#but w ptsd its like Mind Consuming and its like

[batz]

thank u for agoraphobia advice it seems the general consensus is sorta just. going outside . which isnt awesome but also totally understandable ig ! but. A

[olderthannetfic]

Re: Hypertagging characters/ships for triggers, yeah as someone whos insane ass has a very serious trigger for a specific fictional character -particularly if they are portrayed in a positive light- I just Do Not Read Fic in that fandom by and large and blacklist it pretty hard.

It sucks I had to divorce myself from the fandom because I LIKED the earlier seasons and sometimes the fic was cute and good, but I simply cannot reasonably ask anyone to tag every mention of that character so I blacklist it all.

Its a me issue, NOT a them issue, so its my job to manage it and actually put effort into that.

That means blacklisting the show on every platform that is possible that I use, not following people who are likely to post that character, not consuming the new canon content of the show in case I get jumpscared with the character, and only ever intentionally looking for content if im in the right frame of mind to be able to stand simply seeing the name somewhere while I control+f a fic to see if they show up. I even sometimes ask friends to prescreen fics sometimes if I REALLY want to read something.

I make my own content if I want to engage with that media and I avoid the fandom. Its... I wont say its easy because it really sucks actually, but the world cannot and should not cater to me in that way. Its a competing access need and unreasonable to ask.

Its reasonable to ask a friend to warn/not deliberately show me that character- not NOT reasonable to ask a rando to do that.

Id even try to desensitize the trigger if I was in a good place for doing it but I am the wrong kind of insane to be doing that any time soon lol. Trauma work lays you right out.

To people wondering how anyone could be so fragile as to need something like that tagged; PTSD and other mental illnesses that cause serious triggers often latch onto innocuous things. Do you think I want to have such a 'cringe' trigger that causes me to [redacted] at best and have a dissociative panic attack-flashback combo AND [redacted] at worse? No its dumb as hell and I hate that there is very little to do to suppress it. Does that make the trigger go away? Also no. Its not like this is just me not liking or being uncomfortable with the character, this is an involuntary serious-hazard-to-health negative reaction I shant detail that sucks ass.

Yes us crazies do deserve to participate in fandom spaces too, we arent too broken to be barred from playing with everyone else- we just have to understand where the reasonable line is on accommodations for tagging, understand that competing access needs are a thing, and do the rest of the work ourselves.

Its not perfect but its the most good for the most people.

Id invite anyone who has a character/ship/etc trigger to seriously just blacklist the media and do what I do or even be more strict about it. You will feel so much better and more stable im not kidding. It sucks to lose a beloved fandom but you will feel so much better.

For everyone else- dont feel you need to tag every last mention on something. If you really want to be trigger friendly for some reason, you can put in the chapter notes all the minor mentions of stuff or w/e. Please Do Not put it in the proper tags.

--

Sadly, "dumb as hell" is a pretty default setting for triggers. If only brains were logical and behaved themselves! But one has to work with what one's got.

[cannibal-nightmares]

it's moments like these the crash-landing feels perpetual--all-consuming like it's all there's ever had been--and, in a way, it is. surviving this is all a matter of masking and navigating and bargaining and compromise. episodes feel like losses. a subconscious questioning of "if i've made it through all those other days, why can't i do it now all of a sudden?"

block under the cut for vague and not vague paranoid babbling

that noise is goign to kill me for saying any of this but who cares, im a dead man walking whether I say it out loud or not. it always feels like im ying to myself pressing against it. but isnt it right? why is it so fucking loud? there has to be a reason its so adamant. "its the illness." "its real" "it sthe illness" it blurs together. i know thats the whole issue. i cant afford to listen to either side. either side will hurt me, either side will punish me.

my friend asked why i dont skip work when i dont feel well without understanding that i would then never go to work. and dont get it twisted: im one of the top employees in performance. a schizo. a psychotic, crazy, terrified schizo. id skip work today--thats how on fire my nerves are--but i cant afford to. i have to keep my head down and hope they dont pry me open, today especially. i am tired of holding back my angred fear of people. ive started being more upfront w questions, some in the forms of jokes, like my co-worker who gave me a cookie and i said "if this is laced, im going to kick your ass," like when my colleague who mentioned singing in the company cars and i said i dont [because im scared of cameras.] or whatever.

im struggling. I'll admit. it's snowballing. It's a nose-dive death spiral. that clacking overspeed sound. redlining. and i have so much to do. so much to do at what cost? immovable things. i'm moving again? What the fuck. Who made that decision? I guess it was me. I don't remember. alexa, play "the actor" by everything everything. i feel fucking crazy that all of this gets magnified and exacerbated by ptsd/the weather. how stupid is that. how cruel is that? i want to cancel my plans. i cant. i should. i cant. i can't. it won't let me. i also know a more-sane me would be heartbroken. idk whats going to happen between now and late june. I see the dial trembling at its peak. im dead if i do, im dead if I dont. "to join the new river?" that's all it is.

and i have to repeat myself here: this shit isn't new. im just trying to be vulnerable. whatever that means. a glimpse inward. here it is while it's hot. perpetuity. dont you dare pity me. ive got more swords than you could ever begin to imagine, ive just only got two hands. i dont mind being stability for people--i like that i am--but this is whats behind that. with great reason comes unfathomable absurdity. contrast.

[m4nd0l0r]

Terrors Blind Men from the Present.

Description: Guilt drowns him, leaving him with his only saviour, the one who looks exactly as his mother.

Ship: Marc Spector (w severe mommy issues) x GN! Reader (who looks similar to his mother)

Word Count: 2k

Author’s note: WARNING! This deals with nightmares of past verbal abuse, mommy issues, PTSD and forms of trauma study of Marc, so please have discretion when you read this fic as it might trigger people who have gone through this- especially since this fic has such little comfort 😭 This idea of mine came up to me after listening to these songs: Class of 2013 by Mitski, Eric by Mitski, and I’m not a Child by Kuriyani… really says something about the amount of mommy issues in this bad boy huh… (pls read tags if you think marc is ooc) (alsp reblogs and interactions appreciated!! <33)

“Mom?” 

The first word he says in dawn, a haunting voice comes out of his throat as it spits it out, his eyes splitting open to the cascading nothingness, and he feels wetness coat his face. The moon haunts his now awakened state, its rays showers itself to his skin, and he only feels heaviness in his chest. 

He hates to sleep. To go close his eyes, and yet his mind stays wide open, to the abyss, to the fortress down under. His mortal ears let him hear the crying, her screaming, his shouts. It was all glorious and nauseous, all nothing but a mush of emotions down his stomach. 

There was no such thing as peace in his mind, it was all but rugged cliff edges, to drag him down to the abyss like a dream, a dream that rushes heat to one’s palms. One that has him shaking when he wakes in cold sweat.

His hands were always translucent in these visions— as he would clasp his fingers on the rough ground. Looking up, he would only see depths of coarse, shimmering sand, slowly.. but surely.. falling, threatening to drown him. 

And it would, always opening a sinkhole to the bottoms of the darkness- no, the bubbling stream of water. Inky hands grab onto them, one would wrench away, cry out to your protectors as it drags them to the depths. 

But he does not, even if his god- the one he has enslaved himself to— who he had worshiped, praised, and the one he has shed blood, parts of his own flesh for. The one who promised to save him- to give salvation. No, he does not call him.  

The man has lost his dutiful faith to the lost gates of wherever, as he now locks it into a tight seal. Never to break, to waver. Promising that he will never relapse into the role of a reaper he remembers he cried out to you, saying that he dreaded waking up, knowing he was a murderer. 

He remembers thinking that you would scream at him like she did. That it would be his fault for letting himself be dragged into the convoluted web of a god. But you did not, only squeezing his hand as you look at him with pure adoration. 

But he would hear his voice scream, crying out the same he used to as a child, as he drowned into the destructful streams from loss of a brother leading to a god’s bidding. His voice unheard to the abyss as he’s pulled down under, to the murky swamps of misty depths of the sea. 

He feels it consume his entire being, the dark matter swarms his goose-fleshed skin. Was this death? Was he.. dead?

He remembered how his father would say about death, before the waters took his own brother, before his mother had grown mad— He told Marc- that it was.. peaceful. That it was kind to those who pass. That it was fucking mercy. 

But as someone who barely got to grasp the hand of his brother to safety- as he takes his last breath— Bubbles comes out of his mouth, and his body limping, letting the current take him— His body taken out of the water, all bluish and green and lifeless— Marc retches, it was unkind. 

How the gods made us all believe that it was emancipation- that it was the aid to the noise that has plagued your lives as you lived on doing the bidding of the gods. It was sadistic, and it was masochistic of them- of him to follow it. 

Though with all of the excuses- the only one at fault was him. Him alone. It was all his fault. He believes, he knows that he was a foolish child, diving himself head first into the delusions of immaturity- to lead his brother Randall into thinking that he would be safe, that he as the older brother could take care of him. 

Randall was his responsibility, he was entrusted by his mother to look after him. He had no time to be impulsive, to further deepen his way to painting himself as a jester, as a reckless child.

He should have stopped himself- shouldn’t have uttered the words to venture their way to the cave— Randall would have been safe, he would have been spared from the reaper’s blade. But he was not, and Marc- the culprit- had to pay for it.

From his own mother’s hand. 

And he would hear her in his dream. Her voice was also so clear. Fresh into his ears, driving him into madness. 

He would rise up from the water that seeped into his nostrils, trying to drown him in slumber. He would hear his own voice- not his now deeper- more grown one— it was still.. juvenile. Young. 

“Mom? Mom!” He cried out in his dream, a call in need, his then smaller figure tried to reach out to her, his mother. 

He was a baby bird starving, cold from the lack of feathers, and he awaits the mother bird with sustenance- with dirty worms— but it would be enough. But he receives none, not even a single maggot to feast on- to live. 

But she swats him away, like he was some sort of pathetic bug. Disgust feels her drunken eyes, her lips turn to a smear, and she stays silent. 

She does not speak to his pleas, she never did. 

“Mom please.. please!” He shouts, “I’m sorry. I’m sorr—“ His voice lets out, a croak of a plea— a prayer of a lowly man to the one he tries to pardon for. 

“YOU! You let him die!” She cuts him off finally, rage filling her tongue like a poison viper, venom threatening to spill, and violence would paint the walls red. 

“This was all your fault. All your fault!” He would hear her say, “You were supposed to protect him! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO KEEP HIM SAFE!” She pushes down a table to the ground, glass exploding from the impact. 

A canvas of terror is drawn from her- and he is her subject. Marc only flinches, tears already spilling his eyes, risking him to black out- to switch with Steven. But this time he doesn’t— safety is far from his grasp and he stays- to suffer.

His body slides down to the wall, his hands already covering his ears. He forces himself to not squeeze his eyes, to not have the leftover tears spill out- to not catch her attention and add fuel to the fire. 

“You should have been the one who died! Not him! Not my Randall!” As if he were not also her son. Her flesh, her blood. He tries to open his mouth but a lump in his throat stops him, silencing his pleas. Please don’t leave me, Mom. I need you. As much as you- we need... needed Randall. 

Please don’t stop being my mom. But he never got to say it. Only breathing in the stuffiness of his nose. 

Even though it stung, burning his chest as a bigger wound opens up, bleeding through, his eyes would only close, lips pressed into a thin line as he would tilt his head down in shame, defeated, filling his veins. “I know. I know.” Would be his only answer.

You stir awake next to him, your eyesight bleary as you try to get up from the sudden creak from the mattress. It was always like this at night, his nightmares growing worse as the celestial moon glooms back to the dark sky. 

“Marc?” You call his name out of concern. He turns, hearing her voice instead of yours, his eyes widen and his arms suddenly on you, holding you close as he heaves heavy breaths. “Mom.” He calls you. Your face only grimaces. 

“Marc, baby, it’s me.” You remind him, he was not back home, in the dark crevices of his room, crouching away. He was here, in his own flat, your arms on his body, trying to give him comfort from your growing dire. 

You’ve seen photos, seen how she had your eyes— the most defining feature of any man. You had every other part that she also has- even her fucking voice. It made you.. anxious. Wary even, it makes you think.

Everytime you look in the mirror, all you see is the woman who’s twisted Marc this way. The woman who ripped and tore him to the brim, reducing him to a reserved shell. 

He is a loving man, always leaving you kisses, trying to cook you soup even though he would almost burn the kitchen down. Even so, you cared for him, you would give your heart to him if he ever asks you to— but you can’t help but feel guilty for something you haven’t committed. 

But you can’t help but think that you were a catalyst. Did he really love you the way you did? Or was it only because of the face you possess? The want of a different chance with his mother? A new beginning of peace? Through you? You can’t help but let the seed of doubt spurt out, growing into a thorny tree, ready to stab through your own heart. 

You felt as if you should be questioning him- asking him— heaving bitterly on why, why did he lead you to this fragile dance. Why was it hurting them both, as if you were frolicking on glass with bare feet with him, blood streaming through. You knew- deep in your gut that he hated looking at you. Who wouldn’t hate looking at the one who has pained you? 

You see how his eyes traced its way to you, watching you like you were a haunting face. How there was a fiery glint in his eyes but it always melts into a loving stare. You never know what to feel each time you notice it. 

But you’re taken away from your trance, as you hear his choking voice. Realization has his heart drop to his stomach. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He repeats all over, tears swarming in his eyes. “It’s all my fault. My fault.” choking through his hiccuping, you only clasp him harder, feeling his hands clutch on your sweater, on your warmth like a child. Your worries could wait, pushing back your own emotions. 

Now was not the time to add even more pressure to the already cracking man, you focus on calming down Marc, rubbing soothing shapes onto his back. “… I forgive you, I forgive you.” 

It hurts to see him like this, strong strong Marc, how he likes to appear to you and to others, and yet from one nightmare, he breaks down like hardened clay. “You were just a little boy, you hear me? None of it was your fault.” You coo at him, holding his face in your hands, your fingers palm off the tears dropping from his ducts. 

“I shouldn’t have.. shouldn’t have brought him to that cave..” 

“It’s not your fault, Marc. You were just a kid.” You whispered, still grasping onto him. He only shakes his head, breathing out as you feel his shoulders shudder by your chest. “Please don’t leave me..”

Your heart breaks from his words. “I.. I would never leave you, Marc.” 

“I love you too much to let you go.” A final nail to the coffin, you spit it out. You kiss the crown of his skull, and he burrows himself further unto you.

All of those words were all he wanted to hear from her, and you’re giving it to him so easily, as if he’s done no wrong. For once he does not hear her from your mouth, nor does he see his mother’s face on your worried face. He only sees you. 

His mind slurs from the grief, as if drugged from all the terrors clasping on him. And yet he does not think the same, that he deserves forgiveness, especially from you. He deserves punishment, Marc thinks, and it was as evident as his crimes.

The moonlight dies out, sinking away. He only cries and weeps, afraid that the same inky hands from his sleep will be coming to get him. To bring him back down to his mother’s wrath, away from your love unlike hers. 

Your own glossy eyes watching his trembling chest breathe in.. and out, leaving you with the broken pieces his own mother has laid for you to clean. 

[bidokja]

I so agree w that post where you described orv as a fever dream bc SAME. People are out there complaining abt their media like how "part x had bad pacing" "they ruined char x development" "bad writing" and then orv here is just??? Seemingly flawless?? Like all the characters and their developments are important and amazing, the concepts of like trauma (as you said)/other psychological topics are so well represented and there's literally a god given incredibly unique meta plot that hits u in all the right spots with all it's very unpredictable plot twists (at least fr me)

and the ending?? God the ending is what stories are supposed to do. it feels like a summation of everything up to that point and everything makes sense and your just there losing ur mind and dying bc every new thought u have hits u like a truck. It's like. the story of all time.

And tbh i think it's severely underrated, even amongt webtoons. Not to be a sore loser but if it was an anime or smn, i think it would have WAYY more hype than it has rn. Little to no large media I've consumed are as consistent as orv is. Like I genuinely think that this is just the beginning and that it has a long way to go in the next few years. I can't wait for the last ep of the live adaptation or whatever lol <3

LIIIIIIITERALLY THIS ORV IS SO GOOD ITS JUST TOO DAMN GOOD!!!

that being said!! i have Thoughts xhsjd

i'm on the fence about how i feel irt other adaptions of ORV, since ORV is best consumed as a web novel imo. the whole point of it, the biggest impact, is that you are Reading this Novel just like KDJ was at the very start of the series. his name itself means Reader. it's an important detail both for him individually and for ORV as a whole, thematically.

while i do like Seeing certain scenes illustrated, there is much about ORV that works best (or ONLY works) because it is a story of Words. still, i do like that it means we will keep getting more ORV content, and hopefully i will be pleasantly surprised by some well done adaptions down the road!

anyways yeah like. ORV is just so?? Well Done. Put Together (surprising given how messy it also is dksdjdkd). i can only think of...two or three complaints about ORV? and NONE of it is like...heavily consequential to what it is meant to convey, or even beyond personal taste of mine.

1) The inconsistent and sometimes inaccurate translations (which isn't the original writing's fault, plus i read it for free so i'm not about to lodge a formal complaint here or anything).

2) the lgbtphobia isn't a cute look i'll be real but it is unfortunately something i will choose to read past in cases where its not like, the point or focus imbedded into the media itself. it is not one of the take-aways or themes of the series.

3) in my opinion, there is actually a noticeable lack of various characters' interactions and developments, but this was likely done (mostly, though not fully) on purpose. i believe it's a writing decision fueled by the same Thing as their decision to have the novel be almost entirely in 1st person...and then slowly have more and more chapters where it's Not. it's about the impact, and what this lack of interaction/communication (and When it is most prominent) and what this viewpoint shift Convey thematically, qs well as the impact this has shown for the characters themselves at times. *points back at the ORV Is A PTSD Allegory thing*

[jjba-hell]

Fate and Fortune

I don’t know if this can be classified as Part 2.5 or Part 3... y’know let’s go with Part 3

Content warnings: pretty mild if not for the ominous feel, abandonment themes and some possible PTSD, nightmares and sleep paralysis (implied but not mentioned) and maybe some blood but not gore or violence.

So the big explanation I’m putting down for this one is that Vera holds the Wheel of Fortune as her stand- as I’ve said, my canon now, the one in canon do not exist ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ. I’ll probably elaborate on how it works later, for now- you’re getting breadcrumbs -w-

For the lovely @risottoneroo (please lemme know if I should cool it with the tagging lol (*´ω｀*)

Part 1

Part 2

1.4 K words

It had been a few months since the incident in the place Vera once called home. Sitting at a café, overlooking the river Nile, Avdol and Vera had just polished off a pot of tea together. It was somewhat a celebratory brunch, Muhammed Avdol had won custody over Vera Astbury- the big benefactor that was sponsoring her schooling abroad being what won the courts over in his favor.

“So, who is this oh so generous benefactor?” She asked as she brought the cup to her lips once more- hoping she was veiling her distaste at being shipped to a boarding school in the following months well enough behind polite banter. If this idea was Avdol’s or the benefactor’s idea, she was still unsure- but her reluctance remained.

“You’ll meet Mr Joestar as soon as he returns for business in England. You really don’t have to break your head about who he is until then. I’ll keep you updated.”

Avdol had a tendency to avoid speaking on the court processions for her custody. She’d been upset by both her families’ reluctance to take her in at her time of need, the bags she’d packed to be shipped to one them, standing in Avdol’s living room for one too many weeks. Until he cleared a room for her and asked her to unpack.

The smile tugged at the corner of her lips without her knowing. Avdol caught the gesture and calmly placed his cup of tea back in its saucer. “And now I wonder- what could have made my answer so amusing?”

Vera shrugged as she swirled the stray tea leaves around the bottom of her cup. “For a moment you sounded like my dad-“ her smile slid off her face as the tea leaves settled.

Divination by tea leaves was something she’d laughed at when Avdol first taught her about it but now- with all her readings, even the ones she did unintentionally as practice to get a feel for how much tea she needed to move the tea leaves around- all ended in the same black dog figure stalking the bottom edges of her cup.

To her, it felt as though she was plunged ankle deep into the tea in the bottom of the cup, as though the image mirroring her own grief and fear in the tea leaves would consume her as well.

A graceful brown hand stretched over the mouth of the cup, obstructing her view of the leaves.

“You know better than to read into your predictions now. You need to grieve first.”

Vera’s gaze met Avdol’s across the table, the concerned frown on his face enough to remind her that she wasn’t completely alone.

“Would you have me organise a psychologist at the boarding school for you?” He sighed as he withdrew his hand from her cup.

She chuckled and cringed at the same time. “I appreciate you looking out for me but I am not looking forward to leaving.”

“I know, Vera. But whatever or whoever was after you hopefully won’t leave Egypt for you. And… now don’t look at me like that. No matter how desperately you want revenge, you’re much too young to go out and look for that kind of trouble.”

Vera reverted her scowl to a smirk, she wasn’t going to fight him, the last thing she wanted was to seem ungrateful for what he was doing for her. “Watch out Avdol- if you let me get too far under your skin, I’ll give you grey hairs.”

His eyebrow shot up as he folded his hands into his robe sleeves- “You underestimate my tolerance, Vera. I know you jest most of the time, even if its just a way for you to cope.”

Vera’s words caught in her throat- the clever retort gone before she could give it some voice. With a clear of her throat she folded her hands on the table. “Perceptive. I’ll keep quite then, I know when I’m outwitted.”

“I thought so.” Avdol chuckled, signalling the waiter for the bill.

Living with Avdol had turned into an agreeable co-habitation, a bit of an adjustment for both of them but she felt safe under Avdol’s protection.

In terms of basic necessity she was well taken care of- physchologically she was still struggling.

To Vera, the development of her stand did the exact opposite to what she felt like it was supposed to do- or at least what Avdol had told her it would do. Instead of manifesting her own strength, she felt more vulnerable.

Avdol had shown his own stand to her once he realized she had some control over her own. Magician’s Red radiated an intense heat that felt like it would suffocate her if he left them out in the room too long. They were considerably larger and more opaque than her stand- intense glare matching their user’s.

“I call them Magician’s Red,” Avdol had explained. “You will find the name for your stand soon, I’m sure.” At the time she shrugged off her own ability as useless. She was just a bit more lucky whenever she hovered her stand’s extended hand over a dice. She couldn’t image her stand setting having any more power than that- the envy of seeing Magician’s Red starting the bonfire outside one evening making itself evident.

To Vera, her stand only hovered a few inches above the her bed’s edge, cross-legged like a cat watching her struggle to make her limbs move or violently jerk herself out of a nightmare. It only let her feel guilty as she playfully stole a win from Avdol in a game of cards. Only a few weeks later she realized her stand could do more than steal luck.

“Ahhh shit.”

Avdol’s head popped in around the corner at her cradling her bleeding palm over the kitchen sink.

“What happened.”

“I dropped the knife and caught it at the blade.”

Avdol cringed as he ducked back into the hallway. “I’m getting the first aid kit.”

She pulled the unplugged the water in the other sink and turned the water on to run over her wound.

Without warning her stand emerged and took hold of her hand out of the water.

The dial that replaced their wrists twisted as they hovered their palm over hers.

Obstructed for a moment, Vera couldn’t figure out what was going on until the blood drops in the sink disappeared. For a moment she thought the water had rinsed it away but as her stand’s hand moved away from hers the wound in her hand was gone. Not even a scab left in its place.

“Now THAT is a useful trick.” Avdol laughed as her stand de-materialized, Vera turning her hand in front of her in disbelief.

Time and Fortune moved in tandem to one another- at least that was what her stand had her believe. Like time marched beside the changing seasons of the world, time was tied to the Wheel of Fortune.

On her last day in Egypt, Vera sat across Muhammed on the rooftop of his home.

“I see you’ve gotten a good grip on summoning your stand.” He hummed at her stand hovering just over her right shoulder. “Their presence is strong, much less translucent than it used to be.”

Between them sat a tarot deck she had bought on a whim- it’s maker had gingerly opened the box and let her run her hands through the cards, it’s irredescent gold beauty captivating her.

“How much?” She said as she pulled her wallet from her bag.

It was her very own deck and now- with the cards already shuffled and placed face down between them for a reading, she was ready to start her first reading with them.

“Let’s hope there’s not a Death Card for this reading.” Avdol sighed.

She smiled, spreading the cards out onto the dealing mat. With her intent set, she picked two cards- a card that would represent what she had to leave behind and a card that would name her stand.

The first card was flipped and the smug smile on Avdol’s face was all she needed to see.

Six of Swords reversed- “the Resistence to transition.”

Her gaze shot up at the cocky bastard, Vera groaning in frustration. “Yeah yeah yeah, I need to stop fighting my relocation.”

In defiance she flipped the second card and to no surprise the Wheel of Fortune card looked back at her.

“I wish I could say I was surprised.” She sighed.

Avdol chuckler quietly, “So how do you refer to them in your mind?”

Vera shrugged as she put her cards back together. “I just keep calling them Fortune in my head.” Her gaze looked her own stand over- it wasn’t particularly impressive, looking like painted terracotta stacked in disks to make up a body not too different in shape from her own.

“Suits them.”

With a heavy sigh Avdol rose up and guided her down the stairs where her bags and the Speedwagon foundation security stood waiting for her.

She assumed her benefactor must have been a higher up within said foundation if he was going this far to make sure she got the boarding school safely.

Vera rolled her window down and peered up at Avdol, a bitter smile on her face as she sat in the car and he remained standing outside.

“Don’t call me and tell me you’re lonely, this was your idea.” She taunted.

He rolled his eyes and then folded his hands over his forearms.

“I was hesitant to tell you this before but I think its fair you know.” He started and the words that followed had Vera floored.

“You’re the first person I’ve ever met to survive a stand fever. Keep that in mind before you think you’re too weak to go on your own.”

Vera’s widened gaze couldn’t look away from his face, as if her next blink was going to make him disappear before her very eyes.

“You’re serious? The first?”

That same sadness returned to Avdol’s eyes, but a mismatched smile returned briefly as he straightened up once again and with a fold of his hands into his sleeves said: “Don’t let that information go to your head.”

Vera smiled back, watching the window roll up between them and Avdol become smaller in the rear windscreen.

“Oh, this talk is far from over Muhammed Avdol.”

[honeyfreckled]

The way u write for us big gurls has inspired me to start writing my own plu ssize!reader series!😊 it’s refreshing to see myself written in such honest ways💜I’m tired of only reading y/nwho is shy plus hates her body. Reading genuine fics for my size from u has been phenomenal for my confidence. Lol I haven’t even dated yet but even I can tell you are writing it realer than what I’ve seen. Keep it up babes and know you ARE making a difference. 💓

ahhh I’m soft tysm i try rlly hard to be truthful to my own experiences as a fat woman. I cant believe yr sayin i inspired you it makes my heart swell tbh i never thought I’d be someone who could inspire anyone. wow e wow wow. tbh i rlly appreciate u noticing my attempt at a diff approach. I got sick of stories w fat readers focused on self hatred. or where it was all ok bc “this girl is the right kinda thicc/curvy” tbh, I had to stop lookin at that stuff. i internalized it, it started affecting my sex life/relationships/triggered ptsd/promoted unhealthy thinking. 

lil advice to fat readers below pls excuse the rant eeep. 

tw: sex talk/porn talk

If I could give fat viewers advice (esp those who are new to dating, struggle w self love/fear of dating/sexual confidence) it'd be- stay particularly mindful what smut/p*rn/content u view. When I was a SW/SB so therefore NEEDED to have an incredibly strong sense of self worth/autonomy- I made it a point to join fat positivity and educated myself on “fat politics.” Surround myself irl/online w supportive, intelligent, talented fat artists who many times are also disabled POC lgbtq folks so we connect on multiple lvls. 

I made sure not to consume nsfw stuff that fetishized my body. In general-nothing that'd demean/degrade/dehumanize ppl like me, or marginalized ppl in general. Some things im gonna see, it’s unavoidable, like fat jokes that crop up in a show im into that usually never makes comments like that. seeing my body excluded when it comes to the kinda fat models plus size stores use. The pain in seeing no one like u in mainstream media or even in the fandom. But as u continue to avoid consuming any content (nsfw AND sfw) that partakes in fat shaming/stereotypes/stigmas/body hate- u begin to notice the impact it has on u. u have an increase in yr confidence bc u got away from that other shit. u know how to spot warning signs. ESPECIALLY IN THE BEDROOM. U know how to/aren’t afraid to ask for what u want, u aren’t as easily pushed around or made into a dirty little secret w basic dudes who’re too chicken abt their pals knowin they like a fat girl. not sayin it’ll be all perfect, but u know how to take less shit from bad partners. and good sex, that u know u were bomb at, gives u a glow and radiates into other parts of yr life. u can use it to reduce stress, alleviate pain, get a boost in confidence/mood, use it to connect w someone on a deeper lvl, good sex can change all kindsa shit for u lol. not to say it’s necessary bc ik for some folks it just aint for em. but still removing that kinda content i mentioned can help regardless if yr sexually active.

if u still wanna watch porn, switch over to indie stuff (not the same as what they call amateur and not on well known porn sites) if u wanna see more relatable bodies and sex acts u could more possibly recreate. Indie scene is filled w awesome actors, the work is more artistic/aesthetics, way more realistic than shitty p*rnhub/xtube/tumblr. Still not totally close to real life. but it has its moments. what most p*rn never shows- like seeing em not cut out when a fat trans actor had to stop to readjust and get more comfortable, that kinda realness helps inform those who’re fat but haven’t been intimate that it's totally normal if they cant do all the insane stunts that go on in smut/p*rn. 

srry to rant ig the point I’m making is, even if u have no experience but yr aware the fat nsfw content u view isn’t something u can relate to- still tread lightly in those waters. Our subconscious is more powerful than we know, we become inundated to unhealthy thinking patterns or beliefs. something even like the fact that it just plain isn’t sexually satisfying for most all fat bodies to approach sex the same way as shown time and time again. or when we do have sexual encounters we come away w shame or trauma bc our bodies didnt react how we were trained to believe they would/should.

anyway ik i talk a whole damn bunch, but If u ever have a question abt the logistics feel free to hmu too. i dont mind discussing it from my experience.

[eeyore101247]

Bruises and Written Hearts Part 2

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: 8 months have passed, and it has been the happiest 8 months of your life. But what happens when your past returns?

Soulmate AU: Anything written on self shows up on soulmate and get the same injuries as soulmate

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety and fear, with fluff and angst

2,832 words

Part 1!!!

Masterlist

Eight months had passed since you moved to London, and things were going well for you. Your dad helped you find a decent job working at a small cafe. You quickly fell in love with your job, getting to help make people’s day by giving them a smile and some coffee. Maybe not all the customers were nice, and some were just downright awful, but you pushed through anyways. It made you a bit of cash, which if you saved up long enough, you could get an apartment of your own with.

Your relationship with Tom was going great as well. You two had been dating for 6 months now and it was the best 6 months of your life. He had left a few months ago to go on a press tour, and he had asked if you could watch over Tessa in his apartment for him. You happily agreed, and your dad and Tom helped you get comfortable in the apartment before Tom had left for his press junket. It was a lonely few months, filled with Facetime calls and texts, but thankfully Tom was going to be home for a few days since one of their stops was in London.

You nervously fiddled with the hem of your sports shorts while you waited for him to come home, Tessa curled up on the couch beside you. His flight had landed not too long ago, and he had texted and let you know that he was on the way home and would arrive in around 15 minutes.

That was 15 minutes ago, and he was due to be home anytime soon. Mind racing with several thoughts, you took glances at the door, heart pounding in your ears. What if he found someone better? Not all soulmates were romantic soulmates. On rare occasions they ended up only friends or worse, enemies. You were already extremely unlucky, always stumbling and managing to bruise or scratch yourself near daily. With a nervous sigh, you ran your fingers through your hair, messing up what was left of the curls from working earlier in the day.

The soft click of the lock pulled your attention to the door, your heart racing in your chest once more. Tessa immediately jumped off the couch, paws padding on the hardwood as she ran to the door, tail wagging a mile a minute. You swallowed nervously, watching as the handle turned and the door pushed open. Tom soon stood in the doorway, a huge smile on his face as Tessa jumped on him, showering him with affection when he kneeled down to her height.

The sight put a smile on your face as you stood up, making your way over to the two. Tom straightened up as he saw you approaching, his smile growing even wider as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close.

“Welcome home Tom.” You said softly, leaving a kiss on his cheek. You felt his strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

“Thank you darling. It’s good to be home for a few days.” He said softly, nuzzling into your neck with a smile. A soft giggle passed your lips as he started peppering your neck in soft kisses, his lips warm against your skin. “Missed you so much.” He muttered against your skin, lips traveling across your jaw. You hummed softly, smile still present as you played with the small curls on the back of his neck.

“I missed you too Tommy.” You muttered softly, giggling as his nose bumped against yours. His soft lips brushed against your chapped ones, a smile on his face as his hands gently grabbed your waist. His lips pressed against yours in a gentle sweet kiss, your eyes fluttering shut as a soft hum left your lips. Your lips molded to his as his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into your skin.

“Mmm, Tommy, don’t you have an interview soon?” You mumbled against his lips, moaning as he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in. He tasted like salted peanuts, tongues dancing around each other. You tugged gently on his hair, earning a moan from him. You pulled away slowly, taking his lower lip between your teeth with a gentle tug.

“I do, but I wanna spend some time with my girl first.” He muttered, letting out a groan as you nipped at his lip again. You gently ran your fingers through his hair, placing a kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m okay with this plan.” You said softly, giggling as he swept you off your feet and carried you to the bedroom, kisses and giggles echoing through the apartment.

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

You smiled as you pushed open the door to your Dad’s home. Tom was gone for a few hours for interviews, having taken Tessa with him and leaving you some time to spend with your Dad. He had come over to visit when he had time, but that wasn’t often with the job he worked.

“Dad! I’m home for a few!” You holler out, shutting the door behind you and slipping your shoes off.

“In the living room pumpkin!” You heard your dad holler, a smile on your face as you made your way into the living room. You froze at the sight that greeted you, your heart dropping into the pit of your stomach. Your mother sat in the chair next to the couch, her legs crossed and arms resting against the chair. Your heart raced, the air being sucked from your lungs as you looked between her and your father.

“H-hi Mom.” You said quietly, feet rooted in place in the archway. She looked at you unamused, a spark of hate in her gaze.

“Hi Y/N.” She replied, voice flat and cold. She turned her attention back to your father, picking up the conversation they had been having. “Anyways, she’s coming back home with me.”

“No, she’s not. She is 23 years old and can make her own decisions. She has a job and a life here, unlike when she was living with you where she had to practically sneak out to avoid you beating the shit out of her.” Your father scowled, turning towards you and replacing it with a smile. “How are you honey? Did Tom’s flight go well?”

“Tom? Who the hell is Tom?”

“I’m alright Dad. Tom said his flight went smoothly and was rather relaxing. He’s currently doing some press for his new movie, but he said he would stop by to say hi later.” You replied, trying to keep your voice calm as you spoke. Your mother’s presence was causing fear to trickle its way through you, your palms slick with sweat. You tried to keep your focus on your father, but you couldn’t help but glance at your mother’s scowling face.

“Is this that boy you had been talking to? The one who wrote the heart?” She asked, a bitter tone to her voice. “If he’s a movie star, you aren’t going to last very long. You’re nothing compared to what he has at his fingertips.”

It was like a knife stabbing you through the heart, pain radiating through your chest and traveling through every bone in your body. You struggled to take a breath as her words only made your anxiety worse, threatening to consume you at any moment.

“Don’t listen to her. She hasn’t met him.” Your father said, glad that he noticed what her words had done. “Mary, I think you should leave. You’ve said your piece.”

“Fine, but I’ll be back tomorrow to take Y/N back home.” She huffed, grabbing her purse and making her way out of the home. Once the door shut, you collapsed, the wall breaking as tears streamed down your cheeks.

“H-how did she know I was here? W-why can’t she just leave me alone?” You cried, burying your face in your hands. You felt the warm embrace of your father as he kneeled beside you and took you in his arms.

“I don’t know pumpkin, but she can’t make you do something you don’t want to.” He said softly, fingers stroking through your hair. “Why don’t you stay with Tom tonight and go out with him tomorrow. She doesn’t know where he lives, so you’ll be safe.”

You nodded as you buried your face in his chest, your soft sobs muffled by his shirt.

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

You quietly sat in your dad’s home, blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you drank a cup of tea. You and your father had spent the time watching a movie, trying to get your mind off your mother’s words, but it didn’t work. She was right. Tom had so much better at his fingertips, and then there was you. Some average Nancy, nothing special or outstanding about you. Your father had tried to assure you you were special. That you were everything to Tom, that he could see it in the way he looked at you.

There was a knock on the front door, your heart racing in fear as your father got up to answer it. Faint voices traveled into the room, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying. You tried to focus back on the movie in front of you, but your thoughts continued down the same path as before. You felt he deserved so much better than you. You were nothing compared to the movie stars he could have.

Like Zendaya.

People shipped them together and talked about how perfect the two would be. She was the kind of partner he deserved, not some anxiety ridden PTSD suffering barista.

You jumped as a hand came to rest on your shoulder, having been too wrapped up in your thoughts to notice Tom and your dad enter the room.

“Hey, it’s gonna be ok, it’s gonna be alright. I won’t let her force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” Tom said softly as he cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears you didn’t know you were shedding. A whimper slipped out as you looked up at him, your chest heaving as the silent tears turned into sobs. Tom sat down beside you, his strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you into his chest.

“It’s gonna be alright baby girl. You’re safe. She can’t get you.” He whispered in your ear, breath warm against your skin, pleasant tingles erupting from it. You buried your face against him, aware that you were soaking the t-shirt he was wearing with your tears. You mumbled soft apologies for both ruining his shirt and for how horrible of a match you were for him, but he didn’t know that.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, baby girl.” He said softly, stroking his fingers through your hair. You heard your father whisper something to Tom, Tom giving a soft nod in response. Your father’s footsteps could be heard walking away, heading to another room.

“I’m such a horrible match for you. Y-you could have any number of gorgeous and amazing women, and you got stuck with me.” You sobbed softly, hands gripping at his shirt. His arms tightened around you, his hand rubbing gently up and down your back.

“You are the perfect match for me, angel.” He said softly, gently forcing you to look up at him. He wiped away your tears, looking down at you lovingly. “What your mother said is wrong. You are the only woman I want and will ever need.”

You let out a whimper, sniffling as you gently let go of his shirt. “A-are you sure? Y-you could have anyone. Soulmates aren’t always romantic soulmates.”

“I’m positive, darling.” He placed a gentle but sweet kiss against your lips, nose bumping against yours as he pulled away. “Ready to head home?”

You nodded silently, sniffling as Tom helped you up off the couch and out to his car, driving the two of you back to his apartment for a night in with takeout and Netflix.

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

You heard the soft chirping of birds, the sun’s rays warm against your skin as you slowly stirred awake. You let out a soft yawn, eyes opening slowly as Tom invaded your senses. His warm skin against yours, the faint scent of his cologne and deodorant still lingering in the air around him. You smiled as you heard his soft snores, carefully moving so you could get a better view, being careful you didn’t wake him. Your gaze traveled up along his defined jaw, smiling at the light dusting of pink along his cheeks. You adored his crooked nose, gaze moving over to his messy brow as you gently tried to smooth it out. You suppressed a giggle as Tom let out a soft sigh, his lips turning up into a smile.

“Morning love.” He said softly, his warm chocolate eyes meeting yours. You leaned up, gently pressing a kiss to his lips as your hand came down to caress his cheek.

“Morning Tommy.” You muttered against his lips, brushing your nose against his. “Did you sleep well?” You asked softly between kisses, earning a chuckle from Tom.

“Better than I have without you.” He muttered into the kisses, his lips pulled up into a smile. You let out a squeal as he rolled on top of you, pinning you between him and the bed. He started to pepper kisses all over your face, mumbling soft ‘I love yous’ as his lips traveled across your skin. He started to crawl down, his lips trailing down your neck and across your shoulder, causing you to squirm beneath him.

You were startled as a loud knocking echoed through the apartment, your heart racing in fear. Tom frowned as he rolled off, grabbing a pair of sweats and slipping them on over his boxers. You slid your legs out from under the sheets as Tom went and answered the door. The floor was cold under your feet, causing you to shiver as you grabbed one of Tom’s shirts and slipped it on. Quietly, you tiptoed down the hall, peeking around the corner to see who was at the door. You let out a breath of relief as you saw it was your dad, carrying a few boxes into the apartment. You stepped into the room, smiling as you moved over to Tom.

“Hey Dad, what are you doing?” You asked, watching as he set the boxes down. He let out a grunt as he straightened back up, rubbing his lower back. Tom walked out of the apartment, muttering an ‘I got it’ to your dad as he had started walking back out the door.

“Hey pumpkin. I’m moving some of your stuff over here to Tom’s apartment before your mom comes back to the house.” He said, giving you an apologetic smile. You gave a small nod, playing with the hem of the shirt. “We figured it would be safer for you to stay here than come home, since your mom doesn’t know where Tom lives.”

“Is Tom okay with it?” You asked, gently biting at your lower lip as your anxiety spiked. What if he didn’t want you to live with him? What if he didn’t want to go this fast?

“Of course I am darling. It was my idea.” Tom said as he walked back in with a few boxes, the bulging of his muscles causing your cheeks to turn a bright cherry red. He set them on top of the others, smiling as he turned around to look at you. “I want you to be safe.”

You gave him a small smile as your dad brought in what looked to be the last few boxes.

“Alright kiddos. I have to get going to work, but I hope you two enjoy your day. Love you pumpkin.” Your dad said as he came over and kissed your cheek, giving Tom a small nod before walking out and closing the door behind him.

“Love you too.” You called after him before turning your attention back to Tom. He pulled you into his arms, placing a kiss against your temple.

“I hope you don’t mind moving in with me and I’m sorry we didn’t ask you about it.” He said softly, smiling down at you as he held you close to his chest. You shook your head as you smiled up at him.

“I’m a bit upset that you guys didn’t talk to me about it, but at the moment, I’m happy that I don’t have to deal with her.” You said softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “For now, I want to continue what we started earlier.” You said with a smile, leaning up and pecking him on the lips. He let out a chuckle as he led you back to his bedroom, pulling you back into his bed for more morning cuddles before the two of you would have to get ready for the day.

AN: It’s here! Part 2 of Bruises and Written Hearts! I hope you all enjoyed this! It took me a while to write, but it’s finally here. If you want more, please let me know and maybe I’ll do a part 3! Who knows?

Thanks for reading!

~ LoLo *^-^*

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[starstruck-thirst]

She Wants Revenge

Part 1

Pariston Hill: These Things

Series title is after the band of the same name. This chapter is named after this song.

Follow up to the now Prologue ‘Something Old, Something New’

Warnings: PTSD, Sexual Edging, Bondage, Loss of time, Mental instability, Mental hospital mention, Thought of self harm (at very end)

“I’m home!” Pariston called into the large condo as he took off his shoes at the door.

You stiffened and quieted your breathing enough to hear him move throughout his home. He had a routine he liked to keep- not that he always did, he liked to keep you on your toes. He’d take off his shoes, leave any work he brought home in his office, pour a drink while he was there, enter the bedroom and take off his suit jacket, put it on the back of the chair that was across from the bed, and sit sipping his drink.

Today he did most of the same routine, only he was in his office much longer than you expected. And you shifted on the bed so that your legs were slightly more comfortable, but no amount of squirming could ease the pain in your limbs.

When Pariston entered his bedroom he already was without his suit jacket and he had something in both hands. He sat in the chair which granted him a perfect view of your body: laid out on the bed, arms folded over one another and tied above you to the headboard, legs tied to the headboard as well in a series of knots that kept them propped up. Other than a pair of pink, lacy panties you were naked. Well, unless you counted all of the ropes.

“Did you miss me?” Pariston asked. It was hard to see him over your own body, but you could just barely see him if you lifted your head a little.

“Yes.”

He took a sip of his drink, not looking all that convinced. “Hm. I’m not sure I believe you. My feelings are hurt.”

“I missed you so much,” you pleaded, shifting your hips.

“Good girl,” he praised. He revealed the other item he was holding to be a small remote. With a click a soft buzzing sound filled the room and you shivered as the wireless vibrator shook against your clit.

You couldn’t remember when he had put it there. Had it been there all day? Time had become hazy.

Pariston’s room was painted in eggshell and a mellow gold that made it feel open and inviting, but you had been in it too long. So, it just felt like a swirl of bright color as the sun lit it from the large windows. It was disorienting your sense of time since you weren’t sure when you had last slept.

“You’re distracted,” Pariston said in a voice that didn’t sound amused. “Do I need to try harder to keep your attention?” Another click made the vibrator enter into a pattern sequence. First the vibration was low, then it jumped to a higher level for a few seconds before lowering back down and staying low for quite sometime before going high once more.

You lifted your hips in surprise at the sudden increase in sensation, eyes blinking against your drifting thoughts that you couldn’t seem to grasp for more than a few seconds.

How many days had you been in this room?

Pariston stood up and came to the bedside to look down at you. It was easier to focus on him when he was next to you, no matter how tired your mind was.

A bead of water rolled down the outside of the glass, and he held it over your exposed stomach so the cold droplet splashed onto your skin. The cold made you squirm more as the vibrator continued its rhythm on your clit.

You barely noticed because of how much your mind was swimming, but Pariston wasn’t smiling. He was merely watching on with a half curious, half bored look. He reached out with the glass and ran the cold outside against your inner thigh and you bucked with a small groan. Your body felt hyper sensitive to every single touch.

The glass passed down your thigh, over your underwear and to your other thigh and you strained your arms in a feeble attempt to free yourself in a moment of horny insanity.

He took the glass back and sipped it as he walked away from the bed towards the door. “W-wait! Pariston, where are you going?” you asked, wishing desperately you could close your legs to push the vibrator against your body more directly.

“I’ll be back. Don’t even think about orgasming before I return,” he responded with a tone of complete seriousness.

Another click of the remote before he left dropped the toy back into a constant, low, and slow vibration. Even if he hadn’t ordered you to not cum, you never would be able to off of that low frequency. But the constant movement kept your body on high alert, unable to calm down and recover from the feelings of arousal.

You groaned as you tried once more to move your hips in some way that could help, but your limited movement was made it useless.

The door to the bedroom opened and the vibrator stopped, which together woke you up from a half sleep you had drifted into after waiting for Pariston for an hour. Or so you thought, but a look around the room gave away that it had to be much later since the sun had completely set. How long had you been conscious and waiting? How long had you been asleep?

Pariston was on the bed now, rubbing your leg with his big strong hands. He worked slowly from the thigh down to the ankle, being sure that the blood flow was going smoothly. His warm hands moved from one leg to the next, repeating his methodical message. And even though it was to keep your legs alive and as healthy as possible, just his touch made you wet again. Need and desire was all that coursed through your veins as you mumbled to him, “Pariston, please. Please touch me more.”

Usually he loved to goad you. Call you names and tease you, but he wasn’t now. He didn’t say anything as he untied the rope of one leg from the head board and moved it to the post at the end of the bed. Just as slowly and thoughtfully he did the same to the other leg.

You could actively feel yourself go mad, trying to brush against him as much as you could with your legs and he caught it with a hand. “My my. You really have become a dirty slut, haven’t you?” he asked as he slid the hand over your inner thigh and brushed against your pussy with two fingers. “You’re already wet and I have barely touched you.”

A whimper and a nod was all you could muster and Pariston slid his fingers under the pink fabric to rub your skin directly. You moaned and lifted your hips to push them deeper, wanting him to just fuck you already. Fingers, cock, mouth, anything. You had been on edge for so long.

Pariston slid one finger under the vibrator to touch your clit directly and you cried out in pleasure. Even two solid rubs had you almost coming, but he knew and took his hand back immediately.

You hated this teasing. It was consuming you and possibly driving you literally crazy. “God,” you groaned as he looked down at you, “Fuck me. Please fuck me. I’ll do anything you want me to do.”

Now finally a small smile slid onto his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned over you and brushed his lips over yours so softly it was almost like he hadn’t touched you at all. “No.”

He stood up from the bed and walked towards his closet as he began undressing and you watched with hungry eyes. What you wouldn’t give for him to let you finally orgasm. You had meant it when you said anything. Mentally you were lost and you just needed a tiny piece of anything to come back from that mental break.

If only you could actually sleep, or finally cum. Something to help you regain some ground.

A wet slick sensation on your pussy made you startle. You could see Pariston’s golden hair below you and you realized he was licking you very carefully. A flick of his tongue against your opening had woken you, but he slid his tongue up your clit and then around your labia in a slow movement meant to just drag out the pain.

The room was getting brighter again. Morning light?

There was a taste in your mouth of something sweet, maybe fruit. Had you eaten?

Your arms were now tied to your torso and they still felt like they had mobility. But how could he have done that without your noticing?

“Pariston,” you gasped as he licked you again and you could feel your thighs start to tense, you were getting close to an actual orgasm.

And just before you were finally there at long last, he pulled back and you couldn’t help but to scream. “Pariston, please! I can’t take this any more!”

In vain you hoped the feeling of the cold air on your wet pussy would be enough to send you over that ledge and into some kind of ending. But that would have been too fortunate.

“You can’t? But you’ve been doing so well for the past three days. Don’t you think you can hold out for me just a little longer?” his hand brushed your forehead clear of stray hair before he kissed your forehead.

It took your exhausted mind some time to realize what he had said. “Three days? I’ve… been like this for three entire days?”

“Don’t you remember? Don’t worry you called into work sick. No one knows why you’re really out. Well, no one but me,” he muttered as he kissed your lips before standing up from the bed and going to get dressed. He had been naked save for his boxers and you hadn’t thought fast enough to see if he was hard under the loose shorts.

You took a deep breath staring up at the bed canopy trying to think. What did you need to do or say to get Pariston to finally release you from this hell? Had you upset him? You couldn’t remember.

“Come on… Don’t you want to fuck me?” you asked him, hoping to appeal to his needs to finally be free yourself.

“We can’t all be out sick from work,” he teased opening the bedroom door, fully dressed in a blue suit. But he had just headed towards the closet and his morning routine was long and very specific. Had you lost more time again?

“Don’t worry, I’ll be home after work,” he smiled big this time, the large and too friendly smile he used when he was playing an especially fun game.

You cried out his name as the bedroom door shut but he left all the same.

Somewhere in the condo a clock ticked slowly, and you watched the shadows in Pariston’s room move slowly around his room. You were left completely alone with your thoughts. Had you really been here three days? Had you eaten? Had you showered? Pariston didn’t like you to be dirty so surely you had.

Turning your head you could smell your hair and it smelled nice. Floral but not overly so. It confirmed you had indeed been bathed somehow. But you didn’t remember it.

You blinked, and your face was in the bed, hands tied individually to the headboard, hips in the air, and possibly a spreader bar on your ankles. The way your hands were tied gave them some ability to move and you put them to the bed to try and push yourself off the mattress.

“Don’t move.”

You froze and looked around what of the room you could see. It took several seconds to realize Pariston was in his usual chair, positioned perfectly behind you so that he could see your ass and pussy completely open to him. It was hard to tell for certain, but you were pretty sure you were completely naked still.

“Do you think you’ve been good for me?”

“Y-Yes.” Your answer was somewhat muffled from being half buried in the mattress.

Pariston’s hand ran along one of your ass cheeks and your body trembled in need- and a bit of fear. He had just been sitting in his chair and now he was close enough to touch you. “I’m not so sure,” he said. Quickly he spanked you hard and you cried out. “You keep questioning me. Do you not trust me?”

You licked your lower lip, reveling in the pain. “Of course I trust you, Pariston.”

“Will you be a good girl for me?”

“Yes!”

He spanked you again, even harder this time and you managed to bite back the cry. “I don’t believe you.”

Before you could reply he hit you again and you almost screamed from how hard his hand hand come down on your flesh. “I trust you! I love you! I’ll be a good girl for you! I love you so much, Pariston!” You were crying from how much you were trying to convince him, tears flowing down your face into the sheets and making the side of your face uncomfortably wet.

Finally, you felt Pariston’s cock enter into you. A wave of relief washed over you, even the pain from moments before seemed less as he slid into you but stopped half way and you wiggled in frustration. He slapped your other cheek and you stopped wiggling. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked in a frustrated tone.

You shook your head and mumbled, “No.”

He pulled out and you had to bite your lip to not start begging again or attempting to move your body. But spite your attempt to be good you felt the bed move as he left you alone on it again and you heard the door to the bathroom shut. Shortly after the water turned on.

You cried harder into the bed, sobbing as your bottom stung and your knees shook with the effort to hold your position.

When would this end? When would he finally be done toying with you?

Slowly you opened your eyes, feeling like for once you had actually woken up from rest and not a fever dream. The bed under you was uncomfortable and you sat up with your heart hammering in your chest as you quickly realized you didn’t recognize the room you were in. The plain white walls were nothing like Pariston’s eggshell and gold. Standing the stiff gown you were wearing moved around your body and you felt itchy. As you gripped your hand to your arm you noticed something on your wrist.

Strapped securely was a hospital band. It had your name and a number on it printed clearly. Anxiety crashed into you like a tsunami as you looked around the room in a panic. Bare white walls, two simple beds, no extra things in the room that weren’t needed for sleeping, the door leading into the room as flush to the wall and there was only one small window in it.

The reality of your situation made you sick and you fell to your knees, hand firmly over you mouth as you held back the desire to vomit. The asylum was coming to life around you as you cried again. This time you were quiet, pushing your eyes into your hands as you sobbed.

A mental break from too much work, you were told. They had found you in your apartment half crazy after your caring boss had called in for a welfare check. A week of not being at work was enough to make him be concerned since you were usually so dedicated and punctual. You could have hurt yourself if he hadn’t helped you.

What a good boss.

The taste of the alcohol helped you slip back into the current moment as you sat in your apartment remembering the last time you had seen Pariston Hill before today. You had moved to avoid his gaze, changed your number, and you even had changed your hair. But today at the art gallery he proved none of that mattered.

You should have left the city. Maybe even the country.

Another sip of alcohol and you were back in present day entirely. You weren’t in his room tied up for days or in the mental asylum trying to convince the people around you that you weren’t crazy.

You were in your small apartment, drinking alone, nursing your wounded hand, and thinking about how much further you could run.

Remembering everything that had happened to you made you depressed, the hope you had worked so hard to build was crashing down around you. Maybe it would be better to die than to continue to live like this.

You looked up to the kitchen island where your knife block sat.

Draining the glass you stood up and went to it.

The chopping knife was still sharp from when you had done maintenance on all of your knives before the incident. You hadn’t had the energy to cook much after everything had happened. As you drew it out you could see how sharp the blade was as it glimmered.

It would be so easy.

“What am I doing?” you asked aloud as you dropped the knife to the counter with a loud clatter.

Putting a hand to your forehead you cursed and turned around throwing the empty glass against the far wall. It shattered into a million pieces with a crash that felt loud enough to wake the world. The dark and cold depression slipped off as a burning rage over took you.

He had broken you. Kept you locked away for days as he completely ruined you. Your life was in shambles.

And now you were thinking about giving up? Letting him truly win?

No.

You went to the window that looked out into the darkened street, your reflection barely visible in the cold surface.

This time was going to be different. You were a hunter too, and it was time that Pariston Hill knew what it felt like to be prey.

[mariebenz]

Study Results Show How to Help Vets with Signature Injury of Recent Wars

MedicalResearch.com Interview with:

Dr. Mahncke Henry Mahncke, PhD Chief Executive Officer Posit Science Dr. Mahncke earned his PhD at UCSF in the lab where lifelong brain plasticity as discovered. At the request of his academic mentor, he currently leads a global team of more than 400 brain scientists engaged in designing, testing, refining, and validating the computerized brain exercises found in the BrainHQ app from Posit Science, where he serves as CEO. This week, MedicalResearch.com interviews Dr. Mahncke about a new study, with breakthrough results for service members and Veterans grappling with the signature injury of recent wars. MedicalResearch.com: What makes this study newsworthy? Response: As the last troops come home from Afghanistan, the battle is not over for many who served and continue to grapple with the signature injury of recent conflicts — mild Traumatic Brain Injury (or mTBI). Typically, such injures were caused by blasts or concussions, and they’ve been diagnosed in more than 300,000 service members. Most recover within a couple days or weeks, but for many — some estimate fifteen percent — physical, psychological, emotional, and cognitive problems persist for years. Such injuries often go untreated, because treatments focus on in-person, customized, cognitive rehabilitation, which can be helpful, but is costly, time-consuming, requires travel for treatment, and relies on the craft and expertise of the healthcare provider. Up until now, there’s been no effective intervention that’s highly-scalable and that can be delivered remotely. This study showed that remotely-administered BrainHQ computerized exercises improved overall cognitive performance in a population with very persistent cognitive issues. On average, patients in this study had cognitive issues for more than seven years. That means we finally have a tool shown effective in a gold-standard study that practitioners can employ in treating this large and underserved population, who sacrificed so much to serve our nation. MedicalResearch.com: Who funded and ran the study? How was it designed?

Response: The US Department of Defense funded the BRAVE study with a research grant from the Congressionally Directed Medical Research Program to examine the use of a brain-plasticity-based cognitive training program (BrainHQ) as an intervention for service members and Veterans suffering from cognitive impairment following mTBI. The study was conducted through a nationwide network of five military and Veterans’ medical centers (NICoE/Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda; Schofield Barracks/Tripler Army Medical Center in Honolulu; Baylor/Michael E. DeBakey VA Medical Center in Houston; Yale/VA Connecticut Healthcare System in West Haven; and Harvard/VA Boston Healthcare System in Boston); with Posit Science in San Francisco serving as the study coordination center. In terms of design, this was a multi-year, multi-site, prospective, parallel-armed, double-blinded, randomized controlled trial, with an active control group. It’s a gold-standard design. BRAVE enrolled 83 participants with a history of mTBI and diagnosed with cognitive impairment, and randomized subjects into a treatment group (BrainHQ) and an active control group (computer games). Both activities were plausibly expected to have some positive impact due to their demands on cognitive realms, such as attention, memory, and reasoning. Each group self-administered training in their own homes, with telephone supervision from trained coaches, and were asked to train for one hour per day, five days per week, for twelve weeks. Comprehensive cognitive assessments were performed before training, after training, and after a twelve-week, no-training, follow-up period. MedicalResearch.com: Who was in the study? Response: Participants had an average age of 33 years and were 81% male. Before training, they showed meaningful cognitive impairment, testing about 2 standard deviations below normal scores on the ANAM (a standardized cognitive test used by the military to screen for cognitive impairment). Typically, they had been deployed to combat areas and, on average, had their most recent mTBI more than seven years earlier. Across a standardized set of emotional and psychological health measures (including depressive symptoms, PTSD symptoms, and cognitive symptoms), participants scored in the mild-moderate impairment range. On the whole, these participants were representative of service members with a history of mTBI who seek treatment for their cognitive issues so they can re-integrate with, and contribute to, society. MedicalResearch.com: What did the study show?

Response: The BrainHQ group had a statistically and clinically significant improvement on overall cognitive function compared to the computer games group, and this benefit persisted for at least twelve weeks after training ended. Cognitive function improvements were nearly four times larger in the BrainHQ group than the computer games group, as measured immediately following training, and nearly five times larger when measured again 12 weeks later (with no further training). Twice the percentage in the BrainHQ group showed reliable improvements compared to the computer games group – with 77% in the intervention group experiencing clinically significant change compared to 38% in the active control; and with 37% in the intervention group experiencing a full standard deviation of change compared to 18% in the active control. On average, participants in the BrainHQ group improved on the cognitive performance composite measure by 24 percentile ranks – as though they went from the 50th percentile to the 74th percentile. While results on the primary cognitive measure were significant, analysis of functional and self-report measures did not show significant between group differences. However, on many measures both groups showed improvement, suggesting general benefits of cognitive engagement and study inclusion. MedicalResearch.com: What are the implications?  Response: Treatment of mTBI is complex, and patients typically manifest distinctive sets of physical, mental, emotional and cognitive symptoms that require individualized courses of treatment. This trial provides significant evidence that this specific form of self-administered brain-plasticity-based cognitive training can be incorporated as part of an evidence-based treatment plan to improve cognitive function in people with cognitive symptoms following mTBI. This is the first broadly-applicable and highly-scalable approach in mTBI shown effective in a randomized controlled trial. This is the first such approach applicable even in remote location – meaning that trained clinicians who currently can only see patients in-person once or twice a week can extend their reach and supervise patients over the internet doing daily brain training anywhere in country – or in the world. This means that any service member or Veteran in need of help could have the opportunity to receive evidence-based treatment, remotely supervised by a trained clinician. MedicalResearch.com: When will this be widely available as a treatment for service members with mTBI?

Response: BrainHQ has been used in dozens of military and Veterans’ facilities for cognitive rehabilitation, under the supervision of healthcare professionals; however, that has not made it broadly available to service members and Veterans. With the publication of these results, Posit Science, the maker of BrainHQ, has indicated it intends to work with clinicians, payors, and regulators to make this widely available, as quickly as possible. MedicalResearch.com: What was most surprising about the study? Response: I suppose for many practitioners and policymakers it will be a surprise that these brain exercises can drive this kind of change — even when administered remotely. To me — and probably to the relatively modest number of scientists closely following studies of BrainHQ — these results were not surprising. After all, a very convincing case (based on prior studies) had to be made to win the highly competitive CDMRP grant that funded the study. Back then, there were dozens of peer-reviewed studies of BrainHQ; now, there are hundreds. Even though it is well known among brain scientists that running a study among brain-injured patients can be challenging and time-consuming, I was somewhat surprised how long it took to complete this study. However, I suppose what is most surprising to me — after spending years and millions of dollars to get to this result, which addresses a large unmet need of our military and Veteran is t — is that an even longer, steeper road lies ahead in getting this evidence-based solution into the hands of those it can help. I very much welcome the support we seem to be getting from policymakers, since the announcement of the results, and am resolute in my resolve to work with like-minded supporters of our troops to make this widely available. Citation: Henry W Mahncke, Joseph DeGutis, Harvey Levin, Mary R Newsome, Morris D Bell, Chad Grills, Louis M French, Katherine W Sullivan, Sarah-Jane Kim, Annika Rose, Catherine Stasio, Michael M Merzenich, A randomized clinical trial of plasticity-based cognitive training in mild traumatic brain injury, Brain, 2021;, awab202, https://doi.org/10.1093/brain/awab202 The information on MedicalResearch.com is provided for educational purposes only, and is in no way intended to diagnose, cure, or treat any medical or other condition. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health and ask your doctor any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. In addition to all other limitations and disclaimers in this agreement, service provider and its third party providers disclaim any liability or loss in connection with the content provided on this website. Read the full article

[mariska]

i wanna talk about music!! and trauma. and how beautiful i think it is that it can be such an accessible form of therapy (not a replacement for it obviously, but one form of it, definitely!) for both the person/people making it and the people listening!! because music is a special interest of mine and i just wanna make a big ol' rant post about it!

my music teacher used to be a professionally practicing music therapist, and she shares stories w/ me every once in a while about how she used to help people work through their trauma by learning how to play instruments and perform songs. and it really is healing, especially when you're learning from someone with a mindset like that. writing songs is, in my opinion, very similar to releasing emotions and thoughts by writing a poem. it's such a positive way to get your thoughts out because even if you never share it with someone, you've put those thoughts down on paper (or, like, virtual paper, if u write songs/poems in ur phone notes like me lol) and taken a step towards accepting it and letting even a little bit of it leave your brain for a while.

as someone who has been dealing with ptsd for a large portion of my young life, and who will continue to deal with parts of it for the rest of my life, i know how important it is to accept your trauma as real and accept that it happened to you, but also to accept that its okay to try and heal from it. you don't have to internalize it and rage and fall apart every day because that's the only way you know how to deal with those intense feelings surrounding your trauma. and a huge symptom of ptsd is that it unfortunately does shape you and your experiences/reactions to life experiences, especially if you experienced your trauma during your formative years as a child/teen, and so it's very scary to try and face the concept of healing, because that means that you're changing a part of yourself that you've grown very used to and that has, in your mind, helped you survive. but there does have to be a point where you 1.) accept that your trauma happened and that it happened to you 2.) realize that it wasn't your fault, regardless of whatever other people may have tried to convince you 3.) heal. and that part is so, so difficult.

and that brings me back to music, and music therapy, and how healing from trauma can come in so many different positive forms and ways of coping. i was 16 when i started seeing my music teacher for lessons, originally for guitar but eventually also singing and piano (i am 23 now). my trauma was still very fresh, because a lot of it (not all of it, but a lot of it) stemmed from my middle school + very brief high school years from 11-14. and my medical trauma was still on-going, as i started experiencing severe physical health problems when i was 15. music has always been an extremely positive and healing force in my life but that was the time where it really started being especially meaningful for me and my own personal healing process. i started discovering what my personal music taste was like, and consuming as much of it as i could, and made a new hobby out of collecting cheap, old, used records and sitting on my bed listening to them all day. and when u listen to a lot of music all day every day u start really paying attention to lyrics and the meanings of the songs u are consuming.

i started writing songs (seriously, at least; i used to write silly songs as a kid with friends lol) around that time, and it was genuinely surprising to me how healing and helpful it felt to write down my thoughts, no matter how abstract they may have ended up sounding, in the form of a song that i could add some guitar strums to and sing about. the beauty of writing songs and making music is that the only person that it has to make any kind of sense to is yourself, and even then, you can just write whatever comes to mind and figure out a way to put a tune to it. songs can be angry, they can be loud, and ugly, and resentful and unforgiving. and they can be soft, and tender, and loving, and full of nothing but understanding and forgiveness. you can write a song thats incredibly personal and very obviously told from you and your perspective, or you can make a story out of an album's worth of material and tell that story through characters that have nothing to do with you and your personal experiences.

anyways, there's not really a point to this post, except that maybe more people should give writing songs and/or poems a try some time. but i was just thinking about working through trauma in the form of a song because of a song by one of my favorite musical artists-- 'youth' by glass animals. i listened to the song a lot over the past few months but only just watched the music video for it a couple of days ago and it was really touching to me and i wasn't really sure why at first. i think a big part of it spoke to the nostalgic parts of my heart that miss seeing the world through a lens of childlike wonder. but then i learned about what the song was inspired by and it really changed the way i listen to it and watch the video; it was (apparently, feel free to correct me if im wrong) inspired by the song writer having a conversation with a woman about her son, and how 'something terrible had happened to/with him', and that drawing on her experiences with him was both sad for her, but also beautiful in that she could look back at the time they had spent together as being so happy and great, and that celebrating those happier times was like, part of that mourning process for her. and i just think that's a really beautiful and intense concept to create a song about.

[beinformedlivetransformed-blog]

What’s the cost...for others?

“And behold, a lawyer stood up to put him [Jesus] to the test, saying, “Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?” And he answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbour as yourself” And he said to him, “You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live.” But he, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbour?” (Luke 10:25-29, ESV)

And so, Jesus responds with the parable of the Good Samaritan. Jesus’ point? You can’t choose who your neighbour is, who you think you should love. There are no limits to how and who we love. Jesus’ use of the Samaritan as the helper/hero in the parable gives his response extra ‘sting’: If Jesus had said that a Jewish leader helped a Samaritan (someone who was hated by the Jews) in his parable, then it already would have provoked the question-asker’s assumptions and sense of self-righteousness, but the fact that he flips it, and it is the Samaritan who helps the Jew...well, Jesus is saying something very provocative indeed! Ultimately, the right response from the question-asker should be falling to his knees and asking for God’s mercy. This is what Jesus was trying to elicit from him. He needed to surrender his understanding of what it means to love God and neighbour (and Jesus’ point here is the two are synonymous in action) and ask God to change Him.

Why do I share this? I think this is ultimately the basis for many of our consumer decisions! Perhaps you have never thought about this as a direct response of obedience. Let me explain. Who is our neighbour, according to Jesus? Is it my family? Yes. Is it the person next door? Yes. Is it the rude driver this morning? yes. Is it the homeless man on the corner of my walk to work? Yes. Is it the person who stitched the label onto my t-shirt? Yes. You see, Jesus’ point has huge implications for us. I’ve heard Christians say, and even teach from the pulpit, that we need to first love our families well, then we can love those outside. Hmmm. Yes, and no. Firstly, yes, in the sense that how we love our families is important and shows our true character and shapes the character of those who share a household with (this is why God gives it as a command in the Ten Commandments - the family is the bedrock of how society functions). Secondly, no, in the sense that, Jesus himself points us to see who is our family differently: Mark 3:21-35. In a similar stream of thought to His provocative parable in Luke 10, the Good Samaritan, Jesus challenges us to see that there should be no favouritism in how we prioritise people. Practically, that looks different for everyone, yes, because of different needs, but our motivations would reveal our hearts. If we give our biological families time and thought above others, those in our spiritual family as well as neighbours (and that means not just my immediate, “liked” neighbours, but also those who make my clothes and I know nothing about), then have we understood the new order of God’s kingdom, and live by it? (I’ll explore what this means for our hospitality in another post and what that looks like for our household.)

It does seem overwhelming, but again it is by the grace of God we are part of His family, His kingdom. We don’t have to earn our way in. But, as His kingdom people, we are hopefully growing in being His people. 

One area I want to focus on, in this post, is how this looks in terms of loving those we have not met and will possibly never meet, at least on this side of the new creation. The impact we have on them, however, is great - we determine their livelihoods, their health, their children’s education and welfare, their opportunity to flourish. In another post, I’ll talk about how giving should reflect this love for neighbours unknown. But here, in particular, I want to bring attention to how spending should reflect this love for neighbours unknown. 

One does not have to do much research to realise the exploitation and abuse of others in producing the common, everyday items in our homes, clothes in our wardrobes, food in our fridges and pantries, skin care products in our bathrooms. So a question that I now ask before I purchase anything: “Wow, okay, this is good for me (cost-wise, or specificity-wise, etc.) but what is the cost for others?” Some examples:

1. Mobile phones: Almost all phones run on lithium batteries which contain cobalt. Cobalt is mined in places like the Congo by children as young as seven, in very dangerous situations. It literally costs the lives of others, especially the most vulnerable. If we are loving neighbours as ourselves, would we love ourselves, our children this way? (You can read about it here: https://www.mining.com/web/new-cnn-investigation-finds-children-mining-cobalt-congo/; https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2016/01/Child-labour-behind-smart-phone-and-electric-car-batteries/) 

What can I do? If you already have a phone, look after it, don’t upgrade every chance you can. Try to get it repaired. If it can no longer be repaired, look for brands/phones that have higher ethical standards in how they source their parts. There is a Swedish company that creates a very ethical phone (https://www.fairphone.com/en/our-goals/). The cost is high...for us. The phone is over $1000 (though apparently people are willing to pay such prices for the latest iPhone model), but they’ve created it so that its various parts can be replaced. You can even construct it from scratch according to your specifications. The cost might be high for us, but perhaps that is what you can pay to love another well.

2. Jeans: Distressed jeans are in fashion but did you know that the sand blasting process required to get them to look and be the way they are is very dangerous for the workers? Can cause partial blindness. Also, the resources required to manufacture jeans requires huge amounts of water. 

What can I do? You’ll see the pattern start to emerge: if you already have jeans, look after them, don’t always get more and more pairs. Do you really need more? Get them repaired rather than throw the whole pair out if somewhere starts to wear thin. After all, we all love jeans the older they get. Buy second hand! Don’t just attack the fast fashion shelves. We are so used to consuming seasonally (my summer wardrobe, my winter wardrobe, my 2018 wardrobe...you get what I mean) that we just have too many clothes and throw out what we could continue to use. But if you do need to buy, seek out ‘slow fashion’ brands, like People Tree. (You can also type in the name of brands you buy or find and learn of their social and environmental impact: https://www.ethical.org.au/) Why are they so expensive!?” you might be thinking. That’s because we’re so used to paying unjustly little for our clothes that we don’t understand the real value that it costs and should cost in paying those who labour to make them to sustain their lives with dignity. Would you like to be paid 62 cents an hour to make jeans for greedy minority worlders (this is the average that corporations like Target, Big W and Myer pay to workers in Bangladesh)? You can also sign a petition and write to our clothing companies pressuring them to raise the wages they pay: https://actions.oxfam.org/australia/

3. Meat: There is much that can be said theologically and ecologically about how our meat is processed, and the welfare of the animals in the industry, but here I want to focus on our workers. Do you know someone personally who has worked in an abattoir (where they kill the animals and cut up meat)? I do. And I’ve also done some reading on the subject. The turnover of workers in this industry is extremely high. That’s why often they get, at least in Australia, those on temporary visas (e.g. working holiday) to do them. If you want to stay in the country, this is one way you can ensure that. But no one lasts very long. And studies have been done that show that those who leave have symptoms akin to PTSD. The way these workers are forced to treat the animals, the heavy lifting of carcasses, the long hours...all highlight what is wrong with this industry. 

What can I do? This is a hard one, but easier than you think once you start. Food is such a habitual part of our lives. If we have grown up eating meat at every meal, it is hard to imagine what we would do instead. It is hard to change such ingrained habits. But I think it starts with consuming less meat. Perhaps once a day, and then aim for once a week. “What about my iron?” you might ask. There is a great myth that there is no better way to get iron than through red meat. Check out the chart here on the amount of iron you can get from plant based food: http://www.nutritionaustralia.org/national/resource/iron. As you can see, it’s very comparable. In fact, beans and lentils have higher concentrations of iron per gram than meat. If you do consume meat, consider paying more - buy from directly from farmers who kill their own animals and sell their animals whole to butchers, like Feather and Bone (https://featherandbone.com.au/). It might cost you more (financially, seeking out places), but it loves your neighbour. You can also find out more about where and how to buy ethical meats and food generally here: https://foodprint.org/

4. Beauty products (soap, liquid washes, face, hand, body creams, make-up): This is often an area that we don’t give much thought to, but this complicated industry exploits and abuses people and animals. Let’s take L’Oreal as our example. Again, you don’t have to do too many Google searches to find out what this company does in the process of making their products. They pay very low wages to workers in particular places of manufacture, they are known for cruel animal testing practices (it is again not difficult to find images and footages of what this involves), even though they claim to source palm oil responsibly, that has not been the case (you might know the devastation that the palm oil industry leaves for communities and wildlife). 

What can I do? The beauty of this industry is the amount of alternatives that are available to us. There are brands which are very easy to find on supermarket selves, like Thank You and Biore. But there are also many franchises like Lush which you can find easily in many big shopping centres. There are also online alternatives that you can find on https://www.biome.com.au/ or https://www.floraandfauna.com.au/. What I love about these products is they are made with natural things! The only reason brands test on animals is because they are using harmful chemicals! There is also the bonus that they provide reusable containers or don’t wrap their products in plastic that can’t be reused. Again, sometimes (and actually not always, given what big brands charge for their beauty products) they cost more from us (time and money) but do our choices and decisions in all areas of life reflect our love for God and neighbour, our reverence for Him as our Creator and the Creator of other people and living things? An indecision (or lack of change given what we know) is also a decision.

I want to end with Colossians 3: “If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God...Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry. On account of these the wrath of God is coming...[you] have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge after the image of its creator.” What does it mean to “seek the things that are above”? Paul spells out that it means to put to death what is “earthly”. This does not mean “stop caring about the physical”. Again, Paul spells it out. It means put to death “sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry”. Is not our desire for things that come cheap to us, or things that are unnecessary a symptom of evil desire and covetousness? We got to have it because...well, everyone else wants it (covets it) or has it! We are called to live consistent with the new self which we “have put on”. And what is this new self? The one that is being “renewed in knowledge after the image of its creator”. What does it look like for you to put on what you have grown to know about the image of your creator today in your consumption choices?

For us, we have sought to only buy when there is need, and to try and follow the “buyerarchy of needs” when we have determined a need that cannot easily be met by the choices preceding “buy”. It’s not always easy, but most of the time, it actually is, when we’re not trying to compete with the pace and desires of our world.

[mister-maiden]

Layers of Fear: I Wish I Could Paint Like That...

You've walked through countless hallways of revolting images that were simply unexplainable to describe. As you walk through the next door, you come across yet another room, this time with a painting easel and blank portrait in the center. Windows line the right wall as well as beautiful decor of aristocratic color. Closed cabinets lay in the back right corner while several drawers lay dormant in the far center. To your left lay beautiful portraits of women and children...all smiling with the most haunting of guises, their eyes following every movement. You make your way to the front of the easel and notice the paper now had small blots of red paint in the center, a brush with crimson dripping off the bristles lay on the table to your left. Without thinking, you take your instrument, and begin your downwards spiral into madness as you paint your magnum opus of insanity while the room slowly fades to nothingness.This is Layers of Fear. Developed by Bloober Team.

You step in the shoes of an unnamed painter only known as The Artist. You are renowned as an amazing artist who has stolen the heart of a beautiful musician. Together, you began a family and had a little girl. With an enormous fortune, you purchased an incredible mansion and you lived as a happy family. Of course, happiness never lasts, and the darkness slowly consumes all as misfortune falls upon the house. Without spoiling anything, The Artist dives deep into his sub-conscious as he works on his magnum opus in his painting room. The story takes place within the shattered mind of The Artist as he works his way through reality bending horrors. It's the player's job to find and piece together everything that has happened within the time span between marrying The Musician and now. The question lingers of what has happened to force The Artist to see and hear such horror terrors of schizophrenia?

The visuals are amazing. Absolutely incredible. As a game that focuses entirely on the visuals and story, I can say without a doubt the images are by far what you play the game for. Horrific paintings can be seen lining the walls of every hallway. Blood seeps down from the ceiling as the sound of screams fill your ears. Everything simply becomes horrific because of the past trauma that follows The Artist through his life. Ups become downs, apples become rats that scurry at the touch, and more...Though this is also its downfall.

With only being able to rely on visuals, the game loses out on game play, sound, and story. Placing a boundary between what the player knows vs what has happen creates a strange parallel that makes me think no matter what I do, the trauma has already happened. What's the point of traveling through a broken mindscape and looking at what has happened vs looking at what I could possibly do? Horror is all about the illusion of choice, or facing something that is nigh unstoppable. It's the illusion of choice that forces us to realize something is coming and there's nothing we can do to stop it. For example, Alien Isolation has you run through a ship and attempt to escape an unstoppable alien with several obstacles...but what's the point if everything has happened already and there are no obstacles to go through? Which brings me to my next gripe.

The game isn't fun. It simply isn't. In Amnesia you have puzzles and running from a creature to occupy you. Even in Deadly Premonition you have story obstacles, objectives, and more. The game feels empty. All you do is walk. It's like a press W simulator and click to go through doors and check notes at times. I like games that give me a choice, or at least the illusion of choice. If I have no choices, what's the point of trying? I go into one room, wait for something to happen, go into the next room, repeat. It's a bleak outlook, but it consistently happens in every room which really draws its potential back. The ending changes based on what you looked at in regards of notes and doors, but since there is no real way to know that without looking at a wiki, it feels like it's fake. Visual wise, the game is absolutely beautiful. Game play? Not so much.

The story is pretty good and definitely something to have PTSD about. As you travel through the hallways of the broken home in your mind, you find notes and newspaper clippings scattered across the foundations that describe in pieces what has happened. To be honest, it can be a bit confusing since you can possibly miss a few notes here and there and miss out on what has happened; but, if you're persistent and constantly looking for the notes, you'll find that the story is laid rich with dreadful accidents and abuse.

I can't discuss most of this game in the beginning segment of my review because I try to wait discussing the story and spoilers until my discussion and experience section. Since this game is mostly story, it's impossible to talk about it without spoiling. If you wish to know more about the game, check out the discussion section.

7/10 Paintings. The visuals and story are absolutely stunning. You will be incredibly immersed and very enthralled by what happens on screen, but you may feel bored constantly being scared and having nothing else to do but press W to walk forward and press the mouse button. Since there was no actual game play but looking around, I give it a 6 out of 10. If the game had offered some other form of interaction with the surroundings, I would have absolutely loved the game, but I felt tired just walking through halls and seeing something that scared me. Sure it was spooky, but it was boring.

----------------------------------------------------Spoilers--------------------------------------------

My Experience/Discussion: I got this game for free since I owned Twitch Prime and it was given out as a gift. I didn't know what to expect as I made my way through the abandoned hallways and was half expectingly waiting for some form of evil to come at me which never happened. There was no physical manifestation of The Artist's feelings other than how twisted the world around him became. I went in completely blind and felt myself become bored in a few hours because of how lacking the game was in keeping my attention. The only thing I could hope for was getting a new type of scare as I opened each wooden door. I wasn't disappointed in the scares, but boy did I get tired and have to take breaks.

The story basically is about the loving couple and their child coming upon turmoil. The husband begins to become stressed from his work of constantly having to produce brand new paintings and having critics breathe down his neck. He spends more and more time in his painting room attempting to make even more beauty...but can only find himself creating crafts of blood and gore as his mind slowly begins to break from the stress. He begins to go on and on about rats and places them in his paintings. He calls exterminators constantly about the rats in his home but they can't find a single one after their first few visits, so I believe the rats are in his head and are the first sign of his breaking psyche. As time goes on, it appears he has been very negligent to his child and wife and bought them a dog. As all dogs seem to have it rough in horror, the dog is neglected and muzzled after bothering The Artist one too many times. It is unknown if the dog survived...but I like to believe it's just in a better place than that hellhole of a house.

The Musician destroys the paintings of The Artist because she feels he is putting too much time into his art and no time into their family which only feeds into The Artist's breaking mind. With depression and schizophrenia forming, he begins drinking and finally abuses his wife and daughter. Both leave him...but a horrible accident occurs. Fire sparks embers which create chaos. The Musician is left scarred and burned from the fire and lay wheel-chair ridden. Her hands nearly unusable for music. I believe this fire is simply a ways of an end for her love. Her love was always within the music, but with this fire, she is left unable to play the melodies she so loved. The fire also left The Artist unable to truly love the Musician as her deformities prove too much for his shattered mind. He constantly says he loves her through small audio clips and notes, but it is obvious he is never going to be able to see her in the same light...And as the abuse became worse and worse from The Artist trying to deny his own feelings...The Musician committed suicide by cutting her wrists, thus concreting The Artist's descent into insanity. You then later learn he began using her body parts for the paint of the magnum opus. The child is taken by child services, and you're left alone.

You learn the entire story through the notes and items strewn about your nightmare, and remnants of events are presented through the images on the walls and the house's shapes. It seems that notes being left around is becoming a strange staple in horror games. Personally, I have never met someone who writes notes and puts them in random places, but perhaps I'm looking too much into it.

Most areas are unique other than hallways that seem to repetitively appear. That's the one thing that I can remember clearly. When I entered a door, I was disappointed to be met with more normal halls when my senses were assaulted in the last room I was just in. I'm not saying level design was boring because there were many areas that were unique. I think I may just be complaining about the amount of times I went into a normal hallway just to go into another hallway and repeat the action. The areas themselves gives you hints at what has happened. Entering a white bathroom, you can see a knife with blood thrown in the sink, or you can see the affect of fire along the walls.

I think the game definitely nailed what they were going for. Showing the effects of schizophrenia and PTSD in a visual form of entertainment is very difficult and Bloober Team did an excellent job. I'm just disappointed at the lack of things to do. I don't want to just look through memories. I want to experience them! Make them my own. There should be a mixture of what I should know and what I don't, not simply going through what has already happened and not being able to change what happened.

At the end, you are met with your magnum opus which has three different forms.The bad ending: You reveal your grand painting and see it as your beautiful wife. Her gorgeous smile and eyes stare at you, and you let out a sigh of content...only to be shocked in horror as her beauty melts away into a face of burned deformity. You cringe in rage as you grab your painting and leave your room. Your beautiful mansion is torn to pieces, the lights extinguished, the floorboards coming apart. It seems you have been in your painting room for longer than anticipated. You rush to a room and shove your painting inside and see The Artist has been doing this for a long time. The room is completely filled with the exact same picture of his burned wife. He simply can't get over it. He goes back to the room, and begin once more, marveling in his madness.

Middle ending: The same as before, but you also include your daughter in the picture. As you drop the painting in the room with the rest, you light a match and start a fire, burning the portraits along with the home and yourself.

Good ending...?: You have drawn yourself! It seems you have finally broken out of your obsession with your wife and now shall be focused on your work! The camera pans out on the same portrait of yourself and we end with that...Yeah. I mean out of all three endings, this is probably the best one. Sure he's still an abuser, but at least he will be focused on his work?

The game did a fantastic job by showing the slow and gradual deformation of his mind as time goes on. It begins with a small haunting here, and ends with the entire screen going absolutely bonkers. I loved my experience with the game, but I feel as though it could have been different in SOME way.

[16woodsequ]

So.... a random rant for you~

What is your opinion on Falcon And The Winter Soldier? If you haven’t watched the whole series, you don’t need to answer this ask, as it contains a lot of spoilers-

Personally that shit was slow AF in the beginning, but when we finally started it was... W o w.

📢Spoiler 📢

And Sam as the new Cap?! JWHSJQHWIGWIWGIWHS When I first saw him in the full new suit, I just jumped up out of the couch and screamed YES over and over.

📢spoiler end 📢

It had its flaws, but hey! It all got sorted out at the end. Wait lemme check a thing- Yup we have some badass GIFs of Sam-my-buddy being badass and Zemo awkwardly dancing.

N i c e

Anyways,

📢Spoiler 📢

You know that scene when Sam lands with Karli’s body in his arms? My first thoughts were literally “ Captain Angel “.

Zemo was looking so god damn satisfied when he heard on the radio that his Butler ( right ? ) had blowed the hell out of the prison transport with the super soldiers. Of course I am feeling sad for them, but BOIIIII I SAW THAT SMIRK

📢spoiler end 📢

Sorry if this was super-duper long and weird, but I just wanna rant :)

Hi! Sorry this took me a million years to answer. It took me a few weeks to watch the last episode, and then I needed some time to get my thoughts together.

This is one of the first times I have been consuming Marvel content in real time, and being on tumblr for it, so it is a bit of a different experience for me!

I think as a whole I liked the show. It did have it's flaws, and some of the ways the writers handled things annoyed me. But I have to remind myself, this isn't a new thing.

I have some complaints about how the show handled trauma and PTSD...but that is a complaint I have for pretty much every Marvel movie ever, so I guess it isn't really a surprise.

I didn't mind the pacing, but I felt that we might have been able to have more character development if we'd had one or two more episodes in the series.

It think it was good that the show began tackling the complicated post-Snap world, and the complicated legacy the shield has for Sam. Of course there are things they could have improved, but I don't want this post to have negative focus, because a lot of people have spoken longer and more eloquently about the issues there were.

I gotta say I loved pretty much all of Sam's fighting scenes. The opening scene where he was rescuing that soldier was so awesome. And the final bit with him and the helicopter was just as good.

I also liked that last bit with Bucky hanging out with Sam's family! I definitely wish we would can seen more of Sam's family and his backstory.

Overall, I'm glad this show was made, and I can enjoy it while also acknowledging how it could have done better. Thank you for your ask! ♥

[i-am-very-very-tired]

Dr. Debra Kissen is the Clinical Director of the Light on Anxiety Treatment Center of Chicago.

Dr. Kissen specializes in CBT based treatment to children, adolescents and adults with a focus on anxiety and stress-related disorders, including OCD, PTSD, panic disorder, agoraphobia, social anxiety disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, specific phobias, separation anxiety disorder, compulsive skin picking, trichotillomania and other Body Focused Repetitive Behaviors (BFRBs). Dr. Debra Kissen applies the principles of evidence-based treatments while at the same time treating the whole person, with deep respect for the human spirit and the challenges we all face on our journey through life.

Dr. Kissen is a Clinical Fellow at the Anxiety Depression Association of America (ADAA) and is a Co-Chair of ADAA's Public Education Committee.  

Step 1: See Through OCD’s Scare Tactics

OCD is the fear network of the brain sending a signal that something is wrong and needs to be done about it IMMEDIATELY. OCD only reports on feared consequences that are important to a person. For example, if somebody does not fear spilling water on the floor, OCD will not send the intrusive thought, “Oh no you spilled water. You must clean it up IMMEDIATELY”. On the other hand if someone does care about the safety of her family, OCD might say, “Oh no you left the stove on. You must go back and check IMMEDIATELY or the most important people in your life will die and it will be all your fault.” Similarly, if you care deeply about your family's well-being or your students safety, OCD may inject itself into your awareness with the thought “Oh no. What if I lose control and harm my children or students.”

My clients always ask me what it means about them that they could have such “horrible thoughts”. What I tell them is that somewhere within an obsession is the flip side of a core value. If OCD taunts you with images and thoughts about offending god, then religion must be important to you. If OCD reviews all the ways your family could be hurt, then your family is clearly one of your top priorities.

There is checklist of common intrusive thoughts that I find helpful to share with my patients. There are numerous thoughts on this list regarding losing control and acting out violently or sexually. Several research studies found that when this list is shown to a non-clinical sample of people, approximately 90 percent of those surveyed will agree to having experienced some of the intrusive thoughts.

When the non-clinical sample is asked how bothered they are by experiencing these intrusive thoughts, they are most often only mildly bothered by them. In contrast, when this same list is shown to individuals diagnosed with OCD, a similar percentage of the sample will agree to having experienced these intrusive thoughts but the big difference is how much distress these thoughts evoke for the OCD sample. For those meeting criteria for OCD, there will be a much higher level of emotional distress when these same intrusive thoughts surface.

What keeps OCD alive and well is not the experience of intrusive thoughts but actually one’s reaction to them. The more one dislikes experiencing intrusive thoughts and then tries to repress or fight with these thoughts, the greater the frequency of intrusive thoughts one will experience. The very act of trying to “not have” a bothersome thought guarantees its resurfacing. The only way to know if you are having or not having a thought is to think “Am I think about X” or “I better not think about X” which of course causes one to think about X.

So back to the question of why do those meeting criteria for OCD have such disturbing thoughts? Because they are human and to be human means one will experience freaky, odd thoughts. The human mind is constantly spinning around trying to find interesting problems to solve, in order to keep us alive. We don’t have the speed of the jaguar or the strength of a bear but we do have an all too powerful mind that is very good at planning for future challenges but also for tying itself into a knot. Freedom from OCD is not about stopping the mind from offering up strange and occasionally disturbing thoughts but learning how to recognize spam vs. urgent mail.

I must give a disclaimer here that OCD loves taking anything that is reassuring and turning it into a compulsion. So, if you are reading this blog for the hundredth time and desperately trying to figure out if this sounds like you and if your “awful thoughts” are OCD or if in fact you are an awful person, then STOP reading this blog. As I am sure your experience has shown you obtaining short-term anxiety relief through a compulsion comes at a cost in the form of greater overall anxiety. Instead, strive for long-term freedom from OCD by teaching your mind to not take itself so seriously.

Step 2: Exposure and Response Prevention (ERP)

There is no way past OCD except through it. As described in step one, the more one avoids an intrusive thought, the more one will experience the feared, bothersome, super annoying thought. Therefore, we need to flip the equation on its head and practice bringing on the thought while disengaging from any compulsions that have been utilized to obtain short-term anxiety relief. Common compulsions engaged in, when struggling with intrusive thought OCD are reassurance seeking, information seeking/googling to determine if there is something wrong with self, mental reviewing and avoidance. The best way to organize exposure tasks is by creating an exposure hierarchy that outlines baby steps that you can take to slowly but surely prove to OCD who is in charge (hint…YOU).

Step 3: Get Support

“Support” may sound superfluous but without it your Intrusive Thought OCD fighting plan will most likely be a bust. It is near impossible to do this work alone. It is not that you are not smart enough or determined enough or brave enough to beat OCD. The reason you need external support is because there is nothing more powerful in taking the wind out of OCD’s sails than voicing intrusive thoughts out loud, to a compassionate, informed coach. The same intrusive thoughts that feel so real, all powerful and self-defining when swirling around in your head will disintegrate when said out loud. When your intrusive thoughts are released into the world and your supportive coach looks back at you, and still sees the YOU they believe in and hears your intrusive thought as “blah blah blah” and possibly laughable, your brain will be one step closer to understanding that these thoughts are spam mail and nothing more.

In terms of finding a supportive OCD coach, you can contact a therapist that is well trained in CBT for OCD but if this is price prohibitive or if there is not access in your local community to OCD experts, there are other options. You can purchase a CBT for OCD workbook and go chapter by chapter through it with any licensed therapist in your community. You can schedule an appointment with one of ADAA’s OCD specialists who offer tele-mental health services. And it is perfectly acceptable to purchase a CBT for OCD workbook and go through the material together with a friend or family member.

So you now know the three basic steps necessary to kick intrusive thought OCD to the curb. And remember, we are all so much more than our thoughts. Our lives are defined by the actions that we choose to take, not by the electrical storm of thoughts that flicker through our minds.

Free Webinar!

Dr. Kissen and Dr. Ashley D. Kendall, PhD presented a live webinar on this topic on March 12, 2018 at 1:00 pm ET.

This webinar will share tips and tools to:

Identify if you may be dealing with harm OCD

Make sense of why harm OCD picks such painful themes and content

Take the power away from harm OCD

Re-engage in your life now that you are giving less of your attention and energy to harm OCD

Watch here.

Additional Resources:

ADAA provides free webinars (many focused on OCD)

Learn more about OCD

Read personal stories of triumph

Join ADAA’s free, anonymous online peer-to-peer support group

Subscribe to ADAA’s free monthly email newsletter

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

[thefarlefchronicles]

Farlef Chronicles Episode 3 - The Return of the Moose

Previously on The Farlef Chronicles - Shit Happened Current - December 24th 2016  

A man is riding in the cold winter on his motorcycle heading home.   

 Home is a strange word for the lone ranger riding on his steel horse. He is an indeterminate height and weight with indiscernible features. He is easily lost in a crowd and easily forgotten. Just the way he likes it. He pulls over to side of the road and takes a drag of his cigarette. This man is Agent Deer aka Roadkill Toast aka The Pink Flamingo of Miami aka Farlef90 aka 2 Legs aka Fucking Can Walk aka The Bro with the Does aka Mike Tyson aka The Other Evans aka 

   "God it is cold out" - Farlef muttered to himself as he tried to get warm while he tried to figure out where he was. He concluded due to the migration of the few birds in the air, the cloud formations, the positioning of the sun and his 47 years of boy scout training he deduced he was 1/2 mile NE from Deer Park. Also all the deer that were heading home for Christmas was a dead giveaway to the direction of the town.

  As he continued into town he was left wondering to himself bout if his father would enjoy the present he got him and if he would try to kill him again. He thought they buried the hatchet after Sam's funeral but if his dad was off his meds he might snap or be jovial. He had a vial of pure Xanax to inject him with if needed but he would rather cause when he does this his dad can briefly walk and then collapses.  In the corner of his eye he noticed something he stopped short to stare at and it sent a chill down his spine. Like a figurative chill not a literal chill even tho it was cold out but a creepy chill like something is coming.

NO NOT THAT, THIS.

 The sight of the half frozen/half eaten deer concerned him on more the one level. He knew this could mean a number of things. Nazi Zombies. Deer Zombies, Deer Park Resident Zombies, Ginger Zombies, Zombie Zombies, A hungry bear who ate the deer while it was frozen from the cold weather then turned into a Zombie. As he shit into his sock he contemplated all the zombie scenarios that could possibly happen. After he finished he threw the shit filled sock at a car passing by with a bumper sticker that read I STOP FOR MOOSE.

"Fucking Moose Port mother fucker" he said to himself as he dove away not noticing the car crash he caused.

As Farlef continued to drive east along W Antler Road (LEGIT ROAD, I GOOGLED IT, LMFAO) turning onto N Monroe Road which in turn became W Monroe Road then W Crawford St then E Crawford St in 4 blocks he was finally home in Deer Park. He took a moment to breathe in the fresh air of his home town. While he did this he failed to notice a car slowly pulling up to him. Luckily with his Ninja reflexes he honed while studying the proper way to prepare Fugu a Japanese delicacy that if prepared wrong could kill you. He did kill 47 people before learning how to prepare it right but 11 of those deaths he did on purpose. No one stiffs The Farlef unless he asks for it. As he landed after doing a triple back flip and throwing 4 shuriken at his would be attackers he got a good luck at them and realized that his 4th worst fear had come true.

THE MOOSE WERE BACK AND WAR HAS COME TO DEER PARK.

Farlef drove as fast as his bike could take him on these ice covered streets to his dad's house. He would need to consult his father, a veteran of the last GREAT DEER PARK WAR. Pulling up to the house he noticed a strange biker in the driveway he never seen before. Normally this wouldn't bother him, his father was an avid motorcycle collector, after all he liked to taunt himself with bikes he would never be able to drive cause he has no feeling in his legs except the feeling of knowing his son is a homosexual. The odd thing about motorcycle was that it was designed for cripples. He then saw his father roll out the back of it and felt a little bit relieved.

     As his dad emerged for his cocoon of a vehicle he noticed his son. He was going to go into his usual racist/homophobic tirade bout his son's lifestyle and decisions but he noticed something in Farlef's eyes he never seen before. Fear. Or maybe he was hungry. Now that he thought about it he never really looked into his son's eyes for fear of catching the gay. He read a story bout how the queerosexuals could turn the manliest of men gay with just a glance and a smile so he hasn't truly looked at his son in 12 years. Now was different, he had an aura about him. Again he wasn't sure what it was, it might have been a gay thing or a deep disturbance in the force. Holy shit he immediately though, maybe this son was coming out as straight. A huge grin creept onto his face and he stood out of his wheelchair for the first time in years with glee.

     "MY BOY, MY SWEET BABY BOY YOUR BACK. MY GOD WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE. TRUMP IS PRESIDENT, THOSE DAMN MEXICANS GOING BACK TO THEIR CESSPOOL OF A COUNTRY AND MY SON IS STRAIGHT AGAIN. I PRAYED AND I PRAYED THAT THE GOOD LORD WOULD TAKE THE GAY AWAY AND HE DID. MOTHER OF PEARL I CAN FINALLY FEEL MY LEGS, WHAT A FEELING. WHERE'S THOSE DAMN LEGOS, I NEED TO RUN OVER THEM BAREFOOT. JEEZ LOUISE I CAN'T EXPRESS HOW HAPPY I AM RIGHT NOW. JOHN, CUT DOWN THE NOOSE FROM THE TREE. I DON'T NEED IT ANYMORE, MY SON IS ALIVE."

     "Dad that is a tire swing. Its been in that tree since I was a kid, you thought it was a noose this whole time? That actually explains a lot like why I keep seeing you swinging from it making choking sounds then disappointed nothing is happening" replied John who was in town visiting. "

     AFTER YOU CUT DOWN THAT ALABAMA WIND CHIME GET ME THE PHONE, I NEED TO CALL YOUR GRANDPARENTS AND TELL THEM MY BOY HAS COME HOME"

     "THEY'RE DEAD" John yelled back as he went to cut down the tree with his chainsaw.

         Farlef contemplated to himself if he should let this charade continue or tell his father what was really wrong. He figured honesty was the best policy and he still didn't forget what happened at Sam's funeral.        

          "Actually about that dad I am still bisexual and also I forgot the bunt cale" Farlef said.

         All the hope and elation died in his father's eyes. No bunt cake he thought to himself not even registering the fact his son came out as bisexual again. He really wished his son just payed for sex like everyone else but this ruined the man. He slink back into his wheelchair depressed as ever. Little did either of them know, they were being watched.

    “You hungry?" Farlef's dad asked, a defeated man once again and broke in mind, body and spirit.

    "Dad I saw something in town and you need to hear about this its important"

       "I know, they opened a gay club in Deer Park called The Queer Deer. Fucking progressive hippies."

         "It's not that dad, it's the moose. They're back."     

       Farlef's dad was silent for what felt like eternity but was actually 1 minute and 42 seconds. He was having one of his patented PTSD flashbacks to the war. The look on his face was sheer disgust and intrigue. He had seen and done many a horrible things in the Great War. Not WW2, an army psychiatrist deemed him too violent to fight in that one. No I am talking about the great Deer Park war of 1941.

   "Son come inside, it's time you heard the whole story about the great war that took place. It was one of the bloodies battles our small town has ever seen"       

    As Farlef's dad rolled into the house, Farlef could smell something……odd from the kitchen.

"You left the stove on?"

"Yea having a small Christmas Eve party. “

      What Farlef saw made him vomit a little. He has eaten some fucked up things in his travel to survive. Entire mounds of ants, goat horns, camel humps, gas station sushi but the meals his father were preparing were truly disgusting for any human to consume.

Um dad what the holy fuck are you cooking?" Farlef asked as he held back his bile.

“The usual a Chicktopus, Boiled Deer head and Chicken and Bananas." 

"HOLY SHIT DAD YOU CAN'T JUST PUT FOOD DIRECTLY ON THE STOVE SOMETHING MIG-"

Before Farlef could warn him bout the danger a huge explosion erupted in the kitchen.

"Jesus that could have been worse, what were you microwaving?" Farlef asked.

"Oh just some Amatex: (ammonium nitrate and RDX)Amatol:(ammonium nitrate)Ammonal: (ammonium nitrate and aluminium powder plus sometimes charcoal).Baratol: ( barium nitrate and wax)Composition B ( RDX and paraffin wax )Composition H6.Cyclotol (RDX) Ednatol , your dad likes to heat them up before he bastes the Octochicken" Farlef’s dad replied.

“THOSE ARE THE INGREDIENTS FOR TNT” EXCLAIMED RIGHT BEFORE THE FIRE ERUPTED.

Instead of anyone helping everyone immediately fled from the house.

Farlef's dad immediately jumped out of his wheelchair and fled the scene.

Farlef jumped out the nearest window once he noticed his father locked the door.

John fled into the ceiling while his girlfriend tried to save their cat to no avail.

Even the horse escaped.

     As Farlef and his dad watched their home burn down he only had two questions for his father. 

  "Dad how did this happen and why now?"

    "Regrettably this happened cause of me. It is time I finally told you about the war and our blood feud with all Moose kind"  

Little did they know as they were talking, they were being spied on.

As they drove towards the city they realized the entire forest around them was engulfed in flames. They realized they needed to get as quickly to deer park as possible in fear of what it has become.

On the outskirts of town they saw their beloved city in such a state of dismay they couldn't comprehend the site.

The city was on fire, everything they ever knew and kind of gave 2 shits about was gone. They both knew one thing and one thing only in the moment. For Christmas this year they would deck the halls with Moose antlers, don their moose killing apparel and kill every last mother fucker with horns. But Farlef had to know why this happened, why the Moose hated them so much.

"Dad I am all for commiting genocide again, especially after what these Moose Fuckers did to our home, our town but how did this all start?" "It is a long story but it started in 1941 ………………….