#like i don't understand why it's so hard to put your smoking and pet and parking policies on your website!!

[cyberneticdryad]

i have to go out into the world to find somewhere semi-private and undertake the worst social exchanges over phone, gods help me

[maxlarens]

i promise i'm writing my max oneshot CURRENTLY but i had to get the sillies out about this really badly. australian spring/summer i love u i love u i love u!!!! also at this point i think the difference between a one shot and drabble on this account is non existent and simply based on vibes. this is only a one shot bcs it feels a bit more coherent i suppose?

LN: australia street

pairing(s): lando norris x piastri!reader, oscar piastri & piastri!reader

word count: 1.3k+

It all feels very familiar, nostalgic even— though you've never been in quite this situation before. With Oscar sure; you always rope your brother into doing things when you're in Australia again. But this is the first time that Lando's joined you.

It's nice, to be home.

Not that it's yours or Oscar's home anymore (that's not true. It always will be, no matter where in the world you jet off to). It's certainly not Lando's. It's hard to put words to the feeling, you just know it's nice.

You're driving, of course, because Oscar and Lando can never decide which of the two of them should drive. So you'd snatched the keys to the Piastri family '96 Holden Commodore and slammed the driver door behind you before either of them could say boo. Lando had snagged the passenger seat in a mad dash that you'd watched play out in the rear-view mirror, while Oscar had complained all the way to the backseat.

"Whered'ya wanna go?", you half turn your head to ask Oscar, checking your blind spot at the same time.

Oscar hums as he thinks. You can feel Lando's eyes burning a hole into the side of your face.

"Do you remember that fish and chips shop—"

You do, "Where Dad used to take us? Yeah, it closed down," then you add, "Besides, Lando hates fish. Jeez, Osc."

"Ah fuck," Oscar groans, "That sucks."

Lando makes a noise, indignant, "I can't believe you forgot. It's my one thing."

Oscar rolls his eyes, "It's not your one thing, Lando. You have plenty of things."

They start to bicker, devolving into an argument that you only understand about half of, about pet peeves and the things the other one does that get on the other’s nerves. You chime in a few times to agree about Oscar’s annoying habits, the things you'd grown up complaining to your Mum about. Quietly to yourself, you decide on a route to an old Italian place you know is still kicking around— they won't mind.

You roll your window down, feel the balmy spring breeze in your hair, on your face. It smells like the bloom of jasmine flowers, of warmth, of the smoke of people BBQ-ing in their backyards. You breathe deeply, absently aware of the petered-out conversation. Oscar dozing in the backseat like he always does. Lando looking out the other window, watching gum trees and bottlebrush on the sides of the road. 'M looking for koala’s he'd said the other day, which had made you laugh. You'd been tempted to tell him about drop bears, but you're sure that Daniel had already warned him of the dangers.

"Do you miss it here?", Lando asks suddenly.

"Mm," you affirm, "I do."

"A lot?"

You shrug at the question, not sure why he's pressing it, "Sure, Lan."

"Then why do you travel with Oscar?", you spare a glance at him, he's fiddling with a bracelet on his wrist, the one you'd made him that matched the one you'd made Oscar that matched the one you wore, "Don't you want to, y'know, settle down here?"

You raise an eyebrow, scoff a little, "God, I'm not an old maid, dude. I'm not ready to pop out babies yet. Far out."

"No, no," he's blushing, you know he is, you don't even need to check, his tan cheeks growing a little darker, redder, "Fuck. That's not what I meant. You know what I meant."

You snicker. You do. But Lando is fun to rile up.

A latent sigh leaves your mouth, "I dunno," you admit, "It's my favourite place. But I have the rest of my life to come back, and besides, it's more special like this. I appreciate it more when I'm only here for a short time."

Lando hums, turning your words over in his head. You think he may be about to say something else—

"Do you like it here, Lan?"

You're not sure why you ask. No, you are. There's this fantasy that keeps floating around in your head. Little bits of it have been coming true on this trip. Lando standing in the garage with your Dad, talking about project cars and then showing him grease covered parts, explaining where they'll eventually end up. Your Mum roping you, Lando and Oscar into helping her cut vegetables at the kitchen counter. Your younger sisters giving you loaded looks behind Lando's back, you trying to pretend you have no idea what they mean by them. It's a pipedream, it's weird and you need to stop doing it.

But you can't. Sometimes, you look at Lando and your thoughts just pick up and run away with themselves.

Lando nods in answer to your question, "'Course. It's very," he trails off, fingers finding the beads on his bracelet again, he hums, "It's very you. Hm, does that make sense?"

You feel warm all of a sudden. Something creeps up your neck, settles at the base of your skull. You blink a few times, remind yourself to focus on the road.

You skitter out a laugh, an awkward thing, you're trying not to look at him, your hands tight on the wheel, "Yeah— uh— it does. I s'pose."

You lapse into silence for a short while. The sky is eggshell orange and purple and red, stretching out in front of you. Punctuated by the star-brightness of the street lights, terracotta tiled roofs and the shadowed branches of towering Eucalyptus trees. It fills you with a feeling you can't name— there's nothing else quite like it out there. Not in London, not in Monaco, not in any of the many other cities you've traveled to or lived in for a stint.

They're all gorgeous and interesting in their own right, but they don't live up to the special peculiarities of suburban Australia. The flash of a possum's eyes where it's skittering across a powerline. The faint sounds of kookaburras laughing as dusk falls. The glow of families watching TV in living rooms coming through screen doors left unlocked. Old men tinkering in wide open garages. Wheelie bins with red and yellow lids out on the curb— cricket stumps painted on the sides.

It’s special. In the way that home is always special.

Then Lando says, apropos of nothing, “Pretty.”

“Huh.”

He shrugs, gestures around at the neighbourhood, “It’s pretty. Warm too. I can see why your parents live here. Raised you guys here. I can see myself doing that.”

You decide not to tell him about the bipolarity of Melbourne weather. Cold to hot to wet to dry to gusty all in a few hours. You let him enjoy the rare consistent spring day. And you try not think about what he’s saying, what he’s admitting. You try not to think about what you might be admitting, driving him through streets you used to play in, to places you used to go with your family, talking about settling down, like it’s on the horizon anytime soon.

It’s not— you’ve not met anyone to settle down with.

At least you don’t think you have.

It’s certainly not Lando, in the passenger seat of the old family car, fresh off a day of meeting your grandparents for fuckssake and taking a tour of your childhood bedroom. Laughing at your old boyband posters and the teenage girl shrine you’d kept to Niki Lauda. It can’t be Lando, who you turn to when you can’t turn to your brother, who gives you his hoodies when you’re cold even though he’s colder, who’s come on a bloody trip to Australia in his four week break because you’d said you wouldn’t know what to do without him for that long.

It can’t. It’s not.

He’s talking in hypotheticals and you’re getting carried away with yourself again. Like you always do.

listened to this playlist while writing😌

[jenniferjareauwife]

JJ and Emily x reader where they find out that r smokes a ton of weed and like vapes and stuff when they thought she was really innocent maybe a few months into their relationship or a while in and she just didn't tell

(I completely understand if you can't do this request and If you can im fine with emily and jj together or separate and if both are too much you can choose one)

Sorry for the bother have a good day/night xx

High

pairing: jennifer jareau x fem reader

category: fluff

warnings: weed, innuendo

word count: 601

summary: your girlfriend is shocked to find out that you get high

a/n: i don't write for emily so i only wrote it for jj. this was absolutely not a bother and please leave more requests if you have them!

I laid down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling as it swirled around, different colors everywhere. I smiled and laughed, the colors making weird shapes. "What are you laughing at?" I heard JJ's voice but I didn't care. She had never seen me like this and I was too stoned to care.

"Look at the shapes."

"What shapes?" She looked up at the ceiling, not seeing anything. "Are you ok baby?" She touched my shoulder and it felt like my skin was tingling under her touch, I leaned into her for more, her touch feeling euphoric.

"I'm great." I wrapped my arms around her waist and buried my face into the side of her leg as she stood next to the couch.

"What's happening?"

"Love you so much."

"I love you too baby." She reached down to pet my hair before kneeling down next to me. She wrinkled her nose once she smelt my breath. "What...oh my God. Are you high?" She shot up, her eyebrows raising in shock.

"What?"

"You're high!" She started laughing, putting her hand over her mouth. "Is this your first time being high?"

"No." I smiled up at her and made grabby hands, wanting the tingly feeling of her on my skin again. "Come back." She grabbed my hands and pulled me up, kissing me hard on the lips with a smile. "Do that again please."

"I didn't know you smoked weed." She whispered with a big smile.

"I do." I hugged her as tight as possible, relaxing against her body. "Is that weird?"

"No...no it's not I just never thought you would be one to do that." She held me against her tightly, stroking my hair.

"It makes me fuzzy."

"I can tell." She kissed the top of my head, I could imagine her smiling in my mind and it made me so happy. "Why are you so weirded out by me being high?"

"You just...I mean we've only been dating a few months and I guess I just never imagined that you'd be the kind of person to do it. I thought you were an innocent little baby." She kissed my temple, practically holding me up as I leaned my full body weight against her.

"Well...I'm not an innocent little baby." I giggled into her neck. "In bed...yes-"

"Oh my God shut up." She giggled, messing up my hair. "I'm gonna take you up to bed though, ok? It's getting late."

"Are you staying over?" I asked excitedly, wrapping my arms around her neck as she picked me up bridal style, carrying me

up my stairs into my bedroom.

"Of course I'm staying over babe."

"You're so nice. I love you so much." I made grabby hands for her once again as she laid me down in bed.

"I'll be back in a minute honey. I'm gonna brush my teeth and change into something more comfy."

"But I want you." She blushed.

"If you're always this cuddly while you're high I definitely want to see this more often." She kissed my forehead. "I'll be right back. Don't worry and don't go anywhere." I pouted but stayed where I was.

She came back five minutes later, pulling me on top of her while she laid on her back. I smiled happily and hummed, my brain going fuzzy as she left loving scratches on my back. "I love you so much baby." I blushed, my entire face turning red. It seemed like every compliment and every touch from her was intensified and it was almost overwhelming but I welcomed it.

"I love you too."

[aishnico]

#𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙉𝙀 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙔: 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦

» summary: you heard that your ex-boyfriend got out of rehab

»word count: 2.9k

»warnings: angst with a happy end 🤗, NO DISRESPECTS towards demri or anyone else <3, grammar issues

»a/n: i'm officially declaring that from now on, i’m also writing for my favourite 🐐 <33

april, 2002

"layne is coming out of the hospital."

that was what jerry told you before you dropped the handset from your hands. your breath hitched sharply.

"hello, [name]? are you there?"

you didn't pay attention to him at the moment. you fell on your knees, put your hand on your heart. a wrenching pain and a sweet sensation of relief are wrapping around your heart. he was clean now, but could get on drugs again, you hoped he wouldn't. he could continue on his music career with joy and passion. can be happy with his beloved ones, enjoying life again... but without you. he didn't need you in his life. not anymore.

it was painful. witnessing the changes in his behaviors and his physical features. how hard you tried to send him to rehab. how many times have you tried? you don't remember. but you remember how finally you managed to send him.

it was before christmas. the first and probably the last one you spent with him. you were arguing again because of his addiction. the shameful thing was that the guys were there too. listening to you two without saying anything.

not only he was in pain, so were you. but he wasn't understanding how he affected you too. he finally snapped at you before leaving your shared apartment.

"if demri was still here, we would smoke on the couch continuously, cuddle, and make love to each other! she wouldn't instead cry and beg me like a little bitch..."

oh demri, sweet little demri... you were a fool honestly, for thinking he could love someone again after her. clearly, his heart died with her. and you couldn't revive it no matter how many times you tried.

"i wanted to ask you if you would like to see him. we plan to make a surprise to him at your old shared house."

you wanted to punch jerry in the face for asking you this. how could he ask you this? didn't he know how was your relationship with layne? was he trying to make you sad for nothing? or was he hoping you would make up with layne again?

after a couple of seconds, he apologized to you for disturbing you and hung up the phone. you got up from the floor and poured yourself a glass of water. you told yourself not to cry, that he meant nothing to you anymore like you didn't to him. but you couldn't stop your eyes from filling up.

work was waiting for you, so you grabbed your bag and left the house before petting your cat and calling her sadie. sadie... of course you felt bad for calling her by that name. if jerry wouldn't call me i wouldn't call her by his cat's name, you thought to yourself.

it was almost 5.30 PM. you were going home longer than usual. perhaps your mind was still lost, or just because you were tired.

usually, you wouldn't feel bad or tired after work. because your gloomy but lovely boyfriend would wait for you and thinking about him at and after work would delete all your negative feelings. you don't remember when was the last time you were coming home happily. it was sure before christmas, before you two split.

fuck you, jerry... you murmured to yourself. now i keep thinking about him even though i don't want to...

while you were talking inside your head, you bumped into someone tall unexpectedly. life is sure to have surprises. it was no one else but your mutual tall, drummer friend, sean.

"[name], glad to see you again! how have you been?" he asked with a cheerful tone.

you sighed and lifted your face to look up to him. "same, sean. i was fine until today, honestly."

"why? did something bad happen?!" he asked worriedly. you shook your head. you knew you had to face the guys one day, eventually that day has come. "wanna chat?" he asked you while showing an empty bench. you bit your lip then nodded.

you two remained silent for a couple of minutes. he eventually broke it. "it was a long time since i've seen you last time." he stated.

"like five months ago."

"isn't it long for you?" he asked.

"well, i have a steady and tiresome job so i don't have time to think about it all." you kinda lied and he knew it.

"the guys, jerry and mike, are missing you too. you're avoiding their calls too, don't you?"

you didn't answer. god... how you wished you pretended like you were busy while walking on the road (it's not like he can't recognize you because of your height anyway). however, as you told yourself, you had to confront.

"i... want to take everything out of my life that reminds me of him. i managed for these past months. but jerry called me this morning, and gave me the news that were enough to shake me all. i'm happy for him, i really am. there's nothing better than regaining your health back. also in the morning, i called my cat sadie on accident. sadie, his cat's name..."

this time, he didn't answer. you sat there in silence for minutes.

"[name], you have to face him."

"... why? to upset and make me cry again? like a little bitch i am?!" you buried your face between your hands. fuck, you were whimpering. although you were good friends with sean, you didn't want him to see you like this.

did you have just painful memories with him? of course not. you two weren't the most lovey-dovey couple full of physical touch, etc. but it was okay. starting a new love after his long-term girlfriend died was not easy for him, but trying his best for you was already enough for you.

you met for the first time when you were on a record shop and he was just sitting there. you couldn't recognize him at first, you thought he was the owner of the shop. so you asked him to play the lioness vinyl by songs: ohia. you were slow dancing to yourself and he was just watching you, amazed. you noticed his gaze on you and reached your hand to him to dance with you. he hesitated, but gave it a shot when you sincerely smiled at him.

"don't you care what people will think about you?” his voice was raspy. like either he couldn't wake up still or either he was on edge of death.

"no, why? i don't know them, they don't know me. i don't see an issue."

after your little dance, you asked him to play some classic rock records to check its conditions. when you had to leave, you somehow gained confidence to ask him out. he was stunned, but after thinking about a couple of seconds, he muttered an 'okay'.

it was unusual to him. going out to concerts, parks, record shops, and bars again with a new person. sometimes you two would just stay in the house, baking cookies before lying on the couch watching some film from the early 90's and watching the stars before sleeping.

he felt lucky, a new person was trying to drag him out of his miserable life. his friends and his mother, nancy, were happy and grateful to you. you made him happier and even a little bit healthier for a short time. you tried to send him to rehab countless times, he would be there for a few days or weeks. sometimes you considered yourself lucky when he managed to stay there an over a month.

your relationship with him, was a fairy tale. unless he would do drugs when you weren't around. he would become an aggressive, cold bitch who thought he was still around '95. it would turn from a fairy tale, to a psychological novel with an awful ending.

but even after your split, it didn't stop you from loving him. i really have no self-respect... you thought.

"that's not true. believe me or not, when guys and i would visit him he would always ask about you. about your well-being, about your work, about your life... he would worry about you, he regrets everything bad he has done to you."

you couldn't hold yourself and let a hysterical laugh. people who were passing by were looking at you strangely. you calmed yourself and looked at him.

"do you know, how many times i tried to send him there? how i was imagining a nice life with him but couldn't make it real unless he got treated? he wasn't listening to me except a couple of times. did this really have to happen for him go to there? did i deserve this, hm, sean?"

he let out a sigh. "of course not, [name]. but i highly believe his feelings changed. i highly believe he's a better person now. you don't have to forgive him, but it would be great if you listen to what he wants to say." he grabbed your small hand compared to his and gently caressed it. "trust me, that's what is fair."

you didn't say anything in return, just laid your head against his chest. you would be lying if you said you didn't miss sean's presence. not only his, but also jerry's, also mike's... also layne's...

"you're right. the time has come for us." you smiled and got up from the bench. "are you guys gathering at jerry's?"

he shook his head. "no, we thought it would be at layne's. so, your old place." he pressed his lips. "that sounds great, i bet he would be shocked seeing a surprise at his house."

he stood next to you. "yeah, i was just heading there. the guys are already there. we decorated a few things and nancy said she's gonna bake a few things. you can join her, you know?" he smiled.

"i was just gonna say that! i can't imagine seeing her reaction when she sees me." you laughed.

"you know what she calls you still?"

"hm? what is it?"

he lowered his head at the level of your ears. "my daughter-in-law-" he then chuckled because your ears got red.

"mike tells her not to call you like that but she just doesn't listen. she highly believes you'll be together again."

you slightly jumped and bumped his shoulder playfully. "i don't know what are you talking about.”

“i also can't imagine your reaction when you see mike." he smirked.

you stopped walking. "what happened to him? don't tell me he cut his gorgeous long, curly hair!"

"i actually meant starr."

"... wait what?! oh my god he's coming too?! that's amazing! can't wait to meet him for the first time. hey, you walk too fast, wait for me!" you then started running towards him.

"well, we're all like brothers, you know. even after all these things, they kept their special bond. it would be unfair not to tell him the news."

"yeah, glad jerry told me too."

the day has come. jerry knew you were still nervous. instead of telling you assuring things, he said he was going there only with you. minutes passed, you gave up on yourself and got in the car with him. jerry opened a cassette of one of bob dylan's albums to make you relax. it did help eventually.

after about twenty minutes later, he stopped at the parking place. he unbelted his belt then looked at you. "aren't you coming?"

"i'll come after you. now go." you smiled and he then got out of the car and started to walk in front of the hospital.

you saw a tall, blonde, gorgeous man with big blue eyes standing before the building. he seemed lost in his thoughts, swaying forward and back in his place. he was looking healthy and joyful compared to a few months ago. the warm wind was kinda messing with his short, wavy hair. he closed his eyes and opened wide again when another blonde man hugged him tightly like he never wanted to let him go again. your heart melted at the sight. best friends reunited again...

after couple of minutes later, jerry turned his back and looked at you. he gave you a smile as a sign. you took a deep breath and got out of the car, walking with steady steps towards them. layne's expression changed from cheerful to stunned. jerry coughed and started to walk to his car. "i'm waiting for you in the car, guys. don't stand too long, though. there are people who are still waiting for us."

you two stood there without saying anything. you looked at his healthy eyes, and face. oh how much they were shining more now... oh how was his smile making your heart melt more...

"[name], i..."

"it's been a long time. isn't it, layne?" your voice was weak, but at the same time joyful.

his eyes got filled. "yeah, yeah it's been a really long time. it's been a long time without you."

you gave him a broken smile. "layne, you look so happy right now. you look so lively. i'm- i'm glad to see you like this again." your eyes got filled too.

"everything thanks to you. i would never think i would retrieve these days again. i would never think i would see jer, see you. i also was sure you wouldn't want to see me again."

you sniffed. "yeah, that was what i've been telling myself since that day. but i guess i was just convincing myself like that."

"you hate me, don't you?" his voice was like a whisper.

"i hate you, layne," you started, "i hate you for making wonderful memories with me then throwing all of these to nowhere, i hate you for not keeping your endless promises, i hate you for telling me hurtful things, i hate you for comparing demri to me. i hate you for being with me even though you still think about her." your voice sounded harsher and harsher.

"that's not true," his voice now was broken. "not anymore. i don't want to live continuing thinking about her. i don't want to be stuck at memories with her instead cherishing what i have. i didn't understand this at first, never thought about it. i understood it when i lost you. i understood when i hadn't seen your face since then. you're too good and precious to me, [name]. i don't deserve you. but still, i love you."

sean was right. his thoughts indeed have changed. you wanted to open your mouth but he continued on his words.

"i'm sorry for hurting you in any way. i'm sorry for making you drown in my hole with me. you clearly didn't deserve all of this. it was so hard, so damn hard to quit... even making the decision was hard for me. i threw all of your help and lost to my demons. i'm so damn sorry for making you cry after me. i don't deserve your single teardrop." he couldn't hold himself longer and started to cry. his cry made you also cry. you opened your mouth but he didn't let you again.

"at first, i went to this rehab without any expectations but thank god something clicked inside me. i've realized everything i've done to you. my thoughts about life, about drugs, about demri changed but my love for you didn't. i've finally found a reason to stay alive, it has always been you. i... i love you so much, [name]. i'm not waiting for any acceptance but please believe my words."

before he could say anything more, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him close to you. you wrapped your arms around his neck and his head fell on your shoulder. breathing in your essence again.

"i missed you. i missed your presence, your smell, your soft touches..." you two stayed there for a couple of seconds and then he pulled off from you.

before he opened his mouth, you pressed your lips against his, putting your hands on his cheeks. he wasn't expecting this but then immediately welcomed the warmth of your mouth, kissing and sucking on your upper lip. his salty tears were dropping down to your lips but you didn't care. his lips got soft compared to a few months ago and him kissing you like this made you tingle more than ever.

you got interrupted when you two heard the loud sound of a horn twice. you pulled off and looked at who it was. of course it was jerry looking at you with a dull face.

"you two have enough time to make out from now on but we have to go now!" he shouted to you with a half-angry voice and you just smirked. he reached for your hand hesitantly. you gave him a gentle smile then intertwined your hands.

"i love you too, layne. i've never stopped from inside. but we're gonna talk about this later, okay?"

he kissed your forehead in response and you two sat next to each other in the car. returning your shared house, only to make wonderful and longing memories to remember in the remote future.

[x-heesy]

Ain't no point in playin' it safe

Gotta know your role, better state your case

When it all falls down better know your place

Just gimme three feet and an ounce of

Space, space, space

Space, you should wanna embrace

Space, space, space

"Discovery. Go at throttle up"

Rip up and ravage, make it a habit for damage

Whole lotta baggage, you will not manage, I'm the full package

Why do they talk like I am not established? That is so callous, they are the saddest

Why are they so full of malice? Making up fallacies, I'm in my palace blazing up the chalice with Alice

'Cause I'm a gyalist and I'm the baddest, it's not a travesty

Call me "Your Majesty," sometimes it feels like world's on my phallus

Push out my chest and I big up my status

Where's all the trappers? Where's all the clappers?

I am not shaken, no need for maracas

Or apparatus, put in the work and spend money on motors and slappers

Why are we frontin' like it even matters?

Why do they make me feel guilty for gettin' this money like my soul's in tatters?

Sittin' here tryna realign my chakras

Driving me crackers, you bloody spackers should get off my knackers

Give me the gas and the matches, I've been through hell and I swallowed the ashes, running this ting for so long as it happens, I'm knackered

All of my enemies broken and shattered, sprinkling hate, they're all over the shop and they're scattered

Chatting my name till this day and I'm flattered, I am not easily rattled

Don't follow the cattle, so quiet your chatter or you will get battered

Can't find enough time to dine on these rappers, all of these MCs are looking like tapas

Fuck all the swine and their bodily gases, roll with the rastas, Babylon's calling me, nobody's fooling me

I do not roll with the masses, but big up the Junglist massive

I am not timid and I am not passive, messing with me? You must be on some acid

Done with the racket, I will get erratic, all of my problems disappear like it's magic

It'll be tragic

Ain't no point in playin' it safe

Gotta know your role, better state your case

When it all falls down better know your place

Just gimme three feet and an ounce of

Space, space, space

Space, you should wanna embrace

Space, space, space

Yeah, uh

Don't pet or pander, leave 'em hanging

I'll be damned, man to man

Hit him with an open hand, release the anger

WorldStar, you could get dealt with on camera

Understand my grammar, I don't stutter, lisp or stammer

Watch me blaze the beat, I must admit it hit just like a hammer

It's a banger for the mandem on the street and in the slammer

Bang your doors, bang your doors for the cause

Breaking laws, breaking jaws, open paws

Coke, I'm bored, taking scores, and be sure

Never let a bredda get one over yours

Never put money over whores, maybe or it's crazy flawed, it's a myth, life's a gift, made me pause, catch my drift, smoke a spliff and get in them draws

Paid the cost to be the boss, ball and floss, Jesus died, he nailed himself into the cross

Still couldn't please these backwards shit cunts, why would I take a loss?

Giving a toss, know your worth, hold your turf, fuck the earth, and shake it off

Breddas on my line talkin' 'bout, "Yo, Raskit, break me off"

They're wafer soft, I'm taking off

"Three, two, one, zero, and lift off"

"Lift off of Mission 41D. The first flight of the Orbiter Discovery and the shuttle has cleared the tower"

Ain't no point in playin' it safe

Gotta know your role, better state your case

When it all falls down better know your place

Just gimme three feet and an ounce of

Space, space

Space, you should wanna embrace

Space, space, space

Alright, lift off and the clock has started

Yes sir, reading you loud and clear

Roger, Zero-T, and I feel fine, Damps was turning around

We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard

Sp̸͎̝̲̬̗̳̺̥͗͌̑̽͑̍̈͒ǎ̸̹͔̅̈́͘c̶̡̙̙̞̊̅̋́̒̔̈̑̑e̵̯̞̎̈́̀͑̂̓̽̕͝ b̵̧̙̮̰̜̳̟͈̞̓̀͋̅̓̔ͅy̵̧̛̝͙̪̘͑͋͌͂̓͌̉ͅ Di̴̛͕͍̤̐͆͆͂̇̈́̍̍͊z̴̡͍̹̼̝̣̃̇͑̈͗͘z̴̡͍̹̼̝̣̃̇͑̈͗͘e̵̯̞̎̈́̀͑̂̓̽̕͝e̵̯̞̎̈́̀͑̂̓̽̕͝ Rǎ̸̹͔̅̈́͘s̶̢͎̮̝̭̫̞̏̒͛͗͜c̶̡̙̙̞̊̅̋́̒̔̈̑̑ǎ̸̹͔̅̈́͘l̵̡̬̹̙͕͍͙̜̂͌̾

@luna---zylum @bigbonzo @boanerges20

[mwebber]

im p confused rn lol, feel free to ignore this ofc but questions are meant genuinely.

is it the domination that you have a problem with? the lack of fight at front?

or is it more simply you want seb to keep his record(s)?

or just with verstappen winning?

i understand the first 2 and hear the 3rd a lot but just ur prev posts came a lil outta left field for me lol. i'd like to hear your thoughts, with peace and love on planet earth <3

pourquoi pas les trois... actually i think it might boil down to two main things: my frustration at the continued erasure and diminishing of seb's achievements, and my pet peeve of Total Fucking Bullshit.

it's no secret that this sport has a problem with dominating teams. and yes, you could argue that's the point--hello, it's a constructor's championship, the point is to have the best car. and red bull have built beasts the last couple of years! seriously, all my respect to the team as a whole for pulling everything together. i was and remain a red bull fan at heart despite it all, and it makes me happy from an objective standpoint to see so many elements of a team come together in harmony. red bull is a well-oiled machine at work.

but i genuinely don't think there's been this level of domination by a singular driver in a singular team since like, 2013. think: if lewis' era of domination was so much "worse" than this as the dudebros like to say, why hasn't lewis come close to beating 9 wins in a row? the main phenomenon at play is the sport's short term memory--but really, the way fans like to completely forget 2015-2018 and arguably 2019 too really frustrates me. it wasn't like 2014 hit and suddenly lewis was winning everything. nico won the 2016 wdc. seb posed a real fucking threat in 2015, and in 2017-18 the messaging from the sport was that the battle between him and lewis was, quote unquote, titanic. a battle between, quote unquote, titans of the sport. fast forward to 2020/21 and the narrative is that nothing has stood in lewis' way for the last 6 or 7 years, and that his era of domination needs to be ended for ~the good of the sport.~

so seb makes a couple mistakes, fine, but mostly gets visibly cucked by his team for years, and suddenly he's nothing. his four championships mean nothing, his 3rd most wins in the history of f1 mean nothing, he's just ferrari's next failure.

but then the narrative around max. max, who's introduced in 2021 like he's an up and coming driver intent on toppling lewis' throne. it's a great narrative, right? mercedes took red bull's ball. red bull want it back. casually ignoring how max has been in the sport since 2016, max is red bull's new young golden boy, the one who's going to lead them to victory as the youngest driver like seb already did before and wow, wait, sorry for mentioning seb in relation to success there, let's keep on reinforcing that he's an old man who needs to retire. anyway, max is someone who doesn't give a flying fuck about anyone or anything except racing! max is a beast on track! max is [checks notes] our great white hope!

let's put the racism discussion on hold, because i think people try really hard to pin him down as this like, absolutely sociopathic bigot who is the most racist person in the world, and while he's not NOT racist, i don't think the extreme conclusion ppl are reaching is true. plus this rhetoric is mostly smoke and mirrors to try and find a leftist/social justice reason to hate on him anyway. so let's get fucking real: i dislike max for the same reasons i dislike taylor sw*ft. i hate that there's this blatant marketing campaign that fans buy into and perpetuate, that these people are the greatest of their generation, that they're masters of their craft. like, what? max's racecraft is just threatening to crash people out or push them off the track, something multiple drivers have been quoted saying. that's not ruthless, that's just bad fucking driving. that's an asshole on the dvp suddenly merging into your lane without using their blinkers or checking their blindspots and forcing you to pull out your defensive driving skills from that one class in drivers ed just to avoid a massive pileup on the highway. and i'm expected to suck this guy's dick?

max wins a fraudulent championship in 2021 and proceeds, for the next two years, to basically cruise at the front. it's like the second half of 2013, except it's lasting for a YEAR AND A HALF. only this time, instead of the sport trying to diminish this stint by saying it's just the car or that the golden boy has put himself above the team, people are......... celebrating? listen, i enjoy a singapore 2013 moment as much as the next seb fan but come on. get real. if every race was singapore 2013 that would be boring. and that's what we're seeing, but that's not what fom wants us to think we're seeing. it's complete bullshit.

which leads me to my posts. oh my god, i hated the comparisons between max and seb's first championships. the circumstances could not be more different--it was fucking insulting. seb won his championship fair and square, no rulebook bending required. seb's most violent moment on track that year was in turkey with mark--but he didn't park his car on top of mark's head and walk out saying that's what you get. how could people say that seb was anything like max.

seb's 9 wins at the end of 2013 were the culmination of five years spent fighting tooth and nail for his success. even for how dominant he was in 2011, there were still other teams up there! he had to fight his own teammate for so many years! and even with displays like singapore 2013, there were races where he was fighting in the second half of the season! and now we see this current streak of wins from the last two years where everyone else has tumbled behind and perez is contractually obligated to be a doormat. (not to say that teams haven't tried--i had so much hope at the start of 2022 when ferrari showed up with that pussy monster.) so look me in the eyes and say that max has fought with everything in him just to get that #1 spot. the two of them are leagues apart, but people--the same ones who have said seb is washed--are inevitably going to say that max has beaten seb, that max is on par with the third most successful driver in the sport. it's like a slap to the face.

and so we end back with the constant retconning of seb's position in f1 history. it drives me insane. he's nothing when it comes to propping max up, and then he's the benchmark to prop max up. he's a titan of the sport, and then he's just a failure. come on. come on. i'm just tired of my favourite driver never being given the credit he deserves, and i'm tired of having this fictional story shoved down my throat that max is anything like the goats in the sport. tl;dr. get real.

[bees-with-swords]

It is really really frustrating to put up with systemic issues about air pollution and fire season for OVER A DECADE, and now that the east coast of the US is dealing with smoke problems it's getting the kind of analysis and publicity in the media that I've been screaming myself hoarse for since I was seven years old. It's like Australia and California don't matter nearly as much to global media as New York does. It feels extremely shitty, like my house burned down and my family was displaced and a member of my community died, but right now wildfires are getting more attention than ever before because the east coast is getting just a slice of what we've been dealing with for years.

I just feel so much envy over the outpouring of awareness, love, and support, that I never received when exposed to air quality issues OR displacement. I've lost my childhood home, my community. The fire station we paid taxes for sent their engines to a wealthy neighbourhood 15 miles away---a neighbourhood that had opted, several years earlier, to get rid of their own fire station. The fire service didn't warn our neighbours on the private roads about the fire. Some barely made it out alive. One died. Because of the lack of warning, hundreds of pets and livestock couldn't be evacuated and burned alive. The very hills I grew up on were badly damaged by corporate policies after the fire, cutting down trees and causing massive erosion.

And all of that, all of that trauma that has left our community irreparably splintered, started out with small things. Like going outside and smelling smoke. So when the memes come in (the memes that have been made before but largely ignored by folks on the east coast) and the air quality control tips (turn on your shower, increase humidity, leave out trays of water), I can't help but feel... Lost? Is history repeating itself because folks truly didn't understand what we've been going through over here? Or because nobody cared? Does the Canadian government sincerely think they can allow campfires this late in the year?

Has nobody learned from us? My house burned down, my family is living with trauma and my parents are forced into an abusive living situation and the hills I grew up on are scarred from decades of fire suppression, and nobody learned from that? Why did it happen, then? Why is nobody from the East studying it, to make sure nobody over there goes through that? Why aren't Easterners talking about fireproof housing and controlled burns and living with fire rather than against it? Were you not watching us burn? Were you not learning from our baby steps? Why are you repeating our history?

People are asking such basic questions like 'how do I keep my air clean' and 'why do we have so much fire suddenly' instead of 'how do I install metal shutters on my home' and 'how do we eradicate settler-colonialism from our ideas about forest management?' and 'how do I support fire and climate refugees?'

It feels like I've returned from the war just to watch a dozen fresh faced recruits march off eagerly. Was nobody watching? Did nobody care, did nobody learn? If people won't seek out information until the smoke is in their lungs, how am I supposed to feel any hope? I don't want my job to be endlessly educating people who don't have a reason to care yet. I would have thought you cared already. I would have thought we'd be further along.

Please do research. I don't have the energy to educate people right now, I did it for years and years but so few people listened. Go look up something about TEK and controlled burns and fire suppression and old growth forests. There's lots of material you've probably never looked at. I know it can be hard to care about what goes on in other parts of the world, but now it's affecting you. You need to know the basics of what's wrong with our system, you need to know whether fire suppression may have long term implications for your area, you need to know how to do your part in local politics, and you need to know how to help the people who are affected.

After our house burned down I got a quilt. Pajaro Valley Quilt Association made quilts for fire victims, and my mom grabbed me the nicest one they had. You have to understand, I didn't have any nice things at that point. Most of my most precious possessions didn't make it out of the fire. But I have this quilt, because the community came together and gave me one nice thing that I'll be able to keep for the next generation. We need more of that. We need people to pour out love and make donations and send cards and do anything, anything, just to make someone feel less bad on the worst day of their life. If you want to help, that's how.

I didn't get any quilts from the east coast. It feels like everyone stopped caring after the first few years of fires and drought. It became old news.

But it's still real here, it's still exhausting, and it could be you too unless we all get on the same page.

[curiousitycatalyst]

Why do we always seem to trust expert opinion? The Fall and Rise of Febreze

I honestly don't believe people really understand or believe in experimentation. It seems so easy to just trust an "expert" and to believe an initial experiment that confirms your intuition or design. Striving to try to prove yourself wrong rather than right is the only want to understand your experiement.

A great example of this I love is the story of Febreze. A massive brand that has all but completely cornered the market almost completely failed. Febreze did plenty of experiments to show that their initial product removed scents. It worked for people who sat in smoking sections, it worked to remove the scent of pets. They saw successful result that confirmed their belief that people felt a need to remove those scents around them with a park ranger who often ended up bring home the scent of a skunk. For her this changed her life.

But the product wasn't selling and they couldn't understand. On the brink of complete failure they attended the home of someone owning several cats, the house smelling absolutely of the pets that lived there. when asked why she stopped using Febreze she responded that she didn't really see a change, its not like her home smelled any different.

Thinking people needed to make "sanitize" the smell of their home was confirmed in some experiments, but that wasn't reality. After pivoting and recovering Febreze identified that people wanted a pleasant scent after they finished cleaning as an olfactory reward for the hard work they put in. This is how Febreze as we know it today was born.

If your experiment confirms the experts belief, it still doesn't make it true.

[tsunderedoctor]

Hi, I'm new to your blog and think it's so kind and fantastic that you offer so much comfort to other fans like this. If it's a good time for you and you're comfortable with it, may I ask for an emergency request? I've been struggling with self-loathing thoughts and feeling like I'm a burden. There's days it feels like the bad feelings bubble up and want to explode "Because I'm worthless!" when people ask what's wrong, even though I don't want others to know. Could I get Smoker, (1/2, sorry!!)

(2/2, again so sorry for the length of this!) I wanted to know if I could get Smoker, Shanks, and Benn with an s/o (gn! reader please) along with Whitebeard (fatherly) that accidentally blows up like that and how they comfort or challenge their partner's thoughts. I struggle correcting my own negative thoughts and it'd mean a lot to hear them call them out in a way. Either way, thank you so much for your time and I appreciate you and your blog immensely.

So sorry this took so long, I won’t lie I haven’t been feeling well lately mentally, but I hope you are well and know you are important and so loved!! 💜

Despite his gruff appearance, he has a soft spot for good people, and you are on that list. He struggles with his words and knowing what to say, so he allows his actions to speak for him.

He enjoys quality time and acts of service to let you know how you mean to him. Once he notices the rejection and feelings of worthlessness coming from you, he does his best to spend more time with you, even taking away from work. 

Goes silent when you snap at him, reminding himself you are just upset right now and that you need his support during this difficult time. Even if you refuse the hug, pulls you close, telling you how much you mean to him through red cheeks. 

Spends the rest of the day, gloved hand petting your head, trying to remind you how important you are to him without expressing those difficult words.

Shanks hates when people criticize or talk badly about his things, and that includes you too! He has no problem putting you in your place when you begin saying mean things about yourself.

He goes out his way to make you see how much he needs you, even if it means hurting himself on “accident” just so you can patch him back up! 

Reminds you how much you mean to him and pulls you close to his body. He’s a physical touch lover and wants you to know that sometimes he just needs you and can’t go a day without your hugs. Just one more reason why you are so important to him!

If you still refuse to see things his way, he will give you the stare that terrifies a hundred men, DON’T talk bad about his beloved treasures or feel his wrath!

Benn is a bit more easier to talk to than Shanks when it comes to self-hatred. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care however, rather he understands the feeling and knows nothing he will say can change that.

More of a acts of service doer, so he helps you relieve some stress by making your favorite meal or doing a difficult task you were stressing about. 

Let’s you vent out all your frustrations as he smokes a cigarette and hums every once in a while, letting you know he is listening. He knows this emotion is just a phase and will pass, leading you back to wanting to be in his arms soon enough. You just had to work it out of your system first.

When the time comes and you just want to cry in his arms, expressing your anger and frustrations, he opens them wide to let you in. Strong arms working so hard to hold the weight of the world for both of you.

This reminds him so much of Ace, it hurts his old soul. Please don’t go doing something crazy, like sacrificing yourself to feel your validation of being needed and wanted. 

Keeps a close eye on you and does his best to be a listening ear when you come for advice or support. But always tells you that you matter in the crew and that he’s proud of you. 

Definitely a words of affirmation and quality time seeker. He wants you to know you belong in the crew and will tell you every day if needed. You ARE important, damn it! 

Even on his death bed, he reached out and pats your head in a loving manner, reminding you just in that act alone how much you matter to him and that you did him proud. Don’t be so hard on yourself or you’ll make your old man cry.

[endlich-allein]

Interview with Till about his life: he fought with his father, killed his beloved dog, swam on a wild river and worked on suffering. How Till Lindemann's mind works

"I will finish you off" and why you fought for the German army.

Werner Lindemann wanders around the room, interrupting the silence with strange questions, writing something down. His motive is to get to know his son and make him a friend. But it's complicated. Generational conflict.

"My island of tranquility is shaken every day. The day before yesterday, a guy pulled on my socks because his were torn. Yesterday he didn't put out a single lamp in the house. Now, with voluptuous delight, he spits cherry pits into the cat's fur. Is this grown boy really an adult?"

The apprenticeship in Rostock, where you have to do window production after graduation, is the limit of boredom. Till Lindemann moved to his father in the countryside so that he could forget about the hustle and bustle of the city and not fall under the article for anti-social attitudes. He thought of a new life, in which there was no pointless work, and arranged an attic in his father's house.

In the mornings over coffee, he scolded life that everything went according to schedule. And listened very loudly to music - electronics and metal. My father didn't understand and grumbled: “I matured late. Naturally, I wanted to listen to the music I liked, but I could not get my hands on these records. For example, my father did not understand when I bought the Alice Cooper record for a month's salary.

Werner Lindemann was a children's writer who went through the war.

At the height of his career he disappeared for weeks on literary tours - his fame spread to teachers and librarians across the country. His father pecked at Lindemann for refusing to work and promised to turn him in:

"My willful child. What doesn't fit his standards is rejected as nonsense or crap." So he took a job as a carpenter, where he made shovel cuttings and cart wheels. The head foreman constantly drank vodka during the day, didn't want to be annoyed with questions and addressed the long-haired Lindemann with the nickname: "Mozart!" This suited him.

Werner Lindemann talked about war, hard existence and limitations. For example, about a grenade splinter that remained in his body. Lindemann did not believe in all these stories - but categorically did not accept service, war and murder:

“After that I objected: “I would hide, I would not go to war. Why did you even let yourself be dragged into this? You could have hidden."

And he said: “It didn't work out. They searched for it and it took away."

Then I said: “I would rather go under arrest. Never in my life, I would go to the front line to shoot people. It's against my nature. It would be better if I went to jail."

Much of the time father and son were simply silent, even while watching television.

"He regularly made me feel guilty, to say the least, he placed himself on a pedestal towards me: I shouldn't complain. At your age, I ran barefoot through the stubble, and in my stomach - a potato in a uniform."

The only acceptance is Mike Oldfield's music: "One day my father came to grumble again. At that moment I was listening to Mike Oldfield, and he sat down and said: "That sounds interesting."

For me it was like a quantum leap: my father sits in my room, listens to my music and thinks it was good. Probably because of melancholy. He was sitting in a rocking chair that I made myself - at the time I was working as a carpenter on a farm. I, too, always sat in an armchair, immersed myself in music and smoked hand-rolled cigarettes."

The conflict was intensified by a fight. Lindemann bought a Trabant car, installed speakers in it and tested the sound - loud as usual. “Then my father came and I had to turn off this fucking music. It was kind of loud for him. He was then fiddling around his cases of flowers, and then suddenly the situation escalated. I think he slapped me while I was still in the car.

He leaned toward me and hit me with the back of his hand. I made some bullshit remarks like, "Leave me alone," something like that. That was a provocation to him, and he said: "If you do that again, I'll hit you for real." And I said, "Then you'll get it back. Because you're crazy. Don't you dare to hit me anymore."

And then he hit me with his palm again. He wasn't controlling himself.

He was exalting himself. Instantly he introduced himself as a boxer - he had boxed in the Hitler Youth - and I just... I thought I didn't hit him, I just pushed him away. And then he stood in front of me again, "Come on, I'll finish you, you haven't got a chance!" Somehow. After that, he went up to the attic and threw all my stuff out the window.

It happened over the weekend, my sister was there, a lot of screaming, serious drama. Then I packed my things, put them in the car, went to a friend's house and never went into his house again. At first I lived with this friend, and a week later I bought myself a house in the village."

His father's book is about his son, which the son will only open up after the death of the father.

Lindemann is a late child. He was born when his father was 36. The gap in their relationship was felt in everyday life and perception of the world. Werner Lindemann woke up early in the morning, worked with the circular saw under the windows and did not understand when his son slept until noon after a working week.

Lindemann's parents then lived separately, but kept in touch. Mom worked as a journalist and discussed her texts with his father. "She still lived in Rostock and always came to see him only on weekends. Mostly on Sundays she came back quite early, because she couldn't stand the stress of being with him, either."

In 1988, the book “Mike Oldfield im Schaukelstuhl Notizen eines Vaters" In this book, Lindemann Senior describes the relationship with his son (whom he calls Timm in the book), who settled with him at the age of 18. The book was written in the 80s and laid on the table until the German Democratic Republic and the Federal Republic of Germany were reunited.

Werner Lindemann wanted his son to take up writing too. But this only amused him, although as a child he wrote poetry. At the age of 13, little Till Lindemann and his father were returning home along the bumpy road to Mecklenburg. They talked about career self-determination:

"You should already have thoughts about what you want to become, boy." My answer: "I don't know yet, maybe a fisherman on the high seas."

But immediately, no matter what I said, objections arose: “But then you have to get a certificate of maturity. But then you will be away all the time. But then you won't be able to start a relationship."

There was always a “but”.

At some point it got on my nerves, as usual. And I said: "Worst case scenario, I'll just become a writer.

I still remember how alienated his face became. "And what do you think then, what do I do! It's a very hard job! In fact, it's not even a job, it's a passion. And it's a job that's supposed to be enjoyable."

I said, "I don't know anybody who works with pleasure."

"Yeah, that's the problem. You have to look for a job that gives you pleasure." Then I say again, "But some people never get to choose..." This gigantic discussion happened because I didn't take his profession seriously. At the same time, he was completely lost, funny!"

Lindemann thoughtfully read his father's book, in which he comprehends their relationship, after his death. Faked for hidden anger and indecision. For example, in a situation where their dog Kurt was bitten by a fox. The father was frightened because of rabies: “At the same time, we did not even know whether he was bitten by a fox or not. The father immediately called the huntsman. But I said: no one will enter this courtyard and shoot the dog. I'll do it myself if I really need it. At some point I really had to kill the dog."

Lindemann is not a monster. The animals he fiddled with are an important attribute of childhood. He had an aquarium and hamsters, brought mice and rats home, and was friends with dogs. “Like many children of new buildings, he felt the need for someone alive, in need of love,” said Werner Lindemann. Sometimes the appearance of an animal in the house was surprising:

“This guy will never say what he's up to. He appears on the doorstep at the same time as me. He gets out from his vehicle, throws his coat open and puts a young black shepherd in my hands. "Your Christmas present!"

Till's father is speechless. My son stands before me like the sun's little brother. Touchingly concerned, he directs me into the house, working out a plan for the animal husbandry, accommodation and diet of our new pet housemate.

With confusion, a question flies from my lips, "Wheredid you get the dog from?" "Timm" is gibbering, "Imagine, the mason in the barnyard wanted to hang him, simply wanted to strangle him with a rope, said he was a worthless eater..."

Werner Lindemann died of stomach cancer in 1993, when his son was 30. They didn't finally reconcile, but Till visited him in his last days and was there for him with his mother: "They couldn't be without each other, even though they lived apart. Unreal, but my mother never had another man afterwards. To this day she can't let go of him."

- Not going to the Olympics in Moscow and ending up in the German ghetto

Lindemann had the knowledge and the potential to be a swimmer. And a shyness that pounded harder three days before the competition than concerts in front of crowds of thousands. "I know how difficult it is to develop willpower and stamina and instill those attributes. In the GDR this was instilled in us by coaches and so-called functionaries."

Lindemann came to swimming at the age of eight and devoted his entire youth to the sport. He would get up for training at five in the morning and pass out in the evening. His grandmother watched him from the stands. At a competition in Leipzig she shouted at the coach, who told Lindemann off for a poor result. The grandmother took the coach by the ear and said: "How do you talk to my grandson?"

Sports tightened up his upbringing and developed self-discipline. “Drilling - probably the boy has already received this experience as a swimmer,” Lindemann's father wrote. - Once he had to take second place in a competition, but by no means first place. Of course, he got carried away, forgot about it, became the first, thanks to which he received a shouting for indiscipline. And whenever he lost in the future, his coach would torture him at practice for a long time and yelled at him: "Even if you win, you're not a winner yet!"

Lindemann swam the 1.5 km freestyle and could have gone to the 1980 Olympics in Moscow. Everything was ruined when he left the hotel without permission during a competition in Florence: "I didn't want to run, but just wanted to look at the city. Cars, bikes, girls. I was caught and kicked out of the team, but then I didn't give the required results either."

Lindemann competed at the European Junior Championships, but did not go any higher. After the story in Florence, his career in sport slipped away. Perhaps an abdominal injury influenced his departure. Lindemann is gone, but he doesn't yearn: "I was relatively young. There were no good [memories] left. I was glad it was over."

"The hardest part was getting back to normal. I fell into a real hole. My home was no longer a sports school, but a ghetto in Rostock. Now I stood out through drinking and fighting. I used to be surrounded only by beautiful ladies who were interested in swimming. Now I had fierce women standing in front of me asking, "How come you don't drink?" When I was shy about approaching a girl, it was interpreted as: "Are you gay?"

Lindemann now works with a coach and swims a few kilometers before his tours to get in shape: "When I exercise, I feel a certain lightness - not only physically, but also mentally. I just feel better. The main problem is staying in shape. That's where self-discipline comes into play. Teeth grinding is important."

- Three weeks in the wild and loneliness as a creative tool

Emotionally, concerts = sports:

"How do I go on tour? Hungry. And happy. It is good to compare concerts with sport. You don't want to do both at first. You don't want to go on stage. You don't want to go to the pool. You don't want to go to the boxing ring. It all happens with reluctance. It has to be accepted somehow, that's life: spring, summer, fall, winter.

When it's done, winter's gone, the blooming begins, greenery appears, it gets bright, and you start to get a taste for it. When it's over, you feel happy. Then the body produces a sea of chemistry, a lot of happiness hormones. I think the body rewards itself."

The stage, like sports, is an embarrassment, but a necessity. Lindemann wore dark glasses in order to collect fewer views from the audience. Therefore, a couple of steps before the water, he looked at the pool with a shiver. You need to cope with yourself in order to open up to new emotions.

Lindemann's gut requires solitude and moderate solitude. This is the point:

“Loneliness is always good for a creative push - you drink a glass of wine and you feel even shitier. Art is not complete without suffering; art exists to compensate for suffering."

With his friend Joey Kelly, Lindemann spent three weeks on the Yukon River. They paddled through the wilderness in a kayak for eight to 10 hours each and lived in a tent. Lindemann didn't take a tape recorder with him, so he transferred the lyrics wandering in his head on paper.

They were catching inspiration and atmosphere:

"There were times when we wouldn't say a word for hours, but then: look there, look there! It was breathtakingly beautiful. These relatively fast-changing panoramas and skies, layers of clouds, the colors.

Except for a few bears and wolves, it's hard to see anyone else out there, it's exhilarating. Along the way we saw two hunters setting traps. No one else.

I grew up in the countryside, and I have a very strong connection to nature. I love fishing, hunting. It's an archaic experience that I like to revisit over and over again. When I'm in the city for too long, I start to miss it."

To recreate situations in the Yukon, Lindemann and Kelly trained for nine months on the Rhine river in Germany because of its liveliness.

"We went down the Rhine to where the transport ships create huge bow waves. If we hadn't had a coach with us, we probably would have been sunk by the side wave impact already during our first attempt," Lindemann said.

Together with Kelly, he had four sessions with two coaches and swam from Cologne to Koblenz [more than 100 kilometers by car]. Lindemann trained separately each week on the lakes in Mecklenburg. It's both physically challenging and savage identical to being natural.

In 2015, Till started his solo project Lindemann. On the album Skills In Pills, the song Yukon was released, in which the lyrics appeared first, and then the music.

- "My lyrics come from pain rather than desire."

The country boy is big and not much of a talker. That's how the Rammstein members saw him at the start, when they were hanging out at home. "He looked cool, like a big peasant talking one sentence an hour," keyboard player Christian "Flake" Lorenz recalled. - He always had food and vodka. He'd just steal a couple of ducks somewhere and cook them on a tray. And then, frozen like in Sleeping Beauty, there were people lying in corners and on trunks in his house."

Lindemann loves and appreciates home gatherings. This came from my father, who always had guests. “In my opinion, this is the little bit that I inherited from him. Throwing parties and gathering people. Throwing parties and getting people together. He just enjoyed being a good host. The house was always full of guests from Leipzig, from Rostock, foreign guests, even from Kazakhstan.

It was always exciting for him. He stood at the stove, cooked, bought an abundance of wine, and there was always a fire in the garden. At some point he stopped drinking, then he left the party at 21:00 and the whole company continued to feast. And in the morning he got up at four, cleaned and tidied up."

Till Lindemann is about self-digging, overcoming and childish shyness, which is covered by a pumped-up figure of a swimmer. This is how Lindemann decrypts himself:

• “And I really am like a big child - ill-mannered, but harmless. People think that I am always strong, explosive. This is not true. I am sensitive and easily hurt, but in love I am romantic and passionate."

• “At the very beginning, you sit somewhere in a dark room, open a bottle of wine and figure out how to make the lyrics popular with the music. At first you only have a vague idea of ​​what it could be.

And when, three years after recording, mixing, and more mixing, developing the artwork, all this nonsense, then you stand on stage, and what you came up with then really works, when you manage to get 20 thousand people to raise their hands, then you experience incredible sensations."

• “Art is a kind of therapy.

When I feel that something is arising inside me, domineering and is most often dark, I need to give it a way out, otherwise it will simply crush me. So destruction and self-destruction are the two pillars on which my creativity is based.

But everyone chooses this for himself.

• “My lyrics arise from feelings and dreams, but still more from pain than by desire. I often have nightmares, and I wake up at night sweating, as I see terrible bloody scenes in my dreams. My lyrics are a kind of valve for the lava of feelings in my soul.

We are all struggling to hide behind good manners and outward decency, but in fact we are governed by instincts and feelings: hunger, thirst, horror, hatred, the desire for power and sex. Of course, there is also additional energy in us - this is love. Without it, all human feelings would fade away."

- "When you're constantly living someone else's life, it's very hard to get back into your own skin. I like that in principle, but sometimes you start to get confused - are you out of a role or not yet. You're already Till, or you're still a homicidal maniac."

- "I hate the noise. I hate the chatter. I expose myself to it, which is pure masochism. And then I have to protect myself from it. Noise makes you crazy. You die in it."

• “I think there is no God. And if he is and actually allows all the misfortunes on this earth, then he must punish me along with other sufferings. I will not pray to such a god."

This is how the members of Rammstein see Till - flexible and with a split personality:

Guitarist Paul Landers: "Till is so good that when you let him know that his lyrics should go in a different direction, the very next day he brings a new version of the song."

Guitarist Richard Kruspe: “He's a hell of an extreme man. He dives very deeply into situations where I cannot follow him. Everything he does is very extreme; I don't know anyone who does it. "

Drummer Christoph Schneider: "I would not want to be in Till's shoes: his soul is tormented by doubts and contradictions, he is equally a moralist and a monster."

June 1, 2021 - Translate by Lindemann Belgium

[thecultofmalcom]

gizoogle’d my fave episode 🦟💪

Yo, shrignold: Has you done eva wondered why our crazy asses here?

Whatz all dat shiznit about, you've no idea.

And everywhere you look, all you peep is hatred n' darknizz n' dirtnap n' fear.

But you know it don't gotta be; I don't give a fuck bout you, you don't give a fuck bout mah dirty ass.

Cause even though our phat asses different, it don't cook up a gangbangin' finger-lickin' difference

and we can live up in harmony.

I know you don't give a fuck whoz ass I am yo, but maybe I can git freaky wit yo' hand

and together we can KNOW bout love!

Yellow Guy: I feel tingly hommie!

Shrignold: Thatz ludd mah playa, n' itz time fo' you ta learn all bout dat shit. *Giggles*

(Ludd be a place, ludd be a thang x4)

Yo, shrignold: And do you eva feel like gamez unfair?

Cause dem hoes hates you n' no one cares?

But if you gangbang me, maybe yo big-ass booty is ghon peep dat ludd be all over dis biiiatch.

Yellow Guy: But what tha fuck is love, is it up in tha sky?

Cloud: No itz a gangbangin' feeling, deep inside.

Yellow Guy: Because I be hungry?

Shrignold: Fuck dat shit, you lonely. I can peep it up in yo' eyes.

Yellow Guy: I don't understand...

Yo, shrignold: Don't worry, yo big-ass booty is ghon soon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Come n' hook up a shitload of mah playas! They all know bout love. Come on, just over tha rainbow.

Bird Guy: Oh look, there he goes, flyin all up in tha sky dawwwwg!

Red Guy: Maybe we should follow his ass or we'll git left behind.

Bird Guy: Yes yo, but there be a fuckin shitloadz of chicken left n' I'd like ta smoke tha chicken.

Red Guy: I'd also like ta smoke tha chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Letz do dat instead dawwwg!

Shrignold: So here we is wit all mah playaz n' they ludd you, all of them!

Rabbit: Yes yes y'all, our phat asses do!

Unicorn: It be true biaatch!

Purple Guy: We ludd you, nahmean biiiatch?

Beaver: And you ludd our asses too!

Yellow Guy: I gots a straight-up boner fo' you too, Furry Boy hommie!

Beaver (whispering): Heheh.. yo. Harder son!

Red Guy: Now we've smoked tha chicken, I don't give a fuck what tha fuck ta do.

Bird Guy: Maybe we should look fo' our playa yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. Isn't dat what tha fuck playaz do, biatch?

And our crazy asses have finished our chicken picnic...

(Momentz of silence)

Shrignold: To ludd each other is ta care, ta be kind...

Flower: ...and ta share biaatch!

Rabbit: I gots a straight-up boner fo' mah playa, so I give dem a hug!

Purple Guy: I made dis fo' you cause I gots a straight-up boner fo' you like it aint no thang!

Beaver: I gots a straight-up boner fo' mah pet cause he a cold-ass lil crab.

Yellow Guy: I gots a straight-up boner fo' dis tree biaaatch! I gots a straight-up boner fo' dis stick! I gots a straight-up boner fo' dis bug n' -

Shrignold: Fuck dat shit, no, no, thatz not how tha fuck itz done.

Yo ass must save yo' ludd fo' yo' special one biaatch!

Yellow Guy: My fuckin special one?

Unicorn: Everyone has a special one.

Yellow Guy: Even me son, biatch? But I be lonely...

Yo, shrignold: Yes yes y'all, itz true yo, but do not worry dawwwwg! Yo ass is trippin yo, but thatz all gravy.

Let me put dis another way...

Tree: This is tha rap of Michael, tha loneliest pimp up in town.

This is tha rap of Michael, tha ugliest pimp up in town.

Ugly n' weak so they called his ass a gangbangin' freak

Woman: FREAK!!

so he lived on his own underground.

Dude lived on his own underground...

Dude lived on his own underground...

Shrignold: Yo ass see, biatch? Everyone has a special one biaatch!

Rabbit: Even Michael!

Shrignold: Yo crazy-ass ass beats hard like a funky-ass big-ass ludd drum, callin fo' yo' special one biaatch!

Rabbit: So be patient, cuz maybe...

All Da Ludd Cult: ...your special one will come biaatch!

Beaver: Dat punk made fo' her muthafuckin ass...

Unicorn: ...and she made fo' him!

Rabbit: And thatz tha way itz always been.

Beaver: And itz perfect.

Purple Guy: And itz pure.

Shrignold: And itz protected wit a ring.

Tree: Thatz tha way dat oldschool ludd goes.

Unicorn: Like a gangbangin' flower it grows n' grows!

Purple Guy: And itz alllll muthafuckin day.

Flower: And alllll muthafuckin day.

Shrignold: And now we all worshizzle our Mackdaddy hommie!

All Da Ludd Cult: Our Mackdaddy dawwwwg! Our Mackdaddy dawwwwg! Our Mackdaddy!

Shrignold: His name is Malcolm. (our mackdaddy)

Beaver: Dude is tha Mackdaddy of Ludd biaaatch! (our mackdaddy)

Unicorn: We must feed Him. (our mackdaddy)

Rabbit: We must feed Him gravel. (our mackdaddy)

Shrignold: Or Dude becomes mad salty. (our mackdaddy)

Yo, shrignold: And dis is yo' chizzle ta start anew

and all we askin you ta do...

Rabbit: ...is chizzle yo' name...

Beaver: ...and clean yo' dome...

Shrignold: ...and forget every last muthafuckin thang you eva knew!

Unicorn: And yo' ass will find its home biaatch!

Yellow Guyz Special One: And our ludd aint NEVER gonna go!

Shrignold: Now wear dis ring!

All Da Ludd Cult: And join tha Mackdaddy hommie!

Shrignold: And you aint NEVER gonna be alone biaatch!

IM LITERALLY IN TEARS

[stinkysam]

Jin Bubaigawara - Fluff headcanons

Warning : Nudity mention

Genre : Fluff

Synopsis : the title. it says things.

Reader : male (he/his)

He's a very physical man. 

He has a tendency to act first, think then, and this mixed with his clingy side can be quite overwhelming sometimes and he is aware of it. 

So in the beginning of your relationship he's never engaging PDA unless you tell him you don't mind at all, that he can go all out with his affection.

 He likes to sit on the ground as he plays with Spinner. He's not good at it but he really loves to have you sit between his legs and cuddle him while he plays.

He moves a lot though. And he's loud. So don't think you’ll take a nap. He will try to keep quiet if you’re really tired but it won’t work. So instead watch him play.

He’ll complain that he lost because you distracted him. Or that he lost because you didn’t encourage him.

Make him sit on your laps.

Just do it.

He’s used to you sitting on his laps, and he absolutely adores it. Squeezing you against him and planting random kisses on your spine, humming against your body as he cuddles you peacefully.

It could be an important meeting, if you sit on his laps he’s not a part of the reunion anymore. Simp first, human second.

But the first time you grabbed him to sit on you-

He short circuited. He just sat there, never speaking, never moving, not even thinking. How could he think when on your laps ?

You had to pull him closer and snuggle him to bring him back. He immediately babbled nonsense, incoherent words and happy sounds.

He’s putty in your hands. And he has no shame in telling you so.

Just sitting on your thighs, his back against your chest and your arms wrapped around his waist, his heart is about to burst out of his chest and this world.

Chairs don’t exist anymore. It’s only your laps. But you’re definitely not complaining.

He loves when you pet his head. Play with his hair, boop his nose, poke and kiss his face. Gently rub his scalp.

He wasn’t comfortable with you touching the scar on his forehead because when he thinks he’s splitting that’s where the pain is. But with time he came to appreciate it. Your gentle touch soothing his mind and the stinging feeling of his scar.

He loves bear hugs. Quickly running to you and squeezing you tightly. And he’s super excited when you do it back. Tightly holding him and walking him around as if he weighed nothing.

He’s always ready to spend time with you. He’s just overall happy to be with his friends, his found family, so why wouldn’t he be excited to be with his boyfriend ?

Just like with the others, he trusts your abilities 100%. He knows you’ll come back and you won’t abandon him. But he’ll gladly take the opportunity to accompany you -if allowed to- to protect you.

He can be a little bit hard to handle when you don’t feel like being around people, but communication is the key. Tell him you need some time alone or in a calm place and he’ll immediately understand.

Sometimes he’ll ask if he can still stay with you as long as he is quiet. He’ll be a little bit sad if you refuse but won’t push it, and after a few minutes he’s already moved on, hanging out with Toga or bugging Dabi.

But if he can stay, it’s not necessarily to cuddle. He’ll just take a nap, watch TV, smoke by the window and occasionally check on you.

Anything you give him is a gift.

But he won’t always react nicely.

“What’s that, a rock ? What do you want us to do with it ?”

“I don’t know I thought you might like its colors”

“Thanks ?” he’ll say while carefully taking it and staring at it. He won’t say much about it but he will definitely not throw it away as you’ll find it back a few days later in a drawer or placed by his belongings.

Whatever you give him, he can’t throw it away. You put thoughts in it. He doesn’t care if it was some hardcore thinking and planning or just “oh lol black and white like his suit”.

He gives you a lot of things too. Even rocks. Because it’s pretty, because it made him think of you, because it will make you think of him, or because it kind of looks like a heart. Some flowers he picked up by the road -or stole from someone’s garden-, books, clothes, snacks…

He barely ever thinks about doing it. He just gets something and then goes “Oh hey, [Name] would love this”.

He’s bad at cooking. It’s either over cooked or not enough. He tries to do weird mixes sometimes. But you both agreed to stick with the recipe in front of you. No improvisation.

He is really curious. So if you’re the kind to cook a lot, and do complicated things, he likes to watch. And he’s going to have questions. “What’s this ?”, “How did you call it ?”, “What’s it for ?”, “Why don’t you use that ?”

He’s a lazy person. So even though he understands how people can like cooking, he hates its consequences. One of the reasons he mainly orders food or buys prepared plates is because he hates having to clean.

Yet you’re out there making a full course meal, mood totally unchanged by the sight of a full sink ?

To get him to clean with you is a little bit difficult. Suddenly he found other things to do. He will end up helping you for certain things, but he won’t stick with you for the whole cleaning party.

His apartment is an “organized” mess. Kind of. So do you really think he’s bothered by a full sink ?

But I digress and we kinda lost the fluff vibe.

The only way to take baths is to have one at your place. Giran did help him find somewhere to live, but there’s the strict minimum and it’s quite small. So for the sake of it, you have a bathtub.

He wasn’t a fan of it at first. Because he just wants to shower quickly, avoiding as much as possible to stay out of his mask for too long. But nothing stops him from wearing his mask while bathing with you.

He does prefer cuddling on a couch or in a bed, but suddenly chilling in the hot water of your bath isn’t that annoying anymore. But he won’t want to get out because he’ll feel cold once out of it.

So how do you make him leave the bathtub ? By stepping out of it. Get out, dry off and leave the room. He’ll quickly hop off, almost falling due to the wet tiles.

He’ll either rapidly wrap a towel around himself or do nothing and run to your room to join you in your bed. He doesn’t care that he’s still soaked wet, he’ll dry off by snuggling you even if you try to stop him.

You’ll end up leaving the bed to get him something to wear so he doesn’t catch a cold. Of course he’ll hear you complain about how there’s water everywhere, from the bathroom to the bedroom.

He’ll quickly apologize, saying he’ll clean it, which he actually end up doing the next day.

[theravencawsatmidnight]

Rabbit

Pt iiiiii

Draco finds a Hufflepuff attempting to cheat. He torments her, keeps her under his wing becoming possessive , unsure of his feelings. After turning Reader into a Rabbit he realizes how much of an ass he was. But now hes in Azkaban for his crimes.

Tags/ @goofygobber @khemz1312 @rosiehufflepuff @trashyvicks

“Draco!” you fell to your knees reaching into the cell trying to get to him but he was too far from you. You whimpered tugging at the bars for a minute till giving up, you leaned on the bars huffing hard.

“Oh Rabbit” Draco got up making his way to you , the chain around his ankle dragging behind him . “how did you get here hm?” he sat back down by the bars reaching through to take your hand in his . He watched you yank his hand up to your face to cry into it and he pouted at the sight. “Adorable” teased the cheeky man.

“I…i i ..” it was hard to even speak, it had been months since you saw him.. Months of worrying.. Being scared for him..

Draco tapped your forehead so youd look at him. “I asked you a question Rabbit yeah?”

“Fred and .. George…” you told him, grabbing his hand again to cry into it. Draco leaned against the bars with a heavy groan. “Oh yeah? Interesting, well I guess cheaters help cheaters out? hm?

“Are they hurting you…”

“Sometimes,” he pointed to a cut on his left cheek; it was a long gash under his eye to his cheek. “Been growing my hair out too,” he turned his head side to side; it did get long. Past his ears almost to his neck. “Like it?”

“Why are you so calm… Draco your in Azkaban”

“I belong here Rabbit” Draco told you, pulling your hands through the bars this time to rest them on his lap so he could hold em. “Don't say i dont, I do. I was awful to you ya know?”

“I know but.. Your different now..” you tried to get closer, as close as the bars between you and him would let you.

“That doesn't make what i did okay love.”

“I . that night with you. I think-”

Draco put his fingers to your lips. “No no, don't you dare say it was okay , it wasn't. I'm sorry about that i truly am.”

It was all too much for you, he was acting like this was nothing to him, just another hiccup no bother. “As long as your okay…” you told him, still very much upset.

“Im fine, im more concerned about you. Hows that bloody school? Anybody giving you a hard time?” Draco squeezed your hand. “ my Father?”

“We-well..” Draco noticed you were fumbling words and trying to get your hand back from him . He moved closer, making the chain click against the cold floor. “What's been happening Rabbit.” he asked you with a different tone, he was angry.

“My-my House, they wont even look at me, all of Slytherin taunts or torments me about you, saying you are dead in some hole.. I .. i dont understand .. and …. And… Lucious.. Will pull me into his office and question me but i never say anything. He aims his wand at me and I think hes threatening me but.. I always run away.. Draco?”

The man pulled away from you to slam his fist on the bars scaring the hell out of you at first.

“That bloody House, fuckin snakes.. I dont even know what to say about those badgers and my Father? “ he grabbed your hand pulling you close so your face was touching the bars “if he hurts you, i swear ill be in here again, a lot longer. “

“Draco no,.. Im okay, promise i ..”- something tingled around you and pink smoke was gathering around your legs. “I.. no ! no not yet!!” looking up you saw Draco had removed his hand to stroke your cheek. “Looks like our times up love.”

“No please, longer.. Ill come back ! i promise!” your stomach was turning pink.

“Its okay if you dont, i dont want you to get in trouble again, “ he stood up slipping his arms through the bars to lean on them and you shot up grabbing his happy face in your hands.

“Please.. Draco.. I wanna see you again.. Im scared i .. “ you were crying now and the man pouted his lips as he wiped your tears. “Cmon now Rabbit, dont go bothering the twins to see me okay? Ill be out before you know it.”

“I.. okay.. “ you choked out a breath and Draco tipped your chin up. “Give us a kiss Pet.”

The smoke was rising and you moved forward pressing your lips to his; he tasted so sweet to you, so .. happy.. Care free. The smoke was gathering around your neck now making you break the kiss. “I .. uhm.. Im planning on opening a shop! In Diagon Alley.. Its potions i.. The Wet Nose its gonna be called.. Find me .. okay!?” you were starting to fade away.

“Ill do that rabbit. Be good, okay? For me?”

“Ill be good…” you held out a smokey hand to the man and Draco just winked at you again making another kissey face as you faded away.. Back to Hogwarts...

[thewidowsghost]

The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 4

(Y/n)'s POV

We tear through the night along dark country roads. Wind slams against the Camaro. Rain lashes the windshield. I don't know how Mom can see anything, but she keeps her foot on the gas pedal.

Every time there is a flash at lightning, I look back at Grover sitting beside Percy in the back seat and for a few moments, I wonder if I'd gone insane, or if he is wearing some kind of shag-carpet pants. But no, the smell is one I remember from kindergarten field trips to the petting zoo - lanolin, like from wool. The smell of a wet barnyard animal.

The only thing it seems Percy could say is, "So, you and my mom . . . know each other?"

Grover's eyes flit to the rearview mirror, though there are no cars behind us. "Not exactly," he says. "I mean, we've never met in person. But she knew I was watching you."

"Watching me?" Percy asks.

"Keeping tabs on you. Making sure you were okay. But I wasn't faking being your friend," he adds hastily. "I am your friend."

"Um . . . what are you, exactly?"

"That doesn't matter right now," Grover answers.

"It doesn't matter? From the waist down, my best friend is a donkey -"

Grover lets out a sharp, throaty, "Blaa-ha-ha! Goat!" he cries.

"What?" Percy asks.

"I'm a goat from the waist down."

"You just said it didn't matter."

"Blaa-ha-ha! Some satyrs would trample you underhoof for such an insult!"

"Whoa. Wait. Satyrs. You mean like...Mr. Brunner's myths?"

"Were those old ladies at the fruit stand a myth, Percy? Was Mrs. Dodds a myth?"

"So you admit there was a Mrs. Dodds!" Percy says accusingly.

"Of course."

"Then why -"

"The less the two of you knew, and weren't together as much, the fewer monsters you'd attract," Grover says like that should be perfectly obvious. "We put Mist over the humans' eyes. We hoped you'd think the Kindly One was a hallucination, Percy. But it was no good. You started to realize who you are."

"Who we - wait a moment, what do you mean?" I ask, highly confused.

The weird bellowing noise rises again somewhere behind us, closer than before. Whatever is changing us still on our trail.

"(Y/n), Percy," Mom says, "there's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety."

"Safety from what? who's after us?" Percy asks.

"Oh, nobody much," Grover asks, obviously still miffed about Percy's donkey comment. "Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions."

I let out a soft noise of disbelief and Mom glances over at me before yelling, "Grover!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Jackson. Could you drive faster, please?"

I try to wrap my mind around what is happening, but I can't do it. I know this isn't a dream. Even I, with a vivid imagination, could never dream up something this weird.

Mom makes a hard left. We swerve onto a narrower road, racing past darkened farmhouses and wooded hills and 'PICK YOU OWN STRAWBERRIES' signs on white picket fences.

"Where are we going?" Percy asks.

"The summer camp I told you about," Mom's voice is tight; she is trying for our sakes not to be scared. "The place you want to send you."

"The place you didn't us to go," Percy asks and I swallow thickly.

"Please, dear," my mother begs and just the desperation in her voice makes tears well up in my eyes. "This is hard enough. Try to understand. You're both in danger."

"Because some old ladies cut yarn," Percy says.

"Those weren't old ladies," Grover says. "Those were the Fates. Do you know what it means—the fact they appeared in front of you? They only do that when you're about to...when someone's about to die."

"Whoa. You said 'you.'"

"No, I didn't. I said 'someone.'"

"You meant 'you.' As in me."

"I meant you, like 'someone.' Not you, you."

"Boys!" my Mom yells.

She pulls the wheel hard to the right, and I get a glimpse of a figure she'd swerved to avoid - a dark fluttering shape now lost behind us in the storm.

Percy's POV

"What was that?" (Y/n) asks, fear creeping into her voice.

"We're almost there," my mother says, ignoring my sister's question. "Another mile. Please. Please. Please."

I didn't know where there is happened, but I find myself leaning forward in the car, anticipating, wanting us to arrive.

Outside, nothing but rain and darkness—the kind of empty countryside you get way out on the tip of Long Island. I think about Mrs. Dodds and the moment when she'd changed into the thing with pointed teeth and leathery wings. My limbs go numb from delayed shock. She really hadn't been human. She'd meant to kill me.

Then I think about Mr. Brunner...and the sword he had thrown me. Before I can ask Grover about that, the hair rises on the back of my neck. There is a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling boom! and our car explodes.

(Y/n)'s POV (Again)

I feel weightless like I'm being crushed, fried, and hosed down all at the same time, and my head slams against the dashboard.

Stars erupt before my eyes and I hear Mom yell, as if in a long tunnel, "Percy! (Y/n)!"

"I'm okay . . ." I hear Percy say.

I try to shake off my daze, as blood drips down into my eyes. The car had swerved into a ditch. Our driver's-side doors are wedged in the mud. The roof had cracked open like an eggshell and rain is pouring in.

Lighting. That is the only explanation. We'd been blasted off the road.

My head, feeling as though it was made of lead, I lift my head and it falls against the head-rest.

"Percy, (Y/n)," Mom says, "we have to . . ." Her voice falters.

My head lolls back, and in a flash of lightning, through the mud-spattered rear windshield, I see a figure lumbering toward us on the shoulder of the road. The sight of it makes my skin crawl. It is a dark silhouette of a huge guy, like a football player. He seems to be holding a blanket over his head; his top half is bulky and fuzzy, and his upraised hands make it looks as though he has horns.

I swallow thickly, "Who is -"

"Percy, (Y/n)," my mother interupts, deadly serious. "Get out of the car."

Mom throws herself against the driver's-side door. It is jammed shut in the mud; Percy tries his as well.

"Climb out the passenger's side!" Mom tells the two of us. "Percy, (Y/n) - you have to run. Do you see that big tree?"

"What?" Percy asks.

Another flash of lightning, and through the smoking hole in the roof I see the tree that she means: a huge, White House Christmas tree-sized pine at the crest of the nearest hill.

"That's the property line," my mom says. "Get over that hill and you'll see a big farmhouse down in the valley. Run and don't look back. Yell for help. Don't stop until you reach the door."

"Mom, you're coming too," I say softly.

Mom's face is pale, her eyes as sad as when she looked at the ocean.

"No!" Percy shouts. "You are coming with us. Help me carry Grover!"

"Food!" Grover groans, a little louder.

"He doesn't want me or Grover," my mother tells me. "He wants the two of you. Besides, I can't cross the property line."

"But . . ." I start to argue.

"We don't have time. Go. Please."

"We're going together," I say, slamming my shoulder against the door.

Together, the three of us escort Grover, stumbling up the hill through wet waist-high grass.

Glancing back, I get my first clear look at the monster. He is seven feet tall, easily, his arms and legs like something from the cover of Muscle Man magazine. He wears no clothes except underwear; the top half of his body is so scary. Coarse brown hair starts at about his belly button and gets thicker as it reaches his shoulder.

His neck is a mass of muscle and fur leading up to his enormous head, which had a snout as long as my arm, snotty nostrils with a gleaming brass ring, cruel black eyes, and horns - enormous black-and-white horns with points you just can't get from an electric sharpener.

I blink the rain out of my eyes, "That's -"

"Pasiphae's son," Mom interupts. "I wish I'd known how badly they wanted to kill you."

"But he's the Min -" Percy begins.

"Don't say his name," she warns. "Names have power."

The pine tree is still way too far - a hundred yards uphill at least.

I glance behind me again.

The bull-man hunches over our car, looking in the windows - or not looking, exactly. More like snuffling, nuzzling. I'm not really sure why he bothered, since we're only about fifty feet away.

"Food?" Grover moans again.

"Shhh," Percy hisses. "Mom, what's he doing? Doesn't he see us?"

"His sight and hearing are terrible," she says. "He goes by smell. But he'll figure out where we are soon enough."

As if on cue, the bull-man bellows in rage. He picks up Gabe's Camaro by the torn roof, the chassis creaking and groaning. He raises the car over his head and throws it down the road. It slams into the wet asphalt and skids in a shower of sparks for about half a mile before coming to a stop; the gas tank explodes.

Not a scratch, I remember Gabe saying. Oops.

"Percy, (Y/n)," our mom says. "When he sees us, he'll charge. Wait until the last second, then jump out of the way - directly sideways. He can't change directions very well once he's charging. Do you understand?"

"How do you know all this?" I ask, fear creeping into my voice again.

"I've been worried about an attack for a long time. I should have expected this. I was selfish, keeping the two of you near me."

"Keeping me near you?" Percy asks. "But -"

Another bellow of rage and the Minotaur starts tromping uphill.

He'd smelled us.

The pine tree is only a few more yards, but the hill is getting steeper and slicker, and Grover isn't getting any lighter.

The Minotaur closes in. Another few seconds and he'd be on top of us.

Mom must've been exhausted, but she shouldered Grover. "Go, Percy, (Y/n)! Separate! Remember what I said."

I didn't want to split up, but I have the feeling she is right - it's our only chance. I sprint to the left, turn, and sees the creature bearing down on me; his black eyes glowing with hate. He reeks like rotten meat.

He lowers his head and charges, those razor-sharp horns aimed straight at my chest.

The fear in my stomach makes me want to bolt, but that wouldn't work. I could never outrun this thing. So I hold my ground, and at the last moment, I leap to the side.

The bull-man storms past like a freight train then bellows with frustration and turns, but not towards me this time, towards Percy, whose standing in between my mom and Grover, and me.

We'd reached the crest of the hill. Down the other side, I can see a valley, just as Mom had said, and the lights of a farmhouse glowing yellow through the rain. But It is half a mile away; we'd never make it.

The bull-man grunts, pawing the ground. He keeps eyeing Percy, whose eyes are wide. I sprint towards my brother as the Minotaur charges at him. I dive forward, knocking Percy over as the horns were mere inches from his chest.

The bull-man lets out a roar of anger then eyes Mom, who was just setting Grover down in the grass.

He keeps eyeing Mom, who is now retreating downhill, back towards the road, trying to lead the monster away from Grover.

"Run!" she tells me. "I can't go any farther. Run!"

But I stand there, frozen in fear, as the monster charges at her. She tries to sidestep, as she'd told me to do so, but the monster had learned his lesson. His hand shoots out and grabs her by the neck as she tries to get away. He lifts her as she struggles, kicking and pummeling the air.

"Mom!" I cry, stepping towards the monster.

She catches my eyes, which are welling with tears, and managed to choke out one last word: "Go!"

Then, with an angry roar, the monster closes his fists around my mother's neck, and she dissolves before mine and Percy's eyes, melting into light, a shimmering golden form as if she's a holographic projection. A blinding flash and she is simply . . . gone.

"No!" Percy wails, collapsing to his knees.

Anger replaces my fear; newfound strength burns in my limbs.

The bull-man hunches over Grover, whose lying helpless in the grass. The monster hunches over, snuffling my brother's best friend, as though he were about to lift Grover and make him dissolve too.

I strip off my red rain jacket.

"Hey!" I scream, waving the jacket, running to the one side of the monster, Percy doing the same with his own red jacket. "Hey, stupid! Ground beef!"

"Raaaarrrr!" the monster turns towards me, shaking his meaty fists.

I had an idea - a stupid idea, but better than no idea at all. I put my back to the big pine tree and wave my red jacket in front of the Minotaur, thinking I'd jump out of the way at the last moment.

But it doesn't happen like that.

The bull-man charges too fast, his arms out to grab me whichever way I try to dodge.

Time seems to slow down as my legs tense. I can't jump sideways, so I leap straight up, kicking off from the creature's head, using it as a springboard, turning in midair, and landing on his neck.

How did I do that? I wonder. I didn't have time to figure it out. A millisecond later, the monster's head slams into the tree, and the impact nearly knocks my teeth out.

The bull-man staggers around, trying to shake me. I lock my arms around his horns to keep from being thrown. Thunder and lightning are still strong; the rain is still in my eyes. The smell of rotten meat bringing my nostrils.

The monster shakes himself around and bucks like a rodeo bull. He should have just backed into the tree and smashed me flat, but I am starting to realize that this thing has only one gear: forward.

Meanwhile, Grover starts groaning in the grass. I want to yell at him to shut up, but by the way, I am getting tossed around, if I opened my mouth, I'd bite my tongue off.

As if reading my mind, Percy does yell at Grover, but Grover just groans, "Food!" again.

The bull-man wheels toward him, paws the ground again, and gets ready to charge. I think about how he had squeezed the life out of my mother, made her disappear in a flash of light, and rage fills me like high-octane fuel. I get both hands around one horn and I pull backward with all my might. The monster tenses; gives a surprised grunt, then—snap!

Percy's POV

The bull-man screams and flings my sister through the air. She lands flat on her back in the grass. Her head smacks on a rock. I catch sight of a horn in (Y/n)'s hand and I dart over, grabbing it out of her hands and roll to one side as the monster charges. As the monster barrels past, I drive the broken horn straight into his side, right up under his furry rib cage.

The bull-man roars in agony; he flails, clawing at his chest, then begins to disintegrate - not like my mother, in a flash of golden light, but like crumbling sand, blown away in chunks by the wind, the same way Mrs. Dodds had burst apart.

The monster is gone.

The rain had stopped. The storm still rumbles, but only in the distance. I smell like livestock, and my knees are shaking.

I stick my hand out and pull my sister up from the ground.

My head feels like it is splitting open, and it doesn't help as I look at the back of my sister's head, which was bleeding heavily. I feel weak and scared and trembling with grief. I'd just seen my mother vanish. I want to lie down and cry, but there is Grover, who my sister had stumbled her way towards and was trying to lift the limp figure on her own. Both my sister and my best friend need my help, so I manage to haul him up and my sister and I stagger down into the valley.

(Y/n)'s POV

The pain in my head was almost blinding - from it slamming against the dashboard and the rock - and I hear Percy crying out from our mother, but we both hold onto Grover - neither of us letting go.

The last thing I remember is collapsing on a wooden porch, looking up at a ceiling fan circling above me, moths flying around a yellow light, and the stern faces of a bearded man and a pretty girl, her blond hair curled like a princess's. They both look down at me and Percy, and the girl says, "They're the ones. They must be."

"Silence, Annabeth," the man says. "They're still conscious. Bring them inside."

Word Count: 2896 words

[r0zez-in-bl00m]

~ 𝓒𝓻𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓭 ~

Looking more like a boy

🍎 Epel x fem!reader (fluff) WORD COUNT : : 1.5k

Description- Epel loves his beloved very much, even though they look more manly than him. But what happens when he tries to become more manly himself?

Epel loved (y/n) more than anything he ever had loved before, not only him but his lover knew that too. The whole Pomefiore dorm did, Vil was very happy to see them together though he would comment on one flaw every time this topic was brought up in his presence.

 Only one thing's wrong in their wild relationship, is the perplexity of finding out which one of them is a boy or a girl. God, (y/n) always had to assure him that not to get so overboard on these pathetic matters, but that guy wouldn't have it. Epel gets so angry when someone confuses him with a girl while he's somewhat embarrassed that his girlfriend was so strongly built.

 Even Mr. Vargas sometimes gave an example of her to teach the students to build muscles, Vargas rarely compliments someone else other than his egocentric self on the concept of muscles. But (y/n) begs to differ on that matter. "Mr. Vargas is more female following, I guess." 

 Insecurity is highly available in the love market. Epel dragged, literally dragged, away (y/n) when some delinquent/ jock randomly flipped his arm on her during Magift practice. Be prepared for a long lecture in a very cute voice by the little apple, pun intended. Expecting a change in accent when he started talking was crucial. 

 "Why?! Out of all people . . ." "Ain't I enough for ya?! You don't like me because I ain't muscular?"

 Then there were coddling moments, (y/n) crushed Epel into a hug," God, my idiot boyfriend . . . if I liked muscular guys would I go out with you in the first place?"

 The girl teased him a lot though for his switch in accent. "You sound like a little lion sometimes. . . Kingscholar would be jealous." The apple boy blushed a lot with (y/n) whispering in his ear or touching his face.

 To match her girlfriend in every way Epel tries a little too much than expected.

 One day while experimenting in the laboratory along with Jack Howl for their assessment Epel was multi-tasking with another book hidden under his desk and reading the book which was based on magical pharmaceuticals for the second-year level.

 By chance, Jack spotted the book and scolded him for cheating. Immediately Epel got a switch in his persona and was bomb-barding over the 192cm wolf with his southern comments while spilling his beans at the moment. 

 "You're trying to make a potion that will make you more muscular?" Jack muttered in disbelief, he couldn't fathom at first that why would a cute Pomefiore require such a potion in the first place.

 Epel, being Epel, switched to his regular façade in an instant and was stammering like mad as a hatter. "Oh, !-! I-it's just . . . so t-that I can look a b-bit . . . more masculine... f-for her." It wasn't hidden from anyone that (y/n) (l/n) and Epel were dating but Jack never expected him to go this far to read and understand a high-level medicine book. Jack merely scratched his head, confused about what to say next, "I think Vil-Senpai once told me that taking a body development potion can cause a lot of strain to the body as well as the mind. . ." Epel had his head down, pressed against the desk, "I know that! It's just it's kinda weird that (y/n) looks more like a man than me." 

 Feeling like a good puppy that Jack is he decided to help Epel with the potion considering that it was of vast complexity (and we know that our Tsundere puppy would never admit that he is doing this by heart lol).

    All afternoon Jack and Epel spent their time researching and putting all sorts of herbs and potions into the cauldron. "Epel, focus closely on how the color changes. We don't want to create trouble for ourselves." Jack instructed while putting another herb as designated in the book. Epel nodded," Understood."

 Slowly the color started to fade into a vicious color of red, thick and rich. Jack and Epel both peered down to take a closer look. As the book said it would be welcoming at first glance yet the trick of the potion was to figure out which part was truthful. It hadn't yet been figured out that when was it best to consume the potion. Many theories were concocted for its usage; 'drink it when it turns out a bit bluish', 'it'll smell like rotten eggs at first,' 'don't drink if it's still milk-white,' such and such. 

 "How will we figure out that the potion is drinkable yet-"Jack said, he turned his head only to be at the verge of losing it. Epel was already gorging on the drink, the liquid falling on the floor at each gulp. "E-Epel?! What are you d-doing?" But by then it was already too late. 

 The potion was all gone and all was left was to see if their hard work bore any fruit. Laughter broke out a minute later. "Jack!! I can feel the power surging in me . . . . God, it's amazing!" Jack was baffled, then knowing that everything was alright smirked a little at their success. But then something struck him, Isn't potion supposed to make him taller? Then why is he shrinking... 

 His realization was as late as ever. A poof of purple smoke surrounded Epel and within the blink of an eye . . . vóila! The apple had turned into a cat; A pretty cute one to be exact.

 His eyes were big with their same blue irises and were staring adoringly/in confusion at Jack. "Meow?" Jack took it as 'what the hell happened?' As much as he wanted to lecture Epel the Cat, he couldn't. Stan cuteness.

 Jack cursed the time he decided to be a good puppy and help Epel out, now he was in big trouble than anyone could anticipate. The terrifying image of (y/n) wrathful face started to haunt him, he was sure that Epel had the same thoughts. With swift arms Epel was under Jack's protection, they both headed towards the hall of mirrors to the Pomefiore dorm.

 But but but . . . the goddess of fate had taken a little vacation. In their hurried state they were spotted by the person they both least wanted to see right now.

 "Hey, Jack!!!" 

 "Goddamn it!!" Jack muttered angrily, this couldn't have been the worst time to be killed right now. (y/n) approached him at an unprecedented speed Jack could've reciprocated. He was done for. "What up bro—oh who's this?" (y/n) gazed at Epel with the same affection she would give him when he, you know, is not busy as a cat.

 The girl patted the cat's head, "Is this your pet, Jack?" (y/n) asked. His face flushed red at that question alone, so did Epel's, but in this case, it was his snout. "Uh . . . no . . . (y/n). It's not my pet. . ." Jack stammered, and hard. That day was no good for him. "It's not yours? Then maybe Ruggie's? I've seen him quite getting along with Lucius," the never-ending string of cat-related questions continued with Jack stammering like a fool and Epel losing his shit.

 Finally, in anger, he leaped in (y/n)'s arms. The girl was taken back a bit but materialized because of Epel's soft purring. "It's strange. . . Epel does the same when he's having a rough time. Burying his face in my arms then falling asleep," (y/n) laughed. "Which reminds me . . . have you seen him anywhere?"

 Be prepared to see a dying Jack any minute. 

 A guy, then, approached the group in a hurry, "(y/n)! Vice prez of Octavinelle is looking for you." 

While being dragged away (y/n) called out to tell her if he gets to know anything about Epel do let her know. God bless the anonymous dude who unintentionally saved Jack Howl from being slaughtered. Epel looked relieved too, that and a little triumphant purr.

 Then their venture towards Pomefiore continued. Upon reaching everyone in that glittering dorm showered Epel the Cat with love which was already less required but was, later on, were saved by Vil Schoenheit.

 Jack ushered Vil into a corner with Epel still secured in his arms and narrated the story from top to bottom.

 "YOU WHAT?!" Nobody could understand why their simply composed dorm leader lost his cool all of a sudden.

 Vil already made plans to clear out his afternoon to lecture Jack and Epel thoroughly tomorrow for causing this blunder, but Epel Felmier had to be saved. That night Jack again spent his entire time looking through the potions book with Vil brewing the antidote. Never in his life, Jack went through so much Alchemy and he swore that whatever happened next he wouldn't touch a single Alchemy book (unless it's a test then we can't sue the wolf).

 But one thing was final that he was going to do something lurid to Epel as soon as he gets back to normal, or he isn't Savnnaclaw.

 ---------------------------------------

[6knotty6thotty6]

So a couple of months ago, I saw a YouTube video that was an audio recording of season 5, episode 6 of Bojack Horseman, “Free Churro.” In the episode, the main character, Bojack Horseman, spends 20 minutes giving a eulogy at his mother’s funeral. There’s one big problem though, his mother was an abusive bitch. His eulogy is him trying to contemplate what she meant by her drying words, “I see you,” and whether or not she loved him. As someone who has a dead parent who was abusive, this is probably my favorite episode of any show ever for how much it helped me understand my feelings. The comments section is filled with people sharing their pain with their abusive families, but one comment stood out to me above all the others by how raw and relatable it was. This comment was by a YouTuber named Moonstruck. At the bottom of this post is a link to her channel. Please support her. After reading this, she deserves a million subscribers. Also please watch Bojack Horseman. (I corrected some of the grammatical errors to make it easier to read)

Disclaimer: Child abuse, bullying, trauma, and mental health:

Moonstruck: 

This is a great monologue, but one part of it, in particular, really caught my attention was the 'grand gesture' bit.

When I was a kid, I read this book called "Chicken Soup for the Soul." There's a shitload of them. I don't remember which particular one it was. I hated the whole series because it's just someone profiting off a bunch of other people's stories rather than trying to write their own, in my opinion. 

Anyway.

This one story that I remember, the ONLY one I remembered,  was sent in by a little girl. She wrote about how her father never told her that he loved her. He never once, in her whole life, said the words "I love you." I don't remember her mom being mentioned, maybe she was dead; it doesn't matter. The point is her dad was basically an emotionless asshole. Well, one day, this girl gets sick. Really sick. Possibly on her deathbed sick. She wrote that one day she woke up to find a necklace sitting on her nightstand that had a pendant that looked like her dog. She said she held it to her heart and cried because that necklace said all the things her father never had.

I thought, "What a load of bullshit."

A cheap trinket doesn't make up for years and years of emotional neglect. Anyone can buy a thing and toss it your way. Hell, he didn't even hand it to her himself, just left it there for her to find if/when she woke up, then left her alone again to possibly die.

A lot of people say that actions speak louder than words, in cases like political protests and shit. While that's true, scenarios that this that girl are different. Gifts can never replace the words, "I love you."

When I was a kid, my father never told me he loved me. My mother didn't either, but she's a whole other kettle of fish. I would say 'my biological mother or father,' but I never got adopted ones, so who gives a shit. Anyway. My father was rarely around, and when he was, he just spent the entire time fighting with my mother and leaving again. He would do and say anything that could get him to spend less time in the house with her. With us. I can't blame him. If I could've left during those times, I would have. I tried more than once. I even earned the nickname 'runaway' from a family friend because of it. 

I was told that I was worthless as early as I could understand words. I don't know what it is about me that set my mother off, but she HATED me. I was always told how expensive I was to keep alive and how I wasn't worth it. If I dared ask for anything, she would remind me how much she spent just to keep me from starving to death and that it was too much already. On the rare occasion I was given something, it was so she could use it as a threat. She was like, "Sure, you can have that toy horse since we got your sister a real one, but you better behave or we'll give it to her and let her break it." Or "Oh, fine, we can keep this dog as a FAMILY pet (NOT YOURS), but if you do something we don't like, we'll take it away and kill it." 

Oh, yeah. I have a sister. She’s cut from the same cloth as our mother. I don't consider any of them family anymore. She was two years older than me. She was the "we should have stopped while we were ahead" kid. Anything she wanted, she got. 

"Mom, can I have an award-winning horse and expensive dressage lessons?"

"Sure!"

"Mom, can I have a car?"

"No problem!"

"Mom, can you pay for my ballet lessons?"

"Absolutely!"

She was the golden child. The one that could do no wrong and wasn't a mistake. Even after she totaled her car, got arrested for an underage DUI, and got pregnant three times in high school, she was still the good one. I never even asked to go to school dances, parties, or go out with the one friend I had. My sister liked to see me in pain. She'd tell our mom that I did things just to get me in trouble. Whether it involved blaming me for things she did or fabricating stuff, she'd say whatever it took to get my mother to beat me while she watched and laughed. Oh, yeah, our mom was BIG on physical punishment. I've been whipped with everything from a riding crop, a wooden paddle, spoons, and especially belts. Anything that was close at hand when my mother got irritated, I've been hit with it. 

At one point, my sister had three tall, beautiful show-worthy horses. I was allowed to keep a sickly old pony for all of a week before she was taken away, then I'd get called ungrateful for asking why we had to get rid of HER instead of one of the horses. Even though my mother said it cost too much to keep them all. With horses being obviously too rich for my blood, I asked for something cheaper, and for once, I got it. I was given a baby goat that one of our neighbors' goats had abandoned for being too weak, and they didn't have time to raise. I loved that goat. I bottle raised him, and named him Ben. He was my best friend for a while. When he grew up, he got so big that I was able to stand on his back to grab tree branches and pull them down so he could eat the leaves. I walked him on a leash like a dog every day. I loved him so much. My mother had me enter him in a show, and we won ninth place! I was thrilled to have something to show against my sister's collection of dressage show ribbons. I finally had proof that I could do something right! Sure, the prize money was taken away from me, but I still had Ben.

But Ben didn't come home with me after the show. It turns out he was sold to a slaughterhouse because that show was for meat goats. I didn't know until he was already gone. Of course, my mother punished me for being upset and even forced me to write a thank-you card to the people who bought his meat. 

My mother was always like that. Anything I loved was used as a threat. I eventually accepted that loving anything was a waste of time. I learned to detach myself from my feelings, and I got really good at it. I can completely turn off my emotional reaction to anything. One time I had to put down one of the egg-laying hens at work that got too sick to save, and I felt nothing while bringing down the ax. When I lost out on a job that could have changed my life, I told myself how stupid it was to hope for anything good. Any positive emotion I felt got me punished, so I learned to feel nothing at all. To this day, I still have trouble feeling things, even when I want to. I'm taking pills now, and they help, sometimes. 

I've had several suicide attempts. I keep a box of razor blades in my desk just to have them close. I got a tattoo of a heart with rainbows on my wrist. Partially for LGBT solidarity, but mostly to remind myself that there is still beauty in the world. I still struggle with wonder if I actually believe it or not. 

I've tried so hard to be a good kid. I never partied, never drank, never smoked even when the chances were there, and I would have greatly loved anything to make the pain stop or even just dull it a little bit. I was in the gifted and talented program at school and was able to graduate at fifteen. For a while, I was sent to a children's home where I was passed around to many people I didn't know, including a clown who I may or may not have actually been related to, until I eventually wound up out here where I am now. It's all pretty hazy, and the details get scrambled. 

It's been 10 years since I've had contact with my mother and sister. I can't even keep in touch with the one friend I had, even after I lived with her. She's tried to reach out to me, but I just… can't. I try, but I can't. Sometimes, I can almost pretend that my past wasn't real. It's just a hazy fog that isn't really there. I want to believe that if I don't allow something, or someone, who was part of that past, someone tangible and real, into my life again, then the fog will go away. This is why I can't do it. I know I'm a terrible friend. Ariel, if you're reading this, I'm sorry. You're better off without me in your life anyway. 

I typed all of this out because sometimes, about fifty dollars or so shows up in my PayPal from my father's email address. I don't know if it's from him or from her using his email, but it doesn't matter either way. The point is I know my mother is the one sending the money.

I know my mother likes to think she's a good person. She went to church every Sunday, and probably still does. She organized a lot of church events and participated in every church function. I had to be an altar server for several years until I aged out of it and was in the choir. She kept going to that church even after the priest got drunk, called me many horrible names in front of everyone, and was revealed to be a pedophile that raped a little boy at gunpoint. She probably still goes to that same church and organizes things. She likes being in charge. She likes having people look at her and say, "That there is a good person."

But are you, though, Mom? Are you really a good person? Were you a good person when you hit me? When you lied to me? When you laughed with my sister about how much I got hurt for things I didn't do? Were you a good person every time you told me you'd kill my cat or leave my dog at the pound? Were you a good person when you sold Ben to be eaten, knowing that I loved him? Were you a good person when you made me read "A child called It" and told me that you'd start doing the things in that book to me if I didn't behave? Were you a good person every time you told my father I was a liar whenever I tried to tell him what you were doing to me? Were you a good person when you told me I wasn't worth the cost of being alive? Were you? 

Fuck you, Mom! Keep your fucking money! A necklace on the nightstand isn't enough. A trinket can't heal years and years and years of abuse and hurt. You can't hide these scars under dollar bills. I hope you die alone. I know I probably will, but I don't even care anymore. I lost the ability to care thanks to you. You can't make up for the things you did and the things you didn't say now. Too little, too late!