#making loop suffer in the prettiest way possible

[paisley-print]

7:00am / Get The Directions

Jack and you try to build an IKEA bookcase. 

Rating: SFW

Characters: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Warnings: Vomit, pregnancy, fluff, dirty talk, implied past sexual encounters. 

Word Count: 918

MIDNIGHT MASTER LIST

NOTE: This is short and sweet since the next chapter is pretty long and has some smut. Also I’m not sure if I ever gave Jack a full name. I gave his son a name and assumed they would have the same one...if I did give Jack a full name please tell me lol.  

“Well, where did you put the directions?”

Jack was on the floor, kneeling in front of a pile of wood, screws, cardboard and Styrofoam. It was a Sunday, and the two of you were spending some time at the shop. This had been the case for the last two weekends. Both of you working from morning to night, trying to get things ready for the grand opening in a few weeks. 

Originally, your plan had been to wait another six months before opening, but with the news of the baby, Jack and you decided it was better to get it done sooner rather than later. That way, when the baby came, you would have a trained staff that could take over while you were out on maternity leave. 

“Darlin’ I am a Statesman agent. Do you know what that means?”

You placed your hands in the pockets of your overalls - wishing you were allowed coffee. “You’re a less cool version of the FBI?”

“No.”

You paused “...you’re all alcoholics?”

He cut you off “-It means, that I think I can figure out how to build one silly bookcase without having to look at the gosh darn directions.”

You raised your eyebrows, smirking. “You’ve been at it for thirty minutes.”

“Gotta familiarize myself with the pieces. Get her warmed up. You know how it is,” he shot you a little wink.

 “So, you’re gonna fuck the bookcase?”

“Mam” he said, setting down the piece he was holding and placing his hands on his hips all sassy. 

You giggled and swiveled on your roller chair a little. 

Jack continued to act as if he was annoyed. You knew he was just playing. “I would like to point out. That this is a lot of talk for a woman who is just sitting there watching.’”

The last two weeks had been hard on you, you suffered from very severe morning sickness. The doctor said it was normal, for most it went away after the first trimester but for some women it persisted throughout the whole pregnancy. You prayed it was only temporary. 

Jack had been wonderful. He would sit up with you at night, even though you told him it was okay to go to bed. You could see how tired he was in the mornings, or the way he took a nap on the couch for an hour after he got home. 

He never complained, not once. He would sit there with you, rubbing your back and telling random stories from work to keep your mind occupied. He had also taken over most of the cooking since you could hardly stomach even a peek into the fridge. 

He was always encouraging you to eat in order to keep your weight up. Making you little snacks when he was home and placing them in front of you and not getting up from the table until you finished at least half of what was on your plate. He didn’t want you sitting there alone- so he would watch Sports Center from the table. 

“Well, if you would let me help, then I wouldn’t just be watching,” you pointed out, standing and walking over to him.

“I gave you a job,” he said.

“Sitting here and-” you put your fingers into air quotes “ ‘Looking pretty’ is not a job Jack.”

He pursed his lips and mumbled. “Well, thank god cuz if it were you’d be fired-”

“JACKSON HENRY DANIELS” 

He backtracked immediately, “wha- you know I didn’t mean it like that, sugar! It’s because you’re standing!”

You crossed your arms and pretended to be mad. “Telling your pregnant fiance that she is - ugly. A new low…. I don’t know If it can ever be forgiven.”

He hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of your overalls to pull you closer. A brief smile cracked through your pretend frown. “Well, what If I told you that you were the prettiest girl in town?”

“Nope. Not good enough.”

“The world?”

You glanced down at him “better.”

“The universe.” 

You thought for a moment, “I guess I’ll take it.”

He smiled and leaned in for a hug, head pressing against your belly. You combed through his hair with your fingers, engagement ring sparkling under the fluorescent lights. “Jack?”

“Yeah sugar?”

“If you don’t get the directions, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“I’d like to see you try darlin” he smiled and turned to kiss your belly.

You weren’t showing at all, but ever since he found out Jack’s hand seemed to find a permanent place on your stomach. Whether it be during car rides, watching TV, or standing in line at the store… it was there. You had gotten annoyed and swatted it away on multiple occasions when he did it in public. Fearing that people would find out before you were ready to announce it. 

You didn’t mind when you were at home. You knew he was worried, and it calmed his anxiety to touch you. Half the time he didn’t even realize he was doing it. You found it incredibly sweet. Especially the way he reached for you at night when he was drifting in and out of sleep.

You didn’t think it was possible to love somebody so deeply, and yet you managed to fall a little more in love with him every single day. “The longer you take to do this, the longer it is until I have sex with you behind the building like you asked.”

“Get the directions.”

[sweetestlamb]

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of These)

Summary: A deeper look into Gang-tae's dream sequence in "Rain on Me" as requested by my bb @emanmc24.

Author's note: This is not safe for work, around friends, public transportation none of that. Okay I warned you 😂😈 This is filthy nasty public motorcycle rain sex (Jae-su, bro please don't kill me it's only a dream.) My brain tried to do its thing with inner monologues (what's wrong with me???) But I snapped it back into focus and the majority of this is just gutter smut. It's GT's dream so he's a lot more dominant and unpinned than he was in ROM, he is literally living his fantasy so it's very different from the original story. Enjoy my pervy loves!! ♥️

p.s. I made the header so it’s not as amazing as usual but I have fun learning how to do new things here! I will definitely let the pro make the next one for the wedding fic tho lol (I didn’t want to bother you on such short notice @essantial​) 

The rain pelts against his chilled skin icy pinpricks making his bone ache and his heart pound as it pumps blood into the tired limbs of his body. Her arms are tight vices around his stomach, her hold so strong he feels as if he might shatter under the pressure. A sandcastle disintegrating beneath the powerful devastating crash of a tidal wave.

The motorcycle rumbling between his thighs begins to stutter, hiccuping and sputtering before it halts completely, he veers to safety on the side of the road.

"Alberto, please. Please not now." He pleads with the rebellious bike, stroking the handlebars in condolence. But his endeavors are fruitless as the motorcycle remains unimpeded by his suffering and it remains stagnant beneath him.

The arms clasped around his body suddenly loosen, as he feels the comfortable weight previously blanketing his rain tormented body shift away. Her voice is muffled by the cacophonous watery downpour that cascades from the heavens. But he is entranced by the vision of her, gesturing angrily in the rain.

Said rain has drenched every inch of her lithe enticing form, her pristine deceptively angelic dress soaked to the point of transparency, tempting black peeking through the material, she resembles a goddess with her thick dark hair, long and heavy draping over her shoulder in a wet tangled knot.

He stumbles back as her hands shove into him, finally close enough to hear the words of ire falling from those haunting lips, "How could you get us stuck out here! I don't want to freeze to death, do something!"

His own frustration flare up at her accusations, he didn't do anything, how could she possibly blame him for this mishap? He was just as disheartened and upset as she was, her anger was misplaced and he wasn't in the mood to deal with her agression.

He watches as her hands shoot out once more, their target his chest once more and instinctively he catches them, snatching them easily from the air and pinning them to her side. A quiet look of surprise blooms on her face, before her lips curl into a nasty snarl.

"Get off me." She orders, twisting away from his hold, he tightens his hand, yanking her closer to him defiantly instead.

Their eyes meet in an clash, her usual dispassionate gaze lost to a swirl of fire and brimstone, almost simultaneously both their eyes drop lower, the heat between them so searing, steams wafts off in soft bellows of smoke.

He pulls her ever closer, bodies plastered together, and once again she speaks this time mockingly, "Don't start something you can't finish, Moon Gang-tae." Biting his name out, the challenge evident in her tone.

He's infuriatingly tired of her mouth.

His lips slam into hers in a move that knocks her back, releasing her hands he grabs her waist, so small that he's almost able to meet his fingers around it. Feeling her so delicate and slight in his arms awakens the dark possession he fights so hard to keep locked away. He now feels the door blasted off the hinge as he presses his tongue into her mouth.

She whimpers under his intensity, thin arms looping around his neck and with a growl he lifts her, hoisting her high off the ground, delighted as her long legs coil around his torso like a slithering snake.

Grabbing the base of her neck in a move that screams domination, he kisses her deeper, leaving no space unexplored his tongue lapping at every inch of her mouth.

She writhes in his hold, elegant fingers scratching at the nape of his neck as she grinds into the burgeoning erection digging into her skin. Shifting her in his arms, he positions himself perfectly against her blistering heat and fucks into her, cursing all the layers that hinder their joyous converging.

Striding over to the forsaken bike, he leans over, depositing her on the saturated ground, she claws at him fighting to stay in his arms.

"Stop. Behave." He commands, watching the lust unfurl in her dark orbs as she stills at his words. Fingers twitching but submitting to his order.

Power surges through his vein as he slams into her, pushing her into the ice cold metal of the bike. Her back collides with the handle bars and her corresponding gasp of pain permits easy access to her mouth that he happily takes advantage of.

Her fingers dig viciously into the hard muscle of his abdomen, leaving harsh welts in their leave, he grabs her long braided ponytail tugging hard in retaliation, plunging deeper as her mouth opens wider from the pain. The rain pools in their mouth, their kisses a sloppy wet mess as they swallow the liquids filling their orifices.

Take her. Own her. Fuck her, now.

Those insidious thoughts compel him to break the battle between their mouths and spin her around, forcing her to arch over the handle bar, as he sidesweeps her legs open further.

"Moon Gang-tae!" He chuckles at the tinge of fear he hears in her voice, his fearless prickly flower, a thorny rose unafraid of being plucked, now quivering under his touch.

He leans unimaginably close, nose pressed against the wet skin of her nape, nostrils loaded with the scent of her hair, fresh magnolias infiltrate his senses and he breaths in deep. Gently he runs his nose along her skin, aimlessly until he reaches her cheek, its blistering red heat penetrating his cold.

"You talk too much."

With that indicative statement, he is a slow languid movement, bending until he's level with her uplifted ass, swatting at it and smirking at her indignant welp before catching the soaked cloth and whipping it out of the way, baring her round ass encased in thick high waisted panties.

The dark material has been teasing him all evening ever since he picked her up, and wrapped her in his jacket, enraged at the thought of anyone else seeing her this way; this sinful view for his eyes only.

Without a moment's notice, he peels the rain drenched material off her, momentarily struggling before victoriously sliding it down her luscious legs.

The torrential rain pours down in a massive sheet of ice water and the roads are lifeless and empty, all other living creatures venturing inside to hide warmth and comfort. He finds his own slice of heaven as he pushes a long digit into her dripping wet pussy.

"Ahh mmm ah!"

She cries out at the sudden invasion, drawing away from his fingers, walls tightening around his finger in contrary with her movement.

Plunging deeper he chases her, mesmerized by the visage of his fingers sinking into her center, inch by inch he digs deeper until he bottoms out, her folds unfurled and stretched around him.

Her scent is intoxicating and he compulsively lunges in face first, tongue following the trail forged by his finger. Licking at her petals, tonguing deep inside her flower, her nectar heady and thick on his taste buds.

Now she is a woman unleashed, heaving chest laid across the shaking handle bars of Alberto, as she uses it to support her hard thrusts back onto his hungry mouth, rippling on this tongue, unabashedly riding his face.

"Gang-tae, Gang-tae ah!" The honorific squeaks past her lips as he rams a second finger into her center and his patience wears thin, the heat around his finger swelling his cock up in anticipation. Ripping away from her he grips his own pants, heavy from moisture but with deft fingers he tugs them down his legs, hissing as the rain prickles at the stringent length dangling between his legs.

When he opens his tightly clenched eyes it's to an obscenely sinful sight.

Mun-yeong on her knees, gazing up at him from under hooded eyes those lashes sparkling as they catch raindrops. Her eyes are unwavering as she salivates, his cock the only thing in her line of vision.

"Do you want it?" He asks her darkly, already sliding his hand in to extract the heavy meat, it bobs out thick liquid pooling at the head. The rain does nothing to soothe or abide the heat emitting from him.

Like throwing a cup of water on a forest fire.

Forgoing a verbal reply, she peers up at him, mouth falling open in a clear invitation.

But he's adamant, "If you want it, I need to hear you."

Her eyes narrow but her tongue runs across the surface of her mouth and he has no doubts of her answer.

"I want it."

That's all he needs to hear as he thrusts into her waiting mouth, groaning at the wet tight soft fuck that surrounds him immediately. When her tongue curls around the mushroom head, he growls sporadically grabbing her hair for leverage as he fucks deeper.

Fuck. Fuck. Oh. Fuck.

She takes all he has to give and demands more, hands groping at his hanging testicles, pulled tight and vulnerable in her hands. She slurps around him, her face a mess from his juices and the rain.

She's the fucking prettiest thing he's ever laid eyes on.

He pulls free from her heat with a gurgling sound, filthy in his ears, as spit dribbles from her chin, she stares at him unashamed as she licks it all up, very last drop.

He smears his cock across her mouth, slipping against her cheek and gasping when she closes her eyes and leans into his dirty motion, letting him paint her face like an erotic paintbrush.

"Fuck me."

His eyes latch onto her eyes, they are screaming at him to obey.

"Please."

Brutally yanking her from the ground, he forces her back onto the bike, spread across the bars, her body limp and complacent.

Collecting the fabric of her dress, he pulls it up until it's a wad around her waist, the sight of her naked ass and her puffy lips peeking from underneath is the only incentive needed to send him plunging into her.

Her ear-piercing cry is lost in the howl of the wind and the boom of thunder off in the distance.

Slamming into her hard and fast, he loses himself in the sensation, tightening his hold on her waist to pull her back punishingly into his cock, he slams in over and over and over and over. Stamina never faltering as her tight grip invigorates him, he feels alive.

But it isn't deep enough, close enough, just-enough.

Pulling free, he ignores her shocked gasp spinning her around, before hoisting her up once more, front to front, her back curved over the bike and her legs wrapped around his waist.

Her arms reach around his neck too, the drunk desire he sees on her face as she sways in his embrace drives him to ram back into her. Their hips meet at the powerful blow, his cock piercing through her soft wet flesh ripping her apart and forcing her to mold around him, becoming something new, something exclusively his.

He wraps his muscled arms around her, smothering her as he thrusts up into her heat, her small body bouncing in his arms powerless under his barrage.

It becomes near impossible to move as her walls close in, constricting around him and he feels his release clawing at his belly, screaming impatiently as he thrusts harder, faster, longer, deeper.

And he feels it, it's so close, she's shaking apart violently in his arms, his name a sermon on her lips.

"Moon Gang-tae, Moon Gang-tae ah, Moon Gang--"

The world begins to fade around him, the rain evaporates, the motorcycle gone in a puff of smoke, he clings to her his heart racing but it's futile as she too fades to nothing.

He tries to hold on to the apparition but it's gone in a flash.

His vision blurs as he blinks awake, disoriented as he takes in his new location, before his breath is snatched from his lungs, a new heat curls around him, obliterating his dream which pales in comparison to reality. The reality of those dark eyes pinning him down as she slides down his length and strips him apart.

All he can do is hold on for the ride.

Maybe this is why they say be careful what you ask for.

[things2mustdo]

Nature has given humanity a roughly one-to-one ratio of adult men to women, but the most attractive women are being taken out of circulation to either join alpha male harems or participate in degenerate lifestyle choices. This leaves the average man practically no choice in settling down with a mentally stable and cute woman in her prime.

In Islam, a man is able to marry four wives, which is what my wealthy Iranian grandfather did on his way to siring 24 or so children that included my dad (the exact number is a mystery). He took away three women that an Iranian man of lesser means could have married, creating a societal imbalance, but that’s nothing compared to what we have in the modern Western world, where a single famous man can command the sexual attentions of dozens—if not thousands—of women in their sexual prime, spoiling these women for normal men who don’t have the ability to tingle their vaginas with the same intensity.

How many actors, musicians, and sports athletes are trying to plow through as much prime pussy as possible? How many Hollywood directors and music producers are leveraging their positions for sexual gain? How many club owners, restaurateurs, Arab sheikhs, and politicians are doing the same? Each one is taking way more beautiful women out of circulation than men like my grandfather, all while elevating their standards to such an extent that no average man can ever gain their love, let alone two hours—or even two minutes–of their uninterrupted attention.

We also have to account for female lifestyle choices that are designed to delay or prevent pair bonding and marriage. The biggest is career. Most girls, while embarking on a career, balance out the boredom of working a meaningless job by hopping on the cock carousel and banging at least a few men every year. By the time a girl hits 25 years old, any man who meets her will have to deal with a walk-in closet of emotional issues and hang-ups from being pumped and dumped as much as a 1930’s brothel whore.

Then there is the Instagram and Facebook lifestyle that creates crippling dopamine addiction, which causes a girl to only be satisfied if dozens of men are actively thirsting for her every day. I estimate that if a girl has over 500 followers on Instagram, she is so used to attention from throngs of men that the love of one man cannot possibly satisfy her.

We must also throw in the growing “travel blogger” lifestyle where, instead of using only her body to get attention, a girl uses pictures and video from exotic locations to enhance her beauty. Other girls, with nothing substantial to offer the world, decide to showcase pictures of pets or their tasty overpriced meals, but even that puts them on a dopamine loop that ruins their future interactions with men.

By far, the most damaging lifestyle choice women make is becoming a sugar baby, a politically correct term for “prostitute.” For some easy cash, she whores out her body to the highest bidder (some women combine Instagram and prostitution in a seamless package). How can such an Instagram prostitute ever settle down with a man who has a normal salary? There are also the hundreds of women who enter porn every year, some from seemingly stable families. Sadly, men are so desperate for love that many would wife up a former prostitute or porn star, but it’s highly unlikely those women will make for stable families.

The Western world is a sinkhole for women. The prettiest of the bunch fall into the hole and get spit out years later an entitled #MeToo hag who can never be happy, making the Islamic four-wife rule seem downright egalitarian. The sad truth is that if you meet an attractive girl today, she was pumped and dumped by numerous sexy men, prefers to nurture her career than children, is addicted to attention via the internet, and has participated in some kind of scheme to exchange social status or cash for her pussy. She’s more than suitable for a bit of fun, but would it be wise to seek a relationship with her?

Even with the obesity and short-hair epidemic, I still see a bountiful supply of cute girls I would happily reproduce with. I would love them, let them caress my beard, and lay my seed deep within their vaginal guts, but the problem is that those guts are not for me—they are for the Chads who would never marry her, the beta orbiters who await her newest selfie as if it were a source of food, or the rich and lonely men who would sponsor her for thousands of dollars a month. They’re taking her out of circulation at the time I want her most, and by the time they are done with her, I no longer want her. I guess I’ll try to weasel in a bang or two when she is not yet fully degraded, and enjoy the fleeting pleasure that comes from it as much as I can.

https://www.rooshv.com/how-to-stop-the-fall-of-women

An acronym that you’ll often come across is AWALT, which stands for “all women are like that.” It is used in response to someone trying to point out that a particular woman is different than all the rest and more deserving to be placed on a pedestal of some sort when it comes to relationships. While that acronym is useful for newbies who are just beginning to de-program themselves from egalitarian ideas spewed by the establishment, it breeds a hopelessness among men that they can never extract more than casual sex from women.

Most men have seen firsthand how women change due to the presence of corrupting factors in the environment. If you give a woman an open bar, she will over-consume and make decisions that harm herself. If you give a woman a smartphone with social networking apps, she will become a narcissist in a short amount of time, falling in love with her own image. If you give a woman a liberal education, she will come to firm belief than men were born to bring pain and slavery unto women.

Only a woman with an exceptional upbringing can resist alcohol, social networking, and university brainwashing, and for the women who can initially resist it, she will surely succumb after enough time and pressure. It is in this way that AWALT is true: all women who face corrupt influences in their lives will become corrupt and behave in a similar way that degrades their virtue, making them unsuitable for long-term partnerships. But if AWALT is true in describing the universal fall of women in the presence of toxic influences, it must also be true that they possess universal purity in environments which lack bad influences that attack her virtue.

A reliable corrupter of a woman’s virtue is having plentiful male choice. If over the course of five years a woman in New York City has her choice of 100 alpha male cocks, she will be unable to resist the thrill ride that these men offer. She will begin to structure her life around a neverending alpha male sex party where she receives and expects fun, excitement, drama, and entertainment in exchange for willingly accepting her place on various booty call rotations. During this time, she loses most ability to be a suitable wife and mother, or even to be a good person, because the alpha males who use her for late night sex do not place demands upon her that make her more feminine, loving, or nurturing. She becomes damaged goods, suitable for nothing more than casual humping.

But now let’s imagine that instead of being born in New York City, this girl was born in a poor Ukrainian village that only has a population of 1,000 people. For whatever reason, she was unable to get out of this village and a complete blackout of internet prevents her from meeting thirsty foreign men. It’s quite easy to see how she marries a village man while still young because it’s a better prospect than suffering alone to earn her bread in a place where employment opportunities are few. The environment a girl is placed in will mostly determine her worth as a life partner.

Most women who are put in New York City will, within a few years, default to becoming a promiscuous slut. Most women who are put in a tiny village with no way out, with little choice in men, and with positive religious influences, will default to being a good wife and mother, possessing normal and acceptable human flaws like all men have. Women put in specific environments will act in specific ways, which is why looking for a unicorn in a Western city is fruitless, since she’s within reach of the devil’s workshop. He will get to her and make sure she experiences all manner of vice.

Western nations facilitate the “fall” of women from a state of purity and innocence to one of abject corruption. I don’t believe women are inherently born to be degenerate, just like how I don’t believe men are, but once we put a woman in an environment that enables, facilitates, and even encourages her corruption, she will certainly become corrupt. But what if you can catch a woman before she inserts herself into this environment and then shield her from it? What if you grab her at the time she is about to jump into the abyss, and through your diligence, power, and knowledge, protect her from Western influences that will destroy her? Would it be safe to give your time, energy, love, and commitment to this woman? It’s important to note that I’m not stating you save a corrupt girl, since by then it’s too late, but to prevent a woman from becoming corrupt in the first place.

It is completely your responsibility to create the environment of a good home, a good city, and a good country to prevent the fall of your women. It’s your responsibility to create the right environment where all women remain good instead of succumbing to an evil where within a short amount of time she becomes a useless, tattooed, overweight, and masculine slut. It should be clear to you by now that women absolutely can not save themselves, and have no inherent resistance to the pollution that tempts them in this world. It’s solely up to us men to shield their natural virtue so that they become the wives and mothers that allow you to fulfill your biological destiny while furthering the health of your society.

It’s not a matter of telling a girl that sleeping around is bad or that Facebook is bad, because by then the ship has sailed and her soul is likely long gone. It’s a matter of creating the environment where women are restrained from sleeping around, blocked from becoming addicted to taking selfies, and prevented from becoming brainwashed by social justice ideas. We must stop them from entering the environments that destroy them. We must guard the door of evil that they are hurtling themselves towards while resisting evil ourselves.

Before you raise your hands in despair and claim that this is an impossible task, that Western society is finished, I say this: what is a society but a collection of the people within it? What is a society but an assembly of living humans that include ourselves? We are a part of this whole, and it’s up to us to ensure that the truism of “all women are like that” serves in our benefit and our society’s benefit instead of being at the forefront of our most terrifying nightmares.[culturewar]

Read Next: Women Must Have Their Behavior And Decisions Controlled By Men

After a long period in society of women having unlimited personal freedom to pursue life as they wish, they have shown to consistently fail in making the right decisions that prevent their own harm and the harm of others. Systems must now be put in place where a woman’s behavior is monitored and her decisions subject to approval of a male relative or guardian who understands what’s in her best interests better than she does herself.

Women have had personal freedoms for less than a century. For the bulk of human history, their behavior was significantly controlled or subject to approval through mechanisms of tribe, family, church, law, or stiff cultural precepts. It was correctly assumed that a woman was unable to make moral, ethical, and wise decisions concerning her life and those around her. She was not allowed to study any trivial topic she wanted, sleep with any man who caught her fancy, or uproot herself and travel the world because she wanted to “find herself.”

You can see this level of control today in many Muslim countries, where expectations are placed on women from a young age to submit to men, reproduce (if biologically able), follow God’s word, and serve the good of society by employing her feminine nature instead of competing directly against men on the labor market due to penis envy or feelings of personal inferiority.

The reason that women had their behavior limited was for the simple reason that they are significantly less rational than men, in a way that impaired their ability to make good decisions concerning the future. This was eloquently described by German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer in his important essay On Women. He described them as overgrown children, a comparison that any man who has dated more than a dozen of them can quickly agree to after having consistently witnessed their impulsive and illogical behavior firsthand.

Women are directly fitted for acting as the nurses and teachers of our early childhood by the fact that they are themselves childish, frivolous and short-sighted; in a word, they are big children all their life long—a kind of intermediate stage between the child and the full-grown man, who is man in the strict sense of the word. See how a girl will fondle a child for days together, dance with it and sing to it; and then think what a man, with the best will in the world, could do if he were put in her place.

[…]

…women remain children their whole life long; never seeing anything but what is quite close to them, cleaving to the present moment, taking appearance for reality, and preferring trifles to matters of the first importance.

[…]

That woman is by nature meant to obey may be seen by the fact that every woman who is placed in the unnatural position of complete independence, immediately attaches herself to some man, by whom she allows herself to be guided and ruled. It is because she needs a lord and master.

When you give a female unlimited choice on which man to have sex with, what type of man does she choose? An exciting man who treats her poorly and does not care for her well-being.

When you give a female choice on what to study in university, what does she choose? An easy liberal arts major that costs over $50,000 and dooms her to a life of debt and sporadic employment.

When a female lacks any urgent demands upon her survival, what behavior does she pursue? Obsessively displaying her half-naked body on the internet, flirting with men solely for attention, becoming addicted to corporate-produced entertainment, and over-indulging in food until her body shape is barely human.

When you give a female choice on when to have kids, what does she do? After her fertility is well past its peak, and in a rushed panic that resembles the ten seconds before the ringing of the first school bell, she aims for limited reproductive success at an age that increases the likelihood she’ll pass on genetic defects to her child.

When you give a female choice of which political leader to vote into office, who do they vote for? The one who is more handsome and promises unsustainable freebies that accelerate the decline of her country.

When you give a female unwavering societal trust with the full backing of the state, what does she do? Falsely accuse a man of rape and violence out of revenge or just to have an excuse for the boyfriend who caught her cheating.

When you give a female choice on who to marry, what is the result? A 50% divorce rate, with the far majority of them (80%) initiated by women themselves.

While a woman is in no doubt possession of crafty intelligence that allows her to survive just as well as a man, mostly through the use of her sexuality and wiles, she is a slave to the present moment and therefore unable to make decisions that benefit her future and those of the society she’s a part of. Once you give a woman personal freedom, like we have in the Western world, she enslaves herself to one of numerous vices and undertakes a rampage of destruction to her body and those who want to be a meaningful part of her life.

A man does not need to look further than the women he knows, including those in his family, to see that the more freedom a woman was given, the worse off she is, while the woman who was under the heavy hand of the church or male relative comes out far better on the other side, in spite of her rumblings that she wants to be as free as her liberated friends, who eagerly and regularly post soft porn photos of themselves on social networking and dating sites while selecting random anonymous men for fornication every other weekend.

Men, on average, make better decisions than women. If you take this to be true, which should be no harder to accept than the claim that lemons are sour, why is a woman allowed to make decisions at all without first getting approval from a man who is more rational and levelheaded than she is? It not only hurts the woman making decisions concerning her life, but it also hurts any man who will associate with her in the future. You only need to ask the many suffering husbands today on how they are dealing with a wife who entered the marriage with a student loan debt in the high five figures from studying sociology and how her wildly promiscuous sexual history impairs her ability to remain a dedicated mother, with one foot already out the door after he makes a reasonable demand that is essential for a stable home and strong family.

I propose two different options for protecting women from their obviously deficient decision making. The first is to have a designated male guardian give approval on all decisions that affect her well-being. Such a guardian should be her father by default, but in the case a father is absent, another male relative can be appointed or she can be assigned one by charity organizations who groom men for this purpose, in a sort of Boy’s Club for women.

She must seek approval by her guardian concerning diet, education, boyfriends, travel, friends, entertainment, exercise regime, marriage, and appearance, including choice of clothing. A woman must get a green light from her guardian before having sex with any man, before wearing a certain outfit, before coloring her hair green, and before going to a Spanish island for the summer with her female friends.

If she disobeys her guardian, an escalating series of punishments would be served to her, culminating in full-time supervision by him. Once the woman is married, her husband will gradually take over guardian duties, and strictly monitor his wife’s behavior and use all reasonable means to keep it in control so that family needs are met first and foremost, as you already see today in most Islamic societies. Any possible monetary proceeds she would get from divorce would be limited so that she has more incentive to keep her husband happy and pleased than to throw him under the bus for the most trivial of reasons that stem from her persistent and innate need to make bad decisions.

A second option for monitoring women is a combination of rigid cultural rules and sex-specific laws. Women would not be able to attend university unless the societal need is urgent where an able-minded man could not be found to fill the specific position. Women would not be able to visit establishments that serve alcohol without a man present to supervise her consumption. Parental control software on electronic devices would be modified for women to control and monitor the information they consume. Credit card and banking accounts must have a male co-signer who can monitor her spending. Curfews for female drivers must be enacted so that women are home by a reasonable hour. Abortion for women of all ages must be signed off by her guardian, in addition to prescriptions for birth control.

While my proposals are undoubtedly extreme on the surface and hard to imagine implementing, the alternative of a rapidly progressing cultural decline that we are currently experiencing will end up entailing an even more extreme outcome. Women are scratching their most hedonistic and animalistic urges to mindlessly pursue entertainment, money, socialist education, and promiscuous behavior that only satisfies their present need to debase themselves and feel fleeting pleasure, at a heavy cost for society.

Allowing women unlimited personal freedom has so affected birth rates in the West that the elite insists on now allowing importation of millions of third world immigrants from democratically-challenged nations that threaten the survival of the West. In other words, giving women unbridled choice to pursue their momentary whims instead of investing in traditional family ideals and reproduction is a contributing factor to what may end up being the complete collapse of those nations that have allowed women to do as they please.

I make these sincere recommendations not out of anger, but under the firm belief that the lives of my female relatives would certainly be better tomorrow if they were required to get my approval before making any decisions. They would not like it, surely, but due to the fact that I’m male and they’re not, my analytical decision-making faculty is superior to theirs to absolutely no fault of their own, meaning that their most sincere attempts to make good decisions will have a failure rate larger than if I was able to make those decisions for them, especially with intentions that are fully backed with compassion and love for them to have more satisfying lives than they do now.

As long as we continue to treat women as equals to men, a biological absurdity that will one day be the butt of many jokes for comedians of the future, women will continue to make horrible decisions that hurt themselves, their families, and their reproductive potential. Unless we take action soon to reconsider the freedoms that women now have, the very survival of Western civilization is at stake.[culturewar]

Read Next: People Should Not Be Allowed Unlimited Personal Freedom

[luvdsc]

b-side.

the a-side has finished playing. flip to hear the b-side.

pairing :: mark lee x reader ( ft. past wong yukhei x reader ) genre :: fluff, angst / best friend + college au word count :: 1,835 words warnings :: none author’s note :: a paraphrase courtesy of wikipedia: “the a-side usually featured the recording that the artist intended to become a hit record. the b-side is a secondary recording that has a history of its own.” ( ♫ ) ↳ sequel: a-side / can be standalone.

With one arm wrapped around your waist, Mark holds up a very intoxicated you as best as he can, fishing around in your purse to find your key. Finally, his hand closes around the small metal, and he pulls it out, struggling to insert it into the key hole. With much effort, at last, he successfully unlocks the door, tugging you into your apartment—the home meant for two but now only houses one—and closing the door behind the both of you. He drops the key and your bag on the kitchen counter first and then navigates around the small space until the two of you reach your bedroom. You laugh airily, looping your arms around his neck in a sloppy hug and toppling backwards on your bed with a small oomph.

Caught off guard, he falls forward with a small yelp, quickly angling his body to the side so he can avoid crushing you. You are close, far too close, he realizes, when he can count the number of eyelashes framing your starry and still slightly swollen eyes, tangled together from earlier tears and mascara. Mark prays to the heavens and sincerely hopes you cannot hear the way his heart pounds in his chest from the close proximity.

He ends up laying next to you awkwardly with his body only halfway on the bed. Another tiny giggle bursts forth from you when you turn your body to face him, now laying on his side. His face is impossibly close to yours, and when you lean forward to erase the distance, he holds his breath, eyes fluttering shut and body tingling with nervousness. Perhaps now is a good time to acknowledge his feelings out loud: the feelings he kept trapped so long in the deepest crevices of his heart, locked away for safe keeping. Perhaps, it is time. As he braces himself to finally confess, you simply nudge your nose against his with a tiny boop, and he splutters, doe eyes becoming wider than ever, as cerise instantaneously blossoms on his skin.

“Sorry, he used to do that with me a lot,” you sigh, faint traces of sadness tinging your words and lingering on the downward tilted corners of your lips.

He doesn’t realize how long he has been holding that breath in for, how tightly his hands are clenched into fists, until his lungs feel like they are burning and about to burst, until he feels the stinging pain of his nails pressed into his palms, miniature moon crescents forming in the soft skin. Perhaps, another time, he will find the courage to say those three words to you. For now, it will stay hidden away.

He wonders if it is possible to drown without water because it certainly feels like that right now. His head is spinning, dizzy from the way you gaze at him with such a dreamy expression that was never, is never, and will never be meant for him. With the spell broken, he finally remembers to breathe. But was it selfish of him to indulge in this moment, selfish of him to chase that fleeting emotion of bliss and happiness, when you are in pain and suffering from a broken heart?

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You repeat your whispered apologizes over and over again like a mantra, letting them spill from your lips and hoping that if you apologize enough, then he will come back. You absentmindedly trace your finger over the delicate features of your best friend, nostalgia seeping its way back into your heart, as you momentarily remember the reason for your drinking tonight, the reason why you are in this state at this very moment, him. When your hand drifts down from his face to drawing empty circles on his chest, Mark wraps his hand around your own, stilling your movements, a half hearted and wistful smile dancing on his lips.

“It’s okay. I understand.”

He gently pries your arms away from him and slides off the bed, now kneeling on the floor and motioning for you to sit up. You quietly sit upright on the edge of your bed, fiddling with the gold pendant he gave you that is still daintily wrapped around your neck, as your mind becomes clouded with thoughts of him. Mark fumbles with the strap of your heel, finally managing to loosen it, and pulls the shoe off before undoing and taking off the other. He places the pair of them to the side and grabs the neatly folded shirt that sits on top of your dresser.

With a jolt, he realizes that it is one of his, from when you borrowed some of his clothes after you had spilled food on your outfit a few nights ago at his place. It was one of your weekly movie nights, and for the life of him, Mark cannot remember what that night’s movie was about, but he can precisely picture you in vivid detail and remember exactly how beautiful you looked in his clothes.

Smiling to himself, he quickly hurries back to help you stand up, clumsily unzipping the back of your dress for you with shaky hands. With little to no fuss, you shimmy out of it, raising your arms up and waiting for him expectantly. Swallowing hard, he forces himself to look at your face only as he helps you tug on the oversized shirt. You scrunch your nose as a few tickling strands of hair fall into your face after pulling on the shirt properly, and he brushes them back, tucking them behind your ear, perhaps lingering a little too long. You look back at him in earnest, wide eyes sparkling from unshed tears under the moonlight filtering in through your curtains, and he can feel his cheeks warming up once more, the tips of his ears turning red and his palms becoming sweaty.

He looks away, quickly ushering you back to bed, and you flop back onto it, burrowing yourself under the covers. He disappears into the bathroom momentarily before returning with a makeup wipe. Gently easing you up into a sitting position and taking the spot next to you, Mark carefully cleans off any traces of your streaking makeup. Cupping your chin with one hand, he brings your face closer to his, gently mapping out and memorizing the features of your face from the slope of your nose to the corners of your lips that quirk up into the prettiest smile. He finds himself gazing into your eyes yet again, and a familiar scarlet hue reappears on his cheeks as his hand drops down to land in his lap. You stare back at him, tilting your head to the side, before blurting out rather ungracefully.

“Your face is really red.”

“I-It’s just really hot in here,” he mutters, stumbling over his words, as he crumples up the wipe in his hands. He focuses his eyes on the looping pattern adorning your comforter to avoid staring at the way his shirt hangs off your frame, exposing your shoulder and the strap of your bra. Biting your lip, you lean back on the palms of your hands, the movement causing his shirt to dip even further on you and your collarbone to peek out, as you study him with hazy eyes. He swallows hard, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and tries to look at anything but you.

“Don’t worry, you still look cute, Marky.”

He chokes on his next words while you continue to stare at him, unabashed, and he hurriedly stands up to throw away the used wipe. But before he can leave, you reach out, fingers curling around his wrist.

“Will you stay?”

His face flushes an even darker shade of crimson as he mumbles an unintelligible response, unable to formulate a proper response once again. You sit up, fingers traveling down from his wrist to his hand, intertwining his fingers with yours and squeezing them softly.

“Stay with me. Please?”

His heart nearly falls from his chest with the way you innocently look up at him through your dark lashes, and he finally gives you a tiny nod. The loveliest smile breaks out across your face, and he does not understand how you can still look this heavenly with puffy eyes and tear streaked cheeks, but love never really does have a straight forward explanation and his heart goes into overdrive.

Satisfied with his answer, you finally let go of his hand and snuggle back under the blankets. He goes to the bathroom to take a quick shower, making use of whatever shampoo and body wash was left on the shelf, before returning. He hesitates, lingering by your bed, before finally making his decision, his heart winning over his mind just this once. He decides to take the leap. When he settles himself on the bed, you tug him closer, resting your head in the curve of his neck. He tightens his arms around you when you press yourself even closer to him. Perhaps, this is what it feels like to fly.

“Good night, Y/N,” he murmurs, gently moving the tangled strands of hair out of your face with care. Just for tonight, he will let himself indulge in his fantasy. Just for tonight, this moment will only be remembered by him. Just for tonight, he will dare to fly a little closer to the sun. With this in mind, he finally breathes out those three words he only dares to say now.

“I love you.”

He finally releases his caged feelings free. He basks in the sunlight, the tingling warmth spreading from his chest to his fingertips, when you nuzzle your nose against his neck. Inhaling deeply when you are met with a nostalgic scent, you sleepily answer his confession.

“I love you, too.”

His heart stops momentarily.

You love him.

You love him back.

And then, his heart soars.

The rush of adrenaline, the erratic palpitations of his heart, and the tingles down his spine are absolutely exhilarating, and this very moment is more than he has ever dared to dream of. His hand begins to outstretch even farther towards the sun, greedy for more of its warmth and embrace, intoxicated on the feeling. It would not hurt to fly a little closer, he reasons, just a little bit further until he can step onto cloud nine, just a little bit more until he reaches the sun at last. Growing braver, he gently runs his hand up and down your back before leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead.

With your eyes fluttering shut and the familiar smell of him enveloping you like the feeling of coming home, you let a content sigh escape between your lips, hugging him even closer to you. Mark is almost there, only a hair's breadth away from touching the sun. As your dreams and reality begin to merge together, you drowsily blissfully sigh out,

“And I’ve missed you so much, Yukhei.”

Icarus plummets.

[confusedinfj]

The Elusive Entp

and how to handle them

There are lots of fake entps out there, so I have compiled random notes about the few/actually many statistically that I know/handle on a regular basis. Some of this may apply to other tps, but I'm writing specifically here. Featuring gifs of people I'm pretty sure are entps, but might change my mind knowing me aha.

Summary of All Entps:

Childlike, but this can be in a good way. Entps aren't meant to grow up in the same way as an Sj, they're always gonna a be a little bit like a small kid. ♥

In a relationship, entps can seem very chill and charming at first. But they can also have avoidant tenancies and fear of low Fe. They're a little insecure before peak Fe development, so they might try to make you jealous if they feel threatened. Who threatens an entp? Only people you like or respect that they feel are better than them. Entps don't like being trumped, their Ti can be a little immature this way 😋

Entps respect independence and intelligence, and they really like intuitives. They like debating everything and throwing around dumb ideas for the fun of it when they're relaxed.

Can be very quiet and intraverted when not comfortable, or just when a little stressed or tired. Can be mistaken for an fj or fp when well developed, especially an enfj or enfp.

Entps always have a reason for what they're doing or saying, even if it's a 'dumb' one. So if your entp says they don't know why they're doing something, don't buy it. They have a secret agenda. 😉

Entps can be accidentally callous or even deliberately mean, but they're also really paranoid about upsetting people. They can be easily pushed around if they feel low Fe guilt.

^surprisingly, this is when an *nfj can step in and say 'um... No? Don't let them guilt trip you!'

Summary of Young Entps:

Happy, outgoing, cheeky, kids who wanna work out how everything works and how they can do it all themselves. Have some spectacularly dumb ideas, but they're so little it's all cool.

^this Ti development is what *nfjs go through in later teens, when they actually have to suffer and sound spectacularly dumb cos they're not a kid. So entps are a natural help here, and they're not too mean cos they remember when they used to be dumb too.

Summary of Depressed/Looping/Immature Entps:

When they're rejecting their childlike nature, they can be childlike in a really bad, immature emotional way.

When they're depressed they can be boring, withdrawn, paranoid, and irrational. They can become convinced everyone hates them and only see the negative.

They can use immature Fe to manipulate people. They might use their Fi Trickster function to convince you they're the victim when they're not.

They're very sensitive to society and gender roles and stuff, and want to fit in very badly (low Fe I guess). But they also want to be feared and admired for their cunning, so they can be really mean, even on purpose, only to be really upset when people hate them for it. And if you don't hate them for it and are kind in spite of it, they'll cry.

Overly secretive, then gets upset when people don't know who they really are.

^ would just like to add that, interestingly, this is ALL the same rubbish *nfjs have gone through when younger, so they're defs natural friends. *nfjs basically demonstrate to *ntps that Fe is there to help you care for people, not care about how they see you (though obvs it does both). It's also not there to charm people into doing what you want so that you never have to put in the effort of actually growing a friendship 😂

Also, over emotional, dramatic, and unstable, like any immature person.

Notes on Female Entps:

Obsessed with body image, a lot of them seem to have eating disorders. Also want to be smart, but very conscious of society's expectations about their looks in particular. Not comfortable with who they are, would like to be an Fj or a Tj. Want to be kind and caring, but also cut throat and ruler of everything.

Notes on Male Entps:

Obsessed with being seen as intelligent and basically as tj as possible. Wants to be cut throat but can't pull it off emotionally or strategically - frustrated when people get the better of them. Very upset when people dislike them because of their nastiness. Unable to accept intellectual failure, so struggles to learn from mistakes.

Points on How to Handle Them:

Entps who are immature cannot be helped. They must help themselves. Your only goal here is to not get used or hurt by their poor Fe.

Be mean. Not actually mean, tough love mean. Entps benefit from Te or te look alikes like low Ti.

Be kind. That's the main one. Truly hurt entps withdraw. They go all quiet and their eyes go big, or maybe they tense their jaw and try to look mad. In that situation you should be kind over tough love, cos you don't want them to go into their paranoid 'everyone hates me' loop.

The easy way to tell whether their sudden tears are real? How easily they can stop when you say 'stop it, that's fake' or even 'I believe you'. Crying entps are very upset and will not be able to just STOP crying. (You could also try tasting the tears, cos sad ones are salty and fake ones aren't, but that might be weird). As well as that, entps truly crying are generally on low Si and will moan about how they're going to fail and they've ruined their lives, whereas fake crying entps will moan about how they've upset you or other random things they think may shut you up.

See intent. Don't listen to what the entp is actually saying, hear what they mean. It will save you a lot of time being offended 😂

Explain yourself. Entps on the internet have a reputation as being emotionally callous, but they're not if you can explain it. 'When you do this, I feel this way because' was a formula invented for our Tp friends, and it will usually soften an entp (I'm sure there are bad exceptions!).

Stay calm. Don't expect your entp to be a j - it will kill you all. Your entp will probably improve over time, but don't plan on it.

Be honest. Really, don't bother keeping any secrets from your entp. They'll just invent a terrible, paranoid narrative or completely not notice. Their low Fe will assume everything is fine, and when you finally break it to them they've been upsetting you the whole time, their little tp hearts will break 💔

Discuss your expectations. Expect to negotiate your expectations.

Tell them when they're arguing and refuse to engage as much as possible. Debate and fruitful discussion only.

Copy your entp. If your entp gets overly aggressive or upset all of a sudden, match their reaction with your own. They'll usually realise how completely irrational it is. (For example, if entp says 'WHY DID YOU WARM UP MY FOOD, I LIKE IT COLD?!' be like 'OH MY GOODNESS I'M SO SORRY, I CAN'T BELIEVE I DID THAT, HOW COULD I NOT HAVE REMEMBERED, OUR LIVES ARE OVER'. They'll usually laugh with you at that point

Don't be nasty. If you can't do the above things from a kind place, don't do them. Entps aren't always emotionally clued up, but they can be very sensitive to negative intentions.

Randomly ask them what they're keeping from you. If they instantly look away (even if they frown, smile, whatever) they're probably keeping something... Entps actively keeping secrets generally isn't healthy. Entps have Ti, so they might forget to mention stuff. But if they purposely hold stuff back, it's usually bad. They'll probs try to justify keeping it to themselves and construct a paranoid narrative about you, so don't let them drift too far if you can.

Don't take it personally. High maintenance required for immature/depressed/looping entps. Like walking on eggshells and pulling chicken's teeth all at once.

Enjoy their strange affection. Functioning entps are very warm and caring, even if it is in slightly strange ways.

Expect the unexpected. No, not in a romantic way. Entps are romantic, but they're given too much credit for actually doing stuff about it. Unexpect the expected. Entps don't want to do anything just cos it's expected, so tell them explicitly if you want something... And then don't expect them to remember. Just in case.

Talk about everything. Don't ridicule any idea, just discuss it and the entp will realise how unrealistic it is if it is. They probs just having fun anyway.

Lead the way. Entps want deep friendships, but they don't often know how to get there - or they just don't bother getting there. Just do your thing, they'll probably follow. Entps can be flighty and hard to pin down, but they'll probably tell you straight up if they don't like you or want to hang out.

Ditch them once in a while. Entps respect independence and will quickly get bored if you just cling. But don't ditch them too much, cos they're also insecure and jealous when pushed (who isn't?).

Don't pat their ego. Your entp isn't always going to be the smartest/prettiest/best in general person in the room, so don't reassure them that they are. Reassure them that they're your choice and you love them, but don't indulge their fantasies.

[greenismyfavouritecolor]

Tomorrows is my board exam-mathematics. And here i am crying, regretting, lost somewhere, cursing my neighbors who are so noisy. I’ve no peace of mind. I’m fucking lost, just waiting for my death. Life doesn’t seem like living. I’m just breathing. And I don’t want to. Am I the only one who feels like this? Something bad is always happening in my life. If i laugh today, its a guarantee that tomorrow i’ll definitely cry. The reason I’m living is just for the sake of my parents. Can’t die. Cause they’ll be alone. I’m their only child. It’s just that i don’t wanna commit suicide. But i wanna die. You know, natural death kinda thing. How i wish i would never open my eyes again once i sleep tonight. If so much terrible things were gonna happen to me anyways, why did god even send me here, in this shit called earth. I know i shouldn’t be saying this but what do i do. All of this is coming from a girl who just can’t figure out anything. This life is a mess. I wanna clear this mess up but can someone tell me how do i do that? I can’t seem to find a fucking way. I am empty. I’m lost. I’m wishing for death. You know what i’m so miserable cause i can’t even kill myself. I’m not brave enough to cut my wrist or  jump from high building. And i can’t buy pills without doctors prescription. I think sleeping pills is the best way to suicide anyways. And rat poison-oh my gosh. i read that your eyes bleed terribly. I’m so afraid. I’m coward. Why am i in this loop of life? I just don’t wanna feel anything. Dear God, please take me home to the one i love the most. You took him away. But why not me? God, can’t you see i am suffering? You are supposed to love your child and make us happy right? so please just kill me and take me to him. I hope soul exist. Just take me out of this fucking body and I’ll find my way to him. I just need to be in same space as him. Oh God, i just turned 20. What did you do to me? What has happened to my once happy life? It’s not that i was in top of the world or anything. But i was content back then. I wanted to do something in life. And then this tragedy happened. You could have rather taken my life. God, are you even real? Or am i just babbling like a maniac. I’ve no where to go, nothing to do. I never saw this side of life before. I was a happy go lucky girl tbh. Then love happened. You know i fucking fell in love.  I don’t know how and why and when. It just happened. I met the purest soul one could ever encounter. I saw the prettiest smile. I loved it so much. No, no I still love that smile. It hurts me so much to even think about the zero possibility of ever seeing that smile again except in our photos and videos. Thank god, you had recorded our conversation one night where you said “i love you, so much.” And you said it with so much passion. I can feel the love. Really. And that’s what i listen to. But how long? Life is really painful. I am deeply unhappy. I think even my best friend finds it boring to hear me cry about the same thing every time day. That’s why, I don’t like to say anything about how i feel to her. And i feel terrible. And i just remembered your sweet laugh baby. Come back to me. Or  just take me away. Why does loving cost so much? Sometimes i feel like we are in a long distance relationship. I’m here. You are somewhere. And wherever you are, i know i’ll get there too. And it make me peace sometimes. But i don’t know the distance. And the time i need to reach to you. So, again it makes me sad. I see you in my dreams though. Morning dreams are supposed to be true, right? I hope it does. In my dream, you come back to me. I’m surprised, happy. I ask you “ where did you go? and how did you come? “ you say” i had gone somewhere”. That’s the latest dream. I saw a few days ago. And in one of my dreams we were all normal. We were in our college premises, playing, teasing each other. We were in love. Life can change in seconds. But what’s life? At this point, i feel like love is suffering. Nothing more, nothing less. I can’t figure out anything. Wherever you are baby, I love you. I’m just waiting for ya. Haha it must sound funny.  But i’m afraid that before I die, you will reincarnate and we won’t meet. I hope it won’t happen. What life couldn’t give, i hope death does- that’s you my baby. Can’t wait to meet you, see you, touch you and kiss you. Until then, I’ll write a book about you, make the dream house we were supposed to live in. I will try to become a good engineer. I told ya i will look after your parents. And i will. Right now, I’m unable to handle myself well, so i haven’t met them. But i will soon. They are all i’m left with. Where are you? Sometimes i feel like you are here with me, and it’s just that i can’t see you. God, what must have i committed in my previous life that i got this life?  Thank god, i can express myself through words. Or else, what would have happened to my brain and heart. It would go even crazier. I feel good after writing.

[dentalrecordsmusic]

DRM Track by Track: “Retroactive Rock Record” with Daniel Janvier of Output 1:1:1

DRM Track by Track is a new series here at Dental Records Music News where we ask artists to break down their latest work in a more in-depth way. This series begins with Daniel Janvier of the experimental project Output 1:1:1. 

Words by Daniel Janvier

My name is Daniel Janvier, I’m a Toronto-based musician, and songwriter. I have been writing music privately for the last 20 years, playing in bands at various points and occasionally composing pieces for web-series and student films. In 2016 I started having a series of panic attacks that influenced the direction I took my personal life, my work/life balance, sleep patterns, and how I wrote music. I’ve had panic attacks in different forms since childhood, and only recently sought help for them – you can learn more about that here.

I started working on what would become Retroactive Rock Record in the middle of Summer 2016, as they were starting to develop. For the next two years, I worked closely with my producer and longtime friend Séan Sutherland on music that was much more impressionistic, expressive, and visceral than anything I attempted in the past. It’s how I’ve started writing music as Output 1:1:1. Here, I’ll get into certain moments of the creative process, such as where a song started or a particular texture because the sonic qualities of those points or the places they came from mean a great deal to how these songs were formed. At least, that’s how I’ve come to understand them.

“Retroactive Rock Record” This one started out as a fairly lengthy improvised cajon recording. I'm not a very strong percussionist, but I managed to get 2 bars I liked for a backbeat and looped them. I recorded an overcomplicated, somewhat funky bassline - doing my worst Flea impression I guess - that I split into pieces for the guitars to add a distant tone. Those slight notes on the guitar helped guide the vocal line.

Lyrically, I was trying to distract myself from the 2016 election. Following Duterte and Brexit, I wasn't in a very hopeful place politically, and Ontario wasn't far behind that. I also had Anthony Hopkins giving a quietly maniacal speech in the background, which inspired some of the language of the song. I always intended "They'll love it when you start" to have sinister undertones. With the final line of the song, I wanted to undo any anthemic or uplifting notion that could be tied to the preceding part.

“Electrocution King” Weirdly enough, the earliest parts of this song were inspired by a mix of Kendrick Lamar's "These Walls" and the Stranger Things theme. It wasn't intended to be a punkish song, but Séan's djembe playing and my rattlesnake shakers helped push it in that direction. I think the original beat I laid for the song was more of a straight-eight beat, and Séan's work is significantly more exciting with the way the bass and shakers wrap around it. For the chorus, I held the input of a patch cable in my palm, and we ran it through multiple delay, reverb, overdrive, and pitch filters to create this dark enveloping tone that threatens to take over the song.

I think of the subject as an oil executive, a purveyor of misery, capitalizing on fracking, digging deep within the earth and painting the surrounding environment with leaked oil. He creates communities in need and he forces them into addiction, abandoning them when the well runs dry. I imagine him creating rivers of crude, and coating the earth in nothingness.

“Black Jacket” This is the oldest song of the bunch. I must have done 45 or so takes of this song. The cajon was a challenge - thankfully, Séan is a magnificent musician. He recorded the part on the record in about 2 takes. He created this mountainous cajon part for the end - it’s wild and I love it. With this song, I was partially responding to people who think "happiness is a choice" is good advice to people with depression. I have a lot of direct, one-sided experience with this kind of person. These are the people who think that there's a switch that can just be easily flipped to turn off all internalized self-loathing, external suffering, economic anxiety, or think avocados are what's preventing millennials from being able to afford the rapidly rising cost of living. Lyrical confusion and the loose guitar line tied these ideas together for me. The music needed to accentuate the meaning of the song, as opposed to just blatantly stating the themes in the lyrics.

“Issue at Track Level” I'm terrified of the subway platform at rush hour. It's overflowing with people. There are these heavy television sets suspended from the ceiling. It seems like a magnet for catastrophe. In this song, I imagined being pushed onto the subway tracks by people shoving their way to their next transfer. It was inspired by my own limited understanding of the bystander effect - do people just assume someone else will help or are they just indifferent?

This was the first song we recorded for the EP. It felt right to have it be our first single/video for it. It's the most narratively driven song. The mood and performance helped drive not only how the EP would eventually sound, but how I would write songs from that point. Pieces would get weirder and moodier from here, instead of trying to anticipate the audience of another band. There was something to identify with here. Michelle, who co-produced, challenged me to put every possible element of myself into his. My impulse is to hide or adapt to something else, essentially survive. Michelle and Séan really got an honest and vulnerable performance out of me. It was a powerful feeling to recognize that in something I made.

“The End Wave” I think this is the prettiest song on the EP, but it can be a challenge listening to it. It's the expression of exhaustion after a panic attack. The weighty sadness that makes moving impossible. There's a kind of logic involved in that perhaps I can still go to work, because I know that I have to, or because of the ritual, but basic helpful things, like exercise or cleaning the dishes, are daunting. I know that something has passed, maybe something terrible, but there’s still so much more that needs to be done.

The droning bass and background textures of reversed, slowed guitar were originally taken from a different, faster song idea that just wasn’t coming together. We used the bass part as part of that song’s chorus. When stripped of that song and its chord progression, it reminded me of those scenes in movies where the actors are in a flooded room, with less than a foot of breathing space, bobbing in and out of the water trying to breathe. Towards the end there’s a G struck 4 times, pitched rather low. It felt like sonar when we wrote it, or something that wasn’t necessarily the end, but signaling something yet to come.

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Photo courtesy of Emma Letki

Catherine Dempsey wants to listen to more music like this. You can follow her on Instagram and Twitter.

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