#and that phrase unlocks so fucking much male rage

[paradigmsofbrittaperry]

I cannot tell you how many arguments (that I didn’t start or feed into) I’ve had with male friends over the Captain Marvel movie that culminated in me saying “great, you’re literally not going to convince me that this is a bad movie, because I enjoyed it and that’s all that matters to me. it’s okay that you didn’t enjoy it, especially because it wasn’t made for you.” and every last one of them looked at me like a cow looks at on oncoming train because they could not comprehend the idea that maybe, just maybe! there was a superhero movie that was developed with a female audience in mind. the most common comeback would be “but I didn’t get the symbolism/the metaphor/why Yon Rogg was the bad guy/etc.” and I always reply “great!! that’s kind of the fucking point of the whole thing!!! that she’s a woman who’s been held back by a man who felt entitled to control over her!!!! and you wouldn’t understand that because you’re a white man!!!!!!” and they then mumble something about Carol being overpowered before I shrug and walk away or hang up the phone.

the best of these arguments ended with my then-friend screaming at the top of his lungs “YOU ONLY LIKED THE MOVIE BECAUSE YOU’RE SEXUALLY ATTRACTED TO BRIE LARSON” and god fucking dammit, if that’s not the funniest shit that’s ever happened in my school’s band room, I don’t know what is. especially since this same person had told me on multiple occasions that he loved me *despite* the fact that I wasn’t straight and that I would have to repent for the sin of being gay on my deathbed if I wanted to go to heaven. that argument will hold a special place in my heart for the rest of my life.

and then we did this shit all over again with Birds of Prey, but at least most of those pricks didn’t bother to go see that one.

[bakugosbratx]

Request: Hi! I was wondering if you could write a story when y/n is the crazy one and kidnaps Bakugo. Tysm ! -meena

Warnings: NSFW 18+ Content. Yandere, stalking, kidnapping, cursing, mental illness, blood, abuse, drugs, etc.

Check out my other works here

A/N: Hmm this is a different turn of events. I love it 👀 I hope you enjoyed anon! I went a little wild with this one.

Words: 2.2k

Tags: @awilddreamerwrites @peachsenpie @miriobaby @lanarist @sickchildren @bakugousbrat @ssplague @ahbeautifulexistence @m779 @vinny-likes-to-play21

“Dear Katsuki,

I watched you save a civilian on television today. I know it’s your job and all, but you did not have to save her. Her life is not as important as mine. Do you not cherish what we have? Am I just a nobody to you? This is my 103rd letter to you and still no response. I know your address did not change so do not give me that pathetic excuse, Katsuki Bakugo. Surely, you must remember we are soulmates. We are one. How dare you fucking forget me? I had to rip all of my posters down in a fit of rage. You know how angry that makes me, baby, but it will all be okay, because you are coming home to me. We will be one.

Sincerely,

Yours.”

You burst into a fit of giggles as you kick your bare feet back and forth on his bed. You wrote in black ink and covered the paper in orange hearts since it is the pro-hero’s favorite color. You could not help but leave precious lipstick kisses on the page. Something you always do in your love letters to Katsuki. The posters in your house are covered in them. Katsuki’s beautiful face is just so kissable. You cannot wait to do it tonight.

All you can think about is Katsuki. That is all your day consists of. Your clothing is all his merchandise and his favorite colors. You spend hours upon hours watching interviews, videos, surveillance footage of the hero. When he is out on patrol, you do your best to hide in areas so you can see the hero up close and personal. Your face just beams with joy at the mere glance of him.

You did your best to meet him several times. Any disaster there was to be had, you put on your nicest attire, do your make-up just how you think he likes, and have your hair freshly done. No better way to greet your significant other after hero work than looking like a beauty pageant queen.

Sadly, all your attempts were failures. Katsuki did not even give you the time of day. He is way too focused on beating the villains to a pulp. You did admire this about him, but your own selfish desires created hatred in you. He should be paying attention to you. Not those pesky villains.

Katsuki is sure to receive forty-five letters addressing the issue. All that he will never even skim over. This is only adding fuel to the fire.

The posters that hang in every single room in your apartment are ripped to shreds. Pools of tears covered your orbs, smudging all of your makeup. You climbed onto your black sofa, taking your left high heel and breaking the glass photo of Katsuki hanging there. Shards of glass sprinkle the couch and hardwood floor below. You don't even care for the pieces that collected into your skin. You will worry about that later.

“Fuck you, Katsuki!” You sobbed, ripping his face with your teeth and spitting out the saliva covered photo onto the litter filled floor.

“Pro-Hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamite saves another civilians life yet again, taking down another member of the league of villains who was terrorizing the victim.”

The news anchor’s words fell on deaf ears as you went to the television screen. You are captivated by your significant other’s beauty on the tv. Blood leaked from your freshly manicured hands. They are painted orange and black as always.

“Oh, Katsuki,” you sighed with a smile, tracing a heart around his face with your leaking blood, “we will be together soon. I promise, baby. I’ll take you away from this sick, cruel world so we can live happily ever after.”

You were serious that day. You planned it on your calendar. The countdown began on the night you are going to be one with Katsuki. A day you knew you both looked forward to.

“Dear Katsuki,

Did you miss me? I know I missed you. I even stamped this letter in my blood so you can have my DNA to mix with yours. I can’t wait to procreate with you. We will make such wonderful babies, don’t ya think? They will be so beautiful like you. I will be such an excellent mother. No woman can be a great wife to you like I can. Do you understand me?”

You had to pause writing as your blood started to boil at the thought. Your pen is already creating a huge ink spot from the anger consuming your hands. Small growls escaped your parted lips as you began to growl.

“If I can’t have you, no one can, Katsuki Bakugo. I am your one true love. You're one and only. And I’ll make sure that day comes. Just a few more days, baby, and we will be one.

Sincerely,

Yours.”

The day finally came. You knew Katsuki’s schedule by heart. You loved watching him do his morning routines with the security cameras you placed in his home. The poor male never even thought to check. Such a mistake on his part. It only confirmed he needed protection from the world. Only you can provide that. Sure, you may be quirkless, but no one knows Katsuki like you do. No one can love him like you. He knows this. He has to.

You drew a luke-warm bubble bath with nice lit candles, rose pedals, a few drops of your blood, and some freshly made desserts for you both to enjoy while you catch up. You are even so kind enough to fetch him a beer or two so he can relax. You know how he enjoys his alcoholic beverages after a long day of hero work.

You rested on his bed. The natural caramel scent engulfed your nostrils as you wrote letters into your notebook once more. Even when you two are officially together forever, you still love to write out your thoughts. You know he enjoys them as well.

Hours upon hours passed. Frustration arose overtime. You did not want to be angry with your spouse, but he knows better than to be home late on your special day. You have almost filled up your notepad with phrases upon phrases of ‘I love you’s’ and sweet nothings. Along with other things.

You tapped your bandages covered foot on the ground as you began to pace. “What is taking him so long?” You huffed aloud, growing more impatient by each passing second. The bath is beginning to become cold and that is just rude in your opinion. You decided to write out your emotions.

“Dear Katsuki,

What the fuck is taking you so long, huh? It’s so fucking aggervating and just plain rude. I have done so much for you only to toss me to the side like I’m nothing. Are you cheating on me? I do not tolerate disrespect, Katsuki Bakugo. You are going to make me mean and you know I hate being mean to you. You just make me jealous, baby. You know how you do that to me. Make me feel all types of emotion I can’t seem to understand, but one thing is for certain is that you and I will be together.

Sincerely,”

You did not even get to finish your final entry as you hear the front door downstairs unlock. Scrambling to put the diary away, you gather the necessary items from under the bed and wait for the perfect moment to strike. Katsuki’s natural loud ways was helping you locate his every move without even having to look at security footage.

All you have to do is be patient.

Katsuki sat on the couch, propping his sock-covered feet onto the glass coffee table and turning on the television. You allowed him some moments to get settled before gently tip-toeing down the stairs, rope, duct tape, and a blunt object ready in hand.

Just as Katsuki turned to acknowledge your presence, the crowbar hit his head, knocking him unconscious. You quickly attend to his wound — not without dropping some droplets of blood into his — so it does not get offended. You cannot have your husband getting an infection.

You tie up his hands and legs, duct tape his mouth after delivering kisses to his perfectly plump lips, and drag him to the kitchen. You did not realize how much your lover really weighed. Too much time was wasted dragging him to the fridge than preferred, but it will all be worth it in the end. You know it will be.

Katsuki did not wake up until the next day. You stayed by his side the whole time, telling him about your day and how much you have planned for you two. Of course, he needs to build his trust with you. You love a very intelligent man and the last thing you need is for him to be against you.

Slowly opening his crimson eyes, his attention is brought to a grinning you. Katsuki immediately attempts to escape the captivity he is in, but it is no use. You just had to buy special rope that cancels quirks.

“Struggle all you want, Katsuki-poo. There is no escaping me.” You chuckled, loving the way he squirmed and furrowed his eyebrows at you. All of his curses are mumbled by the tape which is probably the best considering you did not want to be insulted right now.

“When you calm down, I’ll take off the tape.” You bargained, shrugging nonchalantly as you kneel in front of the man. Did this calm him down? No. You know it wouldn’t regardless. You know Katsuki better than he knows himself yet you already want to push his buttons. The way he gets so angry turns you on and you can’t just help yourself but want more.

After a couple of hours of Katsuki complaining and you writing even more in your diary, he decided to calm down. This made you happy. You wanted to hear his beautiful gruff voice.

Grabbing the corner of the tape, you rip it off. Katsuki is already barking insults. “Are you fucking insane? Who the hell even are you? This isn’t going to end well with you, you psycho bit—“

A hard slap to his face interrupted Katsuki’s spill. Along with the duct tape you placed back on his mouth. “Such a meanie,” you pout, “and here I was about to be so nice to you.”

This cycle repeated itself for three days. You never left his side once. How could you? He is obviously in distress. He needs you by his side. He cannot do anything without you. Especially with his hands tied behind his muscular back. Katsuki finally decided that playing the game is the only way to win it.

You ripped the tape off once again. Katsuki did not even speak this time. “Did you learn your lesson?” You quizzed with an arched brow. “Y’know being a meanie is not going to get you anywhere, Katsukikins.”

“Why are you doing this?” Katsuki inquired, his gruff voice sounding so weak and hollow. You almost felt bad.

“You’re so silly, Suki. C’mon,” you brought your lips close to his, “gimme a kiss.”

Reluctantly, Katsuki did as instructed. Considering you are straddling his lap and his powers are useless, he has no choice in the matter. You loved the compliance.

“Good boy.” You praised, ruffling his messy blonde hair. Katsuki glared at you. “Will you be good and eat some food for me?”

“I don’t want your stupid ass food.” Katsuki growled, laying his head against the bottom freezer of his fridge.

“Nonsense, Suki.” You giggled, feeling extremely joyful to be with Katsuki. You bring a spoon of Miso soup up to his closed lips, “have some. I blew on it so it’s not too hot.”

“Get that trash away from me, you idiot—“ Katsuki was interrupted by a spoon entering his mouth. Though he would hate to admit this, the soup tasted delicious and he is quite hungry. He put up a fight, but allowed you to feed him properly until every drop was gone. Unfortunately, Katsuki is unaware that the soup is drugged until it’s too late.

His body began to feel numb. He did not even have the strength to ask questions as his eyes became drowsy. Soon, he is slumped over, sound asleep as you manage to drag him up the stairs and into your shared bed.

Planting kisses all over structures, you tuck him in and finish some late night entries in your diary. Skimming through them all and reflecting on how you got here now, it made you smile. Progress has been made and will continue to do so.

Signing off on the final page, you write:

“Dear Katsuki,

These past three days have been exhilarating. I see it in your terrified eyes how happy you are that I am here. I know how much you missed me. I missed you, too, baby. We will continue to grow and soon, we will have children. I even have my menstrual cycle all planned out. I am all yours and you’re all mine. Can’t you see, baby doll? We are forever meant to be.

Sincerely,

Yours.”

©bakugosbratx

All Rights Reserved

[slimeyslimeyballsack]

The Mix Up Part 2

“Pairing: Mob!Steve x OFC (Adrien Bravo)

Warnings: violence, swearing, kidnapping, me trying to type with acrylics on, Bucky and Sam being idiots, more flashbacks

Taglist: @kayteewritessteve @wxstedhexrt @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines @scuzmunkie @champagnesugamama @weepingwillow2233

Part One 

_ 

The two men gave very menacing glares, like very menacing. So, logically she followed them when they asked. Muscular men with metal arms are super persuasive. And the other guy was scary too. I guess. Either way, nobody was around to help, and by the time police were called and had arrived Adrien would have already rusted the man’s arm. They got into a very shiny, very black Cadillac. The black man got into the driver’s seat while ‘Robo’ set her down surprisingly gently and followed her into the back seat. The engine started and the car lurched forward.

“You understand, right?” He asks as he places the back over her head, tying her wrists and ankles. Again he was surprisingly gentle. One arm was cold while the other was searingly hot in comparison. 

“Alright, that’s done. Just got to deliver her to Steve then we are done for the day.” Robo gave out a heavy sigh.

“I’m not who you’re looking for,” she paused. “and before you say anything, I know it sounds like a shitty excuse, but there’s another Adrien Bravo. We get mixed up all the time. I don’t know her personally, but she sounds like a real tool. It’s an easy mistake, so you can just drop me off and we’ll let bygones be bygones. Like I wouldn’t even recognize you in a lineup. Well maybe Robo, because of the arm you know- ” 

She had said too much. Nobody had stopped her and she had just kept rambling. Why the hell did nobody stop her? Was she not being annoying? That was hard to believe. 

“You’re right. It does sound like a shitty excuse, huh Sam?”

“Sounds like a shitty excuse to me Robo.” 

There was some shuffling followed by an, “Ow, you asshole. Don’t distract the driver. What would an accident look like on the record?” 

“Eh, Barber’ll handle it.” 

A release of air sounded as Robo sat back in his seat. 

“So, Adrien, you have done a lot of shit.” 

“I’m telling you it’s not me.” 

“Okay, and I don’t work for a notorious crime syndicate.”

“Should you be telling me this?”

“Everyone’s got their vices kid. Yours just happens to be stealing, and gambling, and assault, and what do we have you for? Oh, murder. That’s nice. Steve had us pick up a murderer Sam. See how much he loves us?” 

“This is probably payback for when you beat the shit out of Tony’s parents. You know he’s partial to Tony.”

“I was drunk and they were clearly looking for a fight.” 

“They’re in their eighties Bucky!” 

That was when Adrien realized it. These men were idiots. She sat quietly as the two men bickered. She was very proud of herself for biting her tongue. She was just going to wait it out. All she had to do was prove that they had the wrong person. Easy peasy. Probably. She would wait until they got to where ever they were going and then convince this Steve that she wasn’t Adrien Bravo, well, not the one they were looking for. 

If Adrien ever met this other guy, boy oh boy was she going to give her a piece of her mind. For over a year this other Adrien had been causing problems in her life. Credit cards had been filed in her name. Various cases of tax fraud. False checks. People looking for an Adrien Bravo who slept with their boyfriend. Someone looking for an Adrien Bravo who slept with their girlfriend. Adrien Bravo beat up my dad. Adrien Bravo owes me money. Adrien Bravo isn’t allowed into Walmart anymore after ‘the incident’.

It was slight inconveniences most of the time. Things that could be fixed with a bit of explanation: a call to the credit card company, and extra stop on the subway. But now this Bucky and Sam who worked for the mob were kidnapping her and accusing her of murder! That was not cool. If Adrien was going to be accused of murder it was going to be one she committed. And may or may not be on one Adrien Zora Bravo. But she’d have to get through this mess before any murdering was done.

“Can you tell me why I’m here again? Besides the obvious reason of kidnapping an innocent person.” 

There was some mumbling involving ‘but isn’t it in her rights?’ followed by ‘everything we do is illegal why do we care about her rights?’ 

“Hello?” More mumbling that ended in a grunt and ‘whatever’. 

“Adrien Zora Bravo. You have been accused of murder in the first degree.”

“Is this a trial?” 

There was a silence.

“Adrien Zora Bravo. You have been accused of murder in the first degree for the murder of Phillip J. Coulson...”

_

Several days ago

The lean figure kept close to the wall. She blended in with her surroundings. She was able to look like someone just out for a stroll while still being able to sink into the shadows if she needed to. 

The house she was looking for was like any other suburban house. It had a picket fence and bushes in front. Little windchimes hung on the porch. It made Adrien sick. The person here was happy. He lived alone but he constantly had guests over. The guy wasn’t even that likable. Obsessed with comic books and trading cards. The guy had a squeaky clean record. Not even a speeding ticket. At least according to the police. These people could cover up anything. And this man had to die. 

Phil Coulson. A middle-aged white male. He worked a boring desk job. He had no enemies. His murder would go unsolved. 

All she had to do was sneak in. That part was easy. He left the window unlocked on the second floor. His mistake. He was reading in his bed. Silk sheets. Pity they had to be ruined. 

Then she would take out her knife, cutting his throat and ulnar artery. His death would be practically painless. Adrien wasn’t a monster. This was why she waited until after he was dead before delivering her message. She would clean up her mess. Then silently make her way out the way she came in. 

It was supposed to be that easy. She was supposed to be in and out. But of course, it didn’t happen like that. A friend came over. Right as she was coming out the window. He looked her dead in the eye and you could tell he recognized her. He had clearly recognized her. Panic was starting to overtake her as she waltzed back out into the street. Back into blending in. 

She tried to watch her back and not look conspicuous. She knew how to tell when someone was following her and she knew what to do when someone was following her. Why hadn’t she killed that guy? Then there would be no witnesses. She knew better. But she panicked. She was supposed to be in and out. She always had plans for what-ifs, but there wasn’t supposed to be a what-if. He wasn’t supposed to have any friends. Everyone was on their own business. She was going to be in so much trouble. This was bad news. 

Rage was a single word that could describe Steve Rogers when he found out. Pure unadulterated rage. Now, Steve was a patient man, he really was. Short tempers don’t do much for you except make you enemies. But the absolute audacity of the person who did this was unmeasured, causing unmeasured levels of furiousness in Steve. 

You don’t just come into his town and kill his people. You don’t do it. Not without consequences following. The last person that crossed Steve Rogers probably couldn’t tell you much from God’s Acre. 

Nat had tried to calm him down before going into Coulson’s but when Steve was pissed he was pissed. He had burst through the barricade of people to see the man. It was impossible to see anything with Steve’s investigation team keeping out possible contaminators. But carved onto Coulson’s chest was the phrase ‘This is a Warning’.

_

“Jesus Christ, that’s terrifying. You should be finding this guy.” 

“Yeah, that’s what we did, genius.” 

“Except that’s not me, genius.” 

Completely aware that there was no way to convince these two of her innocence, she decided to wait in silence until they got there, which wasn’t very long, thank god. She probably wouldn’t have been able to keep up her resolve for a whole lot longer. The car stopped and shut off and instead of untying her legs, Bucky swung her over her shoulders, ignoring Adrien’s pounding and protests. They went through several doors before he plopped her down on a chair. 

“Thanks a lot, dickhead now my asscheeks are gonna be bruised.” 

A new voice was introduced and she could only assume it was this so-called Steve. The back was ripped off of Adrien’s head to reveal a cold blue gaze staring at her. The malice quickly turned to confusion though. 

“Who the fuck is this?” 

“It’s Adrien Bravo like you asked.” 

Steve continued to stare. The confusion turned into annoyance, then one of slight pity. 

“This is the wrong person.” 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to say!” 

_

Part Three

[dutten-does-the-fanfic]

I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 2

Title: “I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great” Ch. 2 of 14 (ch. 1) Pairing: Isak Valtersen/Even Bech Næsheim Warnings: Language, internalized homophobia and implied child abuse Word Count: 3950

AO3

Summary: The one where it’s been two years since Isak last saw or spoke with Even, and no one knows that Isak ever knew Even at all.

Present

Fuck.

Fucking, fuckity fucking fuck, fuck.

Isak’s fucked.

This was supposed to be his year. The year where he turned everything around, the year he got well again, managed to take care of himself again, the year where he wasn’t so damned sad, where he’d finally be happy again.

The year he’d finally get over Even fucking Bech Næsheim and get on with his life; move towards getting his degree in Biovitenskap where he’d finally managed to excel in that fucking physiology class last semester – he fucking aced all of the anatomy questions after having studied for three days straight with only one hour sleep – and things were going to get better, for fuck’s sake!

He’s so angry. His fists are clenched and he can’t keep his breathing under control. People on the street keep looking at him as if he’s about to attack anyone who walks too close. A mother moves her pram over onto the other side of the street and Isak wants to shout at her that he’s raging about the unfairness of his life, he’s not a baby-murderer.

Because everything is unfair. So unfair.

He’s worked too hard for this; for his friends, his education, this new life he’s trying to build – a life without Even – but somehow it’s all ruined again.

He knows the guys will ask too many questions, things are too suspicious and he can’t fucking answer any of them, fuck. And Magnus is Even’s biggest fan, he’s not getting out of this.

Isak’s panicking, he knows he is. He can’t breathe and he doesn’t know if he’s even headed towards the flat because the earth is spinning all around him and suddenly he’s on the ground, head hurting from the impact.

He’s not bleeding, at least, Isak can’t help but think as he sits up and looks around. There’s a group of young women warily watching him, not sure if they should go over and help or just pretend he doesn’t exist. Isak doesn’t know whether to shout or cry.

He hasn’t been this bad, hasn’t let himself fill his body to the brim with alcohol, for several months by now, and just the thought of how much he’s regressing just from seeing Even less than a second makes his throat tighten and chest hurt. He feels unshed tears burning in his eyes as he slowly gets up.

He needs to get home.

He stumbles forward and tries to ignore the group slowly beginning to go their own way, still keeping an eye out for him. The hard knock on his head was at least beneficial in startling him out of the full-blown panic attack he was about to have.

He’s not far from the apartment, actually, but when he glances at the clock on his phone, he sees it’s been at least four hours since he left fucking Mikael’s apartment.

The guys will surely be back by now; maybe they’ll have been there for a while because Isak ruined the party by freaking out. Maybe they’re still at the party and Magnus is hanging onto every sound that comes out of Even’s mouth, just like Isak once did.

Well, maybe not quite like Isak did, because he’s at least 79% percent sure Magnus isn’t interested in dicks – the male sex organ, not the personality, although Even sure does fit into both categories – but were Magnus to go gay for a guy, it would definitely be for Even.

He can almost hear Eskild huffing at that phrase, but Isak tries not to think of Eskild too much, even though it makes his stomach churn from guilt. Eskild, the only one who’s actually figured out Isak even though he never confirmed it as much as he fled the Kollektiv.

He’s good at that. Fleeing, that is.

But not as good as Even was.

Isak breathes out and tries to make the world stop spinning as he turns the corner and heads down the street he knows is a straight-way to the apartment.

It feels shorter than usual, though, even though he knows objectively it’s supposed to take nearly ten minutes, it feels like he blinked and then he’s typing in the code for the apartment complex’s front door and then he’s trudging up the stairs to get to his own front door.

He pats his front pockets, and then his back pockets, and then the front again because, fuck, if he’s dropped the keys somewhere he’s completely screwed. Not only does he not have enough money to get a spare made, Jonas will rip him a new one and he’ll be on kitchen duty for a month because of that stupid bet they’d made when they moved in.

He’d been so certain Magnus would be the first to lose, though, and Magnus makes the best pasta dishes in the entire world, so at the time it had seemed like a safe bet. Besides, Isak had never actually managed to lose anything important – sure, he’d forget a hat somewhere, his headphones if he was really scatter minded, but he’s never lost his keys or his wallet anywhere, which is something that can’t be said for the other guys.

“Fuck it,” Isak mutters, just about to bang his head against the door frame, body already moving towards the wall, when he feels a lump in the pocket in his jacket.

Alright, so he’s a forgetful idiot. He doesn’t even have the excuse of being drunk, because he hadn’t actually stuck around the party long enough to have more than one beer and then the two beers he’d had during their pregame before they’d left.

He fishes his keys out of his pocket, cringing every time he they clang against one another. His head is already starting to hurt, but he’s more bothered by the completely irrational idea that the guys – if they are even home yet – can hear every single noise he manages to make, but if he inserts the key really slowly and then twists it equally as slowly so that he can literally feel the movement of the lock sliding out back, then they won’t know he’s gotten home.

Door unlocked, check, handle down, check, door opened to just a big enough slot that Isak can slither in smoothly?

Isak sneaks in past the doorstep, careful not to step on it because it creaks like hell, he turns around, holding onto the handle with one hand, the other hand pressed against the door on top of it as he slowly closes the door. He doesn’t dare to breathe until he’s heard the small click of the lock.

All the air he’d been holding comes out in a low whoosh as Isak straightens up, smirking at the door because he definitely won this round, thank you very much. Now he just needs to get to bed, and then –

He turns around to see Magnus, Mahdi, and Jonas all staring at him.

Their arms are crossed over their chests and Isak has a weird, unwanted vision of being the villain to their heroic tales where they take him down in their formation.

Isak shakes his head to get rid of the image, but stop as soon as he sees Jonas’ nostrils flare slightly.

“What the hell, man?” Mahdi asks. He looks like he wants to move towards Isak, but he doesn’t, and Isak is pretty sure his legs no longer function.

“Hva skjer?” Jonas asks. He looks so irritated, they all do in fact and, yup, Isak’s legs definitely don’t work anymore, but he’s pretty sure he’s about to cry, so he doesn’t have to worry about his lacrimal system.

“Where the hell have you been?” Jonas tries again. His arms are uncrossed, but he doesn’t look any less pissed, and Isak doesn’t know how to do this. “You’re supposed to pick up your phone when we call you. Are you aware of that? That’s how phones work?”

Isak opens his mouth, but he honestly isn’t sure if it’s to talk or to throw up. Maybe he’ll throw up some words – that would be a nice change, because he honestly doesn’t know what to fucking say.

“It’s been four hours, man!”

Magnus is surprisingly quiet and Isak can’t help but worry that this is the beginning of eternal silence because Isak is now a traitor. He clearly knew Even and had never introduced him and Magnus, and he loves Magnus, he really does despite all the Even-fangirling and the invasive questions and he’s still pretty sure he might cry any second now.

“What the hell happened at the party?” Jonas now sounds more angry than he looks, and Isak can’t stand to look at him but he can’t seem to look away either.

But now Jonas isn’t talking anymore, and Mahdi hasn’t said anything since his initial outburst and Magnus is still just looking at him, and Isak isn’t even sure if he looks worried or betrayed and his head hurts and he just wants to disappear. Right about now, actually, would be really, really great.

“Hmm?” Is all he manages to get out, and it’s the wrong thing to say. It’s quite possible the most wrong, the wrongest thing he could’ve said, because now even Magnus looks slightly angry and Mahdi is positively fuming.

“’Hmm’? Are you fucking kidding me? ‘Hmm’?” Mahdi repeats angrily, actually breaking superhero-team formation and taking at step towards him.

Isak instinctively takes a step back, his back hitting the door harshly and the force of it jars all the way up his spine.

Mahdi thankfully doesn’t notice, but Isak can’t tell if Jonas does or if it’s just a reflex to grab onto Mahdi’s shoulder to hold him back. Jonas’ facial expression doesn’t change at all, though, so maybe Isak’s lucky for once.

They’re all quiet, heavy breathing almost echoing throughout the flat. Isak can’t meet their eyes, so instead he looks at the shoe rack that none of them actually bother using, which is why he’s standing in a pile of shoes at the moment.

“Do you even have anything to say?” Jonas asks. His voice is harsh and Isak now feels the anger start to bubbling inside of him. Fuck, he’d promised himself that the angry outbursts were a thing of the past.

“You disappear for hours, and like that isn’t enough of a shitty-friend thing to do, Magnus met his goddamn hero tonight, and I know you for some reason don’t like the guy, but you could be a decent friend and support Magnus!”

Isak can’t hold the wince back. He’s not even sure if it’s because he feels bad about not being a better friend to Magnus or if it’s from hearing Even being spoken about as someone’s hero. Some fucking hero. Isak learnt that the hard way.

“Not even mentioning that Even – Even Bech Næsheim, world-famous director apparently knows your name? How do you know him?”

“Jonas…” Magnus starts, reaching his hand out to hold onto Jonas’ shoulder, but Jonas shrugs him off.

“No! I’m sick and tired of this. Are you going to start this shit again? You said you were going to stop, or was that just another lie?”

It feels like a slap. Or maybe a punch to the gut, because Isak can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and he needs, he needs –

He fumbles with the door handle without even turning around, mind barely registering that he needs to unlock the door first, but then his fingers apparently remember and he twists the handle, body thrown backwards with the force of the door opening and then he’s gone.

He can hear the boys shouting after him. He doesn’t even know if they’re trying to follow him – he just slams the door behind him and then starts running down the flight of stairs before he bumps into the front door.

He thinks he hears the apartment door open behind him with a last frightened “Isak!” but then he’s outside and he’s running and he doesn’t stop until he’s turning so many corners he’s managed to get himself lost.

Isak stumbles for a moment, trying to get his bearings back, but all it accomplishes is the nausea rising up until he’s throwing up on the side of the street.

There’s no one there to see it, thank god. He’s even more grateful no one’s there when the first sob escapes him.

Fuck.

Fuck.

This is not happening. This is so not happening. God, why is this happening to him? This was supposed to be his year, god damn it!

He bites down on the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to keep any and all sounds in. The last thing he needs right now is someone calling the police because of a disturbance, it’s bad enough that he’s publically intoxicated. At least he’s not a minor anymore.

Isak knows he can’t stay here, though. First of all, he’s in the middle of a street in a very nice area in Oslo, he clearly doesn’t belong here. Second, he’s absolutely freezing and he really doesn’t want to go home.

It almost feels like another punch when he realizes that it’s the first time in a couple of years that he feels like that. Alright, he needs to leave unless he wants to give himself another reason to be crying.

He gets up on wobbly legs, almost stumbling into the pile of vomit before he manages to grab onto a street light and balance his weight out properly.

He knows he should call Eskild up, but Isak knows Eskild will want to talk about everything and he’s definitely mad at him at this point for the radio silence.

Isak will survive. That’s all he seems to be good at, anyway. He hopes he’ll one day know how to live again.

He can find a basement somewhere. He was practically a pro at breaking into them back when he was starting high school; he’ll recall the practicalities when he gets there.

 Past

He shouldn’t have done this. He really shouldn’t have done this. He is an idiot for doing this, and he can’t stop pinching his underarms even though it hurts like hell, because he’s a goddamn idiot and he shouldn’t be doing this.

The coffee shop is loud around him, or behind him, really, seeing as he’s sitting at the elongated table along the window, nervously twisting his cup of black coffee in his hands. Isak watches the people’s reflections, trying his best not to pay attention to any couples or any mothers. There’s a small group of friends sitting near the back. They’re the furthest away from him, but they’re the ones he can hear the clearest.

Isak’s an idiot and he doesn’t even like coffee, especially not black coffee, but it’s all he can afford right now until either of his parents remembers his soon two-week overdue monthly allowance.

He shouldn’t have come. He’s already regretting this and Even hasn’t even shown up yet.

If he even shows up, a morbid part of Isak’s brain gets through before Isak can force himself to think differently.

Isak’s regretting showing up, because Even is clearly regretting asking him to come, because Even himself hasn’t even bothered to show up, and Isak kind of wants to leave, but then he really doesn’t want to risk it because what if Even actually does show up –

Oh god, what is he even going to say? Isak hasn’t prepared for this, despite not having thought about anything but Even since he kissed –

He can’t start blushing now, not if Even is just about to walk in – which he should be, considering he’s fifteen minutes late – because if he does, he’ll never be able to stop.

Although his face will be turning red for an entirely different reason if Even doesn’t show up soon. Not that there’s any actual public embarrassment in it – no one here knows that Isak’s supposed to be on a… on a date, oh my god, he was asked out on an honest to god date with a boy, with Even, and, yes, he’s blushing, but his pulse is also racing in a bad way because Even still isn’t here, and –

The small bell hanging over the door rings out clearly as the door pushes open, Even gracelessly stumbling in, eyes frantically moving over the people sitting in the café.

Even’s shoulders slump when he’s finished going through all of the people sitting at the tables; most of them at this point already done with the distraction to their everyday lives that Even had caused.

“Fuck,” Isak hears Even mutter, his hand raises to push his hair off of his sweaty forehead. Isak watches as Even’s entire body sort of just slumps in on itself.

Even lets out a shuddery exhale that Isak knows he’s only able to hear because he’s sitting right next to him.

“Fuck,” Even repeats, words coming out at an even lower volume this time. “Did he even show?”

“Maybe he’s fifteen minutes late,” Isak says, voice matter-of-factly as he tries to keep a straight enough face that he can take a sip of coffee without spilling all over himself.

He doesn’t even manage to take a sip before he’s sputtering into his cup because Even fucking jumps, one hand grabbing onto the table, the other grabbing onto his chest over his heart and Isak can’t wipe the smirk off of his face.

“Oh, you asshole,” Even moans, but he’s already sort of laughing as he doubles over, utterly failing in drawing in deep breaths. “Fuck, I have, fucking, palpitations!”

Isak actually lets out a startlingly loud laugh at that. “Oh, dear me.”

“’Oh, dear me’,” Even mocks as he clutches onto the vacant high chair next to Isak, already clambering onto it as he pushes against the metal step on the chair. “What are you, eighty?”

Isak snorts and tries to give Even an indignant look, but he can’t keep the grin off of his face.

“Well, let’s hope the guy you’re meeting is a little closer to your age than that, then,” Isak draws the coffee cup up to his face in order to hide his smirk away from Even.

“Asshole,” Even repeats, tone so fond and expression open and honest that Isak kind of forgets to draw in a breath.

Even hooks his foot around the leg of Isak’s chair, pulling back sharply and with enough force to actually move Isak’s chair towards his own. He’s grinning so widely even as Isak has to grab onto the table with both hands, nearly sending the cup flying as he drops it in order to save himself.

Even lets out a laugh as he grabs onto Isak’s left arm, curling his hand around his bicep, not letting go even as Isak manages to right his balance again. God, Isak is well on his way to palpitations.

They just sit there, not saying anything. Isak switches between actually looking at Even, who doesn’t seem to be able to look anywhere that isn’t at Isak, and looking out of the window, not seeing anything really. He doesn’t have any attention span left that isn’t already directed at Even.

“So what should I say to my date when I’ve shown up fifteen minutes late?” Even asks, gaze finally moving from Isak’s face to the coffee cup he’s pushing around on the table.

Isak hums, scolding his face into a completely serious grimace as his stomach flutters with giddiness at the word ‘date’. “Well, it depends.”

Even breaks character immediately, cheeks already splitting from a too wide grin. “On?” He prompts.

“Did you tell him you were going to be late?” Isak twists his upper body to better face Even, faux-serious expression on his face.

Even shakes his head whilst trying to mimic Isak’s facial expression. “No. You see, I was kind of an idiot and didn’t ask for his number, nor did I give him mine.”

“Ah,” Isak sighs out. “A rookie mistake,” Isak says, nodding slowly like he has a lifetime of experience on the matter.

“Hey,” Even whines indignantly, giving Isak’s arm a soft push before resting one arm on the backrest, the other on top of the table, his hands hanging in the air, wrists crossed over in front of his chest. “For your information, I was quite nervous when I asked him to meet me here!”

Isak doesn’t even try to hide the grin on his face. “Is that so?”

Even hums affirmatively, grinning back himself as he presses the tip of his shoe against the metal bar functioning as a foot rest on Isak’s chair. Isak can feel the side of his lower leg, all the way up to his knee, pressing against his own leg.

Forget palpitations, he might just combust on the spot.

Even clearly feels the same, because his hands can’t seem to stay still, so he reaches out and grabs onto Isak’s coffee cup, his hand so large it curls all the way around the cup, before drawing it to his lips.

Isak doesn’t even bother moaning about that Even is technically drinking his coffee.

Maybe he should’ve, though, in order to save Even from literally sputtering it back out.

“Jesus!” Isak exclaims, moving back instinctively even though Even didn’t even spit it in his direction, his hand already moving to pound Even on his back. “Are you okay?”

“What the hell is this?” Even coughs out, voice hoarse as he rubs his throat with his free hand.

Isak’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion. “Coffee?” This was a coffee shop, after all – surely that fact that he was drinking coffee shouldn’t come off as too big of a surprise.

“That was not coffee!” Even replies crossly as he puts the cup back down on the table. “That was…” Even stops as he searches for words to properly describe the atrocity he just tasted, “utter despair!”

Isak shouldn’t be laughing – he doesn’t think, anyway, that he should be, but the first laughter kind of just bubbles out of his chest all the way out of his mouth, and then he can’t really stop himself.

“Could you be any more dramatic?” Isak asks rhetorically once he’s managed to get his breath back.

And promptly regrets it from the look Even gets across his face.

“Wha–“ Isak starts out, but Even has already locked his hand around Isak’s wrist, tugging him off of the chair, only stopping long enough to make sure Isak doesn’t fall flat on his face.

“First, we’re getting some real coffee to drink,” Even starts out, twisting around so he’s walking backwards to the counter.

Isak laughs as he grabs onto Even’s hoodie, holding tight to make Even stop moving so he won’t bump into the woman standing in front of them in the line.

Even’s eyes are twinkling and Isak can’t look away.

“Does ‘real coffee’ mean overpriced, hot, sugary water?” Isak asks petulantly, making Even give him a look of faux-horror.

“Real coffee, Isak,” Even repeats. His hands curl around Isak’s wrists once again, pulling Isak closer until they’re standing toe to toe again.

It feels so much like the last time they were standing in front of each other that Isak almost pushes onto the tips of his toes so he can kiss Even. He probably would’ve if they hadn’t been standing in the middle of a busy coffee shop.

“And then,” Even continues without missing a beat. One of his hands leave Isak’s wrist to curl around Isak’s waist underneath his jacket instead, “We’re going to see the world.”

Isak thinks his own eyes might be twinkling as well.

Next part

[halfblood-fiend]

So I just wanna make a huge, and I mean massive, thank you post for all y’all that came out and supported me during my liveblogging of finishing The Calling over the last couple days. It’s honestly been the best part of being stuck in bed sick and it actually made me want to finish that bound--forgive my language here--piece of crap. (If you wanna see the posts, you can find it all under #Fiend attacks The Calling and spoilers are tagged, just in case.)

For anyone who’s interested in me doing it again, the other two DA books I haven’t read right now are Asunder and The Masked Empire and you can let me know via ask, message, reply, or whatever, which one should be done next (though I think I know which one might win).

If you replied to any of my posts and didn’t get a shitty personal reply I tried to do through mobile, I am literally gonna put them all here, under the cut (and if you have the time, I feel like it’s worth looking through all of them because some people said interesting things and I like to think I can be pretty funny with my responses. lol). Lmao.

Thanks for enjoying this mess of a book with me! When I first started venting my frustrations, I low-key thought I’d be slamming a book everyone loved. Lol. I’m glad I was wrong.

@inuy21 replied to her own reply post:  I’ll have to give Stolen Throne a look to see if will change my mind Loghain. Though I wasn’t really a fan of his in the game nor Maric’s in The Calling. And it’s Empress Celene, right? LOL

Nah, that book is actually called The Masked Empire. It’s the one where allegedly Celene and Michel de Chevin are The Worst™.

Anyways, do at least take a look at Stolen Throne because Loghain is 15/10 in that, honestly. I hated him too until I read that book and now I’m in love.

@thexann replied to Why do I hate David Gaider’s book’s so much?:  The only good thing his books did for me were make me unconditionally love Loghain, but even then, his writing was so difficult to give a damn about I skipped around the ENTIRETY of The Stolen Throne, read all the good Loghain bits, then never picked it up again!

Same! High five for solidarity sisterrr!!

Skipping around, that was smart. That could’ve saved me a lot of Maric moaning and complaining as he destroyed not one, not two, but THREE of his friends’ lives. WHat a swell guy!

@october-rosehip (I hate it when it doesn’t TAG PEOPLE!!) replied to the same post: Dude needs an editor, BAD. He also suffers from… severe need for someone to hide his thesaurus. He’s written about people sitting redolently, smoking *kohl*, and once, three elves were playing HARPSICHORDS in a town center. Outdoors. Also, pacing issues. Dude has great ideas, but he’s not a novelist. Or historian.

He does! I’m surprised he didn’t have one? Isn’t everyone supposed to have one? Or did it not matter because he was riding on the coattails of a successful game of a hopeful franchise?

But yeah, I noticed that too. There’s overly conspicuous complex words, like he actually went into Word processor and tried to find the biggest word he could to replace his plain English ones. Causing no one to understand him. I mean harpsichords?? outside?? Has he ever SEEN a harpsichord??? Gaider wtf man... I look forward to that nonsense.

@cullenstairshenanigans replied to Dusty. Everything is “dusty” with this guy.: I quit after the 20th use of “the man”

Oh yeah. I saw that. He was notorious for that.

Don’t be afraid! Use people’s names! Do you realize how many men there were in this book?? Especially at the beginning?! Use. Names. There’s some free writing advice for ya, Gaider.

@october-rosehip replied to the same post: Oh, I guess someone DID steal his thesaurus.

Lmao. Only when it wasn’t convenient. Not only did he use “dusty” for everything, he also believes that the only noise swords make is a “clatter,” be it a “dull clatter” or a “clear clatter” (literally both phrases he used in the same scene!) Not to mention that he also thinks warriors just drop their swords willy nilly all over the place, as if they aren’t the most important singular possession to a SWORDSMAN.

@oh-thatcal  replied to “She had never spoken of this to anyone.”:  if you wanna rage, just read The Masked Empire… OTL these books are both good and awful at the same time.

I am actually rather beside myself with excitement tbqh.

@bombasticpro replied to  Oh god now Maric is doing it too…: Dat dab

Now I’m not sure if I’m Young and Hip™ enough to understand this correctly, but I’ll go out on a limb and say, “Yeah, I know right??”

Maric and Fiona bled their hearts out to each other for literally no reason. Do real life people actually do this? I don’t go around spilling my deepest secrets. Maybe it’s just that no one has gained enough Approval to unlock my Tragic Backstory™ yet.

@oblivionscribe replied to Maric has been stabbed by several spears...: For all the head trauma Maric received, I’m surprised he lasted long enough to sire sons.

Me too. I seem to recall that this isn’t new either, that Maric was often receiving head trauma in The Stolen Throne too!

What I would like to know is why is no one wearing a fucking helmet???

@thecrazyfereldan replied to I think that I’m starting to see one...: His writing also tends to be rather dry.

TRUE. It’s hard to read. Like, I read his story the way I would eat beef jerky: slowly, in near agony because I like the taste but hate the texture, and with my jaw aching because I had to chew so god damn much. And in the end, it’s for what? A steak tastes better, is easier to eat and is still beef.

(the steak in this metaphor is a DA game btdubbs, lol)

But seriously, it goes right up there with show and don’t tell. Telling only takes me to Snoozeville.

@october-rosehip replied to the same post: Dislocated thumbs continue to dislocate for MONTHS if you keep using your hands. Guess how I know. Also? Putting them back in hurts just as much as putting them out in the first place.

Oh, yikes!! I am so sorry there, friend. But, yeah, I can see that because my jaw still gives me trouble. Not that it redislocates, but it’ll pop sometimes and it HURTS.

So that means that Duncan would have been in WAY more trouble by doing that to himself. Imagine being a rogue who’s thumbs kept dislocating??? Especially when he was trying to pick the locks on their manacles again in the climax?

And when Duncan popped his thumbs back in, all he said about it was that second quote (“He took a moment to get used to the stabbing pain…”). That was it.

Gaider, I can only suspend my disbelief so far, bro.

@oh-thatcal replied to @starlanellfic ‘s post about my liveblogging:  Do all the books!

Dude... I kinda want to...

Although I wouldn’t do Stolen Throne again only because it would probably crumble into me fangirling over Loghain which no one, except maybe @@element-104 , would want to see. lol.

@ma-sulevin  replied to Okay, so, as much as I sorta like Duncan...: My personal favorite part is when the mage asks him about Grey Warden stamina and he’s like “uhh….. YES yes we do have that let me show you”

*snorts* omg YES. It was classic! Predictable, but classic, and I was totally willing to accept that from him. xD

@ma-sulevin replied to WHY DID SHE KISS HIM I AM SO MAD... : It literally made no sense

I’m still mad. I haven’t gotten over it. There was no romance until that happened and even that was forced af. Not one piece of it felt real. At least I can thank the Maker that he didn’t write about Fiona “boobing boobily down the stairs” or any of that other male gaze nonsense.

@thesecondsealwrites replied to Duncan has an obsidian dagger. Smh.:  \o/

Bless you, PonySeal. I feel like you might’ve already figured this was a peeve of mine. Lol.

@queenofeire replied to the same post:  0/10 against any kind of armor Hella sharp for 5-10 cuts then pretty much useless….

^^Yup, basically.

Granted, it ended up being magical? But if that mage didn’t enchant it with an Unbreakable spell, chances are it’s still useless. Fite me.

And @fenriswaifu? You’re welcome. :) Sorry if I ruined your Aesthetic.

@valammar replied to Gaider keeps using the word “almost.”:  I’m still cackling at the last line of this post.

Look, I’m still VERY angry about obsidian knives, okay?? lmao. Volcanic glass IS GLASS, it’s not ALMOST GLASS. It is.

It is.

@amarmeme replied to Well that resolved neatly...:  yea, that book was… not my cup of tea

Mine either. Of the three DA books I have now read, The Caling is my least favorite. And by least favorite, I mean it was awful. Sorry to those who love it.

And that’s all te replies for now. LMao.

[rose-remnants]

Ice Cream & Wine

I’m tired of being angry. But the fury seems to be fueling me in strange ways... It’s interesting just how much is being thrown in my face. The Universe is not showing me much mercy. And nobody seems to have much support for me. The responses on my post about rape jokes had me absolutely floored. And then seeing the people cracking jokes about the hermit crabs in the post about the ocean pollution.. how similar it felt and played out to my rape joke discussion. The same phrase was even used: “this post makes it more funny”. What the fuck? And then today, at work, being scheduled in the theater where my last assault took place. And having to “deep clean” it. Hah. Oh, the symbolism. Dust the speakers. Organize the closet. Clean the cup and menu holders. Hmm. It didn’t even register at first that I was in THAT theater. But I noticed my heart was pounding and I seemed to be in a triggered state and was like ‘what is going o- ohhh’. At one point, I had propped open the door, went to clean, and came around the corner a minute later to see the door closed. Immediately went into a mini-panic. “Trapped. I’m trapped in here”. THAT DOOR CAN’T EVEN LOCK STFU.  I really felt like I was being tested or mocked or I don’t know.. A new guy asked if I work at the bar and why he doesn’t ever see me. He asked my name and I asked his. Before he said it, I already felt kind of.. disgusted. Like a feeling of male energy projecting at me that I did not want. His name.. is Joshua.  The relief in both of my theaters were males. Males that I have heard be very insensitive to the subject of sexual assault.  The dream I had yesterday..... Anastacia telling me about her situation and her 3 year old daughter being molested. Like. What. The. Actual. Fuck. It’s just so much. I’m being bombarded with it all. LOL. I even just. Wow, how silly. The stupid OMG game. WHICH CELEBRITY DO YOU LOOK LIKE?? I got Samuel L Jackson and Scartlett Johansen. So like.. AVENGERS. And the thing about all of this I’m experiencing is.. I’m not so much mad about MY situation and my trauma, it just kills me knowing how many other women it happens to. And how much worse off so many of them are. And then I think about when I was “crazy” and felt like I just wanted to save all of my sisters and destroy men. That pure, engulfing rage and utter madness I felt. I keep feeling hints of it. Like there’s some power in it I could unlock. But it is dangerous. And I remember the nurses saying “That’s not the right way”. But... I also remember the feeling of being a child-vampire and luring pedophile’s into alleys, and keeping men as slaves and the hilarity of having so much power over them. Were those past lives? Am I stuck in some crazy karmic cycle? I feel like that rage is so very much a part of me.. I want revenge and I want them to fucking burn and suffer for all of the disgusting, deplorable acts they have committed. How can they be so cruel and heartless? And how can I let them turn me into a monster too?  Sigh. I’m amazed I got through the day without a total breakdown. But I let the anger and ridiculous deep clean list keep me moving and wouldn’t ever stop too long to really sink in. I did cry at least a couple of different times during theater cleans, but somehow pulled it together. Gold star sticker. When I left, I wanted to go sit by water and have a good cry. And sing and speak to trees. But by the time I got there, the tears wouldn’t come. It was still a nice trip into the woods, though.  On the way out, as it was getting quite dark, I was seeing movements and shadows/flashes. Felt suddenly very aware of a faerie being on my left, walking with me. I wondered if it was Ta’Om.  I asked aloud what I needed to know about healing my sexual trauma. A moment later, a toad was on my path! Several more popped up as I walked. I held one. Also, before, going into the trail; I had asked what guidance I most needed, and looked up to see a crane or something of the sort way up at the top of a tree. After I left that area, saw a cardinal. “The Toad It’s a good time to withdraw into solitude and contemplate emotional or spiritual matters. You’ll have an opportunity to review and clear some uncomfortable emotional issues from the past. This is an opportunity to contact your most primal, instinctual self, that part of you that is the seed of any new personal or spiritual growth. This is a volatile period of personal change, one where you’ll feel unsettled and fragmented, yet one in which a new “you” will emerge feeling more integrated and whole. You have much more available to you in terms of skills, experience, and inner strength than you are aware of.From the Handbook Animal Spirit Guides by, Steven D. Farmer“

“TOAD Inner Strength, LuckThe appearance of a Toad heralds a successful time of drawing upon and using our inner resources. Toads are associated with money and luck – especially changing your luck from bad to good. People with a Toad totem can see things and people more clearly.A Toad heralds the need for self-examination. Ask these questions: Am I hesitating to act and missing opportunities? Am I allowing fear to hinder progress? Have I forgotten my inner strength?A Toad totem is a representation of the Moon, and represents both Life and Death. In alchemy, the Toad signifies the dark side of Nature. In the ancient cultures of Mexico, the Toad symbolized the Earth.“

[garyzarrt-blog]

My Wall 9 & 10

9          I take the subway with my wall

I took the 1 train. No, I think it was the R train. Maybe it was the N. Yes, it had to be the N. It was hard to get through the turnstile so I used the emergency gate and the siren went off but nobody cared as usual. I basically pushed myself to through the rush hour crowd.  I saw open mouths and faces filled with wonder, maybe even a little fear. I felt someone grab my hand which was hanging over my wall. “Who are you, man? Who are you? Are you new to New York? Do you speak English? Are you a refugee? Can I help you?” I couldn’t see the man’s face (I was crammed on the crowded subway platform). He sounded friendly enough, but as I’ve said before, everyone in America is deeply suspicious, and they should be. Not everyone is your friend. “I’m okay,” I said. “I’m not a refugee. Just point me towards the subway car. That’s all I need.” I thought it was it ironic that as an American patriot intent upon making us great again I was co fused as - a foreigner. The guy said softly (so I couldn't hear?) to a woman (a colleague?) beside him, “This is a refugee. We have to give him sanctuary. He is escaping a brutal regime. He’ll be reported if we don’t, especially with the new administration in Washington.” "Yes. He's dead meat." “I am not a refugee! I'm an American! I'm an American!" I yelled although my wall made it very hard to understand me. “He says he’s a performance artist, man,” a skinny guy dressed all in black said. "Yeah, far out. Dig it." “Yeah, I have seen him out in Bushwick. And, he played in some band in Red Hook.” "Cool. Yeah. Caught it." Then I heard a woman’s voice. I could tell from her accent she wasn't a New Yorker. “This guy’s so wild! I love this city! Can we take a selfie with you?” “I don’t have time,” I said. “I have to get away. People are chasing me and they want to hurt me. Please.” The man who thought I was a refugee by this time was standing on a bench and peering down into my wall. “What do you have to run away from?” he asked. “Let her take a selfie. It's harmless, and then I will find you a safe place where no one can find you and my organization can take you back to your country.” “I’m from Ohio! I'm American!" I screeched. They were missing the whole point of my quintessentially American invention. “Sure, everyone is – and that’s the point," he answered slowly with that tone and phrasing they use when talking to animals, old people, and immigrants who don't know English. "Let her just take a selfie with you and then we can leave. I know how hard this must be for you. Even if she takes a picture your face, it won’t be visible from the outside so you don’t have to worry about being identified by the death squads.” "The only death squads after me flip burgers and make Greek salads!" But this do gooder had a point.  He captured a key selling point of my wall - it can keep me out of sight, yet in plain sight. He got it. People crowded. around me and my wall. I was starting to understand that just seeing my wall, the fact that I had actually created a wall around me, a wall similar to what everyone was hearing about 24/7, would change America and the world. I made "the ever present American wall manifest," is how a cult described it. “Who the fuck are you?” a tall man in a suit with a briefcase snapped. He elbowed me. "Who do you think you are pushing ahead of? Wait your turn like everyone else.  There things called lines in this country. Take your turn like everyone else.” (I think I was encountering what TV pundits at the time were calling white rage, but I wasn’t sure.) I heard so many voices outside my wall. They merged at times into a single wild voice. “I think that’s really cool, man. I think it’s really fucking outta sight.” "I'm down with Wall Man!" “Yeah, I like it a lot. It looks good on you." “Do you study fashion?” I couldn’t understand all the accents. People were touching my wall.  A chanting woman in a saffron robe tried to get her arms around the wall so she could hug me. “You need love, my friend. You need revolutionary love.” A man with thinning red hair, whispered, “I was meant to be close to someone like you. Want to party, killer?" I was getting really scared. I didn’t know how much constant physical pressure my wall would be able to take. I forced myself to think of the secret Stayaway website I had hacked into, and the furious cabbies bouncing harmlessly like annoying insects in all directions unable to make a dent in the material. This calmed me, but I was getting panicky. I was backed into a doo-wop group on the platform. They were singing songs by the Drifters. I started to sing along with them. I even did a few of the moves I practiced with Freedom on Saturday morning when I listened to Felix Hernandez on Rhythm Review. Money - heaps of it - was being thrown at me. “You want to join our group, brother?” one of the singers asked as we finished a number. "I don't know who you are but it's been raining money since you turned up." “Sorry, I have to take the train!” I shouted. What I thought would be an escape on the subway was turning into another public commotion except this was on a narrow subway platform. I knew it was only a matter of time until everything would come crashing down around my planned escape. My fame was beginning.

10        I am arrested

“Stop! Stay where are you are!” a voice commanded. Two police officers. A tall woman, and a burly young man, seemed intent upon stopping my movement. "Officers, all I want to do is get on the subway.” They couldn’t hear me, or didn’t want to, I wasn’t sure. “Hands in the air!” How did they know that was the only direction I could put my hands? I aimed them towards the ceiling. The cops had moved away the crowd. Several other officers arrived. I was perspiring very heavily even though it was cold. “Show us your ID,” the woman cop said. I noticed she wore small hooped gold earrings. It’s hard to reach into your pockets when you have on a wall. I tried though. But I was too slow. “You’re under arrest! Up against that wall.” I heard radios crackling. Someone said, “We got a whack job.” An express train boomed past, boots echoed on the platform. “I haven’t done anything wrong,” I said. “I’m exercising my constitutional right -- to wear a wall. It’s just like the right bear arms.” “He’s armed!” the male cop screamed. He looked petrified. Guns were drawn. “Back up! Back up!” “Keep your fucking hands in the air where I can see them!” The two newly arrived police officers, who looked even more afraid than I was, pushed me into a corner of the subway platform, away from the commuters, many of whom seemed to be rallying to my cause. “Show us your hands now!” I was being pushed and pulled and I was barely able to stand under the weight of the police bodies. I was afraid I might get shot, even unintentionally. Remember, I wasn’t sure if my wall was bullet proof. I suspected it was, but I hadn’t seen any videos of bullets, like the hordes of cursing cabbies, bouncing off the surface of the Stayaway material. How could I have not checked on this critical fact? (Note to self and world- even the truly great must worry over every detail otherwise their grand vision will never come to be.)

I found my driver’s license from Ohio and handed it over the wall. "Take off your fucking costume right now,” the young male cop said with disgust. “Come on, asshole. Take off the clown suit – you’re not funny. You’re creating a public disturbance and endangering hundreds of people.” “This is my wall and I’m entitled to wear it,” I replied. I wasn't disrespectful. I was asserting my rights as an American citizen. This would later be one of the statements that endeared me to very conservative groups, such as the Tea Party. (Oddly, civil libertarians and revolutionary leftists also found it attraction.) “Take that shit off right now and show us your face,” the Latina officer said. She had her hand on her gun, and she was much bigger than me. “Don’t shoot!” I shouted. Then I heard several people from around me yell. "Stop shooting people!” “Black lives matter!” “Stop the hate! Stop the violence!” “Every life matters! Leave him alone!” “Yeah, this is New York, man.” "Everybody's packing something." “He’s just wearing what he wants!” “Leave him alone, he’s just another New York freak.” "That's why people visit New York." "Let him do what he wants – this is America!" “No, fuck you! Go ahead and shoot him so I can get it on Facebook Live on my cell phone!  I’m gonna be famous. Go ahead -- shoot him!  Shoot him, guys!  It'll be all over the media in an hour." I was becoming dizzy again. My wall was light, as you know, because of my planning and the fabrication process, but the reaction to it was disorienting. It was hard to react to the spontaneous explosion on Day 1. “This is the last time I tell you. Take off your costume, or else we’re going to take you in.” I started to unlock the shoulder apparatus that held up my wall, when I felt both police officers pushing me again against the wall. They couldn’t get my wrists into handcuffs, so they ended up putting my ankles in handcuffs. (Later, the tabloids, described my arrest as the first time anyone in New York had been “foot cuffed.” The famous "Tooties on Trial" headline with a full-page photo of my handcuffed ankles became as famous a headline as "Ford to City - Drop Dead." Celebrity found me, as I had dreamed. I hobbled to the local police precinct with police officers, speaking into the mics to their dispatcher. They practically carried me up the steps to the street. People shouted support, some spit at me and cursed. The police officers were trained to ignore crowd abuse. One cop with gray hair, I couldn’t tell his rank but he looked important, shook his head and smiled as they dragged me out of the subway. Panting, four five cops hoisted me up the final subway steps.  Since I couldn’t fit into the backseat of a police car with my wall, they conveniently had a van meet us at the curb. I was arrested. They read me my rights in the presence of my wall. My future seemed dim, indeed.

Monday evening January 9, 2017

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