#...and then admitting that somebody you *love* was in that position of being mistreated...

[uncanny-tranny]

When talking about abuse, please be critical of the idea that abusers abuse because of fate, Scary Mental Disorders, their victims being bad/uncooperative, or because they "can't help it."

What may sound like an explanation for abuse to you honestly just sounds like justification and qualifications for abuse.

[honey-hippie-harper]

The Day Gatlon Fell

(TW: VIOLENCE)

IT’S VALENTINE’S DAY AFSGHJAFSGHJA. I should’ve done something nice but I don’t seem to be physically capable of doing that, sO IF YOU WOULD BE SO KIND TO PLEASE FORGIVE ME AFGSHAFGHAJ. I guess from the title it’s...kinda clear what this is all about, because I like to write about my imaginary complex relationships in Renegades. Yet, I wrote it with love and I hope you like it :’)

This fic is actually a present for those who want to accept it (If you don’t, I understand tbh). But  I’m going to dedicate it for the ones who constantly pretend they tolerate me and like my writing, which are my fellow Reneweys: @healing-winston-pratt @obsidianfr3sk @alecjamesartino @nodrianbcyes @everyone-has-a-nightmare . I love you guys SO much. Thanks for being a safe space full of people who share the same mother tongue and laugh at my stupid jokes.

Also @all-weather-is-bad whom I love very much. Thank you for tolerating me to :’) <3 and @ifyouhadntbutyoudid bECAUSE FELLOW LATINA <3 (also your art for HCTTR still makes me cry and I know you like Leroy).

And idk if this matters or not, but, for the ones who understand Spanish, this fic was heavily based upon this (yes, the contemporary dance and everything don’t judge me: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RaaVpaE1XGA

Alec called them the Anarchists, because he called himself Ace Anarchy. And, in a world where prodigies were hurt, mistreated and killed, he also called them hope.

Hope called themselves the Anarchists, and they reunited at the outskirts of the city, and then they marched towards Gatlon when it was still dawning. There were many, many of them, creating a huge mass of people. Some of them were only wearing masks in order to protect their identity, but others, like them, the main circle of Anarchists, were in full costume, including Alec, Ace Anarchy, who was marching at the back of the crowd, for Alec Artino had faked his disappearance (and possible assassination) less than two weeks ago.

As an act of symbolism (in Alec’s own words) the Queen Bee was at the lead, while him, Leroy (Cyanide), stood two steps behind her, with Gerard Hoffman, Atomic Brain, at his right, and Lincoln Palmer, Brimstone, at his left. Behind them were Dexter Hartley, Rat, and the Thompsons. Then, everything was too much, and there were too many people to name them all, when he barely remembered his own name at the moment.

Every distance looked moderately short until you had to travel it by foot, or when you were too anxious to arrive at your destination. Leroy, personally, didn’t consider himself to be anxious per se. At least, that wasn’t the word he would’ve used to describe his situation.

For the first time in forever, Leroy’s mind was making too much noise, and he didn’t know how to make it stop, nor did he know how to decipher what it was trying to say to him. While he marched, Leroy was surrounded by sounds. There were the distant, faint movements of the awakening city, the ring of keys, the dragging of boots, the hasty breaths, the silent prayers, Honey humming to an inexistent melody, while her dress danced to her voice, hanging from her body.

Honey was easily one of the best dressed out of the bunch, which was a very typical Honey attitude from her part. The most meaningful thing in his own costume was the lab coat and the scientific pun, but it was more than enough for him, knowing that, after today, many of the people here wouldn’t be alive anyway, and he wasn’t even sure whether he would make it, either.

By the time they started reaching the city’s main entrance, the sun was covering half of their bodies, announcing they might have “nice” (hot) weather today. For a while, at least. And the heat was so extreme it made Leroy’s temple sweat, as well as the rest of his face, behind the mask. However, he resisted the urge to remove it, as his mind started making too much noise again, when it forced him to remember Alec’s words.

“And, remember, that you are the pain, you are the fire, and I am the courage.” He said, while they were sitting around the campfire, one messy night, running away from the police. “Because courage comes from the same place as fear.”

Leroy didn’t agree with some of Alec’s ways. Hell. He really didn’t. Nevertheless, he was also aware of his own position. He was aware he was a prodigy, and he was aware people were exhausting.

Even before he became…special, people were already picking on him. Leroy had been a punching bag the entirety of his life. First, for being too ordinary.

There was always a defect they could find in him.

When he admitted his father had abandoned his mother not long after he was born, he became the fatherless kid who wasn’t important enough to make his father stay (as if his father being an asshole had been his fault); when his mother met Claire, his other mother, he became the outcast who lived with two insane and sick women who dared to say they were in a serious, romantic relationship (even though they were evidently in love); when he discovered he enjoyed science, he became the weird kid who liked Thursdays, because that’s when Mr. Ruiz used to take them to the lab; when he discovered he was good at school overall and teachers offered him to move him one grade ahead, he became the ugly, creepy and fat nerd kid who lived with dykes and had no life.

And so, Leroy was murdered by his classmates in eleventh grade, in the lab. And when he came back as a prodigy, he became the burden. The fucker. The freak. The disgusting prodigy who should’ve stayed dead.

Because, when it came to people, it was never enough.

It really was never enough.

When they didn’t like you, there wasn’t a limit they wouldn’t reach in order to let you know. They hated you when you were too ordinary, but they hated you more when you were extraordinary.

Being a prodigy meant being your own fight. It meant being out there, in a minefield where everybody was chasing after you, and nobody stopped to help. People were often afraid of the things they couldn’t understand.

But courage came from the same place as fear.

And it was a dark, messed up place that, in the rare cases where it didn’t drive you crazy, it ended up killing you.

Alec’s ideas were extreme and a little twisted, even, but nobody had ever seemed to care as much as he did, and Leroy had to give him that.

He strongly defended that, if nobody did, then there would be a time where somebody would have to, and he had to give him that too. Because, one day, he just decided that person would be him. Because, if not him, then who?

“I’m my own fight. We’re all our own fight. And you should just face that and shut your ass, before you get killed.” Leroy told him the day after he personally met him, when Honey called him, saying the wound in his calf had gotten uglier and he was banned from the majority of the hospitals in the city. At first, Leroy didn’t know why that should’ve been a matter of concern to him, but he ended up showing him at the apartment anyway. When he realized Alec hadn’t learned anything from the previous experience and was already planning the next riot, he felt the burning desire to cauterize him out of spite.

So Leroy cauterized him, with no previous warning. Alec screamed so loud he thought he was going to pass out. But when he was done, Alec thanked him, because, sure, he had nearly fainted thanks to the pain, but the wound was closed and no longer bleeding.

“I won’t get killed.” Alec declared, as if he were some type of almighty god. “But if I do, it will be defending my place and my rights. You say we’re all our own fight. Correct. But, as prodigies, we have to stick together.”

“And why is that, exactly?”

“Because somebody has to fight for us.”

“You want to fight for us.”

“I want us to fight for us.”

At that moment, Honey came into the room, carrying a tray with a steaming cup and a plate with French toast with honey.

“They can’t kill us all.” She said.

“Oh, but they can.”

Before she could answer, Alec spoke again.

“Then how come we’re still here?”

As the hours, days, weeks and months went by, Leroy, beneath all his cynicism and incredulity, realized he cared. And, once he was invested in the cause, he decided he cared enough to believe them.

They couldn’t kill them all, but they could kill some of them. Yet, they would die caring and believing, and defending their legitimate right to having lived in the first place. There were some things they couldn’t take back, but there were others they could stop them from taking away.

Because somebody had to.

And, if nobody wanted to fight for them, then they had to be their own fight.

Leroy had already gone down once, and that was the reason why he was willing to do it again if necessary. There were Alecs out there, who had been born prodigies and judged, mistreated and pointed at because of it; there were Honeys out there, who had suffered from fatidic accidents that had left a mark in them forever; there were Leroys out there, who had been bullied for not being a prodigy, but also for being one.

As long as he was alive, there would be no more Leroys. No more Honeys, either. No more Alecs.

They were their own fight, but they were also each other’s fight.

So, as they marched towards the city, they were carrying tons and tons of weight, even from the pain that didn’t belong to them. Even from pain that had already been silenced.

Silenced like the inert body of a murdered prodigy.

Silenced like the city the moment they saw them come.

Needless to say, they were coming in with previous instructions to show no mercy in case anything went wrong, knowing these people had already been attacked right at the heart of their system (their mayor), but when they saw them walk, they showed no resistance to let them through.

Gatlon City met the Anarchists in a moment that remained suspended into the air, while some of them dispersed to block the entrances and exits, and others stood in the middle of the traffic, creating a human wall that prevented the cars from moving forward.

Traffic lights exploded, as well as display screens, just like the days when authorities were trying to censor a violent riot. Doors became locked, just like the days when citizens were being notified of a group of violent prodigies marching through the city, except this time citizens weren’t the ones locking themselves in. Telephone lines became cut, just like the days when they did that so agonizing prodigies wouldn’t say a last goodbye to their loved ones who lived far away.

They were many. Too many.

And they couldn’t kill them all.

When they realized that, panic started spreading among them.

Queen Bee was still taking the lead, but the lines began to become blurrier and blurrier with every second, as some of the prodigies had to leave the formation in order to silence those who dared to try to oppose.

Gatlon City was a bold, intimidating place, with huge buildings, blinding lights and overwhelmingly wide streets that could swallow you whole if you weren’t careful enough. Yet, it welcomed the Anarchists in a scene that was as surreal as it was fascinating. Out of a sudden, it seemed to shrink before them.

To the elemental prodigies’ hands, the sky started to look as if split in two, fragile and breakable like the green leaves hanging from the trees, which were swaying like Honey’s blonde curls that day at the beach.

It was a public music festival, which they had attended while the Thompsons babysat David, out of pure and classic peer pressure coming from Honey herself.

Leroy showed up late at the beach, after waking up from a seven hour nap (the result of not sleeping at night), given that, despite living together, Honey expressed she hadn’t woken him up because she thought it was only an excuse to stand them out.

Beneath the loud chattering, the live music and the crowding, their presence became as irrelevant as a single grain of sand before it was taken away by a wave, but they still managed to get a decent spot, where they could see the stage from the blanket they were using as seats.

Out of the few bucks they were carrying with them at the moment, they managed to gather enough for a bucket of fish and chips from the food trucks, so they sent Alec to go get it, which left Honey and Leroy alone (though surrounded by people) in the blanket.

It was about time she said something about it, but when she did, Leroy still felt the need to roll his eyes at her until they rolled out of his face.

“You’re the only two people I know who dress like that to come to the beach. It’s honestly embarrassing.”

She was referring to the fact Leroy was wearing jeans, sneakers and a black hoodie, while Alec was wearing jeans as well, and a black T-shirt he had gotten for free at an event in his faculty.

“What are you? A vampire or something?” Upon saying that, Honey got her hands in the cooler and took a can of lime flavored soda from it.

“I don’t like leaving the house without my hoodie.” Leroy responded above the clic and the hissing produced by the carbonation. “It hides my rolls.”

It’s not like Leroy was ashamed of his body. In fact, he didn’t give a damn about it, for he wasn’t one to take care of his physical appearance that much. Nevertheless, having people pointing out defects he already knew he had was annoying and an inconvenience he rather preferred not to go through.

“What are you trying to say to me?” Honey let out a screeching laugh, shaking her head to get her hair off her face, before taking a sip from her soda, very slowly, staring directly into Leroy’s eyes, with an arched eyebrow, not mad, but a little malicious and suggestive.

Whatever she was trying to do, it worked perfectly well, because Leroy could tell the exact part of his sentence where he had gone wrong and dug his own grave. Despite his efforts to conceal it and pretend he didn’t regret saying it, he still felt his face burn a little.

Honey was wearing a two-piece swimsuit that day. A yellow bikini top with white polka dots (“Hope you’re getting a great view because this is the only time you’ll ever see me wearing a bra” “You really are a hippie pothead” “So what?” “Honey Hippie Harper” “Great name, Lery”) and a tight, also yellow with polka dots skirt. The top had a huge white bow tie that fell all the way towards her stomach area, but it’s not like it covered much, and Honey wasn’t exactly the size of a Barbie doll herself (though everybody in Gatlon agreed that, somehow, she still managed to look like one).

Good thing her self-esteem was as high as Everest.

“You’re just jealous I’m so hot it feels like my entire body is catching flames while you look like a poor man’s Dracula.”

“Your lexicon is above the clouds today. Did you teach yourself how to read? And you read Dracula, just by chance?“

“You’re such a comedian. I’m dying. My lungs are aching from laughing so much.” Honey laughed sarcastically, in a flat tone, before taking another sip from her soda. “I had a pretty productive and nurturing self-teaching session yesterday.”

“I see.”

“I did teach myself how to read though, but, just so you know, I read Carmilla and not Dracula, because she came first.”

Being that said, she winked.

By that time, Honey didn’t attend as many feminist movements as before, nor did she lead them, but she still looked pretty invested in her cause and beliefs sometimes, and those were the moments when she looked more like herself.

“The more you know.” Leroy said, between his teeth.

Knowing she had won, Honey didn’t respond anything else on the matter, and reached for her sunglasses instead, putting them on. Then, she kept singing along to the song played by the band, about how the world was going to end soon.

Which was fitting for their current situation.

The entire world wasn’t ending today, but maybe it would, in case they succeeded. Leroy wasn’t the most positive person to have ever stepped on Earth, but, if one thing he knew, was that he was completely able to read and accept facts and get to the truth, and said truth was that Gatlon didn’t have much on its part. A bunch of regular citizens, against a bunch of prodigy citizens, whose mere existence was an advantage over them. And it’s not that Leroy thought prodigies were superior, but, objectively, prodigies could do things normal people couldn’t. That’s what made them prodigies in the first place, and it was part of the reason why they didn’t like them, too.

The terror in their faces made Leroy straighten his back. Above his head, he could already hear the helicopters and planes, both from the press and the government. Still standing in his place, he saw Honey stop. She didn’t hesitate or flinched, but she did stare directly at them. Her lips shimmered, as well as her eyes and the bee hanging from her neck, when the remaining morning sun reached and caressed them. Her expression remained serene, until it wasn’t, and her lips started arching into a sideways smile. With the whole crowd waiting behind her, Queen Bee clicked her tongue and giggled. Then, she waved at the sky, with her eyes grinning as well, behind the mask. Leroy could almost visualize the picture in a History book, in the chapter that talked about the day Gatlon fell.

When he took one step forward, he also saw himself in the frame. Honey, for sure, acknowledged his presence before she continued walking, squeezing his wrist a little, as a reassuring gesture he thought he didn’t need.

With two Anarchists at the lead, the weight of the protest became more evident, but the rest of the recruits were keeping them grounded. Flying prodigies were above their heads, keeping themselves at a prudent distance from the planes and helicopters, becoming an emergency signal for the others. They barked orders, so their companions knew where to aim.

The cocky individuals holding guns while standing in the sideway were attacked from behind and killed on spot. Some others didn’t have it that easy, for they were grabbed by extra arms or tentacles and smothered to death. Others were stabbed by flying pieces of glass or other sharp objects. And the one man who thought he was clever enough met Leroy’s palm, and while he tried not to step on his agonizing body (like Honey did) with a face now looking like a melted candle, he didn’t feel anything when he heard him wail in pain.

In fact, Leroy felt so blinded by adrenaline he couldn’t feel anything at all.

The only thing that managed to make him snap back into reality for a short while, was the warmth that later turned into almost unbearable heat and left them with a lack of oxygen for a short while.

Aracely Thompson, Dome, stepped forward and, with a stomp of her foot, translucent, golden chains rose from the ground, trapping the main Anarchists (plus Jerome and her) in a wide intangible circle, which chains melted into each other once the area was delimited, and turned into a see-through bubble. The ones from the outside could see them, but not hear or touch them, let alone harm them.

Leroy wondered why they hadn’t thought about that before, but he figured they had just thought about how Alec would manage just fine on his own at the back.

Fearless and merciless, they kept on walking the cracking pavement, through the growing chaos, trapped in their bubble with recycled air.

With the traffic suspended, the streets looked empty, as if naked. People had already gotten the message, and they were running like scared roaches, trying to get out of their way. Some were holding their children, some were holding their pets, and others were holding both.

“Where’s Ingrid?” Leroy asked in Honey’s ear, upon seeing a mother run away with her child, who looked around Ingrid’s age.

“At a daycare for single mothers…” Aracely was not a single mother (but she was only married through the eyes of religion. Jerome and her weren’t legally married, and, in theory, her name was still Aracely Brito, but she preferred to be called Thompson, and it was the only last name Ingrid had in her fake birth certificate) “In front of a lawyer firm by Trinity street. So, no matter what happens, don’t touch that building.”

They would have to warn Alec about it, or take Ingrid out before he could reach that daycare.

Some years ago, before Alec arrived to Gatlon, there had been an incident, where a daycare for prodigy children had been destroyed; it wasn’t considered legal, of course, and, through the eyes of the government, it didn’t exist. So, when they contacted the owners to ask them to close it and they refused, one of the gas tanks of the daycare conveniently exploded, resulting in a fire and the death of several prodigy children, which meant that, among a lot of other things, Alec would show no mercy for daycares for regular children. In other words, the entirety of daycares in Gatlon, including the one Ingrid was in.

Alec never forgot, nor did he forgive, and he had a wide knowledge in regards to the crimes Gatlon had committed against prodigies.

They continued on walking through the main street, which led to the main bridge, from which cars were falling like little ants. Nobody truly knew what Alec was planning to do, because he was as pragmatic as he was unpredictable, and the more you hung out with him, the looser the thread your life was hanging from became.

He just said Gatlon would fall.

And when he said something would happen, it usually happened.

Upon reaching the bridge, they were greeted by familiar faces, with familiar uniforms, who maybe thought this would be just another routine intervention. That they would be retouching a line they had already painted some time ago. That they had another chance.

There were uniformed men and women, some in cars, some in tanks, some in patrols, holding their guns and pointing at them, the ones who had made it into the bridge instead of staying in the fight below.

Leroy was starting to suspect a part of them knew it would be useless, because this time they weren’t giving them an option, but, still, in their eyes he could see they were desperate enough to try.

Due to the fact there were so many prodigies stepping on the bridge at once, the ground seemed to be buzzing, as well as the air, and the clouds, and the sky, and the life surrounding them, filled with the distant cries and the echoes of the ones they had lost in the way.

In that moment, when they had already arrived, Leroy drifted away.

He heard the bullets.

Bang, bang, bang.

It was a couple of months ago. They had just taken a government building with brute force, and they had locked it from the inside.

They stayed there for almost a week, until the police finally decided to cease fire and left the area. They had no food apart from some crackers and cheese sticks, they had no water (and no water elementals whatsoever), no electricity and no running water either. If that wasn’t bad enough on its own, some of them were injured or losing blood, and the bullets kept hitting the walls on the outside.

Bang, bang, bang.

Honey had always hated being unclean. Even when she wasn’t in the mood to take care of herself, she kept complaining about how much being dirty disgusted her. Hence, after two days, she sat in a corner and refused to move, until the day they were finally released. Everybody was at the verge of going crazy by then, and so, she decided to stand up and join Alec’s motivational speech about why they were doing this in the first place, in which Leroy was also involved.

Then, when it all went quiet, they just stayed there, with the question “Now what?” floating in the air.

One important part of Alec’s motto as a visionary, was reminding others that prodigies were people too. That they had rights. That they had feelings. That they had needs.

Honey, being herself, started singing Rivers of Babylon out of the blue, and while everybody in the room stared at her like she was crazy at first, suddenly, Alec started harmonizing with her, singing as loud as he did on Sundays, at Mass, dehydrated, hungry and everything.

Leroy just stepped aside, looking in the opposite direction, as if that would make everyone believe he didn’t know those two.

It was useless, because many people had already followed them by the second chorus.

Leroy still remembered the one line he had to drag out of his mouth when Honey placed the lipstick tube she was using as a fake microphone very close to his mouth, and everyone suddenly went silent, waiting for him.

“… When we remembered Zion…”

They went ballistic, almost as if they hadn’t been the ones to take this same building in the most violent way one could think about.

After two or three more cheesy songs that Leroy hated, there was a period of two or three minutes where nobody dared to take a turn in the invisible karaoke, and they realized there was something new there.

Absence.

There were no more bullets.

They were alone.

“I’m not very fond of Miss Harper’s taste in music.” Alec told him later that day, back at his apartment, where they had gone together to check on David and shower. “But it’s exactly what our revolution needs in its darkest times.”

“Because it’s obnoxious and loud?”

“No.” Alec told him, smiling sideways. “Because it’s vibrant. When choosing the head of a revolt, Leroy, everything’s about balance. You are serious, she is vibrant and I am versatile.”

“I thought we were talking about her music taste.”

“Are you implying that a person and their music taste aren’t deeply connected?”

That had been forever ago, compared to now, when the triggers were clicking loudly, and they were staring at their companions from sideways or from above.

Sirens screaming in the distance, along with the citizens. There was pain. There was death. There was blood. There were prodigies.

There was anarchy.

And through the confusion and anxiety, something started moving.

They started moving, at the sides, one by one, to let him through.

Now leading the crowd of Anarchists, stood Alec Artino, Ace Anarchy.

His costume was simple, with the boots, the pants, the navy blue sweater, with the golden A, the gabardine…

And the coppery helmet, made by David himself, shining on his head.

If Leroy didn’t know him well enough, he could’ve sworn he was losing his mind and that his mental health was in an extremely dark place.

Alec used to say David was one of the most powerful prodigies that had ever existed, and that this helmet would be the one thing that changed everything, once and for all. Leroy, who had never finished understanding what David could do, often doubted his words, and, to him, the helmet, if anything, only made him look ridiculous.

But he said Gatlon would fall today, and everyone believed him.

Hard as it was for him to admit it, Leroy did too.

“REMOVE THE HELMET AND IDENTIFY YOURSELF!”

If Honey had been able to speak instead of being completely frozen, she probably would’ve said the man at the front looked, plain and simple, like a cop. Light skin, brown eyes, dark brown hair combed to the side, gun in a trembling hand, afraid of the unknown.

The unknown, meaning Alec standing in front of him, with his hands laced behind his back, and his gabardine flowing with the wind.

“I SAID…!”

“I believe it was clear enough I heard you the first time.” Alec declared, tilting his head to the side. “Isn’t a person entitled to decide what questions they desire to respond to by sorting them according to their level of relevance?”

The man gulped so hard Leroy could almost hear him, and then Alec smirked.

“Can you drop your gun or is it attached to your hand? Because if it is, then I will not bother you again. But if it is not, I am going to need you to put it away so we can have a civilized conversation, like normal people do.”

“You’re… y-you’re not normal. Any of you are! YOU’RE NOT NORMAL, YOU MONSTERS! DROP YOUR WEAPONS, NOW!”

Honey’s bees were starting to present themselves at the scene, flying around her, a little uneasy. Leroy, from his part, felt calm, because this, sadly, wasn’t anything they hadn’t seen before.

“Yeah. That is exactly the problem.”

“STEP BACK!”

Alec refused to obey, and remained firm, right there where he was. Slowly, as if he were trying to mentally torture them, he lifted his right hand up. His fingers were in a very specific position, like he was about to make the sign of the cross on somebody.

It was Alec, meaning that, if he had done that, Leroy wouldn’t have been surprised.

But he didn’t.

Besides, if he had actually been planning to, they didn’t give him time for that, for the very second they saw him move, they shot, and many emergency alarms went off.

The bang was so loud Honey covered her ears, and her bees started trying to shield themselves by hiding behind her, beneath her hair or landing on her skin, never stinging her.

Leroy, from his part, felt his fingertips dripping with acid, preparing himself for the impact.

The impact never came.

Right in front of their eyes, the shower of bullets stops. The smell of gunpowder was still filling the air, and the bullets were still there, as present as ever.

However, they were suspended into the air, and one of them was almost touching Alec’s nose, who just smiled, before saying, in such a low volume Honey and him were the only ones who could hear:

“So be it, then.”

Being that said, he lifted his chin.

The bullets turned around.

Then, they were shot in the opposite direction, at full speed, to Alec’s will.

The man at the front of the formation fell first, followed by many others, with the bullets they had shot themselves, in an attempt to kill them.

They fell, one by one, and soon there were puddles of red on the floor, and other voices barking orders.

Shoot the canyons, they said.

But the canyons fell too.

Bring the bombs, they said.

And Alec waved them away as if they were some type of insignificant thing.

The planes, they said.

And they spun and flew out of control, before falling straight into the water or exploding midair.

Bullets stopped again and killed their shooters.

There was blood.

Tons of blood.

That’s when Leroy felt his heart pounding, upon coming to the maybe horrible realization that never had Alec been so strong.

His powers didn’t act like this.

His telekinesis was a hundred times more powerful.

It was…

It was the helmet

“GET THEM!” He shouted then, snapping Leroy back into reality, making him wonder how much time Alec had waited to say those words out loud.

To use those putrid words, the ones they always used before attempting against prodigies, against them.

If he wanted to be honest, hearing them felt good, but Leroy didn’t react immediately.

First he saw the chaos, when the mass of uniformed men and women melted between the prodigies in costumes, stepping on the dead and the dying, sometimes accidentally.

The massacre began in the rest of the city, as the sky became wilder, the tide started to roar and the screams became the type of symphony one would hear when entering the gates from Hell.

Gatlon City was starting to look red.

But the red wasn’t coming from the prodigies, but caused by them.

“You two stay with me.” Alec commanded, looking both at Honey and him. “I need you to clear the path.”

“Clear the bridge?!”

“Did I make myself understood, Queen Bee?”

Honey flinched the very moment she heard her own alias, and Leroy watched her as she tried to process everything.

“Clear the bridge.” She repeated. “Yes. Clear the…”

Leroy hoped that didn’t include the bodies.

He guessed it didn’t. Alec, after all, didn’t seem to care about that.

“Clear the bridge. Got it.” Leroy nodded.

“Excellent.”

Alec didn’t stare at them, and he didn’t move either, standing in the middle, with his hands into his pockets, and his face held high, feeling the movements all around him, prepared to get rid of any threat as soon as he spotted it.

Honey and Leroy rarely talked about their tactics before putting them into practice, but, just for once, Leroy wanted to do it.

And, of course, it wasn’t possible, because just as Leroy was preparing to grab her by the wrist and drag her aside, she got herself out of his reach.

“Wait! Wait!” she screamed, not because she was desperate, but because she wanted to be heard above the rest of the din.

Fortunately, in an almost surreal scene to watch, her voice caught Alec’s attention, and his green eyes caught hers, listening.

Leroy stared at Honey, both incredulous and speechless.

“A—” She stuttered. “… Acey.”

Acey.

Fucking Acey.

Leroy arched an eyebrow sharply, but Alec nodded, as if approving the nickname or acknowledging she was talking to him.

“I… “

BANG.

An explosion.

A loud, very loud explosion, followed by the smell of smoke and gunpowder. Maybe, if they were at a lower spot, they would’ve smelled the burnt flesh too.

Good thing they weren’t.

That didn’t make Alec less mad, though, for he unnecessarily adjusted his helmet and straightened his back.

“Acey, wait, I…! “

“Maybe not right now, Queen Bee.” He declared, plain and cold, but solemn.

Somehow, Leroy already knew what she wanted to say, and he also knew she would never say it after today, because he knew her well enough.

And maybe he knew him well enough too.

“Later.” He promised, empty.

Then, just like that, sitting in a cross-legged position, Alec levitated, perhaps to have a better view of the city.

Leroy took Honey by the wrist, this time for real.

Alec made the tank shoot in the opposite direction, and then came another explosion.

Back to back, Honey and him waited for the ones who came and tried to attack. Leroy started feeling his own heartbeat in his ears, and his whole body was vibrating, while Honey’s hasty breaths tormented him, trying to convince himself that they were doing fine, and that they were right.

Because they were.

They were just fighting back.

Leroy saw the scene as if he were out of his body.

The two of them, below Alec, but higher than the city, which was in flames; the body to body fights, with a considerable unbalance of power. The Anarchists were annihilating them with not a drop of mercy, nor remorse. The fights were on top of cars. On top of buildings. Through the streets. Pipes were leaking. The sky was roaring and wailing at the same time. Bullets were flying. Cables were hanging. Trees were moving as if made of paper.

Leroy could still feel Honey’s back against his’, and they only separated when they had to meet the officials who were coming into the bridge, before sending them to the top of pile of bodies.

A man came in, and he was a little taller than Leroy, with his head shaved and a bulletproof jacket. He wasn’t holding a gun, but a metallic tube instead. In posture and enraged expression, Leroy could tell he wasn’t a cop. Maybe a veteran, or some dumb fuck who enjoyed hunting season.

First, Leroy got rid of the tube, melting it with his hand, and next thing he knew, he was attacking him, trying to put his whole body weight on him. Leroy resisted and grabbed him first by the wrist and then by the cheeks, which made him wail in pain. Leroy pressed his palms harder against his skin, and it was only then that a swarm of both bees and wasps came in and started devouring the man’s face, gathering together into the burnt cheeks and wrists.

Honey grabbed Leroy by the arm and tried to pull him up, grunting and gasping, until Leroy was lucid enough to help her and got up himself.

At that very moment somebody kicked her back and made her trip forward. Fortunately, Leroy was able to catch her, but his blood started to boil, and, then, he just knew he had gone in a blind assault of rage.

Out of a sudden, he didn’t feel like himself. He could feel his pores dripping, and the acid was so strong he felt his whole body itching; getting into a fight position, he asked Honey to get behind him with a hand motion, which she obeyed, though also in defense mode.

It was a female official this time. Light brown hair tied in a small ponytail and muscular body. Leroy waved his hand, and that was enough to send the acid flying towards her, straight into her eyes and different spots of her skin.

She screamed in pain.

Honey was already fighting another man, but still, Leroy felt the bees surrounding him too, and there was a very specific group that stayed even when Honey moved towards another position, and they buzzed loudly all around him, notifying him when somebody was coming.

“They’re like an alarm.” He recalled Honey saying once, standing in the middle of the kitchen, taking the groceries out of the bags. She was covered in bees, as if they were children asking their mother what she had gotten for then. “They usually see the enemy before I do, so they buzz in their direction. From the outside it looks like I have outstanding reflexes but… Baby, you’re too close to my lashes and it’s giving me the heebie-jeebies, would you mind? Thank you.” A bumblebee flew away from Honey’s eye, to stand above her brow instead.

“What was I saying?” She tapped her chin, making the bees go away for a second. “Ah. Yes. I do have good reflexes, but yeah, it’s usually thanks to them, as well.”

Leroy remained leaned against the door frame, with his arms crossed over his chest.

“So.” She pointed at the counter, now full of groceries. “You’re gonna help me or what?”

Leroy wasn’t scared of bees. He had never been. Not particularly. But when he met Honey, he became immune to them and decided he would never be, either. Sometimes, when he was alone in the apartment and saw a swarm by the door, waiting for Honey to come back, he would even try to talk to them, which was useless and, judging for how they always stung him, they didn’t like it.

Maybe the bees didn’t like him whatsoever, but right here, in the bridge, they were pretending they did, because Honey had asked them to do so.

And yes. Hard as it was for him to admit it, they were useful.

Very useful.

On the other hand, it also made him feel dumb, because he didn’t know how desperate you had to be for your powers to respond to you through another prodigy.

Leroy was stabbed during one of the (very violent) riots. It wasn’t by a cop, but by a regular, non-prodigy civilian instead. It was a deep cut, and Alec got so mad he ordered to kill as many as they had to until they found the one who had done it. While Hell was breaking loose, Honey dragged him like a human crutch towards the park, hiding him behind the bushes.

“Don’t fall asleep or move unless you really need to, and don’t try to cauterize yourself because that shit hurts and you might pass out. Wait for Rina. I’ll send her to you.”  Rina was a healing prodigy, and by the time Honey was saying that, she had already been killed, so they ended up sending Gwen instead. “You understand? Now it’s not the time to be the stubborn piece of shit you usually are. That’s not how we’re rolling. You understand?”

Leroy understood, but he didn’t answer. Not directly. Instead, he reached for the small blade he always carried in his pocket and, before he handed it to Honey, he tried to release his power in it.

She stared before grabbing it.

“Don’t let go, Leroy.” She asked, whispering, as she placed the blade in her own pocket. “For all you care, don’t let go.”

And when Honey’s skin touched it without her screaming in pain, he thought maybe it hadn’t worked at all, but a few days later, when Alec came to the apartment and tried to remove it from the dining table (because David was there too and he liked to touch everything), it hurt his palm.

The blade had become poisoned, and it burned everyone except for Honey and himself.

She still had it to this day, and right there, fighting in the bridge, he witnessed the exact moment when she took it out, while he stood behind her, with her bees, that she had lent him.

The sudden war seemed to have gone on forever when Leroy felt the breeze at his feet, produced by Alec’s body cutting through the air. He looked like a ghost. A very tangible and imposing ghost, who stood like a stone looking at the destruction he had caused himself, with his arms behind his back and his eyes closed.

Honey and Leroy came to his encounter, with the “Now what?” floating above their heads, like that time Honey and him had harmonized to Rivers of Babylon.

With sweat rolling down his face through the helmet and mask, Alec smiled sideways, and held his hand towards them, with his eyes showing a mild fuchsia tonality. None of the two, needless to say, knew how to react to that at first, but Honey believed him enough to try, and she wrapped her hand around his’, like a shell protecting a pearl.

And Leroy believed Honey enough to try, and wrapped his hand around hers’, like he was the sand or the water protecting the shell that protected the pearl.

And there they were.

The three of them.

Like the day Leroy met them for the first time. Like the days they travelled together, hiding from the police or not. Like all the days Alec forced them to go to Mass. Like the days they had to sleep under poor conditions, in motels or abandoned buildings, and Alec and him woke up with back pain because Honey always had to have the most comfortable place they managed to get. Like the days one of them was so injured they didn’t know he or she would wake up the next morning, and so they started praying they would.

Repressed memories started coming back, and Leroy managed to dodge every single one of them, although a part of him didn’t want to.

Then Alec stared at them. They were very close together, with their foreheads touching, while the three interlocked hands remained in the middle.

“Courage comes from the same place as fear.” Alec reminded them.

“And the day we decide to burn, they will all come with us. “ Ace Anarchy said.

And then, he lifted.

Honey was the last one to let go of him.

Next, he was gone.

Ace Anarchy stood above it all, like the burning sun, with both his arms extended to his sides, towards the emptiness, and, at the same time, towards the everything.

Leroy took Honey by the arms, putting her aside, as they stared. Maybe in awe. Maybe in fear.

Ace Anarchy looked up at the sky, then at the front again.

All the guns were pointing at him. All the lives were hanging by the thread he was using to sew his way in, and also his way out.

The Earth trembled in fear, and then it shook in pain.

Honey screeched, shoving her nails into Leroy’s arm to recover her balance, though Leroy was also on the verge of falling.

They tried to hold the other up. To force each other to remain standing.

Gatlon City left the ground, light as a feather. The buildings fell, the bridge started to crack, the sea escaped from the place it belonged to, people screamed, screamed, screamed.

Everything was in flames.

The light became brighter.

The wails became louder.

Time became slower.

Time became torture.

Time became endless.

And Gatlon City remained suspended into the air, shattering into little pieces, leaving a trace of blood and flesh.

Then, just like that, it fell.

Gatlon City fell, like a sinking boat.

Like it was nothing.

Like it was made of paper.

And it fell.

And, just like Ace Anarchy prophesied, they all fell with it. And with him.

[d-criss-news]

(First of two parts)

LOS ANGELES—In one scene in Ryan Murphy’s new series, “Hollywood,” Darren Criss’ director character, who is trying to make his first film in the 1940s when racism was still pervasive and “white-passing” was common, makes a confession: “I’m half Filipino.”

To most viewers of the show which will premiere on May 1 on Netflix, that statement may seem innocuous. But to many Filipinos who will hear those three words, that’s a big moment to hear a major character in a mainstream show declaring his Filipino heritage. Especially in that era, and even today, when there are still talents who pass themselves as white out of “career necessity.”

“Identity and terminology—it’s a new concept that I’ve had to learn,” admitted Darren, who is himself half Filipino and half white, in a recent exclusive interview via video conference. He has proudly acknowledged his Filipino heritage in the past and once addressed a controversy on this topic when he was misquoted.

“It has always been an interesting point of conversation that I’ve gotten more familiar with in the past two or three years,” the multitalented performer said. “Because I have a public profile, I have to worry about the term ‘white passing.’ It was something that I was not familiar with because I guess I never really felt that way.”

In Darren and Ryan’s riveting follow-up to their “The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story,” which netted Emmy and Golden Globe Awards honors, including historic best actor wins for the former, it’s post-World War II in Tinseltown.

The limited series follows a group of actors and filmmakers, including Darren’s Raymond Ainsley, as they try to make it in Hollywood, where the unfair systems and biases across race, gender and sexuality are still very much in place.

It was a time when the likes of Anna May Wong (the first Chinese-American film star), Hattie McDaniel (the first person of color to win an Oscar) and a closeted Rock Hudson dealt with many obstacles. The drama also occasionally pivots around Golden Tip Gas, based on a real gas service station in Hollywood which had pump jockeys who “serviced” celebrities, many of whom were hiding their sexuality.

Darren’s Raymond is an upcoming director, fresh out of film school, who is dreaming of making his first film. Although he “passes” for white, the half-Filipino filmmaker Raymond aspires to broaden the stories that Hollywood tells.

While the eight-episode series tackles the sexism, racism and homophobia of the ’40s, “Hollywood” intentionally features revisionist history, including “a beautiful fantasy, a happy ending”—in the words of Jeremy Pope, who plays Archie Coleman, a “colored” screenwriter also trying to make it.

It’s all in keeping with what Ryan said to Darren over dinner when they planned their next project after “Versace.” The prolific director-producer wanted a “young, hopeful period piece.”

The entire cast is terrific, an engaging mix of new and veteran actors. Aside from Darren and Jeremy, the show’s roster includes Patti LuPone, Jim Parsons, Dylan McDermott, Michelle Krusiec (moving as Anna May Wong), David Corenswet, Laura Harrier, Samara Weaving, Holland Taylor, Jake Picking (as Rock Hudson), Queen Latifah, Mira Sorvino and Rob Reiner.

In this mix, most of the characters are somehow involved in “Peg,” a movie which Darren’s Asian-American director is trying to make, against all odds. Darren, who was eager as an actor to explore what it means for somebody who passes as white, reflected on the topic.

“I just was always Filipino and white,” Darren began talking about the issue. He was at his home in LA, self-quarantining with his wife, Mia. “I was always both. I never thought about it as a concept that you could be passing (as white). That it was a concept that could somehow give one more access to things than others.

“I started realizing that maybe there are inbuilt unfortunate prejudices that restrain those people from opportunities that they should otherwise have.

“I feel the survivor’s guilt more recently than ever. Because you think of a lot of any historically marginalized people. If you have this access card, how do you use it in a way that can be advantageous for the other part of you that represents the marginalized group?

“Doing these interviews made me think about how Ryan has a very similar construct, which is being a young gay, closeted kid in a small town in Indiana. It’s an incredible amount of adversity to overcome personally and socially. So, once he grew to accept this and made it part of his strength, he got to a point where he could break through barriers perhaps by way of him being a man, perhaps by way of him being white.

“Ever since he broke through those barriers, he’s been using his position to be an advocate for the queer community, women, people who have been marginalized in any way, shape or form.”

After apologizing for stepping away from his desk to open the door for someone, Darren continued, “Similarly, Raymond has been doing that. Like Ryan, Raymond has been fueled by the things that he used to be scared of, or have shame of. He has turned it around, and owned it to make sure that he can use that as fuel for his sort of social justice crusade.”

Darren, who grew up in San Francisco with a Filipino mom and an American dad, pointed out, “That is a very different scenario than what I grew up with, obviously. I grew up in a predominantly Filipino community in the Bay Area. It was a part of my life that I always felt supported.

“When I was in high school, with a lot of Filipino kids, when they’d find out I was Filipino, they would be like, ‘No way!’ It’s the kind of thing that I always loved. I’d be more willing to shove my white background aside in order to tell people I was Filipino. I’m very lucky that my scenario was different. 

It’s the kind of thing that I always loved. I’d be more willing to shove my white background aside in order to tell people I was Filipino. I’m very lucky that my scenario was different. 

“Ryan wanted to show that very unique story, because being half anything is a very unique identity. Not struggle, but a constant question. Anybody who’s half or mixed race will tell you that everyone’s experience is different.

“That was a part of me in the same way that Ryan likes characters who have a queer narrative or women who have a narrative of being mistreated because they were older, or people of color. I was just a small piece of a large puzzle that contributed to the types of people that were trying to push the needle forward. In Ryan’s mind, it would have been a shame to ignore the fact that I was half Asian.”

“Hollywood,” shot in LA’s landmarks from Paramount Studios to the iconic Musso & Frank Grill, also marks the first time Darren serves as an executive producer of a major production. “I’ve produced stuff in so far as I had a theater company and a production company out of college,” he clarified. “But that’s a very loose title. It was just me and my friends putting on a show. It doesn’t have the same flash on it that a Netflix show does. I’m also the creator and exec producer of my show (‘Royalties’ on Quibi).

“I finished that show, then I went straight into ‘Hollywood.’ I was on postproduction for ‘Royalties’ at the same time I was shooting ‘Hollywood.’ It’s been probably one of the most packed, overworked years of my entire life.

“Ryan was very gracious to include me with that title. He was receptive to my feedback, but for the most part, I stayed back and let Ryan do his thing.

“He called me early on saying, ‘Do you mind if I just do my thing on this?’ I was like, ‘No, of course not. This is your project. I’m just grateful and lucky to be a part of it.’”

(Conclusion tomorrow)

[trashi-bee]

Caught Red-Handed, Pt.1?

Pairing: Reader x Rude asf! Nikki x Vince x Tommy

Warnings: 18+ pls, language, mentions of alcohol, degradation, choking, hair pulling

Lil Summary: Reader works at a diner that the boys frequent, becomes infatuated with them and follows them home (based off of early 80′s Motley) 

Also! I got a lot of inspiration from @thewritingdoll​ when writing this! (she wrote a piece that included reader! breaking into somebody's house and I really wanted to write something of my own that incorporated that! xox) .. also for some reason I tried to edit this post and I deleted like all the text so sorry if you’re seeing this again but I had to reformat it lol 

You felt so pathetic, being so easily tempted by the three most deplorable boys to step foot within your little diner. They came every Sunday morning, smelling of jack, sweat, and whatever whore they were with the night before. 

At first you hated them, fucking despised them. They were loud, disrespectful and refused to treat anybody with an ounce of respect. 

“Fill up my cup, would you kitten?”, the blonde haired stunner you’ve learned goes by Vince quips, flashing you a sly grin as you stroll towards the group with a pot of fresh brew in hand. Pouring a cup of coffee has never felt so strenuous, simply being in their presence makes your face flush and your knees go weak. 

As soon as you’ve finished your assigned task you turn to leave, only to be held back by a hand placed on your forearm. “What’s the rush, baby?” Nikki’s mischievous olive hues lock with yours, “a little company would be appreciated, sit down”. Being ordered by a drunken punk should make you furious, but instead you feel your sex throb at the thought of how else he could boss you around. 

“I’d love to stay, but my boss-“ you’re interrupted mid sentence, Tommy pulls you towards him and places you in the booth. “Don’t be silly, we’re the only people here”, he interjects, you turn and realize he’s right - had you been that preoccupied with your thoughts that you failed to realize you were alone? alone with the boys who crept their way into your dreams and flooded your head with all the possible ways they could use you. 

“Oh.. right, I guess I could stay for a minute”, your mouth goes dry and your heartbeat increases tenfold, why did they have this effect on you? 

“We’ve been coming here every Sunday for a few months now, long enough to tell you’re never very busy, yet you always find a way to avoid us when we come in- no need to be scared, kitten, we don’t bite'', Nikki intervenes once again, he’s undoubtedly the leader of the pack.

You’re caught off guard, searching for the perfect excuse, just as you feel a mischievous hand crawling up the side of your upper thigh, making its way towards your core. “I- uh- I haven’t meant to stay away from you guys, I’m just usually the only worker here”. Tommy smirks from beside you, aware of the damage he’s causing. 

Thankfully, you’re pulled from the situation when you hear the familiar ring of the door being opened on the opposite end of the diner, in walking an elderly man, making his way towards the counter. You slide out of the booth and take your still warm pot of coffee along with you, heading towards the man that saved you from utter humiliation. 

You’ve barely left his side, forcing small talk to pass the time, ignoring the three boys across the room. After what felt like an eternity, they finally left. You weren’t sure if you were relieved that you’d finally have some peace and quiet, or disappointed that more hadn’t happened. 

The weeks continued to pass and they continued to come every Sunday, hitting on every living and breathing piece of ass to pass their table, yet they became more courteous towards you, no longer making snide remarks and ogling you as you bent over to refill their mugs.. and honestly, it hurt more than you’d like to admit. 

As time passed, your desire to be mistreated and degraded by the ill-mannered boys increased, it took over your every thought. Not only was Sunday difficult, but you found yourself thinking about them every day of the week, you had to see more of them, learn more about them. And that’s when you followed them home. 

You’d come to learn they lived together, and that they didn’t really have a schedule as they played in a band together. Partying throughout the night, waking up in the afternoon and doing it all over again the next day. 

You’ve been watching them for a while, unsure of when exactly you’d be able to sneak inside their apartment as they were really hard to track- then it hit you.. the only time you were sure they’d be away was Sunday morning. 

You took off your Sunday shift for the first time in months, sad you wouldn’t be seeing them this week but overjoyed that you’d be able to rummage around in their dirty little play pin. 

Getting in wasn’t too difficult, as their door had been kicked in by the cops so many times they had to nail it shut and leave the window open in order to enter. The interior is exactly what you’d imagined it to be, broken glass strewn across the floor, ripped clothes covering the few pieces of furniture they own, a vast array of stains decorate the carpet, the air smells of Jack Daniels and a strong musk, their natural odor, and it’s so fucking intoxicating. 

You have no idea where to start, so you wander down the hall in front of you, entering the first room you find. A dresser overflowing with leather pants and band t-shirts, a bed lying on the floor and posters covering the wall. In the corner, a white bass. This was Nikki’s room. 

What now? Do you take something, or play it safe? Would they notice if you took a few mementos? A shirt or two couldn’t hurt- the idea of lounging around at home in their clothes sounded fantastic, you had to take something, anything. 

Getting down on your knees in front of the overfilled dresser, you pulled open the bottom drawer, pawing through the mess and taking in the scent that enveloped each piece of apparel. 

That’s when you heard them, entering the apartment through the same window you’d crawled through only moments ago - how could they be back already! You’ve calculated this so perfectly, they’d never missed a Sunday at the diner, ever. You were fucked, absolutely terrified and with nowhere to hide, there was no getting out of this. You froze in place, a single set of footsteps heading towards the room you were in, how would you explain this? Would you have to quit your job? You’d never be able to face them again. 

“Well, boys, I guess we know why our little pet wasn’t at work today”, Nikki calls out, staring you down, a playful and arrogant smirk growing on his lips. “Care to explain why the fuck you’re in my room, bitch?”, you open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, embarrassed and defeated, you look towards your feet. 

“Lost for words, little girl?”, you hear him step closer, so close that you can smell the bittersweet scent of alcohol that radiates off his body. The other two enter the room to find what Nikki’s discovered, the waitress from the diner down the road standing in their apartment, caught red-handed. 

Calloused fingers reach underneath your chin, forcing your head upwards so that you’re staring into the eyes of the Nikki Sixx, your lips only inches away from his own. “I asked you a question, didn’t I? I expect an answer, little one”, you search your head for something, anything, biting down on your lip and batting your lashes, you decide on the safest option available, “I partied here a few days ago and left something behind, I came back to get it”.

The three men laugh in unison, causing your stomach to do flips, they didn’t believe you. “If you were here, we would’ve noticed, do you think I’m dumb, bitch?”. You shake your head, cheeks flushing and your sex throbbing at the derogatory names he’s been referring to you with. You’re in the most vulnerable position you’ve ever found yourself in, the three most filthy boys in the city towering over you, enclosing you. Nikki peers behind you, an evil grin spreading across his plump lips “you were going through my dresser, weren’t you?”, you feel Vince run his digits through your hair, grabbing at your locks and pulling you back to look him in the eyes “little fuckin’ thief, huh?”.

Nikki looks you over, he says nothing but his demeanor shows that he demands a proper explanation. The grip Vince has on your hair tightens. Nikki places his hands on your waist, pushing the fabric of your shirt up to expose a few inches of skin. The fear you felt moments ago now mixes with excitement and lust, an intoxicating mixture of danger and pleasure. 

“I think I’ve figured it out, boys, little miss shy wanted to gather a few treasures to keep for herself- gather a few shirts to smell as she toys with her pussy at night, thinking of the sleazy boys from the diner fucking her stupid”, a whimper passes your lips, Tommy chuckles, “I think that’s exactly what this little bitch was up to, weren’t you taught not to steal?” Your eyes meet, his grin matching Nikki's, pure evil. 

“Only a twisted little whore would follow us back to our house and rummage through our dirty clothes” Vince chimes in from behind, pressing his stiff member firmly against your ass. The hold on your hair is finally released, your head falling forward, just in time for Nikki to wrap his hand around your neck, his free hand pushing apart your lips, two fingers reaching the back of your throat. Your eyes water as you choke on the thick digits invading your mouth. Drool drips down your chin and onto your clothed chest, Nikki pulls his hand free, smearing the spit that covers his fingers across your face. 

“See, we could make a big deal out of this-“ Nikki gestures to the space around him, alluding to the space you had broken into “..Maybe tell your boss you took off your shift to break into our lovely home, or, which I think is the better option, you could finally let us have a little fun with you”.

Your eyes light up, ecstasy pumping through your veins. Primal instincts had taken control, you were nodding your head in agreement before you had even considered his propositions. “Do anything you want to me- anything”.

[godstaff]

‘You disgust and shame idiots like you who support this ship trash they should send it to the ghost area you damage good super heroes like superman since they placed him with wonder woman everything was a waste and a failure thanks to his shit ship the new 52 they were good you just mistreat & make you see WonderWoman like a whore you the supporters that are trash thanks to you ’😯. It’s incredible just how haters on IG start to lose grammar skills in expressing hate towards SMWW 😂

You have to admit they’re passionate about their disgust and thrive to use elaborated language. They just try to use to many adjectives and the words end up stumbling upon each other.

There’s, in writing, a significant difference between love and hate: when you love something/somebody, you take your time to choose the words very carefully, trying to express the emotion as faithfully as possible. You want your description of the feeling to be as beautiful as the object of that affection or the feeling itself. That’s what we call poetry.

When you want to portray hatred in writing, your judgement tends to be a little clouded, overwhelmed by it. It’s not that the feelings are stronger than love, they’re just more urgent, kind of insane. Your pen (keyboard) is taken over by this avalanche of words and you want to spew all of them at once. That’s why there are very, very few poetry works about hate: because it’s hard to take a distance and contemplate your work in an objective manner to judge it’s beauty or even if it makes any sense.

Many Lork fans tried to disguise their hate providing data, facts and figures to sustain their position, to appear to be sentient, logical beings, but the hatred was, unfortunately, very visible behind those educated words. Proof of that is the fact it took very little effort to make them snap and show their true colors.

I wonder, when and if the comic book industry goes the way of the Dodo, what will these folks focus their hatred on.

[loserkusen]

A Change of Heart

It’s 20-BiTeen bitches!!! In celebration the girl in this fic is bi, like yours truly, cause representation matters and if you don’t like it block me. Anyways the anticipated Julian fic.

Oh yeees 😍 can you write a jealous Julian blurb ?♥️

Based off FACE by BROCKHAMPTON 🧡

Word Count: 2,179

She never though she’ll end up in the same position again. After how hard she had worked to convince herself that love wasn’t for her and that it was okay, she found herself stuck in the same spot as always. Wishing she hadn’t started anything to begin with.

(Y/N) had been seeing Julian for a couple of months now. Due to the amount of men and women that had broken her heart, she hated admitting the feelings he evoked in her. The deep connection they had formed was nothing she had felt before which exited her, but made her fearful of the unknown emotions. So she remained guarded and made their relationship as informal as possible. No titles. No commitments. Simply two people getting along and having casual sex.

What she didn’t expect was for her to be sitting in Julian’s kitchen at 2am debating whether to return to bed with the boy she was falling for or to gather her belongings as quickly as possible and walk away from him like she had done many times before. She always felt horrible after the latter, but it was the only thing she could think of doing whenever she laid wrapped up in his arms wondering how she was going to save herself the heartbreak this time.

The sudden hand on her waist startled her causing her to jump off the kitchen stool. Luckily, the familiar arms held her up saving her the pain and embarrassment of hitting the floor.

"What are you doing up right now?" He held her closer, his feathery hair brushing against her cheek.

"I um- I couldn't sleep" she sat back down turning in the seat to face him. His sleep clouded face and shirtless body stood illuminated by the dim light peaking in through the windows. "I have a headache and was wondering if you had pain killers. I thought they'll be in the kitchen, but I couldn't find them."

"They're in the bathroom angel. You should've asked me."

“I didn’t want to wake you.” Your gaze diverted away from him. Doing anything to avoid his eyes hoping he wouldn't see your watery ones.

"You okay?" He stepped closer, his fingers caressing your cheek as he lifted your chin. Silence followed his words. She wasn't. She was quickly realizing she was far from okay. Falling for someone who seemed too good for her. Unable to accept the possibly that he could be the one exception. Slowly slipping into a state she promised she would never come close to again.

"I'm just tired Julian." He starred into her eyes for a moment before nodding and reaching for her hand. She followed him back to his room, silently getting under the covers as he searched his bathroom cabinet for the pills. Julian returned with a glass of water and a crewneck sweatshirt too.

"You should put this on. Being cold is probably going to make it worse." You pulled on his soft sweater which happened to smell like his favorite cologne. The familiar scent worked to calm you down and soon enough your stress induced headache settled down. Not much later, you felt Julian's grip on your waist tightening. His arm pulling you close to his chest was becoming a routine whenever you slept over. He held on throughout the night up until the morning. Almost as if trying to make you stay forever.

The next morning, Julian was awakened by the sound of your feet shuffling around his room. He took a deep breath not wanting to open his eyes and see you rushing to leave him once again. His sad reality hit him at the feeling of the empty spot next to him on the bed. Hesitantly, he sat up catching your attention from across the room.

"Hey Julian." She looked caught off guard as she stumbled trying to step into her boots as quickly as possible. "I didn't think you'll be up this early." She looked tense. The quiet room heightened her uneasiness as Julian remained quiet simply gazing at her. It took a couple of minutes for Julian to break the dense silence eating away at both of them.

"Do you have to leave?" His voice was faint making her feel worse for trying to leave unnoticed once again. She turned around searching for her bag trying to avoid his stare. The truth was, she did have to leave. She had to leave before she did something she regretted. Running away from him temporarily allowed her to breathe. She felt like one more moment with him would reveal the inescapable fact she had been trying to avoid for months now; she was in love with him. She was afraid her brain would win over her heart and she'll break whatever relationship they had out of fear of being mistreated again. Julian had stood up now. His hair laid flat against his forehead and various purple marks scattered around his neck. "We could go get breakfast if you want. I would cook for you, but that wouldn't be really smart." He tried to ease the tension sensing your anxious state.

"I actually promised Rachel she could meet me at my place this morning." You turned around finding him closer to you than before. "I'm probably running late at this point." Your hands searched through your bag making sure you weren’t leaving anything behind. His hand reached forward lifting your chin while his other arm wrapped around your waist. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips just hoovering over yours. unable to resist the urge, you leaned forward pressing your lips to his. He pulled you closer, the kiss quickly escalating. After a minute that felt simultaneously like just a second and an eternity, he pulled back but remained close to you.

"Why cant you just stay? At least one time." He stood over you, his eyes trying to read the true emotions hiding behind yours. You stood quietly allowing yourself to lean into his touch. "You always leave (Y/N). I don't understand why." The frustration in his calm voice pulled at your heartstrings.

"Julian I have to go. I'm not doing this right now." You turned on your heel making your way out of his room and straight towards his front door. It was impossible to stop the tears as you walked outside towards your car. Knowing Julian wouldn't follow you, you remained inside your car taking deep breaths to calm your heavy breathing before starting the car on your way to your house.

"I don't know what to do Rachel!" You had been arguing with your best friend over your situation for over an hour at this point. It was all pointless. The conversation just kept going in circles.

"Just admit that you're in love with him and let him know! He wants you (Y/N). I don't understand how you can't see that." She sat on your couch nonchalantly causing your irritation to rise.

"You just don't understand Rachel. How many times did someone else seem to want me before? And how many times did that not end up with me crying over them to you?" You ran your hands through your hair in utter exasperation at the inability to do anything to help yourself. "I don't want to get hurt again. I promised this wouldn't happen to me again, Rachel."

"Just give him a chance (Y/N). He's Julian! Not some trashy guy I warned you about before. He's just as fucked over by the fact that you're not together yet as you are." Tears you thought you couldn't have anymore began to stream down your face again for what seemed like the hundredth time in just a couple hours. "Come here." You slowly walked to your best friend who sat waiting with open arms. You buried your face into her neck silently letting it all out. She knew how much this was hurting you even if you were the only one overthinking the situation. You sat with her for a couple minutes, her hand soothingly running up and down your back. The quiet moment was interrupted by the front door opening revealing a distressed Julian who just stared at the both of you. Quickly you wiped your tears standing up feeling the lump in your throat returning.

"Julian, what are you doing here?" The tension you felt before had returned, only this time it was worse. You saw Rachel shifting behind you probably just uncomfortable as you were.

"I wanted to talk to you. I didn't know I was intruding I'm sorry. I'll leave." His voice was higher than normal hinting that he was trying his hardest to hold back. You stayed quiet simply staring back at Julian who still stood in your living room despite his words.

"You're not intruding. I was about to go." Rachel broke the silence quickly grabbing her phone and walking out the house before you could stop her. Julian remained quiet even with Rachel gone which left you no other option but to start the inevitable conversation you had been dreading.

"What do you want to talk about Julian." You sat back down hoping he would follow.

"You know why I'm here (Y/N)." Tip toeing around the subject wasn't going to help either of you.

"Don't be ambiguous Julian. Please get to the point." He took a deep breath before unleashing everything he had been holding in.

“What are you waiting for?” His words instantly jab at your heart. “Do you just want to sleep around with me for eternity? Do you just want someone to not be alone?” You kept quiet knowing he had every right to complain. “What do you want us to be?” He turned his body towards you now hoping to get a response from you.

"It’s not that easy, Julian.” You knew that's not what he wanted to hear, but that was sadly the only thing you could come up with without completely breaking down.

“Do you even really want to be with me? Do you want to be with somebody else? Do you want to be with Rachel?” The comment instantly caused you to snap your head towards him.

“What are you talking about?” Out of everything he could have said this was the last thing you could've thought about.

“I just don’t understand what you want! We spend every second possible together. We talk about everything. And no matter how much closer I think I get to you, you always walk away. You walk back to her. And if that's what you want, then that's okay. Just tell me. Talk to me. Don't ignore whats going on.” You shook your head not knowing how to express every single thought that was currently running through your mind.

"Julian it is definitely not what you think. I don't want to be with Rachel. She's just my best friend and the only one I've been able to talk to about this whole mess. She's not part of it." You instantly shut down his suspicion moving on to the painful part. "And I don't blame you, okay? Not even I know what I want at this point." The tears unwillingly resurfaced. "I just want to be happy." You gave up all composure you had, immediately slumping forward dropping your face into your hands. Not two seconds passed before Julian was next to you holding you close to him.

"I'm sorry." You shook your head.

"No Julian. This isn't on you. It's on me. We're in this mess because I don't trust myself to be in a relationship again. Every time I try, everything goes wrong. I don't want that again." You finally looked up to see him. His eyes soft and empathetic. “You have no idea how many times I’ve been fucked over Julian. How many times I’ve been lied to.”

“I would never lie to you.” You smiled reaching for his hand, squeezing it softly.

"I know. And that's why I don't want to fuck this up for us." Julian pulled his hand back placing both of them on your shoulders now.

"Listen. I know people have treated you wrong, okay? I can see it. You’re hurt. You don’t trust that we'll work out. You don't believe I can love you. But you’re wrong this time, baby.” He smiled looking at you wishfully. "You're completely wrong."

“I’m being cautious Julian.” The more he spoke the less your argument seemed valid.

“You’re being cautious with the wrong person. I just want to love you." You sat up moving towards him now, his arms instantly on your waist pulling you onto his lap. He pressed kisses against your face as he held you tightly. You held his cheek, your fingers ghosting over the light stubble, as Julian moved forward capturing your lips in a gentle kiss.

"Good thing I already love you, Julian." You felt his lips forming a smile as you mumbled the words into the kiss.

"I know you do." He pressed his lips against yours once more. "Because I do too."

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

the good doctor:  so, here’s the first thing you need to know. i love richard schiff. love love love. i have watched multiple shows that died a quiet death after only airing a few episodes, simply because he was in the cast. his mentor, father-figure character in tgd is wonderful and he gives an impassioned pro-treating-autistic-people-like-people speech that made me proud to be a huge fan of his, just because he took on a role that allowed him to say that.

and freddy highmore is good here, he really is. i like his character and felt for him and i always enjoy any semblance of asd representation because it’s so damn rare to see myself in characters.

but this show (and even writing a review about it), makes me uncomfortable and sad, because i want to love it so much. before it aired, when i saw the blurb where it said basically, ‘look, a doctor show! but it’s not like those other doctor shows! this doctor is super-gifted, and autistic, and he will bring SKILLS and CHALLENGES to being a doctor because he’s AUTISTIC!’

...okay, the bold and caps were only in my head. but they really did jump out at me that way, i swear, like bright red flags, because as an autistic adult who loves tv and movies, i know the code. the fact that they basically warned viewers in advance that there were going to be Difficulties was my first warning sign, but i still wasn’t prepared.

the rest of the supporting cast was pretty forgettable, in that ‘oh is it time for this year’s medical drama?’ way. i was more interested in the upper level politics than the medicine (some of that i admit is just my taste). and i really wish the show didn’t have to be about not just an autistic person, but a savant (it’s still too common an assumption that all autistic people have special abilities like that)--i also wish the story could’ve revolved around somebody autistic who wasn’t a straight white male. 

but here is my main issue: the premise of this show is not really that his autistic traits make him a dangerous doctor, or even a difficult one. we don’t see evidence of that, at least not during the pilot (at most, we see that he sometimes has trouble communicating, but we only see that hurt him, not others). instead, the premise of the show, as laid out during the pilot, is that the his autistic traits make him the target of MISTREATMENT as a doctor. 

someone who knows him well tries to hire him based on the belief that he’ll be good at the job. on his way to seal the deal, he’s manhandled by authority figures for trying to save a life. then he’s blatantly discriminated against, and only social media and a deeply risky bet get him the job he was already hired for...and when he finally begins the job, which HE WAS HIRED FOR AND KNOWS HOW TO DO, he’s told by superiors that he doesn’t deserve it/isn’t capable of it/will never be allowed to do it even as he technically holds the position.

i felt physically ill during a lot of parts of this show, because as far as i can tell the show’s aim is probably  to demonstrate discrimination the character faces and then show him being gradually accepted and fighting back. that’s all fine and good and a noble cause, even--but i don’t want to watch somebody like me get bullied until that happens. i’m not sure i can. 

and given how much i love richard schiff, that’s a real shame.

[oobakeeens-blog]

Just a rant.

I had lost myself... I had almost believed there was no hope. The pain.. almost completely unbearable. All coming from my heart. How did I get back to letting myself get so vulnerable and not see right in front of my eyes the harsh truth... It’s like waking up to your own self-destructive actions/choices. Letting people use you and beat you down is tough but, what happens when you let it become a battle to yourself? What happens when you get mistreated and don’t stand up for yourself... you let others tear you down so you start to do the same. These awful thoughts and self blame over & over... it starts effecting every aspect of your life. It’s crazy how fast darkness takes over if you allow it and how deep you don’t even realize your going. I’m desperate. I honestly question what it is about myself that just bypasses all the bullshit. Why I try to mask things. I try to see the good in everything but its unhealthy. It blinds me to reality. I literally have to make myself stop and think for a minute. I’m impulsive on my emotions, they can be crazy sometimes; also on decisions.. I may feel something is wrong but if it makes the people I care about happy, I risk. Not thinking of myself and the consequences sometimes. Offering to pay for peoples food because, I don't know... I just feel obligated to be generous all the time. Is it others faults they take advantage? Why do I question this. I know these in particular is just me trying to give the benefit of the doubt. Would others do that for me? With my mistakes? Maybe there are people that do think about others and there feelings and truly care but , it doesn’t seem to happen often. Not with the circle of people I choose to be around. I see sharks. Everywhere. I can’t trust anybody... even when I think I can... it turns into negative scenarios with bad intentions. I have to tell myself that its all in my head but sometimes its really hard to fight myself. I get stuck in my head, quiet when others are socializing. It makes me feel out of place. I just can’t help it.  I feel different. I have been battling anxiety and heartbreak. After a couple years of torture already. I was in an abusive relationship, got out of that. More drama. Trouble with law. Wasted money and time. Used. Lost close friends. Another abusive situation that got court case involved. Then came you... I thought I had it all. You built me so far up just to tear me down and treat me so badly. Something I truly didn’t see coming. But I should of. If I paid attention... I blame myself. But your actions are truly wrong. I know I get blamed mostly... all the time. I beat myself up, you manipulate the situation and make me feel crazy. But I let it happen. I’m tired of it. Im so sick of it. You were supposed to be there for me, I let you in my kids life. You fooled me. But I am the fool. I didn’t give enough time to figure you out. I just trusted and wanted it to be real. Maybe this is my fault but I will not accept the way you treat me. Laugh when I cry. Let your friends yell and curse at me. Neglect my care. Isolate me and hate all my friends. You accuse me of so much but yet EVERY one around you is a female. I hear so much shit and I can't even confront you because, I Would have to rat my sources. Why am I here? Why do I keep letting you effect me. This isn’t love. Though I really believed it was. I know I love you, with all my heart. I hate to admit it at this point because of how truly pathetic I feel. How completely stupid and naive I allow myself to be for you. I honestly felt like death. Like I was nothing. Hopeless. How could this be happening to me again? You laid you hands on me like it was nothing. How can you tell me you love me and lead me to believe you do and then neglect every emotion I have completely. How can somebody be so heartless... HOW.? I couldn't do it. I can’t believe how completely torn I have let myself get over the past 2 years... how much I've cried I could pry have my own lake. It’s dumb. It took me so long to realize. I’ve started writing because, I’ve started reacted ways that scare me. That aren’t quite level-headed or normal and my stupidity is killing me. You are your own worst critic. I am my biggest battle. For my daughter I need to learn how to cope and stay positive and strong and be a remodel. So maybe this is it. Writing... randomly. Just a place to speak freely. Anonymous. I don’t need the extra criticism. I’m really not a bad peson. I just let things consume me and I'm working on it. People just don't know what I've been through because how do you talk about it. There is pry by far worse out there and I can't feed off sympathy. But things do hurt. I can’t talk to anyone ... ugh. I’m trying. I’ve been even trying to look to God. I’m on my path to recovery. I’m tired of pain. I want to be about the things I want to get done. Not just taking about it forever. Like being overweight. Wishing won't get me anywhere. But action will. Faith, will get me through.  

[joiminer]

I was never really big on Valentine’s Day. The reasons for my stance are more than I can count. I will admit that I always try to get my daughters something, even if it’s just some chocolates, just because I know how big a deal this day is to everyone else. But for me, nah. Of all the commercial holidays out there, Valentine’s Day isn’t anywhere on my list. OK, now, I know you’re curious, so I’ll give you the top 4 reasons why this “day of love” doesn’t mean to me what it does to others. And thennnnnn, I’ll tell y’all why being your own Valentine is Bae. Today and every day.

Reason #1: 12 years ago, Jerrell Smith, a young man I cared for deeply was buried. This was 7 days after his death. He was so talented. He could sing his ass off and was a dope ass poet with a heart of gold So awesome. Had so much promise. And then BAM! he’s gone. So this day is a reminder that this happened, that I miss him. RIH, Boo. Love you!

Reason #2: Before this year, 2019, I never had anyone that made me feel like I wasn’t single, alone, or unappreciated on Valentine’s Day. Yep, at 37-ripe-old-years of age, after two husbands and an ex-fiancée and this is the first time in my life that I felt loved. Well, by another person, anyway.

Reason #3: A day set to show off how much someone loves you, with jewelry, stuffed animals, cards, etc. that has been bought and sold in bulk, that somebody else will definitely have one of, isn’t my thing. Write me an original poem or rub my back or take the children to dinner so that I can write. AND, when I don’t need someone who waits for one day, chosen by the big corporations, to show me how much they love me. I don’t need one day to show that I love you if I show you every day. If nothing else, let Valentine’s Day be the standard for the love and adoration that you show your significant other every day of the week, all year long.

Reason #4: Being in love is the equivalent of being on a drug. The highs and lows take you on a rollercoaster that I’m not a fan of. I don’t do emotions. Just ask my girl. But I have to say, the feels can be fun, in moderation, just like any other inebriant. But how the hell do you get a handle on feelings? I mean, you can not pour another cup of liquor or leave the bar. You can decide not to take that hit of… whatever. But what you can’t do, is turn off love.

Now that I got that off my chest, let’s get to the meat and potatoes of this thang!

The Journey To Real Love

I learn so much from my daughters. Self-love, and how to love unconditionally, are definitely things that they have taught me. And as I mentioned before, I do try to get them something for Valentine’s Day, even if it’s a Candy Gram that I buy at their schools, that they don’t see coming. ‘Cause, I mean, what girl doesn’t love a surprise?

But, I also tell them that they are beautiful and smart and talented and that I love and adore them every day. Sometimes multiple times a day. I make a big deal out of them doing the smallest thing, because they need that kind of affirmation to boost their confidence. Especially in a world that’s so cruel to girls and judge them by unrealistic standards. I love on them so hard so that when someone tries to give them the bare minimum, they’re not impressed.

A Wake-Up Call

About a year ago, I realized that I didn’t do the same for me. I was in a situation where I wasn’t being treated well, and in a head space where I thought it was ok, and supposed to be that way. I had been mistreated for so long that I thought that was what I deserved. So that was what I accepted. I was broken.

Before then, I’d never told myself that I was dope, and when someone else would tell me, because of my romantic track record, I felt like they wanted something for it. Usually, I was right. I could blame them for being terrible partners. But I couldn’t blame them for everything. I didn’t know what I wanted or needed, and my standards were ridiculously low, which meant that I didn’t demand what I deserved. Why? Because I didn’t know what love was. I’d never really been shown. But then one day… I woke up. I may not have known what love was, but I knew for damn sure what it was not!

Who Loves Ya, Baby? You Do!… Or At Least You Should…

I stood up for myself and demanded the love and treatment I knew I deserved. It cost me everything, almost my life. But if given the chance, I would definitely do it again. Because now I know what I deserve.

It took me losing everything, including myself, and going on a journey to find her… me… and convince me that I should give me another chance to realize the error of my ways. Now, can’t nobody love me better than I love me. And if you can’t love me like I love me, you need to move the hell around.

That’s my advice to all of y’all! And I’m gonna show you how.

I Love Me Some Me

On Valentine’s Day, and every other day, I have to find a way to love on me. See, I believe that self-love is such an important thing. So few people do it. But I’m a firm believer that you can’t honestly say that you are or aren’t being loved if you don’t know what love is and feels like. And you sure as hell can’t teach someone how to love you properly, if you don’t know how you like and need to be loved.

Not enough people know who they are, and they attach to others and accept anything that is given to them. That’s how toxicity is bred. That’s how people lose themselves in their mate, and if/when things don’t work out, you’re back at square one. It’s back to the drawing board. But here’s the thing… if you don’t know who you are, then where do you begin? Where do you go from there? What usually happens is that you attach to the next person and the cycle continues and continues and continues to continue.

But I’m here to help you break that cycle. Are ya ready???

Ways to love on yourself on Valentine’s Day and EVERY Day:

Know your Love Language

  You ever loved someone, or had someone saying that they loved you, but you didn’t feel loved? It may be because they weren’t loving you in the right language.

Love Languages are the best thing since sliced bread. They’re like a zodiac for your love life. They tell you what you identify as loving, and each of us is different. Find yours. Then love on yourself that way. Get used to how amazing it feels. Then don’t take a love that doesn’t feel just as amazing.

I had a friend tell me once that you have to “give a person the love they need, not the love you want to love them.” Knowing your own, and subsequently your partner’s, love language allows you to love one another how you need to be loved.

The dope thing about love languages is that you don’t have to be with someone who loves just like you. You just have to be able to show them what you process as love and have an understanding of what they process as love and then love on one another that way.

But, before you do all that with somebody else… *leans in and whispers* Why not start with you first?

A Hot Date

  Take yourself out. Yeah, it may be awkward, especially tonight, or this weekend, when everyone is all cuddled up and shit. But if you’re a bold one, then have at it. Walk up in that restaurant, face beat to the gawds, dressed like the diva you are, smelling like heaven, and sit down to a good meal. Hell, T-Pain yourself and buy yourself a drink… or two. But not if you’re driving, because though dating yourself ain’t illegal, drinking and driving– it kinda is.

Fellas, this goes for you, too. Go get a fresh line-up, step out all crispy and fresh, smelling like bow-chicka-wow-wow, and get yourself a nice t-bone steak. Or go for a walk in the park and enjoy the beautiful scenery that nature has to offer. Go to a movie, a concert, a play. Take yourself shopping or to the museum. Try something new– sip’n’ stroke (painting, pervs lol), pole dancing or line dancing classes, do comedy/poetry/karaoke open mic, work-out, or go to a yoga and meditation class.

The benefits of these is that they give you the chance to socialize. To meet others with no romantic expectations. To enjoy life, even if you’re single. Because, contrary to popular belief, being single isn’t a death sentence. You can breathe being single. You can still eat, smile, leave a mark on the world, and be a great person– and still be single. *Gasp* Who knew?!

Now, here’s the kicker, if you do happen to meet someone when you’re out with yourself, get their number, but don’t let them– or getting to know them, stop your journey to get to know you. Because, the most important part of this is learning to enjoy your own company. Get to know your dopeness. The kinda food, movies, events and outings that you like. These will be great tools in educating your next love interest in how to love you– properly.

Notes to Self (Positive Affirmations)

Write yourself love letters. Tell you what you love about you. Be honest with yourself. Define things that you need to work on, and then tell yourself that you’re ok the way that you are, while planning to improve in the areas you see fit. Celebrate your successes. Write notes on note cards to yourself that you read daily. Meditate on them. Speak them aloud. And then go out into the world and manifest them shits! Speak life into yourself.

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I made a slideshow of memes and little notes that encourage me. Save ’em to you phone to revisit when you need to. 

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Netflix, A Joi Miner Novel, and Chill…ed Wine… 

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There’s nothing better than binge-watching a series and having a bottle of wine, or some soda pop, or a smoothie. See, the difference between drinking out and at home is that you’re already at home. Laugh loudly. Cry openly. Write in your journal. Eat that whole pint of ice cream, make yourself some popcorn, cook you dinner. Enjoy your space. The space you work hard every day to pay for. And then do it all over again, as often as you see fit.

And of course, as an author, I am under contract with myself to let y’all know that reading my books are another awesome form of entertainment. Click the link to read my most recent release, “King & Dani: A Feelings on Safety Valentine’s Day Prequel”. (There! I’ve met my contractual agreement to me. Lol.)

Gettin’ A Lil’ Freakyyyyyy

  OK, now I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t bring this part up. I mean, it’s my favorite subject. Lol.

When I said get to know you, I meant all of you. This is another issue that I found with me, and y’all know I have no issue sharing any stage of my journey, so buckle up. Here’s some music to set the mood! Touch Myself by T-Boz is my jaaaaammmmmm! Now that you’re feelin’ me (see what I did there? Lol)… Read on.

  I went on a what is coined by a fellow Blogger Brianne Patrice as a “single on purpose” journey after my last relationship. It lasted 231 days. That’s 33 weeks, or 7 months and 17 days. I didn’t have sex with anyone for 126 days (18 weeks or 4 months and 4 days of that time). Granted, I was no stranger to masturbation before that, I really found myself waist-deep in it during that time. Lol. Did I just say that? Yeah, I just said that. Lol.

During this journey, I didn’t date. I spent time with friends, my children, and myself. I didn’t sleep with anyone, either. I didn’t want there to be any kind of emotional attachment, or expectation of anything more, just because I took them down through there.

  I had a stockpile of batteries, and a plethora of toys to choose from. I mean, g-spot finders, butterflies, vibrating and non-vibrating dildos. You name it, I had it. And it was glorious. I could get me off without being worried about anybody else. Or worse, not getting mine because they got theirs first.

I learned how to achieve an orgasm– in many, many different ways. Yes, there is more than one way to have an orgasm. Ten proven, to be exact… Wait, or is it twelve? Lemme go back and do a lil’ more research.

I know you’re thinking…

Y’all: Joi, how come you know this

Me: How cum you don’t?

And, when I was ready to date, sex was completely different. Again, I’ll go back to the point that, if you don’t know how to get you off, how in the world do you expect anyone else to know? They don’t know your body. It’s your body. If you think the idea of loving on yourself is nasty, then hey, don’t do it. But lemme give you a little nugget here to think on. How the hell can you rationalize letting someone else enter your body or running up in someone else, if you can’t do that with, to, or for yourself?

    Here are some other ways to love on YOU, today, and every other day. Try it for seven weeks and see if you don’t feel the difference. It takes that long for anything to become a habit and for there to be noticeable results.

Now, go forth and love yourself and the ones that truly love you back!

Happy Lover’s Day To You & Your Bae!

So, to all the lovers out there, Happy Lover’s Day. I hope you love on one another like you do and will every breathing moment. But most importantly, I pray that you love on yourself just as hard as you love on one another.

And to my sexy singles out there, love on you. You deserve it. You are worth it! That needs to become the new trend.

You can get to know yourself and someone else. These things are not exclusive.

Oh, and when you achieve le petit mort (the little death) or as we like to say it, bust a nut, testing out some of those methods I showed you… You’re welcome. Lol.

Love y’all! Now go love on yourselves AND each other… in that order. 

Always, Joi Miner

  Why Being Your Own Valentine is Bae I was never really big on Valentine’s Day. The reasons for my stance are more than I can count.

[ohhelloinsomnia-blog]

The new woman.

I’ve been reading this book called “The Dead Moms Club” and it’s really been helping. One of the things she touches on in the book is your parent moving on. Except hers ends up with a happy ending. The writer is also a lot older than me, so it’s not exactly the same experience. She says: “I desperately wanted my dad’s new girlfriend to like me, even though I had already decided I didn’t like her.”

Okay, so I will admit, maybe I didn’t really give her a fair chance. But I don’t think she gave me one either. I first found out that my dad was talking to someone over thanksgiving break when he was driving me to the airport. I didn’t say much, but it made my stomach turn. I held it together, went back to NYC and promptly cried my eyes out in my dorm. It was too early for me. Why wasn’t it too early for him (at this point I thought it was way too early, little did I know he was talking and meeting other women two months after she died)? Did he actually love my mom toward the end of her life or was he just sticking it out to not look like an asshole? I didn’t know. The divorce papers were drafted 3 months before she died, but she decided she didn’t want to die divorced and sad, which I don’t agree with.

I wanted her to like me. I wanted her to get to know me, to be a figure in my life if she was going to be one in my dad’s. Unfortunately, she was not interested. The first time I met her she barely said a word to me. The second time, she talked about wanting kids. Um, what the hell? Maybe not the best thing to say to me when my mom hasn’t even been cold for a year… but okay. I tried to offer suggestions to him like, “Me and her could go get a pedicure!” She avoided the subject and did not want to do anything with me. She never once has asked me a single question about me, or my life, to this day. I have prompted everything. She was not interested in getting to know me. I was in New York, I would be out of the picture soon enough. Plus, I’m not even his *real* kid, so what the hell was I doing there?

Things escalated when I found out that he had announced their relationship on Facebook without even telling me how serious they were. He had blocked me and anyone associated with my mom so none of us could see, but then promptly posted pictures of them all over each other for everyone else to see. Why could he let the world know but not me?

I had a really hard time over last Christmas break. I didn’t want to come back to NYC. I was depressed, lonely and grieving. I thought staying home would help me grieve. Maybe it would have. He basically forced me on that plane and talked me into staying after I begged to come home. He was the reason I stayed, and I thought at the time that it was because he wanted me to stick it out and prove to myself that I could do this, I could make it through for my mom. At this point, though, I think he just wanted me out of the picture.

I started seeing my therapist around this time (hey, it really helps), and would try to call him because I was homesick and just really fucking sad. He would ignore me for days and post pictures of him and his girlfriend on Facebook at bars, having a good time. He was using her to ignore me. And that made me hate her more. I don’t think for one second that he complained about me to her every time I annoyed him, slowly chiseling away the relationship we could have potentially had. But then again, she never wanted a relationship with me. Did I mention she is 5 ½ years older than me? Because she is.

She never once acknowledged my mom. When I came home once, he had erased everything relating to my mom. That’s what truly makes me believe he never gave a shit about her. There were no pictures of her, no sign that she was ever a part of his life. He had erased her. He had her ashes in the back of his closet, hidden in a box. Her body, hidden away, without anyone caring for her. I was pissed. I didn’t understand. I fought with him. I tried to get his girlfriend to understand, but she didn’t really give a shit either. I was “irrational,” “dramatic,” “over the top.”

While I haven’t been the perfect person to him, I firmly believe that everything that I have done to him has been a response to something he has done to me. He had ignored me in my darkest time. One night I told him I wanted to slash my wrists in the bathroom. He told me he was tired and wanted to go to bed. I tried calling him tens of times over that weekend. He never picked up. Three days, didn’t check on me. What did I do to deserve this? The answer is nothing.

Once there was a Facebook post about him on my mom’s Facebook (probably more info on that at a later time), and his sister (if you’re reading this, just fuck off honestly) said that I had treated him horrible since my mom died. Right after she made a comment about people not knowing the whole story between him and my mom. Like she knew anything about me and him. I really couldn’t believe what I was reading, but it made sense. Chase was painting me to be a raging bitch. That I was unprovokingly being an asshole. That was never how it went down. He would ignore me for days. Told me he would support me financially while I got my mental state together and didn’t follow through. Promised me over and over again that he would emotionally support me. Told me he loved me, and lied. Then shut off my phone because I didn’t have a job set up immediately when I got back for summer (because you can totally get a job when employers have no way of getting ahold of you and you can’t fill out online apps!!). Ignored me for days when he knew I was suicidal.

I know I was a lot. But you know what? I supported him that entire summer after my mom died. I was okay then. It didn’t hurt as much. I was in shock. I carried him through. And then in my time of need, he threw me away. Like I was nothing, like I didn’t care and love him. We were so attached that summer that I cried when I had to leave for college. But he replaced both my mom and I within days.

I know in her final months my mom and he fought a lot. My mom went a little crazy. But now that I’m in a similar position, I can finally see why every crazy thing she did happened. Because he drove her to it. I think we are sane people until somebody drives us to the edge. And then we are the ones labeled as the “crazy” ones, when all we are doing is responding to the mistreatment.

[exquisitelyeco]

Not less.....

Have you noticed, if you ever try to sell something, that people want to give you only a percentage of what it’s worth? Yet if they sell to you, they mostly expect a high price?

Now I warn you, I can’t talk here. I try to be savvy. But when do you know to accept no less? “Tis a hard one.

It’s so difficult. I am selling a bed at the moment. Cost a fortune, and it will hold its value, its Mahogany, Queen Anne four poster. But the prospective buyer not only wants to pay half of what it’s worth, they want the Chest Of Drawers and love seat for a fraction of the price too! So they get it dirt cheap and I sleep on the floor!

Normally, I do try to live my life by the medium ’ Do unto others as you would do to yourself.’

This can be a royal pain in the arse. I can tell you. Not choosing to be mean, get the better of. Take advantage.

But is it fair to do it any other way? The majority of the time it is so easy to do unto me what I would NEVER want to do unto others! Or to do unto others what I’d never want done to myself!! But a lot of the time I make an active choice. And it sucks. But I know what you sow you reap.

And I fail lots. Me is stuck to the planet of myself!

I may have to sell my little home. And I looked up what it means to gazump somebody. Basically nick the house you want under the nose of the person already accepted to by the house. Even though the original buyer has already paid thousands in surveyor fees and solicitors. In short, leaving them short and without a house.

Think about that for a sec. Maybe all they had went into those fees. Maybe the decision I could make to do that, made them actually lose their own home, because that was all the money they had.

And the hard unpleasant truth dawned on me. I could not do this. I would not do this. Not because I don’t want too. I would love too! And dance around with glee when I did! What a bargain! My own way! Nicola wins again! Tada!

But with an undercurrent of nastiness. Making others suffer, and never acknowledging the cost it might have been to them. Ultimately gazumping is totally and utterly selfish. And I was really pissed off majorly to know that now I had seen it like that, I must choose not to do it. Really sucks that.

BUT, really, positive! Because, something else will come. It may not be the same. But it will be clean. And along the line, something nasty hopefully, will not happen to me for under cutting someone else. Although humans are human. Still, sowing well, means less chance of reaping badly!

Karma happens not just in the SAME area. It happens in ANY area. Because we have opened the door. So it can come in. And trust me, it does.

I know of someone whose husband left her for an ex girlfriend. She divorced him. Literally within a week of the divorce, he rang her. The relationship he left her for had gone down the pan. And not nicely. Horribly. He was devastated. For himself. But the divorce was final. There was no way back. Karma.

I know of another person who had an affair and slept with somebody else’s husband. The wife was devoted to her husband who didn’t care. He just did what he wanted. So the lady saw this guy, wanted him, and cheated with him.

And from then on, every relationship ended with her new partner sleeping with somebody else. Karma.

God is not mocked. What we do WILL be done to us. Somehow. Sometime.

Can you change this? Possibly. Actually, yes! And how do you do that? By changing. By saying sorry. Not just words. Words mean nothing, if not accompanied by change. A REAL sorry. A repentance. Repentance only means, walking a different path from the one you have been. That’s all it means. A high fluting name for changing yourself.

It can be very hard. We justify what we do wrong, so it is not wrong. We blame the other person. So we do not have to take responsibility for our own actions.

So repenting can only happen when we truly SEE what we have done. The naked truth. We must see it to change it. And we will only see it if we WANT too.

And to want too, we must see in ourselves the nastiness that caused the problem. No blaming others (even if they didn’t help) no denial, no lack of responsibility. Personal admitting the absolutely shit we have been acting. Acknowledging the fault, no matter how driven, was ours.

By doing this, we not only free ourselves, but the other. To make a choice. Redemption or condemnation. Forgiveness or judgment. What ever they choose is up to them.

They may forgive, but be unable to go forward with us again. And that we must bear.

And we must be wise. Blurting it out may not be helpful. Sometimes, waiting or doing it a different way is needed, even vital, for the sorry to be done properly.

We must think of the OTHER persons needs, show the sorry is real. And that could well be at a cost for and to us. But if we really mean it, we will do it. That is also part of repentance. Saying and doing a sorry in a way that shows THEM, their needs were the reason for the sorry. Not just our guilt.

We must also make sure, it’s not to make just ourselves feel purged. Or to put it another way, not a sorry for them, but for us. To make ourselves, not them feel better.

The person who had the affair with the ex girlfriend was sorry. They said it. But it was not for the damage they had done, or the pain caused to the other person. It was a sorry for themselves. They threw something away, gambled and lost. So THEY wanted to feel better. They did not really care about the other person. The sorry was empty and selfish.

How do I know? Because there was no change that accompanied it. Within months they had someone else. Did destructive things. Ultimately carried on the same OLD habits. Did not put right any of what they had done wrong. And even if there were no way back into the relationship, there were things they could have done to partly put things right. A true sorry. Recompense shown for the damage caused.

Of course something’s can never be undone. No matter how much we cry. No matter how much we do or say. People have free will. They do not have to choose to forgive. So even though we repent with tears, the damage cannot be undone.

Easu, Jacobs brother, lost his blessing, as the elder son, from his father. Because he sold it for a bowl of stew to his younger brother. And though he repented to his father with tears, the deal had already been done. And could not be undone. (You can read about that in Genesis, in the bible.)

I know a lady whose son cannot forgive her yet. She has said a true sorry, but he is not ready. What can she do? Well, all she can do is wait, love and live. It will come.

In the mean time, the very best thing she can do is learn to forgive herself. Because believe it or not, doing that, may help free up the sorry. But even if it doesn’t, she is in a better, deeper place to love anyway, regardless of the decision of her child.

So if the person refuses to forgive us, what do we do?

Does that mean we should take back our sorry? Well if we do, we weren’t really sorry anyway. A true sorry is given with an open hand. Not one held behind your back, ‘Just in case’. That is what makes it so hard. By choosing to be really sorry, we choose to be vulnerable. We choose to give the other person the CHOICE not to forgive. To do what they will, with our confessions.

And yes. It matters. Why? Because WE have changed. We can move forward differently. Yes, we may lose everything. But we still have ourselves, pure and clean. A fresh start, so that old habits are changed and life is different. It could cause tears and devastation. But that is a small price to save your soul. To truly start anew with hope, not old habits, that will repeat the past. Because only you can choose to do that.

No one can make you. If they do it’s not a true sorry. It’s fake and forced. And you can question why they have chosen to force it. It may have been absolutely necessary. To keep others safe. But if you did not agree with it, inside you will have not changed, so the behaviour is still there inside you. Waiting to do damage.

I know for myself, my father wanted forgiveness from me. Part was genuine. But part was to make himself feel better. He wanted it NOW, on HIS terms. That is not sorry. Sorry is actually letting go and letting the other person do exactly what they choose to do with our sorry, whether it be in our favour or not.

It does not mean let them beat you, mistreat you etc, or justify them picking up habits that hurt! But it means being open to losing them, if that is what they so desire. No matter how much that hurts.It could mean you having to go, leave, divorce, living frugally for a while, (depending on what you have done, of course!) what the other person does, is totally up to them.

And after, well that is up to you. Once you have done your sorry, you have changed, or are changing. If they choose not to forgive, but to revenge, you may have to protect yourself, by moving, going to the police, involving a government agency. But it will not be done in revenge from your end of it. Your sorry still stands. But if they only want revenge, you are better out the way. Give it time. See what happens and choose wisely how to react.

Sometimes they just need time, a rant, etc. But you allow it from a place of safety, if you think you need to!

Ultimately choosing to act how we want to be treated ourselves, means we have less chance of hurting someone else, of needing to find a sorry in the first place. And that is why it is worth doing. Because on one level, we are living a lifestyle of sorry. And that is the best place to be.

Humble but human.

[deludedrealist]

My ex is not a bad person. This is the misconception about abusers, that they are monsters who are out to destroy people when in reality, they are the people who have been stepped on the most and the only way they’ve learned to stay safe is to do the same to other people. That isn’t monstrous, that’s heartbreaking. I don’t hate my ex because I understand what pushed him to treat me the way he did. That doesn’t excuse his behavior and while I don’t want anything to do with him, hating him is something I don’t think I could ever do. In the words of my therapist, I can forgive him, and have compassion for him, but I can’t tolerate him. He never intended to hurt me–most of the time he was trying to be playful or loving–the problem didn’t lie in the intention, it lay in the execution. My ex hurt me not because he was out to get me but because that’s the only way he was taught to love. The problem lies in the fact that many people are not loved the way they deserve (to paraphrase The Perks of Being a Wallflower). And people who aren’t loved as they deserve will not love others as those deserve because they don’t know how, and the cycle continues. Instead of condemning abusers for being monsters, we should encourage them to get help. We should encourage them to learn what kind of love they need and to become strong enough to learn what kind of love they are capable of giving. Of course, this is all assuming the abuser wants help: and often, they don’t. And there is nothing you can do about that except walk away. I’ve learned the hard way that until an abuser admits they want help, and actually seeks out help, he/she will continue to mistreat you. So for your own safety you need to leave and let them flounder because if they crash and burn, that is their doing and not yours. You come first. I was happy in my relationship. But I was only as happy as I knew how to be. I was not as happy as I deserved to be. I was happy in my relationship because I loved somebody who loved me back. I just didn’t realize that my definition of happiness–a definition that includes as much anxiety and hurting as positivity–was not a healthy one. It wasn’t until I started to learn what Actual Happiness felt like that I became strong enough to move on. In order to learn how to be happy, I had to learn how to be hurt: I had to acknowledge that I was being hurt before I could acknowledge what was hurting me. I’ve titled this section “The Progressives” because I need to acknowledge that even though I was in a relationship that damaged me, I was also in a relationship that helped me grow. In our society we like boxes–we like someone, we hate someone, something is good, something is bad–we rarely consider nuance. We rarely hold two opposing ideas in our head and retain the ability to function. But I am who I am today because I was in a relationship with someone who was as good for me as he was bad; I grew both from how much he loved me and from how much he hurt me. And it is an insult to him and to what we shared to assert that he’s a monster who never gave me anything worth having because that is a downright lie. In our society we like boxes, but it’s impossible to box a relationship. I asserted earlier that abusive relationships aren’t black and white but the truth is EVERY relationship isn’t black and white. Relationships end because two people stop moving forward together, and there are going to be positive and negative effects of the relationship afterwards. Some relationships end more positively or negatively than others, but both the positives and negatives are always there. And BOTH are necessary to acknowledge. But you know what? I miss my ex a lot less after writing this article :) TC mark