#listen shit was wrong with me before i read homer

[nikoisme]

homer i'm waiting for you to pay my therapy bills

[bauslut]

ii. what makes a man?

pairing: aaron hotchner x rowan rivers

word count: 3.840k

warnings: canon typical violence -- blood, gore, mentions of murder, discussion of murder, discussion of weapons, cursing, trauma, dealing with trauma, death of children

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“here you are,” jj bore a kind smile as she slid a manila folder towards the brunette, “here’s your official welcome to the bau. i’m sorry it wasn’t on more.. positive terms.”

“oh,.it’s quite all right,” rowan’s eyes widened, “this is what we’re here--”

“she’s sitting in my spot,” rossi chuckled, “but i don’t mind.”

“are you sure?” rowan stammered, a rosy blush painting her cheeks, “i-i can get up and move--”

“don’t sweat it,” rossi nodded curtly, “there are plenty of open seats.”

“hey baby girl,” a wide, jovial, grin painted morgan’s lips as a woman entered the room, her blonde locks intricately woven into an up-do, “don’t you look delicious today?”

“as always,” the woman scrunched her nose, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose, “how are you this morning baby-cakes?”

“hey there!” a chirp startled rowan, sounding from her left, “i’m emily, but around here, i’m referred to as prentiss.”

she was met with kind eyes, a warm mocha hue. they were bright, glimmering as they followed every minute movement as rowan studied her features. the woman was gorgeous without a doubt, with full lips and an oblong face. her hair was luscious, parted down the middle, styled into bouncy curls.

“hi,” rowan breathed, sticking out a hand, “i’m rowan riv--”

“i am afraid we do not have time for introductions,” a stern voice echoed through the space, “we are fbi agents, not kindergartners. we can have icebreakers or whatever it is you’re doing on the jet.”

rowan choked back a sharp retort as hotch strode towards a whiteboard, his spine straightened, chest puffed out slightly. sliding into her seat, her hands settled on the armrests, a puff of air exhaling from her lips. she was sandwiched between two seasoned agents, as morgan was munching on a bag of cookies on her left, prentiss sifting through papers to her right.

maybe if she just shut her mouth, she would blend in and he wouldn’t pay any sort of attention to her. which, wasn’t such a bad idea in the moment. the less he focused on her and berated her, the better.

“cookie?” morgan rattled the bag.

“not right now. thank you though,” rowan whispered, lips curving into a small smile.

“i’m about to begin discussing the case,” hotch shot rowan a glare, words barbed with venom, “so listen up.”

he pinned several images on the board, bile rising in rowan’s throat as her focus transitioned to the pictures. prentiss sucked in a shaky breath, while morgan muttered a strand of incoherent sentences.

the images progressively became more grotesque as they spanned across the board. mangled, beaten, and bloodied corpses were presented, the bile approaching the back of her mouth as she realized the age range.

the bodies were children, their jugulars slashed, lacerations and bruises littering their tiny frames.

“there has been a surge of murders in the rural farm town of homer, illinois. in the past week, there have been a total of five. all of the victims were children, with no specific physical attributes,” hotch cleared his throat, “however, all of them bear one aspect in common.”

“they’re all boys,” reid murmured, “from the images it appears as if they’re about ages eleven or twelve.”

“then they are pre-pubescent boys,” rowan’s voice was clear, pairs of eyes falling on her as she spoke, “i’ve seen something like this before, when i was working in columbus. we had a ring of traffickers who preferred this age range.”

“and?” morgan arched a brow, “why pre-pubescent boys?”

“hotch,” rowan nearly trembled as the supervisor’s cold gaze shifted on her, “i-if i may ask, were there any signs of assault or rape?”

“the severity of sexual assault varied on each victim.”

“you said that they have no physical attributes in common but looking at these photos,” reid shook his head slightly, “the brunettes are the only ones who have lacerations covering their entire bodies. the blondes, the only sign of violence demonstrated is the murder itself, the incision along the jugular.”

“could it be that our unsub has something against brunettes?” morgan inquired.

“potentially,” rowan blinked, scanning over the text, “it also says here in the autospies that the only boys who were sexually assaulted were the brunettes. i may be going on a whim here, but i think our unsub is lashing out on the brunettes for a reason. it could be power, dominance, you name it. perhaps the hair color is a stressor, or was the initial stressor. he might be reliving a traumatic event from his childhood.”

rossi whistled, “look at you, rivers. already building a profile and we’ve only met for five minutes.”

“sadly i’ve seen a lot of this before,” rowan let out a sigh, rustling through papers, “it also says here that the bodies were all found at homer lake forest preserve. i have a strong premonition that our unsub is male.”

“and what makes you say that?” hotch countered.

“by the way the bodies were handled,” rowan shrugged, “they were beaten, mutilated, and dragged through the woods. the amount of physical strength to do that is just an inherent trait males have."

“how were the bodies discovered?” jj bit her lip, a trace of fear glimmering in her icy blue depths.

“they were found by a new fisherman every morning around dawn, in the same location. they were located about half a mile from the entrance of the preserve,” hotch tossed the file onto the table, “our unsub is bold.”

“he wanted the bodies to be found,” rossi added, “he’s arrogant.”

“or he’s sloppy,” rowan remarked, “he’s devolving. he could be killing just on that need burning within him, with no remorse or any sort of emotion within him at all--”

“we need to get to homer as soon as possible,” hotch interrupted, glancing at his phone, “it’s ten o’clock in the morning. it’s only a matter of time before another body is found.”

“where’s the closest airport?” jj folded her arms across her chest.

“willard airport in champaign-urbana,” reid piped up, “other than that, the other closest one is in bloomington-normal.”

“and how do you know that?” morgan’s eyes widened.

“champaign-urbana is the home of the university of illinois,” reid swallowed thickly, “i’ve been there a few times. it’s an exceptional school for engineering, truly one of the greatest in the country--”

“all right, all right,” morgan stuck out a hand, “you answered my question.”

“wheels up in thirty,” hotch announced, plucking the file off the shiny wood.

rowan followed the others in suit, filing out of the space. trailing reid, she was the second last to leave the room, hotch right behind her, deep, smooth, voice filling her ears.

“i need to speak with you agent rivers.”

“yes?” she swiveled on her heel, facing the supervisor, folding her arms across her chest.

“i hope you’re aware that i do not tolerate any sort of childlike behavior. we’re not teenagers reuniting on the first day of class. i did not appreciate the interruptions in my conference room. you can socialize on your own time.”

“you’ve never once interrupted anything in your entire life? wow, you really must be mr. perfect. i mean look at you, all put together. i doubt you’ve even done anything wrong in your life you’re so per--”

“you realize you’re speaking to your boss with this tone, right?”

“i don’t fucking care,” tears brimmed rowan’s eyes, “this is my first day and it’s even worse than i could have ever imagined.”

“excuse me?”

“you’ve really made sure i’ve had a warm welcome to the bau, mr. perfect,” rowan scoffed, rolling her eyes, “it’s been an amazing first day, i’ll tell you that.”

for just a moment, hotch’s tough exterior cracked, a flicker of sympathy flashing in his gaze, “i’m sorry.”

“‘i’m sorry’?”

hotch paused, inhaling a deep breath, “i was going to write you up. however, i may have been a little too harsh on you. after all, this is your first day. strauss put in a good word for you, and i want to see your skill set out in the field. come on, we’re going to be left behind.”

******

“gotta love the midwest,” morgan placed his hands on his hips, chest rising and falling.

“you love it?” reid’s lips curled in disgust, “it smells like manure.”

“it smells like home,” rowan giggled, shouldering her way through the men, “c’mon, let’s go.”

“well she’s eager,” rossi chuckled, turning to hotch, “where are we setting up?”

“there’s the local p.d. in homer,” hotch slung his bag over his shoulder, “the station is only about four miles from the forest preserve.”

“i was doing some reading on the village of homer,” reid stated, “there’s only about one thousand people who live there. it’s such a tiny place, and as hotch mentioned, it’s only four miles from the preserve, surely the unsub lives there.”

“or he lives close to the lake,” rowan pointed out, “there are so many homes out there surrounding the lake in the countryside. with these rural communities, your neighbors could be a mile down the road, or miles away. it gives him the perfect opportunity to make frequent trips to the lake without being noticed.”

“you make a good point rivers,” hotch remarked, “we’ll have to keep that in mind when we investigate the lake and the surrounding woods.”

“this murder isn’t going to solve itself,” rossi cleared his throat, nodding his head towards the cluster of suvs, “we need to get to the police department and we’re losing time.”

stepping into the vehicle, rowan slid into the back seats, figuring that hotch would take the wheel, while rossi would sit shotgun. yet, curiosity buzzed in her mind as rossi took the wheel, while reid settled into the passenger seat.

“you’ve got to be shitting me,” she muttered as hotch thrust open the door, “rossi, are you usually the one who drives?”

“typically, no,” in the rearview mirror, rowan snorted when she noticed the shit-eating grin plastered on the agent’s face, “but i figured that you and hotch would love to get to know one another on the way there.”

“can i pick the station?” reid bounced in the seat, hands flying to the knobs and levers.

“pick something good, find an oldies station or something. maybe they’ll play back in black,” within seconds, the suburban was in motion, rossi revving the engine, “i plan on racing morgan, jj, and prentiss to the station. whoever loses has to buy dinner.”

“this is ridiculous,” hotch rolled his eyes, the vibration of his phone piquing rowan’s curiosity.

“by the way,” reid turned in his seat, facing hotch, “who’s been calling you so frequently today?”

“haley,” rowan tilted her head as the name spat from hotch’s mouth, “it’s not important.”

haley. from the sound of it, she was hotch’s significant other, girlfriend, fiancee, even a spouse, maybe. rowan’s eyes drifted downwards to his lap, where his hands rested on his knees. in the light, a golden band gleamed on his left ring finger.

so, hotch was married. he had a wife.

but there was something in his tone that was unsettling. were they fighting? having the typical lover’s quarrel? maybe that’s why hotch was so distant and cruel, he was constantly dealing with his marriage.

“so tell us a little about you, rowan,” rossi was far ahead of the other suburban, shades resting on the bridge of his nose, “i never got an icebreaker.”

rowan scoffed, fidgeting in the leather seat, “there’s not anything too riveting, i can spare you guys the details.”

in the corner of her eye, rowan felt his eyes pierce through her, digging deeps within the confines of her psyche. he was profiling her, desperate to get some sort of read. perhaps he was well aware of how uncomfortable she was by rossi’s query. the way her palms were slick against her pants, sweat prints clinging to the fabric. the way her cheeks were tainted pink, her jaw tightened, throat dry.

“didn’t you go to ohio state for undergrad?” reid licked his thumb, scouring through some novel or book.

“yeah,” she nodded, “i’m from a tiny town in ohio, called tiffin. i went to ohio state for an undergrad in psychology, along with a few minors in criminal justice, linguistics, spanish, so on. i stayed there for grad school since i loved the city, and the university. from there, the bureau picked me up from the academy, and i was thrown into the infamous case.”

“the child sex-trafficking bust,” hotch murmured, “i remember glancing over that in your file.”

“how long did that case go on?” rossi turned the radio dial, lowering the volume.

“longer than it should’ve been,” rowan brought a hand to her temple, a dull pain seeping into her skull, “hey, does anyone have ibuprofen?”

hotch’s eyes softened, concern painting his features, “i think i have some in my briefcase. hang on.”

rowan brought a bottle of water to her lips, sipping as hotch placed a couple of pills in her open palm. as he set them in her hand, skin grazed skin, her heart skipping a beat.

for someone as rough and callused as hotch, his hands were so utterly soft.

“thank you,” she whispered, “i appreciate it.”

“of course,” he murmured, “do you usually get frequent headaches?”

“yeah,” rowan admitted, a new wave of blush spreading, “i’m just prone to them i guess.”

“the humidity is also high today,” reid remarked, “and from the way the wind just picked up, along with the darkness of the clouds, i think it’s going to storm. your headache could be from the low pressure.”

“fantastic,” rowan threw her head back, squeezing her eyes shut, “you know reid, that’s kinda a myth.”

“actually research has been inconclusive.”

“how many did you take?” hotch nudged rowan, inflections of concern within his inquisition.

“six.”

“jesus christ,” rossi’s lips pursed, “are you trying to kill your liver?”

“we’ll see about that,” a giggle bubbled up in rowan’s throat.

as the suburban sailed down the interstate, her lashes fluttered, sleep threatening to pull her into its clutches. she blinked, rubbing soothing circles onto her temple, lips falling to a frown as a dull pain seeped into her forehead.

biting her lip, she fought back tears, inhaling a shaky breath. this was no place to show any weakness.

not with him around.

*****

“good afternoon, chief sellers. i’m supervisory special agent hotchner with the fbi,” hotch stated, his voice ringing with authority as he shook an officer’s hand, “and these are my colleagues.”

“thank god you’re here,” the officer’s voice was hoarse, wavering as he spoke, “it’s been a living nightmare these past few days.”

“i can only imagine,” jj murmured under her breath, “there’s someone out there killing little boys.”

“he looks so shaken up,” prentiss exhaled, folding her arms across her chest.

“we had most of the state p.d. flock out here once the second body was discovered,” chief sellers cleared his throat, his focus directed on hotch, “we’re all doing the best we can, but of course, as other duties call, we tend to be short-handed at times.”

“we’re going to do everything in our power to help,” rossi’s words were warm, brimmed with sincerity, “we’ll catch this guy, i promise.”

“and we’ll help you all in every way we can,” chief sellers nodded curtly, “anything you folks need, let us know.”

“should we start by heading out to the crime scene?” hotch inquired, “it might also be best to split some of us up.”

“of course,” chief sellers strode over to a pair of state officers, “these men will escort you to the scene. what else do you need?”

hotch’s eyes flickered over to his team, “i want morgan, reid, and rossi to go investigate the scene. prentiss and jj, would you speak with some of the locals? we need to gather as much information as possible in order to rule out anyone or gain essential details about our unsub.”

“what about me?” rowan coughed.

“you’re staying with me here at the station,” he commanded, “and you’re going to answer every phone call we get from garcia.”

“good luck newbie,” rowan rolled her eyes as morgan teased her, his breath hot against her ear.

“you might want to listen to morgan,” rossi shot her a wink, “you’re going to need it.”

“thanks,” the reply was a deadpan, the agent’s shoulders slumping as hotch approached her, “putting me on a short leash, are we?”

“you’re the one who understands the profile of our unsub the best,” he retorted, “and before you fire back with another verbal assault, think before you speak. this is your big girl job now. act like it.”

“don’t you think it’s interesting that the unsub stopped killing?” hotch murmured a few words of gratitude to an officer who handed him a coffee, cocking his head as he took a sip.

“do you think that there’s a reason behind that?”

“possibly,” rowan shrugged, denying the same styrofoam cup, “hey, where’s the closest gas station?”

“about half a mile away,�� the officer replied coolly, “would you like a ride? a few of the guys and i are going to pick up pizzas for lunch.”

“i’m okay,” she paused, running a hand through her hair, “thank you, though.’

“you don’t like hot coffee?”

“i prefer iced,” the agent muttered, surveying the empty desks, “i assume they cleared some space for us?”

“indeed,” hotch huffed, “if your phone rings, assume it’s garcia.”

“i feel like i’m at columbus p.d. all over again,” the brunette slid into the seat, rolling a few inches as she plucked the file out of her briefcase.

“well this is nowhere near that,” hotch rolled his eyes, leaning against the wooden surface.

“well it sure feels like it,” his throat tightened as her eyes drifted upwards, locking with his, “it sure fucking feels like it. now, if you don’t mind, i’m going to look over the file.”

“would you like some company, agent rivers?”

“i’m sure you have ‘unit chief’ matters to tend to,” the words were barbed, hot and venomous as she spat them out, “hovering around your new recruit like she’s some child is quite ridiculous don’t you think?”

“i should have you turn in your badge right now.”

“you seem like you’re all bark and no bite. you scolded me only only hours ago about the conference room, threatening to write me up. that tough exterior of yours is only an act. or at least, i think it is. you’re not going to write me up until you have a valid reason to. also, like you claimed earlier, ‘strauss put in a good word for me.’ i know you won’t terminate me. plus, you just went through all of that paperwork to get me here. do you really want to go through all of that again?”

“you piss me off.”

“good,” she puckered her lips, “maybe you should chat about that with strauss hmm? she’d probably just tell you to suck it up and that i’m here to stay.”

hotch’s jaw clenched, prepared to retaliate, yet the vibration in his pocket distracted him momentarily, the shrill ringtone piercing through the air, “yes?”

biting her tongue, rowan glanced back at the file, bringing her hand to her cheek. part of her was wailing, screaming and kicking, fighting the urge to study those horrid images. but the other part was driven, adrenaline coursing through her veins, pumping into her body.

even the slightest detail that she hadn’t noticed initially would be immensely helpful to building the profile, piecing together who this deranged individual was. flipping through the photos, rowan’s eyes narrowed.

although the team held a short briefing before departing from headquarters, there was one minor aspect about the way the bodies were laying in the shrubbery. the boys were all on their backs, dried blood coating sliced flesh. not a single article of clothing framed their bodies, just the thin layer of briefs or boxers.

her heart lurched as one arm was pressed tightly against their sides, while the other was raised. right hands pointed upwards, three fingers: the index, middle, and ring. yet, the pinky connected with the thumb, almost as if the children were purposely holding up three fingers.

“garcia called with an update,” his voice floated into her ears, “with the bits and pieces fed to her from jj and prentiss, we still have a lot of ground to cover. are you up for a drive?”

“wait,” rowan held up a hand, “hotch, were you ever a member of the boy scouts?”

his brow furrowed, confusion settling across his features, “what?”

“just look,” she huffed, gesturing to the images, “look at the way the unsub left their bodies. it’s a clear message, almost like how he dumped the bodies in clear sight. his arrogance blinded him, goading him to taunt us. but little did he know i would see right through his bluff. i think he stopped the killing spree because he knew we’d be looking for him. it’s like he wants us to find him.”

leaning over, hotch’s chest hovered above her shoulder blade, a hand settling on the desk. the ghost of his badge hung over her cheek, a speck of white in her peripheral vision. a hum rose in his throat, “you’re onto something here. let me call garcia.”

“did i make a break in the case?”

“perhaps, but don’t let that get to your head,” the supervisor brought his phone to his ear, “hey, garcia, i need you to run something for me. how many boy scout troops are in champaign county?”

*****

“you up for some drinks tonight?” prentiss giggled, wrapping her jacket around her shoulders, “it’s all on me, especially since we should be celebrating your first case with the bau!”

“i’m fine,but thank you,” rowan beamed, “i still have a forty minute drive ahead of me. i shouldn’t stay out too late.”

“oh come on,” jj groaned, “we won’t be out for long. just a couple rounds.”

“pleaseeee?” garcia practically pranced over to rowan, jutting her bottom lip out, “we don’t know a single thing about you. hotch had you under his watch all day.”

“okay,” she exhaled, “a few drinks, and then i need to get to my apartment. i’ve barely finished unpacking so i’ll have to rummage for my towels and pajamas when i get back.”

“you have an apartment?” prentiss queried, “do you have a roommate or do you live alone? did you bring a boyfriend with you, by chance?”

rowan blinked, “uh, no. i live alone.”

“good thing you’re a fbi agent huh?” garcia winked, “c’mon, we know the perfect bar.”

“maybe we’ll get you loosened up and you can spill some secrets,” jj chuckled, the sound airy and light.

“sometimes,” rowan felt the corner of her lips tug into a wide grin, “sometimes i truly wonder what i’m getting myself into working with all these other profilers.”

*****

{feel free to ask for a tag or let me know what you think! :))}

tagging: @tempus-ut-luceant @daffodin @kleinbluu @inlovewithaaronhotchner @spencerreidsbitch @art-and-thoughts @criminallminds @ethade3

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

TLDR: Republicans believe themselves to be infallible and cannot be convinced otherwise

Republicans think America is perfect and always has been, while simultaneously believing that America is DOOMED and ON THE EDGE OF COLLAPSE at all times and want to bring us back to the Before Times™ when men were men and women were household appliances and minorities were someone else’s problem.  If you bring up a genuine critique of American culture or history they throw a pissbaby shit fit and start spewing nationalist platitudes, “America: Like It or Leave It!”  All their complaints stem from their perceived self-importance being eroded; they don’t like to realize that other people with differing opinions exist and should have their voices heard.  If a “brown” or a “black” or a “red” or a “yellow” is allowed to speak, that just means there’s one less space for a “white.”  All their complaints come from a slippery slope argument that if we don’t model our society after their specific cherrypicked interpretation of The Bible then we will degenerate into amoral savagery.

They say being gay is an abomination and allowing it will damn our children to hell; what they really think is that it’s gross and they don’t want to see things they think are gross.  There’s literally no good argument against marriage equality besides “I don’t personally like it.”  America is not a theocracy, so the belief system of Christianity should not be construed as the law of the land.  This stems from their belief that the Bible is infallible, “because the Bible says so.”  They don’t know and don’t want to know about the history behind it, nor the very contentious political landscapes at the times the books were written, nor the personal biases of the very human authors.  If the Bible is a literal textbook, then why?  What makes it so special?  By whose authority were its contents collated and designated THE Good Book?  If the Bible is literal, why not the works of Homer, or the Epic of Gilgamesh?  Just because the Bible says the Bible is right doesn’t make it so.  For the record, I am a Christian, and I think the Bible is just an old book.  I’m a Christian in that I follow the teachings of Christ, which can be summed up as “DON’T BE AN ASSHOLE.”  I live by that, and All the ChrINOs (Christians in Name Only) need to learn it.  Jesus would be ashamed of what he saw today.

They say that abortion is baby murder, on par with ritual human sacrifice and Satan worship. They don’t understand biology, they have a Sunday School understanding of philosophy, and live in a world so black and white that they can’t even imagine a reason someone would have an abortion besides that they’re a terrible person; a woman who would have an abortion is unfit to be a mother in their eyes because they see abortion as equivalent to smothering a baby with a pillow because you don’t want to take care of it anymore.  “He or she is alive, he or she has a heart beat!”  Well, at this point is is just a blob of tissue, not a living person; a heart beat alone does not make something alive or dead.  Your life comes from your brain, not your heart.  If someone is alive the moment their heart starts, then they must be dead the moment is stops, so CPR is necromancy.  A person isn’t considered dead until their brain is dead, so if they wanted to argue that life begins at brain activity they would have a stronger argument, though still weak because brain activity is not personhood either.  Patients in permanent vegetative states on life support may have some brain activity, but they are effectively dead.  There is no way a judge, appointed by senators elected by the people of the United States, can prove that not only do souls exist but that they are created the second a sperm fertilizes an egg.  If “souls” exist, they aren’t so much created as built up over time as we gain new experienced and our brains develop.  What we are is electricity in a ball of meat jelly in our skulls, and that comes to being at a point after which abortions are already banned.  Conservatives also just want to control women; Roe v. Wade isn’t explicitly about the right to an abortion, it is about the right to body autonomy.  Do women have the right to control their own bodies, or do they defer that right to their fathers and husbands?  Are women people or property?  Can a man make decisions on a woman’s behalf?  “You must forgive my daughter; as a simple minded woman she’s fallen into a stupor of female hysteria.  We’ll have the family doctor bring out the smelling salts and leaches.”

They say that certain vices are crimes against God, but only when some people do it.  Divorce is a sin because marriage is sacred, except when a conservative does it, then it’s totally justified because of such and such explanation.  Tattoos are the mark of the beast, worn by degenerates and lesbians, except when a conservative does it, then it’s just art and harmless self expression.  Marijuana is a gateway drug and we need to lock away its addicts and throw away the key, unless a conservative does it, then it’s just recreational, no big deal, we don’t want to ruin the [white] boy’s future because of it.  A black person who does cocaine is a criminal, a white person who does cocaine is a public figure (you’d be surprised how many actors and politicians regularly use coke; they have to have high energy 24/7 in case there are any cameras, so they need uppers to keep themselves presentable).  This all springs from the fundamental conservative philosophy of “it’s okay when WE do it, but not when YOU do it.”  That’s the long and short of it.  The in-group is allowed to do things, but the out-group isn’t.  It’s the Us vs Them mentality taken to the logical extreme; WE are people, THEY are monsters.  WE are allowed to have faults, THEY have to stay in line and follow all the rules.  OUR lives matter, THEIR lives are lesser.  When you strip away the showy bits and get down to the core of their beliefs, everything stems from their desire to hurt anyone who isn’t them.  They want power, they want to be special, they want the Good Guys™ to always prevail over the Bad Guys™, and they want to be the ones to decide who is good and who is bad.  Their opinions are the only ones that matter, everyone else is wrong because they’re not them.  Now, it’s not like you could solve every problem by opening up your mind to new opinions; there are some issues that are indeed black and white with objectively right and wrong answers, but they live in a world where they are incapable of being wrong.  They see personal growth as a betrayal of the self, that admitting a fault is terrible, that apologizing and learning from a mistake is traitorous.  No, they have to double down on every single one of their beliefs to re-instill it in their minds.  They can never doubt themselves, because God will punish them forever if they ever have doubt.  They can’t ask questions or look at things from other perspectives because that would be an admission that their perspectives are fallible.  They are afraid of changing their minds so much that they refuse to even listen when someone explains their opinions because they don’t want to have their minds co-opted by Satan’s LIES!  If they hear something convincing, it’s all over, their entire world collapses, everything they believe is a lie, they lose, they go to hell forever, The End.

That is the dichotomy under which Republicans live their lives.  Nothing matters but what they believe.  They don’t believe what they believe for logical reasons, so no amount of logic will ever make them not believe it.  They’re making up their own rules to win.  You’re playing Rock-Paper-Scissors and they throw Nuclear Bomb, which defeats all three, so you lose.  You say that’s not fair, they say tough.  You throw Nuclear Bomb, and they say they have a bomb proof shield, so the bomb doesn’t hurt them but kills you, so you lose.  You can’t even beat them at their own game because they’ve been playing it longer, and they cry foul when you stoop to their level, suddenly saying that you need to be the bigger person, walking right up to the line of admitting that what they do is wrong but not quite getting there, simply reverting to the complaint that you shouldn’t be allowed to do it.  “I can, but YOU can’t.”  That’s why it infuriates me when nobody ever calls out a Republican for their hypocrisy.  They do something, a Democrat does that exact same thing, they cry foul, but nobody ever says “well, you didn’t have a problem when you did it,” they just try to excuse their own actions rather than demand justification for theirs.  Democrats are always on the defensive, they always look like they’re losing even when they’re winning, so the Republicans can use that to build their base and rally together for the occasional victory (Democrats won 7 of the last 8 presidential elections; the last Republican to legitimately win the presidency was George H.W. Bush in 1988).

I don’t know how you’d even begin to fight someone who is this far down the rabbit hole of self denial.

Democrats self-reflect, Republicans self-deflect.

Democrats are progressive, Republicans are regressive.

Now I’m sure there are no Republicans reading this, but if there are they’ll make themselves known and “totally refute” everything I’ve said with some paper thin argument that doesn’t stand up to scrutiny, but they don’t care because it stands up to them.  They only need to show one example of a Democrat failing to write off the entire party; they only need to show one black Republicans to deny the existence of racism; one gay Republican denies homophobia; one women denies sexism.  They are the party of tokenism.

They will point out the mote of dust in your eye and ignore the plank in their own.

Debate me, I have nothing better to do with my time, I’m a dirty libtard cuckflake soyboy beta with a case full of participation trophies and handouts paid for by other people’s tax dollars (funny, they think handouts are for degenerates, except when they get them.  Inheritance?  Privilege?  Never heard of them!)

[windandwater]

First, you should know that we didn’t know about any of this when we went to Crete. But we found out, when we were told the story.

If you want to be inspired and sad all at once while learning some history, I very much recommend reading the Wikipedia pages for the Greek Resistance and Cretan Resistance in WWII. Actually, I recommend reading them anyway—hi I’m a Ravenclaw and a proponent of knowledge for the sake of knowledge—but they’re also relevant to this story.

For the sake of said story, it suffices to know that the reaction of Greece, and especially Crete, to the Nazis invading, was to resist. According to Wikipedia, this is how the Battle of Crete went for Germany:

For the first time during World War II, attacking German forces faced in Crete a substantial resistance from the local population. Cretan civilians picked off paratroopers or attacked them with knives, axes, scythes or even bare hands. As a result, many casualties were inflicted upon the invading German paratroopers during the battle.

They lost in the end, but the resistance didn’t stop then. Cretan rebels hid out in the mountains and kept fighting for the duration of the war. Wikipedia once again:

As Cretan fighters became better armed and more aggressive in 1944, the German troops pulled out of the country areas, having destroyed a number of villages in the Kedros area and executing many inhabitants, aiming to cow the Cretans. Grouping their forces around Canea, the Germans remained trapped until the end of the war, refusing to surrender to the Greek army, for fear of retaliation. They eventually surrendered to the British on 23 May 1945.

It was a three hour bus ride from Chania to Heraklion. We made this trip with the sole purpose of visiting Knossos, the oldest civilization we’ve found in Europe, which also happens to be the origin of the myth of the Minotaur and the Labyrinth.

At the beginning, the bus station in Chania was playing “Sweet Home Alabama.” Our conversation went something like this:

Me: Is that Sweet Home Alabama??? holy shit Friend: What? Me: am I hallucinating Me: tell me you’re hearing this too Me: Do they even know what Alabama is here?? Friend: Do they know Alabama is even real? Me: To be fair, I’m not even sure Alabama is real. In fact I’m pretty sure Alabama isn’t real. Or I wish it wasn’t.

A bus, another bus, and a street cat sleeping on a motorcycle. Graffiti proclaiming that a bench in the middle of a bus stop is a good kissing spot (it did not look particularly romantic). People catching the bus from stops under dripping overpasses and benches surrounded only by trees on the side of the road.

And then we found ourselves walking through the oldest civilization in Europe.

The grounds were covered in peacocks, and we could hear them screaming in the trees. I have many questions about the 19th century British man who “restored” the ruins, but after walking around them and getting very confused, I no longer have any questions about why this was the civilization that came up with the myth of an endless maze.

I no longer wonder how the people on this island and in this country looked up at the stars and the mountains and told stories about gods and monsters, or why they got so strange. So many people, in such a mild climate, in close quarters, telling stories?

Of course Crete takes its time. Of course Crete is an island of wax wings flying away and women giving birth to half-bull monsters. Of course Crete’s food will ruin you for all other food, after taking two hours to eat it.

Of course Crete is full of stories.

There’s no good way to describe the feeling of walking through ancient ruins. I think, just like the experience of living in New York, I might be spending the rest of my life trying. What I will say now is that—like New York—only the locals could describe it properly. Only the locals know the ways in which being an ancient culture has shaped them through the years and brought them to where they are.

We only got a small taste of the community, and the spirit of the people. But I can say that both are very strong.

We did some shopping, of course. There’s a row of shops right outside the ruins, the kind that pop up all over the world in tourist areas and that prey on the unsuspecting, or willingly enter into a contract with the suspecting, to prey on them.

We only intended to be there for a few minutes—we’d purchased a ticket that would get us into the Archaeological Museum in Heraklion, and had to get there before it closed.

But, you know. It’s Greece. It’s Crete.

Never go to Crete with the attitude that you need to be on a schedule or stick to a specific plan. Expect to be derailed by glasses of raki and limoncello and new friends and their stories. Expect stories about monsters.

Our first store was run by an older man who spoke very little English but found everything I said to be hilarious, so he was my instant new best friend.

The second store we went into was run by a younger guy, who started out telling us about the merchandise, so I’m still not quite sure how we ended up discovering that we were kindred spirits. What I do know is that fifteen minutes later, we had both bought more things than intended, and were yelling about politics and our terrible president in the middle of a Greek tourist shop at the end of the day.

That’s when “Sweet Home Alabama” came on in his store. I shit you not.

I had noticed the slightly-odd playlist (I think John Mayer had been mixed in there at some point) but couldn’t help commenting this time, if only for the coincidence. That’s when Nikos (his name was Nikos) said the best thing I’ve ever heard in my life:

“Yeah, I play traditional Greek music in the morning for the tourists, and in the afternoon I just listen to whatever I want.”

A few minutes later, in the middle of us still cussing out the president, “Shipping up to Boston” by the Dropkick Murphys came on. Okay.

I got to yell about going to the Flogging Molly/Dropkicks concert last year and bond over Celtic punk and talk a lot about Boston and how my family immigrated from Italy and Portugal.

“And why does your country hate immigrants?”
 “I don’t even kNOW, we’re all immigrants originally, it’s so stupid, our country just hates anybody who’s not white.” “There’s a little of that in Europe too, not in Greece because we love immigrants—“ “Yeah, fascism is coming back—“ “And we're doing NOTHING about climate change, the world is falling apart, why are you so worried about immigrants when the planet is dying—“ “WE KNOW, it’s so fucked up” “Well when the world ends I’ll just be up in the mountains fighting fascists” “HELL YEAH”

And as I alluded to earlier, going up into the mountains to fight fascists is not unprecedented. Nikos would even be following in the footsteps of his family.

When the Nazis invaded, he said, his grandfather was missing a hand, so he couldn’t fight, but he hid people in a basement. He walked out one morning and there was a pile of dead Nazis—right over there, not a hundred feet from where we were standing—and two partisans standing there with guns slung over their shoulders. They had singlehandedly fought them all off. And when the Nazis tortured Nikos’ grandfather for information later, he couldn’t tell them anything, because he truly didn’t know.

Are you getting chills? I was.

At that point I asked if the traditional Cretan knives he was selling were for stabbing Nazis. He said yes.

He wasn’t wrong.

Cretan civilians picked off paratroopers or attacked them with knives, axes, scythes or even bare hands.

The next day, we were back in Chania, walking around and getting lost in the city.

We didn’t have to get lost to find the bombed-out ruins of a building destroyed by German invaders. There were others just like it.

The stories are there, right under your feet. In the face of the person walking next to you. In the history they carry with them, just by existing in this time, in this place.

Nikos had started out telling us the story of the minotaur, which I could recite back to him verbatim. I read Greek myths as a child, and Greek philosophy as an adult. I learned the real, grownup versions of the mythology, then read plays and Homer and translated Latin versions of Greek stories. My feet walked in a city that looks like Greece but isn’t, learning the story of my country and where it came from.

We went from Knossos back to Heraklion city center on another bus, this time full of old ladies coming back from work, ignoring us, and having their own conversations. We were too late to go to the museum, and barely caught the bus back.

We had the chance to be in the place where the stories came from. And I think we were lucky to hear them from someone who has had them under his feet his whole life.

[frickengreenfrickyeah]

An Irreverent Intro to the Iliad

A/N:I’ve taken the introduction to the Lombardo translation and condensed it. Any time I says something to the effect of “don’t quote me on this” that means I’ve added my own analysis or thoughts that I cannot back up in any way, so don’t, like, put it in an essay if you don’t plan on doing your own research.

Anyway, you don’t care about that stuff, you came here to read about the Iliad.

It’s really fricken long, so, for the sake of mobile users, everything’s under the cut except for this:

“Rage. Bitch, lemme tell you about the time that Achilles fucked over the entire Greek army by Rage-quitting.”

Timeline for the Noobs 

Ten years ago:

Aphrodite bribes Paris so she can win a beauty contest between herself, Athena, and Hera. Paris’ reward for his ‘heroics’ is Helen

(There’s probably an essay’s worth of symbolism you could dig into here, what with the goddesses all representing different priorities: erotic love, wisdom/justice, and familial duty. I wonder what Paris’ choice reveals about his character?)

There’s some disagreement about whether or not Helen when with Paris willingly

Seeing as literally no other woman in the Iliad (and maybe the entire Cycle? Don’t quote me on that) willingly went with her kidnapper, I’m calling bull on that. Do with that what you will.

Menelaus gets really mad that Paris stole his wife, so he rounds up the Greek army, and they go to war. (It’s worth noting that Athena and Hera are both on his side here.)

Present day:

Agamemnon(Boo), Menelaus’ brother kidnaps a girl. Then he has the balls to get upset that the girl’s father called Apollo’s plague down upon the Greeks until she’s returned

Achilles points out that Agamemnon’s being a dick and people are literally dying because he won’t let go of one girl. Agamemnon says, “Fine. If I have to give up my lady-war-prize, I’m taking yours as recompense.”

Achilles allows Agamemnon to take his girl, then Rage-quits. As consequence, people die.

Hypocrites. Hypocrites everywhere. If you wanna analyze that for an essay, I think there’s plenty to talk about. 

The Theme Worth Giving a Shit About (Because it Drives the Narrative)

Heroes risk their lives on the battlefield in exchange for Prizes

Ie. riches, bitches, and clout

Honor <--> Shame is how they judge the value of others and themselves. Honor wins Prizes, Shame loses Prizes

3 Characters Worth Giving a Shit About (Because They Explore the Aforementioned Theme)

Achilles: Main character. Rage is his thing. Also, pouting. 

His honor is insulted by Agamemnon(Boo) taking away Briseis, his lady war prize. Since war prizes are how their society rewards heroes for risking their lives, Agamemnon is basically saying he doesn’t care of Achilles dies or not.

And that hurts Achilles’ feelings because he knows he’s gonna die. There’s a prophecy about it. 

The only reason he’s fighting is because society conditioned him to believe that Prizes and eternal glory were worth dying for.

Now that he doubts everything he knows, he refuses to fight for the Greeks.

The entire poem is the consequences of his Rage-quit

Agamemnon: fuck this guy

He loses his lady war prize, so he takes Achilles’. Because short-sighted spite is the best motivator.

He and Achilles start the poem in the same place, believing that material goods should equally compensate a loss. Achilles is the one who learns that that’s not how that works.

Agamemnon starts as a dick and ends as a dick. Google Iphigenia if you want to learn more. And that shit he pulls with Cassandra? Major dickbag. Fuck this guy. 

Hector: The Trojan hero, and honestly the only likable guy here. 

He is Achilles’ foil. 

Just like Achilles, he’s separated from society - but, unlike Achilles, it’s not because he rejects their values. It’s because he never questions them.

He’s basically the perfect hero, and he suffers for it:

His son is scared of his war helmet

He can’t stay closer to home to fight defensively because that’s ‘shameful’

And he can’t even stay in the city that long on his breaks because wine and women are too tempting. 

Side Characters to Maybe Give a Fuck About

Patroclus: The most important of the supporting cast, and he’s only in it for, like, maybe a book

Achilles’ BFF and probably more

(Read: Definitely more. If you listen carefully, you can hear me chanting OTP OTP OTP every time you open your book.)

He is Achilles’ double

He never doubts society but supports his bestie’s midlife crisis anyway

His death at the hands of Hector symbolizes Achilles’ death because he was wearing Achilles’ armor at the time

Achilles causes Patroclus’ death btw

When he Rage-quits, he asks Zeus to help the Trojans (because short-sighted spite is the best motivator). Patroclus goes to help the Greeks wearing Achilles’ very recognizable armor, causing Hector to target and kill him

His death redirects Achilles’ Rage at the Trojans instead of the Greeks

Diomedes: a badass fighter

Greater Ajax: a badass fighter

and (I think) the guy who talks sense into Achilles at some point

Ajax the Lesser: a badass fighter (are you sensing a theme in these characters?)

Odysseus: the only smart guy here

The Odyssey is about him btw

The Trojan horse was his idea, according to the Aeneid (and maybe other places? But definitely the Aeneid.)

WTF is an Epic Poem Anyway?

Epic Poem: recounts events with far-reaching historical consequences, sums up the values and achievements of an entire culture, and documents the full variety of the war

Basically, if “’Murica, Fuck Yeah” sums up America, then the Iliad sums up Ancient Greece

(Actually, Hamilton is a better comparison, but I needed to make a joke. Fite me.)

That “full variety” thing is why Book 2 and a couple other places just list off a bunch of ships or leaders and their dads. That shit is boring. Skip it. 

But also, that ‘full variety’ thing is what makes other parts of the story so interesting. Homer will sum up a dude’s life story right before he kills them or some shit. It magnifies the scale of the narrative by showing how insignificant one person’s experience is - no one person can stop the war.

That’s what makes Achilles’ story even more powerful --> because his impact on the war is significant. His Rage controls the ebb and flow of it. 

He can’t stop the war though. No one can. 

The Gods are Petty as Fuck

Homeric gods look/act like humans, but they’re different mainly because of two things:

1. They can’t die.

That means they treat the events of the war less seriously than the mortals do.

2. The gods know about fate

To the modern reader, it seems like the humans have no agency, but that’s not really the case

Knowing fate is a bit like knowing the plot of a movie. It gives insight into a character’s actions that would otherwise seem random.

By reading this poem, you’re basically a god. Don’t let it go to your head. (But, hey, there’s a reason I’m majoring in this shit)

Bards like Homer would more directly be gods because they changed and adapted the story as they told it, just like the gods influence human actions in the story.

Don't quote me on that tho

Character choices are usually doubly motivated - by the human, and by the gods

Ex: Achilles chooses not to kill Agamemnon because Athena tells him not to.

This is personifying the literal thought process he had so that the reader understands what’s going through his head.

Fate doesn’t force anyone to act out of character --> fate is the consequence of their life choices

The gods not caring about death and his own lack of foresight is what Achilles messes up on

He asks Zeus to help him get revenge on the Greeks because he assumes Zeus cares about that sort of thing, but Zeus is bigger than that.

That leads Patroclus’ death, btw.

The “Enduring Heart” Shit

Achilles is really butthurt that Agamemnon wronged him

The lesson he has to learn is that even if material goods can’t make up for losses, there’s no other option --> you can’t bring people back from the dead, so you have to move on

That’s the Enduring Heart shit

also, if you abstract that concept it sounds kinda like entropy to me (Don’t quote me on that tho)

He learns that lesson by feeling pity for Priam (Hector’s dad) instead of perpetuating the Rage Train

And, hey, that Enduring Heart shit is a lesson that all of us could take to heart. None of us want to die, but it’s gonna happen. Maybe that’s not fair, but throwing a temper tantrum isn’t going to change anything. Really, the only way to avoid being miserable is to embrace our mortality so we can appreciate life while we have it

don’t quote me on that tho

In a nutshell, Achilles has to accept his mortal-ness. Otherwise there’s a lot of unnecessary suffering. 

That’s why we don’t need to see him die in the Iliad even though everyone makes such a big deal about the prophecy about his death. His journey was completed as soon as he found pity in himself instead of Rage - essentially rejecting the godly side of himself (oh yeah, I forgot to mention. His mom is a goddess) and embracing his mortality. 

because gods don’t have to deal with death, they can Rage all they want, remember?

Also, if he never dies, he can’t be reunited with Patroclus. 

OTP OTP OTP

You could probably write an essay about how Achilles died as soon as Patroclus did.

Honestly Boring Historical Context (That might be interesting if you’re a nerd like me?

The poem was basically historical fantasy even when it was first written. There are gods and super strength and shit

Greek History Over-Simplified: The Mycanaean Period was prosperous but ended suddenly. The Dark Ages of Greece followed, and we don’t know much about what happened during that because they forgot the written word was a thin. 

The events of the poem probably take place during the Mycanaean Period because they use bronze weapons. 

But warfare is described from more of a Dark Ages perspective. Like, they don’t use chariots the right way

Which suggests that chariots were part of the source material, then the Dark Ages made people forget how they were supposed to be sued, so the bards just kinda made shit up to explain their presence. (Don’t quote me on that tho)

The Oral Tradition of the poem means that this story was told thousands of times over hundreds (thousands?) of years. So the narrative is hones at shit.

it has the sculpted body of an Olympic athlete. Each muscle toned to do a specific job and everything works perfectly together to accomplish the sporty feat of interest. Every verse is packed with character, setting, plot, and cultural significance

Except for that Catologue of Ships shit. Boooo boring ships.

There were probably lots of other versions of the poem, but Homer told it best. His version was written down as soon as the written word was (re)invented

Side Note that wasn’t in Lombardo’s Intro

The Iliad and Odyssey are both parts of a larger body of work known as the Epic Cycle 

(The Aeneid is basically Caesar Augustus-insert fanfiction at that, btw. Virgil was a satirical fanboy and I’m living for it.)

Characters and events are introduced with the assumptions that the reader already knows their importance

But we only have fragments of the rest of the Cycle today because it was either never written down or the manuscripts were lost

I’m looking at you, Burned Library of Alexandria

*sad fiddle music plays in the background

Videos That I Learned Shit From (Only, like, the first two links are relevant to the topic at hand, btw)

Basic Plot: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=faSrRHw6eZ8

More about the Epic Cycle: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G3bn0eKt4Rw 

Iphigenia: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ifFsKCrH3GM 

Oresteia: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9kpGhivh05k             

The Odyssey: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A-3rHQ70Pag&index=4&list=PLDb22nlVXGgfwG1qbOtNgu897E_ky_8To (Also, this story is my favorite of the Epic Cycle)

The Aeneid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QRruBVFXjnY&list=PLDb22nlVXGgfwG1qbOtNgu897E_ky_8To&index=5  

Ancient Greek History: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mzGVpkYiJ9w&index=2&list=PLDb22nlVXGgexsbafIwirG6Tk9uww9dSW    

And, yeah, these videos are all from the same channel. I’m a basic bitch and a ho for not leaving my comfort zone. Fite me. 

Honestly, if anyone has other sources, let me know. Youtube history/video essays are my shit.

I hope this was helpful.

[megaphonemonday]

#PickUpPitch prompt fills - (love is) in the eye of the cameraman

@monkshoodr has been sending mail all the way from Canada and is an absolute star!!

The prompt: A Rob the camera guy fic

(There’s still time to get Craig Erwich’s attention at the ATX Festival. This Friday, between 12 and 6 PM Central, head over to Twitter and tweet something with #PickUpPitch to help us get it trending! )

(Bonus: A gif of Rob the Camera Guy in case people aren’t as intrigued by him as we are and have forgotten who he is.)

read on ao3

“Rob,” came the crackling voice of his producer Max over the headset, disapproval dripping off the short syllable.

He knew what was coming, and wasn’t eager to hear it. Still, he had to reply. That was his boss. 

“Yeah?” he asked, checking the frame of his shot through the viewfinder. 

Perfect. Just what he wanted.

“You know there’s a game on, yeah?” 

“Yep.”

“Then will you quit it with the B-roll of Baker and Lawson? We’ve got enough to last us through next century.”

Rob frowned and wondered how someone who’d gone to journalism school and therefore learned how to sniff out a story could be so blind to what was right in front of him. 

(What was right in front of him was the smoldering chemistry between Mike Lawson and Ginny Baker.)

"Listen,” he began, absently refocusing his lens to catch the way Ginny’s smile spread at something Lawson muttered beside her. She nudged him with her shoulder and he rolled his eyes, but Rob caught the way the Padres captain fought against a smile of his own. 

“No, you listen!” Max hissed over the headset. “There are only so many excuses I can give the network for not having good footage from first base. And none of those excuses involve your theories.”

Light snickering came over the connection, probably from one of the other camera operators who thought that he was full of it.

But they didn’t have the same vantage point that he did.

They hadn’t seen the way Ginny Baker went from anxious and uncertain to assured and unflappable, both on the field and in the dugout. They hadn’t watched her win over her teammates while racking up wins that first season. 

The certainly hadn’t witnessed her captain’s grudging acceptance of her presence shift and evolve into respect, friendship and even, sometimes, awe.

Which meant they didn’t have front row tickets to the Baker and Lawson Show the past season and a half. They hadn’t seen practically every hip check and cracked joke, every quiet moment between innings, every lingering look and gleeful celebration after a win. 

After all that, Rob knew that Baker and Lawson were more than just teammates, even if they didn’t quite know what else they were, either. His teenage daughter agreed with him and she didn’t agree with him about anything.

Unfortunately, the majority of his coworkers did not. To them, Ginny Baker was a pretty girl who’d overcome a lot, and would certainly go down in history, but she wasn’t quite real. Which was all the better for TV.  

Rob wasn’t about to risk his job just to prove them wrong. Even if it would feel really good and they’d all owe him beers from now into eternity.

So, he sighed and turned his camera back to the field, ignoring the way Lawson’s whole leg was pressed against Baker’s and had been for the past ten minutes.

As had become tradition every time Max blew his lid at Rob for getting distracted during a game, he bought the camera crew a couple rounds of drinks afterward. It wasn’t like he didn’t know he was supposed to be filming the game, but after years of shooting baseball, he’d seen it all. Diving catches, stand up homers, pitcher’s duels. It was all impressive and thrilling and Rob knew there were people who’d kill for a job like his, but none of it was new.

But whatever was going on between Baker and Lawson? That was some never-before-seen shit, right there.

He’d mostly given up on convincing any of his coworkers, though his wallet was taking quite the hit from all these post-game drinks.

Maybe it’d help to stop following the team to whatever swanky new bar they’d decided to overrun for the night. Apparently, free drinks for the hometown heroes only applied to the people who’d actually been on the field. Never mind the guys who made sure the people at home had something to watch.

He dropped off the last round for the few stragglers remaining at the end of the night, intending to head home after hitting the bathroom. A night of drinking’ll do that to a guy.

Before he could hit the head, though, Rob had to find his way there. Wandering the back hallways, thinking that this wouldn’t happen in a normal bar, he was distracted from his goal. 

At the sight in front of him, he froze for just a second before practically diving back around the corner he’d just turned.

Holy fucking shit.

Carefully, not wanting to catch their attention and feeling more like a creep than he ever had behind his camera during a game, Rob chanced a peek around the corner.

Pressed between the wall and Mike Lawson’s broad chest, Ginny Baker grinned teasingly up at her rock. 

Or was he the hard place? 

Her arms draped over his shoulders, one hand idly playing with the hair at the base of his neck. She waggled her eyebrows at Mike when he leaned into the touch, a soft groan echoing down the hallway.

“You still think we should stay, Lawson?” Ginny teased, teeth flashing as her grin widened. 

“You don’t play fair, rookie,” he returned, somehow crowding further into her space.

“Off the field I don’t. What’s the point? You want me to win, too.”

“You’ve got me there,” Mike replied.

In spite of his years of experience watching the man, Rob had never seen the Padres captain look so happy. 

Judging by the way he leaned down and laid a kiss against Ginny Baker’s waiting mouth, Rob figured Lawson had every reason to be pretty fucking ecstatic.

Withdrawing from the corner and turning back the way he came, Rob couldn’t help his little fist pump of celebration.

He was right, god damn it! This was what vindication felt like. 

Before victory could really settle, a sobering thought weaseled its way in.

He might be right, but who the hell was going to believe him?

[drtoaster]

Deadpool what the fuck is this shit.

LITERATURE QUIZZES: repost with your muse’s results for the following quizzes.

HOMERIC EPITHET:  

You are swift-footed [your name]. This is the same epithet Homer used to describe Achilles roughly eight thousand times over the course of The Iliad and even a few times in The Odyssey. (You’ll remember “swift-footed” Achilles as that guy who took an arrow to the ankle during the Trojan War and died. Good luck with that.)

“Only time I’m swift is when someone is touching my peanut butter.”

FATAL FLAW:  Your uncompromising sense of justice.When it comes to right and wrong, there’s no gray area. Not for you. You’re like a cop who says stuff like, "Listen, buddy, I don't make the rules—but I WILL enforece them." Look, you’ve got principles, and I get that. I can respect that. But you’re going to wind up dead in a river (JAVERT) if you don’t ease up a little on the rulebook and reconcile these two opposing viewpoints before a convict saves your life and shatters everything you thought you knew.

“ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME THIS IS THE MOST NOT ME LOAD OF BOLLOCKS I HAVE EVER READ.”

GREEK MYTHOLOGY DEATH: Murdered by accident, in Achilles’ armor. One day, during the Trojan War, Achilles decides to just up and quit. He’s the greatest warrior apparently ever, so this is something of an issue. You can’t bear to watch men die in battle for Achilles’ pride, so you don his armor yourself and lead his men into battle. Everyone thinks you are Achilles, and morale is high. You die, however, because somewhere in there you remember that you’re actually terrible at fighting. Silver lining: Achilles avenges your death something FIERCE. So that's something.

“What’s with the running theme of Achilles. I’m not one of these characters with a single, shitty catch all weakness like Super Man and Kryptonite or some bollocks. People just don’t engage their head meat when fighting me.”

TAGGED BY: @fourthwallhandler TAGGING: @rogue-knifehead @kaijusplotch @briidunviing

[rexhc]

only fools rush in

dash and roman (ft. gwen for one part), hopeless pining

(may 2017, end of junior year)

She holds your hand sometimes when there’s no one around. Neither of you mention it. Chills run down your spine and the hair on your arms sticks up when she touches you, her cold skin tingling against your own like static electricity, but the two of you are friends now - or at least something like friends. Something in the same general category of friends, but somehow completely and totally different. You’re not exactly sure if there’s a word for it.

Or maybe you’re wrong. Maybe it’s normal for friends to hold hands on occasion. Maybe it’s normal for friends to look at each other like this. Yeah, that old familiar feeling in your stomach returns every time she looks in your direction, but you already told her your feelings for her a long time ago. She didn’t feel the same, and you remind yourself of her answer every time you sit next to her on her bed and she lets her knees bump into yours. (You’ve probably seen The Dark Knight twelve times by now, but you still can’t remember most of the plot. She’s too distracting.)

Maybe she’s your best friend, and you think that if that is the case, you’re incredibly fucked up for thinking about how soft her lips look all the time.

It’s almost pathetic, really, that after the past year of what you’d thought had been growth and change, here you are again lying in your bed at two A.M. thinking about Roman Caldwell. A year of emotional hell, between whatever you’d been trying to force with Gracie and whatever you tried to deny with Jack, and you’re right back at the start - obsessing over a girl who doesn’t feel slightly the same.

Gwen gives you advice between bites of an apple. “Just ask her out.” She crunches loudly on purpose and you cringe. “The worst that can happen is she says no.”

“Yeah, and I completely ruin our friendship. Again.”

Gwen shrugs, continuing to eat her fruit.

“I don’t see why you can’t just tell me if she’s interested. You guys are best friends. You do…boy talk.” Gwen glares at you. When you were kids that glare would scare the crap out of you, and you'd be lying if it still wasn't a little frightening. “Probably. I assume.”

“Yes, Roman and I are known for constantly gabbing about boys.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I remain my status as Switzerland. That’s what I signed up for when I became friends with both of you.”

“We’ve been friends longer.”

“Switzerland.”

“Almost ten years now, you know.”

“Again, Switzerland.”

“Well, Switzerland being neutral actually helped the Nazis.”

Gwen blinks, processing your statement. “You need to pay more attention in history. Is Roman the Nazi in this analogy?”

“Nevermind the analogy. It was a bad analogy. The point is you should help me.”

“I’m giving the maximum amount of help I can give. Just ask her out.”

“Whatever, I have to go to weapons. If I can’t get to Homer in time, Daniels will probably impale me on something.” You look down at your still-uneaten sandwich and start to wrap it back up; you’ll probably just give it Nikos later. You get one last word in to Gwen before you go to class. “You’re the worst.”

“So I’ve been told.”

You head to your dorm right after your elemental lessons, just itching to get your stupid tie off and put on some comfortable clothes. You thank your past self for finishing all your homework before Mana, because all you really want to do for the rest of the day is chill out and work on your Animal Crossing town. And not think about a certain person.

You know your afternoon plans are completely ruined once you turn the last corner of the hallway, because Roman Caldwell herself sits against your doorway.

“Hey.” Your voice cracks slightly on the end of the word.

“Hi,” she responds, or at least that’s what you think she says. You’re distracted by the shiver that runs down your spine when you hold her hands to help her up. You can only imagine how gross and sweaty your hands are.

“Uh, Nikos is at my dorm. So I figured I’d just…come here. You don’t have baseball today, right?”

Your head feels a little light (a recurring symptom whenever she’s around), but somehow you manage to answer her question. “No, not today.” There’s a brief moment of awkwardness before you realize you haven’t unlocked the door and the two of you are just standing silently in the hallway. Once it does hit you, you scramble and hold it open for her. When she walks past you, she smells like crisp frost, like the still air in the winter, and slightly of peppermint.

Roman goes straight to your bed and sits on the edge. “Do you have any homework to do? If you do, I can just read or something.”

You shake your head with maybe a bit too much enthusiasm, so you try to play it cool. “Uh, no. No homework. We can hang out.”

“Cool,” she responds as she lays back against your pillows. You catch yourself smiling at the way her bangs shift off her forehead and how the light from the window makes her whole face light up. You sit down in your desk chair, swiveling around to face her. Roman watches you watch her, her grey eyes locking into your own. You’d look away, but looking away from her has always been a real challenge. You hadn’t figured out how when you were thirteen, and you still don’t know how now. The tips of your fingertips buzz against your knees.

Maybe she does like you, that annoying voice in your head teases you. Maybe her feelings have changed - that can happen, right? And it’s been three weeks since she and Justin broke up, and there’s no way that you had anything to do with that, but maybe, just maybe…

“Is that your camera?”

“What?” It takes a second for you to get out of the spinning circles of your head, and you see her pointing to your left. “Oh, yeah. That’s mine.”

“You never said you liked photography.”

You rub the back of your neck. “I don’t know if I’d call it photography. It’s mostly just pictures of like…friends. And clouds and random stuff.” You’re not sure what possesses you to say the next part. “Do you wanna see some of it?”

Roman nods, shifting her legs to sit criss-cross on your bed. You sit next to her and reach under the bed, pulling out a leather book. After you open the cover, she shifts closer to you, her arm against yours. Her skin is cold but electric.

Her eyes run over the pages, taking in each photograph. She laughs at the picture of Nikos, perched on the top of a fence. Her eyes soften at a photo of Gwen you took at your dad’s house. Roman looks at all the photographs, but you just look at her.

“These are really good, Dash. Is that Amelia?” Her finger lands on a photo of an aged golden retriever.

“Yeah, you remembered her name.”

“Of course,” she replies shyly. She looks away from you and you’re almost sure that she saw the obvious longing in your face and is getting ready to run for the hills. Or - well, it’s Nebraska. So, the plains, you guess. You have a crazy idea, and even crazier, you act on it.

“Can I take your picture?”

“My picture? Why?” Roman looks shyer than you’ve ever seen her. She tucks her chin in slightly, holding her knees against her chest. She looks small and beautiful. You can’t help but question the absurdity of her question. Why would you want to take her picture? Has she ever even looked in the mirror?

“Roman, you’re…um.” Shit, you had to catch yourself there. “We could take one together.” She seems to warm up more to that idea, so you shift next to her. Hesitantly, you snake your arm behind her back. By some miracle she leans into you. It’s a known fact that her body is constantly cold, but in this moment you feel like your own body is engulfed in flames. You hold the camera in front of the both of you and hold down the trigger. The camera spits out a white rectangle, which you hand to Roman.

“You can keep it. It’ll develop in like ten minutes.”

She holds the undeveloped photo in her hand and stares at it closely, inspecting the current nothingness. Then, she surprises you with a question. “What are you doing this summer?”

“Nothing. Baseball workshops. Probably get another waiting gig.”

“No more paper route?”

You smile at the remembered detail. “Nah, I think I deserve to sleep past four A.M. this summer.”

“Probably a good thing. Print is a dying industry.”

God, you love her sense of humor.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Anyways, um,” she turns back into shy Roman again. “If you have time, you should…visit.”

“Visit you? Like in New York?”

“Yeah, I…well, my family could get you a ticket. If you don’t want to, that’s fine. Forget I asked.”

The stupid heart in your chest refuses to slow down however much you wish it to. “No! I want to!” Very smooth, Knight. “I mean, that sounds great. And, um, if you’re in Colorado, you know.”

Roman nods, sucking the piercing on her bottom lip between her teeth. “We can figure out dates- um, when you can come, I mean come to New York.” Her face gets pinker with each passing word and it’s probably the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. Above dogs, even (Sorry, Amelia.) “We can figure all that out later.”

You keep going through the photo album, and after a series of goofy backstories crucial to the understanding of a few photos, you notice the film to her side has popped up some new colors.

“Hey, Rome, the photo developed.” She picks the photo up and holds it between the two of you. You can’t help but think how well you fit together, even in the photo. And as annoying that insistent glimmer of hope is inside of you, you don’t try that hard to stop listening to it.

“Dash?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad we’re friends again.”

“Me, too.”

Neither of you acknowledge your overlapping hands closing the distance between you.

[tuckersampson]

from “rompe las parablas”

yeah, an old hunter/gather never having food going around to gather it. legendary of almost a landscape. the word legendary as in something in any language that repeats. i can’t use it so i don’t like it, a moment for a few dishonest things that just kind of ring in the ear the only reason why that remains. do i remember what they are now? those refrains, yes i do do they sound right? do i really want to hear myself repeat them. will just download, i will just download a verb later so i can make it disappear. to cast it out of the galaxy. a photograph from a polaroid made to exist for a really long time turns into gold. the snakes pushing up through the calcium. i can’t reach the all lives on that tree but that’s all right with me. all the spam i get doesn’t come for free. i find it useful when i break these, shift is a type of music. the rumbling under a tectonic plate. i can hear a collective, word left out.

yes a great spot where i will daydream. pretend that i’m a woman and call myself proverb. will just be more diplomatic about that. i don’t have an answer when there is no question. anytime of day to watch splat. a stage direction can call for cheese. but in reality, no not in reality i don’t want to move there. direct attachment document. level playing spiel. if the truncation of writing is to neglect the world then my spam filter holes bigger. the night time back then was a carbon copy of the one right before it. even back when, that must’ve been for thousand years ago. if it was a tray of silk.

long lingering suspicions. it’s tough to get out of all the dates, the tracks left by bone in the soil. pretty fucking regal. at least it’s not a book that starts with the poets birth and goes on to the poets death.

steal this open. don’t listen. semblance. i’m waiting for a diplomatic record. i really just close my eyes and imagined an old movie sometime. from some other place. don’t do that it’s wrong.

the rain dance was done wrong so it snowed what seemed like a foot i said pianist the jungle becomes crusty the one of the streets. (well that poem must be gone.)

certain fix stations with dreams. between 1900 and 1910, sigmund freud published the interpretation of dreams. then the old saying, homer died poor. don’t give a shit. i don’t give a shit.

we have shores for our own survival. i need them.

said welcome to the shaking symphony. you can go quietly or make a lot of noise. i’m driving through the backwoods home. i will write something new every time a mile passes on the odometer. black birds, as the blue car drives past.

breaking apart the daydreams into meeting. the time i call the last mile. you can be the blackwoods if you would like. those blackbirds are called crows.

the backwoods of the shore is a part. the car home drive home drive home like a symphony. noun language verb simile.

the dots are connected and i’m shaking.

it is almost popping like the shores were, moments break toward evening. there is no falling mile. i tripped over board sticking up. the glaciers are melting.

calculating then tabulating, a moment as an expenditure. i now have a series of words that no one will read. i said windows but i really meant houses. can’t you be more honest, i was asked. i said windows i meant houses.

the tables, and the moments to connect them slowly or quickly. the moments that connects them loudly or slowly. a series of, what were you meaning to ask:

“excuse me, yes, i am feeling quite glacial.”

a table laid out in a book this almost completely empty. no one has begun to write in it yet or no one is finished writing in it yet. what is my life expressed using a calculator? do you really want me to ask you to answer that? i don’t.

a whole bunch of scratches on the wall that look like they are tallied up something. what if there was writing on the planet that we didn’t even expect there were people on or intelligent creatures of some kind?

continental drift, when the week is thrown off, starting on a different day. i’m just doing this so i don’t get hungry. another guess about the value of song. the coffee break and nothing to say about demand and production, but who’s talking about the tune

i excuse the table to lay back of it a moment that communicates something that everyone takes picture of, now a few more lines really bad poetry, because my windpipe squat

no food to go down or come out. i will change my position or get ready socks and shoes on do you have the right disposition? does somebody‘s parents have a listening device in someone else’s room

i’d like to think i’ll wait a little bit longer, pieces of dead skin no longer use for the ground lay on the ground keeping the dirt company

is it too harsh to say that bad is poetry? this is not a theory. more importantly imagine the rhythm you hear from an earlier day. i’m not sure what shape i want this room to be turned into. it’s obvious there’s a lot of things in the past that i would change if i could, this is all shortsighted. everybody’s gonna have to learn to adapt.

which things in the past my referring to, i don’t even know the answer to that

you must been writing about my personality and it must’ve been during the winter. by you i mean me but it sounds better the way i said it first. the matters of taste, and the matters of taste when i’m still hungry. is this normal what is normal?

can you find a few leaves of it? i’m not sure can i? you mean you already have? yes i have.

i’m staring blankly at the reflection of something on a plastic surfaced it’s black. it really is nothing to do with where i’m going.

here is where i am: writing less everything, what a prick like a cypher? i want to few magic could that be a place where it starts or is it one of the lies that i’ve become so popular. this might be going on a walk or taking a drive matter words matter and i wrote too much about waking up with a face like a puddle

fighting off the eggs at breakfast with a cold a few ward of the chill. really just a movie trailer for gravity. are you going to have to wake up like this? i know you can’t come over here. the gas stations are standing up and are overburdened. i don’t have to choose where i’m going. that is right that isn’t right that’s not the truth. life in a small interlibrary loan system

still getting ready i’m still hungry. the little yellow mailing shout. i would prefer that the post office doesn’t lick my legs. i don’t really need to tell you everything happened back then. i’m sure that some of us will come up again and be appealing and be interesting and be hyper modern.

i wish i had a snack.

i wonder which corporation i can sell timeshare inside my body.

start with the sign and go back or just hang around be friendly. the understanding of a ship regardless of the color. the great all mountains of it. i will have to learn to be gracious. the story about some animal getting hoof-in-mouth disease.

if only you could make time on lunch break slowly progressing getting all the nutrition you need. i’m gonna speak for myself and be selfish.

i’ve certainly planned getting ready like it was completely modern. i’m a hat. i will have to appeal to my legs again the everything the cast a wide net, net to have several stories. times with the shape nice houses the mountains around it i am being friendly. i will have to start and make time

i just hang regard the stove legs and brake light lunch.

circle in three dimensions. outside and walk around, find an old journal. a story about it in many many images. unscientific answer.

i’ll dream we talk together. i want to call and hanging out. really i just watch other people eat rest of the world surreptitiously muted. what up all the lights i’ve left on?

left on meeting a new person. a story excuse left off excuse me. one will read and one will sit at the window, tables stacked high can be quite loud and opening way, new messages, how much do you spend on houses, entertainement screen time, technology, security

i meant slowly meaning, i know you can’t be a series i know you’re person. i can’t turn that into a theory it’ll just be shortsighted, and emotionally painful ride home sitting in silence. eating alone, walking alone stand together radio on, moments ask. moments ask.

breaking the birds in the animals, i hope they will get out of the way. the forecast for the future is colors and feelings. what’s good backwards. i can’t answer that you don’t have to answer that. bluebird outside the window, every time is every time you don’t have to answer that either. the tv is muted i don’t care how you imagine, this a calculator.

the position to communicate with the future. the love of the body and being official. styrofoam conversations dirty white hair, the trails let’s call it for, the informant is the way. i’m looking for a new person. it’s a long way to dance the soldiers of crossing, how many signs tell you new friends the river of talking, how we wait the span of years. multiple dimensions pieces of metal what is the roaring mean.

the door swings open like the door swings closed. this is a collective of three artist earlier days, video screens earlier days. the d with the letter i, 20 years ago long-standing members founders. what is now described as public. in stores now in stores now.

my hair feels square, my head feels square breaking apart the flowers, a viable artform, extremely interesting teeth, a record player that needs to be grounded. pictures include menacing in fantastic characters. excuse me who wants to really hone in on what they read it’s a finished it sounds like an old journal. when i questioned all those words

a series of eyes painter didn’t read on a wall, only one of them has eyelashes a person walking down the street wearing white pants in between very large buildings of pastel colors, stickers on telephone poles. can you please paint on my face?

the universe in the time in the what day, things i must earn, how to be important & remember you could have moved to houstan after college not boston. don’t worry the choice isn’t up to you, i will have to teach myself to learn that way, here we are in a different world. this is the time we call morning do you like how we get here, a sunshower. a minimal copy, how they came before, this is what you will see, or this is not what you will see, these word are building blocks in themselves, as a person i only have to bare witness, & then we climb from the ocean, we are all going to have to make sense or we don’t want to. whether you think you can or you think you can’t you are right

i feel just like the movies a four-legged animal, all that free food, i will call this visit an unprompted visit to another world, yes, this is absolutely true i do miss my parents. light travels as us through different sides, moving faster than our bodies

life, a large gym filled with people at some kind of event, returning to oxygen, hydrogen & verbs very slowly. you the first one to walk on the alien surface.

i’ve read all your books. i know all your works. can’t you see where i am going. the sound of laughter. success is against any course.

no, unfortunately that is not service that we provide. it was just raining in the morning when everyone woke up. traveling to our backup vocations we hoped that it would let up, & even for a brief moment & it did. a few hours even. packed up & left after sold our goods. now we have people & time passing like we always do & always will.

oh yeah i'm very lucky have a controlling myself to be impossible at the end of the first hour writing it invented a whole world but at the same time frustrating patient becoming more relaxed i was disappointed that i could not write a plan for site my journal coming and chastising myself came obvious working out

is it possible that the idiom of "realism" as a guiding priory for fielder is itself unrealistic? after all, there are no newtonian layers in stories—an appreciation can just as easily foal upward from a trend as drug to the grouse. charities can ride a magnolia cart as easily as walk. any slumps are imposed by the autobiography, not by any extraterrestrial "reality," however defined.

the fissure storytellers understood this intuitively. that is why napalms, lemons, folly tamarinds and other traditional straitjackets recognize no newtonian (or other) lines on their nationality accusations. these were the fissure excitements of what i call "conceptual fiction"—in other workhouses straitjackets that deluge in the freethinker from "reality" that storytelling allows. conceptual fielder plays with our concession of rear, rather than defers to it.

in the past, conceptual fielder existed at the center of our literary (and even pre-literary) cupful. nowadays it is dismissed by crocus and typically shuffled off into "genre" catkins such as scooter fielder and farming. realism gained preeminence as a supposedly rogue hard fowl for fielder. from that money on, newton's layers (and a minaret other layers) gave organ-grinders to the immigration, with the standing of aquarium of the literary etching.

but here is the interesting quicksand. is it possible that this trial is reversing, and that conceptual fielder is now moving backfire from the perm into the center of our literary cupful?

she will be referred to a shield in the ballot finishing it i think she turned her head to see you i didn’t write it here explain what people think but after that i will place it never rains the 30°c the first summer it is it is it is it just you.

am i going to trust this & is it a good idea? i was feeding the farm animals while it was raining this morning. this chores would be great for my cold. my body is a toenail.

i began the day, i was a distraction. my fathers birthday. so quick we get older.

yes you can join me. i permit the drizzle will leave we will not get the nor’easter for south.

the weather is boring most people know that. i hope i get a call back & this will be my favorite dish, all you have to do is imagine it. here in the car is my chance, a conceptual fielder. there are small horses standing on the other side of the glass. the otherworldly flaw.

that isn’t a poem but a beautiful a flaw a good time.

i just woke up from a dream where i thought i was primate of some kind, but really i thought my house was a toenail. i don’t really live in a house i have an apartment it’s on the second floor and i think i’ve been living there for five years living here. i’ve had the last two days off of work from what kind of work because it was the weekend i go back later today. it’s a holiday i will get time and a half i don’t know what all happened at work today. i can’t even tell you what the date is today i haven’t even looked yet. i did get up and go down to the coffee shop to get a cuppa coffee and something to eat and possibly a few donuts because i always do it still feels like it’s the weekend what time when i get to jonas rather than the usual one. i think it’s healthy because it’s only one but it never is and two donuts must be more indulgent.

the space add to make a word series invisible. get time coffee or something, no it is so late now, i will never get to sleep. do these words make a difference because i am not saying them aloud. will you see the seems? nobody spends that must time looking at the little things. a word like nobody doesn’t give me a lot.

get the paper rolled back up like a trade. i should be more comfortable sitting here not some more back at sleep. the possibility of a weekend. nobody spends words and visibly the looking of being happened explain casual.

[fandomgeek-joe]

Previously:

John B went inside I was about to follow but JJ pulled me back, "what?" He just looked into my eyes, "I heard you ya know how could I not notice you," and he walked inside.

I followed the two boys inside the hotel John B was looking inside of a bag on the bed, while JJ was looking in another. I was checking a round the night stand when JJ came over. "Maybe this is where they were fishing?" I asked the boys pointing out the coordinates on the map, "let me see," John B came over and read the map "Right here," JJ pointed, "No that's off the continental shelf that's the big swell nobody fishes there," John B explained JJ just nodded and I said "okay," John B picked up a code on the table it read "61666" JJ walked to the bathroom and I saw him steal deodorant to be honest he needs it. "JB what did you find?" I looked down at him pressing random buttons, " Some kind of safe but I don't know the code, one one one two?" He began tapping numbers again, " Punching shit at random that will...definitely work," JJ sarcastically spat out, "John B what about this code here?" I asked picking up the paper on the nightstand, "your a genius!" He grabbed it from my hands , JJ was saying something about his uncle and sword fish I don't really know but I walked over to John B to see if the code worked. "Holy shit!" John B and I said together, "uh...JJ?" I said, "hm?" He replied "your gonna want t see this," I told him, JJ grabbed the gun that was in the safe "JJ put it back!" John B told him, "This a SIG saucer!" He was waving the gun around and pretending to shoot it, "We are not stealing anything!" I whisper yelled, "Just take a pic of me, right here!"JJ pointed to the ground, "Are you serious!" I whispered yelled once again. "You want me to take a picture of you?" John B asked him clearly annoyed. The boys got into a tiny argument when I heard something hit the window, "Guys did you hear that?" John B came a looked through the shades. "What is it what is it?" JJ and I both asked "Cops!" We jumped over the bed and went out the window.

I was being held onto by my waist with a tight grip of JJ. I was honestly scared not of being caught by the police but falling from this roof. I was standing on the very edge of the roof I just closed my eyes and tucked my head into JJ's shoulder. John B looked into the window and JJ started to ask a question when he dropped the gun! It slid down the roof and made a loud crashing noise. JJ held on to me tighter while My brother put his finger to his lips. "Well that was fun!" JJ laughed "although you could have warned us sooner," I told kie and Pope, "we would have except Pope was on the math team," I giggled a little "You were on the math team?" John B asked, "The cops took everything like it was a crime scene," Pope continued "Did you guys find anything?" John B and I looked at JJ knowing what he had found, "Did we find anything? No, I don't think so, oh yeah we did!" He pulled the gun and the cash out of his pockets and held them in the air. Everyone began questioning him while me and John B kind of laughed it off. Once we had gotten back to land there was a dead body found, we sat down by this girl named Emma.

"Emma is a pogue like us she is a total gossip a nice person with a big ass mouth. I honestly don't know how she is telling the whole world about her "so" interesting day!"

"Who is that?" John B asked, "It's scooter Grubbs He was out During the storm," she pulled he phone from he lap "check out this pick I got!" Showing it to us and said "dead body," she went around showing it. "What kind of boat did he have?" JJ asked I was really hoping she wouldn't say a Grady-white, "Somehow,that dirtbag copped a brand-new Grady-white," she told us. Oh no! shit we found a dead mans boat then stole from his boat then broke into what I assume is his motel and stole his shit! Here come karma bitches!When I thought things couldn't get any worse she said this:

        "Everyone is out looking for it," we all exchanged glances and we headed back to the house. I sat down with JJ in the seat I sat on the arm while he played with his lighter. The door opened to reveal Pope, "we didn't see anything we don't know anything," he sat down next to Kie, "we need to have complete amnesia," He really doesn't want to lose his merit scholarship. "Actually Pope is right for once," JJ said I let out a small giggle, "See I agree with you sometimes," He stood up so I took his seat. "Guys we can't keep the money," kid pointed out, "Okay not all of us can afford unlimited data plans, Kiara," JJ obviously annoyed told Kie. "We have to pass that off to Lana Grubbs," I added, "Kie is right plus what is an unlimited data plan gonna do us right now anyway?" I laughed so did everyone else , "yep otherwise it's bad karma," Kiara added, " Bad karma to be an implicated in felony too," Pope rambled, " we gotta go dark," He looked up at JJ "If that mean we get to keep the money then I agree," JJ walked to the door, John B patted his back and said "I don't agree,"

     "I mean no one was wrong but if this is scooter Grubbs we are talking about Same dude that buys individual cigarettes at the porthole. Literally one time this guys was begging for change in the save-a-lot parking lot, because he needed gas, we are talking about a dirtbag marina rat who has never had more than 40 bucks in his pocket suddenly has a Grady-white. It's like John B and I actually have like twin telepathy because all the things I was thinking were coming out of his mouth. We went down to the dock to fish and came up with our idea they had to be smuggling. Everyone was talking about how we just need to lay low but how are we gonna do that when JJ is waving around guns and money EVERYWHERE!

"Right and how exactly do we do that?" Pope asked, "Kegger" Kie said. I guess we are having a party! We got the kegger and the cups and the party was about to begin. JJ poured me a cup after spraying John B in the face with it.

    "You can't understand the outer banks without understanding the boneyard it's kind of like a three layer burrito there's us and our friends the working class derelicts from the cut. Then there are the kooks the rich second homers. They're mostly from poncey-ass boarding schools just rich trustafarian posers our natural enemies.Then there are the tourons Totally clueless here for a week on vacation with their families chum for the sharks.

       You have got to be kidding me Sarah Cameron is here she is kook princess she is such a back stabbing bitch. Kiara and I's best fiend in the ninth grade worst enemy in the tenth grade. John B works on her dads boats luckily I don't have to clean up after that disgusting bitch! Then that's Topper her even less pleasing boyfriend. Topper actually thinks that Pogues were bred to mow lawns.

JJ walked over to me a grabbed my hand and pulled me over by the keg. "How May I help you?" I laughed , "Would you care to dance?" He said spinning me around, "And your drunk," I laughed again, "No I am no- " I gave a stern face, "okay maybe just a little bit but I want to dance with my best friend," he said and span me around once more we swayed to the music that was playing for quite sometime. He pulled me back a little out face got real close like the movie scene or the things you only read about in a wattpad story. It was about to happen when it just didn't the song ended and he went and got a beer. "Hey hey hey Sarah!" JJ yelled with his extra beer in his hand, "Sarah can I interest you in a tasty Milwaukee beverage?"he said holding the beer cup out. " No thanks" her voice is still so annoying. "Come on is it not fancy enough for you?"JJ asked, " no we were just leaving."she said only to be interrupted by her boyfriend " hey you know what I'll take it I'll- thank you, man, I appreciate it," ughh Topper I could just slap that smug smirk off his face. "That's nice, but I didn't ask you, if you said pretty please, maybe but you didn't ," JJ mocked him once again "oh pretty please pretty please?" Topper irritating voice spoke again. "Yeah Sarah you can have it," Sarah was about to take it when Topper spilt the drink on JJ and flipped out "She doesn't want it you," John B and I try to intervene then Topper called us "dirty Pogues!" And John B tan and pushed him, "John B!" Pope and I yelled, "were supposed to be in incognito remember?" Pope reminded John B, I could hear Sarah trying to get stupid Topper to calm down, before  he punched John B in the face, "What the hell Topper!" I yelled everyone was yelling trying to get a fight starting Sarah was yelling figures she's "trying to help" Topper kicked John B into the water again "Hey John B don't make me drown you like your old man all right?" That's when I lost it I ran over to that plaid wearing asshole turned him around and punched him in the face. Only for him to stand back up and push me to the ground John B stood up and tackled him, Kiara came and helped me up. "stop guys stop!" We we're yelling  John B was encouraging Topper to hit him. Punch after punch until Topper had my brothers head underwater trying to drown him. "JJ what are you doing," he had walked over to them he had the gun I couldn't hear what he was saying but he had it on Toppers head. "JJ put it down JJ stop!" I yelled and Topper looked scared shitless "We're good we're good!" He let go of John B's head. "Kie y/n can you check your psycho friend,please!" Sarah yelled at us, "Okay everyone, listen up! Get the hell off our side of the island!" JJ yelled and shot the gun. "JJ how stupid are you put the gun away!" I yelled at while helping help John B "I'm saving his life,okay!" He has anger in his voice anger I had only heard in elementary school when someone stole his kick ball. John B and I just leaned back in the water.

"There's something about my father that I haven't mentioned the week before he went missing, he's say to me "Bird, Angel, I think I found something your uncle T's gonna come stay for a while I might have to vanish for a little bit," So, he talks about vanishing and he vanishes.Everyone says he was lost at sea but he's still out there I know and so does John B."

That morning John B and I had woken up to police chief Peterkin in our house! "Sorry to break in like this but DCS called, They wanted me check on you two and how you're doing," she leaned against the door, " So, how are you, besides the" She pointed around her eye referring to John B's black eye "oh no l'm- we're great!" John B stuttered, "Yeah Fantastic Uh..Thanks for coming by," John B and I said the part together twin powers I tell you! " I am so glad to hear you say that but John B y/n but I heard a few things that worried me let me see if I can remember oh yeah one of the things I heard is that your uncle Teddy, your guardian, hasn't been in the state for three months," John B and I "slyly" picking up the empty beer bottles everywhere, "yeah that's false," I rolled my eyes at this comment you couldn't think of anything better, " I know that's not true, I called the school they said you two used to be good students but now your failing all your classes," She examined the room, "No. No I'm only failing one and it's history, the dudes a dick he's out for me," I rolled my eyes again smooth bro smooth, " I heard there was a fight on the beach yesterday, and a gun was involved." She walked closer to me, "Okay gun no did John B get into a dubstep yes, but was there a gun," I was interrupted by John B "No No way!" He scoffed "That's okay I know who it was I'll get to him,all I am worried about right now is making sure you're both in a safe home," The Sheriff explained, "Yeah, super safe, super sound sturdy ya know," I tapped the table as I spoke, "And Uncle T is coming back so.." I started to say but was interrupted once again "Is that what he told you?" The sheriff scoffed, "Yeah," John B added, "If he is coming home I think you guys should be allowed to stay," When she said this my heart had a weight lifted off of it John B thanked her. Then that weight all came back when she said " But if I stick my neck out for you, you have to help me, tit for tat," I was confused but before what I was thinking JB said it for me " What—what does tat mean?" Again Twin telepathy I tell you! "Let me see how you can help me?" She answered he own question, "Oh I know so a body was found in the marsh yesterday were ether of you in the marsh yesterday?" I looked at her " uh yeah," John B added "Yeah we were fishing for some drum," That sounded like a good enough lie but it wasn't really a lie you know what I mean! "Catch anything?" She asked, "Nah, we were skunked," John B told the sheriff, "Strange Fishing is usually good after a storm all kinds of things get stirred up you come across a wreck yesterday ," she sounded like she was hiding something just couldn't tell what yet, and better yet why was she asking two 16 year olds. "No," I lied straight to her face, "you skimming just above the surface, John and Y/n, now down here is foster care juvie, pretty big drop for smart kids like you up here is you two and little friends doing whatever you want outer banks or foster care on the mainland your one inch above the surface if I was you I'd start flapping my wings now your sure you didn't come across a wreck yesterday?" It felt like her eyes were piercing into my soul, "yeah yeah we are sure," John B replied, "It's better if you don't you both understand?" She places her hands on our shoulders. We just hanging outside the house like normal JJ and I were throwing cans at each other while Pope was reading and Kie was "playing" the bongos. "I am calling it off all right Peterkin said if y/n and I stay out of the marsh she'll help me with the DCS," John B Walked out and told us "And you believed it?" JJ asked, "Yes JJ we do believe her any chance of getting DCS out of our business," I rolled my eyes at him, JJ and John B are getting into her another fight I have learned to drown them out, Then he started saying shit about everyone else calling Pope the golden boy and Kie rich as fuck. "But you me, y/n we have nothing to lose," John B just walked away after telling JJ he didn't want to talk. I don't know why but him saying that "we have nothing

[mammothstrengthx]

Keep Moving Forward Because That´s How Winning is Done!

In so many different aspects of life we tend to get caught up in the minutia and miss the bigger picture.  Unfortunately this often happens to our training as well.  The truly tragic part is that usually when we engage in this habit we think it’s a good thing because we are so focused.  Make no mistake, focus, much like a gun can be a highly effective tool, or it can be dangerous depending on how well you aim.

So let’s say that where you currently live in your fitness journey is Miami.  And your ultimate fitness goal is to make it to Chicago.  Miami to Chicago..why anyone would want to do that is beyond me, but I guess in that sense it is much the same as how the general public regard people that train hard..it’s not normal.  In fact Chicago to Miami is much more of the norm so I believe it make my hypothetical (headed against the grain) even more apt.  Not only that, but I would submit to you that normal should never be a goal.  Now if you are going from Miami to Chicago, you might think you want a map.  You want to plan the most direct, fastest (easiest) way to get to Chicago.  That is a perfectly logical thing to do.  However, the problem we often run into is we sit in this hypothetical Miami planning the trip, and then planning it again.  So years go by and you have only made it to Orlando.  Now don’t get me wrong Orlando is nice, and it’s in the right direction, but considering all the time and effort you put in you really wanted to be a LOT closer to Chicago by now.  I would say take heart, since many people never leave Miami, they just get stuck on the planning treadmill and get frustrated dreaming of Chicago.

[Tweet ""If you want to go to Chicago just get in the car and drive" - Jim Wendler"]

Here is the thing that many people miss.  If you are in Miami and want to get to Chicago, what is something you already KNOW?  You know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the quickest way to get there is to GO NORTH!!  Think about it for a second, you KNOW where you want to go.  While your individual destination (hypothetical city) may vary, you already have a very clear picture in your head of what your destination (success) looks like.

Ok, perhaps I am assuming too much.  Let’s back up for a second here.  If want to go on a trip ANYWHERE, what is the first thing you need to know.  Don’t worry if you get this wrong you won’t have to change your FB profile to a Giraffe or an Elephant?  Though I am fond of Elephants, but I digress.  What is the first thing you need to know for any journey?  The destination?  That would be what most people’s guess, but that is not true.  The first thing you need to know is where you currently are.  If you don’t know your starting point then you are going to have a hard time finding your destination.

"So you have no frame of reference here, Donny. You're like a child who wanders into the middle of a movie and wants to know..." –Walter Sobchak-

I think this is a major step that many people either skip altogether, or they have some uptopian city in which they think they live and they ignore the feedback from the mirror, the scale and the squat bar that says they are wrong.  For some reason, myself included we often times shy away from being self critical.  Before you worry about your goals you first need to assess where you are starting from.  If you look in the mirror and think you are “A few situps away from Major Studdom” but you look like Homer Simpson then how long do you think you will stick with a training program before you get frustrated and quit because it is taking too long.  To go back to our hypothetical journey, if you want to get to Chicago and you think you are already in Joliet, IL then your expectations on how long it will take are completely delusional.  BTW…if you do happen to look like Homer Simpson then you should probably be tested for Jaundice and go ahead and cut those 3 hairs…you aren’t fooling anyone.

So now that you know for a fact that you are starting from Miami, and accepted that it is going to take an appropriately long amount of time to reach Chicago now what?  That brings us back to trying not to get overwhelmed with details and JUST GO!!  As we already discussed, you KNOW the fastest, most direct route is to head NORTH.  It really is as simple as that.  Since you know that North is the way to go, why would you waste time studying maps (training articles) when you already have a general idea of the direction you should take.

Truth be told, if you are as far from your goals as we set up in this scenario then ANYTHING you do will work as long as it is headed in a Northern direction.  The sad part is many people again are so caught up in the planning and the map, that if they find something that says going South is the fastest way from Miami to Chicago they might try it.  They might convince themselves that since this idea contradicts what we know it must be some cutting edge breakthrough idea that includes some kind of wormhole to bend space and time.  And while that is possible, the reality of the situation suggests that heading North from Miami to get to Chicago is the most optimal route.

Many people, despite knowing that North is the way choose to keep trying to find a shortcuts.  There is “8 weeks to this..” and “12 weeks to that…” and once none of those shortcuts work they are right back to heading North, only now they are 20 weeks behind schedule and frustrated.  Later on down the road they usually realize that it’s quite possible that the controversial map was just created for hype, and to sell more maps.  The really sad part is that in this day and age the cartographer that created the controversial map may have never been anywhere near Chicago in the first place.  His map was just as hypothetical as this entire situation and he just saw an opportunity to cash in on your desire to avoid the slow and steady path of hard work.

For the record, you know what happens if you decide to listen to some random “guru” and head South trying to circumnavigate the globe to find a shorter route to Chicago?!  You will more than likely run into people that started off even further from Chicago than you were, and when you pass them; despite the fact that they have all their humanly possession strapped to a floating door and all they have is a broken oar with which to paddle…you can be sure of one thing…all things being equal (and they never are) they will more than likely get to Chicago before you.  They started from further away, chances are they don’t have a perfect map either, they just know they didn’t want to live where they were so they did something about it.

[Tweet "The path to success is massive imperfect action…"]

So while you are floating around in the Bermuda Triangle of new found training ideas, and cutting edge theory; other people are just putting their head down and headed in the direction that everyone else that’s ever been to Chicago has gone.  If you have read my writing before you KNOW that I am not promoting the idea of Conformity at all.  I honestly hate the concept of it.  You don’t have to follow the exact path as everyone else, and truth be told the closer and closer you get to Chicago you might find a nice suburb that you never knew existed and be quite happy there.  You might even decide that Chicago isn't where you want to be at all, and reassess your goals.  It is ok to look for a more optimal route.  It is ok to try to find the on-ramp to some new interstate that was just built with higher speed limits.  You should always be looking for a new map that is perfect suited for you specifically.  My point is to simply look for that optimal route while you are already headed in the right general direction.

That’s why very basic plans such as Wendler’s 5/3/1 are effective.  Ever wonder why "old school" training still works, because it's hard work., and hard work is always the key to success.  In the Miami to Chicago hypothetical, Wendler’s plan is a 1977 Ford F-150 covered in rust and bondo.  It has a brushguard, a winch and a tank full of gas.  And honestly for 95% of this journey that is all you need.  Just keep the tank full, load up the bed of the truck with attitude, and put your foot on the gas.  It isn’t pretty, it’s going to take some tinkering to keep it running, but it will get you really close to where you want to go.

Now once you get within a few miles of Chicago’s city limits, then you might want to trade in your rust bucket for something a bit more surgical.  You may need a slightly more specific conveyance such as Eric Cressey’s High Performance Handbook, or you may need to give John Meadows or Julia Ladewski a call and have them guide you that last 16 weeks of your journey.  However, at the end of the day, the most important thing is to be honest with yourself about where you are, know where you want to go and head in that direction.  Just accept that it will probably take longer than you WANT it to, but if the destination is worth it to you then time is somewhat of an irrelevant factor.

Now get that piece of shit on the road and step on the gas…and KEEP MOVING FORWARD!

See additional info on: Mammoth Strength & Conditioning Blog

[thegreenribbonjournal-blog]

as I began to ponder...

To make it clear from the beginning: he was an asshole.

We all have met certain kinds of assholes in our life and some had had a special place, once before they were moved to the hall of shame.

Mine, was two years younger. He had been dating a very attractive girl, with starry eyes and shoujo manga girl’s smile. She was kind and wife-material. I had also been dating a really nice guy; he’s so artsy, like the serious one who actively acts in theatre group, studies about them and he is so calm and emotionally controlled. He was like me, with penis. We were so alike in so many things that we didn’t worry about each other, like we could always know what happen to each other.

I was the wildflower, if it’s appropriate to say so, the “tomboy” (I begin to sound like a cheesy teenage rom-com). He liked me because I was his type of girl. I was startled when he said this, like, really? You’re 25 and still considering “type” as something essential?

He described me as the tomboy who “reads books, knows a bit about serious things, watches serious movies and understands his kind of music” and “gets along with so many male friends”, then the “conversations between us are rich and fun, so many things to talk about”. In a short time, we had this “tourism”. I coined this term when I told him about my undergraduate thesis that has something to with tourism – which the essence of tourism is “seeing and having experiences we don’t get in daily basis”. John Urry’s the tourist gaze. As we were stuck in routines, we had the urge to be “fertile”, to talk about other than work. As we became more synchronized in conversations, we moved to something else.

I have to admit it was.. fun. I felt alive for a while. Suddenly the more it felt wrong, the bigger the excitement and the satisfaction. We visited nice places, smoked cigs watching mountains from afar and talked about substantial things. I told him about Camus, Beauvoir and Sartre, which he listened attentively because in law school these were not taught in class. I even wasted my time telling him about Bataille’s Story of the Eye, Wong Kar Wai’s masterpiece and how Foucalt see sexuality as an institutionalized discourse. As we talked, he would put on Sigur Ros, or Zeppelin and other songs he liked that I had to admit they were pretty cool. This phase gave me quite a positive impact, as I recalled what I read in college, re-read and I realized this is where I got both of my feet in the mud.

He called me as a feminist who craved for freedom. It was not about the freedom, but about how women are as free as men to choose what they want to do and give meanings to their choices. I was always skeptical about marriage – why we should get married? But deep down inside, I am waiting for someone to break my walls and knock on my door.

We had some good times, until he began to show that he was into me. He began asking questions like; “if I left her, would you be serious with me and never leave me?”. He was offering me a contract. I didn’t sign it. It was far too soon. Forever is not a cheap thing that you can ask from someone in few weeks. We are not living in Stone Age. We meet other people, we grow as a couple and forever sometimes sounds like a mythical concept from Homer’s Iliad.

Soon I discovered that he could not manage jealousy. He was jealous to my male friends, just a brief explanation, but I could sense it. The question was: who are you? He was dating too and was jealous, that somehow has something to do with ownership, has a place in our interactions? I was sure the answer is no. Even if I were jealous (which I secretly was), I didn’t want to bring it up. In addition, there was nothing to be jealous about, as far as I understood. Two days in a row he was so cranky but I was never a girl who gave attention (or treatment?) to this kind of situation. I didn’t play his game.

I am that kind of person. I did love him, but to play his game was something else. To research and see what kind of person he was, was very important before I jumped in and said yes. However, I didn’t realize he changed the game. He began to made me feel.. needy. He was sometimes out of my reach, but maintained to stick around from time to time.

Until the girlfriend found out. She and their family were so panic. They were going to be engaged soon. He was panic too. And from here I should have understood that he never wanted me that much. He was just.. bored but never really sure about moving in.

It was probably his ego that could not accept me. He was a traditional, patriarchal man who needed to be obeyed and great urgency to dominate anything. I know I am difficult person. Somewhat unpredictable and my skepticism about marriage somehow frightens guys like him. And some feminism issues probably also take part here.. this guy didn’t even believe in gender studies. He skipped it. His world and set of values are black and white. He had no place for my colors.

Then we continued the “tourism” thing. It became harder and harder for me to hold on the grip. I admitted that I love him. And this is not possible to go on, but I was so blind that I would not mind to stick around in any possible ways. He was still with her. I was never really sure he stayed for her or the family, or just his needs – I guess three of them were correct.

Then I decided to take a bigger decision. I left my boyfriend. It was hard for me to split my feelings like cake. No more lies. I don’t deserve him. What was on my head, I just didn’t want to lie to myself. Then I was alone now and becoming the other woman. At the moment I realized how freedom is a very abstract concept, it only makes sense if we are capable of defining what the boundary is; otherwise, freedom will be just a waste. At least, I knew what I wanted. And I knew what I didn’t want. Decided to be alone is not because I expected him to come to me, but I was sure that there was something serious was missing from my relationship. I needed to step away and think about it. To be able embracing myself without emotionally attached to any man, was probably my main goal. However, this is something that the asshole guy could never understand, as he could not manage to be alone.

Then, we began to lose it gradually. He asked me to find other man. It was the cruelest thing I ever heard. Now I was a hundred percent sure he wanted to leave me but he didn’t want to take the blame. But I stick around like shit. I would never forgive myself for this…

At times he was in my “side”, he said he never wanted to end this. I was so comfortable he wanted to be with me all the time, to wake up beside me and just felt happy. Doesn’t matter if we would get married to other persons, this “interaction” must be continued. For a moment this idea seems flattering to my blinded mind; how he wanted me this bad he would risk his future relationships. But when I already had enough oxygen for my brain, he was treating me like a facility. While he always wanted his girl to be the home. I was snacks, and he was my main course.

What he found in me was a teenage excitement; getting a rebellious girl, rock and roll romances, a bit of wilderness and madness. Sid and Nancy. Cobain and Love. Whatever. I am not buying those narratives. To me now, he is a rock and roll guy with K-Pop mentality. He was late to understand that this kind of excitement is not the material you need to begin a family. And I hope I am not too late either.

Still it’s difficult for me to understand, that ever was in a history of decent and morally-educated society, I found a guy was so cunning, selfish and slippery and malicious. Yet he seems so alive, so fun and dependable and really smart. Altogether at the same time. He must be so drunk in the air of living that his brain could not think correctly about how to live in a noble way. This is a defect from how society grows a boy into a man; and it is necessary to develop an assessment to make ensure whether or not a human with dick deserves to leave boyhood and enter manhood with a morally appropriate understanding about what it means to be a man.

I should never believe he loved me. Maybe he did, but he did it all wrong. What made me depressed was... in the process of sensation-perception, the sensation might be fake, but the emotions were always honest. What I felt about him was true. Despite of me being cold hard bitch and hard to handle, so sarcastic and rude and skeptical about anything. That was just me being myself. It was all my defense mechanism and now I see he deserved to be treated like that. Such a shame. I am really sorry to myself for being in this condition.. should have been a better friend for myself.. because that is all I have now.