a Gromflomite approaches, but it stalls.)

Morty: Oooh…! Come on, come on!

Gromflomite: Get out of the vehicle made of garbage or we will open fire!

Morty: *still trying to start the car* Oh no no no!

Gromflomite: Open fire!

(A portal appears directly above the guards and water pours out of it, flooding the room. Another portal appears on the floor, and the water and Gromflomites are sucked into it. A third portal then appears and Rick emerges through it, walking up to the car.)

Rick: Stupid-ass fart-saving carpet-store motherfucker! *shoves Morty out of the driver’s seat and takes the wheel* Move!

Auto Erotic Assimilation 

Rick: You got that right. But... baby, listen. Y-you're talking about taking over planets and galaxies, you gotta... you gotta just... remember to let go sometimes, you know.

Unity (Administrator): I can let go! Hey, look! You see that town across the river? Watch this.

(Planes fly past and bomb the town, blowing it all up)

Rick: Whoa!

Unity (Administrator): Ha ha! Woot!

Rick: Whoa! That's not what I meant!

Unity (Administrator): [laughing] It's okay! It's okay, I evacuated! I evacuated the town, look!

Unity (Townspeople): Hey! Right here! We’re fine!

Rick: (laughing) Oh, that was awesome! My grandkids weren't in that town, right? A-are my grandkids alive? ... H-hey, my drink is empty

Get Swifty 

Rick: Take it from me, Ice. *burp* You can’t just *burp* float around space not caring about stuff forever.

Morty: Tammy… gross. Birdperson, you always stick up for Rick, but he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He doesn’t think about the consequences of anything he does.

Birdperson: And as a result, he has the power to save or destroy entire worlds. And he is the reason you and I know each other. And the reason I’m alive at all.

Look Who’s Purging Now

Arthrisha: Wait, stop! Please, don't kill me! I-I never intended to harm you, I swear. I am trying to end the festival. W-w-what do you mean? I was going to use your ship to destroy the rich assholes that run our society and save my people from the horrors of this yearly festival.

Rick: I'm not here to judge. I'm just a guy from another planet. But this girl is one of your poor people, and I guess you guys felt like it was okay to subject her to inhuman conditions because there was no chance of it ever hurting you. It's sort of the socio-political equivalent of, say, a suit of power armor around you. But now things are evened out, so, Arthrisha?

Morty: I can't help but feel ashamed about what I did back there, Rick. I guess you were right. I've got a lot of repressed stuff. I need to deal with. 

Rick: Don't worry about it, Morty.Remember those candy bars earlier that we got in the first act? 

Morty: Yeah, what about them? 

Rick: Turns out they have a chemical in them called purgenol that amplifies all your violent tendencies. 

Morty: Oh, boy. Whew! Thank goodness for that, huh? That's a relief. 

Rick: Yep. Don't even sweat. You're still the same old Morty. Your character's totally protected. (camera pans out to reveal the label on the chocolate bars reads “now purgenol-free”)

The Wedding Squanchers

BirdPerson: The guest list at this wedding includes 17 of the federation's most wanted. We have committed numerous atrocities in the name of freedom.

Rick: But... but... Here's the thing. Birdperson is my best friend, and if he loves Tammy, well, then I love Tammy, too. (Cheers and applause) To friendship, to love, and to my greatest adventure yet... opening myself up to others.

The Whirly Dirly Conspiracy

Rick: And you know what? I’ll cop to it. I put a lot of strain on your marriage. It wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.

Jerry: What?!

Rick: I didn’t respect your marriage. I certainly didn’t do it any favors. And for what it’s worth, I’ll apologize to Beth for it when we get home. Whoo! Whirly Dirly! Yeah!

Pickle Rick

I’m trying to let the scripts show all the ways Rick is good before I jumped in but since this is really weird without just watching the episode I’ll just explain that Rick doesn’t kill Jaguar after he finds out he has a daughter and then they work together to escape. 

The Old Man and The Seat

Tony: Can I look at a photo of my wife while you kill me?

Rick: Sure, but I'm doing her a favor. She either has terrible taste, or she's trapped in a marriage to a toilet thief. 

Tony: She's dead. And I don't mind joining her. Life has been hollow since I lost her. Using your toilet was nice, though. I'm a bit of a shy pooper. I'm ready when you are. 

Rick: Stay there. (goes through a portal, comes back with another Tony) Tell him what you told me.

Other Tony: What is this? What's happening? 

Rick: Tell him what you told me. 

Other Tony: My wife's still alive. Sh... sh... she went into remission 10 years ago.

Rick: And what did you do today? 

Other Tony: Oh, I, uh, pooped on a really awesome toilet I found... Oh, ow, ow, ow, ow, oh! (Rick shoves him back through the portal)

Rick”: Don't use your dead wife as an excuse. You ( Bleep ) on my toilet because you don't know your place, and your place is nothing. So next time you stumble onto a toilet that feels too good for your ass, trust me, it is. 

Tony: You're not gonna kill me?

Rick: Don’t tell me what to do!

Tony: You can make a perfectly-realized, toilet-filled simulation of heaven, but you can't share a toilet? 

Rick: Don't insult my craft. The chemical is Globaflyn. It connects the whatever-you-want section of your brain to the whatever-you-have section. If your heaven is toilets, that's on you. 

Tony: All of these people... 

Rick: Are living their wildest, meaningless dreams and leaving me out of them.

Tony: People you refuse to kill and refuse to let into your life.

Star Mort Rickturn of the Jerry

(Rick reveals he has saved what he could of PhoenixPerson)

Okay and on to the big one where I am actually going to talk instead of just letting the script go off Rest and Ricklaxation. We see two sides of Rick, Healthy Rick and Toxic Rick. After Healthy Morty slaps Healthy Rick, and he slaps him back, he discovers the machine doesn’t actually know the difference between what is truly healthy and whats actually toxic, it goes by each person’s individual definition. Shortly after we as the audience learn that Healthy Rick? Is actually apathetic. He doesn’t care about others. All the caring and emotions are wrapped up in Toxic Rick. Everything Healthy Rick did and said is all stuff he believes are good, he apologies, he takes responsibility for his actions, he’s polite, he’s trusting, and he doesn’t try to control others, but he is doing all of this simply because he thinks he should. So it is completely selfless when he makes the bargain so Toxic Rick will merge with him, because, and he even says it, he hates having what he considers his toxins inside of him, but it’s the right thing to do.

Then of course Healthy Rick calls Toxic Rick out, knowing that he is the one with all his, “irrational attachments” as he puts it, and as much as Toxic Rick no longer wishes to be a part of Healthy Rick, he merges with him under the pretence that he will then be able to save Toxic Morty. Both act selflessly for different reasons, Healthy Rick believing it is the right thing to do, while Toxic Rick does it for Morty. 

So do I believe that there is good in Rick?? Heck yes!! Good is stored in the garbage grandpa! 

[thesportssoundoff]

One day, we will all be memories

I feel compelled to write this. It'll probably be messy and sloppy but I felt compelled to put something down that would encapsulate yesterday.

My day began with a family drive to go and get gas; standard garden variety life stuff. As we passed a windy icy road, we came across an overturned SUV with a person inside of it who had been literally on her way to church. After minutes that felt like hours of waiting in January weather for help to arrive, police and medical personnel made their way to the scene. The woman inside the overturned vehicle was fine to my knowledge (or as fine as somebody could be after having their car flip over and wind up on its hood) and thankfully she was cognizant of her sorroundings, coherent about what had had happened and seemed to be okay. What was so awe inspiring was the sort of humanity of others in that moment. My father, a former EMS and just all around "in the heat of the moment do the right thing" guy, got out and went to work helping the person while other onlookers blocked the road, my sister called 911 (as did others), people went to get her family and just put on a tremendous showing of humanity. It was the sort of showing that people may see in a gif or in a sappy youtube video and then move on with their day, perhaps even muttering about how that'll never happen to them or where they live. Sometimes I tend to have that same mentality of not believing but at the end of the day, I truly believe that people in the most dire of times will always show the sort of strength and courageousness that CAN make a difference in our world. Sometimes, painfully enough, it takes the worst in life to bring out the best in us. 

Fast forward a bit later on and the Kobe Bryant news hits social media. At the time I was more just hoping for facts and clarity as rumors spread about who had died, what had gone wrong and god knows whatever awful horrendous things that are often associated with tragedies. Sometimes our desire to be right, to be first or to be informed trumps all and our hearts move faster than our brains. We're so hungry for clarity and information that the synapses in our brains shouting for us to stop, assess the information, take it with a grain of salt and understand that patience will always prevail with something like this are washed out by our hurting hearts that take over. As I saw the news articles coming out and watched social media banter rumor and story at one another (from Rick Fox being on the plane to all of Kobe's daughters being on the plane to the eventual full story we now know), I waited and in hindsight, I almost think I waited because I wanted it to all be a lie and a hoax. Even as more and more legitimate sources came out to either confirm or correct the information, I just kept waiting for something else to be said otherwise. I kept waiting to be lied to and for social media to be wrong about everything.

Unfortunately, it was more right than we all wished to bare.

Speaking purely from an impact standpoint, Kobe Bryant's legacy and inspiration are hard to match in the sports world. I tried to come up with a global comparison with Alex and the best he could come up with would be if such a tragedy struck a major soccer star. The point being that Kobe Bryant is something almost incomparable to anything else I've ever experienced. My mother and I talked about Roberto Clemente and how it rocked the world but the world feels so much bigger and interconnected now than when Clemente passed away. It wasn't until later that night upon reflection and seeing the outpouring of love from his on the court detractors to lifelong supporters that it really clicked for me. It just feels wrong. It just feels unfair. It's hard to come up with a loss so powerful and so....wrong. It just feels wrong. Kobe Bryant wasn't an aging great who passed away quietly in his sleep; he was 41 years old with young children. A group of families were traveling to a basketball game when something very tragic happened and robbed a family of their husband, father, daughter and sister. Kobe Bryant will never get to walk his daughters down the aisle, Vanessa Bryant will never get to see her daughter's first WNBA game or her graduating college or discover the cure for cancer or where the winding road of life planned to take her. The most painful and fucked up part of this is that his younger children who came into this world long after the 81 point game vs the Raptors or the two Olympic gold medals or the handful of rings he wore as an NBA champion will have to hear from other people how amazing their father was as an athlete and as a person.

Wrong.

Unfair.

Fucking wrong and unfair.

I always feel like such an asshole that it takes something tragic to stop, breathe and appreciate how blessed I am to even be alive. Sports is my escape and when your escape gets real, it’s always such a system shock.  In a day and age where it's easy (and perhaps even trendy) to be numb and nihilistic, I think there's something about athletes going through struggles off the field/court/ice/ring/cage that brings out something humbling in all of us. Kevin Love and DeMar Derozan made people take a second to reconsider the pangs of mental health. Andrew Luck and Luke Kuechly forced us to remember the limitations of the human body. We put athletes on such a pedestal that we forget that they're human beings like us and when we see those flickers of mortality, it's almost as if these amazing people become...well people I guess. Kobe Bryant's death and the death of eight other people is another painful reminder that no matter who you are or how special you may be, life is such a fragile thing. It truly is a blessing and one that often gets taken for granted. It forces us to stop fishing for likes, retweets, favorites and all of this immaterial borderline toxic stupidity and take a second to remember that all of us are not guaranteed a tomorrow. Life is so fleeting and can be taken from you/us at any given time. Kobe Bryant at the end of the day was no different than all of us. The people you like, love, admire or even ones you don't like don't have an expiration date tattooed on their foreheads---they can be here in the morning and gone forever by night time. In life, everybody you know will eventually become memories to you and in turn you to others.

And I guess as I lay here in bed trying to find a good way to sum up my emotions, I can only try to follow up on that with honesty; you WILL become somebody else's memory---so why not be a lasting one? Why not aim to be a good one? Kobe Bryant's impact on life wasn't just as an amazing athlete but as a flawed perfectionist who truly tried to better lives in so many different capacities. He was an inspiration, a hero, a loved villain but most of all? He was an example of how we are all never our best days or our worst days but what we do to improve and better ourselves and others. That's more important than anything else. It made me reconsider if, as I've often said on the DojoTalkPodcast, if I truly live my life like every conversation I have with somebody could be the last one we share and if I truly take that to heart. I literally sat here and thought of all the people and all of the things that irritate me and realized that in the grand scheme of things, those are so small compared to the grander picture of life. Think of someone, think of the things they do that irritate you and then just let it go. My brother playing video games all the time? Who cares. Parents nagging? Let it go. The way some of my friends overreact to everything? Whatever. You stop and think of the things the people you love do that irritates you and then consider that right now two families (and countless others who were impacted by them) would give up every car, every dollar and every piece of jewelry in their house for just another day of those bad habits or silly minor things their sister/mother/father/brother would do that would irritate them. I won’t have you forever and you won’t have me forever so why spend it aggregating ourselves over meaningless nothing? Never go to the grave with a beef you didn't squash and never go to the grave with somebody wondering how you felt about them. Life is truly too short and it's unfair and it will never give you a heads up and a set date for you to go around letting everybody know your appreciation level or that you're sorry or that you forgive them. If tomorrow is considered the first day of the rest of your life; then make the rest of your life one where all you wish to be is somebody else's eventual happy memory.

Chances are you already are.

[trashcanband4]

The Revelation of the Other Woman Ch. 10

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Chapter Title: Shit hits the fan. Word Count: 4,375 warnings: Panic attacks, anxiety, an oc who can’t make up her mind.

 I was sitting in my tent, glaring down at the floor when I heard Ricks voice outside. “Joanna, we’re all heading to gun trainin’, you comin’?”

“Nope, I’m good. I already know how to shoot.” I stated flatly not moving from my spot.

He pushed the half zipped flap aside and stepped in. “Yeah, but we could use your help training the others.”

“I said I’m fine.” I snapped as I finally looked up at him to see him squinting down at me like he was confused. “Did you even try to tell her last night?” he just looked down at the ground.

“No…” he sighed and I just scoffed and threw the book I’d been holding, but not reading, aside. “The timing didn’t feel right.”

“Of course it didn’t. You’re too good a man to leave her in her condition.” I sighed more to myself than him.

“I’m sorry her condition?” he asked completely confused now.

“She didn’t tell you did she?” I asked.

“Tell me what?” he asked and I just busted out laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“Rick, get out of my tent.” I laughed menacingly. He looked at me like I was going crazy as he ducked out of the tent.

He didn’t know Lori was pregnant. She once again lied, probably hoping to trick me into keeping my mouth shut. Well, she got her wish, my mouth was shut and in that moment I decided that I wouldn’t be around to tell him. I started packing my stuff. When everything was packed and the tent was clean I started putting on my riot gear. I was gonna need it out there away from this place and these toxic people.

I had my bag thrown over my shoulder and was headed for the front gate when Daryl’s gruff voice hit my ears. “Hey, where you goin’?”

“I’m leaving.” I stated before I heard grunts of him getting up off of his cot.

“Yer leavin’?” he asked and I wanted to turn and look at him, but I didn’t. I just kept walking.

“Yep. I can’t stay here anymore.” I answered. I heard his feet practically running after me before I felt his calloused hand grab my wrist and pull me to a stop. My eyes met his for a split second before he looked down and let go of my hand. “What?” I asked with a sigh and a shrug.

“Why ya leavin’?” he asked simply with a hand on his hurting side.

“There’s no simple answer for that.” I answered not looking at him, but at the ground.

“So you’re just goin’?” he asked and I didn’t look at him. “By yourself with a bum hand and no one to watch your back?”

“I don’t need anyone to watch my back, but if you want you can come with me.” I offered.

“I have to look for Sophia.” He stated simply and I instantly felt like shit. I had been so focused on myself that I forgot about the missing little girl. “I thought you were with me on that.”

“I am.” I said shakily and he scoffed. “Daryl, I am. I want to find that little girl just as much as you do I just…” I trailed off not knowing what to say. “God, I’m selfish.” I sighed, fighting back tears of self loathing as I covered my eyes with my hand.

“So you’re stayin’?” he asked and I slid my bag off of my shoulder to catch the strap in my hand.

“Yes, but as soon as we find Sophia I’m leaving and you’re more than welcome to tag along.” I told him as I turned my back on his and headed back to my tent.

Other than catching lunch at the camp fire, I spent most of the rest of the day in my tent reading the book I’d been working on. I had made up my mind. I didn’t want Rick. Lori could have him, but it still hurt just being around him. So like I told Daryl, as soon as we found Sophia I was going my own way. I had to get away from Rick and Lori.

The sun had started to set when Rick barged into my tent. “What the hell?” I asked standing up at his intrusion.

“Lori’s pregnant?” he asked and I didn’t say anything. “She’s pregnant, you knew and you didn’t tell me?” he asked.

“Wasn’t my secret to tell and it’s not like you would have believed me anyway. You didn’t when I told you about her and Shane.” I said with a shoulder shrug.

“Yeah, but you were right about that.” he said with his hand on his hip as he stared at the floor. “You’ve always told me the truth.” He said with a sigh and watery eyes as he closed in on me with his hands ready to grab my face and kiss me. But I ducked, avoiding his advance.

“Stop it, Rick.” I told him as he turned to look at me. “I’ve said it before, but I mean it this time. We’re over. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a relationship, not a good one anyways. A relationship built on a rocky foundation is destined to fail. Doing this with you has turned me into something I don’t like and don’t want to be.”

“Okay.” Rick sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded. “Okay, you’re right.” He dropped his hand from his face and looked down at me with watery eyes. “But when we…at the CDC…” he stumbled over his words but I waited for him to make his point. “We didn’t use anything. Is there any possibility that you could be-”

“No.” I cut him off and he squinted at me. “It’s impossible.”

“Well, were you on birth control?” he argued as if he were hoping I was so that he could have an excuse to be with me.

I felt a lump forming in the back of my throat. I’d never had to have this conversation with anyone before. As a dedicated dancer I didn’t get much male attention. I was always working. “I’m telling you it’s impossible for me to be pregnant.” I sighed as I sank down onto my cot.

“How do you know it’s impossible?” he asked sinking down to kneel between my knees.

“Because I know okay!?” I snapped and he pulled back, shocked that I’d yelled at him. “I can’t have kids.”

“Why not?” he whispered.

“Because when I was nineteen I found out I had ovarian cancer.” I said as the tears started slipping down my cheeks. “It caused permanent infertility.”

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered as he took my hands in his and I pulled them back.

“Don’t be. I’ve come to terms with it.” I said as I wiped my face. “I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but hat baby is a blessing. And rather it’s yours or not doesn’t matter. You’re her husband so that automatically makes it half yours. And I’m not going to be the woman that takes a kids father from them.” I said as I scooted to the side and stood up. “So you should go be with her.” I pushed the door flap open and motioned him out.

He went without a word and I was thankful. Once he was gone I sank down on the cot and cried myself to sleep.

That morning we sat around the fire eating eggs that Carol cooked. I couldn’t help but cast my eyes over to Lori and Rick who sat on the opposite side of the fire. She had her arm draped around his shoulders while he looked off into the distance, distractedly. But as my eyes left them they landed on Glenn, staring across the yard to where Maggie stood on the porch of the farm house shaking her head no. When Glenn looked away it was to look at Dale who shook his head yes. What the hell was going on around here? The whole camp felt awkward and just…off.

I glanced at Daryl, who was sitting on my right, to see if he noticed what was going on around us, but he just stared at his plate as he ate. “Um, guys.” Glenn’s voice pulled my attention back to him where he stood wringing his hands nervously. “So…” he started shakily and everyone else looked at him to see what he was so jittery about. “The barns full of walkers.”

“What?” Rick and I asked at the same time while everyone else just stared at him.

Without much discussion we all headed to the barn to see if what Glenn said was true. Sure enough, when Shane walked up to the barn doors and peeked inside a walker slammed into them emitting a loud growl as it did. “You cannot tell me you’re all right with this.” he said with a glare at Rick as he stalked back over to where we all stood.

“No, I’m not, but we’re guest here. This isn’t our land.” Rick practically growled back as Shane strode past him.

“God, this is our lives man!” Shane yelled in his usual hot headed way.

“Lower your voice.” Andrea scolded Shane before she turned to Rick. “We can’t just sweep this under the rug.”

“It ain’t right, not remotely.” Shane babbled on as the rest of us just stood by. “We’ve either got to go in there, we’ve got to make things right or we’ve just got to go. Now we have been talking about Fort Benning for a long time.”

“We can’t go.” Rick argued back.

“Why, Rick? Why?” Shane asked taking his hat off to wipe his brow before he put it back on.

“Because my daughter’s still out there.” Carol spoke up with her arms crossed over her chest uncomfortably.

Shane scoffed. “Okay…carol..” he practically laughed. “Okay, I think it’s time that we all start to just consider the other possibility.”

“Shane, we are not leaving Sophia behind.” Rick said.

Then Daryl stepped up from behind Carol. “I’m close to finding this girl. I just found her damn doll two days ago.”

Shane once again laughed. “You found her doll, Daryl. That’s what you did. You found a doll.” From there the arguing and fighting escalated. After a few mean words from both of them they started swinging. But everyone broke it up and kept things from getting really bad. When Lori pushed Shane back and told him to back off he put his finger in her face “Keep your hands off me.”

“Just let me talk to Hershel, let me figure it out.” Rick said to a retreating Shane.

“What are you gonna figure out!” Shane shouted and charged at Rick, but Lori pushed him back.

“Enough.” Lori yelled at Shane.

“Lori’s right, that’s enough.” I spoke up and stepped into the area with Shane Lori and Rick. “I don’t know what to do about that,” I said with a point at the barn, “but I know one thing for sure. All of this? The arguing, and fighting and bickering, isn’t gonna solve a single thing.” I then turned to Shane. “You need to calm your ass down.” I told him before I walked off and let Rick take it from there.

“If we’re gonna stay, if we’re gonna clear this barn, I have to talk him into it. This is his land.” Rick reasoned.

“Hershel sees those things in there as people.” Dale said with a motion to the barn and we all turned to him. “Sick people. His wife, his stepson.”

“You knew?” Rick asked.

“Yesterday I talked to Hershel.” Dale answered.

“And you waited the night?” Shane asked.

“I thought we could survive one more night.” Dane answered. “We did.”

I scoffed and shook my head earning a glare from Daryl. “My God, another secret? Anyone else have anything they want to share with the group?” I asked sarcastically and everyone rolled their eyes.

From there the arguing continued until finally everyone dispersed from the barn except Shane and I, who hung back to examine the barn. After figuring out that it was totally secure, I sat down on the tire of a nearby lowboy to think. I jumped when something Shane did caused walkers to slam into the doors and looked up to see him reach for a gun that wasn’t there. When her realized this he stopped and spit like a pissed off little boy. Then as he turned around to leave his eyes landed on me. “Hey, you said somethin’ about secrets earlier, what did you mean?” he asked as he walked over to stand a few feet away from me.

“It’s not really my place to say what the secret is, but I’ll gladly point you in Lori’s direction.” I answered and he just shook his head.

“What do you think about all this?” he asked with a point at the barn, changing the subject.

“I don’t like it, obviously, but there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s not our barn and it’s not our land. And as willing as I am to leave this place and frankly this group, you guys can’t leave. Sophia’s not the only reason y’all need to stay.”

“What’s the other reason?” he asked, fiddling with his hat in his hands.

“That’s not for me to say.” I answered, keeping Rick and Lori’s secret. “But what I will say,” I started as I stood up, “is that that temper of yours, won’t solve anything. The only thing it’ll do it get you killed.” I told him before I walked past him headed to the stable that I saw Daryl head off to.

I passed Carol on the way there and noticed that she looked more upset than usual. “I wouldn’t mess with him right now.” she warned, but I kept on walking. I ignored her and kept going.

When I walked in he was doubled over holding his side. “Go away.” he grumbled as he stood up straight, trying to pretend that he wasn’t in pain.

“Na, I think I’ll stay.” I said nonchalantly as I crossed my arms over my chest and walked over to lead against the gate of an empty stall. “Wanna talk about it?” I asked thinking he probably wouldn’t.

“She thinks Sophia’s dead.” He grumbled and I felt my heart drop. “How could she give up on her little girl like that?” he asked turning to me from the saddle he had been fiddling with.

“I don’t know, I really don’t.” I sighed and he went back to his work. A few minutes later I spoke up again. “It’s been two days since we found the doll. Maybe she’s just lost hope.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He sighed, not wanting to talk much.

“Maybe you can find a way to give her a little hope.” I suggested and it sounded more like a question. He just glanced at me and shook his head. “Okay, I’ll see you later.” I said just wanting to escape the awkward situation.

“Hey, has anyone seen Rick?” I asked as I walked over to the front porch where Maggie and Glenn sat on the steps.

“He went off with Hershel, we were supposed to leave a couple hours ago.” Andrea answered as she and T-dog walked up.

“Yeah, you were. What the hell?” Daryl asked as he walked up behind me. “Damn it. Isn’t anybody taking this seriously?” he asked aggravatedly. “We’ve got us a damn trail.” He said turning toward the woods swinging his arm about in his usual style. “Oh, here we go.” We all looked to see Shane walking over with a shotgun in his hand and the bag of other guns thrown over his shoulder. “What’s all this?” Daryl asked.

As Shane walked by Daryl he handed him the shotgun. “You with me man?” he asked and Daryl took the gun. “Time to grow up.” Shane told us as he neared the porch. “You already got yours?” he asked Andrea.

“Yeah, where’s Dale?” she asked him.

“He’s on his way.” Shane answered a little too vaguely for my taste then handed T-Dog a gun.

“I thought we couldn’t carry.” He said taking the gun with a questioning expression.

“Yeah, we can and we have to.” Shane answered then turned to everyone else and started giving a speech. “Look, it was one thing sitting around here picking daisies when we thought this place was supposed to be safe. But now we know it ain’t.” he walked over to Glenn and handed him a shotgun. “How about you, man? You gonna protect yours?” he asked. Glenn gave Maggie an apologetic look before he took the gun from Shane. “Can you shoot?” Shane asked Maggie as he turned to her.

“Can you stop?” Maggie countered. “You do this, you hand out these guns, my dad will make you leave tonight.”

“We have to stay, Shane.” Carl said as he walked down off of the porch.

“What is this?” Lori asked as she walked over.

“We ain’t goin’ anywhere, okay?” Shane reassured Carl then started talking to everyone again. “Now look, Hershel, he’s just gotta understand. Okay? He…well he’s gonna have to. Now we need to find Sophia. Am I right?” he asked as he walked over a kneeled down in front of Carl. “Now I want you to take this.” he held a pistol out to the little boy. “You take it, Carl, and you keep your mother safe. You do whatever it takes. You know how. Go on, take the gun and do it.”

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Shane, a grown man was giving a child a gun. I was going to say something, but that’s when Lori stepped up and pushed her son behind her. “Rick said no guns. This is not your call. This is not your decision to make.”

“Oh shit.” T-Dog said getting out attention and we all looked his way to see Rick, Jimmy and Hershel coming out of the woods with walkers on poles of some kind.

“What is that?” Shane asked as he took off running in their direction. Naturally we all took off after him. “What the hell are you doin’?” Shane yelled at Rick when we got near.

“Shane, just back off.” Rick warned.

“Why do your people have guns?” Hershel asked.

“Are you kidding me? You see, you see what their holding on to?” Shane yelled circling Rick and Hershel like a mad man.

“I see who I’m holding on to.” Hershel yelled back.

“Na, man, you don’t.” Shane argued while the rest of us stood back and watched. Daryl had his gun pointed at the walkers.

“Shane, just let us do this and then we can talk.” Rick said.

“What you want to talk about, Rick?” Shane yelled. “These things ain’t sick. They’re not people. Their dead. Ain’t gotta feel nothing for them cause all they do, they kill!” he yelled pacing around then as they made their way to the barn. “These things right here. They’re the things that killed Amy. They killed Otis. They’re gonna kill all of us unless we do something.”

“Shane shut up!” Rick yelled.

“Hey, Hershel man, let me ask you something.” Shane stated, pulling his gun from his hip. “A living, breathing person, could they walk away from this?” he asked before he shot the walker three times. Rick kept yelling at Shane to stop, but he didn’t. “That’s three rounds to the chest. Could someone who’s alive, could they just take that? Why is he still coming?” He shot it two more times. “That’s it’s heart, it’s lungs. Why is he still coming?” he shot it three more times.

“Shane, enough!” Rick yelled.

“Yeah, you’re right, man.” He walked over to the female walker and shot her in the head “that is enough.” He started pacing around and yelling some more. “Enough risking our lives for a little girl that’s gone. Enough living next to a barn full of things that are trying to kill us! Enough! Rick, it ain’t like it was before.” He kept yelling, but I blocked him out to keep myself from sinking down into the attack that I felt coming on.

I tried to ignore everything going on around me and block out all the yelling, but when gun fire hit my ears I looked up to see walkers flooding from the barn. I was in shock, too stunned to move, but eventually I managed to take my pistol from my hip and start firing at the walkers. Shot after shot I took with one hand, taking down the horrid things that were coming after us.

Soon walkers were piled in front of the barn and more still came out. How could we have been sleeping so close to that many of those things without even realizing it? Eventually though, the walkers stopped coming and we all eased our guns down. That was until a lone growl pulled our attention back to the barn doors to see a little girl walk out. My heart fell when I saw the rainbow on her dirty blue shirt. Carol cried out for her daughter and made a run for the barn, but Daryl looped his arm around her shoulders, catching her before they both fell to the ground.

The little girl, who was no longer the Sophia we knew, started wobbling her way over to us where we all stood stunned and broken. None of us made a move and it was Rick who walked up and did what had to be done. After the little girl fell he stood there shakily looking down at her. As I looked over to Carol she got up, pushed Daryl away and ran off to the camper.

Beth, crying squeakily headed over to the dead, pulled a body off of her mother then turned her over. The young girl just wanted to grieve, but the walker of a woman reached out and grasped at Beth’s hair attempting to eat the poor girl. Beth screamed as she was pulled away by Shane and Rick. She cried out as her mother’s skull was kicked in an attempt to take her down. But it wasn’t until Andrea took the walker down with a scythe that it stopped fighting. Beth clung to her father, crying, as he, Maggie and Patricia escorted her to the house. Shane followed behind them ranting and raving, but I stayed behind. I couldn’t stop staring at Sophia. I knew it wasn’t her anymore, just the shell of what she used to be, but it still hurt. I’d had hope that we would find her. That she would be out there hiding in a nook or cranny. But she wasn’t. She had been in the barn the whole time.

When I took my eyes off of Sophia it was to look up at Daryl to see him shake his head and walk off. I took in a deep breath, closed my eyes and held it for a while before I blew it out. It didn’t help much, but it calmed me a little. I needed space, so I headed to my tent, but when I walked by Lori and Carl I heard Carl say, “Like maybe she was hiding somewhere like in a cave or a tree. She’d be safe and I’d find her and bring her back.”

I couldn’t stop myself from kneeling down beside him as I put my hand on his shoulder. “I thought the same thing. I thought Daryl and I would find her, but…” I sighed and blinked back tears as I looked at Lori who looked back at me. I was surprised to find a look in her eyes that told me that she appreciated what I was saying. “But I guess that just not how it was meant to be.”

Carl nodded and looked at his mom before he looked straight ahead and said, “He did the right thing, shooting her like that. I would have done it too.” his words took me aback and I looked at Lori to see it had done the same to her.

We were both speechless for a second before she snapped out of it and asked, “Joanna, would you mind taking Carl up to the house.

“Yeah, of course.” I answered with a nod and stood up.

“I want you to rest.” She told Carl as she brushed his hair out of his face.

He gave her a nod and stood up to stand beside me so we headed to the house. On our way we passed Rick. “Hey, you dropped the hat.” He told Carl as he put the sheriff’s hat back on the boys head.

The two of us walked in silence until we got to his room. “You like my dad, don’t you?” Carl asked as he hopped up on the tall bed.

“W-What?” I asked, completely thrown off guard.

“My dad, you look at him the way mom used to.” He explained as he tucked himself into the thick blankets.

“What way is that?” I asked with a dry throat as I walked over to sit in the chair beside his bed.

“I don’t know, but I’ve seen mom give Shane the same look, before you brought dad back.” He said looking pensive.

“So your mom likes Shane?” The question flew from my mouth. I had no clue that such a young man could pick up on such grown up things.

“So you do like my dad?” he countered and I glanced down at my hands. “And Daryl.” I glanced up at him with a tilted head, silently asking him what he was talking about. “I’ve seen him give you the look too.”

“Wow you’re observant.” I sighed as I leaned back in the chair.

“And grownups are complicated.” He said as he snuggled into the blankets.

“You’re not wrong about that.” I smiled and stood up. “Get some rest, okay?” I asked and he nodded as I walked to the door and turned out the light.

Daryl Tags: @jodiereedus22 @mtngirlforever @zzeacat @winchester-angel@moodygrip @beegnc @hells-mistress @lighthope08 @sapphire1727@luisadontcurr @chloebabyboo @ilkaeliseb @twdeadfanfic @ravengalaxia@1lluminaticonfirmed @my-current-fandom-is @nikkiloves-bailey @coffeebooksandfandom @lonewolf471 @gruffle1 @mblaqgi @calumstuffs@beltzboys2015-blog @neontiger007  @lonewolf471 @sourwolf-sterek32 @dixonluvv @dotslabyrinth @kayln97

[vizhi0n]

Sawney - Part 21

Chapter Masterlist

If you wanna be tagged or untagged, let me know!

@castielwinchester22 @i-am-negan-trash @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash@genevievedarcygranger @kijilinn @lucifers-trash-stash @ladylorelitanyfanfiction @superprincesspea @hannibalssweaters@strangersangel9 @heartfulloffandoms @crzcorgi @mypapawinchester @kellyn1604 @moonypetyr @darkangel66a @backseat-negan @vinylmadwoman @embracetheapocalypsewithme @lovingzombiechaos @mcnegan @orchiddingme  @romeomontvgue @negans-shtten-pants @chiwawha @rapsity @imjustmakingsuffupagain @gremlinfuck @negans-network @jasoncrouse @toxic-ink @collette04 @jeffreydeanneganstrash @originalwinchestervamp @nycktmcginn @deviousginga @itstotalyblue @melodicdolls @my-achilles--heel @ironictrickster @neganswinchesters

Warnings: Just some gore. Don’t hate me XD

Negan was absent when Desa awoke. His spot on the bed was still warm, the covers thrown to the side. She extended her hand, brushing her fingers across the smooth sheets before sighing, sitting up and brushing a hand across her face.

She dressed, taking her time. The moment she exited Negan’s room, she could feel the hostile stares of Negan’s wives — the most intense coming from, once again, Tanya and Amber. Desa made it halfway across the parlor before she stopped, relaxing her clenched fist.

“If any of you have a problem with me, speak up. If not, I’ll just go ahead and consider those obnoxious stares an act of aggression, and promptly remove them from your faces.”

Silence hung over the room. Desa looked around, teeth clenched. Amber ducked her head, clearly shaken, while Tanya stood, arms crossed. She wasn’t intimidated — in fact, Desa’s words seemed to have made her angrier.

“I saw you go into the cells. I heard that man screaming because of you. You’re a monster. A freak.”

Tanya’s outburst didn’t surprise Desa. Amber sucked in a breath, while the rest of the wives gathered what they had and retreated to their own shared rooms. Amber was the last to go, following close behind Sherry, who’s eyes lingered on Desa for an unusually long time.

“Go with them,” Desa said to Tanya. “You don’t want to try anything. You really don’t.”

Tanya’s glare broke. She raised her chin, strutting past Desa, keeping that sour look on her pale face. Desa said nothing, choosing not to escalate things further. The less contact she had with Tanya, the better. 

The door to Tanya’s room slammed shut, and Desa’s shoulders slouched. She turned, and found herself staring at Negan, leaning against the doorframe to the parlor. He gave a low whistle, smiling and pointing Lucille in Desa’s direction.

“I was just about to come wake you the fuck up — and guess what I fucking find? You, fucking taking control. I have to admit, my dick did get a little hard.”

Desa crossed the room, and Negan let her pass. She said, “Why do they hate me?”

“The girls?” Negan snorted, matching Desa’s pace as she headed down the hall. “They don’t hate you.”

“Have you seen the way Tanya and Amber talk to me? Sherry, too. Sometimes. I don’t think the rest are too fond of me, either.”

“I’m not sure why you give a shit, to be honest.”

“I care because ever night and every morning, I have to face them. They’re in the parlor when I come to bed, they’re in there when I wake up.”

“We’ve talked about this shit, Desa—”

“No, we haven’t,” Desa stopped, rounding on Negan. “Not since…not since you told me how you really feel. We haven’t talked about them.”

“I haven’t fucked a single one of them. From the moment you and I got together, back at the Estate, they’ve been in the parlor, some sulking, some singing praises to the high fucking heavens. I swear on my fucking life,” Negan raised a finger. “I don’t plan on fucking them anytime in the future, either. They are what they are. Eye candy. And I’d rather keep shit that way, for your safety.”

“For my safety?”

“Very few of my men know that we’re fucking, Desa. Those girls take the spotlight off that,” Negan said lowly. “Trust me. It’s better this way.”

Desa pursed her lips. Negan’s palm brushed against her hip, and she leaned into him as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. 

“Trust is all I ask for,” Negan whispered.

“I can do that,” Desa said. “I can…but don’t be upset with me for hoping. Now,” she changed the subject, continuing her walk down the hallway. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Rounding up Rick the Prick and his merry gang of assholes,” Negan said. “Tonight. And before you ask, you’re not going.”

“What?”

Desa stopped for a second time. The movement was so abrupt that Negan bypassed her, before spinning and raising his hands in a placating gesture.

“You’re staying back with Regina,” Negan explained. “And don’t even think about asking Simon. He’s just as opposed to you going as I am. He’s not going to fucking sneak you anywhere.”

“I feel as if I deserve an explanation.”

“And you’ll get one. After we all get back.”

“That’s…ridiculous. Do you expect Rick and his people to fight back?” Desa stepped forward. “You’ll need capable fighters. I am capable. I’ve proven myself—”

“I know you have. You don’t have to prove shit to me,” Negan barked. His face softened, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t explain it to you. It’s…the shit is too hard. Too long and too complicated, and I know you won’t like it. People are going to die.”

“I never enjoy it. Death. But I understand it, and I understand why it has to happen—”

“It’s the how I’m worried about.”

“Alright. I believe you,” Desa squeezed his shoulder, realizing that he wasn’t going to budge and change his mind. He was determined, like her. “You do what you have go do.”

Negan flashed a smile. He said, “We’re heading out before the sun sets. I have to go prep everyone — make sure they know what the fuck is going on. I will come back, and I will see you tomorrow. Rick the prick is who you need to be fucking worried about.”

Negan checked to see if the hallway was clear, before dipping his head and pressing his lips against Desa’s. She hummed, fingers coming up to gently stroke the coarse stubble on his cheek and jaw. 

Desa watched him leave, Lucille swinging by his side, whistling a low tune. 

She made her way to Carson’s, poking her head in and smiling softly when she saw Simon, sitting upright on a cot, shirt draped across his lap while Carson re-bandaged his wound. The smile didn’t last long, however — a figure was leaning against the wall, over in the corner. 

Dwight wasn’t smiling. He met Desa’s gaze and shook his head, pushing himself away from the wall. In the light, Desa could see the burn on the side of his face quite clearly — part of his eyelid was ruined, and the flesh was raw, discolored and wrinkled. 

“Eyedrops are in the drawer,” Carson said absently. While Dwight was occupied, Desa made herself known. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Peachy. Everything is pretty much almost healed up,” Simon answered. Carson glanced up, flinching away as Desa approached. He continued his work, but his wariness towards Desa was palpable. 

She didn’t blame him. He’d been the one to clean up after the mess she’d made of Father, and there was no way he hadn’t noticed that Father’s eye hadn’t been lying around anywhere. 

Maybe he knew that it was still digesting inside Desa’s belly, maybe he didn’t. 

Carson made some finishing touches, before allowing Simon to slid his shirt back on. The taller man hopped from the cot, beaming down at Desa. He said, “Negan gave you the rundown, right?”

“You’re going to out to deal with this Rick guy.”

“Exactly! And you, little lady, are to stay put,” Simon poked Desa in the shoulder. “You have ears, which means you can listen. Closely. Regina is going to be keeping an eye on you.”

“He’s taking this pretty seriously,” Desa said mildly. She saw Dwight pause out of the corner of her eye. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ll hold down the fort.”

“Good to hear. We’ll be back before tomorrow,” Simon turned and left, followed shortly by Dwight. Desa bid Carson a farewell, hurrying after the lanky, scarred man, stopping him before he could reach the staircase. 

The minute Desa’s hand touched his wrist, he yanked it away. 

“What?”

“I need a favor.”

“You’re not coming with me. I’m not sneaking you anywhere,” Dwight said immediately. “If you get caught, Negan won’t skin you. He’ll skin me. Worse than he already has. Although from the looks of it, you’re into that.”

Desa raised her eyebrows, lips curling back into a snarl. Stepping closer, she craned her neck and sneered, “That’s not what I was going to ask. I’m not going with you, but I need you to bring me back something.”

“Like what?”

“A picture. Of whatever it is Negan does that’s so terrible—”

“That’s why he’s keeping you here,” Dwight’s eyes like up, and he licked his lips. “How about I tell you what he does. The honest truth.”

“Dwight—”

“He lines them up, picks one out. Sometimes two, if they resist. Then he beats them to death, cracks open their skulls in front of everyone. And he laughs about it. Oh, and he doesn’t stop until they’re dead — no. He keeps going. And laughing. It’s all a show for him.”

Desa staggered back, blinking. Dwight wasn’t grinning, his face devoid of bluff. He was panting, lips set in a thin line. He stood up straight, abruptly running a hand down his face before saying, “I’ll bring you back something. I’ll bring you back evidence. In the meantime, if you want to stay alive, follow the rules. You aren’t above them. None of us are.”

“You used to be an engineer, right? For the military?”

Drake’s eyes had been glued to the small gaming device in his hand, and when Desa spoke, he glanced up. For a long moment, he said nothing.

“Yeah.”

“What did you do?”

“Uh…mechanical engineering. Tanks. Guns. Everything, really.”

“What about bombs?”

“I did some bombs, yeah,” Drake placed his game on the floor, looking around the empty room. He rose, the bean bag shifting beneath his weight. “Is something going on? This is weird, Desa. Even for you—”

Desa began pacing, keeping her expression neutral. The Sanctuary was practically empty — over half of Negan’s men were out, coordinating their attack. Drake didn’t seem too hurt at being left behind, while Desa was still reeling.

She stopped and said, “I found something. When I was out scavenging,” she sucked in a breath, lowering her voice. “You cannot tell anyone about this, do you understand?”

“Not even Negan?”

“Especially not Negan. There’s a reason for that, and you don’t need to know,” Desa replied. “Listen. I’m being serious.”

“I know you are. You’ve got that ‘I’m serious’ look on your face.”

“Good of you to notice,” Desa gestured for Drake to sit, and he obeyed. She did the same, crossing her legs. “I need you for this, Drake. I don’t know much about bombs—”

“You found a bomb!”

“Missiles,” Desa corrected herself. “Surface to surface…air…I’m not sure. I don’t even remember the fancy acronym on the box. The train transporting them crashed. It’s a little ways away from here, but if we can grab a car, it won’t take as long.”

“What are you trying to do?”

“I just need someone to check them out. Identify them. See if…if there’s any potential use for them.”

Drake raised his eyebrows, shrugging. He said, “I’ll see what I can do. And I won’t tell anyone, Desa. I promise.”

The door burst open. Desa’s hand flew to her gun and Drake ducked, hand reaching for his own knife. The weapon was halfway out of its holster before Desa realized who it was — Sherry, red in the face, hair disheveled.

“Where’s Tanya?”

Desa stood. “I don’t know.”

Sherry cursed. Exasperated, she said, “She’s not in her room with Amber. She’s not at the market. Nowhere. I assumed she’d come to harass you more, it’s how she likes to spend her time.”

“She thinks I’m a freak,” Desa said. “Not sure why she’d spend her time with me.”

Desa’s heart sank.

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

Tanya, you idiot.

Desa’s feet moved on their own accord. She pushed past Sherry, hearing her shout and rush after. She skidded to a halt in front of Father’s open cell.

It was empty. Chains lay on a bloodstained floor.

“Oh, shit,” Drake breathed. He glanced over at Sherry, who looked paler than normal.

Desa unholstered her gun. Without a word, she headed down the hallway, to the stairs. She could hear Drake asking countless questions, but she ignored them — she pushed out the main entrance and into the night, running fingers through her hair as she looked around for any sign of Father and Tanya.

“There!”

Two guards toppled, dispatched by a well aimed gunshot from Father. Desa saw him, across the way, Tanya close behind with a hand on his shoulder. She met Desa’s gaze, smirking.

Desa raised her gun and fired. The sound was deafening — bullets punctured the windows of parked trucks, from both Desa’s onslaught and Father’s returned fire. She could see him behind a car — he outgunned Desa, with an automatic rifle clutched in his hands.

It ended up being Drake who tackled Desa, pulling her behind cover. She grunted, covering her head as shattered glass peppered her hair and clothes.

The doors to the Sanctuary opened. Regina and Laura raised their guns, and Desa took the opportunity to break from cover.

Father had the same idea. Disregarding Tanya, he managed to push his way through the gate. From there, he disappeared into the darkness.

Regina and Laura dispatched the two guards as they began hobbling across the concrete, mouths open, teeth questing for flesh. Desa could hear Tanya as she rose, hands in the air, dress ripped and knees scraped and bleeding. Her eyes were red rimmed, but she wasn’t crying. Not anymore.

Desa approached with caution. Tanya’s eyes followed her, lips parted as she struggled to speak.

“No—”

That was the only word Desa allowed Tanya before she lifted her gun, blowing a quarter sized hole in the woman's forehead. Sherry screamed and Drake shouted in alarm. Tanya’s body toppled, eyes open and unseeing as blood leaked from the open wound.

Headlights illuminated the area. Desa, Sherry, Drake, Laura, and Regina all shielded their eyes. The beam washed over Tanya’s corpse, and the caravan of trucks rolled right past the deceased guards.

Negan hopped from the lead vehicle, followed by Simon. The moment their boots hit the ground, they stopped, clearly puzzled by the scene before them.

Desa with a gun. Tanya’s corpse. Two dead guards. Regina and Laura, armed. Sherry and Drake cowering. It was as if they were a bunch of deer, frozen in the headlights.

“What,” Negan began, “The absolute fuck?”

[samdukewieland]

Stuck Inside Media Diary Week 7

I realized that I didn’t include my watching of the Parks And Rec special thing that was on. By no means was it perfect, though I imagine that it was the best case scenario for something like that (in terms of being an original story, as opposed to a table/script read that the Community cast put together that’s coming out...ur, at some point). Is it necessary as a piece of media? It raised a lot of money for Feeding America and did its best in trying to shine some optimism in really unsettling times. Kinda nice.

Sunday, May 3

Filmworker, Zierra 2017 [as of now this is available on Netflix]

Interesting take on a documentary about, but not about Stanley Kubrick. It would be unusual for any Kubrick dude to not know or have some kind of inkling that he was a complicated figure (an asshole), especially when it came to making movies, so the point of the movie isn’t really to inform that aspect of of it (though it probably confirmed suspicions, should you have any). It’s more a case example of how toxic relationships like these work and how dangerous it is to deify people, especially your own heroes. Of course, should any of us be given the opportunity to work or be near someone we look up to, how’re do we know what our breaking point is for them before we reach it (unfortunately for Leon Vitali, it wasn’t until Kubrick passed away that he could see just how far deep he was). This is also a pretty good example of how companies and corporations will treat you like garbage just to advance their credibility and how sometimes it feels like a documentary’ll show you that but not really do anything change that (as far as I know).

Mad Men, [season 4 premier] “Public Relations”, “Christmas Comes But Once A Year”, “The Good News”, “The Rejected”

So I definitely haven’t watched Season 4 as a more grown person than I was back in high school when this first aired. So I’ve known Don’s life is a nightmare, but never really processed why or thought about why; I was not the most keen observer (probably because I was thinking about not turning in homework). Now with all that said, jeeeeeeez Don’s life is a super depressing nightmare oooof. Now Season 4 feels like it needs some more runway to catch up with itself and its momentum it revved up to at the end of season 3, so the first couple of weeks feel a little wobbly (though wobbly Mad Men is leagues better than some other dramas at their best). However, the Don and Lane friendship does gets established in this slew of episodes, two men who couldn’t be more different, but can’t help but be bonded by a miserable moment in time. 

Three Busy Debras, “Barbra”

Holy shit this episode is so genius. So many shades of Stangers With Candy in this one.

Rick And Morty, “Never Ricking Morty”

Believe me, I don’t want you to know that I watched this either.

The Last Dance, Parts 5 & 6

These were probably my favorite parts of the doc so far, probably because its the most enjoyable stuff you can watch (hold for destroying any chance Charles Barkley had at winning a championship). Jordan as a brand, both figuratively and literally-the concept of celebrity through a Michael Jordan lens; I could lap that up for hours. It makes me mad that there’s only two hours left (now), because there’s clearly so much more that could be covered, but will leave unturned (more on this next week).

Monty Python: Almost The Truth (Lawyers Cut), “The Not-So-Interesting Beginnings”

Good example of the subjects not getting in the way of the subject matter. Probably the thing that leaves to be desired is seeing the remaining members (this was made in 2009, so Chapman was the only deceased member at the time) together and interacting with one another. You get a little bit of Michael Palin and Terry Jones together, but not in an interviewed capacity, which faintly scratches that itch. If I had to guess, I’d say that they all don’t love being together without Palin there as a buffer, just based on what I know about Monty Python. Lotta strong and brilliantly smart personalities with no real acknowledgement on who’s the best, because they all think they’re the best (maybe not Palin or Jones). Also, this is a surprisingly self-aware interview with Idle, which really shattered any preconceived notions I have for him-might have to do some self-evaluation.

Monday, May 4

Escape From New York, Carpenter 1981 [as of now this is available on Prime]

I’ve definitely lied to people about having seen all of Escape From New York before. Why? Because it made me appear better than I actually was. It and Die Hard With A Vengeance (another great New York movie, though for the record, I’ve still never seen all of it) seemed to be two movies that I kept catching just enough glimpses of throughout the years without having actually seeing all of it. For instance, I had no idea that Harry Dean Stanton was in Escape From New York, which instantly elevates movies for guys like me from being “pretty good li’l B movie” to “this is actually advanced and high art” (this isn’t always the case on the HDS matrix, but it is consistent, see Repo Man). 

Mad Men, “The Chrysanthemum And The Sword”, “Waldorf Stories”

Real fool me once with your racism shame on you you, Roger Sterling. Fool me twice, shame on me (re: “The Chrysanthemum And The Sword”). “Waldorf Stories” is really the first episode put in gear this season, maybe it’s because we’re getting Ken Cosgrove back (hell yeh) or maybe it just feels that way because “The Suitcase” is next and I know it; it’s an incredible build-up, what with hindsight and all that. 

Tuesday, May 5

Mel Brooks: Unwrapped, Yentob 2018 [as of now this is available on HBO]

Listen, this isn’t very good. I think some of it has to do with Brooks, who kind of gets in the way of it all, which is a very hard thing to admit. It’s got some moments, when it actually tells you something about Mel Brooks, but for the most part its just a British guy not taking command of his own documentary and subject and that’s just like barely interesting. Mel Brooks is still a king, though.

Mad Men, “The Suitcase”

This is regarded as the best episode of Mad Men and one of the best episodes of television in the 2010s. I don’t know how it stands up by itself, like I don’t know if it resonates well with someone who’s never watched Mad Men outside of the vacuum. Usually going into one of these episodes that almost transcends its own show I tend to be weary, be it brand new (like when I watched “Pine Barrens” for the first time when I watched The Sopranos) or on a re-watch like this. I trick myself into thinking “well I bet its not that good” because you’re told to the contrarian take is the most interesting take, but I didn’t with this one. I remember the first time I watched it and I don’t think I’ve gone back and watched it in years, so I had forgotten almost all of the context around the episode, except for the argument. This episode is really special, hands down. Don’t love the ghost, but pobody’s nerfect. This podcast talks about it way better than I ever could, listen to that instead of reading this (I just want yer clicks, suckers!)

Wednesday, May 6

Heartburn, Nichols 1986 [as of now this is available on Prime]

I say this as someone who doesn’t travel in Mike Nichols circles (though this is the fourth movie of his that I’ve watched during all this, so maybe I do and I just don’t know it), but why isn’t this trotted out more as one of his best movies? My Nora Ephron bias might be showing a lot here, someone I didn’t really appreciate until I watched Everything Is Copy about a year ago (it’s an HBO doc-meaning it’s available on that platform if you want nice documentary to watch sometime), but this movie’s great! And it has two of the most famous movie stars to ever live as the two lead roles and Jeff Daniels as a bit player. And yet its legacy only feels relevant to those who seek out Mike Nichols or Nora Ephron movies, which feels odd, considering one half of that creative team is best known for The Graduate and the other for When Harry Met Sally (or Sleepless In Seattle or You’ve Got Mail).

Thursday, May 7 

Kingdom Of Heaven (Director’s Cut), Scott 2005

I’ll be honest, I wanted to watch Return Of The King, but that just wasn’t an option. This movie’s technically good, like more Ridley Scott movies are than they aren’t, but really lacks any kind of new message besides “Religion’s pretty fucked up how it made people do that, huh?” Which to a lot of people is super appealing, but when you make a movie that only exists because of Lord Of The Rings’ success, you’d hope for something more (though isn’t this always the case with these kinds of movies?) Like make the movie about David Thewlis or Jeremy Irons. Obviously the battle/fight sequences are really cool to watch and look at, and that’s not an at all terrible critique to give it either. It’s fine that there’s dumb-guy Lord Of The Rings (which is semi-controversial considering a lot of the book nerds already consider Lord Of The Rings [movie] is dumb-guy Lord Of The Rings).

Mad Men, “The Summer Man”

Ah yes, the Don journals and goes swimming episode. It’s good considering it has to follow up “The Suitcase.” I can’t think of any from this particular episode, but (and I think it checks out, cultural timeline wise too) this is the season where it almost feels like the writers/directors figures out that their show was ripe for meme-dom and .gifs-sometimes when that happens it goes real south for the sake of quality, but luckily not Mad Men. 

Friday, May 8

Jiro Dreams Of Sushi, Gelb 2011 [as of now this is available on Netflix]

I bet David Fincher loves this movie. I’m not a huge sushi lover (it’s fine, but way too expensive) so I guess I’ve figured that’d be a huge barrier for me to jump over to enjoy this doc. This thing’s got a weird, but great energy to it, where it feels like four twenty-minute segments sewn together; right when you think “well this should’ve just been a quick package on Frontline” it adds another wrinkle. Would probably be constructed more differently now, considering how food docs/series’ work now, but its strengths lie in its simplicity.

Top Chef, Season 17 episode 8

Great Restaurant Wars this season. Very compelling stuff and almost athletic. Andy Greenwald said it best.

Mad Men, “The Beautiful Girls”, “Hands And Knees”, “Chinese Wall”

“Beautiful Girls” is another entry into the best Mad Men episodes (though like “The Suitcase” I don’t think it would necessarily resonate out of context). Iconic closing shot and a great Sally Draper episode, who I’ve feared I might’ve been overrating for the last couple of years. Nah, Sally Draper is underrated even. Big spiral moves for Don as well in here, though hopefully he can course correct after tasting Sally’s rum-cooked French Toast (it won’t!)

Saturday, May 9

Basic Instinct, Verhoeven 1992

I can’t imagine what it must feel like to be completely neutral about this movie; your life must be so care-free, so calming, so unconcerned with trying to figure out how exactly to start calling your close friends either “cowboy” or “hoss” as if you’ve been doing it your whole life. Also, listen, I get it about that one shot and it being the thing people kept talking about and the thing most associated with this movie, but nothing and no one prepared me for seeing Gus in a cowboy hat in that bar/club before the Nick/Roxie chase. That and all the ice-pick stabbings. And the opening crime scene. And a whole lot of other stuff that takes place in this movie.

Mad Men, “Blowing Smoke”, “Tomorrowland” [season 4 finale], “A Little Kiss Part 1 & 2″ [season 5 premier]

The letter! Disneyland! Marriage again! A lot of things happen in these four episodes that are the end and beginning of seasons. But when I realized that I was going to get “Zou Bisou Bisou” in this block of episodes, it was game over. I’ve had it stuck in my head every day for a prolonged amount of time since Saturday and the only thing that makes it not terrible is knowing how pissed off Don was that it happened to him. Don’t marry a 25-year-old. Season 4′s a weird one for Betty as the show tried to navigate how to keep her involved with the show even though she and Don aren’t married anymore and it’s not....great. Probably because they keep making her “true” emotional foil children (specifically Glen and to a greater level Sally, but the tribulations that come between a mother and almost teenage daughter shouldn’t be the same as a mother and some weird kid down the block who just happens to be the son of the show’s creator).

[brandjamaica]

Your Story Shapes Your Life—and You Can Change It At Any Time

Your Story Shapes Your Life—and You Can Change It At Any Time By

Teresa Shimogawa

“Every moment of your life is a second chance.” ~Rick Price

We are constantly telling ourselves stories about who we are and what we are capable of achieving.

These stories are sometimes the nostalgia of once-upon-a-time that whispers longingly to us. The stories can be the remnants of hardened pain that want us to trace over the lines of old scars. They can also be the tales we invent about imagined futures—what we think will happen.

All of the narratives that we repeat to ourselves—both of the fiction and nonfiction varieties—are what we internalize and use to create self-identity.

Wait a minute. We use fiction to shape our self-identity?! That sounds crazy.

Yep. We do, and probably more than any one of us would like to admit.

The stories we tell ourselves about our shortcomings and failures fuel the negative self-talk that leads us to accept the myth of a single narrative—a belief in only one version of what our life can look like. We cast ourselves as a character locked in an inescapable maze, saddled with baggage we can not remove, riddled with flaws and insurmountable challenges.

It’s our interpretation of the past and how we project the future that determines the roads we take to all of our tomorrows.

These stories can either lift us up or lock us down. They inspire us to reach for more or they make us stuck. The narratives inevitably shape who we become.

Our storytelling begins at a young age.

There’s the narrative of your childhood dreams, the one where a kid like me thought she’d become a singer or an Olympic ice skater, own a house in Malibu, and have a Barbie doll body and an endless supply of money and youth.

Of course I neglected to consider the fact that I couldn’t sing or ice skate, had no desire to learn, and that Barbie’s body is make-believe. None of that would have deterred six-year-old me though. I felt truly unstoppable during my childhood.

But it passed in the blink of an eye.

Childhood narratives faded and gave way to the hormonally-charged teenage years. The boundless optimism of my imagination receded as my body changed and life shifted from the slow-moving days of childhood to the volatile ups and downs of being a teen.

This is when my narratives became toxic. My social life determined the tempo of my weeks, and my identity started to become intertwined with how I felt about my desirability to boys.

I was a walking powder keg of emotions who somehow managed to earn good grades and visibly hold it together. But on the inside, I was beating myself up to the tune of the dangerous stories I told myself: not good enough, not good enough, not good enough.

I decided early on that I would never be as cool as the popular girls. I would never be skinny enough or pretty enough, and I wouldn’t even be smart enough to compete with the nerds. I would perpetually feel like I was falling short in all categories of my life.

Those negative affirmations increased as an adult. My future projections about what my life would look like were often rooted in fear, anxiety, and stress about the present.

A soundtrack of negative self-talk played non-stop in my head, reminding me about everything I was not, and everything I couldn’t do.

I’m a failure.

I’m too ugly.

I don’t deserve it.

Not smart enough.

I’m unlucky.

I make bad choices.

I am a bad wife and a bad mother.

It’s not my turn yet.

I can never do that.

I will never have that.

Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Whenever something went wrong, I blamed myself. We have this urge to blame someone for our problems, and like many people, I turned myself into my personal scapegoat. I would throw myself under the bus.

We perpetuate a narrative of hopelessness that makes us believe we are victims with problems that are unique to us. Scarcity mentality tricks us into believing that we can never have what we want. We think we are abnormal and defective and forget that we are merely human.

The terrible stories win. Those are the ones we become attached to and believe.

They are us.

We are them.

It is difficult to separate who we are apart from those narratives because we spend so much time repeating those stories over and over again.

I was thirty-four-years-old when I woke up one morning in April 2016 and had my story unexpectedly and irreparably changed.

I found my husband unconscious on the living room floor. My six-year-old, three-year-old, and one-year-old were asleep in the nearby bedrooms while the firemen tried to resuscitate my husband before they whisked him away to the nearest hospital.

By the time I followed the ambulance, a doctor met me at the entrance of the ER and greeted me with, “Nothing we could do.”

My husband was dead.

I would later find out that he had an aortic aneurysm and went quickly. There was nothing we could have done.

And just like that, the life that I had on autopilot was over.

I always experienced negative self-talk, but now I was living the real life horror story of being a young widow and single mother.

There was nothing more shredding to my identity than getting forced into a story that for once wasn’t the terrible fiction I usually concocted about myself. This was my terrible reality.

I couldn’t see any hope for the future. It felt too daunting and terrifying to even contemplate. Happiness felt like a cruel joke.

I defaulted to blaming myself. I spun narratives to explain why I was in that situation, and why I deserved to be miserable and unhappy.

I needed something to help me understand why I did everything I was supposed to do in my life and still got this crappy hand from the universe. There had to be a reason why I was alone while everyone else got to go home to their significant others.

My answer to those burning questions was to throw myself under the bus again.

I must have deserved this.

I was probably destined to live a miserable life.

I would feel shame and get judged by society, and I deserved all of it. Single motherhood would be hard and it would make me a societal outcast amongst my social circles. I would become just another sad, overburdened single parent.

My children would suffer and be damaged by not having a father. I would single-handedly ruin their happy childhoods by not being able to live up to the staggering amount of responsibility required to raise a large family on my own.

I would never accomplish the things I wanted to do in my life. I’d have to trade in those dreams for survival and my soul would wither. I would deserve it.

I would never find another person to love me. I was now damaged goods with too much baggage. I would die lonely.

I would always be mired in struggle. And I would drown in my fears. The pain would throb forever. It could kill me. I would never feel better. I didn’t even want to live. I would never be happy again.

The nasty voice whispered to my subconscious, wanting me to believe this version of my life. It begged me to accept an exile to the wasteland of a life I did not choose. In the midst of my despair, it seemed easier to give in to that story.

Later I would realize that I had to get it out of my system. Acknowledge the pain. Recognize the thoughts and emotions.

Feel all of it.

And then, let them all go.

What if we just flat out said no to a narrative that we didn’t want to believe? What if we rejected terrible narratives about ourselves?

I didn’t want to die a sad widow forced to accept an eternity of unhappiness. I didn’t want to give up my dreams and goals. I didn’t want to be alone forever.

There was only one thing to do: rewrite the future and reclaim my life.

Instead of capitulating to our darker thoughts, we can become a gatekeeper who chooses what to let in and what has to pass through.

Negative thoughts are normal, but instead of holding on to them and becoming attached to those narratives, a healthier alternative is to let those thoughts float in and out. Hold on to the ones that make you optimistic about life—let those be the ones that grow and take root in your subconscious.

Tell those stories every day.

Instead of believing the narratives that tell us what we can’t do, we can choose to focus on what is in our control. When we don’t like a narrative, we can write new ones.

Narrative two. Or a narrative three or four or five or whatever it takes to get to the version of your life story where you are going to be okay, you are important and worthy, and you can live a happy life no matter what happens. Living a life of your own design. One that is true to your authentic self.

The life you wanted. Not a life that you got stuck in.

At any given moment, we can make the next choice to move us closer to our personal goals. It doesn’t have to be a monumental choice—just a tiny baby step in the direction of where your goal sits brightly on the horizon.

That is all you need. Moving toward a new narrative, even at the slowest of speeds, is all you have to worry about.

It doesn’t mean that life will necessarily go as planned. It doesn’t mean that we won’t ever experience bad things.

We will.

Over and over and over again.

Choosing an alternate narrative is a way to make the best out of what we have to work with in our lives.

It took a good year after my husband died for me to feel open to creating a new narrative. I had to choose to leave behind the story about myself where I was given a death sentence of misery and obstacles.

To be able to leave that narrative behind, I had to trust that there were many more narratives in my future, even when I couldn’t always see the details or know what direction they would take me in. I had to embrace the idea that there were still many more chapters in the story of my life.

When I was ready to turn off the depressing noise in my head about who I thought I was as a pathetic single mother and widow, I began to brainstorm the positive things I had going on in my life. This was the prelude to my Narrative two.

-I was thankful that I got to share almost ten years of my life with my husband. I learned so much from him, and I feel like a better person for having known him and experiencing the loss of him. This was part of my story, not the end of it.

-I was thankful for the three children we had together. I wanted to become a mother ever since I was a little girl. I thank my late husband for these gifts, and I will be intentional about how I enjoy my time raising the children and enjoying their childhoods. I will savor motherhood, even when times are tough and stressful. I will focus more on my joy with them rather than the tediousness of single parenthood.

-I never thought I would get married to begin with, but I did. I will trust that when I meet someone worth losing my single status to, it will happen. Just like it happened the first time. Until then, I will enjoy living my life on my terms, as a whole person regardless of my relationship status.

-There are pros and cons to everything in life. I might as well take advantage of the benefits of being single and seek a life that I wouldn’t have had while I was married to my husband. I can explore new interests and take the time to reflect about who I am and what I want. I can pursue goals. This isn’t the life I chose, but I can still enjoy the unexpected benefits of being alone. In the end, this time will make me a better person.

This past summer I was on vacation in Australia. My children and I spent an evening watching the penguin parade on Phillip Island, near Melbourne. Every night when the sun set, thousands of the world’s smallest penguins swim back to the shore and waddle across the sand to find a place to sleep for the night.

We got to sit literally a foot away from where the penguins passed by. We listened to their noises as they called out to each other in the darkness. The Antarctic winds whipped across our faces.

It suddenly struck me. This is Narrative two.

I’m living it. Right now. Here.

It isn’t what I originally planned for my life. I wouldn’t have chosen it on my own—I would have rather had my husband here with us instead. But this is good too. This was me doing what I wanted to do, seeing the world, raising my children, experiencing beautiful things. Narrative two was not an exile.

It was an opportunity to rewrite my story. A story worth living, even after the tragedy that threatened to destroy me.

If you can believe in multiple paths, you can change your narrative.

If you can believe that whatever you don’t know, you can learn, it will happen.

If you have a willingness to try new things, you can change your narrative.

If you can take the time to figure out your preferences, it can happen. What do you like to do? What feels like enchantment in your life?

If you can believe in yourself, you can write any narrative you want.

And when something changes and the story isn’t what you want anymore, you can keep writing new ones. You don’t have to be a hostage to any narrative. Give yourself permission.

Tell yourself the stories about those times when you were courageous. Tell stories about your strength, perseverance, and resilience. Tell stories about how strong you are.

Tell the stories of your survival. The ones where you got through the hardest of times and experienced joy again. The stories where you knew in your bones that life was worth living.

You have those stories. Those are the ones to repeat.

Tell them over and over again so you never forget who you really are.

[sarahburness]

Your Story Shapes Your Life—and You Can Change It At Any Time

“Every moment of your life is a second chance.” ~Rick Price

We are constantly telling ourselves stories about who we are and what we are capable of achieving.

These stories are sometimes the nostalgia of once-upon-a-time that whispers longingly to us. The stories can be the remnants of hardened pain that want us to trace over the lines of old scars. They can also be the tales we invent about imagined futures—what we think will happen.

All of the narratives that we repeat to ourselves—both of the fiction and nonfiction varieties—are what we internalize and use to create self-identity.

Wait a minute. We use fiction to shape our self-identity?! That sounds crazy.

Yep. We do, and probably more than any one of us would like to admit.

The stories we tell ourselves about our shortcomings and failures fuel the negative self-talk that leads us to accept the myth of a single narrative—a belief in only one version of what our life can look like. We cast ourselves as a character locked in an inescapable maze, saddled with baggage we can not remove, riddled with flaws and insurmountable challenges.

It’s our interpretation of the past and how we project the future that determines the roads we take to all of our tomorrows.

These stories can either lift us up or lock us down. They inspire us to reach for more or they make us stuck. The narratives inevitably shape who we become.

Our storytelling begins at a young age.

There’s the narrative of your childhood dreams, the one where a kid like me thought she’d become a singer or an Olympic ice skater, own a house in Malibu, and have a Barbie doll body and an endless supply of money and youth.

Of course I neglected to consider the fact that I couldn’t sing or ice skate, had no desire to learn, and that Barbie’s body is make-believe. None of that would have deterred six-year-old me though. I felt truly unstoppable during my childhood.

But it passed in the blink of an eye.

Childhood narratives faded and gave way to the hormonally-charged teenage years. The boundless optimism of my imagination receded as my body changed and life shifted from the slow-moving days of childhood to the volatile ups and downs of being a teen.

This is when my narratives became toxic. My social life determined the tempo of my weeks, and my identity started to become intertwined with how I felt about my desirability to boys.

I was a walking powder keg of emotions who somehow managed to earn good grades and visibly held it together. But on the inside, I was beating myself up to the tune of the dangerous stories I told myself: not good enough, not good enough, not good enough.

I decided early on that I would never be as cool as the popular girls. I would never be skinny enough or pretty enough, and I wouldn’t even be smart enough to compete with the nerds. I would perpetually feel like I was falling short in all categories of my life.

Those negative affirmations increased as an adult. My future projections about what my life would look like were often rooted in fear, anxiety, and stress about the present.

A soundtrack of negative self-talk played non-stop in my head, reminding me about everything I was not, and everything I couldn’t do.

I’m a failure.

I’m too ugly.

I don’t deserve it.

Not smart enough.

I’m unlucky.

I make bad choices.

I am a bad wife and a bad mother.

It’s not my turn yet.

I can never do that.

I will never have that.

Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Whenever something went wrong, I blamed myself. We have this urge to blame someone for our problems, and like many people, I turned myself into my personal scapegoat. I would throw myself under the bus.

We perpetuate a narrative of hopelessness that makes us believe we are victims with problems that are unique to us. Scarcity mentality tricks us into believing that we can never have what we want. We think we are abnormal and defective and forget that we are merely human.

The terrible stories win. Those are the ones we become attached to and believe.

They are us.

We are them.

It is difficult to separate who we are apart from those narratives because we spend so much time repeating those stories over and over again.

I was thirty-four-years-old when I woke up one morning in April 2016 and had my story unexpectedly and irreparably changed.

I found my husband unconscious on the living room floor. My six-year-old, three-year-old, and one-year-old were asleep in the nearby bedrooms while the firemen tried to resuscitate my husband before they whisked him away to the nearest hospital.

By the time I followed the ambulance, a doctor met me at the entrance of the ER and greeted me with, “Nothing we could do.”

My husband was dead.

I would later find out that he had an aortic aneurysm and went quickly. There was nothing we could have done.

And just like that, the life that I had on autopilot was over.

I always experienced negative self-talk, but now I was living the real life horror story of being a young widow and single mother.

There was nothing more shredding to my identity than getting forced into a story that for once wasn’t the terrible fiction I usually concocted about myself. This was my terrible reality.

I couldn’t see any hope for the future. It felt too daunting and terrifying to even contemplate. Happiness felt like a cruel joke.

I defaulted to blaming myself. I spun narratives to explain why I was in that situation, and why I deserved to be miserable and unhappy.

I needed something to help me understand why I did everything I was supposed to do in my life and still got this crappy hand from the universe. There had to be a reason why I was alone while everyone else got to go home to their significant others.

My answer to those burning questions was to throw myself under the bus again.

I must have deserved this.

I was probably destined to live a miserable life.

I would feel shame and get judged by society, and I deserved all of it. Single motherhood would be hard and it would make me a societal outcast amongst my social circles. I would become just another sad, overburdened single parent.

My children would suffer and be damaged by not having a father. I would single-handedly ruin their happy childhoods by not being able to live up to the staggering amount of responsibility required to raise a large family on my own.

I would never accomplish the things I wanted to do in my life. I’d have to trade in those dreams for survival and my soul would wither. I would deserve it.

I would never find another person to love me. I was now damaged goods with too much baggage. I would die lonely.

I would always be mired in struggle. And I would drown in my fears. The pain would throb forever. It could kill me. I would never feel better. I didn’t even want to live. I would never be happy again.

The nasty voice whispered to my subconscious, wanting me to believe this version of my life. It begged me to accept an exile to the wasteland of a life I did not choose. In the midst of my despair, it seemed easier to give in to that story.

Later I would realize that I had to get it out of my system. Acknowledge the pain. Recognize the thoughts and emotions.

Feel all of it.

And then, let them all go.

What if we just flat out said no to a narrative that we didn’t want to believe? What if we rejected terrible narratives about ourselves?

I didn’t want to die a sad widow forced to accept an eternity of unhappiness. I didn’t want to give up my dreams and goals. I didn’t want to be alone forever.

There was only one thing to do: rewrite the future and reclaim my life.

Instead of capitulating to our darker thoughts, we can become a gatekeeper who chooses what to let in and what has to pass through.

Negative thoughts are normal, but instead of holding on to them and becoming attached to those narratives, a healthier alternative is to let those thoughts float in and float out. Hold on to the ones that make you optimistic about life—let those be the ones that grow and take root in your subconscious.

Tell those stories every day.

Instead of believing the narratives that tell us what we can’t do, we can choose to focus on what is in our control. When we don’t like a narrative, we can write new ones.

Narrative two. Or a narrative three or four or five or whatever it takes to get to the version of your life story where you are going to be okay, you are important and worthy, and you can live a happy life no matter what happens. Living a life of your own design. One that is true to your authentic self.

The life you wanted. Not a life that you got stuck in.

At any given moment, we can make the next choice to move us closer to our personal goals. It doesn’t have to be a monumental choice—just a tiny baby step in the direction of where your goal sits brightly on the horizon.

That is all you need. Moving toward a new narrative, even at the slowest of speeds, is all you have to worry about.

It doesn’t mean that life will necessarily go as planned. It doesn’t mean that we won’t ever experience bad things.

We will.

Over and over and over again.

Choosing an alternate narrative is a way to make the best out of what we have to work with in our lives.

It took a good year after my husband died for me to feel open to creating a new narrative. I had to choose to leave behind the story about myself where I was given a death sentence of misery and obstacles.

To be able to leave that narrative behind, I had to trust that there were many more narratives in my future, even when I couldn’t always see the details or know what direction they would take me in. I had to embrace the idea that there were still many more chapters in the story of my life.

When I was ready to turn off the depressing noise in my head about who I thought I was as a pathetic single mother and widow, I began to brainstorm the positive things I had going on in my life. This was the prelude to my Narrative two.

-I was thankful that I got to share almost ten years of my life with my husband. I learned so much from him, and I feel like a better person for having known him and experiencing the loss of him. This was part of my story, not the end of it.

-I was thankful for the three children we had together. I wanted to become a mother ever since I was a little girl. I thank my late husband for these gifts, and I will be intentional about how I enjoy my time raising the children and enjoying their childhoods. I will savor motherhood, even when times are tough and stressful. I will focus more on my joy with them rather than the tediousness of single parenthood.

-I never thought I would get married to begin with, but I did. I will trust that when I meet someone worth losing my single status to, it will happen. Just like it happened the first time. Until then, I will enjoy living my life on my terms, as a whole person regardless of my relationship status.

-There are pros and cons to everything in life. I might as well take advantage of the benefits of being single and seek a life that I wouldn’t have had while I was married to my husband. I can explore new interests and take the time to reflect about who I am and what I want. I can pursue goals. This isn’t the life I chose, but I can still enjoy the unexpected benefits of being alone. In the end, this time will make me a better person.

This past summer I was on vacation in Australia. My children and I spent an evening watching the penguin parade on Phillip Island, near Melbourne. Every night when the sun set, thousands of the world’s smallest penguins swim back to the shore and waddle across the sand to find a place to sleep for the night.

We got to sit literally a foot away from where the penguins passed by. We listened to their noises as they called out to each other in the darkness. The Antarctic winds whipped across our faces.

It suddenly struck me. This is Narrative two.

I’m living it. Right now. Here.

It isn’t what I originally planned for my life. I wouldn’t have chosen it on my own—I would have rather had my husband here with us instead. But this is good too. This was me doing what I wanted to do, seeing the world, raising my children, experiencing beautiful things. Narrative two was not an exile.

It was an opportunity to rewrite my story. A story worth living, even after the tragedy that threatened to destroy me.

If you can believe in multiple paths, you can change your narrative.

If you can believe that whatever you don’t know, you can learn—it will happen.

If you have a willingness to try new things, you can change your narrative.

If you can take the time to figure out your preferences, it can happen. What do you like to do? What feels like enchantment in your life?

If you can believe in yourself, you can write any narrative you want.

And when something changes and the story isn’t what you want anymore, you can keep writing new ones. You don’t have to be a hostage to any narrative. Give yourself permission.

Tell yourself the stories about those times when you were courageous. Tell stories about your strength, perseverance, and resilience. Tell stories about how strong you are.

Tell the stories of your survival. The ones where you got through the hardest of times and experienced joy again. The stories where you knew in your bones that life was worth living.

You have those stories. Those are the ones to repeat.

Tell them over and over again so you never forget who you really are.

About Teresa Shimogawa

Teresa Shimogawa is a human being trying to do good things in the world. She is also a young widow who wants to be remembered as someone who turned her pain into something beautiful. You can find more of her writing at www.houseofteresa.com.

Web | More Posts

Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site.

The post Your Story Shapes Your Life—and You Can Change It At Any Time appeared first on Tiny Buddha.

from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/story-shapes-your-life-change-any-time/

[ramheavenandhell]

Finally Ricktober, Bitches!! – Alternative Chapter 23: Morty Games Rick – It's a tough job at the Morty Games

AN: As exciting as writing about Cowboy Rick would have been, I don't really have much experience with cowboys and westerns, so I'm using another joker again (I knew, I would need these). So, instead you're getting (a) Morty Games Rick now. Warnings: sexual molestation, but nothing too graphic, also a little hurt/comfort Summary: Rick M-225 is a Morty Games Rick and patrolling the Morty Games Coliseum. After overhearing a Rick complaining about his Morty taking too long on the toilet, he checks out the restrooms to make a dreadful discovery…

Finally Ricktober, Bitches!! – Alternative Chapter 23: Morty Games Rick – It's a tough job at the Morty Games

Rick M-225 looked around the hallways of the Morty Games Coliseum for something out of place. He worked here as a so-called "Morty Games Rick" wearing the complete work attire in safety orange. Through his earpiece, he could hear the static voices and burps of his co-workers that stood positioned in front or inside of the coliseum as well as the ones who were patrolling around as he was just right now. They were basically managing the whole facility, ranging from cleaning it over manning the registration and the price corner to maintaining security. He was currently working as security. It wasn't something that any Rick would consider a dream job. Far off actually. Most Ricks who didn't work here probably didn't even know what a tough job it was. Even if it did kind of suck, someone needed to do it and M-225 was one of the Ricks who was stuck with it. "Back entrance *urp* clear." Rang through the communication line. M-225 shuffled through the corridor near the entrance, his eyes systematically scanning his surroundings, moving over his identical-looking co-workers and other Ricks. Security in the coliseum was pretty high because Morty battles were serious business. The Mortys that they were lending out for the fights were sometimes pretty rare and the only ones that were even rarer than that were the ones that you could win as prices. So, needless to say that some Morty collectors would have an eye on them and after the big robbing of the Morty Day Care once with every single Morty being stolen, they would not repeat the same mistake and slack off about the security measures. There had also been rumors that some suspicious subject had sneaked into the facility. Though, technically that could apply to anyone since Ricks weren't exactly inconspicuous. However, it could also just be a slightly weird-looking alien that felt out of place. Ever since Pocket Mortys had become a thing, the Citadel was swarming with space tourists. 'Well, good for the economy or something…' Rick M-225 figured. His steps were almost noiseless as he continued to walk over the red carpet that was laid out and passed by the front entrance. With his eyes and ears strained, being high on alert as was expected of him, he easily overheard two Ricks on the side talking with each other. "My Morty's been in the restroom forever." A Rick with a flat top haircut complained to his other dimensional look-a-like. His trained professionalism kept M-225's face from twitching – or maybe it was just the fact that he was a callous asshole like every other Rick – but this comment struck him as odd. Continuing with his round, he decided to follow that foreboding sense of wrongness and made his way towards the restroom for the Mortys. Not to seem like a creeper, he quickly checked inside the room by opening the door and peering in. To his surprise, the bathroom was completely empty though. With confusion etched on his face, he actually stepped inside now and gave the room a once over. It seemed indeed empty as no Morty was standing at the urinals or the sinks. The only thing that he was able to spot was a lone, yellow t-shirt laying on the floor at the far end of the room. M-225's eyes drifted up towards a window that was slightly opened. Had the Morty ran away from his Rick, escaping through this window? It seemed unlikely that he fit through or could even get up that high, but then again he had no idea what kind of Morty the boy actually was. Giving up, the Morty Games Rick was just about to leave to do his duty in the front hall again when he suddenly caught some weird noises coming from one of the stalls. He slowly ventured closer towards the suspicious sounds and asked, "Hey! Everything okay in there?" Instead of a verbal answer, only more rustling and shuffling noises reached his ear. Something was off here… "I'm good, but thanks for asking." Came suddenly an answer. Rick's brow furled. That voice didn't really sound like that of a Morty, but rather like someone trying to imitate one. He was around Mortys often enough to tell the difference and that annoying, squeaking voice of the pubescent, fourteen-year-old teens was unmistakable. "You sure?" He asked once more as he moved even closer to the closed stall, leaning in a little to listen through the door for more of those weird noises. He was pretty darn convinced that he could hear some muffled squeaking in there. Again, the fake Morty replied, "No, really. Everything is fine. Could you please leave now so that I can finish my business in peace?" Leaving and letting that guy finish whatever "business" he was doing in there was the last thing on M-225's mind. It was more than obvious that something was totally not okay here. "Please come out of the stall right now." His voice didn't match the politeness of his words since he was just following work protocol. "I-I'm busy here. I mean, geez, I'm on the toilet. Would you please just leave me alone already?" That was the last straw. Being through with pleasantries and sticking to the protocol, M-225 kicked open the door. Inside the stall was a grey bean-shaped creature that was clad in all sorts of Morty merchandise holding a Morty inside his grasp. The poor boy was shirtless and his pants were pulled down and pooling around his feet but thankfully his underwear was still on. One of the jellybean creature's hands was clamped over the brunet's mouth while the other held both boy's wrist, immobilizing his current victim. All that M-225 could see in this moment though were the Morty's eyes, which were wet with tears and so desperate, silently begging him for help. Before, he could react in any way the jellybean pushed him aside and bolted. "We have a molester at the Morty restrooms escaping towards front entrance!" he yelled into his comm as he hurried behind the retreating culprit. The child molester's attempted escape was short-lived as M-225 saw him getting tackled from two of his co-workers just a few steps outside of the restroom. Morty Games Ricks were always working quick and efficiently. "Morty molester caught in front hall." Resounded the static voice of one of the Ricks at the scene through his earpiece. With the adrenaline slowly ebbing away again, M-225 turned back towards the Morty who was still standing inside the stall. The boy still stood with his pants around his ankles and was sobbing into his hands. "H-hey? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" He asked even though the brunet was obviously not okay. He went back over to the crying Morty and wasn't exactly sure what to do in this situation. However, the sad sight of the weeping boy was pulling at his heartstrings even though M-225 had been convinced that he didn't have a heart anymore. Carefully, he placed a hand on the brunet's shoulder and was caught completely off guard as the boy reacted by flinging himself at him and clingy tightly to his torso. "Ssh, ssh. It's okay. It's going to be fine." He tried to calm the Morty down with his words and some gentle rubbing on his back. There wasn't really a procedure for how to deal with distressed Mortys like this, but whatever kind of grandfatherly instincts were still inside of him were thankfully taking over. After consoling the boy enough that he calmed down again, M-225 bent down to pull his pants back up again, plucked his shirt off the floor and helped him put it on before he steered the brunet outside of the restroom to return him to his Rick. As short as he could, he explained to Flat Top Rick what had happened and reprimanded him to keep an eye on his Mortys at all times. The entire personal was stressing this for a reason. Morty Inc. was not be made responsible if something happened to a Morty on these grounds even if all the Morty Games Ricks did their best to keep trouble at bay. Rick M-225 watched the duo leave and sighed. Working at Morty Games was a tough job.

AN: So, I've learned that in an older version of Pocket Mortys there was a Mr. Jellybean in the Mortys restroom. That combined with Careless Rick not having seen his Morty for a while after he went to use the toilet inspired this idea…

Prompts

Chapter 1: Doofus Rick / Rick J-19ζ7

Chapter 2: Surgeon Rick

Chapter 3: Simple Rick + Weird Rick

Chapter 4: Lab Rick (+ Surgeon Rick)

Chapter 5: Deepthroat Rick / Investigator Rick

Chapter 6: Storage Rick

Chapter 7: Flesh Curtains Rick / Younger Rick

Chapter 8: Seven Sins Ricks

Chapter 9: Tiny Rick

Chapter 10: Mysterious Rick

Chapter 11: Slow Rick / Tall Morty (+ Surgeon Rick + Lab Rick)

Chapter 12: Miami Rick

Chapter 13: Golfer Rick

Chapter 14: Gouverness Ava Rickinsocks

Chapter 15: Evil Rick

Chapter 16: Chair Rick

Chapter 17: (Rookie) Cop Rick

Chapter 18: Super Fan Rick

Chapter 19: Guard Ricks

Chapter 20: Guilty Rick

Chapter 21: Lizard Rick + Aqua Rick

Chapter 22: Novelist Rick

Chapter 24: Zero Rick

Chapter 25: Teacher Rick

Chapter 26: Bubble Gum Rick

Chapter 27: Robot Rick

Chapter 28: Jar Head Rick

Chapter 29: Toxic Rick

Chapter 30: Council of Ricks

Chapter 31: Rick C-137