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the-bar-sinister · 12 days

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Bleeding, Broken, Mended (81315 words) by VickytheSnake, thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 14/16

Summary: Law is certain that he was 'rescued' just so Doflamingo could kill him himself, but Doffy has other plans. As far as he's concerned, Law's decade-long quest for revenge was nothing more than a sad misunderstanding. He wants to remind Law how things used to be. He wants to find a way to bring Law back into the fold-- back to him-- forever.

catch up here

They spent the next twenty minutes or so verifying Monet's identity as she pranced about in Baby 5's body.

But Doffy didn't really need any assurances. It was obvious that it was her, and it was surreal. He held her in his arms and smoothed her hair and told her how glad he was that she was there. How proud he was of her and her unshakable loyalty.

He promised her that they'd get a proper body for her, even if they had to do something like steal one.

Doffy glanced at the doll that Sugar had been making, and at Law— at Corazon. "Would you be able to put her in something like a doll, temporarily, or does it have to be organic? I'm guessing it does."

The young man nodded. "Yeah, I can't exactly gift it with the magical ability to move on its own or anything. If I try, it'll just— I dunno. Hang there. It won't adhere."

Monet sighed, arm looped around Doflamingo as she leaned against him in Baby 5's body.

Baby 5 jumped up in Sugar's body. "What if you get Sugar to …." she paused for a long moment. "she just called me stupid, nevermind."

Doffy's nostrils flared with frustration and he sighed. "Alright, we'll find another solution. At least we've got the opportunity to find a solution. Better switch them back for now."

"I dunno, Baby 5's got a real nice body." Monet joked, to Baby 5's quiet shriek of 'no!!'

Corazon smiled wryly "If you can get me a spare body somehow, I can probably manage."

"There are possibilities," he mused thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "Temporary and otherwise."

There were always marines and other worthless people around who might be used in a pinch. but his mind immediately went back to Punk Hazard, and to Caesar and his experiments. Maybe he'd know something.

"Either way, Doffy…Monet." Law gave her a warm smile. "Glad you're still here. We're gonna fix this."

The woman laughed, before she drifted over and grabbed him in a tight hug.

"You'd better. You owe me, you bastard." Doflamingo watched as she squeezed him, hearing her murmur, "I knew you didn't really wanna lose us."

It was a lot. It was a whole lot to deal with. But Doffy was glad to have to, and he was sure that Law was too. And Monet. It would be a complicated situation, but as Trebol would say, thank all that's unholy they did have to deal with it at all. As strange as this was, Monet being gone forever would have been worse. Had been worse.

Still, a few minutes later after they'd been switched back and he'd hauled his Corazon out of the room, he rested his hand exhaustedly over his shoulder as they headed down the corridor.

"You really need to get taller," he murmured.

Corazon snorted, looking up at him incredulously. "Yeah look. I haven't had my second growth spurt yet. Get off my ass."

"Off your ass? I couldn't reach it unless I bent over, Corazon," Doffy snickered and shook his head. "Thanks for your work back there."

"Anytime, It's one of the things I'm here for, ain't it? Can't make it up to you if I don't use my power for the good of the family, right?" He glanced over his shoulder. "...I'm glad she's still here, somehow."

"Same," Doffy nodded. He tugged his cabin door open ahead of them with a jerk of threads. "Don't get me wrong there's plenty to question how the fuck that happened, but I'm hesitant to look a gift horse in the mouth."

It had, however, opened his mind to other disturbing possibilities.

"It coulda been anything. Their bond, some fucked up twist of fate. I dunno for sure." Corazon huffed as he came to a stop outside the door. "...inviting me in, Doffy?"

"Dragging you, in fact," he said, tugging him along with him. "Unless you're going to tell me you have somewhere urgent to be."

"I'm still on your ship ain't I?" He leered petulantly. "Where else could be more urgent than the captain's order?"

Doffy flicked his fingers against the strings, but obediently allowed himself to be half-dragged into the room.

"You'd have to tell me," he drawled, letting himself drop down into his familiar chair. "I'd hope nothing– but I'd be willing to hear you out."

"Well there's nothing, alright." Corazon looked up at him with his dark and serious eyes set over the half-smile he'd worn a lot when he was younger— in the times he wasn't hissing and growling like something feral, at least. "If you wanna spend time with me, you've got me."

"Did you forget that's part of Corazon's duties?" he teased, leaning on his hand. It seemed like such a long time ago now, those old days when he'd drag Law off to sit with him and read comics, or listen to music, or just to hear about what he'd been doing.

A part of him had known it was selfish to rely on Law for comfort when he'd been so young. But what had he been supposed to do? With Vergo away, and Rosi—-

Anyway, Law had enjoyed it, too. He was sure of that.

Law's smile softened, and he held up his hands with a long suffering sigh. "I haven't forgotten, Doffy, and I ain't complaining either— I could use a little time. Like the old days."

"Like the old days," Doffy agreed fondly. "It's been a hell of a day already, eh? Just one more thing, and then you can help me relax."

Law was having a weird first day as Corazon. Weird, chaotic, but ultimately good. Monet…Monet was somehow still, well not alive, but present which was a miracle beyond anything he'd ever seen before.

It was obviously her. He'd known the instant she started talking. Whatever strange force had tied her and her sister apart was something beyond even the warped view of science he held with his devil fruit and its 'magic'.

She was here, and he looked forward to helping her become herself again, no matter what it took. One more way to make things up to the Donquixote family, in a big way— and to undo his greatest recent regret.

Now, with that behind them, Doflamingo yanked him into his private quarters, his boudoir. He felt his face flushing once more, frustrating in how excited the idea made him get.

It was just like old times, he told himself. He was there to help Doffy relax. To be a companion. A friend.

It wasn't like it was going to turn into some bodice ripper.

"Another thing, huh?"

"Yeah, just one. I hope to hell it'll be quick." Doffy's face grew briefly serious and he tapped his chest. "Reassure me I'm alone in here."

"...." Law's eyes widened. "you wanna know if Rosi is…lingering in there, Doffy?"

"The thought occurred to me all of a sudden," he said, darkly. "Never had reason to think it might be anything other than my own… memories. Better safe than sorry, right?"

Law could tell that Doffy was trying to keep his tone light, even cavalier, like it was basically little more than a joke. A precaution. But Law could tell from the set of his jaw it was more than that.

Law knew Doffy well enough to understand the man was genuinely terrified. Afraid that the ghost who'd haunted the last 13 years of his life was more literal than metaphorical.

He nodded seriously, and opened his room enough to get a sense of Doflamingo, reaching out into him with a twist of his fingers.

Only a short time ago, he would have killed— literally killed— for the opportunity to strike while Doflamingo was so defenseless. But that was another man's vengeance . He'd been consumed enough.

Doflamingo must have felt the same way. He sat there completely unguarded, laying his life in Law's hands, perhaps without even considering how vulnerable he'd made himself.

Law reached into him, feeling the warm presence of Doflamingo's soul inside his chest. "....I don't see anything other than your own spirit, Doffy."

Doflamingo wasn't heartless after all. He had one— and only one— right in his chest.

Law watched him exhale and close his eyes. "That's that, then. Yeah. Knew he wouldn't have stuck around."

"Yeah, he wasn't exactly the type, was he?" Law laughed weakly as he dropped his 'room'. "It's just you, Doffy. You and your own heart."

His smile came back, weak at the edges and he touched his chest. "Give it to me straight, doc, how black and withered are we talking?"

Law snorted with a wry smile. "Like a raisin. But a shockingly big raisin, so you got that going for you Doffy."

"So more like a prune, got it." Doffy giggled and leaned back in his chair. "Thanks for helping me clear the air on that. Would have nagged me a bit."

Again, dismissive, flippant. But Law could tell the idea might have gnawed at him.

It had gnawed at Law too. The moment the idea came up, he felt a sting of fear of his own. What if Rosi was still present? What if he was still around?

What if he judged Law for his sympathy for the man Rosi always called 'the devil himself'. Ghosts— spirits. He'd be a fool if he told himself they weren't real. Not with the way they were so evident and provable in the world around him.

Monet was proof enough. Spirits existed, and they could linger.

Rosi— he'd trusted and believed in him for years, despite the way he'd been treated. Despite the trauma of the doctors.

But Doffy was there for him, too. Then, now…

He grabbed the edge of Doflamingo's coat with a half smile. "Happy to help. It'd nag me too."

Thank all that was unholy that Rosi really wasn't here.

He found himself suddenly scooped by Doffy's arm as he grabbed his coat, and the larger man pulled him up against his lap, smiling wider in return.

"It's just you and me, now."

Law's face flushed bright red as he fell against Doflamingo's lap. He really was much smaller than him— much smaller than most people in the gang, much to Baby 5's amusement earlier in the day.

And of course it meant Doflamingo could manhandle him while he was already off balance.

Doffy chuckled as he fell against him, grinning, or maybe even leering down at him. "Like we were saying before that diversion. Just like old times."

Law looked up at him, well aware of how flushed and warm he felt against Doffy's body. "...just like old times. Only I'm not a shrimp anymore."

He made a show— an obvious show— of looking Law over, his grin slicing his face again under his red lenses.

"Not a shrimp any more, he says. I mean I guess you sit a little bit heavier in my lap than last time we did this. A little."

Law narrowed his eyes up at him.

"...a little he says. As if I ain't taller than…" Well. A handful of marines. Some of the girls in the crew. Luffy. "People."

"People," Doffy repeated, his grin more shit-eating than ever. He laughed, his hand still resting on Law's hip where he'd scooped him into position. "I'll give you— you're taller than Derringer."

Law snorted.

"Yeah, he's the real shrimp here, Doffy. He's even from the ocean." He shifted, his hip rubbing against Doflamingo's hand as he leaned back into his chest. "....this is uh."

Intimate. It was intimate and it was killing him.

"Yeah?" Doffy grinned down at him. Was he daring him to say something? Or was he just… being Doflamingo? Who was always very physical and thought personal space was something that happened to him, not to other people. "It's what, Corazon?"

Did Doffy still think of him as a kid?

Law realized he had no idea as he shifted against his lap again. "...a bit different than back then, that's all."

"I guess that's true." Doffy's gaze felt intense on him, despite Law's inability to see his eyes, and despite the inscrutability of his enduring smile. "Should I put you in your own chair?"

Something about the smile and the phrasing reminded him of Dressrosa— Doflamingo had 'put him in a chair' then. He'd chained him to the heart throne.

Law felt his face flushing deeper, and he sputtered for a moment before catching himself. "You fuckin' wo…no! No I'm real comfortable right here, Doffy!"

Doffy laughed and leaned in toward him, bringing their faces together. "Well,that was an enthusiastic answer."

He was close, too close– and his heart was pounding in his chest. Doflamingo. Doffy. His boss, the man who saved him, the man he tried to kill. He was one of the largest figures looming in Law's life…

Why did he have to be so handsome? So fucking magnetic?

"Was it?"

"Sounded like it to me, Corazon," Doffy purred. He pulled him suddenly even closer and Law found himself half engulfed in the ridiculous feathered coat that was always around the man's shoulders. "Tell me for real— did you ever miss me? Even when you were trying to kill me?"

One of the feathers tickled his cheek as he reached out to place his hand on Doflamingo's chest— at first to push away, but he found his hand lingering as he looked up at him.

He had missed him. There was always a traitorous part of him that missed him.

"That's why I knew I had to finish it quick, Doffy…yeah. There was a part of me that always missed you."

"Knew it," he chuckled. Doffy's hand shifted on his body, large and warm, moving up over his side as he looked down at him. His chest was warm under Law's fingers. "You know it was a hell of a shock to see you in the papers two years ago. Not just to know you were alive. I was still picturing you as a kid."

Law's fingers curled against his chest as he laughed. "That must have been a shock alright. You haven't changed a day, except maybe getting more 'i've decided to dress more like every day's a vacation day'."

He'd pictured him as a kid, huh? Did that mean that view on him had changed now?

Doffy chuckled again. "Well I mean every day was pretty much a vacation in Dressrosa, Law. You missed the nice weather. But also— my hair's shorter. You, though, you changed a hell of a lot more."

Law half knelt, raising himself up to run his hand through Doflamingo's hair with some effort.

"...so it is." he smirked, looking into his eyes. "damn right i have…in a lot of ways. What'd you think when you saw me, huh?"

Doffy's smile hitched into a smirk as he leaned ever closer to him. "First thought? Kid grew up into a pretty handsome bastard. Second thought? Damn, that's a lot of tattoos."

"...yeah well, maybe I found out I liked tattoos, huh?"

Handsome bastard…

It was basically the same thought Law had had about Doffy for years, even as he pushed it down and out of mind.

He huffed. "Careful calling a guy 'a handsome bastard' while he's sitting on your lap, Doffy."

"Careful, hmmm? Warning me to be careful implies there might be a result I won't like, Corazon." Doffy's tongue showed slightly between his teeth as he gave him a teasing look. He paused and his grin hitched wider. "So what are you trying to warn me about?"

Law felt his face flushing deeper.

"You might make him think that you absolutely don't just see him as some fucking shrimp kid anymore."

Doffy laughed and his hand rode higher, almost up to Law's chest. "Oh is that what you're thinking about? Doffy lets kids run around with guns and swords and booze and cigarettes. Even though he made me Corazon he probably still thinks I'm a kid. Is that what you're thinking?"

The feeling of his fingers trailing up his body was like a thousand little sparks of anticipation crawling through his skin. He grit his teeth, looking down instead of into his staring eyes. "...the thought mighta crossed my mind, yeah."

"Well then," he purred. Law could feel his breath on his face, and the sweet smell of his oiled coat surrounded him. Doffy reached up and put his fingers on his jaw, the sharp moons of his nails sending another prickling sensation. "How about I clear that up?"

A heartbeat passed, as Doffy seemingly waited for his answer, or his rejection.

Law's head was spinning. From a decade of resentment and deliberate, desperate hate, to finding himself back in Doffy's company, to becoming part of the family again, to becoming Corazon— all the way here.

Here on Doflamingo's lap being asked to take the forbidden step forward and more under the man's power.

He swallowed thickly, nodding his head once.

Doflamingo didn't wait for anything more than that, and he didn't say a word. He jerked Law close and he kissed him— rough and hard and immediate, sucking at his lips and pressing his tongue to invade his mouth.

It was overwhelming. He was surrounded by him. His kiss, his body, his scent.

Law pressed into him, enveloped in the garish pink feathers of his coat, smelling the oil and the smell of booze thick in his nose as he leaned up into the man's kiss. His tongue met Doffy's, brushing against it as a thrill rolled through his body.

Even more than accepting Corazon, Law knew this was a moment of surrender.

This was everything he had fought and steeled himself against for thirteen years, dissolving in an instant as he let Doflamingo kiss him and hold him in his lap. Thank all that was unholy that they were alone, because if the ghost of Rosi had been there, there would have been a great wailing and gnashing of teeth.

But they were alone, and he was in Doffy's arms.

His tongue lingered on Law's lips for a moment, and then he licked his own, as if he were satisfied with a meal.

"Does that clear up my feelings on the matter?" he purred, his sharp face still hanging near Law's like an overbearing moon in orbit.

Law looked up at him, catching his breath with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. "Maybe. Might need more convincing, actually."

Doffy laughed, tilting his head back as he did. "More convincing! Dia's right, you are a greedy little bastard! But I'm happy to convince you, if that's what you want."

He slid his thumb over the sharp curve of Law's jaw as he smiled— no, leered— down at him.

Law arched his hand against his thumb, his breath feeling hot as he met his eyes again. "Greedy, huh?" he scoffed before he shifted to press his hand firmly against Doffy's chest, at the opening of his shirt. "Whatever. Convince me, Doffy. I'm your Corazon, ain't I?"

"I'm your Corazon, ain't I?"

The words sent a shiver of absolute delight down Doflamingo's spine, the taste of Law's lips lingering in his mouth.

His Corazon. His. Law wanted to be his. Law was his. Law had always been his, he had just been stolen from him, cruelly, more than thirteen years ago. Now he finally had him back, without so much as a ghost hovering over their reunion.

And now Law was begging him to kiss him. To hold him. To make him truly his. The little grouchy bastard might say he 'needed more convincing' but what Doffy heard was 'please kiss me, Doffy. Kiss me until I can't think of anything else. Kiss me until I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is where I belong'.

And Doffy shuddered with delight to hear it. With delight that Law wanted him. Beautiful, handsome, mean, wicked grown-up little Law wanted to be kissed and held and loved like the man that he had become.

Doflamingo's man.

And Doffy was ecstatic to give him exactly what he wanted.

It was exactly what Doffy had always wanted.

The first time Doffy had seen Law, shaking with rage and full of hateful determination, he had seen the man that he might become. A man with a heart just like his own heart. And he had been determined not to let anything stop him from seeing Law become that man. Not even a terminal disease would stand in his way; nothing would stop him from seeing Law, a child who was so like himself, flourish and grow the way that Doflamingo had. He wanted to see the man that Law became, and for him to become his man. His Corazon.

And here he was. Beautiful, and strong, and angry, and mean, and wanting Doffy to kiss him.

Maybe everything that had come between them for so long had been worth that.

"You're my Corazon," Doffy promised, rubbing the curve of his thumbnail over Law's sharp, handsome jaw. "You're not a kid any more, you're my Corazon, and I will prove it to you as much as you demand, you handsome little bastard."

He pulled Law suddenly and sharply close to him with his threads and thrust his tongue back between his lips, savoring the way it filled Law's mouth and heaved against Law's tongue.

Law was Doflamingo's Corazon.There was no question of that any more. He had left a child and come back as a man, and now he was right where he belonged.

And Doffy was never going to let him leave again.

Doffy made good on his promise, kissing Law over and over again, his threads tugging him closer, trapping him against his broad, warm chest like a fly traps a spider.

The threads held him tight, as strong as they ever were— as strong as they were back in Dressrosa but not at all as sharp. Law's head was spinning as he caught his breath between kisses, his face burning red as he pressed against Doflamingo.

He'd proven it, alright. He'd convinced Law, utterly and completely. He didn't just see him as some reckless, insane kid anymore. The thrill and glow of excitement that simple fact brought him was almost embarrassing.

Almost.

Eventually, after what seemed like an age of the world, Doflamingo let him catch his breath, still dizzy and warm on his lap. With a manicured nail Doffy traced the shape of a heart over Law's chest.

"I'll go on and keep convincing you," he purred teasingly. "But give me an update, Corazon. oOw are you enjoying the position?"

Law took several deep breaths, feeling the nail lightly pressing against his chest as he craned his neck to look up at him with a thin smile. "I'm sure you will, Doffy. But…I think I'm likin' it a lot. I slipped right into it, you know? That was exactly what I was afraid of back then."

Doffy's smile grew teeth, and he chuckled, rubbing his thumb up and down Law's chest. "I'll just bet it was. I wish I had guessed— I would have had a more convincing argument for you back when I had you chained to the heart throne." He dragged his tongue suggestively over the points of his teeth.

Law's heart skipped a beat, and his eyes went wide despite his attempt to compose himself. The thought flashed unbidden through his mind of himself chained to the throne of Corazon, as Doflamingo convinced him with his hands on his….

He shut the thought down as his flush deepened and a hot tension grew below. "Y-yeah I bet you woulda, Doffy."

Doffy giggled and grabbed a lock of Law's hair, tugging at it under his cap. "Like in a bad novel, like you said at dinner the other night."

Law glanced off to the side. Just like one of those bad novels. 'Seduced by the Pirate Prince' or some bullshit like that. A bodice-ripping tale of corruption and seduction.

He squirmed on Doflamingo's lap. "...you remembered that, did you?"

Doffy shifted under him in return, and Law got the feeling that the whole scene was a bit exciting for him. He chuckled richly. "It stood out, Law."

Law's hips rested firmly against him, feeling that excitement all too well as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Can you blame me? You invited me to dinner…in a seastone cuff…after saving me from the ocean despite us being recent enemies. That's a saucy novel plot, not real life."

"Well, we had a little more lead up than that," he chuckled. "But I seem to have a knack for—"

They were interrupted suddenly by a sharp knock on the door, and Law felt Doffy tense under him, his displeasure written on his face.

Law tensed against him, his fingers digging into his coat as he whipped around with a sharp grimace. Of course. Of course someone came now to interrupt. Right when Doflamingo was getting excited.

Despite Doflamingo's obvious annoyance, Law didn't have the chance to move anywhere before he yanked the door open with his threads.

"Come in," he grumbled.

Vergo was at the door, and Law caught sight of Bepo behind him.

"....." Vergo pushed up his sunglasses. "Hey boss." He spoke as if it were the most normal thing in the world to see Law cuddled up on Doflamingo's lap. Like he'd forgotten that it'd be weird. Knowing him…he probably did.

"Got a minute?"

Bepo on the other hand, had put his paw against his muzzle, turning to look away a little.

"A minute at least," Doffy sighed heavily. "If it's something important I've got significantly more than that."

Law turned a deeper red, trying to wriggle off Doflamingo's lap before he imploded in a sea of self-consciousness. It didn't work, so he kept his eyes averted towards the ceiling instead of at Bepo's embarrassment.

Vergo chuckled. "I mean…it's pretty important. We've got an island in the way. One of the weird ones that the pose didn't pick up from the looks of it. It's directly in our path. Had Vi take a look and she tells me it's completely surrounded by navy ships. We're around 12 hours or so away from it, weather permitting. Wanna know if you wanna take a detour. You know. For those marine heads."

Doffy's expression turned from sour to intrigued, and he ran his finger down Law's chest, despite his poor attempt to wriggle away.

"Well now. Marines, eh? I know everyone's been itching to bust a few heads. Let's head for it. Have Vi get together a full write up of the situation and if it turns out it's gonna be a pain in the ass we'll avoid it instead."

"A bunch of navy bastards on an island huh?" Law murmured as the prickling sensation of his touch rolled through him. "Should make for some fun exercise."

Vergo saluted Doflamingo with a thin smile. "You got it, Doffy. I'll ask Vi to get on it. Should have the full write up when you're done having fun with Corazon."

Law sputtered indignantly, staring at him with wide eyes "We ain't…Shut up!"

That got a laugh out of Doflamingo, who grinned wickedly. "Sounds perfect. Thank you both." Law watched as Doffy's gaze snapped to Bepo. "Don't worry, Beps, you'll get him back mostly intact."

Bepo made a choked noise and shielded his gaze again, nodding.

Law buried his face against Doflamingo's coat. "I'm never gonna live this down."

Vergo chuckled before patting Bepo on the shoulder. "Don't worry buddy, you'll get used to the way things are around here soon enough. Come on. Let's go report to Vi."

"R-Right. Uh, later, Captain. Corazon."

Law heard Doflamingo chuckle again, still buried against his chest as the door clicked closed. "Whoops."

"Whatta ya mean, 'whoops!'?" Law growled against his chest. "You coulda let me up to save face!"

Doffy tugged him closer, his threads still wrapped around him. "Oh, like you wouldn't have been just as embarrassed and twice as awkward to be leaping up from my lap. Really, I just saved us both a couple of dumb conversations."

Law looked up at him, huffing sharply. In a way he wasn't wrong. It made things simpler. Now Vergo and Bepo had seen the two of them practically fucking with their clothes on. Made it pretty damn clear where things stood without the need for a long and drawn out awkward conversation.

He brushed his fingers through his coat with a narrowing of his eyes. "It's because you're embarrassing, Doffy."

Doffy laughed, and put two fingers under Law's chin, tilting it upward. "You know you're one of the few people who'd actually dare to say that to me."

Law's neck craned, his lips lightly parted as he looked up at Doflamingo as he took him in. Striking, charismatic… handsome. Doflamingo was a man who drew people into his 'pace', just as he'd warned Luffy.

It never took long, it never took much for people to start dancing along to the beat of his drum, dangling from the strings of his fingers. It wasn't a surprise that most of the crew wouldn't dare to call him embarrassing. They all loved him to the point of near worship.

Maybe Law did too, in a way that came off vastly different.

He smirked at him. "You like it, I know you do."

"I love it," Doflamingo snickered. "You sassy little bastard. Maybe I am a little embarrassing— but I think you like that."

Law flushed deeply "oh yeah? You gotta prove it. I ain't admitting shit, Doffy."

"You want me to prove it?" Doffy's smile almost became a sneer, and he suddenly put his hand right on the crotch of Law's pants. "You don't seem any less excited than before the door opened."

Law felt Doflamingo's fingers grab him, stiff, through the layers of fabric, his body squirming under the touch as he wound his fingers into his coat's feathers. "...you've got a point there."

Yeah, it was true. He wasn't any less excited. He was uncomfortably excited through the whole interaction and all the way till now. Doffy had an effect on him. An intense one that washed over him like the sea's waves.

"I do," Doffy purred, leaning down toward him again. "So I think I'm right when I say you don't mind me being a little embarrassing."

His hand lingered where he left it, without any indication he'd be moving it any time soon.

Law shifted his hand, brushing it down Doflamingo's chest with a snort of breath. "If there's anything the last two years have taught me, it's that I've got a horribly embarrassing taste in men."

"Oh well color me fascinated on that little tidbit," Doffy purred. His other hand rested on Law's chest now, and he was face to face with him again, the sharp tip of his nose brushing Law's. "You can tell me all about it. But later. Maybe after Vi's report."

Should have the full write up when you're done having fun with Corazon. That was what Vergo had said.

Law could feel his breath on his face, the brush of his skin against the tip of his nose as his body pressed tight to the other man's— bound and commanded by Doflamingo Donquixote. 'Having fun with Corazon'. He could see exactly where this was going to lead, their first consummation of their reforged connection.

"Gonna fuck me then? Is that it? Fuck me, go to a meeting, hear about my love life?" he huffed softly.

Doffy's sharp tongue poked out and licked Law's lower lip.

"I could," he said, the weight of his hand heavy on his chest and between his legs. "Or maybe I should make you wait. Have a drink while you go get an update from officer Bepo. Get busy with some paperwork. Drag you back to my room in oh say… a day or three."

Law could see himself reflected double in Doffy's blood colored lenses.

He flushed deeply, looking at his own scowling face reflected back at him as he pressed firmly against Doflamingo with a sharp huff of breath, his fingers snatching down between his own legs to brush Doffy's crotch with his fingers.

"You'd wanna make us wait that long?"

Doffy was just as hard as Law was— just as excited. It was impossible not to feel it. It was impossible not to think about it.

But he just smirked at him, and his fingers stroked up over Law's jaw and neck.

"I'm a surprisingly patient man, Corazon. I've waited this long. I could keep waiting."

Law brushed his fingers against his crotch with a frown, feeling his body heating up as he pressed closer to him. "....what if I don't wanna wait, huh?"

Everyone always called him reckless, impulsive, dangerously so— maybe they were right. Maybe it really was, the way his body clamored for him to jump right into an amorous tangle with Doflamingo. It was a way to reaffirm his decision, to get a taste of what his quest for vengeance took from him…

It was hot.

Doffy laughed at him again, cupping his face. "Tell me you don't want to wait, Corazon. Tell me what you want from me."

He froze, nuzzling his cheek against Doflamingo's hand with a soft hiss of breath.

"...I…I want…" he leaned closer, huffing sharply. "I want you to fuck me, Doffy. Okay?"

He spat it out, too flustered to do so delicately.

Doffy's chuckle sent a thrill down Law's spine as his thumb tickled his jaw. "Oh, with pleasure, Corazon. With pleasure."

Doflamingo's strings drew him tightly to his chest, making it feel, once again, like he was under his power as he pressed a rough, deep kiss on him.

Law grabbed his coat with his hands, using it as well as the strings to press himself close as their lips collided. It was a rough, passionate kiss full of desire and expectation.

He'd accepted Doffy's help. He'd joined the crew again as Corazon. He'd already fallen back into their clutches— so why not fling himself directly into the flames of passion? If he was going to be a Donquixote again, then by all that was unholy, he was going to go all the way.

#doflaw #doflamingo x law #donquixote doflamingo #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #third corazon law #one piece #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #fic: one piece deicide

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worldismyne · 2 years

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Crest of the Dragon: Jack's Epilogue

Pictured S5 Jack and the new Jin/Heylin Temple Guardian Kamil

Spoilers for Crest of the Dragon under the cut.

Design wise, S5 Jack wears a blend of modern clothes and the Heylin trainee uniform. Much more open and relaxed. He has a scar from the Imperial Jade Dragon breaking in his face. Doesn't bother to cover it up or highlight it with makeup. It just is.

For older Jack, I wanted to play around with him keeping his hair short. We all stan long hair Jacks, but I kind of like the forward combed look. He keeps the same color palate from his younger days, but once again, more open/clean lines. Something that looks striking from a distance, but approachable up close. Hair is tinted darker to more of a rust color, as opposed to cherry red.

Jack's arc for S5: The dragon egg from Fortune's Fool finally hatches (a spoil from when Jack raided Chase's Lair), and it is a metal dragon with a talent for shapeshifting. It instantly bonds with Jack like a baby bird. But Jack is busy looking for new teachers of his own and trying to build a new Heylin side with Katnappe and Vlad. It seems that Jack is falling back on old habits, seeing how the shapeshifting dragon might make a useful tool for evil. It isn't until Kamil sees Dojo that he gets scared Jack might replace him with a more seasoned dragon and seeks validation from Jack. When Kamil asks Jack if he's his 'favorite dragon' Jack realizes almost too late that he's treated Kamil the same way Wuya treated him in S1. He shifts gears just in time and we are given hope that the cycle of bad Heylin teachers is finally broken. Kamil grows to be a sensitive and empathetic guardian.

In the future: Jack establishes the first Heylin temple, with its own teachings based on his experience with the Shen Gong Wu and dragons. His teaching style is very student guided, with more of an emphasis on individual growth rather than what's right and wrong. He takes very few students, and many quit on him do to the lack of structure. Their main goal, destroy the remaining ancient Shen Gong Wu, for fear that the spirits of other dragons are also trapped inside. Katnapppe acts as a curator for the collection, monetizing the powerless relics as 'rare pieces of history'. Vlad takes care of physical training for the students.

Under Omi's advice, they "trick" the future Dragon of Water into switching to the Heylin side. It works a little too well. Shin flourishes in a less structured environment now that they aren't at odds with the more "traditional" monks in training. (*cough*Ayden*cough*)

Contrary to their appearance, they are very quiet and reserved. If Omi is a river carving his own path, Shin is a serene lake.

#xiaolin showdown #cotd #Jack spicer #I was going to wait a week but I'm too excited about the doodles

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basedkikuenjoyer · 2 years

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This one’s also a little Rakugo reference double feature when Kin’emon and Kanjuro meet. It’s just their dialogue using a pun based on lettuce from a story called Summer Doctor. I’mma be honest, this one eluded me. There is pretty much nothing freely available in English that can give me a summary but Oda confirms it in an SBS. Cool how that’s an element of our first meeting between the two. He’s clearly a fan and honestly, I love it for Wano’s themes. An art style built around one person juggling three roles.

He also adds a pretty cheeky one in hindsight. The next bit is also from a Rakugo...about an extremely talented artist who draws a sparrow which comes to life. I wish it were easier to find more info on these but sadly there isn’t a lot. It’s cool though, I hope we get SBS questions asking about some I just know are flying under the radar in Wano. Kanjuro’s name is supposedly a reference as well.

I know it’s just rehashing what’s there. By the way it’s actually 754, Making Acquaintance. But I was in a mood and you know what? I do gots a good one from the SBS for you. First, since you came all this way I do want to offer something. We mentioned this concept with Monet and Kin’emon’s intro on Punk Hazard. She was always flitting around. As we introduce the samurai we’ll travel with, we seed themes for Kiku in plain sight right next to them. It’s next to Kanjuro’s intro too. Dig it:

Rebecca and Kyros fit the mold for similar thematic territory sure, but uh...Cabbage? The hothead prettyboy with an uncontrollable “demon” side? He’s a beautiful doofus but right as Kin is meeting Kanjuro he does step up complete with the “game” motif. Compare here to crashing Bakura. It’s the same concept. Cavendish and a lot of the Grand Fleet captains (coughOrlumbuscough) do legitimately have a piece of what Luffy needs. But of course, he’s too vain and can’t control Hakuba. Bickering about getting to be the star that takes down Doffy. But not before...being the one to cut straight through the bullshit.

This is nothing but Cavendish showing he is actually a capable captain in his own right and does have some degree of wisdom. Looking at it though y’all, it hit me like a ton of bricks. The Birdcage is making Dressrosa into Wano. Closed off. This “game” is the exact nationwide manhunt the Wano plan was trying to avoid. But the craziest one is Cabbage laying in the exact logic we saw about Udon. The critical blunder of concentrating your resistance. I’d still say Kiku’s is a little more impressive but this is still a rare level of getting the big idea across to Luffy and it showcases a very perceptive side of Cavendish. Using a very easy to compare example with Kiku & Bakura/Udon later. This kind of thing is why One Piece can be a little “repetitive.” It’s a great way to chart Luffy’s growth. Okay though, last little SBS thing. It’s small but dammit...

Remember the thing about Wano being a Rashomon plot? This is the SBS page with “Pirate Alliance.” For no dam reason Oda name drops Ryunosuke. Cute! Nah, that author is famous for a fair few novels and short stories. One called Rashomon that isn’t exactly the same thing as the movie, but he did write In a Grove which was the book the movie was retelling. And the novel Rashomon does deal heavily with a relevant question, is it right to steal to survive? The specific example of a woman stealing hair is in there. Just really interesting to see this hanging out with the start of the samurai plotline.

#one piece #kinemon #kanjuro #cabbage #curious curiosities

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timesofinnovation · 2 months

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TikTok was once thought of as the anti-Instagram; a place where influencers could stop being polite and get real. Now that it has matured, brands are adapting to a new reality. In the early days of TikTok, a quick, unfiltered 30-second review could make almost any product go viral. This raw approach made TikTok different from Instagram’s curated aesthetic. But today, TikTok is filled with polished ads, influencer-sponsored content, and shoppable videos. Brands have turned the app into a central piece of their marketing strategies. “It’s a different place than it was when we started,” said Michelle Miller, SVP of global marketing at K18. The hair-care brand capitalized early on TikTok and continues to invest heavily in its marketing. Data from Nielsen shows that 49 percent of views involving beauty brands were sponsored in the past year. For K18, the rate is lower at 35.1 percent, but brands like CeraVe show up to 80.9 percent paid mentions. This shift has made users more skilled at spotting ads and calling out deceptive practices. Rachel Lockett, VP of marketing at MAC Cosmetics, noted, “As consumers become more familiar with the platform, they can spot ads faster and often recognize them before the ad disclosure appears.” The early days of TikTok, from its 2018 launch to 2022, saw rapid growth for new influencers with raw content. Beauty influencers gained trust by sharing honest takes on products. For instance, a 2022 post about Glossier’s You fragrance caused a viral sales spike. Similarly, a non-influencer content about Peter Thomas Roth’s FirmX Eye Tightener led to a 1,000 percent increase in sales. However, the TikTok landscape is now saturated. Sarah McNamara, CMO at Peter Thomas Roth, pointed out, “Creating authentic-looking content is harder in a market flooded with promotional posts.” Early adopters like K18 and E.l.f. Beauty reaped the benefits of low competition, but as TikTok commercialized, strategies had to evolve. The platform’s monetization has made it challenging for influencers too. A notable example is the “mascaragate” scandal in 2023, where influencer Mikayla Nogueira was accused of deceptive practices. Nowadays, even “messy” content by popular creators like Alix Earle appears polished. “You can see that their content is perfectly lit and situated,” Miller noted. Brands are adapting their strategies. Lockett explained that while MAC previously invested in traditional advertising, it now focuses on boosting organic content, which feels more “authentic and organic.” TikTok Shop is another avenue brands are exploring for direct sales. If a TikTok ban were enforced, other platforms like Instagram and YouTube would likely fill the void. “Instagram’s becoming less curated and more focused on short-form video,” Miller commented. Brands plan to follow creators, just as they did with TikTok. TikTok remains crucial for sales, but the tactics to engage and maintain authenticity have shifted, requiring brands to constantly innovate in the competitive landscape.

#Fashion

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blandmemoirs · 9 months

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Choosing To Be Better (2023 Journal)

(The following is a LONG entry written for my public diary from June 26th, 2023 to December 19th, 2023, with edits made up to its posting date in January 2024; as it was not written in one sitting, it may move around and shift focus in ways that are different from a typical memoir of its kind, but it was always intended to be one piece, and so will be posted as one. It reflects much of the angst, trials, fears, and despair I have struggled with for some time, but also, I hope, displays the perseverance, growth, strength and passion for life that I have been fostering all this time. Read to your hearts content. There is no TL;DR you'll get from me)

At the beginning of this year I made a fundamental decision that has set the course I have followed these past months. As last year transitioned into this one, there was much weighing on my mind(for that post, which is a bit of a downer, go here). I was 23, to turn 24, a college dropout working a dead end job, with no money in savings, overweight and relatively out of shape, my YouTube channel was still below 500 subscribers after 10 years, still not halfway to monetization, I had committed to a feature film that was being produced at the snails pace I chose to work, much to the discomfort of my fellow filmmakers, who were eager to get to work, I am single and have never had a meaningful romantic relationship, as all my pursuits, few as they are, were fruitlessly aimed at ones who were uninterested in me, and as a cherry on top, I am balding at a rate much faster than years previous, or perhaps simply more noticeably than years previous. The hair in front had visibly thinned to a point that even combing the longer parts from the side could no longer cover it. I wore pajama pants no matter the occasion unless specifically asked to dress "nicer", I have never been to a doctor despite recently subscribing to the highest tier health insurance at my work, I have a 401k that takes a percentage of every one of my paychecks. I do not believe in God and have not said a prayer in nearly a decade. I am a grown adult with responsibilities and ambitions. I am surrounded by a community that I have played a large hand in cultivating and was soon going to be elected to be responsible for continuing to cultivate and chart out a future for. I am an artist who thinks all day about art, but produces relatively little of, as consuming art is much easier than creating art. I had repaired much of my inner self, having healed the resentment I felt towards my father(s), and thus cured the hatred I felt towards myself. I forgave my father the man who raised me, and we have deepened our bond, I forgave my biological father, the man who r*p*d my mom to give me life, and no longer have any need for him to be around. I met my biological grandmother, who has spent the last twenty years hanging on a thread of hope that she may see her only grandchild come to her home, and I was able to be a wish fulfilled, and fill her heart with joy at the end of her life. I have opened doors to friends and given them homes to rest, grow, and heal so they may transform into the best versions of themselves. My family is proud of me. I am proud of how far I have come from how low I had been, and for the longest time in my life I have loved myself and felt content with myself. No shortcoming or perceived personal flaw has held over me like a dark cloud in some time. For some odd years I felt an inner turbulence like a raging storm which seemed ceaseless and eternal, I felt that I was always to be angry at the world and the God that made it and hate the men who made me, and hate myself for seeing them in the mirror and noticing every odd similarity that existed between us. But the raging riot within my heart has felt some sense of peace and quiet in the last few years. It has not dampened my passion, or blinded me in serenity. I am still hungry, I am still looking forward to what comes next, I am not content with my contentedness, but I am less a monster hiding inside of a man, and more a man that has tamed and mellowed what monster remains. There have been moments, days, when I lost my patience, my temper flared, and I felt the cage rattle. But no bridges have burned that were not rebuilt, no words were said that could not be unsaid, no daggers were placed into the hearts of the people I love because I felt I needed to return the hurt I was feeling. There were temptations, opportunities, and reasons to strike, to be angry, to be bitter, but the trend I have desired, and the path I have chosen, is one in which I can be better.

Better than my past self, better than my worst self, better than my best self, better than the father who created me, and better than the father who actually made me. All to the tune of a song emblazoned with the title of my newest journey, "To Be Better" created by the talented Gavin aka Miracle of Sound, whose music has felt like a spiritual guide for me for some time. Ever since first discovering his tunes on a random YouTube music tribute to the Batman Arkham games, I have felt captivated by his works, which are often inspired by video games, or movies, or his own experiences. He has an ability that I would describe as being able to capture the soul or essence of a work, and translate it into beautiful music. Some time ago I wrote here about my relationship with my anger, and set it to the tune of his song, "Ode to Fury", and now, all this time later, we both return to the God of War series, and to Kratos specifically, to set a new checkpoint, a point in which myself, Kratos, and whoever else is so daring, can choose "To Be Better".

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It is no secret that at the end of this year I will be dressing as Kratos for the annual Star Bandits Halloween Party, and that in preparation for this I have made the decision to work out to build up muscle, will be shaving my head, and growing out my beard. I've also been eating more olives to boot but that's neither here nor there. To some people that is enough information and that is the story, to others they think its because of some single insecurity or character flaw listed from the beginning, and some may wonder why I even feel the need to explain any of this at all. Whatever it is you are approaching this essay, novel, or epic for, I want you to know I will be spending the next few thousand words talking about myself, my insecurities, my lived experiences, the media I've consumed to understand them, my failures, my successes, the things I've made, the things I'm proud of, and attempting to explain in as many words as possible who I am and what I want, because no one single person is just one single thing, we are complex, multifaceted, hypocritical, contradictory, and impossible to understand in just a few words. So, if you want to get as close as you can to understanding me, or the me that I want you to see, this is for you. But ultimately, this piece is for me, a new entry in my public diary and maybe a piece to be included in my autobiography. As to write about a lifetime may very well take up a lifetime. The reason I am choosing to closely identify myself with some video game character to the point that I am dressing up as the closest approximation of the pixels I can manage is because it is a small part, however largely symbolic, of the greater act I am performing in choosing to better myself.

I am not a religious person. I don't have a holy book I look to for answers to the universe or life's mysteries or my grand purpose in life. I don't pray to a God and hope He listens so he may favor me and work miracles to turn my luck around or give me an Eternal Life in some far off paradise. I don't believe in any kind of grand plan or cosmic scheme or intelligent design tom explain this rock orbiting a hot ball of gas and our suffering on it. I believe religion exists to foster a polite and orderly society. It exists to cultivate social engagement and community, to provide a "purpose" to it all. It exists to explain the questions that we just can't answer. God is cope. And the explanation, the answer to the unanswerable, is "well, it is what it is because He made it that way and only He knows why". That's the circular logic I used in Elementary school when I tried to convert my friend Louie because I thought it was my "purpose" as a Good Christian(TM) to bring people to the Light and "save" their "souls" from the big fire pit down below where everyone is punished for not believing in something despite the loving, forgiving, all powerful, omnipotent God creating them knowing they would not find Him in their lives.

In 8th Grade I was a rather outspoken Christian as I went through a whole "rebirth" phase in the 6th Grade when I got legally adopted by the father who raised me and took on his last name, becoming Robbie Bland. I believed at that same time I felt a call from God to be baptised and thus reborn. Washing Bell away with holy water to become the person I was meant to be. The reality is I just wanted a symbolic change to fit the legal, bureaucratic change that took place when I sat their in a legal office and told them "My name is Robert Otist Bland, not "Robert Otist Bell Jr, please and thank you". I didn't particularly need the baptism, I got to have my main character moment in the courtroom when I stood before a judge and said that same thing, only for him to remark about my intelligence and maturity for a 12 year old. If only he knew it was because I had to grow up so fast. Oh well. The baptism was just another symbolic piece of action I could take to FEEL new and FEEL different. It was capped off with a new cross necklace that I wore everyday for the next few years. I'd pray every night, and I'd ask for forgiveness for whatever wrongs I had done, and pray for healing and blessings to those who had less, and ask God for a nice thing here and there. It made me feel good and comfortable, and when I was in church I would SIIIIING my praises for the Lord to all the little karaoke church choir songs. One day I was even worshipping so hard I passed out and fell on a lady standing next to me. I thought that was a pretty wild experience at the time, nowadays I think it was the result of locking my knees standing and singing until I was breathless, y'know, two things that make a person pass out. I felt I had some kind of a relationship with God, that He was watching me, and everything I do, and then I got older. I became a teenager, I became more aware of the world, I became more aware of myself, I started committing more "sins" by touching myself where it felt good, something I was told I'm not supposed to do or God, who is watching me touch myself, will be upset with me. So I'd pray for forgiveness every night after finishing. Then I remembered I didn't even know what bible verse said I couldn't choke the chicken, so I decided I should probably get more familiar with the bible. I resolved to read it cover to cover, as any good book ought to be read, and that I would read it, every night before bed, as incentive to stop "sinning" as hormonal teenagers discovering themselves do.

And I... Couldn't make it past Genesis. It was boring, and nothing was "speaking to me" or revealing some kind of wisdom or knowledge I couldn't already find somewhere else. It was full of long lists of names and family trees and some weird stories of incest and it just made me go "huh, so this the bible when read like a book and not just cherry picked for quotes to be interpreted for me", and I gave up. I stopped reading. Comic books were more interesting and I felt like I was actually learning things about morality, empathy, humanity, and "purpose" that the bible just wasn't giving to me, and I think that's where it began. If it wasn't there it was when my 8th Grade drama teacher stopped one of my conversations with a classmate about my religion and why they should convert to pose a question: "If God knows Everything, do you have Free Will?" Well of course! I thought. The bible says so, or so I'm told. "But, if God knows every decision you will make before you make it, and God created you, did you make those decisions?" Well, of course! Because God gave me free will... I wasn't satisfied with my own answers and shame on the grown adult for owning me in an argument, buuuut honestly also thank you because you opened my mind so much on that day. I began to fixate on that question, and others I would come up with to challenge myself and poke holes in my thinking. "What if you are born in one of those indigenous communities that has no contact with the outside world and you still worship the sun or the rain and not Jesus Christ himself? Or what about the people who came before 0 AD when Jesus was born?" Rather specific, and some (hypothetical) answers damn those people to eternal darkness in purgatory for the crime of being born before they could know better and convert to "the right one" with the eternal kingdom everlasting. Other people are perhaps less tolerant than others and would happily damn those people to Hell, and some people are perhaps more merciful than others and think everyone who lives a virtuous life goes to the happy place because that's the way it should be. I started to believe that, but then that meant my religion no longer hinged on actually believing and worshipping my God to get past the Pearly Gates. It just required you to be a "good person", but then that led me back to my rather frequent monkey spanking, which while simultaneously making me go blind and grow hair on my hands, was also supposed to make me a bad person. "But why, why would God make something that feels so good, be so wrong?" A rather dangerous thought that, but God also gave men a G-spot up their rectum and said they aren't allowed to touch it, and he made food so good, but us get so fat when we eat! That's when it started to click.

Religion is about sacrifice! Hell, they all talk about it. Whether its animals, crops, indulgences, or fellow human beings, we gotta take some Ls, sometimes Lives, so that God can be nicer to us and reward our "service". Ugh, service? Religion is about serving God? The same God who doesn't talk to me like he talked to everyone else in the damn book? Where's my burning bush? Where are my easy answers. Faith is about trusting the process and not asking too many questions because I'm not supposed to understand. God is above me and incomprehensible and blah blah blah. Some religions even spout "submission" along with their service. I ain't submissive, that's not what I'm here for. If God wanted me to submit he'd give me a reason, and burning forever or rotting away in an abyss absent his light and love doesn't sound all that different from a Summer night in Texas getting bitten by skeeters. Damn bloodsuckers.

In 9th Grade I had the opportunity to get some way forward with my relationship with God and religion when I emceed an Interfaith Panel hosted by my school's Philosophy Club wherein we gathered many religious leaders from the community, some local, some not so local. We had a Rabbi, two muslims, a few priests, a Coptic Christian from Egypt, a Hindu who needed a translator because he didn't speak English, and like two buddhist guys one of 'em in full robe mode. They were all people who had authority and experience and knowledge over their religions, even if I don't remember all their specific titles, and by the end of the night, I liked the buddhist guys the most. So... Was I buddhist?

Nah, I mean. Karma made some sorta sense, reincarnation sounded, approachable, and also made some sorta cosmic sense in that all matter and energy is recycled as it is neither created or destroyed, supposedly, but Nirvana? Just sounds like Heaven but with extra steps. I don't want Heaven or Enlightenment or whatever the time and place after life is supposed to be. I just want this life, to LIVE this life, and to live it well. That Interfaith Panel was the end of my relationship with The Lord God Almighty and the beginning of my Atheism arc, because well, for me it was all or nothing. Not too be too Green Goblin about the whole thing, but the Agnosticism is just "There is a plan but we don't know it because only God knows" but more noncomittal. "I mean, there is a God, but I don't know, I'm not too sure, no one knows really". I just can't help but ask "Are you in or are you out?" and for me, I was out.

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The only approachable religion left for me was deism, or the 'clockwork' God the Founding Fathers are accused of believing in, the one who made everything, like a big piece of clockwork, and now sits on his hands and watches his "intelligent, grand design" of an Ant Farm tick away, never interfering to make repairs or fix what's broken, because even a broken clock is right twice a day. That's why wars, and genoc1des and r*pe and all the bad things happen because God designed the world that way and it's supposed to happen by design, form, and function, because he knows best and we are so small and stupid and we can't conceive of why that two year old should get brain cancer and die. It must have... Just been "his time" because God "needed him in Heaven".

No we just live in an imperfect world as imperfect lifeforms that decay from the moment we are born until the decay outpaces our growth and we return to the dirt we were sculpted from, and we have genetic disorders, and diseases, and cancer causing chemicals in our homes, the food we eat, and the air we breath, and some of us actively pollute the air ourselves and others breathe because we have chemical addictions and oral fixations that are only satiated by sucking on chemical binkies, and hey man, from the moment we are born to the moment we die, babies need binkies. And I'm not knocking ya, but let's call a spade a spade, your inability to go two seconds without sucking on that binky is just you perpetuating your inner baby. It makes you feel safe and comfy, and thats what binky is for. Everyone does that, just different ways, because none of us ever really "grow up" we just change shape and form.

Anyways, Our God is an Awesome God He Reigns, or he built a clock and he's watching us tick each other off, and no matter what, no matter what interpretation you prefer from the classics, no matter what quote you pull or book you read, God allows awful things to happen, a real "why do bad things happen to good people" paradox, and you know, I get it, God is cope, we need God to surrender ourselves and our critical thinking to so that we can feel some comfort in the "master plan" that sometimes involves "master races" and "mass-ter extermination but absolutely NO masturbation. And absolutely NO sexual relations before marriage because you aren't supposed to know if you are sexually compatible with your spouse until the wedding night, and then you just gotta make it work, nevermind how important being able to physically please each other and fulfill each other's desires is. It still bugs me, it still unsettles me, and I don't want to cope, I want to live. I want to feel. And you know, I do think the story of my atheism being rooted in my being a teenage coomer is funny, but to people who think that's some major personal failure or character flaw, I choose to tell the truth, the whole story. The REAL, most RAW reason why I can never love a God that does not love me.

My mother was 15 when I was conceived, 16 when I was born. That's about the same age as The Virgin Mary.

My biological was 20 chasing after a girl in high school, even if you wanna adopt a United Nations 'modern' take on consent among the youth, that's still a grown man and a minor, ethically that is egregious, even if my mom may say it was her idea. What kind of world is it where we buy into that idea that a kid can "choose" to be in a relationship with an adult, that a kid can then "choose" whether to keep the kid that was conceived from that "choice" made from an ignorant, uninformed, and naïve perspective placed on them by a predator. Now how the Hell are we supposed to buy that a girl of that same age can consent to an "immaculate conception" from a higher being she can't possibly conceive or process. Now I'm applying "modern human standards" to He Who Cannot Be Understood by humans, but is God really so above us that we get to overlook the, uhm, frankly "problematic" age and power gap involved heah? Is that why we are to submit and sacrifice and be unquestioning? Because that's just the way it is it's all part of the plan, we can't possibly understand. No, what I don't understand is why my life, my conception, my existence and my ability to be on this Earth, came as a byproduct of, in the most liberal terms, statutory rape, and then hinged on the literal child making the "choice" to keep and raise me. How lucky me that I won the one in a million lottery to be one of the swimmers playing in the JV league to make it here. I don't get a representative in the room because I don't have a womb but it's insane that we just let adults rape kids and then let kids "make a choice" about their future. I think there should be more to it than that. Obviously you shouldn't force a life into the world to be raised by parents that are both unfit, and unwanting of the burden of parenting(*cough cough Casey cough cough*) because that's where tragedies become murders. And you know what? I was lucky.

My mom did keep me, and she did do her best to raise me as a child raising a child, at the cost of stunting her growth and putting her life on hold to be mother to myself and my sister and brother who soon followed me. And I'm grateful. I love my mom, even when she let me down or couldn't quite reach the bar of "good" parent, as subjective as that can be, I never hated her for her personal flaws or shortcomings, because I always saw through it, that she was that 16 year old mom, trying to do right by the life(and later, lives) she chose to create. And though her parenting style was always "do as I say and not as I do" as she engaged in vice after vice after vice, I listened, even if she had to spank some of the vices out of me when they began to stick. I never drank, I never will. I never smoked, I never will. I didn't say bad words until I turned 18, as we agreed was most appropriate. I got good grades, made good friends, was involved in my education even when I wasn't passionate about it, and I didn't have any babies as a teenager, in fact, the fear of turning out the way my parents did was what made approaching any form of intimacy or romance for me... Difficult. And it still is, though I'm getting better at, trying, even if its all baby steps like "telling her how you feel". I'm so cautious and reserved and I mean dead-honest afraid of intimacy because I grew up seeing everything on fire all the time, and I've seen so many relationships end because people just aren't very good at taking care of each other, and in my limited experiences, sometimes people just don't know how to take care of themselves and they're just as scared of intimacy as I am. Oh well. I have to REALLY like someone before I can even begin to approach the idea of asking them out, and by that point, we are already close friends and now its "awkward". As has been stressed to me with great emphasis of late, you're not supposed to date your friends, apparently. I'll figure it out someday, it'll just take someone really special, as I've always said. All things considered, my mom didn't do the worst job in the world, especially for a teen mom who drowns in vices and can't financially plan very far ahead of her next paycheck. Even when she drunk drove me to a PTA meeting and slurred her words while the principals and counselors and teachers who all saw her son as a young prodigy shook her hand I forgave her, in spite of the disappointment and embarrassment, because that was my mom, the one who chose me, and the one who loved me and is proud of me. You can't quite resent that. It was harder to forgive my dad, even though he was similarly fucked up as a kid and just as if not more stunted and broken. I live as good a life as I can, on my own terms, because my birth forced my mom to live her life for me.

I think about Hulk a lot. I write about Hulk alot. Lately I've been writing scripts about Hulk alot. I wrote this line the other day-

"Banner: When I was born, I destroyed my mother's life."

Because in the comics Bruce Banner's dad, an abusive alcoholic who hated Bruce and hated his wife for having him, killed his mom when he was a child. Rebecca Banner died protecting her son from her husband, and it's something Bruce always blamed him for. When I wrote that line it sent something close to shivers up my back, I felt a strange resonance with it, and I think after this long essay full of rants and anecdotes about why I hate God and love my mother, you might be able to see why. I felt guilty for a long time, over a sin I did not commit, over a life I couldn't consent to or ask for, because of the sins of my biological father. It was a guilt that lingered within me for a long time, and apparently still rears its head from time to time. A root cause for me to hate myself, among the many other reasons I've found over the years, but all the same: it was this guilt that made me respect my mother, in the odd ways that I do. I do what she asks of me, I never raise a mean finger to her, because the last thing I ever want to do is hurt her. When she does something to hurt me or my siblings or my father or herself, I kind of just shrug it off, because I can't really stay mad at her. And maybe that's not right, or productive, or helpful, but the longer I reflect on my conception, the more I just can't bare to do anything else to hurt or inconvenience her, because I was already born.

So yes, I hate God, because if God exists, that means his plan was to take my 15 year old mother, and absolutely f*ck her shit up, just so her eldest son could go on to... Be a virgin nerd college dropout in a cult with a nonprofit. I guess that's something? I'm not really seeing the vision because God is not real. There is no plan, there is just chaos. An imperfect world full of imperfect people seeking the logic and reason in illogical and unreasonable beings. We are driven by so many complex and contradictory emotions and chemicals and hormones and traumas and motivations that we can't see past our own noses sometimes. And you know what? I'm okay with that. I've made my peace with that. I'm responsible for myself, the people around me, and the actions I make that affect everything they touch. I like that, that feels more like free will. Sorting through competing impulses, learning discipline to make wise decisions, choosing when to sacrifice and when to indulge, weighing my perceived pros and cons, making a decision and committing to it, or only going halfway and backing my way out and watching it fall apart or turning my back on it entirely to avoid the consequences, if I can outrun them. But if you take that agency away from me, and tell me there's some divine being pulling all the strings, watching me and knowing every move I'll ever make before I ever even started playing, that shit sounds rigged. And why does some omnipotent, omnipresent, omni-loving motherfucker need to design a "perfect vessel" in "His Image" and give it the capacity to rape, murder and genocide? Was that really necessary in the design? You created these intelligent, reasoning creatures and damned half of them to darkness from birth and also decided the cherry on top was that they ought to be able to torture and destroy and hurt each other? That was necessary? And don't come at me with the suffering bullshit. We can suffer knowing our dogs will die before we do, we can suffer knowing that grandma isn't gonna see us graduate, we can suffer when we fall from a high place and break a leg, we can suffer when our hearts are broken by the perfect girl. We don't NEED the depths of suffering that come from the Japanese Empire's Literal "Rape of Nanking" or Nazi Germany's "Camps". Our all loving all powerful divine King looked at that shit and said "yeah I fucks with that lets ship it". And don't Devil bullshit me. Who created the fucking Devil??? The Devil has NO power that God doesn't give it. Women get periods and painful, life-risking child births because one of them decided to eat an apple and God said "fuck all of you". Fuck God. I hate God, and I'm so GOD DAMN glad that He is not REAL. Because if, IF, I'm wrong, I have a #1 hater and a nemesis, a sworn enemy and I have got to kill HIM. If God is real and instead of returning to the nothingness from whence I came I instead find myself being judged at the pearly gates, it is ON SIGHT. If God's damning me to Hell, I'm dragging him down with me. Because it is better to reign in Hell than to serve in His Heaven, if I'm gonna go full Devil Trigger.

If you believe in God, that's cool. There are reasonable, principle, moral, social, logical, personal reasons to believe in a higher power and want to find your purpose through it. I respect you and I respect your decision, I just don't respect your God, and I hope that you can separate those distinctions, because it's never me vs you if it's me vs your god. I can root against your favorite football team or think that your communist ideology is flawed too, that don't mean we can't get along. When I've spoken with creationists in less extensive debates, they always jump to "how can something come from nothing" and golly gee man I don't fucking know dude. I'm not born to know that. We can't time travel back to the beginning of everything, we can only study what's going on right here and now, and interpret what's left from back then. It's all theory and study and deduction and in 200 years it'll probably all be proven wrong anyways. I don't care how we got here, what we do know is WE ARE HERE, we are here right now, and there is no way of knowing what comes next. All we really know is we have this one life, because no one you've ever met came back from the other side or remembers what came before. That or they are making shit up, as all humans do. So why not live your life the way you want, pursue the things you like and are passionate about, and help and improve your community right now, because tomorrow is never guaranteed. Today is a gift from God and that's why they call it the present.

So when I'm hit with the gotcha of "something from nothing" all I can ever really think is "me born from rape" and it's not a polite thing to say, and I try to be more Obama and not say impolite things in public. Maybe it's a chip on my shoulder, it left me feeling guilty for some time, but really, it saved me from the delusion of some higher being with a plan and made me believe in my own agency and responsibility for my actions, the kinds of things that the predator who created me didn't think about when he was taking advantage of a minor. It's okay, I'm okay. In fact, what this long-winded expository life story expose was written for was to detail my background and mindset about gods, so that I can once again drag you through the muddy rabbit hole and synthesize everything with my relationship to the God of War, Kratos, the Ghost of Sparta.

To make a long story told across several incredible video games full of awesome and gory hack 'n' slash action with emotionally resonant stories with depth deeper than the shallow waters they trudge in, Kratos is a demigod, born into the Greek Pantheon as yet another bastard child of Zeus. What made Kratos special was his brother Deimos, who was borne with markings on his body that fit a prophecy which said a marked warrior would one day k1ll the gods and topple mount olympus. So Ares and Athena popped on the scene and latta'd his kid brother. To honor him, Kratos tattooed the same markings on himself, became a top ranking Spartan general, aaaand then got 300'd by some barbarians, and in his dying breath, swore allegiance and fealty to the God of War, Ares

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Ares molded him into a perfect killing machine and a weapon of war, wielding the powerful Blades of Chaos permanently singed into the arms of his new warrior. Kratos was devout and loyal and did whatever the god asked of him, including ransacking and murderizing a town for the glory of his god. Only, as Kratos came down from his bloodlusted rage in service to Ares, he discovered that he had slain with his own hands, his wife and daughter in service to his god. As Kratos mourned the loss of his loved ones, at the design of the gods, Ares came to gloat that it would make him a great warrior. Ashamed and suicidal, Kratos engaged in as many self destructive vices as he could to hide from the guilt and bury the memory of what he had done as a monster for a god, and as Ares grew power hungry in the pantheon, Kratos was eventually recruited by sympathetic gods to take Ares down once and for all, and given the promise that his memories of his atrocity would be erased. So he embarked on a journey of epic proportions, even being slain by Ares, only to prove he was the original man too angry to die and to crawl out of Hades himself for some sweet revenge to gain the power needed to slay a god, which he did, only to be uno reverse carded and betrayed by the gods again, who instead of taking his memories from him, crowned him the new god of war. And that was just the beginning. Then he was doing usual God of War things like Ares before him, only for Zeus to grow extremely paranoid about the whole marked warrior thing and the fact that Kratos had in fact, killed a god, so he set off to do some dirty work himself and get ahead of fate and kill Kratos himself... Only for Kratos to be too angry to die, crawl back out of Hades, knock down the doors of the sisters of Fate and literally beat fate and take control of it for himself, travelling back in time to stop Zeus from killing him and then declaring war on all of Olympus. A war which, depsite its ups and downs, trials and tribulations, he was destined to win through sheer will alone.

But there are consequences to killing a god, and there are even more consequences to killing a pantheon of gods. Floods, disease, pestilence, hunger, darkness, and fear gripped the world of man in a ravaging vice as Kratos stood over the ruins of the new world he created by burning the old one to ash, in his quest for revenge he had lost his humanity and become a mindless monster, hellbent on destruction and ruin, no matter the cost, but now, at the very end, a mind once drunk on blood is sobered by the agony of bloodloss. There was only one god left to kill, that is, when Athena appeared, claiming to have ascended beyond Olympus into a realm of godhood above gods, and now that Olympus had fallen, she would return to rule over all that was left. Kratos, ever ready to stick it to the gods one last time, used the powers he had accrued in the destruction of the gods to destroy himself and free the power of hope to the people of the world, to make their own lives free from the gods, and seemingly ended his own life with his own hands, denying Athena her master plan's payoff and freeing mankind once and for all.

Until you fast forward, some amount of years, decades or centuries is unknown, Kratos lives in isolation in the wintery world of midguard, having travelled across the world into a new land, one ruled by new gods with new rules. A land where the now much more mild mannered and even tempered Kratos once again tries to raise a family and move on from his dark past, avoiding the gaze of the gods, he is successful for some time, until the death of his wife, this time not by any malicious hands, sends him on a quest across the realms and into the path of the gods. Along the way he must teach and bond with his son all while attempting to hide his past and suppress his old violent habits borne from his inner rage. All this comes to a head as the boy begins manifesting his godly abilities but becomes ill by the contradictions his mind believes he is mortal but his body is that of a god, resulting in a sickness that could kill him, all because his father would not tell him the truth of his nature. Kratos is forced to dig up the old blades of chaos to venture into a realm where no fire can exist, except that of the primordial flames his blades produce, and encounter visions and spectres of his past which haunt and tease him, reminding him he cannot escape what he has done, for what he is, is a monster. Kratos remarks "But I am your monster no more" before using his blades not to destroy, but to save, not for revenge, but for love, ultimately rescuing his son and telling him the truth. Their quest continues and brings them into confrontation with the new gods of this realm, the Aesir, the gods who rule from Asgard, and as confrontations boil over Kratos is once again pushed to become what he was made to be, a godslayer. But as the saying goes, there are consequences to killing a god, something he must impress upon his son after the boy becomes vengeful. Their quest ends when they are faced with the near unkillable Baldur, a man who feels no pain and heals from any wound, a near equal to Kratos in strength and fury, who was cursed by his mother who feared prophecy that he would be slain someday. Her curse, meant to protect, was an overcorrect, as his lack of feelings drove him mad, numb from the numbness, he seeks to kill her in revenge, only for Kratos to intervene, and kill the unkillable god thanks to the help of the magic mistletoe-as-kryptonite arrows his son used to break the spell. "The cycle ends here" was Kratos' proclamation after urging Baldur to back down from repeating history and slaying his parents in revenge. And yet, there are consequences to killing a god. The death of Baldur signals the coming of Ragnarok, the end times. In attempting to stop the cycle, Kratos has only pushed it further.

This all comes to a head when Kratos is backed into corner after corner by the Norns, Norse Mythology's weavers of Fate, and the machinations of Odin the Allfather, who pits his Asgardians against Kratos and Atreus until they are both forced to play the roles they were born into, ultimately toppling Asgard and it's gods, once again freeing another world from the oppression of the gods, allowing them to make their own destinies, and to finally allow Kratos to find some peace, as the end of the game reveals that Kratos is prophesized to shed away his guilt and shame and pain and become a god worshipped by the people, rather than feared by them, at least until the next pantheon comes aknockin' on his door and forcing him to become that fateful godslayer once more.

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This is an incredibly abridged version of Kratos' story, and one that doesn't do the whole of his character full justice, but it is important to outline his journey and give as much context as possible without doing a head over heels deep dive. The point is this, Kratos kills gods and commands his own fate. Those two things have always stuck with me. One of my favorite times playing video games was the entirety of God of War 2, which was my first time playing a game in the series, where the spectacle and hack n slash action was taken to a satisfying and fun peak, and the idea that the whole plot is just Kratos being too angry to die that he defies and defeats fate itself to undo his death is just fucking cool, man. So, when I heard the first few lines of Miracle of Sounds' song, "Break the hard chains of fate, roads we walk we create, for our futures are wide and vast" I was already starting to well up with emotion, from the nostalgia of that old game, paired with the rich journey in the new game, and the thematic truth I have come to believe in, that we are not static or unchanging, that we are not just the people we were born to be, but that the human spirit allows us to be who we choose to be. It is not easy, it is filled with trials and perils and backslides, and we are not perfect, but if we make good decisions, if we choose to do good things, we can overcome the beasts deep within, cast our fury into our past, and choose to be better at last.

I've made a lot of mistakes and I've let a lot of people down in my life. Every failure, every perceived shortcoming, every time I intentionally or unintentionally chose to be less than the person I want to be, haunts me. I have burned entire relationships with communities and individuals to the ground. I have chosen a scorched Earth over a long road to recovery and reconciliation. I once thought I had a "found family" in my former friends from the Theater Production Class of my 8th grade year. Comprised of some long-running friendships from Elementary all through middle school, I had known many of them for a long time at that point. Having spent many extracurricular hours together creating the bonds that only stageplay performances can create between its cast and crew. I had even been unanimously elected into a leadership position as theater club president, a position I did not originally volunteer for, as I was reticent to take on any position of power, being scared of what that might make me into. Yet, when the 8th grade year started and the position was vacant, before I could choose to run for the position, half the class told me it should be mine, and ever seeking to please and impress my peers, I ran and won a largely uncontested race after giving an impromptu speech about responsibility and commitment and passion to the craft. An event nearly mirrored some years later when I would intentionally run for the position of Inaugural Star Bandit Council Member, though I had more time to prepare and actually wanted the position, it was one that I seemed to slide into with little effort despite, or perhaps because of the gravity of it's responsibilities. That is one of the curious things I have discovered of myself, I never have much trouble taking responsibility or accountability for something, even when at times it feels intimidating or its something that should not be my fault or warrant my involvement, I am not afraid to take the heat and deal with the consequences, yet when there is a position which entails decision making, leadership, or "power" otherwise, I am scared shitless and reticent to involve myself. Perhaps its because I want to do the work and make things happen, but I don't want to disappoint or fall short of the expectations that come with being "a good leader". Sometimes I just like being a goon, following a plan, clearing a path for someone else's vision that drives me to passion.

Sometimes I think I'm best fit for a role which requires me to be accountable and involved, but not wholly in charge of the decisions and the crafting of a cohesive scheme. I much prefer being pitched a plan, tossing it around in my head, picking it apart, adding flesh to its bones, and returning it to its originator with a stronger idea than before. It's a role that I find more comfortable, but its also perhaps an easy thing that just anyone can do. Its easy to poke holes in a canvas than it is to paint a picture on one. I often wonder if I only fear the idea of "power" because of Thomas Jefferson's quote about its corrosive qualities.

"Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely".

That I internalized such an idea at a young age that it stunted me from taking on the challenges that come from power and influence. Then I remember that my parents had power over me, and that they had their share of powertrips, that their parents parents, my grandparents had power over them and me, and powertripped, and politicians and priests and people all the world over, once given the power to do as they please and take advantage of other people's vulnerabilities or weaknesses, often must resist the urge to powertrip, or be absolutely corrupted by their power and do awful deeds which hurt and destroy.

I am afraid of power because I am afraid of myself, of what I might do when I become powerful. I worry that even my resolve and moral character can be corroded and hollowed out if not kept in check, something that becomes more and more difficult with ascending tiers of power. A scene from one of my favorite TV shows, Mr Robot, demonstrated what this anxiety or insecurity of mine looks like in manifest. Terry Colby is rich, powerful, and hollow, a good businessman. Through his position in his ultra powerful corporation, "E Corp", he helped cover up a chemical leak which gave cancer to many of his employees, a decision which became a death sentence for so many and which was the spark that lit the shows world on fire, as the main characters are the children of those workers. Yet, when backed into a corner and questioned on how and why he made such a decision, Colby casually recalls the air of the room, in which he and his peers lavished in decadence while they logically and callously decided to cover up their own failures, dooming their employees to desolation, all because a lawsuit would be cheaper than an actual fix. The piece that always stuck with me was that Colby acknowledged that he knew there was a human cost unaccounted for, but that, when all was said and done, he went home, ate breakfast the next day, and carried on, and soon enough it stopped mattering, because it never actually affected him in the first place. That callousness, the insensitive apathy held towards the people whose lives he had power over, that is what makes me afraid of power. When human lives are just numbers on a spreadsheet. This deep-seeded fear of mine manifests not just in my own reticence, but in a strange resentment of those who do take up these positions with perceived ease and calm. I resent my managers, even the most human and empathetic of them, I resent my government officials, even the ones I vote for or who pass laws I want. I struggle against myself and these feelings I have about power and people who seek it out. It can even make some interpersonal relationships tense as I project some of these insecurities onto people undeserving of such derision.

In Dragon Ball Z Budokai Tenkaichi 3, before Goku turns Super Saiyan 3 and uses his Dragon Fist attack, he exclaims "if I don't who will?" And that has always stuck with me. A call to action so simple yet so complete. If something must be done, we must step up and do it ourselves, else they will never happen at all. It is a modus operandi I operate on most of the time. If I don't take charge, who will? If I don't fix this, who will? If I don't strike up a conversation, who will? Sometimes there are others who will, oftentimes there are not. When I encounter those rare people who have a similar inclination to taking up the cause or leading the way, I often find it easy to step out of their way and provide my support, opting to help push them forward instead of dueling for the front of the locomotive, as every train needs a caboose.

Almost every one of my heroes was reluctant. Marc Spector killed for money until a change of heart sent him on a quest for redemption. Elisa Cameron woke up as a ghost with no memories of her previous life, having to overcome prejudices and piece together who she used to be, Jessica Cruz has to overcome anxiety, PTSD, and herself to focus her willpower on heroics, Bruce Banner believes he is the monster his dad saw him as, denying himself close relationships, Vic Sage was a selfish loner who fought for pleasure and thrills until he was broken by a question he couldn't answer, Kratos was hellbent on revenge and conquest before ever fighting for hope. Even historical figures I find fascinating had that reluctance to ascension to power, Washington was asked to run by the new republic, Lincoln wasn't going to free anyone until the South forced his hand, Oppenheimer created a weapon to end the world, and felt shame and guilt for his actions. There are consequences to the decisions we make. That is never far from my mind.

I've derailed from one of the points I wanted to make. In 8th grade I had what felt like a home away from home, something I have spent much of my life searching for, and something that I sometimes wonder if I may ever find forever. (The Star Band of Its friend group has outlasted the others by years, to which I would like to credit myself in part due to my patience and efforts to be a glue that binds and mends these characters' lives together. But I wonder as to the truth of that. As there have been times when in trying to diffuse I inadvertently stoked a fire that would erupt into a chaotic meltdown, and other times still when I was given pieces of information and manipulated into action and side-taking that would have never occurred when tempered against a complete story and the whole, honest truth. Worse still, there have been moments, hours, days, when that once dormant storm warmed inside me and became a hurricane of rage which rained down fury on those undeserving, no matter the slights they pulled to upset me, but lets get back to the point). I felt that I was close to these friends and that I knew them and that I had a place in their lives. Then I moved away, 2,000 miles to California. On my way out, I collected all their cell numbers so I could keep in touch with them. I would text them everyday as I walked home from school. At first it went well. I'd receive regular communication from most and it felt good to continue to be connected to these people I valued. Then as time went on replies got scarcer and scarcer. Not only were the responses less, but they were lesser, more small talk, less conversation. The friendships were drying up and I began to worry about how they actually felt about me. Was I annoying them? Was it too much? Maybe they were just busy. My favorite way to cope with disinterested spirits. Maybe they just had a lot going on and would get back to me in time. So, I waited. I stopped texting first, and I waited for the real ones to reach out. And no one did, at least, none of the ones I had expected or thought I wanted. The people who reached out were the people I thought I was least connected to, the ones who I felt existed on the outside of my ingroup. The distant cousins of my found family. Yet these friends reached out all the same, despite my undervaluing of their time and effort. And before long I learned that those people I thought I knew so well, didn't have many kind things to say about me when I was not in the room. I felt that resentment begin to build.

I went long periods without contacting them at all, waiting, waiting, fuming, stoking the flames of quiet discontentment. California was supposed to be a temporary departure from my regular life, it turned out to instead be a turning point that changed the trajectory of myself forever. I fell for a girl, but feared her rejection, so stored those feelings safe away as I soon discovered she had eyes for another. Yet we grew closer nonetheless, in part due to my insistence to be near her. She was my first friend in this foreign land where people look at you wrong when you hold the door open for them, and react with surprise or suspicion when you say "yes ma'am, no ma'am, yes sir, no sir" because no one ever taught them manners or that politeness we foster here in the South in the name of hospitality. I walked her to every class I could, and she was delighted to see me and spend time with me. I felt a gravity around her that I've never felt around anyone before or after, an unmitigable well of energy and enthusiasm for the world and all who inhabit it, a raw love for the world that warmed my heart in a time that felt so full of despair. When I first saw her I wrote her off as just some cringey nerd girl who didn't know anything but the textbooks in front of her. How right I was, how wrong I was. We sat next to each other in English class. I noticed her big poofey hair and liked it. She was noisy and a people pleaser, a teachers pet, a tried and true nerd. She reached out to me because I was the new guy, and that made me interesting. We eventually traded numbers. I taught her about Shrek is love, Shrek is life, she taught me about Filthy Frank. I realized this weird cringey nerd girl had something close to an edge to her, despite her naievette, and soon fell for her hard. I don't think she ever noticed, but she felt something too. (She once rejected to read the role of Juliet during a class reading of Romeo & as I was chosen to read for Romeo and she thought it was "too awkward". How would that be awkward between two people who are just friends?) We texted all day and night, from dawn to dusk. Through the school day and at the dinner table. She got in trouble with her dad who, for some reason, monitored the volume of text messages she sent each month. Despite her phone plan providing unlimited, infinite text message exchanges between her and whoever she was talking to, he scrutinized the numbers and was flabbergasted when she went from sending less than a hundred texts a month to several hundred or over a thousand a month, regularly. I guess that would cause some concern to any helicopter parent, as any abnormality is a sign of change, and change is scary when we can't control it.

But we texted anyways, in spite of his growing concern for his daughter's erratic behavior. She wasn't allowed to befriend boys in fear of retaliation from her father. She also wasn't allowed sleepovers, or birthday parties, or much of a social life outside of school in general. She wasn't allowed social media so when the concern over our texts grew to be too much we switch to... email, Gmail, to be specific, and google hangouts, a chat thread built into google mail. Our friendship was a secret, and my deeper feelings even moreso. It was almost a forbidden love. The kind in which the desire to prove it and triumph in spite of the opposition was so desirable, so fiercely "romantic" that I fell into a deep pit of love that took me years to recover from. She liked another guy. I knew this when I met him, he knew me when I met him. His first interaction with me was to question my feelings towards her. He asked, "do you have a crush on her?", to which, I lied, saying we were just friends. Perhaps that was the beginning of my own undoing, but it was also the beginning of his as well. I resolved then to drive as much of a wedge between them as I could. Little, small things that could mount into a wider divide. I was being ultra-present, to deny them time alone. When she would bring him up, I would question him, his intentions, and his actions towards her. Once I made her doubt him, his doom would be sealed. I remember much of this coming to a head when I hosted that Interfaith panel I spoke about earlier in the r/atheism section of this essay, but as host I was running around the venue the whole time with a mic to field audience questions. I was very good. I remember discovering the girl I liked sitting with the boy I disliked, and I noticed an evident uncomfortable disposition in her, and a desparate obliviousness in him. He wanted her to be his girlfriend, she wasn't sure about it. But they were holding hands. I felt a fire burn through my circulatory system. This would not stand. So, I used the one weapon I had honed for the occasion, I snuck up behind them during intermission, and asked a simple, piercing question

Do you feel enlightened yet?

With that, I accomplished my goal of c*ckblocking and disrupting, demonstrating that I was present and aware of them, and that they were not alone if I was around. The rest of the night went off without a hitch, I had chased him away for now, and kept my friend single another day for me to stay close to. The other guy of course continued his own pursuits, long after my dysfunctional family had a collective meltdown that necessitated an early move back to Texas a whole year earlier than planned, but I had planted enough seeds of doubt, enough distrust of him and his shifty, possessive, manipulative nature, that he lost what little chance he had from the start.

Or did I? Did she ever really like him? By her own admission she did, would it have ever mounted had I not weaseled and wedged my way into their relationship? Different parties will draw different interpretations. My power is not absolute, but my ability to persuade is relatively adept when juggling the right pieces and from a position of close enough confidence. I would have made for a terrible boyfriend. I knew that, even then. I never asked her out. My own closeted repression and angst over my insecurities about wielding power and manipulation and social engineering learned through my time crafting a mask through the theater arts led me to avoid getting close enough to hurt her. But I still had to tell her how I felt. Eventually. So I waited, and I waited, and then one night my mom and dad had a fight and my dad pulled out his guns for a late night "cleaning" and my mom laughed at him and told him to kill himself and I cautiously, and quietly, slowly, painstakingly carefully as my body was riddled with fear of a murder suicide(Some say its the way to go!), secretly moved my pillow and blanket into the garage, as my room was connected to it through a door. Not a sound was made opening or closing the door, and I lay on the floor, listening intently for any sound that would signal a need to call the police and run from my home. I didn't think my father would actually do anything. But I knew he COULD do something, the story of a man driven to the brink and going postal on his family is nothing new in the world of true crime. It was the remotest possibility, but one I needed to be aware of and prepared for. When the muffled crying of my father or mother ceased and the house returned to silence, and I no longer felt the impending dread of tragedy about to strike, as the clock neared an hour before it was time to "wake up" for my walk to school, I silently, carefully, noiselessly, moved back into my bed and waited for my mom to open the door to "wake me up", hoping it would be my mother and nothing more dangerous.

That was an awful day at school, spent on the verge of tears all day trying to process my own self-inflicted scrape with near death. I was likely never in any danger at all as my dad didn't go postal, but even as the remotest possibility it only made sense that I secure myself. I was a zombie mortified by the lingering drain felt from the flushing of adrenaline, unable to focus and oh so very sad. I eventually broke into tears when my English teacher inquired about my dismal condition. The fights between my parents continued, never escalating to the height, or perhaps low, from that dreadful one, but the dysfunctional family was dysfunctioning and soon enough it was announced that my dad was leaving his job, the very job we moved across the country to live under the income of, and would be returning home a year earlier than anticipated, as an emotionally, financially, and spiritually crippled household. Thus the burden of affection I had shielded so closely to my heart demanded an early release. I would tell her how I felt about her on the last day of school, so that there could be no awkward phase of recalibration, and perhaps more importantly, no painful reminder of the rejection I knew was coming. As, before she could turn me away, it was the good lord above who ensured we could never have a chance in the first place by sending me back to where I came from. So, I wrote two pages of a confessional, devotional, honest love letter declaring my truest feelings in as few words as possible. On the day of delivery I pulled her aside, gave her the paper, and opened my heart to her.

She laughed in my face.

"This is a joke, you're joking" was not the reply I had anticipated. An "I don't feel the same way" or "I wish you told me sooner but lets just stay friends" or even an "ewwww" were in the cards, but not outright denial of my truth. Perhaps I had kept my feelings too closely guarded, or perhaps with an unclear intent both in my heart and desires made it impossible to decipher what it was I had wanted from the friendship. And friendship is what I had wanted. But the feelings I had kept deep inside made me want more from a relationship that would have been doomed to long distance and a high school experience. I had simultaneously felt that she was "the one" perfect partner for me but was aware it was a doomed dynamic from outside my heart. Her father would never let it happen, living 2,000 miles away would make seeing each other impossible, and all other variables aside, its not what she wanted. I knew that ever since I met and secretly sabotaged the other guy. I listened as she gushed about other boys and kpop stars and all the little crushes she had informed me from the beginning that it was my heart which would end up being crushed. But letting go is such a hard thing to do. Letting go of that feeling you get when your phone lights up from a new message she sent you, the weightlessness of your steps as you walk together and talk about nothing, the hearty laugh when a funny joke is told. The eternal moment of being lost in someone's eyes. But I was a fool, and a determined one. Because as I said to my confidant at the time, "You can see a bullet coming, that doesn't mean you'll be able to dodge it".

The rejection pierced my heart as I knew it would, whether its delivery method was anticipated or not, and then I moved away. I left it all behind to return to a place I had hoped would be familiar, so that I could actually forget that crazy wacky no good year in the hell state. We returned to our family home which had been lent out to a friend of my mom's, so we had some sense of normalcy, as though we had never left. That all changed when we tried to go back to school. I lived in the city of Deer Park, and for all the years I had lived in the city of Deer Park I had gone to schools within the Deer Park school district. It was in this school district that my friends, and projected found family, resided. Despite our patchy long distance near fallout, and the chip on my shoulder I felt about their seeming ignoring of me, I was confident a return to an in person relationship at the big Deer Park high school would be enough to get us back on track. It was never meant to be. For, despite living within the city and going to the school district which shared its name, I lived in Deer Park city, but La Porte school district.

La Porte was the next town over and for some zoning reason I do not know, my neighborhood was within its reach EVEN THOUGH the Deer Park High school was closer to my house than the La Porte High school. It was an extra five or so minutes of driving to go to the school I was "assiged" to. As it turned out, the only reason I had been going to Deer Park schools was because we once DID live in Deer park School District, when our family resided in a tiny apartment home complex called... "Park Town" during the first and second grade of my school years. Then, when my parents finally bought a house, the house we lived in from the third grade onto the eighth grade and returned to during my sophomore year of high school, we moved to La Porte ISD. I only stayed in Deer Park because I had been grandfathered into the system through its "open enrollment" system and my having stayed within that district for so long. When we appealed to return to the school we had known, we were rejected, several times. My mother even got so far as to talk over the phone to the superintendent of the district, a man who had previously been principal of my middle school who had multiple one on one meetings with me to congratulate me for my academic and extracurricular achievements, turned me away, sourly.

That rejection, the rejection of the culmination of all my acheivement and accolades that I had worked hard for, highest GPA several years in a row, second place in a district wide Theater Arts UIL competition, Theater Club President, Honor Society, being privileged enough to be bussed to the same high school I was now trying to go to because my innate talents and skill when calculating mathematics was two years ahead of my age group, a privilege only one other person shared with me, a school program he knew about, endorsed and had to approve for me to ever participate in. I'm not going on some ego-trip when I say that THIS person knew what I was bringing to his school district, and I was denied all the same. If you ever wonder when the disenchantment with academia and schooling in general began, it was sitting there and watching my mother face my rejection over the phone. All my hard work, overacheiving, and educational discipline meant nothing as I was cast away from the place I knew and left to be neglected in a school district that could not meet my needs.

What is disenfranchisement supposed to do to someone besides build resentment?

So to La Porte I went, during the blackout year that was Sophomore year of high school. When I transferred in, despite all my advanced curriculum credits and acheivements, I was placed in "normal" classes, which to me were not normal, but instead SLOW and BORING and UNCHALLENGING and CLASSES I HAD ALREADY COMPLETED. Most egregious was math, where I should have been taking Pre-calculus I was instead placed in fucking Geometry. Do you KNOW how far behind me was? I took Geometry in 8th grade, now as a Sophomore, I was taking it again! My discontent was made known when I informed the teacher my placement was an error that would be corrected. And soon enough, corrected it was and I was placed back on the correct trajectory, Advanced Placement or Pre-Advanced Placement over regular curriculum classes, and I had enough credits leveraged to be the sole sophomore student in Pre-Calculus, an advanced Junior-level class, placing me back in my throne of being two years ahead of my peers in mathematics. Though this time I sat alone, as my friend was now also alone at Deer Park in their advanced trajectories. To say I slept through Sophomore Year is a literal statement. I had not yet given up on returning to my stomping grounds in deer Park, and was convinced once Open Enrollment opened up I could be returned. So I sought no permanent ties and no reason to root myself at La Porte. When lecture was finished, and my busy work was done, I would place my head down on the desk, and I would sleep, or pretend to sleep rather, as often times I was just staring at the dark side of my eyelids, imagining being out of this awful place. I began efforts to reconnect with the world I spent a year away from.

That first year in La Porte high school proved to be transformative for many. I felt an outsider among "my people" who didn't seem all too eager to spend time with or around me. My best friend had made a habit of lying and behaving in performative ways that were untrue to the person I grew up with. My few California friends, and the very special friends I had made through the YouTube comments section that I only knew digitally, seemed to be the only real friends I had, and they weren't around to help me. They could only hear my cries of agony as I languished in self-imposed social exile at school, and suffered being the ugly buckling in my herd of deer. Things weren't any better at home. Teenage angst and a lifetime of dysfunction pitted my father and I against each other many, many times. if ever there was a worst year of my life, it was Sophomore Year, and it really isn't any wonder then why I don't remember most of it, and how much of it has been intentionally, or subconsciously blocked out and forgotten as the darkest time in my life. Dark, because there was an absence of light.

The only thing that shone through the dark was the school's AV class, which was carried by a kind bleeding heart named Mr. Z, who noticed my abilities within audio video production and sought to advance me into his pet-class, LPTV. I told him, rather coldly, it wasn't going to happen, not because I didn't want it, because I did truthfully really, REALLY wanted to be in that class, but because "I was going to go back to Deer Park". At the end of the year I signed up for the class anyways, just in case. Sure enough, I didn't go back to Deer Park. I was rejected, again, it stung less this time. By this point, I had just about given up on my old "found family". I didn't feel respected or involved, they never invited me to things, and when I would show up I was greeted with cold shoulders. I'm painting with a broad brush. Some of them liked me. Some of them maintained a friendship with me. But the group dynamic was gone, and I felt homeless. This isolation, it paired poorly with an unfortunately popular online trend at the time. As you may know, this was around 2015-2016, when the internet was at its edgiest. Filthy Frank, the content creator I had grown to idolize, as introduced to me by the girl I was infatuated by, became a model for my humor that was just not flying around the group I wanted to be a part of. In fact, provocative, "ironic" awfulness only ever ensured I drifted apart from them. They didn't have the context, they didn't have the intimate understanding of irony. They didn't know, that the person acting like an asshole wasn't trying to BE an asshole, but was just trying to make them laugh by behaving like an asshole, because its.... Ironic.

Or is it? It turns out that when you behave like an ass, people will view you as an ass. No amount of context, irony, or excuses change the outcome of your intentions. In going into their group chats to shitpost and say offensive or derogatory statements as a childish and immature form of "satire, social commentary, or pure comedy" I was further pushing those people I cared about away. In the end, it only made for the perfect excuse to leave me behind, one fateful night when my "trolling" took things to the logical conclusion. Discontent from disconnectedness, I pushed the line as far as I could until I crossed it, using edginess to be combative and truly playing on an offensive, I lit the the match that burned the tattered bridge between my former friends and myself. When confronted for my behavior I spoiled the safety of our space further by adding my online friends who none of them knew, telling my rallied forces that this was a trolling campaign in retaliation to wrongs done to me, that I was being ganged on and needed reinforcements. Ever loyal, my "true" friends stood by my side and dished out further damage, until any hope of restoring my old relationships was lost. The few who remained attached to me reached out for understanding, trying to figure me out, and wanting to be heard I attempted to rationalize my behavior, that I believed the old ties would need to be burned away so that new ones could be built over them, stronger than ever, likening myself to a phoenix and making known a desire for reconciliation. But who wants to reconcile with a belligerent? Why would you want to take the hand of the person who pushed you over and spit on you? Its easier to pick yourself up and walk away from the person who hurt you in the first place, so that's what most of them did.

The two who stuck around, olive branches and good graces extended to me, only really served as a reminder of all I had lost in my blaze of ironic glory. I wanted them to make up for lost time and severed ties, I wanted the comfort and safety of the family I didn't have at home. They did what they could, I do believe, but no one can stay close to a burning flame forever, lest they be burned as the others were. I maintained these final friendships as long as I could, desperate for a place to belong, desperate for companionship and to be close to people who valued me, only to learn for the final time that I do not matter to people just because they matter to me. In attempting to find solace with one of these friends, I confided in him the stress I was under due to the volatile conditions at home. His response? "Stop talking about your problems".

What is a friendship, if we cannot struggle together? Lean on each other when times are hard, find safety in each others confidence? Well, the discontentedness reared its ugly head again, and let out a final roar. This bridge was to be burned to ash and left to settle in the river, never to be built again.

I grew antagonistic, picking fights, arguments, anything. Anything I could to provoke so that we could settle the space between us with a truth: DO NOT CROSS, we are not friends. Eventually, he bit and in some very spirited DMs I became the worst version of myself I could have been. I played the role of the villain, allowing him to be the victim of angry, hate-fueled lashing with words. Telling him everything I thought, everything I felt, and layering it all with language that would give me the appearance of evil, so that we could go from this false friendship into a new phase: former friends. I wanted him to hate me so that I would never have to think about him again. And amidst all the irony I claimed to post, the greatest was this: I've never stopped thinking about that friend.

Because I did him dirty, I sabotaged the frayed threads dangling our friendship on its ends, severing the connection with a finality that would leave no room for redemption. It is the one falling out in life I regret the most, and the one I carry the most shame over, because despite what perceived slights or interpreted falseness existed in the rippling reflections between us, he was my friend, and I did care about him.

This self-destructive, "I will become the villain you made me into" was a recurrent motif in my high school years. When push came to shove, and trouble poked its ugly head out from hiding, I would release whatever pent up frustration existed inside me and wear it as a mask to become the phantom of my own terrible opera. Creating such despicable characters that would ruin the relationships I had once so eagerly cared for. There was another girl, many of you know the story, most of you at this point may not. I was troubled, and she was constantly in trouble. When I first fell for her I prophesized my own ruin of the friendship when I thought to myself what our future may look like. Rolling an 8-ball in my head, the outlook was not so good. We grew close, I learned of her boyfriend, I found every fault he had, every failure of a partner he embodied, and I poked, prodded, needled and sowed the seeds of their destruction, pulling loose threads and yanking carpets, I helped manifest a much-desired break-up. In my defense he was a loser who didn't understand consent and he desperately needed to be done away with, but my intentions where not so pure as protecting a friend, so much as they were to get this person single, now aided by the knowledge that he was despicable. So desperate to fill the gaps, I turned him and his silly, absent minded quotes into a running joke between us, helping grow us closer. We found ourselves on the phone every night, sometimes even Skype, in a time before discord, we'd fall asleep listening to each other breathe. Then there was another guy who came along, bolder than me, proclaiming his love for she. I realized then that I hadn't completed my machinations, having only made her single. I followed after him, detailing my desire. She relented, and the two of us agreed to "figure it out" and "take it slow". Little did I know, slow was merely a pace at which time could be bought for someone to come along much bolder than me, once again. In a dramatic twist of fate, this man abandoned his girlfriend to seduce the girl I was fixated on, wrecking it all in one fell swoop. Despite a previous promise I had made to not feel betrayed should she dare to stray onto a new path without me(for I swore my love was selfless and unwanting), all I could feel was fear, fear and rage and confusion at the alarming bell of rejection and failure. It didn't help that the situation at my home didn't fare any better, as my father struck my mother. All that timid mild-mannered patience burst once again as I let loose the anger I had buried within. Thus, we find ourselves in a loop, as I had written about this friend whom I hurt, back in the entry where I wrote about Hulk, Bloodrayne, and my father. In the fallout of my rampage in which I promised to become the evil one to be so despised once again, I simultaneously swore that I was to become a phoenix once more and be reborn. How many times was that, then? From a Christian baptised under a new name, to an atheist shedding off some shame, I fell to a new rock bottom after playing a heart's game. Neither would this be the last time, as I was again born again the day I stepped away from the degree I was expected to see. Then once more when I shed my hair to please all but myself. How many times must I be broken and remade before Robbie Bland ceases to mean anything at all?

Whatever the case, lets tie up this knot: despite it all, the tumult and pain, the two of us eventually found a satisfactory friendship in which our wounds could be mended and our hearts healed over. Despite my manipulations and false intentions, I respected this friend enough to apologize and forgive. Something the people we left in our past paths often neglected to do. It took awhile, but I got over her too. That's when and why this blog was made. I felt I needed to vent without becoming sus, so I wrote here, into a void where no one would see or care, but me. My own little channel for accountability. A place to confess and profess, to avoid protest and getting lost in my own head. In truth, I've found this place to be a refuge and a safe place, a fortress of solitude to brood and reflect. I forced myself to a breaking point mentally and emotionally so that I could begin learning to let go. Let go of all the shattered pieces of my broken heart, let go of all the bruises left by my father's belt, and let go of all the hatred I bore for the man in the mirror. In the last 5 or 6 years, I've come a long way from hiding in the corner of my shared bedroom typing my insomnia away. I made a breakthrough big enough to share, and eventually found I could make this place a record of all the writings I've made. And why? Well, sometimes the answer is why not? I want to feel like people know who I am, and that they can accept me in spite of my flaws, my past, and my failures. I want to be known, and I want to get to know, all of you. To do that, I must first cast off the rags of shame that shroud me, and tell the truth. I am tormented by failure. I want to be a leader, but I fear that when trusted with the position I will let people down and hurt them. I often tell myself that power corrupts, but as I age I want to instead believe that power reveals. Not that it corrodes you and warps you, but instead brings out who and what you truly are. In that, I must strive to be the best I can be. My starting point, so that I may earn the love and the trust and the acceptance I so covet, I must first learn to love, trust, and accept myself, by loving, trusting, and accepting you.

And so this is what its all been about. Getting to this moment, letting my scars be visible, the proof of my shortcomings, the reveal of my sins and my sorrows, as Kratos reveals the scars left on his arms by the chains which seared into his skin when he accepted the blades of chaos and service to Ares, I want my friends, the truest family I have ever known, to see me and know me. When my dad was in therapy he would share some of the lessons he learned with me. One of the most sticking was the piece of wisdom his therapist gave him when he was told that we all "tell yourself a story" about your life. It can be a good story, a bad story, whatever the narrative, it informs your perspective and the things you see and interpret as you navigate life. If the story you tell yourself is that you are a victim, of circumstance, society, a bad upbringing, or whatever else it is that has done you harm, you will live as a victim of those things. If you tell yourself that everyone is out to get you, to betray you, to twist you into their own machinations and manipulations, you will begin to perceive your friends as opportunists and groomers or worse. If you tell yourself that because you have a disability, you'll never be able to get out of bed and live your life, then you won't ever try to live with that disability. You'll just lay in bed and rot. That is mostly where manifestation comes from. If you tell yourself you'll meet your true love at the shopping mall on Thursday, well, you're certainly going to go looking, aren't you? And that's where the limits begin, you can control your perception of events, people, and all things inbetween through the way you frame them, but you can't actually control them. When someone hurts your feelings, you can decide to linger on the pain, or work to move past it, but you can't stop that person from hurting you altogether. For a long time, the story I have told myself of my life is that I am my fathers' son, and that I am doomed to fail and fall into cycle after cycle as my fathers fathers before me. That despite my reformations, I am a dormant volcano waiting to erupt in awful fire one day, that I cannot be trusted to lead or to help because I am more likely to cause further harm than healing. Maybe all of these things are true, made true by precedent and environment and trauma and colorful re-interpretations of my own life story. But if life is what we make it, let us make good.

I will continue to strive towards a better self. Because if even the monstrous Ghost of Sparta can find redemption, so too can we, if we choose to be better.

Break the hard chains of fate, roads we walk we create, for our future are wide and vast, I can choose to be better, at last.

Afterword, Epilogue, Circling Back to Square One...

How fitting that as I wrap up this journal entry, Santa Monica Studios releases a FREE DLC to the newest game, God of War Ragnarok, "Valhalla" a series of challenge maps where Kratos re-lives some of his greatest battles as the Valhalla of the GOW world is a never-ending series of battles pulled from your own lived experiences, even the past you wanted to bury. Kratos eventually finds himself back in Greece, battling minotaurs and sirens, just like old times, even re-living past events, which are now vivid traumas as Kratos is made to confront his own worst decisions. Such as times he killed needlessly, selfishly, to forward his own goals, now forced to face the consequences of them and try to find new solutions. He even finds himself with a familiar and loathsome companion, Helios, the God of the Sun, whose head is strapped to his belt and constantly pesters and berates him for the evil he made Greece suffer upon the slaying of their sun god, plunging them into eternal darkness. This all culminates in a final, climactic, one-sided confrontation wherein Kratos stares down his past self, sitting on the throne of the God of War, and makes peace. Recognizing his growth, accepting his past and understanding it, and choosing to have hope for his future. Ultimately retiring to that dreadful throne, now with a newfound calm, as he realizes it can be a throne which gives people hope. Kratos chooses to be better. And so have I.

This year did not go entirely as I wanted. I'd say it went about halfway. My goals were somewhat met. I DID workout, pretty regularly until about September. I fell off hard, stopped getting regular sleep and eating well, and just kind of, coasted. I had gained, enough muscle that I COULD dress as Kratos without doing myself a disservice, but I still have a long way to go. I DID shave my head, as you all saw, and it has been well received. I don't like it very much, but what else was there to expect? I liked having long hair. I like the way it felt in the wind, now the wind just feels cold. I liked brushing it when I was bored, I liked the feeling of washing it when it was too greasy. I liked the way it looked in pictures when it was extra poofy and wild. I liked how untamed it could get and how that made me feel. I felt like myself. And now, I have the memories.

These were taken the night before, at my best friend Liz's bachelor party. The next day was the Halloween Party and then the day after that was his wedding. A packed weekend. It feels somewhat like looking at a ghost when I see these pictures(how fitting that someone aspiring to become the Ghost of Sparta sees themselves as a ghost?), receiving them so soon after I had shaved sent a deep series of butterflies into my system, I knew then what I still know now, I'm going to miss my hair. But it won't come back. I made this decision, I'm gonna live with it. Other people like it. No one has said, "I miss the way you used to look". Oh well. I can't go back even if I wanted to, it was already thinning and falling out on its own, in the process of re-growth it would only continue doing that. Maybe when I'm in my 40s and its socially acceptable again to have a partially bald head it can come back. Time will tell. I reject paying a subscription fee to some drug company to get a full head of hair, and I will never be vain enough to buy implants. Cosmetic surgery as a whole is kinda lame to me. I'm more interested in finding a way to embrace what nature has made me. I sold myself on the idea not because my friends told me I was ugly with my hair, but because I wanted to dress up as Kratos, and now that I've done it, the options for cosplay are wide open. I think of how the Epic Rap Battles of History guys keep their heads shaved because they always wear wigs and prosthetics and whatnot to become the different characters they portray in their videos, and I think I can chart my own path down that trail. After all, I've always enjoyed being Darth Maul...

In middle school and freshman year of high school he WAS my go-to Halloween costume for like 3-4 years in a row. I got so good at drawing his face-tattoos that I didn't need a reference photo(or figure) by the last few times. Instead of wearing a bald cap I would just put the hood up to cover my hair and only use those first three horns. Now that I have a shaven head, the possibilities are wide open. I can do a Darth Maul cosplay with a full head of horns. I'd just have to ditch the beard, for a little bit. It grows back fast enough I wouldn't miss it for long. I think that is what I will do. Darth Maul @ Star Bandits Halloween Party 2024.

In other news, I didn't quite get the finances together, in fact I only created more problems for myself, but I am figuring them out and keeping my head above the water. I've created an accountability system with my grandmas to create some long-term savings, and its being taken care of. I've gotten used to working a bunch to pay for this expensive life, and I have no intention of scaling back, just working harder. The pajama pants are off, the purple pants are in.

I've finished 4 stop-motions that are in various stages of editing. My 2024 game-plan is to post one video a month. Abandoning my previous "post it when its done" strategy. I'm developing a release schedule and a content cycle that will hopefully actually stimulate growth for blandclanvideos. I want to find a way to make money on this passion of mine, and I think I can get monetization in 2024 if I just don't let up. We will see! I've never felt more optimistic though. I finally passed 500 subscribers after ten years. The sky truly is the limit if I develop the discipline for consistency!

In other, bigger news I was able to put an original work to stage after the inaugural STARGAZE Theater Festival, brought to you by THE STAR BANDITS in association with STAR BANDIT FOUNDATION. I am a councilman and board member to this silly little found family and nonprofit of mine. My life enjoyed a full circle moment as after many long years since the 8th grade, where my short play I directed for the end of year showcase never made it to stage, a new debut show, "Robin Hood vs Dracula" written, directed by, and starring me got put to stage in its place, and it was loved. My crowd pleasing show was well received, and my confidence as a writer/director/actor have never been more affirmed. I finally feel ready to make Downturn. Just have to get my money up to pay for it... The future does truly look bright. I'm excited for what this new year brings. Not finding myself filled with an inner turbulence and dread, I don't know how much I will write in this new year. Instead, I feel much like the guy this has all been about, Kratos himself. I, kind of just want to sit here awhile...

Until next time, when my restless spirit needs to find solace in the clickity clack of fast moving fingers across a keyboard. I am Robbie Bland, and I am choosing To Be Better.

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ssweetener · 4 years

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positions was soooo beautiful. the strings throughout the album, her voice, the whistles, the belting, the lyrics, her growth as a person and in her writing. the fact that the only other writing credits on the album are vic (monet) and nija. there’s so much of ariana in this album that people skim over, from the whistles they sped up and manipulated throughout the background and outro of nasty, & the ending of my hair being 34 seconds of a verse done in them. the longer bit of silence and crickets after 'take my pen and write some love letters to heaven' on the second pre-chorus of just like magic that represents not getting the answers she is hoping & looking for w the double meaning of the lyric, manifestation and missing the people she has lost around her. “i’m a girl with a whole lotta baggage” on ghostin to “all my baggage waitin safely” on pov. i could go on forever but she really broke my heart multiple times and made me want to redownload tinder within 15 minutes of each other. i want to know what album ppl who listened to the leaks were saying was the worst of her career because it sure as hell was not this one. i would like to have words

#ariana grande #positions #ag6 #my text

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missmentelle · 4 years

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Hi MM/Bee! I'm a recent college graduate. I always worked hard in school and I matured a lot at college, but I'm realizing how low my self-esteem is. I'm obsessing over the things I haven't done/accomplished, scholarships I never applied for, my body image, my high school days, "not being as successful as my high school class", an old crush who I never talked to (who is already super successful), and some days I feel like I messed up my life beyond repair. How do I work on self-love? Thank you!

For starters, I think it’s important for you to know that you aren’t the only person feeling this way. I get similar questions all the time, often from people who aren’t even out of their 20s yet. It isn’t even remotely true that you need to achieve wild success by age 25 or you’ve wasted your life, but I can understand why so many people feel that way.

Our culture is dangerously obsessed with productivity, youth and achievement, to the point that it is actively making all of our lives miserable. It’s not hard to understand where people get this idea that they’re failing in life if they aren’t a 20-something well-travelled millionaire - that is the message our culture throws in our faces all the time - and it’s so unbelievably untrue. We compile “top 30 under 30″ lists, celebrate incredibly young performers and entertainers, and hold up extremely high-achieving lifestyles as something that every one of us needs to be striving for, but we don’t - there is no timeline for “success”, there is no one true definition of success, and people will take wildly different paths in life to arrive at the same set of goals. What you think of as your failure is not actually your failure - it’s a cultural failure that so many of us fall victim to.

I think it’s also important to remember that you haven’t messed up your life beyond repair: you’ve barely started your life yet. Your college years are supposed to be a time of growing and maturing, and that maturation doesn’t end the moment you cross the stage - you’re going to continue to learn and change and grow throughout your lifespan. And growth means you are always going to mess some stuff up - that’s how we grow. All of us have to make mistakes in this life, and all of us have to prioritize rest sometimes; there are always going to be tests we don’t do so great on, social situations we flub, scholarships we don’t apply for, crushes we don’t confess to, deadlines we miss, relationships we let fall apart and goals we don’t achieve. Nobody speedruns life with 100% completion. And that’s okay. Those missteps and mistakes are what teach us to do better next time, or they give us the time to rest and gather energy for the next goal we want to work toward.

Of course, learning to accept yourself and let go of cultural conditioning is easier said than done. For many of us, it’s a lifelong journey, if not the overarching theme of our lives. I wish there was a simple way to achieve it. I do, however, have some tips that can help you get there:

Unplug from productivity and self-improvement culture. Going online and seeing “Shakespeare wrote King Lear in quarantine, here’s how to maximize your quarantine time” and “here’s how I became a millionaire by age 22″ is not actually that motivating - in all likelihood, it’ll just make you feel bad about yourself. The internet is an absolute firehose of content about how you can do more, achieve more, squeeze more out of your day, and it’s completely overwhelming; honestly, most of us feel better when we stop pointing that firehose straight at our own face. It’s easier to believe that you are enough when you stop consuming content that tells you that you aren’t. Self-improvement culture looks positive on the surface, but we aren’t actually making ourselves better people by obsessing over our work and productivity - we’re just making ourselves miserable.

Ask yourself “who benefits from making me feel bad about myself?” It’s not a coincidence that we’ve built a culture obsessed with youth and productivity - that culture is making a lot of people very, very rich. Whenever you can be convinced that you aren’t thin enough, not pretty enough, not good enough, you can be convinced to run out and buy things that might fix the problem. That’s how we ended up with a $10 billion dollar self-improvement industry and a $532 billion dollar beauty industry. Content people are harder to sell to. Of course, knowing that people are profiting off your insecurities doesn’t magically make the insecurities go away - but it’s important to start thinking critically and asking yourself “where do my insecurities come from? Is there really something wrong with me, or is someone profiting from making people like me feel this way?”

Do things that make you happy, just for the sake of doing them. Paint a picture. Plant a garden. Learn to play the mandolin. Read cheesy romance novels. Find some things that you enjoy doing just for you - things that you don’t need to maximize, monetize or optimize. You don’t even need to be good at them. If you enjoy doing it, have at it. So many of us are encouraged to suck the joy out of our hobbies by turning them into a “side hustle” or another regimented form of self-improvement. Find some activities that just make your life better and do them, just for the sake of doing them.

Examine the role of social media in your life. Most of us don’t post a complete, unedited view of our lives on social media - we just post the highlights and keep the tough stuff - the rejections, the times we got ghosted, the bad hair days - to ourselves. And even if you know that cognitively, it still sucks to log onto social media when you’re having a “blah” week and find yourself bombarded with other people’s engagement announcements, med school acceptances, wedding pictures and photos of the new homes people just bought. Social media forces you to compare your “average” to everyone else’s “best”, all the time. And the numbers don’t help - social media lets you do an exact comparison of how many followers and likes you have compared to someone else, and seeing someone get more positive feedback than you can sting. Working on self-love means taking a hard look at the impact social media is having on your self-esteem. How much of your time do you spend on social media? How do you feel after you use social media? Are you following accounts that make you feel better about yourself, or worse? Do you ever feel bad about the number of likes or followers you have? Do you feel like your time on social media is wasted? Do you follow accounts that make you feel better about yourself, or worse? Stepping away from social media for your mental health is an important move for some people - you can still be happy for your friends and loved ones while acknowledging that it’s not good for you to have their achievements broadcast to you 24/7.

Surround yourself with good, supportive people. If you find that your circle of friends tends to diminish each other’s achievements, be overly critical of each other or go out of their way to one-up each other, that’s probably not a circle of friends that’s going to be good for you in the long run. Find people who are genuinely happy for you, and make you feel supported and loved for who you are. If that means you need to branch out of your current social circles, that’s okay - you can find great friends in surprising places, and it’s worth the initial awkwardness of getting to know a new person.

Challenge your definition of “success”. Success does not have to look like a high-paying job and a giant house and expensive cars and 2.5 honour roll children. It certainly can look that way, if you feel that those are meaningful goals for you, but it doesn’t have to look that way. A doctor is not necessarily “more successful” than a poet, and a lawyer is not necessarily “more successful” than a stay-at-home parent. The only person who gets to define what a “successful” life looks like is you. It takes time to unlearn the social conditioning that “money and prestige = success”, but it can be done. Success looks different for all of us.

Set goals that are personally meaningful to you. It’s important for all of us to think critically about what we want, and it’s even more important to think critically about why we want it. Do we want that degree program or that accomplishment or that job because it aligns with our interests? To impress others? To prove someone wrong? Or because we feel like we’re supposed to want it? Try to focus your energy on the goals that you want, that are personally meaningful to you. If that’s law school, great. If that’s selling homemade jam at the farmer’s market, that is equally great.

Remember that success does not have a deadline. I know this is very hard to believe in your early twenties, but your dreams do not shrivel up and blow away the day you turn 30. Life doesn’t end when your 20s are over. You haven’t missed your shot, and you don’t have to figure everything out right now. Growth and achievement are lifelong journeys - people find their dream jobs, accomplish their goals, finish degrees and meet the love of their life in their 40s, 50s, 60s and beyond. The best book I read this year was “Where the Crawdads Sing” a novel that spent 32 weeks on the New York Times bestseller list. It also happened to be the author’s first novel, and it came out when she was sixty-nine years old. Your dreams do not have an expiration date.

Capture the joy and positivity in your life. I think one of the most important ways to feel better about your life is to spend more time focusing on all the good things in your life, rather than focusing on all the ways you could be better. Rather than fixating on whether you could have applied for more scholarships or turned that B+ into an A-, spend more time reflecting on the happy memories you have of your time in college. Again, this isn’t something that will happen overnight - it’s a learned skill that you need to consciously work on. Interrupt yourself when you are starting to fixate on things you could have done better, and make yourself list out three things you enjoyed about college. Connect with old college friends you haven’t heard from in a while. Try to take more notice of good things in your life as they happen to you - take more pictures, keep a journal, make collages, start a scrapbook, keep a box of momentos. You don’t need to have a perfect life to be happy; it’s okay to work on being happy with the life you have.

Best of luck to you! MM

#Anonymous #AnsweredByMM #askmissmentelle

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naynah-pinsence · 3 years

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I haven’t thought about winx since like 2002, but the netflix adaption pissed me off enough to do my own redesigns out of pure spite.

Short story is that I looked through the wiki galleries, picked out my favorite outfits, and threw them in a blender. Long story under the cut bc I am unable to not write a paragraph of explanations I guess.

So disclaimer, back in the elementary schoolyard arguments of w.i.t.c.h vs winx my bff was firmly team w.i.t.c.h., so i pretended not to like winx and also don’t remember much about it, so i did a real quick scan on the fan wiki to remember things. Soooo some things are probably off the mark? idk. Daphne not included bc didn’t she die? I think she did? Like in a meaningful/sacrificial way to save Bloom? Felt like her being alive again makes the whole thing less dramatic. Maybe I’ll do her in the future? Trix first tho.

Flora: Nature to Plant Life, bc “nature” is kinda broad. Her fairy form is mostly her initial winx with some enchantrix elements. Her wings are a basic butterfly shape. Also I’m taking plus-size Flora from netflix’s incapable hands. I wanted her wardrobe to be simple, girly, and boho.

Miele: Don’t think she has an official “Fairy of” title, and wanted it to relate to plants but not be about plants. Kept the six round wings from one of her designs, idk which, but i think it’s her first? Also included her bc she was important to Flora’s growth, and it’s nice to see siblings in media I think. Changed her hair and skin color to look more like she is related to Flora. Kinda like the idea of her being a hot-head. Her wardrobe is mostly Flora’s hand-me-downs.

Bloom: Fairy form is her initial winx with elements from the bloomix form, which I think is one of the only forms to feel even a little bit draconic. I did want to lean into the fairy element more than the dragon element, but still. Her wing shape is basically the same as her first ones, just more of it. Also I put little embers in them. Kept those iconic pants. Overall, she has a sporty wardrobe, the outlier being her princess dress, which is basically a recolored version of her royal mom’s dress. I feel like she plays soccer or something. Also, I think it’d be fun for her to be super stoked about finding out about secret magic powers instead of her being really timid about it at first.

Roxy: Animals to Beasts, bc that sounds cooler. Cut her hair bc more short hair plz. Also as a kid, I didn’t see Roxy in any episodes, so when I first saw pics of her I thought that she was Bloom. Does she only have the one fairy form? Seems like a waste to do that. Anyway, I swapped out the pink for yellow and purple and extended the lower garment. Let these girls have varied hemlines, I’m begging you. I liked her asymmetrical motif, but not the look really, so I tried to keep that with the skirt placement and strap colors. Her stripes are shaped like claw marks, you know, for the beasts. Her wings are meant to look more angelic/birdlike. I made her a little more casual punk in her wardrobe bc the chain on her pants demanded it. Also, she has a t-shirt from her dad’s juice bar, bc she works there.

Tecna: Technology to Data bc I think it sounds better. Caveman tools are technology, Tecna. Are you the Fairy of the First Wheel?? Her fairy form is basically a detailed version of her first form and pilot episode form. I used the shape of her enchantrix wings, to keep a more classic fairy look. The gem on her suit and her heels are made from nondescript ~glowing science magic~ that is normally cyan in movies. Her wardrobe is e-girl, and bc she doesn’t have a lot of hair to play with I made her an earring and colorful lipstick girl.

Stella: Shining Sun to Celestial Light, bc her dad is king sun and mom is queen moon, and also isn’t her parent’s marriage like a super important thing for her? So she kinda got both. I played with the idea of a Shining Sun and Mystic Moon form, but that was too much work, so I opted for the two eye colors instead. Also the Ring/Staff of Solaria should have stayed in the series longer. Her fairy outfit is basically the same, but her hair accessories are gold/silver and bejeweled. Made no sense to me that not all of the canonical princesses got crowns. Just Bloom, the secret princess. She gets some streaks of dawn colors on her orange, and her boots/gauntlets are more ribbon-like and lighter in color. Her wings are the most complex shape. Her wardrobe is basically the same as in the show, I think, especially the warmer look. Her princess look is inspired by the hairstyle that Stella wore in the infamous beauty contest episode. Also she has three crowns. Queen.

Aisha: Her outfit is basically the same as her canonical first outfit, but I gave her Musa’s see-through midriff. The wrap-around ribbon never made sense to me, so that had to go. I wanted to show off her stomach, bc I gave her some abs, but the outfit looked wrong without something there, so thanks Musa. Aisha also gets a crown that is shaped like waves. Her wings are similar to Bloom’s: kind of the same just more of them. In fairy and princess form, Aisha’s hair is mostly natural, with some twists. In casual attire, her hair is all twists. I wanted her to be a runner/swimmer, so her warmer outfit is gym clothes, but I gave her a softer/more feminine look for the colder weather.

Musa: Music to Acoustics bc it sounds cooler I guess. I took the headphones of the first look off bc they looked more like earmuffs to me. I kept the red pallet of the first form bc there need to be more red magical girls, but I still used purple elements from her later designs. Mostly bc I like red and purple. I kept the see-through elements of her first form, but bc I changed the silhouette so much it ended up as more than just the midriff. Her wings are very simple, like in her first form, but they’re not as skinny. How she flew with those tiny wings, I’ll never know. Musa read as the team’s tomboy to me, so I tried keeping a more loose and simple shape in all of her clothes. Her formal dress has a Monet print, bc I felt that it was feminine, but not overly girly

#winx #winx club #winx flora #winx miele #winx bloom #winx roxy #winx tecna #winx stella #winx aisha #winx layla #winx musa #my art

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clandestine-j · 3 years

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Gossip Girl Reboot, Ep. 1 Reaction / Review

This was posted on reddit first, crossing posting it here since I’ve chosen to review the ep’s and post on tumblr as well. So, this post is geared more towards reddit as a whole, was posted about two days after ep 1 aired.

so, i read the reddit before watching to get a general idea of what it was like before i started (spoilers aren't a big deal for me )

..i was waiting for zoya's huge blow up as people called. some were going in on home girl and kind of treated julien like she was doing nothing wrong / just not the best but not a big deal but in the concept of the sisterhood and the show and from zoya's perspective it was.

now, i don't think julien is a horrible girl or character but she is complicit and as of now, cares more about her image and rushes to smooth things over. now, i don't know if it's a an acting thing or a directing thing but when they smiled in the bathroom, her smile was not just happiness of seeing a sister. ( zoya, embraced, eyes closed and happy, julien, smirking slightly, looking off to the side little things but little things matter.) it was slightly jealous and she was not as unaffected as she claimed she was (which isn't a bad thing but it shows that deep down, she's feeling some type of way and that would color her thoughts) i really do think a part of her really does want to have this sister bond despite that.

she clearly is nice or at least a little down to earth but her persona (and the people around her) needs her to put on more of a show. she loves her friends and know they can be nice and loving even if they're straight up bitchy most of the time. she does mean well, might go about it the wrong and wants to everyone to be happy while achieving her dreams. she's an interesting character and overall, i'm more invested in her character arch over zoya's right now because of that but...how else do ya'll expect a 14 year old girl to react? her blow up wasn't even a blow up.

julien's friends are out-right rude about her before even meeting her and when seeing her, monet offers to throw coffee on her, she's seen as stalker, sure, julien tries to smooth it over but she wants to ignore it more than she addresses it.

then they disrespect her sister to her face and once again, julien doesn't really stand up for her sister

and then they do it again at the club, she's the butt of the joke and she knows it and while julien tries to smooth it over, it's once again just glossed over.

then we find out that zoya wanted to go the school because julien asked her and thought she got in her own merit, she wonders if she stole it.

intentions are good but once again julien wants to gloss over it when it's obvious her sister is in distress and wants photos, yeah, we can take it as panicking because she was but it was also dismissive

then after the blast, once again her friends want her to destroy her sister with such obvious dislike and she again tries to vibe past it.

and now zoya's naked body has been spread across the school and she's been dubbed a cheater and julien has a plan to take the power back, not show a united front and stick up for her sister and once again, her 14 year old sister is going to be the laughing stock.

but zoya does it anyway and julien thinks it's alright to leave the plan in the hands of friends who only two minutes before were talking about how bad they want to destroy her little sister, she's ignoring the problem and giving the task to the two worst people thought possible.

and then the blow up, it wasn't even that big of blow up for a 14 year old girl who's been publicly humiliated for a 3rd time. the girl that got her sister to get her a spot, stole her boyfriend and air-dropped dick pics.

and you can tell how much this messed her because she needed her dad to tell her that she was talented and worth it.

and then ending lines, with the extra sting that she might've really did steal a spot from a student who deserved it more.

what i think zoya wanted to hear was 'i couldn't stop because i didn't know they'd change things like that. we had a plan and they did something different. they were assholes and haven't been treating you, i'll stick up for you like sisters are supposed to.' zoya wanted to be understood and julien wanted it to blow over, move on for her image.

i know julien didn't know about the airdrop, she likely did feel bad, she couldn't just hop off stage but she was completely dismissive. it's not petty high school drama for a legit child. i think they were both wrong in the argument but zoya's is coming from complied hurt from a sister who wants her around but doesn't want to give up the front to firmly stand up for and with her. zoya will very much get swept up by obie because he was the only one in the group of friends that didn't ice her out or make a snide remark ( aki was cool but like, he was doing the nicer version of luna's ignoring the freshmen )

that being said, i don't hate julien, she has moments where it really make it clear that's it's the people and the glamour that brings out a meaner side. it's interesting to what her struggle with it. she's honestly a fav but i feel like zoya was justified in her feelings, it wasn't the blow up people said it was and it didn't just come out of the blue. if it was me? no, you wouldn't be getting the power back by making me look even more like a fool in front of people. why would you even ask that of me? why do you want me to hang out with people who openly mock and hate me...for existing.

other things

despite being bitchy, i love monet and luna, stylish, confident, we just need growth.

obie...dude...i get it, you mentally dropped out of the relationship a long time ago but c'mon, wake up. zoya would be a good friend, not a good girlfriend. and unlike others, i don't think it's strange that he moved on so quickly because he found someone that he had connected with in a way that he hasn't for a long a time with julien. i know people hate him and love her but what from what we've seen, yeah she really does like him but it's also easy to see for that their relationship takes a back seat to her influencer status. hopefully, if they won't get back together, they'll introduce a new love interest for him.

the teachers....i'm assuming they'll be jailed or fired OR someone hacks gossip girl and things get really out of control but i did like that blonde haired teacher might've felt guilty at the end

max...i don't know about you yet my bruh BUT he's up front about him so who am i to say anything? do you king ( and possibly two other people )

audrey, i love with her the group, with the guys, a bitch for dropping the sister info but on her own, ehhh. her character doesn't give me much and she's as much of a bitch to zoya than the real mean bitches

i'm firmly #teamaki, it's my fav, my child. based on what i read, aki-max-audrey might not happen or even aki-max. whoever he end-games with, i just want them to love him. that's all, i'll fight.

overall, i'm enjoying it. i think it's dropped a lot of good nuggets that could go good places and while, yes, it will be compared to the original, i hope people let it become it's own show without it's own standing and come to love or hate it because of it's own content.

#c;gg #gossip girl reboot #gossip girl hbo

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heweightlossjourney · 4 years

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Introductions

**PRO ANA, PRO MIA, AND THINSPO ACCOUNTS DO NOT INTERACT**

Hello to anyone reading this. I’m H and I’ve started this sideblog to document my weight loss and keep myself accountable. Let me start with a little backstory:

I have been overweight for as long as I can remember. I’ve never been super active, though I was on a couple sports teams at various points throughout my school life. I always overate as a kid and I still do it now. Eating has been a coping mechanism for me my entire life, and I would say that I am addicted to food.

I have generally been okay being heavy, but bullying is a bitch and I know that other people’s perception of me affected me and made me a nasty bitch in middle school and high school. I wasn’t in a place to understand why I acted out until I was able to distance myself from my long term abusive boyfriend and my dad stopped drinking and got out of his abusive/toxic situation. Now, I understand the effects that the trauma in my life has had on me and I’m calmer and more level-headed, so I am in a good place to start working on my physical health in conjunction with my mental health.

I know that my self-image right now isn’t healthy, and I am aiming to love my body. I am trying hard not to think of the things I might want after this, like skin removal surgery and breast reshaping, but it is hard not to imagine myself with a little sprucing up. While I don’t want to scrutinize over every flaw I have, I think the best way I can motivate myself to keep it up is taking note of my body and how I perceive certain areas, so I will update this with my reflection on how my body looks every so often.

Over the time I have been not working because of COVID-19, I have gained weight, but I have also started keeping up with infamous obese youtubers like Amberlynn Reid and Foodie Beauty, and watching channels like Charlie Gold and Petty Kitten react to them. I would be lying if I said that it wasn’t a kick in the ass to not become as big as them, but also a motivator knowing that I will never be like that, I won’t allow myself to be like them, and that I am a better person than they are. I know that thinking like that is mean and cruel, but I am here to lose weight, not monetize my addiction and appeal to feeders while maintaining an attitude of entitlement and oblivion.

While we are at it, let me just name a few of my rock bottom moments:

- my abusive ex boyfriend calling me “Whaley”

- being too heavy to ride horses

- being too big for a ride at the fair and having to get off it in front of a ton of people in public

- my brother swiping the back of m head like a debit machine

- my ability to polish of a lot of food in one go

- my lack of stamina standing, walking, exercising, being on top during sex

- crushing my boyfriend when I lay on him

- being too big to fit into 3x clothing on websites like dollskill that actually sell some interesting clothing for bigger ladies

Without too much more delay, let’s get into the facts:

Age: 18

Height: 5′11

Starting Weight: 333 pounds

Current Weight: 329 pounds

Total Loss: 4 pounds

BMI: 45.9

BMI Goal: 25

Current Goal: 300 pounds by day 30

Day: 4

Health Concerns: Morbid Obesity, PCOS and Insulin Resistance, Lactose Intolerance, Depression, Anxiety, Food Addiction.

Diet Plan: OMAD (one meal a day) and intermittent fasting.

The diet I have chosen to follow, OMAD, is one of many different diets I have tried over the course of my life. I have tried keto, I have tried vegetarianism, I have tried slimfast. The reason I have chosen this particular diet this time is because of the freedom to eat pretty much anything within the hour I set aside for myself to eat each day. It’s hard to fuck yourself up too much in an hour. After having done the diet for a few days, here is what I have noticed about it:

- I get hangry

- I am somewhat nocturnal and often sleep from 6am - 2pm, and it makes it so much easier

- The boost in energy after my feels like I am on top of the world, and the naps while digesting fuckin rock, sleepy is a good feeling when you have time set aside for it

- It is a lot of mental will power to look at my favourite foods and say no

- It is a lot of mental will power not to cram 3 meals into an hour

- It is hard to pick what I want for dinner

- Cravings hit hard

- Black Coffee is nasty

- It is easier not to consume dairy with OMAD, and not have diarrhea everyday is nice.

There are some things I have noted as well, like eating dairy at all is a big mistake. It is unpleasant to only feel full for a short period of time before violently emptying the contents of my digestive tract. The effects of lactose has on my body go so much quicker when it is the only thing I have in my body at the time. Lactaid is very hit and miss for me, and by the way the chewable tablets are actually the devil incarnate and I hate them. I have tasted vanilla in my life and that isn’t it.

I chose this diet because my boyfriend does fasting as his preferred diet method, and while I wish I could fast all day, my job requires me to have energy and I am not a happy hungry lady. I intend to do OMAD long term, but may change it up slightly if I start to struggle when I get back to work.

It should also be noted that I seriously do not recommend this diet to anyone who struggles with disordered eating (me), depression (me), anxiety (me), obesity (me), anyone who has an affliction that would make it safer for them to consume more than one meal a day (me), and people who have medications they need to take with food (me). This diet is not recommended by doctors for long term weight loss, my endocrinologist was frankly a bit shocked when I told her, and it can cause a host of problems included but not limited to:

- triggering of eating disorders

- lack of protein

- excess of carbs

- diarrhea (thanks, really needed more of that)

- nausea

- dizziness

- weakness

- extreme fatigue

So let me go ahead here and describe a little bit about my health issues, namely my PCOS, or polycystic ovarian syndrome. PCOS is a hormonal disorder. It can cause increased levels of androgen in the body, increased hair, insulin resistance, excessive hair growth, male pattern baldness, weight gain, irregular periods, fertility problems, increase risk of developing type 2 diabetes, increase risk of high blood pressure and high cholesterol, acne and oily skin, depression, and sleep apnea, as well as increase the risk for endometrial cancers, and obviously, cause ovarian cysts. This disorder can be passed from mother to daughter, and I got it from my mom. I have been suffering with this for years.

The biggest effects on my body have been my weight, my depression, irregular periods and cysts. I currently have an IUD in place to help with the symptoms, but my periods are not even close to regular and are often brown in colour. Before hormonal birth control, I would have 2-3 periods per year that lasted about a month at a time. These periods were heavy and excruciatingly painful, and the clots I birthed were like jellyfish. I often lost enough blood to become anemic.

It should be noted that my PCOS has caused me to be resistant to insulin, and that can make it hard to lose weight and also cause some brown discolouration on the skin, which I have had on my chest and neck. I remember my mom used to scrub at my neck thinking it was dirty when my neck first started becoming discoloured.

I had my IUD placed in December of 2018, and the follow up ultrasound revealed a cyst on my right ovary that was 21cm x 21cm which required surgery. Due to that, a traumatic situation and my vegetarianism, I lost 30 pounds by March of 2019.

I have also struggled most of my life with depression and anxiety and used food to cope. I am currently on medication for that. I also take Metformin to help with the effects of the PCOS.

Here I will give a short description on the areas of my body that bother me and what I would like to see improve. I will try to be objective about what I don’t like and I will be honest about the reasons I would like to improve. I will say now that many of these reasons are cosmetic and not necessarily health related.

Inner thighs: While my legs are one of my favourite parts of my body and are in general strong and shapely, my inner thighs have a pocket of fat near my pubic mound, and I can see it when I stand up or I can see it in the mirror from behind when I bend over. I am self conscious about this because I don’t like the way it looks/hangs, and it makes it hard to be present and immersed when I am having sex or see myself as attractive if I take a picture for my boyfriend. The goal for this area is to have less hang so I can feel more relaxed during sex and any time I bend over. I also don’t particularly enjoy the thigh holes in my jeans, or that I have trouble with any sort of thigh high sock rolling.

Pubic mound: I’m not even gonna bullshit here: I just want a normal looking vulva. That’s it. I want it to be easier to access my clit, I don’t want such a prominent camel toe when I wear pants, I’d like it to be easier for my boyfriend to go down on me. I have a nice inner vulva and I want the exterior to match. I also find it hard to shave the areas between my mound and my thigh, as holding it open is not easy. That groin area is also prone to skin yeast infections and pimples and blackheads, and while I admit that they are fun to pop, it would be nice if I did not have to deal with it.

My stomach: My stomach hangs. Underneath of it is prone to those same pimples and skin yeast infections (canesten is really helpful for tinea cruris, by the way. Yeast infections are yeast infections.) and while I get some sick pops for r/popping, it isn’t attractive. My stomach is hairy and while that isn’t really totally weight related, it also isn’t cute. My belly button is often very hidden, and it would be nice to get down to a size that I could get it pierced like my mom has. The rolls of my stomach get pimples and the red marks from sitting all day are not cute and can get painful. I have the muffin top when I wear jeans, and while the look of my stomach in jeans is less than sexy, it actually doesn’t bother me all that much.I have trouble keeping up panties that are both too tight or too loose, and tights are always rolling down. If it doesn’t hit just above my waist while still being slightly tight, it isn’t even worth trying to wear at all. All my jeans and leggings are high-waisted, and a lot of them roll when I sit or bend over. As a nanny, that is a really big inconvenience, and I would like to be able to exist for an hour without having to pull up my goddamn pants/leggings/underwear/tights. God forbid I put on a garter belt. Clothes that are flattering are hard for find for obese women. I just want to wear pretty clothes and feel like a person. When I sit with my knees up, my stomach is Very Present, and I can feel it against my thighs and trying to press through the gap in the middle. It would be nice to not feel that way, and I hope that I can achieve a stomach that does not hang.

Rolls under breasts: These are real sons of bitches. Hot, hairy, red, pimply. The heat rash is real. About half to 3/4 the size of my actual breasts. They make finding a comfortable bra difficult, and I would be really happy if they got even half the size they are now.

Breasts: I don’t necessarily have a weight issue with my tibblies, but they are underdeveloped underneath and I don’t really like the shape of them so much. I am on the waiting list to see a plastic surgeon about my options. There are certain things about my chest that I don’t like that are the fault of obesity however, like the dark marks on my chest because of resistance to insulin, but I will get more into that in a bit. I also don’t love boobne, but hey, acne, amirite ladies?

My chin/neck situation: My ‘waddle’, as I so hatefully refer to it, is my least favourite part of my body. This makes me so upset. I think this is the only part of my body that I truly genuinely hate. If I could duct tape it back so I could look normal, I would. I often look at plus size and fat and obese women and think why do they have chins and necks that are ‘normal’ but not me? (spoilers: the answer is morbid obesity.) I would like to be able to wear a choker comfortably and without it being hidden by my neck. It is very hard to pop waddle pimples. I do have the insulin marks on my neck, and a dowager’s hump, which makes me feel weird if I look at it too long. I don’t like when it sticks out of my clothing, and it feels odd to look at it with a necklace on, or a choker or collar or anything like that.

My back rolls: You hate to see it, and it makes finding a bra in my size a pain. It is hard to hide them, and anything that is fitted to the boobs and then flares can exaggerate the look of them. I don’t look at them too often so it doesn’t always bother me, but they can be a pain with certain clothes. It also makes some clothes tight and restricting in a way they normally wouldn’t, like dresses or shirts that zip. Highly unpleasant, and I would like to have smoother back for cosmetic reasons.

The back of my head: I shave the underneath of my head. I’ve had my entire head shaven before, I’ve had just the sides shaven. It would be nice to get to a place where there wasn’t a roll at the back of my head. It would also be nice if my brother hadn’t swiped a card through it, but only one of those things is achievable.

My arms: I have pretty strong arms, my job requires lifting and I’ve never shied away from taking all the groceries in one trip. My arms are large but not huge. I would be happy with a little reduction in the ‘wing’ area and I would like to see my upper arms a little more streamlined when fully extended. I genuinely do have big bones, but it would be nice to be able to wear my bracelets more comfortably.

My hands: For the longest time I have been upset about the idea of ‘fat people hands’. I don’t have huge fingers, but it would be nice to fit rings on a little easier. I have large hands, because I am a tall woman, but not really fat or chubby hands like one might think of when thinking of fat people hands. My knuckles are fairly well defined, though they have dimples when my hands are flat, and have had since I was little. I think they are cute to be honest. I do not have discolouration on my fingers or knuckles.

My face: I don’t have a ton of fat on my cheeks actually. I do have a round face, but I have dimple-like indentations under my cheekbones that clearly define them. It would be nice to be a slightly slimmer face and defined jawline - any attempt at a contour is just awful. I would like to have a less prominent chin and cheeks.

So let’s talk for a bit about long term goals. I am trying to set goals for myself in chunks. I know that aiming to lose 100 pounds the first go around is highly unlikely to get me any sort of success and I know that breaking it up into smaller bits is less overwhelming and more motivating. I am seriously trying to be careful about rewarding myself with any kind of food.

Realistically, I would like to see myself get into the ‘normal’ BMI range by this time next year. I also know that to do that, I would need to lose around 170 pounds. With OMAD, you can expect to lose between half a pound and one pound a day. I do not see myself losing 170 pounds in 170 days. I do not think it is healthy to lose that much in under 6 months, and I don’t think my skin would appreciate it either, nor do I think OMAD is sustainable for that long. The idea is to try and hold out with OMAD for about 3 and a half months, and in that time, with upkeep, exercise and discipline, I could lose around 100 pounds, but I think the responsible thing would be to hope for closer to 75 pounds.

I would like to outline my goals here:

Current Goal: 300 pounds - 33 pounds lost - 41.8 BMI

Second Goal: 270 pounds - 63 pounds lost - 37.7 BMI

Third Goal: 240 - 93 pounds lost - 33.5 BMI

Fourth Goal: 210 - 123 pounds lost - 29.3 BMI

Fifth Goal: 180 - 153 pounds lost - 25.1 BMI

Final Goal: 160 - 173 pounds lost - 22.3 BMI

Knowing how much one can lose in x amount of time with OMAD, and assuming I kept with it for a year, it could take anywhere from 173 days to 346 days to reach my final goal. I know that I won’t lose the same amount every day, and I know that it will be hard to keep it off once I reach my goal.

I also know that I will need to take vitamins and supplements to make sure I don’t lose anything during this time.

I am trying not to set deadlines for when I would like to reach my goals, though ideally I would be losing about 20 pounds a month. There are some important dates that I am hoping to have lost a certain amount for, however, and based on how much I might expect to lose and some basic math, I have deemed it pretty feasible to do.

I return to work around July 6th. It is currently May 30th. In 37 days I am hoping to have reached my first goal of 33 pounds lost. I lost 4 pounds in 3 days, and I hope to keep up that pace.

The other date that I am hoping to have lost weight for is my birthday, which is August 31st. In 93 days I am hoping to have met my second goal of 63 pounds lost. I am turning 19 and very excited to celebrate.

For a little in-depth at what I am doing as far as my meal, I am eating a normal supper for me, a snack and a dessert. I am not counting calories. I’ll give some examples of what I have eaten at this time.

Day 1: Gnocchi bake with chicken, gummies, a chocolate bar, a little bit of bread and an iced tea. I made the bake with a package of sundried tomato gnocchi, one chicken breast, an olivieri package of rose sauce, like 2-3 tablespoons of herb and garlic cream cheese and onion. It was so good.

Day 2: I had the 4 bites of leftovers and some cheese bread, an iced tea, chicken strips, fries, a bite of fish, and some coleslaw. This day I felt sort of weak in the evening and so I had a fried egg sandwich with a cheese slice, mustard and mayo.

Day 3: I GUZZLED water all day long, like 4-5 bottles of water. I had crackers, the middle of a cinnamon bun, chicken strips and fries again, coleslaw and then some cake (I was celebrating a family birthday). My pee has never been so clear, let me just tell you.

One of the good things about this diet is being able to have whatever I would like as my meal for the day. I am an excellent cook (friend, family, teacher, boyfriend’s family and boyfriend approved, being fat has helped me master the kitchen) and I love doing it, so I can really get creative with my meal.

I come from a diet family, and so I am definitely supported on this diet, and my boyfriend is doing it with me, because misery loves company. Overall, I do feel hungry, but I feel satisfied with what I am doing and I have a lot more will power than I thought I did before, so I am proud of myself in that regard.

During my fasts, I try to only consume water and black coffee, which I take iced so it doesn’t nerf me with the flavour. Chewing gum is also quite helpful. My eating period is between 7p-8p, or 7p-8:30p, but that may change overtime as my sleep and activity schedule changes in the coming months.

I do not make promises on diets as a rule, but because of the nature of this diet I have made myself a promise that I will listen to my body. If I need a meal, I will eat one. If what is best for me is splitting my eating hour into two 30 minute eating periods a day for energy, especially while I work, then that is what I will do.

Like I said, the goal is to check in every day with what I ate, my general feelings and if I am changing anything, and then I will try to do a weigh in weekly, and every couple of weeks update any changes I notice in the areas I mentioned earlier that bother me as a fat person.

‘Til next time,

#weight loss #heweightlossjourney #diet #one meal a day #morbid obesity #may 30th 2020

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taylorafergus · 4 years

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Pornification: a justification or implication of Instagram? - Week 8

The ‘image first, text second’ ethos that underpins Instagram's platform generates a universally understood emphasis on a visually-oriented culture and reflects society's simultaneous growth into such a climate (Lee et al. 2015, pg. 552). The significance placed on this visual culture within the platform "influenc[es] the operations of consumer culture as both a commodity form and [as a] site for new consumer behaviours, such as selfies" (cited in Toffoletti and Thorpe 2018, pg. 300). Instagram, however, isn’t just a place for connecting with friends and posting personal pictures with family, it’s a big business marketing and advertising tool.

Instagram is arguably the birthplace of a concept called 'influencer marketing' (Drenten et al. 2019) - a billion-dollar phenomenon that refers to the utilisation of influential individuals, who are active users online and are willing to share brand messages with their virtual following (cited in Léa et al. 2018, pg. 7). These influencers sometimes referred to as 'microcelebrities', alluding to “a new style of online performance in which people employ webcams, video, audio, blogs and social networking sites to ‘amp up’ their popularity among[st] readers, viewers, and those to whom they are linked online” (Senft 2008, pg. 25). Additionally, the visually-oriented ethos that underpins Instagram fundamentally normalises and encourages ‘microcelebrity’ culture.

Figure 1. Candice Swanepoel Instagram GIF. Source; Giphy c. 2020.

To create a commodified and celebrified version of oneself on Instagram typically requires an individual to conform to aesthetic templates that are endorsed by microcelebrity culture (Mavroudis 2020). For female influencers, this refers to the act of adhering to aesthetic templates that define what is considered attractive, sexy and feminine and is thus fundamental in gaining mainstream attention (Drenten et al. 2019). For male influencers, the expectation is that they will contribute to, and engage with, aesthetic templates that assert masculine ideals such as athleticism, strength and dominance (Mavroudis 2020).

Western culture and social media have become saturated with sexual imagery (Ward 2009, pg.3). In conjunction with the proliferation of digital technologies and its accompanying social media platforms, western culture has mainstreamed the pornification of mainstream culture and its ‘porn chic’ aesthetic (Drenten et al. 2018, pg. 41). Pornification refers to the increasing normalisation of displaying one's sexuality and projecting explicit sexual themes in popular culture in a way that reflects the aesthetics of commercial pornography (cited in Mavroudis 2020). Additionally, porn chic refers to “a style that reflects the mainstreaming of the aesthetics of commercial pornography within western societies” (cited in Drenten, Gurrieri and Tyler 2019, pg. 42).

Figure 2. @oabramovich [image] Source; Sociologylens 2019.

To adhere to these aesthetic templates female users are exerting aesthetic labour through the conscious and purposeful posing of their bodies, as well as the editing of their physical appearance - through both online photo-editing tools and/or plastic surgery - to present a hyper-sexualised version of oneself according to the relevant porn chic branded ideals through performing acts of sexualised labour (Mavroudis 2020). Sexualised labour refers to a form of work that "becomes associated with sexuality, sexual desire and sexual pleasure" (cited in Drenten et al. 2018, pg. 43). Further, The adoption of these porn chic ideals as an aesthetic template for "self-expression and lifestyle choice has come to be known as raunch culture" (Ward 2009, pg.4). Drenten et al. (2019) found "a continuum of pornified self-representations... [by female] social media influencers on Instagram. This ranged from “softer” references – where influencers pose to highlight sexualised body parts and employ “porn chic” gestures such as gently pulling their hair, touching their parted lips and squatting with legs spread to the camera – to images that were hard to differentiate from mainstream commercial pornography" (Drenten et al. 2019).

These endorsed ideals and aesthetic templates can be unhealthy for users and can indulge fame labour seeking behaviours. Fame labour refers to "the work of managing dissonance between online brands and offline brands" and can result in users striving to emulate aesthetic templates promoted by celebrities and influencers (Mavroudis 2020). In 2017, statistics released by the American Academy of Facial Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery denunciated that 42% of surgeons are reporting that their patients are actively seeking aesthetic surgeries to improve their appearance for the purpose of appeasing social media ideals (Dorfman et al. 2018). Ultimately, the cultures that underpin Instagram and similar platforms allow for the idealisation and romanticisation of certain aesthetics and ideals that objectify and degrade women.

Figure 3. Music Video Plastic Surgery GIF. Source; Giphy c. 2020.

References:

'@oabramovich' [image], in Sociologylens 2019, Sexed up online: Instagram influencers, harassment, and the changing nature of work, Sociologylens, viewed the 11th of May 2020, <https://www.sociologylens.net/topics/communication-and-media/sex-online-instagram-influencers-work/25039>

'Candice Swanepoel Instagram GIF' [GIF], in Giphy c. 2020, Instagram, Giphy, viewed the 11th of May 2020, <https://giphy.com/gifs/fashion-show-washington-jsQFWmfr405KE>

Dorfman, R, Vaca, E, Mahmood, E, Fine, N, Schierle, C 2018, ‘Plastic Surgery-Related Hashtag Utilization on Instagram: Implications for Education and Marketing’, Aesthetic Surgery Journal, vol. 38, no. 3, pp. 332–338

Drenten, J, Gurrieri, L, Tyler, M 2018, 'Sexualized labour in digital culture: Instagram influencers, porn chic and the monetization of attention', Gender, Work & Organization, January 2020, vol. 27, no. 1, pp. 41-66

Drenten, J, Gurrieri, L, Tyler, M 2019, 'How highly sexualised imagery is shaping ‘influence’ on Instagram – and harassment is rife', Mumbrella, 8th of May, viewed the 11th of May 2020, <https://mumbrella.com.au/how-highly-sexualised-imagery-is-shaping-influence-on-instagram-and-harassment-is-rife-578396>

Léa, C, Malek, P, Runnvall, L 2018, 'Influencers impact on decision- making among generation Y and Z Swedish females when purchasing fast fashion.', Jönköping University: Bachelor’s Degree Project in Business Administration, 21st of May, viewed the 11th of May 2020, <https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/f5fa/d75c4891a71b6c9f3781f75a13f4666ff846.pdf.>

Lee, B, Lee, JA, Moon, JH, Sung, Y 2015, 'Pictures Speak Louder than Words: Motivations for Using Instagram', Cyberpsychology, behavior and social networking, September 2015, vol. 18, no. 9, pp. 552-6

Mavroudis, J 2020, ‘Lecture 8. Digital Health and Cosmetic Surgery on Visual Social Media', Learning materials via Canvas, Swinburne University of Technology, 6th of May, viewed the 11th of May 2020

'Music Video Plastic Surgery GIF' [GIF], in Giphy c. 2020, plastic surgery, Giphy, viewed the 11th of May 2020, <https://giphy.com/gifs/music-video-beyonce-visual-album-4n4jt9OPcNMyI>

Senft, T 2008, Camgirls: Celebrity and Community in the Age of Social Networks, DigitalFormations, New York: Peter Lang

Toffoletti, K, Thorpe, H 2018, 'The athletic labour of femininity: The branding and consumption of global celebrity sportswomen on Instagram', Journal of Consumer Culture, May, vol. 18, no. 2, pp. 298-316

Ward, M 2009, 'The production and consumption of the sexually explicit: a painterly exploration into the pornification of culture', OPEN ACCESS REPOSITORY: University of Tasmania, viewed the 9th of May 2020, pp. 1-99 <https://eprints.utas.edu.au/22230/>

#mda20009 #digitalcommunities #pornification #sexualised #instagram #aesthetic template #expectations #reality #expectations vs reality #sexualised labour #aesthetic labour #microcelebrity #emotional labour

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guylty · 5 years

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How quickly time flies. If Besotted hadn’t reminded me in the comments, I would’ve completely forgotten that I had a last episode of The Impressionists to catch up with. Forgetting the Re-Watch is symptomatic. I may have enjoyed the show, and the wide smiles that Armitage was allowed to brighten the screen with were certainly welcome, but somehow this mini-series was never – and never will be – my favourite of Richard’s works.

It’s not *all* because of the wig and look of Claude Monet. *That* is easily balanced out by the wide smiles! My lukewarm feelings about this mini-series has more to do with my general lack of enthusiasm for impressionism. I fully appreciate the importance of this arts movement for the development of painting and art in general, and I understand the impressionists’ value. In many case I actually do find their paintings particularly evocative, beautiful and touching. I guess, my problem with them is that they have become too popular – which usually makes me turn away from something. That’s unfair – but unfortunately true. But I totally concede that – particularly Monet’s – Impressionist paintings are incredibly beautiful.

Quick Summary

We pick up again in episode 3 of TI with the group celebrating Edouard Manet’s formal recognition as an artist after he has been awarded the Légion d’Honneur. However, Manet is suffering from syphilis and his health deteriorates. He dies in 1883. Monet, OTOH, is living with Alice Hochedé after his wife’s death. The two of them become a couple, marry and eventually settle in Giverny. Monet develops his serial painting technique, always following the changing light.

A large part of this episode is taken up with the life and travails of Paul Cézanne who is seen as a revolutionary new painter by the impressionists. Despite an affluent background, he lives in poverty with his working class wife and illegitimate son. First shunned by the art world, Cézanne’s genius is eventually recognised and he joins the Impressionists as the most celebrated painters in the world. They overcame all the obstacles and changed painting – and art – forever. So much for the summary of episode 3.

Beards and Hair

I was quite amused in this episode about the changing hairstyles of Claude Monet. Starting out with short hair and a pipe, the next scene in a café he had long hair again. Continuity was a bit lax there, I thought 😂. But at least we could see that RA really knew how to smoke. Yep, as an ex-smoker (almost 6 months to the day) I notice such things. – Eventually the episode settled into short hair for Claude. And I couldn’t help but feel reminded of my personal hero Leon Trotzky…

Tenuous. I know. But fun. Right down to the left eyebrow.

However, let’s stay quickly with the look – ok, I am a not a fan of facial shrubbery at all, and particularly not these kind of standalone shrubs on upper lip and chin. If there has to be facial hair, give me a full blown meadow that covers all (beard) or stay with the manicured lawn aka stubble. Looking at the overgrown goatee on Richard’s chin, however, I am wondering whether it is actually his own. Not only because he has always been so proud of his fast growth and thus the conclusion lies near. No, but also because of the tell-tale triangle underneath his lower lip. Mr Armitage has, indeed, a rather pretty beard-growth pattern (see evidence on right).

Elder statesman or ill-fitting wig?

I was quite taken with the elder statesman look he was given in the latter part of the episode, once Monet had settled down with Alice and concentrated on creating Giverny as his inspirational garden. (I don’t really think that Richard has an old man’s face, yet, though, so I finally was reconciled with Julian Glover playing Monet senior in the framework plot.) In fact, I found myself fascinated by the grey temples and the short hair, and I kept screen-shooting.

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I also enjoyed that his eye crinkles came into play…

Things I Loved

As always, Richard – even considerably younger and less experienced than today – was a pleasure to watch. I loved the scenes where he glowed with enthusiasm, happiness and lust for life, smiling widely with glowing teeth. But I especially liked the scenes where you could hear him laugh. It really doesn’t happen very often at all that you can hear Richard Armitage laugh in one of his roles. He is the go-to man for scowling (Guy of Gisborne, John Thornton), growling (Francis Dolarhyde, Thorin Oakenshield) and frowning (John Porter, Daniel Miller). And yet his laugh is an absolute joy. In German we call his kind of laugh “gurgling” – but that doesn’t quite hit it in English. What I like about it is not what it looks like (although I believe that *every* laugh looks beautiful), but what it sounds like. Reminder:

youtube

That’s what he laughed like in his younger years. (I think his laugh now has become slightly deeper, more baritone, whereas it sounded more tenor way back in the early 2000s.) And it is infectious. Bookmark and keep near for any rainy day. It definitely works.

Ok, moving on. The old fogey in me also quite enjoyed the mature-lovestory-section of this episode. We were discussing it somewhere in the comments, I believe, and the series didn’t really get into it, but there are suspicions that Monet and Alice Hoschedé started their relationship even before she split with her husband and moved in with the Monets. Her youngest child may even have been by Monet. In that sense, it was lovely that the series spent a little time with Monet’s and Alice’s relationship. I wasn’t quite convinced by Richard’s choice to play Monet as out of breath as if he had just raced a marathon when he catches Alice in the garden and proposes. But this completely balanced everything out:

Why yes, Mr Thornton, I am coming home with you.

Not to mention this:

Gorgeous crinkles, like arrows pointing at happy eyes.

Ok, bonus for the romantics among you:

Yeah, man, this was such a clean show, it almost seemed as if it was made for school TV. You know what I mean? Your history/art/literature teacher wheeling in the big TV and the VCR, and then you’d sit through an hour of veritable and highly educational but mindnumbingly clean-and-boring docudrama? Well, to be suitable for teenagers, no tit may be shown, no mention of sex may be made and no tongue may be used. 😂

And Where It Went Wrong For Me

And maybe that is what ultimately irked me about this show, or what prevented me from saying ” I love Love LOVE The Impressionists!!” It’s not that I need sex in every TV show to keep me engaged. And I am a big fan of contextualising history and presenting it in a way that the viewers can relate to. In that sense it was great that this mini-series made an attempt at showing the personal sacrifices all those pioneering painters had to make in order to succeed with their art. From losing Bazille in the war, via Manet’s syphilis, Degas’ eye illness and declining fortunes, to the overwhelming poverty of Monet and Cézanne, TÍ is not simply a list of artistic milestones in the painters’ lives, but a look at how they progress as painters as well as men. And herein may also be the problem for me – I never fully committed to the show, and maybe so because of the lack of women in the narrative. Don’t get me wrong – of course I “saw” Camille and Alice, and Mme Manet, Mme Cézanne and various models. But that’s exactly it, “various models”. Sure, you don’t have to explain to me that the 19th century was still a time dominated by men. But that doesn’t mean that in their private lives, men were uninfluenced (and untouched) by women. Or that women artists did not exist or not contribute to the development of art. Berthe Morisot and Eva Gonzalez were part of the impressionist set – they don’t even turn up in passing in this series. The wives and women remain in their traditional role as nurturer, house-keeper and mothers.

Women. Reduced to nurturers and parasol-bearers?

(Left-field thought: Maybe it is also because this show was made in 2006 that women aren’t represented more prominently?) And all that may also be due to the limited amount of time available (3 hours) for a group of painters. In fairness, it would’ve been impossible to depict the lives and times of the impressionists in detail, and hence also a number of *male* protagonists of the movement (Pissarro? Gauguin? Sisley? Matisse?) had to be left out in order to contain the show. However, for me the whole show remained somewhat one-dimensional.

The Disclaimer

For fans of Richard Armitage, however, TI is definitely a worth-while show to watch. The smiles, the laugh, and the mannerisms that are just delightful to recognise. From Richard’s insistent innovative use of his teeth, to delicate hand movements and holding his head at *that* characteristic angle, there are certain “trademarks” in his acting repertoire that superfans such as us have no trouble identifying.

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And Richard convincingly acts emotions and draws the audience into the emotional world of the sensitive artist.

Lastly I want to commend the mini series for producing beautiful images. I loved the wide shots especially because they illustrated so clearly what the impressionists were after.

These shots play with the impressionists’ emphasis of depicting the *moment*, pinpointing the changeability of art, and the transience of life. The impressionists’ penchant for working plein air is ideally illustrated here. And the series is obviously also conscious of depicting movement rather than static subjects, and the different qualities of light – during the day, the seasons, inside and outside, in rain, sun or locomotive steam – as these are impressionist characteristics that are often also attributed to film (and photography). In that sense the series puts the theory into practice.

Last note: Just as I was watching episode 3 of TI, the news came through that a Monet painting has set a new record price for works by the artist. From the “haystack” series of paintings, the picture was sold for $110m in New York. An indication of how *right* the impressionists were.

I finish with a quote by Berthe Morisot, of all people.

It is important to express oneself… provided the feelings are real and are taken from your own experience.

The impressionist painters did that beautifully, and showed us that it can be done and *should* be done. No one better to portray “real” feelings than Richard. And I am always happy to see how he expresses them.

Re-Watching The Impressionists [part 3] – Finale How quickly time flies. If Besotted hadn't reminded me in the comments, I would've completely forgotten that I had a last episode of

#Claude Monet #Re-Watch #Richard Armitage

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mirrcrspeaks · 5 years

Text

toameliiorate said: “% for Riley!”

music-based things ( @toameliiorate )

“She’s the type of girl who always liked being alone…“ With a hum, Riley fell back onto the bed. “And I’m the one she calls when she’s finally in town. What am I supposed to do with that?“

“Maybe show her a good time while she’s here. You can do at least that, can’t you?“

“I mean, that would be easier to do if I knew what she liked to do. What if she likes watching paint dry? Am I finding a nice wet wall for us to watch, then?”

“Use your brain, lad,” sighed the dragon from her chair. “And if that’s too hard for ya, think of want you’d want to do if you were back in your hometown. You two probably have more in common than you think.”

Riley propped himself up on his elbows to raise an eyebrow at the captain. “Think she’d like to waste her hours away in an old boat like this with an even older inhabitant?”

“You need more mates.” The pillow colliding with Riley’s face made him dissolve into chuckles. “You stay here much longer an’ I’ll have to start charging you rent! Take her to a pub, or a museum. Use your best judgement, just keep her off my bloody ship.”

“Oh, I’m sure you and Molly Deans would get along just swimmingly,” Riley said drily. “You’ve both got the same cutting edge.”

---

“Your hair’s gotten shorter.”

Her first words uttered to him in a matter of years, and she’s already managed to put Riley on edge. With a shrug he brushed the statement off. “I decided to chop it all off a while ago. You got taller.”

Molly Deans threw him an unimpressed look from over her shoulder. “So observant. Yes. I had a late growth spurt. I see you can’t say the same.”

“No, afraid not.” That wouldn’t stop him from trying to take bigger steps to keep up with her as she glided through the museum. Strangely enough, she seemed to fit in just fine in the place. Her hair was the perfect length to tuck behind her ear while observing a Monet, or perhaps to play with while some fetching tourist explained the Picasso piece to her. As he followed her, though, Riley couldn’t help but notice how little attention she was paying to all the exhibits she passed.

“I thought you were all, Ms. Art History Major? Thought you would like these more,” Riley said, kicking into a half-run.

“They’re dull, and most of them are replicas anyways. I’ve seen them a thousand times before in my father’s house.”

“Why’d you want to come here then?”

“That’s why.”

Riley collided with Molly’s back with a grunt. Taking a step back he regarded the piece in front of him. With a frown he looked over at her.

“It’s just…a man in a bowler hat,” he said slowly. “With a fruit fascination.”

“The Son Of God,” said Molly. “Probably one of the only original pieces here.”

“Are you sure about that? I’m not sure that museums would be that cheap.”

“Well, this one is.” Riley watched Molly’s chest heave with a disdainful sort of sigh. “My father’s paying them off. Why go and search for paintings at an auction when you can bribe a museum? He’s got a good forger working for them too. It’s how all of this can look so…”

“Believable,” Riley finished.

“Mmm. Anyways,” she continued. “We’re taking this one.”

We? Riley’s attention snapped to Molly. He watched as she carefully pulled on a pair of satin gloves. “You mean…we, as in, you and your father, or---”

“Don’t be daft. You’re going to help me take it.”

“Oh, okay. What is this, some sort of weird ritual to get dear old Daddy to pay attention to you? You know, when you rung me, this is not what I thought we would be d—”

“And what did you expect us to be doing?” Molly hissed, turning to glare down at Riley. “Having teatime with your dolls? Don’t pretend to be above this, Chase. For someone who couldn’t stay away from any promise of a fistfight, you have a lot of nerve playing morality card on me. If you can’t do this, I’ll find someone else. Someone with more of a spine.”

The silence that followed was clearly an open spot for a response. Both parties focused their glare on the painting ahead of them as the sound of heeled footsteps resounded through polished halls.

“…I don’t play with dolls anymore,” was what Riley finally said.

“I should hope not.” Taking her hat off, Molly ran a hand through her hair. “I’m not in the market for friends, Chase. I’m looking for accomplices who can keep their mouths shut. I hear that’s also a problem you struggle with.”

Riley shrugged. “I’m sure I could fix it. With the right price, of course.”

“Tell you what,” Molly said. “You help me with this job, and I’ll start considering it. Deal?”

The only response was Riley’s outstretched hand.

“…Well. Perhaps you’re not as dull as I thought you’d be, Chase.”

#toameliiorate #( a n s w e r e d )#( d r a b b l e s )#//i didn't edit this at all #//so sorry if it's crude!!!#//but i might add molly deans to the blog one day

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jupiterjunebug · 5 years

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WHERE'S THE WEREWOLF ESSAY, OP??

@malaloba @bisexualducknewton You also dared me to say this so you get a tag

Okay so fun facts about Tyler Keegan Casey (I literally just wanted to make a joke about Tyler Casey abbreviating to Tyler K.C):

His parents, Edgar Casey and Rebecca Wilson, got married at 18. Their reasoning was "hey, we've been together all of high school, we still like each other, and I think our kids would be really hot." A bit of the shine wore off for Rebecca, though, when it turned out Edgar inherited a controlling streak from his parents. He got it in his head that his growth as a person required moving as far away from tiny little Casper, WV as he could. Which was fine, and would've been true if he’d put any actual EFFORT into growing up, except he made that decision without consulting his wife. Family was the most important thing in the world for her, which meant she didn't want to leave. Unfortunately, family was the most important thing in the world to her, and Edgar was technically her family.As far away as possible turned out to be Fortville, Indiana. At around 3000 people, it was certainly bigger than Casper, but much smaller than Edgar's ambitions. Unfortunately, they'd run out of gas, and got stuck in town long enough for Rebecca to work up her courage and deliver an ultimatum: they were eight hours from Casper, close enough to drive over, and she'd live no further away than that.Tyler was born a few years later and grew up the only "daughter" of the household, pretty in a generic way and polite to a fault. His homesick mama taught him that he'd know when he found his people on account of the decision to give up everything for them would only hurt a little. His pyramid-scheme chasing daddy taught him that the key to success is for people to think you're one of their people, and who gives a shit if it's true or not?Up until he was twenty he was a full-on social chameleon: he wore the closest thing he could get to the "right" clothes, he did his hair in the "right" way, he laughed at the right jokes and had a crush on all the right boys. Third runner up for prom queen, dated at least three members in the football team (the breakups were never his fault, of course. He'd take a relationship as far as the other person wanted, he only dated them because they wanted to date him after all), popular but not so popular for people to consider him a threat.Every holiday, Tyler and his mama went off to Casper to visit her family. That meant he ended up at the kids table with his two younger cousins Franc ( @keplersheetz) and Vicki. Franc and Vicki were practically sisters, Franc lived with Vicki's parents whenever her ma was off dealing with her host of mental issues, which meant that Tyler was kind of the third wheel.

Tyler ended up the responsible one, and town gossip went on about how they hoped he'd be a good influence, because wasn't he just a perfect little child? Gossip about Franc went on about how she was wild, about how she didn't follow rules, if she wasn't careful she'd end up just like her mother and didn't Vicki's parents worry about if she was a bad influence? No one gossiped about Vicki at all.

It created a weird circle of jealousy, where Tyler envied Franc for having the guts to be herself, Franc worried that Vicki would end up liking Tyler better than her, and Vicki wished somebody might talk about her instead of other people’s “influence” on her. In general, Tyler and Franc didn't get along on account of they were very different and had no interests in common, but when you spend months each year as an obligatory playmate you end up developing at least a little fondness.Tyler went to Indiana University Bloomington, close enough to home for both his parents and also in possession of a Bachelors program for early childhood education. He quickly acquired a job at the library, a reputation as "a pleasure to have in class," an overcommitment to several clubs, and a thoroughly mediocre boyfriend. He also ended up in two classes with and as a coworker to Monet, ( @pleasekalemenow). In sophomore year, the two were roommates and in three classes together, which was haha a funny coincidence. Then in Spring term Tyler had a stress breakdown and Monet was so thrown by composed, fake-ass Tyler losing his shit over something completely minor that she ended up sitting with him for four hours and now they're best friends.In the summer before Junior year he was like "hey wait a fucking second, if I'm completely changing my personality around other people so that they'll like me...do they actually like me?" and decided that fuck it, I'm going to just have my own personality and work my hardest to make it so people find that person likable. The most obvious shift - aside from him breaking up with his mediocre boyfriend and quitting half of his clubs - was coming out as, you know, a dude.

His parents didn't really...get it? His mom continues to this day to treat it as something she supports but just can't understand, and his dad kind of took it as a personal attack because his dad is a self-obsessed jackass. The rest of the family didn't really express an opinion on any of this, on account of Vicki had a baby and Franc ran away from home just a little while later. Compared to having a daughter under 18 and just straight up disappearing, being trans wasn't all that embarrassing to them.Things went pretty decent for half of Junior year. Then one day while he was watching a kindergarten class, the last kid to be picked up at the end of the day turned into an eldritch horror and ate the other student teacher. The FBI’s Paranormal Research and Investigation division showed up and was like "hey I'm pretty sure you can guess that we're going to tell you to keep this hush hush, so keep this fucking hush hush." Tyler went "wow you know I don't like being kept in the dark about all this," so he changed his major to criminal justice and worked his ass off to graduate at the same time as everyone else. Then he joined the FBI, and when they were interviewing him he dropped some line about "oh, I saw something once and the, uh, I think it was PRI? Said that it was top secret dangerous business. I'd like to solve murders like that :)" and the PRI kind of went "well...I guess? we can hire? Him? He did a god job on all of his exams...we have no reason not to."At around this time he played the love interest in Monet's breakout limited access TV show, Once Upon a Cryptid. This show eventually gained Dr. Horrible levels of cult-classic fame, and Tyler is eternally thankful that T has at this point changed his look enough that no one really recognizes him beyond people he talks to on case being like "haha isn't it funny that you look kind of like actor Tyler Casey and you're an FBI agent just like his character?" And he just says "haha yeah I get that a lot :)"The PRI was also like "hey can you keep an eye on this person who is causing trouble with conspiracy theory shit?" Tyler says "uh yeah, sure? Anything I should know?" And the PRI is like "well it's your cousin, but other than that, nah, glhf :)"Tyler found this situation Vaguely Uncomfortable, so instead of being actually good at his job he took this opportunity to leave reminders to eat and warnings to keep her head down when she overreached. They were all signed with "The FBI Agent That's Watching You Right Now" and wow isn't it fucked up that they're closer as anonymous FBI stalker and conspiracy theorist than they were as proper childhood playmates? It fucks me up sometimes.Five years before the game starts, he goes on an investigation into what may or may not be a supernatural murderer. While in the area he runs into August Caraway ( @transagentstern), who is. Super his type. He immediately starts finding excuses to spend time w/ the hot, sensitive, painter, asking August to be his guide around the area. And also if he could see that painting that August is working on because it sounds really :) great :). Eventually he comes to the conclusion that the long periods of time between attacks and the COD indicate either a werewolf attack or a very patient predator. He goes "well, it's the new moon tonight...so if I take August out on a da-I MEAN INVESTIGATION into that clearing in the woods it'll be safe."Spoilers! It isn't!They get attacked by a werewolf. Tyler says "well, I'm an FBI agent so I should be the one to sacrifice myself" and tries to shoot the werewolf. It quickly takes him to the ground, but hey! At least August has time to run! Except instead of running, August goes up to try and save Tyler. Which ends in them both getting bitten before the silver bracelets August always wears fend the thing off. August manages to drag Tyler to civilization before losing consciousness, and the two wake up in separate hospitals. August is told Tyler got sent to a special FBI hospital, but is fine. Tyler is told August got tired of waiting around for him to wake up and left. (More fun facts: this happened the day before Pigeon's birthday! Wow! Terrible)Tyler is kept under observation for the rest of the month, just to make sure he's fine. He is, of course, not fine. The PRI is super stoked to have access to someone who is fully willing to spend the rest of his month j chillin' and then come in on the full moons, on account of most of the werewolves they have access to are ones they caught and have to keep hold of all the time. Which, like, unlawfully contained civilians are a shitty baseline.So, despite having research in their name, the PRI kinda fucking sucks at research. Their methodology is to just try shit until they figure out 1. How to kill the monster and 2. How to spot the affliction/how it progresses. They are perfectly aware of how to kill werewolves, so really all they do is stage observations under different stress conditions to play “how to spot a werewolf”.

Every experiment is just put them in a cage with moonlight access, see whether the transformation is faster/slower when the person has a certain diet/fitness level/etc. Most of the subjects can’t leave bc they’d run away and are also liable to transform sometimes which is inconvenient.

The PRI isn't especially concerned about Tyler, because they know one of the conditions for a transformation is high stress and if there's one thing he's good at it's completely repressing an anxiety attack, so he's able to pretty much do his job aside from the whole "locked up under the full moon" thing. Of course, he's ostracized by his coworkers on account of he's like. Literally a monster. But that's fine! He has Monet! Who he never tells anything about all this because he doesn't want to worry her, and also because her brother (coincidentally August, though Tyler doesn't know that) died around the time of his attack and he doesn't want her to blame herself for never trying to come see him.Good things that happen in these 5 years: he has an amicable relationship with Franc. He gets good at his job. He and Monet discover that the uncanny coincidences which led to them always having classes together carry over into their adult life, and they constantly run into each other while performing their respective jobs. She sometimes invites him to parties to stop men from hitting on her, and because he looks vaguely like Jake Gyllenhaal (that's Tyler's face claim) they get to laugh about all the tabloid rumors that Monet is dating Jake.The bad news is Tyler never had access to the other werewolves prior to the attack (it wasn't his division, and he wasn't usually in a position to take anything alive) which means he's never been around to see a new one, to watch the arc of their deterioration. Usually it goes like this: they wake up, alone and naked in a room with only a bed, a desk, and an uncomfortable wooden chair. They are given clothing by an FBI agent, sometimes that agent is sympathetic, sometimes sneering, but usually expressionless. Each full moon they transform, and remember nothing of it save pain, hunger, and the feeling of their claws digging into the metal walls. Fear is a trigger for transformation, as is anger. They are always afraid, always angry. Eventually, it becomes rare to see them in their human forms.The PRI is fucking stupid. A reasonable person might say "duh, werewolves turn when they're scared, maybe if we put them someplace less scary they'll stop turning so much." Instead, they write in their notes, the notes Tyler receives, "we're fairly certain that, at some point, the humanity of a werewolf is completely lost." He only sees werewolves that have not been human in months, or even years. Or, he sees the ones who are even worse off.The worse news is that Tyler is told there's a cure. Sometimes, the PRI manages to poke and prod at a werewolf and for reasons we just don't understand they never transform again. So he doesn't argue with the tests, and even if he writes a will he doesn't tell Monet anything because he might be fine, and he doesn't want to worry her. He throws himself into his work and into making Monet happy, because he wants to make sure that if he is lost he leaves a legacy. There's something to prove that Tyler Casey's existence was justified.Then he finds out what the cure entails. It's not recovery, not at all; it's pushing someone so hard, making them so afraid, that their body can't take being afraid anymore. A person who’s too tired to feel doesn't shift, not even under the full moon, because the werewolf's state of mind is defined by the person's emotions before it happens (so if someone was actually CALM, really truly calm, then they'd manage to control it, but hunger and anger and fear can all throw that out of wack). If the person is numb, there is nothing for the curse to react to.Tyler Casey would rather die after trying his hardest than live longer but not be able to do anything. So, when he manages to find a job opening at The Askar Foundation, a secret society with more funding and more knowledge than the FBI could ever hope for, he has no qualms spilling the PRI's secrets in exchange for a position as a field agent.As you can probably guess, August, Monet, and Franc are all there as well. The circumstances of their recruitment were significantly less...consensual than his (Monet and Franc recently saw too much and got pressganged in, and after nearly killing Franc while transformed August got dragged in for Askar's own brand of tests). This leads to a veritable five layer dip of fucking drama:1. Franc and Tyler have a private conversation which leads to the revelation of several character secrets on both their parts. This ends when Tyler and Franc both insist that they saw different things during one of the scenes. Franc has always had the ability to tell when people lie to her, but she is also convinced she's right about their topic of conversation (which uh, she IS right, so). That means that, despite the fact that she can't feel him lying, he MUST be. She's convinced that he's had the supernatural ability to get around her own uncanny powers this whole time, and thus they engaged in a Comedy of Errors where instead of mistaken identities it’s Tyler saying things that further convince Franc he's trying to manipulate the entire team2. The Askar foundation would very much like to keep their shiny new field agent, and also Tyler still has connections to the FBI and him snitching to them would be.........inconvenient. So they're willing to put effort, within reason, into making sure he doesn't find out anything that might cause problems, like the fact that August is a kind of monster Tyler has a massive vendetta against. Or uh...anything else that might make him question them. This leads to3. Askar shutting down a conversation between him and Monet, leading to her concluding that talking about their past experiences with the supernatural OR the workings of Askar will never go well. (Exacerbated by the fact that Askar had already been trying to keep her from finding out shit about her brother) 4. Consequently, Monet will no longer talk to him about deep personal topics if they lead back to these things at ALL5. Franc ended up in a romantic entanglement w/ the monster of the week, who is a shapeshifter unwillingly being used to bring about...the apocalypse. He thinks the reason she doesn’t trust him is because she figured out he was a werewolf, and doesn’t trust him/is keeping an eye on him so she can put him down when he becomes dangerous. So he thinks she hates him bc he’s a shapeshifter that has no control over himself, but then she’s fine with...the OTHER shapeshifter that has no control over himself.6. August thinks Tyler hates werewolves because of the attack, and is afraid to enter a relationship with him because he wouldn't be able to keep his condition a secret7. Tyler refuses to let himself entertain notions of actually DATING August, because Tyler thinks he's going to die and doesn't want to hurt even MORE people when he goes8. Tyler and Monet platonically love each other so much and are also living together in Seinfeld's mansion that she stole the keys to, and Tyler is an idiot which means August thinks Tyler wants to date Monet (August's SISTER)So tl;dr, Tyler thinks that after Franc gained access to more Askar files she suddenly doesn't trust him (he assumes she knows he's a werewolf), he knows that Monet suddenly doesn't want to TALK to him and knows that if he discovers anything suspicious he thus cannot tell her, and he knows he......really, really, REALLY is starting to enjoy August's companyThis means that conversations oscillate between Tyler being professionally friendly with all his coworkers, Franc interpreting something random as a personal attack, Monet deeply wishing she could tell Tyler something, and then a completely stupid conversation where Tyler and August are flirting about something stupid and getting cockblocked by Tyler's hangups and August remembering that as far as he's concerned Tyler and Monet should get together.Oh and also Askar definitely is fucking with his head at least once a session.

#my ocs #tyler casey #rip me #A mysterious traveler #Hark! Who goes there?

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